Red Run 14: Hell World

At Ita Moon

Mal waited impatiently near the airlock. His purported ride taking longer than he’d imagined when he’d come down to wait. On the point of abandoning the area and returning to the bridge, Mal heard the chime of the intercom. “Shuttle craft approaching from Ita Moon processing, Captain,” River advised. “Docking in 90 seconds.” Nodding his satisfaction at the end of the delay, Mal waited for the shuttle to lock on. “”Bout time,” Mal muttered. The intercom spoke again. “I’ll be down to the kitchen after I make sure the Captain is away and pick out my weapons, Jayne.” River added soberly. “That’ll go over well,” Mal thought. “Luckily, I won’t be here to see it.” A reverberation ran through the deck into Mal’s feet, his only clue that the shuttle had docked. A speaker near the airlock rang out it’s standard dock warning. Checking to make sure the seals were properly engaged and pressure equalized, Mal waited until the Ita shuttle popped her doors before popping his own. Just common sense in the event that the Ita shuttle was a Trojan horse. In this instance the shuttle failed to disgorge a crowd of heavily armed Federals or slavers, and this suited Mal just fine. Leaving his ship and walking into the shuttle, Mal observed again the squalid conditions under which Ita Processing treated its guests. Luxuries like a well-lit interior, charming colors of paint on the walls, or a once yearly cleaning were obviously disregarded as wasteful extravagances for the brief passengers that transited to the Ita processing facility abroad the company shuttle. Most of the overhead lighting had blown out, and there were papers and visible dirt littering the floor plates. Additionally, the shuttle interior was small. Slightly bigger than Serenity’s shuttles, honestly, but seemingly more cramped because of the 20 odd lime green passenger chairs that lined each side of the walls. Fitted as close as they were, elbowroom became an unfunny myth. Or would have, if the shuttle had been occupied by anyone other than Mal. Combined with all these features—and the stench, Mal suddenly realized—was an off yellow paint that had been used to highlight the interior in a most unappealing manner. Seeing this, Mal struggled with a stomach that threatened to revolt in artistic disgust. All in all, an unpleasant little space jumper to fly in. Without waiting for Mal to find a chair, the pilot sealed the airlock and broke away from Serenity. And with a stunning lack of skill, Mal thought, as he kept himself from falling by grabbing an overhead pipe. Being alone, Mal elected to sit in the chair nearest the flight deck, where he could just barely see the back of the shuttle pilot’ head some three feet in front of him, and slightly elevated by the pilot chair. A head that carried only gray hair and a severely wrinkled neck. This was an old timer in the ancient sense. Making an unpleasant biologic sound from the plastic chair as he was seated, Mal earned a look from the elder pilot controlling the shuttle. Instead of closing the metal door and isolating the compartment, the pilot trumpeted his concerns. “Don’t sit down too hard there son,” the elderly pilot rasped. “I gotta replace any broken parts in the passenger compartment myself.” “Not a problem. Just took a bit of a tumble into the chair,” Mal griped, hoping the pilot would realize his unsteady flight was the cause. No such luck. “Clumsy, eh?” the fellow cackled. “Better find yer space legs if ya plan on bein’ in the Black at all.” Lacking any desire to reply, Mal folded himself in the chair and waited to be delivered to Central Processing.

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River observed the exit of the Ita shuttle with misgivings. Her likeability for the Captain demanded that she keep a vigilant eye on the shuttle until it was no longer visible, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to watch. Sure enough, as the craft pulled away, it appeared to wobble slightly. Not the most glowing endorsement of the pilot’s skills. Luckily, the craft appeared headed back to Ita Processing and not to other ships for pickups. At least the Captain’s time aboard would be mercifully short and the chance for collusion on another pickup run reduced. River unlimbered herself from the chair. Only to have Inara buzz her from her shuttle. “Inara, what do you need?” River asked, somewhat impatient to get to Jayne. “I’m departing for the surface. I don’t know when I’ll be returning.” The Companion appeared outwardly calm but her internal thoughts were woefully concerned with her position and status among her Guild. Sympathetic to the Companion, River answered more softly. “I’m sure everything will go well with your…appointments.” The Companion drew a deep breath and collected herself. “Thank you River. I appreciate your support.” Remembering the comments from the morning though, Inara went on, half-joking but half serious. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven your mischief this morning either. I’m getting you back!” River smiled, unconcerned. “As Kaylee might say, ‘I’m hearin’ a lot a talk’” “I’ll talk you!” Inara exclaimed. “Youngster.” She added. Pretending offense, River shot back. “Crone!” “Child!” Inara responded. “Grandma!” River yelled. Narrowing her eyes Inara fired off. “Moonbrain!” “Tramp!” “Psycho!” “Whore!” Both women stared at the screen defiantly, breathing heavy. Inara laughed first from her broken tension and River smiled. “Thank you again,” the Companion said, more relieved than before. “Good skies,” River said affectionately, giving a traditional pilot’s farewell. Inara nodded once, gravely, before closing the viewer. River turned and headed for the kitchen.

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Kaylee and Jayne were both sitting at the table when River made her way down the stairs. Jayne was instructing Kaylee on the finer points of throwing punches while putting lubricant on his pistols. “Woman like you might not be able to do this, bein’ weaker and all, but half a hittin’ somebody is what you’re thinkin’ ‘bout when you swing,” said Jayne, quietly lecturing on a topic he well understood. “If yer thinkin’ about how they’re gonna hit you back and knock your head off, then you don’t punch no good. If you start thinkin’ ‘bout how you’re trying to hit their stomach or their mouth, that ain’t so good either. Especially for a woman. Nah, best way is to look at ‘em and pretend yer tryin’ to hit somethin’ behind ‘em. Like you want to punch THROUGH their head and tickle the back of their neck. Or make like you wanna punch through their stomach and grab their backbone from the inside.” Jayne wiped heartily at an imagined spot on his pistol. “That’s the best way to hit a fella.” Kaylee answered him carefully, forgetting her earlier commitment not to speak to the man. “Thank you much Jayne. I’ll….try and remember that.” Rolling her eyes for River’s benefit at the idea. Her eyes also said she was grateful to River for saving her from this conversation. River hid her grin. “Ah-hmmm,” she said, to get his attention. He glanced sideways at her, otherwise ignored her, and continued to scrub his guns. With increased vigor. Kaylee beat River to the chiding. “Jayne…ain’t you suppose to suit River up with some weapons? Cap’n said so,” she reminded. Curling his lip, Jayne stopped his polishing and slammed the gun he was currently carrying into a leather holster before tossing the whole rig roughly onto the table in unJayne-like fashion. “I ‘member!” he said loudly, unhappy. He looked at River. “Figures,” he thought. “She’s wearin’ that pink shirt and blue flower skirt again. Least she’s got boots on…for a change.” He examined her waist more critically, already measuring her by eye for an outside holster. “She’s put on some weight,” he thought. River, recognizing his professional response and enduring his silent scrutiny up til now, puffed up and stood on tiptoe. “I have not!” She said hotly. Kaylee just looked confused. River pointed at Jayne. “He thinks I’ve put on weight. Does this skirt make me look fat?” she asked Kaylee, anxiously, pivoting so the mechanic could get a better view. Kaylee frowned her denial. “Absolutely not!” She stood up from the table and rounded on Jayne. “Were you thinking that?” Her own anger building. “Hey..hold on,” Jayne cautioned. “I only thought she’d gained weight. Never thought how she was fat.” He threw his rag to the floor. “She’s puttin’ thoughts in my head!” he proclaimed in objection. Kaylee looked back at River. River admitted the point. “Well…yeah…he did only think I’d put on weight. He didn’t actually think I was FAT.” Kaylee calmed down immediately. “Well…okay then. He probably didn’t mean it that way,” Kaylee said, doubtfully. Jayne, blustering now that he was winning the argument, said, “And besides which….she ain’t suppose to be readin’ people’s minds. Not crew anyway,” he stated firmly. Kaylee waved his objection away. “Like she can change who she is. Might as well ask you to give up guns and swearin’….and scratchin’. Which I’d really be obliged if—“ “That ain’t the point,” he interrupted sagely, not wanting to be trapped in a promise. “She wasn’t just readin’. She was addin’ her own comment on me.” Kaylee again waved this away. “Like she wanted to hear you thinkin’ in the first place that she was fat.” “I WASN’T THINKIN’—!“ Kaylee to River. “Poor girl. It’s like a sewer in there I bet,” she said sympathetically. Turning back to Jayne, Kaylee said, “So why don’t we just distract her and ask her what sort of weapons she wants before she decides to kill you for callin’ her fat? Eh?” Frowning at the granite wall of female solidarity which every man faces, he peeked toward the table in surrender and exaggeratedly swept his hand in offer. “Take your pick. You, too Kaylee,” he added. Shaking her head and frowning girlishly, Kaylee declined the offer…overly generous though it was for Jayne. Kaylee didn’t like guns and knew her skill level with them was nonexistent. She rarely carried. Mildly piqued over his correctly identifying that she’d gained weight, River refused to look at him when she stepped closer to the table. The assortment to choose from was quite astonishing. Small handguns, large handguns—revolvers and automatics—shotguns, submachine guns, rifles, and even one or two lasers were all on display. The carry rigs were equally varied. Shoulder holsters, ankle holsters, hip holsters, leg holsters, fanny packs, and even a hollowed out book were all available for her if she wanted to carry a firearm concealed. She dismissed the rifles immediately. Likewise the submachine guns. Knowledgeable about their use, but disinclined to take them because of their aesthetic value, she elected for a handgun. Jayne read her unhurried examination as indecision. “Would you like me to suggest one? How about a nice .38 snubby? Easy to conceal. Slips into a waistband real—“ Glancing again at her hips, he said. “Well…I guess maybe we’ll need something with a holster,” he said realistically. Slowly rotating her head to Jayne, so that he’d think she was indeed about to kill him, she pointed without looking at two identical typed pistols at the far end of the table. “How about those?” Jayne followed her finger. “Those two? Sondra and Shirley?” he whistled out loud. “Pretty big choice. Sure you don’t want somethin’ in a smaller caliber? Less recoil,” he cautioned. Emphatic, River shook her head. “Those two. And they even come on one belt.” “Yeah…left and right side holsters. Eastwood 4-inch barrel titanium .44 calibers. Wood finger grips on the right hand model, and rubberized mono-filament grip on the left hand model. Shirley and Sondra ‘spectively,” he added. “Hold up your hands,” he suddenly commanded. River held up her hands. Kaylee, ready to defend against the seeming delay tactic, questioned this. “She’s got two of ‘em Jayne. Why you need to look?” “I don’t tell you how to engine nothin’. You don’t tell me how to gun up nobody,” he answered back. Surprisingly calm though when he said it, not heated. He was too caught up in his craft. Appraising River’s hands and wrists, he extended his own hands. “Bend my wrists back. Don’t damage me though…much as you might want to,” he advised sardonically. As far as Kaylee knew, this was the first time Jayne had voluntarily called upon River Tam to touch him. His hands dwarfed hers. She gripped both his hands with both of hers and interlaced the fingers with his. Just like a childhood game they played on Osirus. A game called “Quit.” The object was to bend your opponent’s hand back until they cried, “Quit.” She slowly began applying pressure. Jayne showed no response. She focused her concentration and strengthened her hold. Jayne wrist and hand were marginally moved backwards. She wasn’t even hitting a reserve of her strength yet…but she was after all only a 90-lbs girl. With concentration, she could have continued forcing his arm back until either her bones snapped or his. Jayne grunted. “Quit.” She did so and untangled their hands. He was nodding his head. “If you can do that, then you can handle the recoil on Shirley and Sondra. .44 caliber ain’t no joke,” he told Kaylee in a sidebar. “Recoil can crack a bone if ya ain’t braced.” Reaching down the table, he snagged the holster containing the two pistols. Around the holster belt, in tiny loops, were a row of bright bullets. “These shoot straight. So don’t go crazy and blow our heads off…all I ask in return, ‘kay?” “Right,” River replied, adjusting the holster to fit around her skirt. After tightening the belt, she found the guns rode a little high, but not uncomfortably so. They were damn weighty though. “You know how to reload a revolver?” Jayne asked her, chagrined that he’d almost forgot to ask this point. River snatched one of the guns from her belt in a swift motion, hit the release lever, and ejected the bullets. She reloaded them swiftly. Jayne waved his palm, asking for the last bullet. She passed it to him. He held it up for Kaylee. “Somethin’, ain’t it?” Kaylee, examining the large bullet, was curious. “Why do keep handguns around that take such big bullets? The bullet that Dobson hit me with were a tiny thing, but it laid me down on my back quick ‘nough. Whacha need ‘em for?” Adopting a contemplative expression, Jayne gave this question due consideration before answering. “Lot of its personal preference,” Jayne acknowledged pridefully. “Some guys like a gun with a lot of bullets. Ain’t happy unless they got a submachine gun or an assault rifle. Course…some fellas like a sneak gun they can hide on their person. What some would call a ladies gun. I got one or two myself…cause you never know. Course…it ain’t true. Ain’t no such thing as a ladies gun. Just a gun. But me? I like a gun that knocks a fella down. One a these will do that on the first shot. Don’t have to carry a lot of bullets when they do that.” Becoming poetical, Jayne remarked to both women, “It’s all good with the ‘Two by two; hands of blue’ but for me its ‘Four and four equal big damn bore’.” River and Kaylee shared a look. Both women collapsed into laughter at his serious expression, miffing the merc off at both of them. “Ain’t no laughin’ matter,” he said sternly. “Killin’ folk never is.” They sobered up at these words. He was right, and both women knew it. River more than Kaylee…but Kaylee’d killed a few Reavers back at Mr. Universe’s and, worse, she knew it. “Thank you for reminding us Jayne,” said Kaylee, grimly grateful. Unlike her previous pretense of gratitude when he’d described punching, she meant it this time. “It is serious. Thank you for taking the time.” River repeated the same words quickly, and never suggesting that she already knew. “Yes, Jayne, thank you. For the lending of these and the advice.” Mollified, and vaguely proud of both women, Jayne accepted their thanks. Nominally, Jayne was in charge of their expedition. With this spirit in mind he said, “Let’s go get this bitch done,” gathering up Vera and heading for the shuttle. The girls followed.

Inara Serra completed the last of her power down at the Ita Moon port facilities. Noteworthy only for their unnoteworthiness. A hurried conversation with a man identifying himself as the Port Master garnered her the primary landing spot at the port, very near a large hanger. Opening the hatch to her shuttle, Inara’s skin tingled at the unfamiliar sensation of heat that swept over her. For all of Kaylee’s wonderful mechanical skills, one thing that always seemed lacking aboard Serenity was an abundance of warmth. The Black tended to do that, leeching out the little heat from the air, making objects cool to the touch. Not uncomfortably so…just noticeably. Feeling the bright sun on her skin felt different, odd. The change was welcome. Decanting her shuttle, Inara spotted two men approaching her, both chatting among themselves in apparent friendship. Deciding to wait for the two men rather than approach them, Inara stood in place. One of the men was a squatish balding chubby man of middle age who quickly identified himself as Randolph Paull, the port master for Ita City. Standing uncomfortably close to the Companion, Mr. Paull allowed his eyes to roam her charms, pausing in his inspection frequently to determine finer details. Reduced in her presence to a mental teenager, the port master somewhere in his middle age adolescent babblings offered whatever amenities he could. Inara asked him to make sure that her shuttle remained safe in port. Pledging gratitude to him if he would do so. Port Master Paull puffed his chest out and lifted his double chins in pride. Promising her his diligence. The other man remained silent throughout this initial greeting, pausing after Mr. Paull’s last comment as though making sure the official had finished before finally speaking himself. This man was more attractive than the Port Master. Not a hard accomplishment. Although it would have been inaccurate to describe him as attractive by himself. Slim, but not emaciated, the man carried himself in a relaxed style. Dressed in a gray casual suit, he stood with his hands in his pockets. His straight blond hair and slightly large nose made the man more non-descript than attractive. Average. The type of man who could meet you at a port and five minutes after leaving no one would be able to describe him. “Inara Serra. I’m pleased to meet you,” the man said precisely, his voice clipped to a business associates drawl. “My name is Dale Barron.” “Mr. Barron, a pleasure to meet you,” she replied. “I believe you were assigned to meet me?” she asked. “Indeed,” he responded neutrally. “I admit I was looking forward to the opportunity. Your reputation precedes you Ms. Serra. I’ve heard about your…adventures.” Glancing significantly at the Port Master as he said so. Inara agreed with Barron. The absence of the port master would have made their interaction easier. The port master, for his part, wasn’t about to leave Inara’s presence. Not while his imagination was working. Barron continued. “Pardon me for being forward. But I once heard a story about you and I was curious. If you don’t mind a personal question, I mean.” “Not at all,” she replied softly. “Well…this is embarrassing….so I’ll just ask it straight out. Do you really like Osirian chocolates and moonlight?” Inara laughed in seeming gaiety and replied with flippancy. “Only when I’m in the nude, Mr. Barron.” Inwardly she swore to flay O’Chin with a studded whip when next they met. Barron covered the words well, even though he had slightly altered his code phrase with the addition of the word “really”. Something that her teachers back on Sihnon would have punished him for. Port Master Paull, meanwhile, had paused, briefly shivering as he conjured up the image of Inara in moonlight, carrying his favorite snack food. Disgusted, Inara decided that this constituted enough shmoozing with the local officialdom. “Port Master Paull, thank you again for the use of your wonderful facilities. I’ll try and make my stay a short one so that I don’t task your generosity.” “Not at all, my dear,” stumbling slightly over his own daring at presuming to use this level of familiarity. Gladdened even more so when the Companion didn’t correct or admonish him for the use of it. Instead, Inara nodded her continued gratitude and spoke to Mr. Barron. “I’m afraid that the journey here has tired me. Can we continue our conversation later?” “Of course, Ms. Serra. If you’ll accompany me, I’ve a car waiting,” Walking next to her, the two took their leave of Port Master Paull, who contented himself with watching the sway of Inara’s hips as she walked away. Out of earshot, Barron whispered to Inara. “That may be the foulest man who ever drew breath.” “I’ve met one worse,” Inara replied, thinking of Cobb. “I find that hard to believe,” Barron laughed. “We arrived here, Preistess Serina and I, two days ago. After depositing Serina in town, I returned for our luggage…and ended up in a two hour forced chat with our friend back there. I don’t think there was a single question that he didn’t ask me about Companions in general, and their sexual habits in particular. Even worse, he now thinks that this chat has built some bond between us. Made us friends,” Barron concluded, his disdain clear. “You seem to have used it to great advantage. When the two of you were approaching, you both seemed amiable enough,” Inara replied. “Thank you for observing my pain with me,” he responded ironically. Inara laughed. As they approached Barron’s private vehicle, Inara saw a young man standing at a nearby car labeled “Taxi”. “You won’t make any friends by refusing to use the local services,” Inara told him, indicating the taxi. “No, I don’t suppose I will. But a private car allows us more privacy,” Barron said in return. Inara enjoyed the wind in her hair as they drove toward the city.

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On the catwalk to shuttle 2, Zoë and Simon waited for the others. Simon moved restlessly, pacing the catwalk before returning, already regretting that he would be staying behind with Zoë while two women he cared about were going into an unknown situation. Being present to offer reassurance was his only reason for coming to Shuttle 2. Zoë had simpler reasons for being there. One, she wanted to hand over an extra comm. unit to Kaylee. Not to Jayne though. She didn’t give a damn if he never came back now. Treason rated low on her list of forgivable crimes, and unlike Kaylee, she wasn’t one to forget and forgive. Secondly, she was going to hand over some money to Kaylee to purchase parts planetside. Zoë wanted to make sure she did this without Jayne’s notice. With Jayne leading the way, the group tromped down the catwalk. Jayne didn’t bother to look at either Simon or Zoë, and obliged her by heading directly into the shuttle and stowing his gear. Kaylee and River both paused. Simon hesitantly addressed Kaylee, embarrassed slightly in the presence of both his sister and the first officer. River found it interesting, and felt slightly sad for herself, when she noticed that her brother’s concern was for Kaylee first, not for her. Sad, but happy for her brother also. He had found someone else to love. “Take care, Kaylee, “ he said formally, glancing at the others, dubious about how he should act at their parting; their relationship so far having been carried out in a sub-rosa fashion. Or so they deluded themselves. Kaylee had no doubts. Dropping her gear bag to the deck, she slowly and sinuously moved toward Simon, causing the man to gulp nervously. Reaching around his neck, Kaylee pulled his head to hers gently and bestowed a languorously long kiss on the physician. One that he initially resisted in a mild fashion for decorum’s sake, but which he suddenly lost himself to. Tiny flicks of the tongue, a savoring closure of the eyes and the slow roving of hands caused Zoë to glance at River, seeing how the young woman was reacting to this most public display the young couple had yet engaged in. River lifted her hand and fanned her face, miming that she was near a hot fire. Zoë reached a hand to her own face to hide her unexpected grin at River’s antics. Kaylee pulled away from Simon, holding his arms at the elbow and stared directly, provocatively, into his eyes. “When I come back, you are going to help me down in the engine room,” she asserted, almost commandingly. “I am?” he stammered. Kaylee nodded slowly. “Yep. You are. We may have to lay under that engine all night to fix what needs to be done,” she whispered, her voice husky and with a slight catch in it. Simon gulped again. “Yes ma’am,” he replied. “I’ll be waiting.” Kaylee nodded, stretched herself onto her tiptoes, flexed one calf and leisurely drew her hands down his arms until they dropped free, then slowly dropped her feet back to the deck. Simon shook himself and turned to River. “Be careful, sis.” “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” River asked flirtaously. “What?! No! I mean….No!” Simon looked shocked at the idea. River leaned in close to Simon and pecked him chastely on the cheek. “Then I will.” She stepped back. “Call it a reward for finally not acting like a boob.” Glancing significantly at Kaylee as the mechanic looked on politely. Simon blushed endearingly. All the women saw it and liked the man more for it. “Thanks mei mei,” he whispered back. Kaylee and River turned to leave. Simon spoke to their backs. “I’ll need to speak to you about a family matter when you return,” he said to River. She turned, confused. “Don’t read me,” her brother was thinking. “Just let me tell you later.” River dropped her unconscious probes and nodded her confusion. “All right,” she said, to both his requests, tempted to sneak a peek at her brother’s mind, but loving him too much to violate him so. Zoë handed the portable comm. unit, and a small purse-like bag to Kaylee. ““The moneys in the bag,” Zoë whispered softly in her ear. Louder, she said, “Freq is already set. Set up the same as the two units onboard. All of you wear them. Do your jobs, and haul your asses back here. Don’t linger,” Zoë told Kaylee sternly. “And be careful. Don’t trust Jayne,” she added. Kaylee accepted the items reflexively, and only half-listened to the warning without taking it to heart. Later, she’d cry in Simon’s arms for not having listened.

Mal practically ran from the shuttle when it docked; eager in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time to escape from a space vessel. The 12 airlocks at various points around the rim of the Ita Processing space station opened directly into a large circular room. Easily 3 stories tall with various catwalks positioned along it’s sides, the room continued to earn Mal’s respect as one of the pleasanter lounge areas on a space station. Overhead, a large, clear, impact-resistant dome allowed the customers to gaze out into the Black. Would have anyway, if ships and maintenance personnel weren’t constantly swooping or floating by. Still, it was a nice artistic gesture. Although the motivations behind it were far from artistic. Ita Processing wanted customers to relax and enjoy their surroundings. So that no one would go Space Happy at the overly long delays that Ita was famous for and start blasting the station personnel to the Hot Place. Calming colors were thus the order of the day. The only red Mal could see was in a handkerchief carried by another customer. Glancing around Mal could see the more than 100 comfortable couches—he’d been told this number by an overzealous PR officer on his last visit—that were arrayed around the area for customers to sit upon, or even sleep upon, although few did this. Missing your number when it was called over the load speaker meant you had to start back with a new number—at the end of the line. Coffee and other awakeners were hawked by vendors who walked around the room listlessly. In spite of these amenities, Mal had seen the area crammed to bursting, and witnessed many an irate folk left with standing room only in his visits before this one. As a further sop toward making visitors compliant—sorry, comfortable— the room had strategically placed potted trees—more than was needed in Mal’s opinion—to help the room lose some of its space station sterility. Most of the plants were little more than bushes, but several of the plants were quite large, easily achieving 30 feet in height and with some decent girth at the bottom. From his ranch upbringing, Mal reckoned that the square shaped 4’x’4 boxes that supported the plants seemed woefully inadequate. Not to mention leaving little room for root development. “Must use genetic fertilizer,” Mal noted absently. Mal planned on securing a bench and sheltering himself behind one of the smaller plants later while watching the airlocks for anyone he might know. Seconds often count, and he wanted to camouflage himself as much as possible. Even though he wasn’t strictly expecting trouble. For now though, Mal had to make his way toward the opposite side of the room. Arrayed along this wall were about a dozen window panes—bulletproof, if such a thing exists—housing the Ita Process drones who collected your Sell Order, or who processed your Buy Request, or who charged you fines for improper space ship maneuvers while in orbit. A soulless realm of bureaucrats that drifted their way in Alliance-like mediocrity though reams of paperwork. Mal longed for a nice barter session involving cattle or beagles. Anything was better than being reduced to this. Except for the money. That actually made it worth the interaction. Generally anyway. As he drew closer to the processing windows, Mal remarked to himself on the sparse number of customers in the room. Probably less than 500, which left the lines in front of the windows blessedly short. Only 3 people ahead of Mal in his chosen line. His last time here had been 3 years before, and there had been 12 people at every window, with probably 2000 people in the hall. He’d waited 2 days to process his Sell Order. By comparison, this looked easy. When his turn came, Mal stepped to the window to confront a woman wearing a chest plaque that read ‘Myrtle’. Myrtle was a 50ish looking woman with a dangling cigarette hanging from her lip and a cup of coffee held in one shrewish claw. Streaked across her chin was the remains of her lipstick, brushed there by the coffee cup. Large in the way that grossly obese people are large, Myrtle regarded Mal with institutionalized disgust, hating him for simply being at her window. “Papers!” she barked. Mal handed them through the scooped out metal tray at the bottom of the window. Myrtle examined the documents for a few moments. “You want to sell two Glaxim-G 9000 broadwave units?” “Yep,” Mal replied. She again examined the documents. “Says you are Captain Reynolds and your ship is a Firefly class transport…that correct?” “One hundred percent,” he answered back cheerfully. Moving with some agility, and never losing the cigarette ash, which stretched a half-inch, Myrtle stamped several seals on the papers Mal had handed her, and busied herself with entering a few keystrokes on her computer. After about a minute, a paper began to slowly reel itself off a printer near her left elbow. Grabbing up the document, Myrtle scanned the output without rush before finally depositing it in the metal tray for Mal’s retrieval. “Standard purchasing price is listed at the bottom. We don’t bargain here. Take it or leave it. If you elect to sell, present yourself at the Purchasing window when your number is called.” Myrtle waved a vague hand off to Malcolm’s right, presumably in the direction of the Purchasing window. Dimly he could see a single window in the middle distance, surrounded by a crowd of 3 or 4 customers. “You number is printed at the top of your document. Have a nice day. Next!” she said, rushing him. Taking his leave, Mal glanced down at his number. 194. Didn’t look too bad, even with only one window handling purchasing. The intercom blared out a message over the allegedly soothing instrumental music. “Now serving 94. Number 94, now serving.” Mal sighed, and began looking for a bush to hide behind while he waited.

River’s sense of unease about the upcoming mission continued to grow. Ever since she’d spoken with the Captain earlier, she’d begun to feel a sense of disaster. Unable to perceive just how this disaster might come though left her with a reluctance to give utterance to her feeling. Literally thousands of people were seeking her throughout the known galaxy. Disaster could come at any moment in a thousand different ways. Trying to determine just which way it would come was fruitless. True, her psychic abilities might be giving her a valid warning. Also, she could just be picking up on a general sense of disquiet. That was the problem with feelings. Separating out which were hers, and which were people around her…and…. River had never really expressed this notion, and only dimly believed it herself, but at times it was almost like objects spoke to her, or the wind, or the ground. Appearing to rise up from nowhere, River would suddenly know or feel something that was profound in its measure. In those moments she often felt she had the best insight. Of course, this wasn’t one of those feelings. Busying herself with make-work, River studied the interior of the shuttle. Focusing on the harness fastenings for Kaylee and Jayne, the port attitude controls, and in fact anything at all she could find as long as it meant she didn’t have to look out the window. “Where we goin’ first?” Jayne asked Kaylee. “Cap’n says there’s a parts warehouse famous around here. Morris Parts and Exchange.” Kaylee’s grin of anticipation was a wonder to behold. “He says they got more parts for ships than anybody ever put under one roof. And catalogs of stuff that won’t fit under no roof. Mostly we’ll be lookin’ at spare parts that we can carry back in the shuttle.” “Then after that,” she continued. “We gotta go buy food supplies.” “Can’t we do that from orbit?” Jayne asked, annoyed at the inefficiency. Kaylee shook her head. “You gotta buy it down there. That’s why we brung this,” Kaylee said, opening the bag to display the money inside. Casually glancing at the bag, Jayne did a double take. “Wo se dun! How much you carryin’?” His mouth practically salivating at the money in the bag. “I think somewhere around 60,000 credits,” Kaylee responded quietly, suddenly questioning her lack of wisdom in showing Jayne the money. “You got the equal of 1000 platinum on you and you didn’t bother to tell me?” Jayne demanded hotly. “How’m I suppose to do my job if I don’t know what—I mean, who—needs protectin’?” Kaylee pointed repeatedly at both herself and River. “We do. Both of us. Me and her. We’re what you’re protectin’. Ain’t no call to go spastic.” “Yeah…..I know,” Cobb replied indecisively. “I’m just sayin’…it were better for me to know who’d thieves would go after first. Bein’ as you got the money,” he finished lamely. Kaylee looked at River. River shook her head. “He didn’t think about it before. Now that he’s seen the money, he figures he’ll need to grab that first if anything happens.” Kaylee reached across and slapped Jayne on the knee. “See! I ain’t never been psychically ramped up in no government torture facility and even I knew that was what you was thinkin’.” Half amused at the big merc’s greed, but half worried about it too. A sudden unpleasant thought occurred to her. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “What?” Jayne asked. River started to laugh before Kaylee could tell him. “Nothin’ really,” sharing a girlish snicker with River. “It’s just that I suddenly got to thinkin’ that maybe this means I’m startin’ to become like you. Thinkin’ the same way and all.” She and River shared a smirk. Jayne was less than amused. “You should be so lucky,” he groused. River chuckled a bit more and without thinking turned to check her flight path. Glancing directly at the planet before them. The surge that swept through her was all consuming. The planet wasn’t a planet. It was like a drop of blood in space. “Red. Anger. Hatred. Liquid red,” She thought. Her mouth opened to say the words. To inform the others of what she was seeing. The words started in her throat— “Hey! Ain’t you comin’ in too fast on approach? You gotta whole damn big planet to aim for. You ain’t likely to miss,” Jayne snarled, still smarting from the ladies ribbing. Absently, he placed his hand on her shoulder, in prelude of shaking it roughly. River whirled in the chair, half rising and inadvertently touching the control lever slightly, causing the shuttle to pitch a bit before returning to level flight. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed, ready to do violence…ready to cry…ready to run away. Ready to do anything except look at the planet they were approaching. Jayne leaned back rapidly. River immediately apologized. “Sorry.” She put as much real feeling as she could into her voice, an easy effort at that moment. “After the government tortured me, I just don’t like to be touched without warning,” she lied. Kaylee looked on wide-eyed before sympathy moved in and replaced the expression. Jayne shrugged it off….externally in any event. “Can’t blame you for that,” he said. “I’ll be apologizin’ my ownself now. Shouldn’t a touched ya.” Pointing out the window he continued. “Now can you fly the damn shuttle.” River glanced back at the computer display on her monitors. Using these she was able to bring the shuttle down to the spaceport beacon. Mercifully, she didn’t have to look outside the entire time until they got closer. By then, she was fine. Or at least less bad.

_________________________________________________________

Ita Moon City, from the air, resembled a large capital “L” in shape. In total, the city was 2 miles long on the long North-south axis, and about a mile long on the shorter west-east portion. Neither was the city wide across. At most the two lines had three separate streets running down through them. An obligatory curve existed at the point of the “L” to move ground traffic smoothly from north to east, but otherwise the city was mostly constructed along straight lines. The port rested midway between the two points of the “L”, almost on a line that would have formed the hypotenuse of a triangle if a third street existed, but more toward the lower side of the city than toward the upper part. A wide road could be seen leading from the port to the corner point were the two lines of the city met in the lower left. All of the crew had seen larger cities. And if Ita Moon City itself failed to impress, then Ita Moon City’s port was definitely nothing to write home about. On the scale of immenseness, the port scored an easy minus 3. Expecting a larger facility, Kaylee and Jayne momentarily searched the area for a second site. “It’s kinda…smallish,” Kaylee remarked. Jayne grunted his concurrence. “People don’t live here, per se. The majority of workers are housed near their job sites on the southern continent,” River quoted from memory. She’d looked up the colony in the database. “The planet outlaws any large non-native craft from landing planetside. The only large ships granted flight privileges are Itan freight haulers, and most of those operate from the factory areas in the southern hemisphere. They can carry large goods manufactured on the planet up to orbit in their own ships. It isolates outsiders, makes a good security measure, and allows them to set aside an area to conduct business. Technically, you could describe Ita City as just a trading post, resupply and exchange station. So you don’t need a large spaceport here to handle the outside traffic. Only at the factory areas in the South, and those aren’t open to us.” “Sounds dull,” Kaylee grumped. River nodded. “Yeah…it did. The way I explained it.” Kaylee patted her back in consolation. “Very educational though. Like one of those tour books.” Jayne noticed that River didn’t come unglued at the mechanic touching her. “Yeah…a ruttin’ Universial Guidebook on two legs. Just what we need,” Jayne quipped.

As they came in for a landing, River located the most distant point on the airfield. Pointing the nose of the shuttle away from the town, River angled the craft so that it run parallel to the southern line of the city, some half mile away to the south of them. In front of them and on two sides was a scrub land composed of low scraggly bushes and dull reddish sand. Resembling the deserts of many worlds in that respect. River keyed open the doors and hot air rushed in. “Shit fire,” Jayne said. “Hot was right.” Kaylee disagreed. “Not so hot. Probably 90 Standard. You’re just use to bein’ in a space ship.” Jayne nodded. “Yeah. One where the heat don’t work right.” Kaylee frowned in fake annoyance and than struck Jayne on the arm. “Smile when you say that,” she ordered happily. Jayne did just that. Even he wasn’t always immune to Kaylee’s shiny disposition. River and Jayne stepped onto the tarmac at Ita City port warily, examining every object or nearby movement with suspicion. River because her senses were giving her a low voiced warning that not everything was okay, and Jayne because suspicion and paranoia were second nature. Neither perceived anything immediately threatening. Simultaneously, and without preplanning, both of them jumped into the air. Exchanging glances, Jayne affected a sardonic smile. After a moment, River copied him. “Seems like it’s a little less than ETW Standard….whaddya think?” he asked. Most Terraforming operations were designed to take place only on moons and planets that matched Earth’s gravity within a 10% range, either plus or minus. There were problems of atmospheric oxygen retention below this range. Beyond this range, it became difficult to build standardized components for machinery—something the big corporations didn’t like. A standard part in a heavy grav climate would wear out in machinery faster than in lighter gravity, which would necessitate it being made sturdier to achieve the same efficiency. Manufacturing would require a retooling to accomplish this. That meant more money spent by the corporation during production—which reduce profits. So instead of creating 1000 specialized products for 1000 worlds, the corporations had used their lobbying power to make sure that only near-Earth-norm planets and moons were colonized. Then one product could work everywhere. Those planets that fell outside of Earth norm, but which had valuable resources on them, were bypassed for colonization, but given the green light for dome construction projects used in mining. One day, the corporations might come back and settle on planets outside of Earth norm, but probably not. No one wanted to live on a planet that made you twice as heavy. In Ita’s case, lies had been told about the planet’s gravity. The initial survey team had been—most experts agreed—too long out from the central planets (3 years) and vastly overdue for a crew rotation when they had been assigned to investigate Ita Moon’s properties with an eye toward colonization. If Ita proved to be a “bad” world, then the crew was looking at another 3 to 6 months investigation at another promising site. Travel back to the Core Worlds would have to wait until then. If Ita turned out viable, then they’d be home as soon as the survey was completed. Thusly, deciding that Ita’s variance of 2% below Earth norm was an acceptably close approximation if it ended their tour of space quicker, the Terraforming Survey team assigned to the moon had fibbed a bit in their initial report by using data taken from approximations—guesses—that had been made by orbital survey. By the time anyone had figured out this “error”, the moon had already had a terraforming crew midway through the process (an incredibly expensive process). As a result, Ita got settled—12% reduced gravity and all. “About a 12% variance off Earth That Was standard,” River informed Jayne, answering his question. “Should make for a nice walk.” Kaylee shook her head in disagreement. She’d been studying the surroundings also. Over to their right she could see a ground effect vehicle parked, and the words “Taxi” emblazoned on its roof. The vehicle had no doors and looked more like a dune buggy than a taxi, but Kaylee wasn’t particular. “Not when we can take that,” she said, pointing toward the vehicle parked near a hanger type building with the words “Port Masters Office/Repairs” printed on a sign out front. Jayne followed her eye. “Hey. Goin’ in style. Not a bad idea.” The trio headed toward the car. River’s unease about the planet was growing more in her mind, almost like a pressure wave building before a storm. Hastily erected filters in her mind that had withstood the most recent emotional storms were now being pushed from both without and from within. Concentrating very hard, River was able to maintain her outward appearance, but the only way to do so was to ignore what was going on around her. Her filters were acting as both a wall against the world, and a dam to stop her own rising emotions. If she dropped her filters now to see what was going on around her, she’d be swept by her own mind into the currents of the old River. “I’m about to lose my mind and I’m punning myself,” she reflected wryly. “Jayne’s right. I AM crazy.” If she lost it now, she’d be in the middle of Jayne and Kaylee. With two very large guns. Fear gripped her. Not for herself, but for Kaylee…and even Jayne. No telling what sort of go-se the government had left in her mind. Maybe even THEY hadn’t known. Kaylee’s voice suddenly intruded. Through her suddenly swimming vision, River saw concern on the mechanic’s face. “Are you okay? You’re sweating.” Focusing on the mechanic’s face, River felt her fears easing and the pressure inside her head receding. The sense of impending doom didn’t. “I’m okay. Just the heat.” She said, and waited for Jayne to take a couple of extra steps away. River could see Kaylee wasn’t buying it so she added, in the language of the frontier. “I was swoonin’ for a couple of seconds. Kinda like the old me. Panicked for a second or two.” River held out her hand. “Will you hold my hand while we walk?” She really did need the human contact. She was THAT close to falling apart. Plus which, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have Kaylee holding one of her gun hands. Kaylee did more than that. She stepped close to River’s side and slid her arm thru the crook of her elbow. The one or two casual observers watching fell to the quite logical assumption that the two women were lovers, sisters or some other relation. Unplanned, the two ladies had slipped naturally into the most effective cover possible for them by doing an activity that was artlessly natural. Jayne marched on ahead of them, eager to reach the taxi before any other customers might. Although his fears in this regard were unfounded. There weren’t more than 20 or 25 ships on the concrete tarmac, probably about a quarter of what the airfield could handle. However, there were other shuttles coming into land, if the sonic booms above them were any indication, and Jayne wanted that taxi before anyone else got to it. He had big plans for that taxi today. They moved closer to the other ships, the majority of which—logically and without a criminal eye—had parked close to the Port Masters building. Their lone shuttle seemed a bit out of place in this regard. Almost by itself at the end of the runway. Coming near the ships in port, Kaylee began to cast a covetous eye on the numerous grav meters, coils, and unattended tools—many of them that she couldn’t afford on this trip, but could have made good use of— that were lying around and reminded herself that she had an engrained list of vital necessities in her head to deal with, not on luxury foofarah. Still… “Jayne, go steal that tool for me over there,” she told the hulking merc, pointing at an altimeter realignment gauge sitting momentarily unattended. “Huh?” he asked, caught off guard by the odd request. Kaylee reconsidered. “Well, actually…don’t. We can get it on the way back.” Jayne shrugged. “I’ll go get it now if you want.” “No,” both women hissed at him. “Low profile,” Kaylee whispered to him, as they passed some workmen. “Whatever,” Cobb said, indifferent in the timing of thefts. The last craft they passed as they approached the building was Inara’s. The Companion had taken the best spot closest to the Port Master’s office. Considering the woman’s social position, this made sense. None of them made an obvious sign that the craft meant anything to them as they passed. Just another way of keeping options open in case they were being watched.

Standing near the taxi was a young man. In appearance, he looked to be younger than Kaylee, but a few years older than River. Blond, lithe of build, and sporting a dashingly handsome tan, the man eyed their approach with obvious excitement. Clearly they were the most business he’d seen that day. Jayne Cobb didn’t disappoint him. “We’d like to hire you to run us to town,” the merc said, pointing at the city some half-mile away. “Absolutely, sir. Happy to be of service to you and the lovely ladies.” The young man faltered a bit when he saw a protective scowl begin to form on the other man’s face. Smart enough not to apologize or acknowledge Jayne’s mood, the man quickly launched into one of his standard speeches. “The charge to carry you to town is 50 credits. I won’t lie to you. Some people do decide to walk to town instead of ridin’, but I’d not be lying either when I tell you they don’t like the hot concrete by the time they get back. There are other taxis that operate out here. Old Marv should be along soon, but I see better than him and I ain’t into the rotgut either. So you don’t have to worry about me crashin’ and killin’ us all.” The man spoke quickly from long practice. “Now,” taking it as a foregone conclusion they’d accept his offer, “do you have any baggage to carry?” “Nah. Carrying all I need right here,” Jayne said, patting the side of Vera before meaningfully looking at his two charges. The young fella caught the drift immediately. All thoughts of carrying on some seductive banter with the two newcomers to the town were immediately shelved. Again, there was nothing for him to do but brazen on through, even if he could see he’d already started this off wrong. “If you’d like to store your personal weapons in the truck area of the vehicle, I do offer this service.” Jayne shook his head. Kaylee dropped Rivers arm and moved closer to the man. “Don’t mind him none. We’re just glad to have some transpo here.” Her infectiously bright smile made the man reconsider immediately. This was going to be an okay fare after all. “If you ladies would kindly step this way,” he said graciously, waving his arm toward the rear of the vehicle. Considering the size of his car…dune buggy…only two people would be able to ride in the back. One would need to ride up front with him. Intelligently, he didn’t make the mistake of asking one of the ladies to sit with him, knowing that the big man wouldn’t have liked this. Kaylee and River dutifully climbed in back. In doing so, River had to hike up her skirt, which led to a brief revealing of her legs from the mid-thigh down. Stopping, of course, at her combat boots. Still, it was a sight a young man couldn’t help but notice. “Whoa,” he muttered. “Nice calves.” River paused in the act of climbing in and favored him with a look before blushing and clambering inside. Jayne perceived that something was happening because of the ladies delay in boarding, although he’d missed the driver’s comment. “What’s the holdup?” he demanded. Kaylee, not answering, laughed and climbed in next to River. The driver, intimidated by the big man, pointed vaguely at the car. “I was just admiring those fine….guns,” he finished weakly. Jayne accepted this. “Good eye for weapons,” Jayne said proudly, roughly patting the younger man in a subtle kinship. Without being told, Jayne took the front seat next to the driver. Vera held easily in his right hand, propped upward next to his knee. With no doors to get in the way, Jayne figured he could drop any target on his side of the vehicle within 3 seconds. From the back seat, River whispered, “2.65 seconds. I’ve seen how you move.” Flattered by the compliment, but upset that she’d risk revealing her mind reading capabilities in front of a stranger, Jayne shifted to look in the back seat and spoke a whispered warning. “Hush up! Don’t give nobody no ideas.” Turning back into his seat just as the driver stepped into the vehicle. “What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t hear when I was walking around,” the man explained, worried that River or Kaylee was ratting out his legs comment. “Nothin’.” Jayne grunted. “We’s just tryin’ to remember where we was goin’.” Sighing in relief, the driver asked, “What’s the name of the establishment?” Shrugging ironically, the man waved a negligent arm. “I can guarantee I know every place around here. Town’s not big enough to get lost.” He sounded regretful of this fact. Kaylee piped in. “Morris’. The space parts warehouse.” Nodding, the man engaged the drive and took off. “I know it all too well. Have you there in 15 minutes. Maybe 20 if the streets are crowded.” Jayne saw his opportunity now that the driver was captive in his own car. “How much would you be chargin’ to ferry us around town for a couple of hours?” Jayne asked, imagining himself cunning in the way he approached the topic. “For two hours?” The driver measured this idea. “Well…considering all the missed fares I’d have while drivin’ you folks around…I guess I could do it for…50 credits.” Jayne thought he’d misunderstood. “What did you say?” The man looked at Jayne, not needing to study the road after so much practice. “ I said I’ll drive you around for 2 hours for 50 credits.” Kaylee interjected at this point. “Actually, that ain’t quite right. We’ll be in the parts store for a bit longer than that. Maybe hours I’m thinkin’. Then we gotta go find a food supply. You’d have to miss all your fares and we’ll have to make two or three trips back and forth to our shuttle. Wouldn’t be fair to you,” she added considerately. The man looked in the back seat at her, driving one handed. “Do you know how many people were scheduled to arrive today besides you? Three other shuttles. Three! One of ‘em already arrived. Some fancy lady. And she had someone come out and meet her in a private car. Not that I blame them,” he reflected. “I wouldn’t want to miss meeting her either.” The three of them understood he was talking about Inara. He went on. “Odds are out of the other two shuttles arrivin’ that maybe one will want to go to town. I already know it’s gonna take me 40 minutes round trip to get back out there, and those two shuttles are scheduled to land right about—“Glancing at his watch. “now. At least that’s what the port master told me about 10 minutes before you folks landed. Old Marv is gonna beat me to them. Fact here comes Marv now.” A careening car similar to their own approached them rapidly from the direction of town. Wildly weaving, the car nearly struck their own, in spite of the large roadway they were on. Their driver made an obscene gesture as the other car passed. Inside, they could see a red faced large man shaking a fist at their car, and wordlessly mouthing something that got lost to the wind. Probably obscenities of his own. With the other car behind them, their driver wiped the sweat from his face. “Sorry ‘bout that. Me and Marv got this hatred thing goin’ on. He thinks I stole all his business.” No one said anything to this. “So what’s your name?” Kaylee asked, ready to break the silence. “Kyle Manfro,” he said by way of answer. “Itan South High. Go Scorpions,” he half-cried. “Our mascot,” he told them. Kaylee chuckled. Jayne simply regretted that they didn’t have another driver. And River tried to keep herself from going crazy, largely ignoring everything around her except for the occasional bit of information that seeped to her. “So anyway,” Kyle continued on their previous topic. “I won’t be getting any more business today. Might as well hang with you folks and maybe work on getting a tip.” Struggling to make his comment seem uncontrived, he achieved the opposite. Kaylee again chuckled. “You do right by us and we’ll do right by you. If we gotta make a few trips back and forth, I don’t see no problem with payin’ you for ‘em.” Minimally, Kyle relaxed. Paying jobs were welcome anywhere. “How much stuff will you need to transport out to your shuttle?” Kaylee wasn’t entirely sure. “Quite a bit. Maybe a thousand pounds,” she reluctantly admitted. Secretly she thought it might be closer to twice that. He nodded. “I gotta trailer that I can attach behind us. I use it to carry luggage sometimes. We’ll stop by my unit and pick it up. If that won’t delay you,” he added, remembering that his passengers had final say. “Sounds shiny,” Kaylee answered. Jayne agreed, in fact it was better than he’d hoped, but said nothing. River fought to maintain some semblance of order in her own mind. “Shiny,” she echoed. Increasing speed slightly, Kyle sped them toward town.

___________________________________________________________

Bored to the point of suicide, Mal sat by himself at his self-procured couch and split his time counting each of the visible tiles in the floor and watching the arriving shuttle traffic. He’d already been at the processing facility for an hour, and the last number called over the loud speaker had been 135. At this rate he was looking at another 2 hours before he could accept the offer for his goods. Which currently constituted the only good aspect of the entire affair. Itan commerce could be inconsistent in their purchasing. One day they might want what you had and pay top dollar. The next day you couldn’t give them the same item at any price. Luckily, Mal classified the current offer he’d received as Middlin’. Not top dollar, but not Reaver leavings either. The offer of 4000 platinum for both units being not as much as the units cost new, but not bad for a used resale. “Current exchange rate is,” Mal stole a glance at an overhead commodities board that was linked to Galaxdax, the universal stock exchange, and noted that platinum was trading at 63 credits to the ounce, which meant he stood to make 252,000 credits on this deal. After expenses and paying the crew their share, he still would have a good 100,000 credits to his name. Not that he planned to convert to creds. Where they were headed, platinum was a better exchange medium. Still feeling buoyed at the thought of cash, Mal happily slapped his hands together and looked at the newly arrived folks coming off the shuttle. As they tromped thru the doorway, he watched them casually. Young couples, old couples, any and all of the various space travelers who worked the salvage yards and made their living off of wrecks. As his eye swept the crowd, his hair stood up. Glancing back along the crowd, he tried to locate the source of his bad tidings. “What is it?” he asked himself. Something was bothering him. “There!” he shouted inside. “That one right there.” The gent in question was a largish fellow. Not Jayne large, but tall and more rounded in the gut. Something about him was sending alarm bells to Mal in a big way. Mal began running the options in his mind. “Feds? Slavers? Old clients? Niska?—where the hell have I seen him before?” Mal chanted to himself, trying to force the identification. Squinting more closely, Mal followed the man by eye, watching as the man began to casually stroll along each of the aisles, looking for something. Big, slight gut on him…and red hair. Where had he seen the red hair before? Red hair that ran into long sideburns and beard? Mal remembered. Pounded his leg once and swore. “That cheatin’ son of a bitch. I’ll kill him,” he promised himself. “If I have to ram his gorram ship out of orbit and push the son of bitch’s nose into the planet, I’ll kill him!” Yeah, the red hair. He almost didn’t remember him because Mal had been carrying a bullet at the time and suffering the lingering effects of oxygen deprivation. The fellow searching aisle to aisle was a member of Beck’s crew. Mal had last seen him standing behind Beck when they’d come aboard his vessel to pirate him. Mal had no doubts the fella had been sent by his boss to find Mal. “Searching for someone?” Mal asked himself viciously, already figuring out how he could turn this betrayal. “You’re ‘bout to find him. Hope you like it when you get him.” Keeping himself out of sight of the red hair man, Mal waved at a passing news bulletin dealer, requesting the latest addition. The vendor cheerfully took Mal’s money and gave him a paper. Mal didn’t bother to read it. Folding the paper in half, Mal reached behind his back as though to scratch, even miming this motion. Deftly, he pulled his pistol and secreted it in between the folds of the newsprint. The shifting pattern of the molecular encoded paper producing a distracting camouflage for his movements. No one appeared to have noticed. Mal sat back and waited. It wasn’t long. Strolling down the aisle parallel to Mal’s (Mal was on aisle 9), the red haired man cleverly examined everyone he passed, making the appearance of a man who was looking for a relaxing couch to rest upon. Even going so far as to reach down and push the cushions before shaking his head in apparent rejection. Steadily making his way around the room. Looking left and right at each couch as he walked down the aisles. As he came parallel to Mal, shrubs obscured his view. Partly this was why Mal had chosen this spot. Stepping around the shrubs, but still in the lane parallel, the man glanced thru the shrubbery and found himself staring eye to eye with Mal. Eyes widening in recognition, the man hurriedly dropped his gaze. The move was entirely too guilty to be the mark of a professional tail. Worse, now that the man had found Mal, he seemed unsure what to do. Shuffling his feet momentarily, the man made a quick survey around him. Turning his back to Mal, which caught the Captain by surprise, the man stepped over to an empty couch on aisle 8 and took the couch facing Mal. Now the only thing separating the two men was the left side couch on row 8, a single shrub bush and planter, and the right side couch on row 9. A distance of no more than 25 feet. Mal could have killed him in a second. Very nearly did so. But the man’s actions were bothering Mal. A hit man, which is what Mal assumed the man was when he walked in, would have gunned Mal down the instant he saw him. Or tried to. He wouldn’t have just taken a seat. For about an hour, without appearing to, Mal watched the man and the man seemingly didn’t watch him. Mal stole furtive glances at the arriving shuttles, but saw no one else that elicited notice. Finally Mal’s curiosity could stand it no longer. Mal got up and walked across the intervening gap. The man’s eyes got wide and he made as though to rise and flee. Mal stiff armed him back onto the couch and flopped down next to him. No one noticed. “Do you know what this is?” Mal asked rhetorically as he pushed the newspaper against the man’s side. Feeling the lump of something more powerful than newsprint, the man replied, “I’m guessin’ it ain’t just the sports section.” Mal smiled grimly. “Well…that depends. On some planets, shootin’ is a sport.” Surprisingly, the man smiled himself. “Okay…you got me. Can I talk now?” Mal shook his head. “Where’s your gun? Tell me that first.” Reluctantly the man nodded his head toward his left armpit. “Shoulder holster. Blackguard .357 automatic.” “Nice gun,” Mal responded. “If you reach for it, I’ll blow a hole in you that cows can walk thru. Is there an understanding between us?” Clearly unhappy, the man nodded. “Now you and I are going to walk over to where I was sittin’ before so I can keep an eye on the shuttles. Just in case you got friends comin’. You’ll get off the couch first. Keep your hands at your side. Just remember that if those hands twitch, you’ll die. Go sit down on the couch. I’ll be right behind you. Dong ma? “I understand,” the man said. Mal pointed his chin at the other couch. “Go on.” Stepping slowly away, the man headed toward the couch. Mal rose smoothly and silently behind him and moved a little to his right. Just in case the guy chose to go for his gun, Mal wouldn’t be in the same space the man had seen him in. They both moved to the couch and the man sat down. Mal joined him at the further extreme end, keeping the Universal Daily pointed at him at all times. “You come to kill me?” Mal asked harshly, even though he now believed the man hadn’t. Alarmed, the man blurted out. “Kill you? You got this all wrong, Cap’n. I’m here to watch out for you.” Mal almost shot the man laughing. Leaning toward the man, muzzle unwavering, Mal clued him in on a few facts. “You and your Captain came to kill me once before. I ain’t forgot it. Your Captain is claimin’ he wants to do a deal with me now. And I told your Captain what would happen to him if he tried to cross me. Part of that was that he’d leave me alone until I called him. He ain’t done that.” Mal shifted the newspaper threateningly. “So why don’t I just shoot you?” The man clenched his jaw, and his face flushed. “Mister,” dropping the ‘Captain’ “what we done to you before weren’t right. We were desperate, and one of our own was in need. We managed to work it out and they didn’t die. But it was a close thing. I ain’t defendin’ what we done. Just tellin’ you what was what. Throwing his head back defiantly, the man shook his head, causing his hair to ruffle. “See my hair? I’m a redhead. I got all that comes with that. I got me a temper. You scared me a mite just now, but don’t make me mad. When you do, I lose all sense and then what I say won’t be the right things.” Glaring at Mal, the man went on. “You wanna kill me? Do it. Otherwise let me say my piece and then do what you will,” he spat. Marginally impressed, Mal eyed the hair. “Speak your piece,” Mal said. “After you tell me your name,” he added. The flush faded from the man’s face. The temper cooling as rapidly as it had flared. “I was afraid you was gonna ask that,” the man protested. “It’s Aloysius O’Banyan.” The man replied. “But for the love of the ‘Verse please call me ‘Red’.” Mal nodded. “Not sure I could pronounce it anyway.” Mal eyed the room quickly and came back to the man. “’Red’ it is then. You from Dyton Colony?” Mal thought the man’s real name sounded Dytonish. “Born and raised,” Red replied evenly. “Planet of criminals and scallywags all. Lucky for me I got out early.” “You ain’t got much of the accent,” Mal told him. “Sayee thankye for the ‘formation, guv,” Red answered him, his voice pure Dytonese. “Lost it during my travels,” he said, back to his current brogue. “Doesn’t pay to sound like you come from a prison planet when you go visitin’ other worlds.” Mal waved his agreement. “Sound business sense. And speaking of business—what’s yours here?” Red gestured at the newspaper. “You mind pointing that information bulletin somewhere else? I’ll pass you my gun, or you can reach over and take it, but I’m getting tired of having your itchy trigger paper pointed at me.” Mal slid closer to the man. “Close your eyes,” he told the Red. Red did so. For a brief moment, he thought he felt a slight tug at his lapel, but he dismissed it as the air conditioning. “You can open them,” Malcolm Reynolds informed him. Red opened his eyes, seeing that Mal had backed up from him again. The paper was no longer pointed at him, but rested on Reynolds knee, pointed toward the unsuspecting crowd. “You decided to trust me?” Red asked doubtfully. Mal shook his head. “Not quite.” In sudden understanding, Red glanced at his shoulder holster. Which now sat empty. “How the--?” Red began. “Bad peer pressure growin’ up,” Mal answered. Red scratched his face wonderingly. “Yeah. I get that.” “Care to explain what you’re doin’ here?” Mal asked pointedly. Red answered quickly. “Cap’n Beck got a Wave about 45 minutes after talkin’ to you. Seems that something is in the works down planetside. Beck has a contact down there offering up some work for a client. That’s why Cap’n needs you to help him. Cause of this job.” “Kinda figured it was somethin’ like that,” Mal admitted. “Yeah…well…what you ain’t figured on, and what my Captain didn’t figure on, was that something was in the works down on the planet right now. Something big. Not about the job we got planned, but something else.” Red looked at Mal directly. “Something that involves your ship.” Mal’s blood went cold. “How big?” Red shrugged. “No idea. But it was enough to scare our contact down there. He’s knows the local climate. Anything unusual comes up, he knows. And he don’t scare easy. If it was something big enough to get his notice AND scare him, then it ain’t nothin’ small.” Mal resisted the temptation to pull out his comm. If something was going down, then either Jayne or Zoë would be on air to him. Calling them was first on his agenda though after dealing with Red. “And so you’re Captain heard this news and he---“ Mal left the sentence open. “Sent me over here to watch your back,” Red completed. “Unnoticed,” he added ruefully. “Why?” Mal asked simply. Red sighed. “We still got an open contract. Our deal hasn’t folded and yours is still the—“ Red paused momentarily wary. “—best ship,” he finished. Mal, benefiting from River’s eval of the situation, substituted the words “only ship” for “best ship”. Couldn’t blame Red and Cap’n Beck for waiting to play that information close to the vest. “So you were here to back me if anyone tried anything?” Mal asked. Red nodded. “That was the plan. Of course, when I saw that you’d seen me, I knew the jig was up. I kept hoping you’d just ignore me and go about your business. I guess that never was an option,” Red said. Mal’s own temper was rising. “No. It weren’t. But what could have been an option was to walk up to me and tell me something concerning my ship was happening planetside.” Red had the decency to look abashed. “You gotta understand, Captain Reynolds. We don’t want this deal between us to go south. Approachin’ you direct? It just wasn’t an option. Not til you spotted me anyway. Which…by the way…do you have to tell my Captain about that?” Red’s solicitation of a promise from Mal was near pitiable. Overhead, the loud speak said, “Now serving 180.” “I’ll think on it,” Mal replied, not ready to let the man off the hook. “Don’t move. I’m callin’ my ship.” Relaxing backwards into the couch, Red turned his head away from Mal. Mal keyed his comm. “Zoë, I need a situation report.” The comm. crackled briefly and then Zoë’s voice replied. “Situation is green, Cap’n. No problems to speak on.” Mal listened, replaying her comments. No hesitation, and without any subtle code words to show that Zoë was speaking under duress. Everything on her end seemed fine. “What about planetside? Any word?” “Negative, Captain. No word yet,” Zoë’s voice sounded tighter, picking up Mal’s tenseness in her own voice. “Want me to try and contact ‘em?” Clearly desiring Mal to order her to do so. “Negative, I’m going to call Jayne from here. Monitor our frequency though,” he added. “Roger that,” she responded. “Out,” he said hastily. Rekeying the comm. unit, Mal said, “Jayne….Jayne. Do your read me?” Static. “Jayne…do you copy?” A thumping noise came from the speaker and then Cobb’s voice. “I’m here gorramit. Thought you said don’t call.” Mal ignored him. “Any problems on your end?” “Yeah,” the merc responded, and Mal’s blood pressure kicked up a notch. “It’s hotter than Hell down here. I got a blister on my thumb from touchin’ a metal stair rail at the parts warehouse.” Mal could have strangled him. “Right. Copy that. Just keep an eye out. Had a funny feelin’ ‘bout y’all but it looks like it was nothin’.” Turning to glare at Red. “Roger,” Jayne replied, thinking his Cap’n was no doubt crazy. “Out,” Mal said. “Out,” Jayne replied. Mal raised his eyebrows at Red. “Go back and tell your Cap’n it didn’t work. Makin’ up some trouble to get on my good side….what was he thinkin’? That I’d be grateful enough to take his job without lookin’?” Red started to interrupt. “I swear to you that ain’t—“ “Shut up,” Mal replied steely. “Head for that shuttle bay, and get off this station. Tell your Cap’n I’ll call him. Or not. Once I’m done here. Don’t try to play me again. Now move.” Red stood up but looked back at Mal. “You’re wrong. Flat out wrong.” The man marched toward the shuttle doors, his back muscles stiff and a red flush rising above his collar. Mal contemplated the man and felt his unease return. He hadn’t sounded like a liar. “Now serving 185.” ________________________________________________________________ Planetside, the crew was busy carrying packages out to their makeshift transportation unit. Kaylee was in seventh heaven. The Captain hadn’t lied about the number of possible parts available. She been able to find spares for all the major components that could possibly break down, and had bought multiple backups, as per the Captain’s order. They had already made two trips back to the port to drop off loads of gear. The only bad point for Kaylee was the diminishing funds. The prices at Morris Space Parts were a little steep, and she herself would have stopped spending a while ago, but the Captain and Zoë had been very clear in allowing her to buy parts and supplies. She was now down to 12,000 credits, and she still had to buy food. They still needed to pick up a couple of parts that wouldn’t fit on the last load, and then they were heading for the food wholesaler to buy supplies. Jayne’s comm. unit sounded. He stepped away from them to answer it. Kaylee headed on into Morris’ to collect their supplies. She picked them up and walked back out. Sticking her head into the vehicle to speak to River, who had been strangely comatose for most of the trip. Jayne strolled back up. “What was that about?” Kaylee demanded. Jayne grunted. “Captain. Thought we wasn’t able to handle a simple thing like pickin’ up supplies. He says he got a funny feelin’.” Jayne rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I think he just don’t trust nobody.” Kaylee grinned at him. “Like you can talk.” Jayne was peeved, not mad, but he still sounded hurt when he spoke to Kaylee. “Still…it’s like you can’t satisfy that guy sometimes.” Kaylee was surprised. The statement was not typical Jayne. He almost sounded…sorrowful. She didn’t know how to respond. She elected to focus on the practical. “Let’s go buy food,” she suggested. Jayne gestured at Morris’ Parts. “Just let me go make sure everything is okay here. Make sure we ain’t forgot nothin’.” Kaylee pointed at him. “See! You do it to! Can’t trust me to have picked up everything,” she accused. “You’re worse than the Captain.” “Hogwash,” Jayne huffed, walking back inside. Jayne approached the proprietor, Morris, himself. “We got everything?” he asked shortly. Morris nodded. “Yes indeed sir. And we welcome your business.” Jayne turned to leave. “Oh..one thing sir,” Morris stopped him. “I checked the inventory control unit. I’m afraid we charged your mechanic a bit too much on some of the parts. We had the old price input and didn’t notice it until the computer flagged the difference.” Morris reached into the cash register. “Didn’t want you folks to find the discrepancy on the receipt.” He handed Jayne the receipt and 2000 credits. “Here’s the difference. I’m sorry for the mistake.” Jayne looked at the money and glanced at the doorway to the outside. No one was standing there. He stuck the money in his pocket. Served the Captain right for doubting him. “Thank you much Mr. Morris,” Jayne replied, eliciting a smile from the proprietor. “We’ll have to shop here again.” Jayne walked out and handed the paperwork to Kaylee. The money firmly in his pocket.

“Now serving 195,” the intercom said. Mal was already standing about 20 feet away from the purchasing window when his number was called. He’d moved closer as soon as 194 was called. The purchasing agent looked over the paperwork Mal handed him. “And is this price acceptable to you, sir?” the bored clerk asked. “Yes, it is,” Mal responded quickly. “Fine,” the man said. “Just initial here and I’ll have a retrieval crew sent out to your ship within the hour. They will deliver your payment at that time. They also have final say on whether we accept your goods or not.” The man leaned forward conspiratorially. “You’d save a lot of time right now by just admitting if you’ve got shoddy goods, and walking away. Embarrassing to have a Retrieval Jockey tell you to your face that your goods are crap,” the man nodded at this wisdom. Mal didn’t bother to smile. “My stuff’s good. Send your people out.” Shrugging to show that it wasn’t anything personal, the man passed him a piece of paper. “Just hand that to our men when they come to your ship.” Mal took the paper and ran for the shuttle airlocks.

Kyle provided a running dialogue about the best food wholesalers in town. Promising that he knew a dealer of impeccable reputation, he headed for the south side of town. Considering the running tally that he was currently keeping, Kyle estimated that he was nudging the 300 credit mark today just in trips to the spaceport and back. Even better, his passengers weren’t being complete asses about the whole thing. Well…excepting the big guy of course, but even he was pulling his share of the work, not just leaving it to Kyle to handle alone. Which made everything kosher in Kyle’s book. The Sta Market constituted the best in food procurement, Kyle reassured his passengers. Clean, cheaper than most, and bonded by Alliance customs agents for quality. Couldn’t ask for much more. Kaylee took to the wholesaler well enough. Finding the supermarket style that the market boasted a far cry from the standard warehouse feel in most wholesalers. Jayne demanded they head for the popcorn aisle immediately upon arriving. Kaylee obliged him, herself a great fan of the munchable as well. River moped along with them, clearly not at her best but willing enough to answer questions and push a large 8-foot heavy-duty handcart. Kaylee could tell that the girl had a lot on her mind, and was struggling with something internal. Kaylee therefore reckoned it was best to let her do her own thing until she came out of it…or got worse. Buying the food in bulk packages cut down on their spending time. Kaylee managed to select an entire smorgasbord of freeze-dried and canned food that would keep well, and was filling. In volume, she ended up purchasing almost 1500 pounds of food. Which combined with her earlier purchases of spare parts was beginning to push the load limit capabilities of their shuttle, she thought. They’d be about 3000 pounds heavier than normal, not counting their own weight. Kaylee decided that was about enough. Plus which, they had enough food to last a couple of months now. Totaling out their purchase left Kaylee with about 2000 credits. She was briefly tempted to rush down the aisles and purchase the first things she saw, but instead decided to return the money to the Captain…after paying Kyle for his work of course, she reminded herself. He probably deserved about 500. Then she remembered his shiny comment about River’s calves and decided 600 would be better. Just to show they were good sports…and also for making River blush. Kaylee was already relishing the idea of telling Simon about this. She’d have paid Kyle just for that service alone. Stacking the crates on Kyle’s trailer attachment didn’t take long with four people, but they ran into a problem toward the end. They ran out of room. Kaylee’s zestful buying had left them with about 7 crates of food that wouldn’t go anywhere on the trailer no matter how they stacked them. Even Jayne finally admitted that they’d have to make a special trip back to pick them up. Kyle joked about it as they drove back to the spaceport. “I won’t charge you for this trip,” he wisecracked. “It was my trailer that failed you.” Kaylee mentally upped his pay by 50 credits for being a good sport his ownself. The shuttle was looking mighty full as they finished the loading, but it still had plenty of room, and, despite Kaylee’s fears, the internal weight gauge for the shuttle was showing they had a good 1500 pounds surplus to go before getting into the danger area. More than enough to accommodate their body weight and still make for good flying. River picked up part of the mechanic’s concern mentally. “Don’t tell Jayne you were worried about the weight limit. He’ll start with the fat jokes about me.” Kaylee patted her arm. “No problem. I’ll remind him that you’re the pilot and we’ll have to leave HIM behind. He won’t mess with ya.” They locked the shuttle and piled back into the car. Heading back to the market, which ironically was closer to their shuttle across the desert than it was by taking the main road, considering its location in the south part of town. Arriving back at the market, they secured their remaining packages from inside, and placed them on the trailer. Kaylee then felt that she’d rather get some other business out of the way rather than doing it back at the shuttle, where they would likely be in a rush. Reaching into her pocket, she handed Kyle 650 credits. Stunned, Kyle accepted the credits and made sure that no mistake had been made. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “I was expecting maybe half of this. Or even less.” Kaylee shifted her weight, her arms at her sides, smiling. “Nope. You done right by us today. I know my Captain won’t mind you makin’ this a shorter stop for us, and he gave me the money to do with as I saw fit. So it’s shiny,” Kaylee leaned in closer to him. “Plus which, you’ve shown some us a fun time.” Kyle laughed, and bit over to secure the fastenings on a tarp he’d thrown over his trailer. “Oh really? How?” he asked, bent over at the waist and highlighting his muscular legs. “Nice calves,” Kaylee said behind him, drawling it out in all her frontier sexiness. Kyle dropped his secure clamp as he caught the reference and had to bend to pick it up, grinning up at the two ladies as he exaggeratedly revolved his buttocks while bending over. Kaylee laughed out loud. River slapped the mechanic on the arm for bringing up what the driver had said before, and again blushed, but also secretly pleased that Kyle had complimented her before. The group began to climb into the car when it happened. River suddenly felt eyes on her. Looking into the street, a smile still on her lips, River found the source of the person studying her. She sensed recognition when her face became fully exposed. The person recognized her. Not in person, but by picture. More than that, she recognized him to, but not from any personal meeting. She’d seen him in Jayne’s mind, and Kaylee’s mind, and Mal’s mind. It was Fancy (real name Arthur Kendrick, she suddenly knew) riding down the street in a private car. The man who’d tried to kill her brother on Paquin. Who was trying— Fancy (River decided to stick with this name for the man…it fit) struck the driver in front of him and ordered him to hurry. Something about the urgency of his shout caused Jayne Cobb to turn toward the street, where he caught just the briefest glimpse of Fancy before his car accelerated away. Leaving Jayne without a target, and River without a mental connection. “Hey!” Jayne yelled out. “That was—“ He didn’t get any further before he saw River leap off the curb and into the street, attempting to run down the car on foot. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled. Loping after her…and falling behind. Pausing just long enough to speak, River said, “Get Kaylee back to the shuttle. That was him! I’ll be along shortly.” Jayne had skidded to a halt about half a block behind her at her first shout and now lost her when she turned around and again began running full out down the street. The crowd of people and ground vehicles quickly blocked his view. He couldn’t decide what to do. Finally, in both fury and disgust, he turned around and loped the block back to their car, where he found both Kyle and Kaylee standing in confusion. “What was that?” Kaylee demanded. “Where’s River?” “She done took off after Fancy,” Jayne half shouted. “Damn fool!” Kaylee’s eyes widened in terror. “That’s the fella that—“ “Get in the damn car!” Jayne yelled at her. “And you!” Turning toward their driver. “Get us the hell to the airport right now!” Jayne then began cussing so violently and continuously that there was little that Kaylee or Kyle could do but obey. Climbing into the car, Jayne pulled out his pistol and put it against the youth’s head. “Drive faster than you ever have before. Do it now.” Kyle alternated looking between the road and the gun, and did exactly like the maniac told him.

Strangely, River now felt better than she had all day up til then. Worrying constantly about an internal sense of possible trouble had been poisoning her mind, she now realized. Confronted by the actual threat, River found that she welcomed the challenge. HERE was something she could change…fix….make better. Not some piece of torn out amygdala, or some far distant government bureau bent on finding her. No, this was a man who was hunting her family. Trying to kill them. And if she could get close enough, she planned on reading his mind down to his first baby step and seeing what this whole mess was all about. Before she put Jayne’s well manufactured handgun against his head and blew it off. Government training and an apprenticeship aboard Serenity had left SOME blemishes on her character after all. “Who could blame her?” she reflected sardonically. Plus which, he’d tried to kill Simon. Weaving her way thru the traffic, River headed east down the street, moving generally toward the edge of town. Ahead of her she could see the taillights of the ground vehicle. Traffic, and pedestrians, were keeping the vehicle from taking full advantage of its speed and not really slowing her down much. River noted that she was only about two blocks behind, and seemed to be gaining. Having run for 5 blocks now though, she was starting to feel her steam lessening, life aboard ship offering few opportunities for marathon running. This forced her to pull out one of the government’s bag of tricks to maintain her stamina. A mental trick to dull down the pain and let her go on longer. It took a lot of effort to maintain the concentration though. Still, she was gaining. Ahead of her, the ground vehicle pulled up to a two story wooden structure, and her target got out. Glancing back down the street, she read that he’d seen her, and he felt fear. “She’s coming…oh God she’s—“ The mind chatter ceased when he slipped into the building and became lost to her sight. For a brief moment she still had him, but other minds in the building began to blanket his thoughts and she lost him. For the moment anyway. Pursuing him now at full speed, arms pumping rhythmically, River had only the briefest second to take in the name of the establishment (“Vices”) before she followed him inside, actually catching the door before it fully closed…no check at all in her stride, a few seconds behind his heels. Only to instantly recognize this as a bad mistake when her senses screamed danger. She halted, and began to look around. In spite of her internal warning though, a visual survey of events in the tavern didn’t reveal anything threatening. The darkened interior was in sharp contrast to the outside crimson glow, and demanded a consequent amount of time for the retinas to adapt, but not so overly disorienting as to cause sensations of panic. “So you would assume,” River thought. Nevertheless, she was panicked. Scanning the room in search of her quarry, and potential threats, River noted the details. A rumpled looking bartender, balding and fortyish, puttered behind a one piece brown plastic bar that bore the untended scars of too many spilled drinks, unfriendly kicks, and infrequent cleaning. A dour waitress hovered on the customer side of the partition, awaiting the drinks filled tray of her boss. Behind them, a large mirror over the bar gave a disorienting vision of depth and random movement. Numerous obnoxious glowing signs hung from the walls, some with flashing strobes that further hurt her vision, that advertised a sampling of intoxicating beverages, or chemical inhalants. Particularly noxious to her was one advertising “Blue Sun Beer”, carrying as it did the hated Blue Sun emblem. She noted that the customer’s tables and chairs were rough hewn out of some local wood, appearing to be an oak type deviation, although with yellower coloration. The floor was likewise bare wood. Dirty and unswept making this hard to determine. Throughout the room were evenly spaced load bearing pillars, also made of wood, shaped to resemble tree trucks. Accidentally, these served as perfect cover for anyone fleeing. Moving more methodically, River began looking at all the features around her, and not simply for movement. No one resembling Fancy was in evidence. Distressingly, her warning system hadn’t quieted after initially viewing the establishment, but was ramping up its threat. Her cursory examine finding nothing, River was forced to admit that Fancy had disappeared. The answer to why struck River to her core. This was a trap. And she’d walked into it. At this point in time, roughly 1.65 seconds had passed since the moment River entered. Around the room, at various tables, and dressed in a variety of styles, three men focused their attention on her. More than casual attention. River now recognized too late that Fancy had wasted no time in heading for the back door of the establishment, leaving these men to deal with her. “Laughable” was the first word that entered River’s head, but her instincts were telling her that the situation wasn’t funny. The man on the right seated by himself, facing the doorway, began to move. Chin Lee Stromberger was unlimbering a large caliber handgun. River drew without looking at him and fired. Her round catching him above the right eye and blowing his brains out on the table behind him. To the left, another man, Casey Derek, a fella concerned mostly about buying his little girl a pony back home, pulled his short barreled shotgun and prepared to blast her stomach into…as he thought it…”burgers and blood”. She shot him, but out of deference to his wife and child, she shot him through the heart so that the insurance company could identify him more easily. They’d collect a nice policy, and Mrs. Derek could stop dreading the return of a man who’d stopped loving her years before. Which left the third man, Boris Verovski, a squat toady of a man, his only redeeming trait being an ability to push a button quickly. Which he did as soon as she entered the room. He’d been forewarned by the sudden flight of his boss through the room a few seconds before she entered, so he only needed to complete the final push. His position in the room was further back, not near the entrance as his erstwhile companions had been. This made it more difficult for her because of one intervening innocent who had stumbled into her bullet paths. Boris even managed to say a few words before she shot him. What he said was, “She’s here. She’s just come in. I’m going to—“ and that was all he managed to say. He didn’t even get the option of grabbing his gun, which had been his next intended course of action. To River, it suddenly felt like her senses were blossoming. Boris, evil troll that he was, had managed to radio every accomplice that Fancy had strewn around the neighborhood. All of them began to take their places. At windows to watch the street. On foot to surround the building. Even under the streets in the sewers. The net closed just that quickly. All brought on by a few words spoken into a transmitter. And everywhere there were suddenly minds. Each of them holding her name, picturing her features, planning her death. She stopped counting when she hit 20, but there were far more minds than that. Twice, maybe even three times as many minds focused on her. So many that they simply became a cacophony. River Tam! River Tam! It was like she imagined a celebrity at a sports festival would feel when the crowd all shouted their name. With the difference that they weren’t planning to kill the celebrity. Her filters failed her then. The dam on her emotions dropped away to nothing. She became her old self. The swirl of dust in the bar, catching the light from outside, danced in front of her. Motes of dust whirling around. Trying to amuse her with their motion. She dropped herself into watching them, caught by the ballet of dust in a barroom millions of miles away from the planet that spawned her species. Humanity…it was like a poem. An epic po— A bigger mote flashed between the dust particles, and River remembered then that people were trying to kill her, even as she watched the bullet strike the bartender in front of her. Time slowed down, and she flowed automatically into shooting the man who’d appeared in the doorway to the street, catching him in the act of ratcheting his lever action for another shot. His first having passed her in his excitement. Turning her back on the room, River stepped over the man’s dead body and strode to the doorway. The street was an insect runway. Tiny creatures. Mostly worker bees. Immature children. Nursing mothers. Throwing themselves to the supposed safety of the street, or into doorways, or through plate glass windows. Trying to dig holes in the dust and tunnel away. Watching, paralyzed, while undreamed of violence reared into their midst. Trying to jump into the blood red sky and catch the sun, if only that would take them away from this place. But there were others. Warrior ants. Extending their pinchers toward her, ready to take her in and kill her. Rend her to dust with ounces of lead propelled at thousands of feet per second. She hated this damn planet! Glowing crimson. And with dirt that was too red by half. “It’s about to get redder,” she thought, raising her arms. Remembering another event she almost laughed, “It’ll look better in red,” she thought savagely, thinking of Jayne and finding to her shock that she wished he were here. She couldn’t take them all. She adjusted her stance slightly, allowing a stream of bullets to pass her left shoulder, moving at the last moment when she perceived that a gunman rushing toward her had her in his sights. Another of Jayne’s bullets finished him. After that, she fired automatically. Coming back to her train of thought again, River reflected that this fight wasn’t like the Reaver fight. Then she’d been in a room in hand-to-hand combat, able to dodge and feint, and slash as she danced. Here she found that dancing with 20 bullets moving at you directed by autofire wasn’t quite the same experience. Her attackers could stand back a hundred feet and shoot at her with machine guns. This was the fight she had avoided when the Operative had told his armed soldiers to stand down. “I prefer the hand to hand,” she now thought. Not that she was doing badly, mind you. She’d put five men in the street down already. She COULD win. If they hadn’t continued to multiply in geometric progression as more of them arrived at the scene. It wouldn’t have been so bad if all of them could have fired at the same spot. Accurately shooting at her position would have allowed her to move out of the way. Unfortunately, many of the men were missing. Putting bullets into the paths she was contemplating for escape. Bullets were literally everywhere. Running to escape one stream would only move her into the stream of another set. Townspeople who saw the event—and lived—spoke of River later as being supernatural. “She caught bullets in her hands,” they would say. “She looked like she was the only person calm…everyone else was freaking out but she looked like she was strolling. Strolling and killing”, one witness would report. “She was hot as Hell with that hair undone and that sweaty blouse stuck to her,” one teenager answered interviewers. The teenager’s highly biased account would largely be dismissed from public consideration after the body count came back, although never entirely disproven. But at this moment in time, River Tam decided that her best bet was to use a tactic that had served Mankind in warfare since the time of the Spartans. A tactic so revered by common soldiers throughout the centuries that it had become emblazoned on tunics, and robes, and helmets in a dozen languages and in a thousand separate battlefields. Even put to song…sometimes against the orders of the men in charge of the respective Armies. Always there; ever present; ready to be used. When the limits of all else have been reached…bravery, courage, rage…there still exists the ultimate, the final, recourse. She ran. Straight into the street, directly into the face of her attackers. Not suicidally, but purposefully. Behind her attackers, to the North, lay the airfield. All that separated her and a nice, clean (absent Jayne’s body odor) and thoroughly serviceable space shuttle was a thin line of hastily hired gunmen, and a half-mile of scrub desert. First things first. Bam! Bam! Now no one was standing between her and a narrow alleyway across the street from “Vices”. She hoofed it. Time speeded up around her to normal. If she could have, she’d have fast forwarded to the time she was back on the ship! Around her, men standing at the edges of the narrowing circle of attackers were forced to fire around, and frequently through, each other (and innocent bystanders) in order to try and hit her. Once she emerged on the other side of their circle, they had to readjust and they weren’t professional soldiers. They were frightened, greedy, and not motivated by ideology. They hadn’t come here to die. They’d come here to make reward money. Also…many of them had to reload….’cause the damn freak was catching bullets in her gorram hands, moving like that! Emerging from the other side of the alley, she immediately cut left, putting the building between her and her pursuers, who were just now themselves heading into the alley she’d just vacated. “Reload?” she asked herself, knowing she was down to just two bullets. “No damn time.” Ahead of her, she could see the airfield, and, dimly, the outline of her bird, her angel that was going to take her from this Hell World. Jumping an arroyo, she dodged left, then right, pivoting in a balletic move to fire one shot at a closing pursuers, landing again to face the spaceport, legs still moving. Blessing her luck that the majority behind her were in poor physical shape, she sped on. From somewhere, she suddenly remembered that humans had run the half-mile courses in just under two minutes on scores of near-Earth worlds. In lighter grav, and with the threat of death as a motivator, she planned on beating every one of those records. Behind her, the hounds spread out and began their chase.

Kaylee’s terror was complete. Hurtling down the streets at speeds that were WAY too fast, their car was involved in four near-collisions and the subject of uncountable raised fists. None of it was good enough for Jayne, he continued to exhort their driver to greater speeds. And he kept swearing. Mostly he was hollering, “Gorram freak. GORRAM FREAK!” Over and over again. Kaylee just put her hands over her ears, and closed her eyes. They’d just left River. They’d LEFT her! With a squeal of brakes and rubber, they arrived at the shuttle. Violent thuds behind Kaylee against the rear glass testified to the poor strapping on their last load of food. The boxes had flown off the trailer striking the back of the car, so quick had been their deceleration. Climbing from the vehicle, Jayne didn’t wait for Kaylee to get out, but grabbed her arm and bodily pulled her from the vehicle. Kaylee was too frightened at this point to object. Kyle, shaken and terrified himself, sat behind the wheel of his taxi, hands shaking and gasping for breath. Jayne keyed the entry code to their shuttle. The doors swung open— Behind him, toward the Southside of Ita City, autofire started. Quickly swelling in volume. Kaylee jumped at the noise, and began sobbing. “River!” she screamed, and started for the desert, thinking only of running to her friend. Jayne, quick as lightening, caught her within three steps and hauled her back to the shuttle. “Get your gorram hands off me! I’ll kill you if you don’t! Put me down!” she screamed at him. He slung her through the open doorway, blocked her when she tried to run back out. Behind them, the firing intensified.

For once, the Itans were as good as their word. Mal took a shuttle back to his ship, and thankfully managed to avoid getting the same pilot who’d flown him before. Arriving back, Zoë had met him at the airlock, a look of inquiry on her face. “I made the deal,” Mal said. “An Itan recovery vessel is supposedly going to arrive within the hour to pick up our goods and pay us our platinum.” “Sounds good, sir,” she replied. “We just got a wave from Inara about five minutes ago. She says she’ll be returning within half an hour.” “Good,” Mal said. “I’m ready to put some distan—“ The proximity alarm began sounding. Mal ran to the airlock video camera and saw an Itan supply freighter approaching. Killing the alarm, Mal turned back to Zoë. “Must be they want these units bad. They’re here.” “Without a ten hour delay?” Zoë asked. “Will wonders never cease?” The freighter identified itself as “Recovery One” and docked against the bay doors. Mal checked the seals and then opened his bay. The Itan men were professional in their work and met Malcolm with paperwork already in hand. “These them?” the foreman, Brent, asked, pointing at the crates. “That’s it,” Mal responded with forced good cheer. He didn’t like strangers on his boat. “Break ‘em open guys,” Brent ordered. His men did so while Mal, Zoë and Brent watched. “Josey…technical report,” Brent said to a short female in baggy coveralls. Josey approached the broadwave units with a scanner and ran the device around the units for about a minute. Satisfied, she waved an elevated thumb at Brent. Brent turned to Mal. “If you’ll initial here.” Mal did so. “And here.” Again, he signed. “And here.” Mal just made an X. Brent didn’t notice. “And we thank you here at Ita Moon for your patronage,” Brent said smoothly. “Wayne…pay ‘em.” Wayne and a partner, largish gents in security uniform, wheeled a moderate sized box into the hold of Serenity from their ship. Lifting the lid of the box, Wayne struggled to remove a large satchel from within. Finally needing the help of his partner to accomplish this. The weighty heft he used indicated that something very heavy was in his hands. Dropping the bag at Mal’s feet, Wayne and his man retired back to their ship. Brent lightly kicked the bag. “Should be 4000 ounces of platinum. Don’t spend it all in one place,” Brent told them good-naturedly. “Want me to wait while you count it?” Mal bent down and cut the top with a small knife. Inside, he could see a mound of platinum. “Nope,” Mal replied. “Looks good from here.” Brent waved his hand. “Then I’ll be seein’ ya. Good skies.” “Good skies to you,” Mal and Zoë replied automatically. Mal closed the bay door and ordered Zoë to transport the money to their safe places. She got a handcart to do this. 250 pounds of platinum not being light. “I’m going to the bridge and call our wayward folk. Get some idea on when they’ll be back.” “Right,” Zoë huffed tensely, burdened by her load. Mal made his way to the bridge.

Jayne turned from the shuttle and pulled a small pair of binoculars from his shoulder pack. The firing toward town seemed to be diminishing slightly. A sudden movement near the backside of one of the buildings caused Jayne to refocus his viewer. At this distance, he couldn’t see much. Mostly colors and movement. Pink shirted movement. Someone wearing a pink shirt. The figure suddenly seemed to whirl around. Jayne heard a gun fire. His gun. Sondra. It was River. She was running for the shuttle. Behind her, Jayne could see a stream of men piling out of a cut between two buildings. An alleyway. Jayne eased Vera off his back and adjusted the integral imager for long range. Behind him, at the shuttle doorway, Kaylee began yelling. “That’s her! That’s River. I see her Jayne! That’s her! She’s coming this way!” “Shut….the hell….up,” Jayne said to her, harshly. He needed to concentrate. Kaylee fell silent, waiting. Near town, the crowd chasing River started to fire.

Lots of minds behind her. Lots of men. Even with the mutinies and the desertions from men who’d seen her fight and decided they’d had enough. In spite of the dead and wounded left behind her in the streets of Ita Moon City, there were still a lot of men following. Dodging, weaving…running a serpentine pattern, she dodged the occasional hurried gunshot, her pursuers not yet bothering to stop and aim, too caught up in the thrill of chasing her. Jumping another ditch, River wondered how long it would be before they caught her. The air she breathed was too warm. A desert air. Not designed to cool the human body. Inside her she fought another war. The will to live…stronger than most… forged in a government furnace and later tempered by men who’d fought against the Alliance, swept through her, overwhelmed her. Reduced her to a frightened animal while at the same time elevating her to the status of the Goddess of Runners. At war. At war with the other emotion. The one that said, “Stop. Let it all end.” Give up. A strong feeling. Just not as strong as the survival will. But annoying enough to make her stumble, to sap her strength just that LITTLE bit. Ahead of her, she could see shapes. The shuttle. Was that Kaylee in the doorway? In her mind, she suddenly saw herself. “It’s Jayne,” she thought. “He sees me.” Through Jayne’s eyes, River could see herself running, dodging, jumping. Steadily becoming clearer as she approached the shuttle. He was looking at her through Vera’s scope. Only two words in his mind. “Windage,” he was thinking. “And elevation.” Windage. And elevation. Windage. And elevation. A mantra. The Tao of Long Distance Shooting. Playing out behind his eyes. River almost stumbled. In Jayne’s vision, he could see her, and the crosshairs followed her. Staying on her. “So easy,” he thought to himself. River cried out in despair. At the table, Jayne had talked of two ways to kill her. By cutting her throat after putting her unconscious. Or by shooting her at long distance. With Vera. On autofire. River, sensing Jayne, felt his finger slip to the fire control select button, snipping it to AUTO. She was in his crosshairs. Windage. Elevation. He fired. When the bullet hit her, she felt like she was floating, and then she tasted dirt on her tongue. In spite of all her training…all her mental powers…all her strength, she went further back. Back in time so distant that it seemed like another life. Before all of these. And screamed. “Mommy! Please MOMMY!” The pain swept over her then, and she was gone.

Kaylee was rooting harder than she ever had before for any sports star she’d ever seen. River was her champion right now. Fleeing before a pack of animals, she was running like the wind, and Kaylee was on her side. Pulling for her. “Come on…come on…comeoncomeoncomeon,” she chanted. In front of her, Jayne readied his rifle. Kaylee watched as River fled before them. Moving closer. Any time now, the men would run into range and Jayne could give them something else to think about. Kaylee prayed his aim was good. River got closer. And closer. Jayne raised his rifle. Kaylee frowned. He was aiming the rifle pretty close to where— Jayne fired. River fell. Jayne continued to fire until his ammo ran out. He began to reload. Kaylee stared, open-mouthed. “River?” she whispered brokenly. “Shock…this is what people mean when they talk about shock,” Kaylee thought. Jayne seemed stunned himself. He was saying something out loud. Kaylee only heard the last part of what he was saying. “—everybody knows that,” Jayne intoned bitterly, furiously. “’CEPT THE HERO OF CANTON!”, he shouted. Jayne slapped a magazine into Vera. Kaylee, enraged, leaped on his back, driving him to the concrete. “You bastard! You bastard! You bastard!” Kaylee heard herself screaming as she punched against the mercenary. Pounding her fists into his back, and his neck. Even to herself, her blows felt weak, but she kept swinging. Hands were dragging her, pulling her off of him. “What the hell--? Kaylee! What’s goin—“ “Inara!” Kaylee’s heart leapt to see the Companion. “Oh my God—it’s--he—“ Jayne rolled away from the women and regained his feet. “Inara!” he yelled, shocked and then calculating. “Get her to your shuttle,” Jayne gestured at Kaylee, screaming in a fury filled voice that Inara had never heard before from another human being. “What’s—“ Inara began. Jayne, lacking the patience at this point, took the most familiar technique of persuasion that he possessed. The threat of imminent violence. Raising his gun, he pointed it in the general direction of both the Companion and Kaylee. “I said,” he shouted. “GET HER TO YOUR SHUTTLE.” His finger convulsed on the trigger and two high-powered rounds passed a few feet to the left of Inara. Inara’s eyes widened fearfully. Without a word, terrified, she grabbed Kaylee and fled for her shuttle, pulling the sobbing Kaylee along with her. Holding her dress off the concrete with one hand and pulling Kaylee with the other, she fled. Behind her, she could hear Jayne firing. Presumably at them as they ran. At her shuttle, Inara keyed in the code with shaking fingers, glancing behind her to see if Jayne was there. Pulling Kaylee inside when the door opened and sealing it. Inara didn’t even bother with preflight; she just fired up the engines and flew. “What happened?” she moaned to Kaylee, tears starting in her eyes. Kaylee sobbed into her hands. “It was River. She was running across the desert. Trying to get away from some men. Trying to get back to us.” Kaylee dropped her hands, suddenly enraged again. “HE SHOT HER. JAYNE SHOT HER!”

Arriving at the bridge, Mal tried repeatedly to raise his crew on the ground. The first couple of times he failed to get them, he pretended not to be worried. After the 20th time, he admitted he was beyond worried. Keying up the ship-to-ship general transmission frequency, Mal began listening to the “shop talk” that spacers fired off to each other. Almost all of the ships were reporting trouble communicating with Ita City. Some said interference from ion storms. The more experienced said it was deliberate jamming. Mal fired up Serenity’s engines, ready to land her at the spaceport. Suicidal as it might be with Ita Security, he wasn’t going to sit here now that he knew his crew was in trouble. “Seren--. Calli—Serenity,” Inara’s voice was breaking through the static on the comm.. Mal snatched up the link. “Inara. Inara! What’s happening?” “It’s bad, Mal. It’s bad,” Inara was crying. He could hear that even through the comm. “We’re almost back. I kept trying to call you…” “Inara…listen! Someone is jamming the waves coming from the surface. I need to know…do you have wounded on board?” He spoke loudly and precisely, enunciating his words to make sure she received his signal. “No,” Inara replied hesitantly. “We….we’re….fine…I mean…we’re okay. We’re not wounded,” she ended. “But could you please be there when we arrive. Simon, too. We need him.” The proximity alarm was showing their approach. “I’ll be there. Serenity out!” Mal threw the comm. down and keyed the intercom. “Doctor…Inara’s shuttle bay. Go there! Now!” Fearing that Inara had been confused about being wounded…was perhaps wounded herself and incoherent…(why else would she need the doctor?), Mal charged down the steps. Simon, and Zoë were both waiting outside of Inara’s shuttle bay when he arrived. “What’s going—“Simon started to say. “I don’t know yet,” Mal told him harshly. “Just wait!” Inara’s shuttle docked. Mal charged the steps. Inside, he saw Inara holding up a tearful Kaylee. Inara herself was only marginally better. Neither looked wounded. All of them stumbled out onto the catwalk. Kaylee, seeing Simon, rushed to his arms, and burst into a fresh bout of tears. “I’m so sorry,” she kept repeating. “I’m so sorry. I should have done something.” Pausing for a moment, Kaylee’s eye fell on Zoë. Her face crumpled. “You tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen. I should have listened.” Simon sagged a little, some level of understanding beginning to come to him. “River?” he managed to breathe out. His eyes beginning to tear as well. Mal rounded on Inara. Wiping tears from her eyes, and seeing that the bearing of the news fell to her, Inara looked into Mal’s eyes and said the words. “It’s River. Jayne shot her.”

Inara and Kaylee were fleeing for the other shuttle. Jayne figured he could patch up his strong handed approach with a couple of apologizes later. Assuming there was a later. Not that he expected to ever see Inara or Kaylee again. Not that he expected to live past the next ten minutes or so, truth to tell. Jayne keyed his comm. unit, attempting to raise Mal and inform him of what was occurring. All he got for his trouble was the warbling squelch of a broad range jamming device. He swore, and deactivated the unit. Figured. The people after River wouldn’t want to risk a rescue party showing up. Damping the comms was an effective way to keep company from coming. Course, they wouldn’t be as good at calling their own backup, if any existed. Walking over to Kyle’s taxi, Jayne stepped behind the vehicle and put three rounds of Vera’s load into the trailer hitch. It didn’t have the effect he intended, which was to sever the trailer. Instead, it blew the bumper off the back of the car. Whatever. Trotting to the passenger side, Jayne eased himself into the car and began pulling Kyle from off the floorboard. Whimpering, Kyle continued to surrender to Jayne both by gesture and verbally. Begging for his life and promising everything under the sun. Jayne slapped him. Kyle got quiet. “See them buildings,” Jayne pointed at the buildings on the southside of town. “Cut across this desert and drive to ‘em. And…maybe I’ll let you live,” this last part was offered as a joking incentive. Jayne’s humor at work. Kyle wasn’t much of fan though for some reason. He could drive though. And he did. Jayne meanwhile studied the battlefield and tried to ignore the reoccurring thought that occupied his mind ever since he saw River get hit. “You protect the man you’re with. You watch his back. EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT! Well…’cept the Hero of Canton.” “’Cept the Hero of Canton.” “’Cept the Hero of Canton.” The Hero of Canton. The man they call… Me. Jayne squinted. The men who’d attacked River were pulling back. Dragging her back through the alleyway. He’d killed a few of them. The front runners. The ones running to the side of River had paid for their athleticism with their lives. But it had all been in vain. They’d gotten River of course. Shot her in the back. But he’d paid a few of ‘em back after they shot her. He was gonna pay a few more back before this was over. Distantly, he wondered why they weren’t coming after him. They must of forgotten about him shootin’. Or figured it was some of their own men that got “friendly fired”. Or maybe he’d just killed all the ones that seen him, ‘fore Kaylee went bonkers and jumped his back. “Women! Friend of theirs gets shot and who do they take it out on?” Jayne asked myself rhetorically. “The closest male.” Kyle roared his machine across the desert, approaching the alleyway, dodging the bodies of dead men by swerving around them. About twenty feet from the alleyway, Jayne gestured for him to stop. He could see the drag marks on the ground where they’d hauled River back. He turned to Kyle. “I’m goin’ to kill a few men and maybe get River. If you wait for me then you can have the rest of this,” he thrust some bills into the man’s hand and waved the others under his nose so he could see how much there was. Jayne got happy when he saw the drivers eyes widen at the cash left. “Will you wait here?” he asked. Kyle licked his lips. He didn’t want to wait. He wanted to run. He wanted— “She has really pretty legs,” he said dully. Jayne nodded. “That she does.” Kyle squared his shoulders. “I’ll be here.” Jayne was out of the car before he finished speaking. He didn’t bother with subterfuge. This one was going to be quick and hard. No sneakin’ around corners. He half jogged down the now empty alleyway. Ahead of him, he could see a crowd in the street. Lots of men were whoopin’ it up. High fivin’ each other. In the center of the street, he saw a body in a pink shirt. The back soaked in blood. Clenching his teeth, Jayne listened to the voices in his head. “You watch his back! Everybody knows that!” “Everybody knows that!” “EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT!” Out loud, he spoke to the alley. ”’Cept the hero of Canton.” He aimed Vera and started firing. Taking out the men in front of him before they had the sense to even turn around. Walking forward, he just held the trigger down and swung to targets. Townspeople who saw the event—and lived—spoke of Jayne later as being supernatural. But not in the good way. “He was a demon from Hell,” they would say. “If it moved, he shot it.” “He looked like he was the only person shooting…everyone else was too freaked out to move. He just came strollin’ out of that alley. Strollin’ and killin’”, one witness would report. “He was hot as Hell with that hair undone and that sweaty shirt stuck to him,” one middle aged woman answered interviewers. “Before he gouged out that fellas eyes, I mean, and beat him to death with his pistol. After that, he wasn’t so good lookin’ no more.” No comment about Jayne would be dismissed from public consideration after the body count came back. The worse the better, most people felt. Everything that River had been during her battle, Jayne wasn’t. He was a sledgehammer to her scalpel. Grace was replaced by disjointed movement. Symmetry was overturned for blunt force. It was inelegant. It was choppy. It was effective. At the moment, Jayne was too busy to worry about history. He was more worried about the twenty or so gun-totin’ bully boys he had in front of them. Make that 19. Make that 18. A fella…looked like he oughta be a farmer, not a gunman…reared up in front of Jayne and took a bullet from one of his own men, saving Jayne from injury. Vera clicked empty. One handed, Jayne slung Vera over his neck, while fishing his right hand pistol out of its holster. Once Vera was secured, he started to go for a second pistol. Only to have another fella step up to him. Jayne slammed his stiffened fingers into the man’s eyes, and backhanded his temple with the pistol. Crushing the man’s skull, and causing a liquid spray to erupt. Terrifying his enemies. His ambush was paying off, he thought. He’d killed about half of them by this time. Or they’d killed themselves. Not that Jayne was complaining. Jayne fired and moved. Fired and moved. Going for the boys with autofire weapons first. A group off to his left broke and ran. Jayne let ‘em go. When it got down to about 8 men left, Jayne had moved within three feet of River’s abandoned body. He fired a few more times, causing the majority of the men to duck for cover. Snatching at her body, he managed to sling her over his right shoulder. That’s when he got hit in the left shoulder. And the left arm. And the left shoulder again. That’s when Jayne decided to run back to the alley. Somehow, he made it. Probably more because of luck and poor marksmanship than skillful planning. What WAS skillful planning was the belt of grenades he dropped behind him as he ran, head down and panting, for his taxi. About twenty seconds later, the delayed fuse went. The explosions and screams behind him sounded like music. Throwing River’s body in the back of the taxi, Jayne collapsed in the front seat. Kyle roared back to their shuttle, and even helped Jayne carry River aboard. Because Jayne wasn’t in any shape to carry her himself. Kyle turned to leave the shuttle, but Jayne grabbed his arm. “Idiot!” Jayne roared. “Don’t forget the first rule.” He slapped the money he’d taken from Mal’s parts’ refund into the man’s hands. “Get paid!” The man fled the shuttle. “And watch their backs,” Jayne added, softly, unheard. __________________________________________________________

“He shot her,” Mal repeated, a terrible aspect appearing on his face. Inara nodded, dazed. “And he fired at me and Kaylee. Told us to leave. Oh Mal! He was insane. A crazy man.” The Companion fluttered her arms, unable in words to convey all she’d seen. Malcolm Reynolds, toughened by war, veteran of a hundred battles, wanted nothing more than to lay down and cry like a baby. Duty…a bitch goddess for men like Mal…wouldn’t let him. He still had people to look out for. Kindly, he spoke to the doctor. “Please take Kaylee below doctor.” Simon, stunned beyond questions, blindly took Mal’s order and led Kaylee away. “What are we going to do, Mal?” Inara asked him, uncertain. “I don’t know yet,” he answered truthfully. _______________________________________________________

Familiar with the majority of the systems onboard the shuttle, Jayne quickly started the engines and got them airborne. Adrenaline pumped into his system earlier began to wear off. That’s when Jayne REALLY began to question the wisdom of what he’d done that day. The pain he felt was tremendous, making thoughtful planning difficult. Nevertheless, he had to plan their flight. Otherwise he was dead. And he’d come too far for that to happen now. Behind him, by the doorway to the shuttle, River groaned low in her throat. This was the first indication to Jayne that he was carrying something other than a dead body back to the ship. Locating the autopilot, Jayne input the coordinates for Serenity’s pulse beacon, and index linked this as being the destination point. That would at least get them within 300 yards of Serenity. Although the discrimination circuits on the shuttle weren’t that good. If anything got in there way before they reached the destination point, the shuttle was likely to hit it rather than go around, or stop. Jayne knew they just had to chance it. Maybe he’d be able to manually steer around any obstacles that got in their path. His biggest fear though wasn’t getting there. It was landing. Jayne didn’t have the first idea about how to land the shuttle on Serenity, and they didn’t have atmo suits onboard. So popping the hatch and floating to Serenity just wasn’t an option. Nor having anyone come aboard to fly them in. Setting the autopilot had taken some time since he’d been forced to do the inputs one-handed. He’d had very little opportunity to do anything else. Such as tend to his wounds. Thus, he got a real shock when he looked down and found the entire front of his shirt soaked in blood, with more spurting out of his arm and shoulder all the time. Fast on the heels of this revelation was a sudden surge of lethargy. His eyelids just wouldn’t stay open no matter how hard he forced them. He closed his eyes, and was unconscious within three seconds. _______________________________________________________________ After comforting Inara as well as he could, and issuing Zoë the order to secure Serenity in preparation for leaving, Mal sat down on the catwalk and dangled his legs over the cargo bay. From below he could hear the occasional wail of despair from Kaylee, and the low voiced murmur of the doctor trying to comfort her. Mal felt a grudging respect for the man. Somewhere in the process, Kaylee would find her legs again, and then it would be she who comforted the doctor when he broke. But until then, Simon Tam was going to take care of another’s needs before his own. Zoë reported they were ready to leave. She wasn’t happy about it either. “We just leavin’, sir?” she asked scathingly. “Don’t know yet,” Mal responded hollowly. “We ought to do something,” she told him. “Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Make him pay,” she gritted. “And risk everyone else?” he reminded her. “Simon…maybe Kaylee…you? How many more Zoë? How many more?” Zoë touched her carbine. “Then leave me behind, sir. I’ll catch up later.” Mal shook his head. “No.” Zoë opened her mouth to argue some more. The proximity alarm sounded. “Stay here!” he ordered, jumping up. Mal ran to the bridge, expecting a party of Itan security, or Feds, or even a boatload of slavers. Instead he confronted his own shuttle. Mal fumbled for the comm. He didn’t know what to think. “Shuttle? Anybody there?” Jayne Cobb’s slurred voice answered him. “I’m comin’ in. Can’t see straight. Real tired.” Mal gazed at the unit, shocked beyond words. The son of a bitch thought he could just fly back here. After what he’d done. It was pathetic. Like a bad dog that you half-kicked to death and abandoned in the countryside. Two days later it’d come back scratchin’ at the door. When that happened, there wasn’t anything else to do. Mal flipped the intercom. “Zoë…shuttle’s comin’ in. Jayne’s pilotin’ it.” Mal paused, his decision made. “When he comes onboard, I want you to put a bullet thru his head.” Below decks, his words caused consternation between Zoë and Simon. Simon was demanding her gun, ready to do the deed himself. Kaylee stood sobbing. Zoë thrust the man away. She reached the intercom. “Sir, roger that.” Zoë replied. “Confirm: you want me to shoot Jayne Cobb when he comes aboard?” Mal’s voice echoed through the whole ship. “Put the son of a bitch down.”

________________________________________________________________ A strange voice awakened him. “Get up you inbred dung heap! Get UP!” That had been a minute before. Now Stitch wouldn’t shut up. Kept going on about how people can change. Jayne wasn’t sure how Stitch had got there. But there he was…sitting in the co-pilots chair in the shuttle. “Thought you was dead,” Jayne commented sleepily. Stitch nodded his one eyed head. “Yeah. You thought right.” Jayne nodded, confused. “Fact…I think I killed ya.” Stitch laughed uproaringly. “Yeah…and ain’t that the kicker? You really do believe that.” Soberly, Stitch went on, gesturing over his shoulder. “Seen what you was up to. Thought I’d drop by. Gotta say…for bein’ such a dumb lump of go-se with smellin’ feet, when you finally do somethin’, it’s a big un!” Jayne had no idea what Stitch was goin’ on about. “I was dreamin’,” Jayne told the man. “I was livin’ on a big ship with a bunch of people.” Suddenly remembering, Jayne asked Stitich. “Think the Magistrate is gonna come after us?” Stitch shook his head. “Nah…we’re good on that deal.” Jayne nodded gratefully. Stitch went on. “We just gotta reach that ship up there.” He pointed at a distant ship. Jayne could barely see it. “Serenity?” Jayne asked. Stitch looked at the ship along with Jayne. “Yep. Well named.” “I wanna go to sleep,” Jayne muttered. Stitch got angry. “Ya cain’t sleep yet!” He pointed behind him. A lump was resting near the doorway. Jayne could barely see it. Was it the money? “You gotta get to the ship,” Stitch insisted. “Big lump a meat!” Jayne felt his familiar anger. “Shut up, alright?! I’ll get there.” Damn Stitch…most demandin’ son of a bitch ever. If you didn’t do what he said he’d nag you to death. The ship got closer. Jayne’s comm. started speaking. Stitch gestured at it. “You gonna answer that?” Shaking his head tiredly, Jayne savagely snatched up the unit. Damn Stitch couldn’t even be bothered to do a damn thing. Stitch laughed again. It just made Jayne angrier. He focused on the ship. The comm. unit said something questioning. “I’m comin’ in. Can’t see straight. Real tired,” he answered. His bloody hand slipped off the flight control and the ship wobbled. It took a real effort to put his hands back on the controls. The comm. unit was demanding something. That he slow down, Jayne thought. Jayne reduced his speed. Looking at the co-pilot’s seat, Jayne got a shock. Stitch was still sitting there, but it was like Jayne could see thru him. Stitch looked Jayne full on. “Yeah…I gotta be goin’ now. Just wanted to tell ya that….well, you ARE the Hero of Canton. You done good this time.” Jayne felt a lump rising in his throat. Stitch nodded behind Jayne. “I’m gonna let this other fella talk to you now.” Jayne wasn’t inclined to look behind himself. He was feelin’ poorly. A hand dropped on his shoulder. His good shoulder. “You know…there’s a certain motto. A creed among folks like us. You may have heard it. Leave no man behind,” the voice said. “Not that she’s…you know… actually a MAN,” the voice fumbled it’s words around a bit before getting back on target. “Do you remember?” Jayne nodded. “I remember. I remember it all.” The voice went on. “I’m gonna need you to do something for me, Jayne. I’m going to need you to keep your hands on the controls, but I’m going to need you to forget they are there. Don’t do anything else. Just sort of step aside for a minute and forget that you’ve got hands. Can you do that?” “I can ruttin’ try,” Jayne replied angrily. “Just focus on something else,” the voice said. Jayne squinted. His arm and shoulder were on fire. He was having a hard time keeping his head upright. Serenity wasn’t obliging him either. Not by splitting in half like some cell only to morph back into a single image. “Didn’t know it could do that,” Jayne muttered. His headphones were screaming at him. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t even try. “I’m comin’ in. I’m the Hero of Canton,” he said loudly, echoing Stitch. Behind him, the voice said, “That’s good. Keep talking.” His hands were doing something with the controls. Jayne just wished he could have felt them, but they were tingling too much. Movin’ faster than a freak for all that though. Turnin’ knobs and throwin’ switches. Weirdest thing. The headphones squeaked something that sounded critical back to him. “I’m gonna make it. Hero of Canton,” he suddenly yelled back in triumph. “I’m the Hero of Canton. I’m THE HERO OF CANTON. CANTON. CANTON!” he screamed as the shuttle touched the shuttle chocks of Serenity. Accidentally brushing his wounded arm against the console, Jayne stopped screaming his title, and instead just started screaming. He was still screaming even as he lost consciousness. “I got your back,” he heard Stitch say as he faded to black.

___________________________________________________________

Mal looked back at the radar unit after giving Zoë his order. The shuttle was flying oddly. Not that Jayne was familiar with flying one, but still…. At the moment, the radar was indicating a collusion warning if Jayne didn’t slow down. To allay Jayne’s suspicions, Mal spoke his warning. “You wanna slow down there, Jayne? Won’t do none of us any good if you crash into us.” The shuttle slowed. The comm. unit suddenly spoke. “I remember. I remember it all.” Jayne’s voice. Was he talking to someone on the shuttle? Mal wondered. Mal swore at a sudden suspicion. He hit the intercom. “Zoë…be advised. Jayne may have a boarding party on the shuttle. I’m on my way down.” Mal left the intercom open and grabbed his portable comm. as he ran for the loading bay. Jayne was less than a minute away. Mal fled down the corridor to the galley. Jayne’s voice echoing on the walls. “I can ruttin’ try.” Annoyed with someone. “Why was Jayne keeping his comm. open?” Mal wondered. “Warning us?” None of it made sense. Mal took the stairs two at a time, pelting down for the lower decks. “Didn’t know it could do that,” Jayne suddenly said wonderingly. Mal yelled into his comm. as he ran, “Do what Jayne? Do what?!” Mal had reached the catwalk to the shuttle entrance. Ahead of him he could see Zoë and Simon arrayed. Both were armed. Zoë had given him a gun once Mal mentioned a possible boarding party. Jayne’s voice sounded again. “I’m comin’ in. I’m the Hero of Canton.” Zoë and Simon were looking at Mal in confusion, questioning what they were hearing. Mal shook his head. “I don’t know. But whatever comes out of there, nail it.” Jayne’s voice sounded again through the ship. “I’m gonna make it. Hero of Canton. I’m the Hero of Canton. I’m THE HERO OF CANTON. CANTON CANTON!” Mal heard the shuttle chocks catch, sending a slight shudder through the ship. The intercom switched from someone screaming a name to someone screaming. Jayne’s scream. Mal had never heard it before, but recognized it. It was chilling. More chilling was when it cut off. Simon was now clearly agitated. Nothing moved. The door to the shuttle bay stayed shut. After a minute, Mal spoke to Zoë. “Zoë, I’m moving up. Cover me. When I open the door, shoot anybody that is standing there.” “Understood,” she replied tersely. Mal crept up to the shuttle door way and looked in. He opened the door. A body lay just inside the doorway, a pool of blood flowing away from it. Mal looked at it, recognized it and turned screaming. “GET A STRETCHER. GET IT NOW.” No one moved. Exasperated, Mal gathered the body to him and turned around, already moving toward the infirmary. Once he turned around, Zoë and Simon could both see he had a bloody River in his arms. Simon stood stunned, only managing to move as the Captain approached him, and then he leaped ahead of Mal, running for the infirmary a pace ahead of the Captain. Zoë watched them leave, and then grimly approached the shuttle doorway.

Red Run 15: Recovery

Serenity, Firefly, and any mention of the ‘Verse associated with them is entirely the property of the fraking genius Joss Whedon, and also the property of the moronic Fox Corporation. This fanfic is not for reproduction nor for sale. It is freely distributed as an effort of appreciation.

Barreling down the steps from the cargo bay to the infirmary, a step behind Simon, Malcolm nearly dropped his precious bundle, and forced himself to move more deliberately as he took the final steps. On a couch in the waiting area of the infirmary, Kaylee slumped—her back to the cargo bay—still caught in her grief. Without turning and with the expectation that it was Simon returning alone, she asked, “What was the Captain shouting--?” Hearing the heavy clomp of the Captain’s boots, she glanced up and saw the bundle in his arms instantly. “Oh my God,” she cried out, recognizing who he carried, and momentarily uncertain if River was alive or dead. Springing to the Captain’s side, she followed him into the infirmary and helped the Captain position River on the table. Simon didn’t wait for them. Snatching up a stethoscope, he probed his sister’s chest for a heartbeat, repositioning the device twice. “She’s alive. But her heart is beating irregularly,” he mentioned crisply. “Kaylee, hand me that plasma. Captain…bring that medical bag over here.” Simon himself grabbed the support rack for the plasma, positioned it beside the table, and remembered at the last moment to splash disinfectant on his hands, not even bothering to wipe it off. Taking the bag of plasma from Kaylee, Simon set up the drip to replace the blood loss and threaded the life-giving needle into River’s vein. Twisting away from the table, Simon nearly collided with Mal, who hastily stepped back, and watched as the doctor grabbed a portable oxygen unit. Simon struggled with the power setting. “Kaylee, reach in that cabinet,” Simon pointed to the one. “And bring out a clear plastic face mask with a red and green protrusion on the bottom.” Kaylee found the mask in the cabinet and was standing next to River when the doctor came back to the table. Grabbing the mask from Kaylee, he threaded an oxygen hose onto the red and green valve and then slipped the mask over River’s face. Simon hurriedly turned a second time, and again nearly collided with Mal. This time he let his annoyance show. “Get out of the way Captain,” he snapped. “Give me some room.” Mal stepped out of the infirmary. Kaylee made a move to follow him. “No Kaylee…please stay,” Simon requested. “I’ll need someone to hand me implements and monitor the equipment.” Kaylee remained where she was. Tearing at River’s clothing, Simon sought the source of his sister’s wound. Examining her chest and stomach, he found nothing. Nor did he see evidence of a wound further down her body. Frowning, he waved for Mal to reenter the room. “Please…help me Captain. I need to turn her over,” Simon was already cutting the shirt from his sister. “I think her wound is—“ Successful in repositioning River on her right side, Simon pointed to an area under her left shoulder blade. “There it is. Bullet hole.” Taking a surgical cloth, Simon cleaned the area of encrusted blood. “It appears to have struck, and broken, one of her floating ribs. There it is,” he said, pointing at a piece of white bone sticking out of the bullet hole. Pointing at the hole, Mal asked, “Is it bad?” “It’s not good,” the doctor replied, but clarified himself. “But it could be in a lot worse places. I’m not worried about the lungs being punctured…no blood on her lips, and she’s breathing normally….but I’m concerned she’s bleeding internally. Any number of large vessels in that area to get nicked. Her pallor and arrhythmia indicates to me that she’s lost a great deal of blood.” Mal nodded, understanding a little bit. “I’m going to let her stabilize a bit with another infusion of blood, then I’ll have to go looking for that bullet.” Simon sighed deeply. “I’m not looking forward to that. I’ll need the portable X-Ray,” he reminded himself. “I know I keep doing this, but would you please leave Captain? I’m going to need a lot of space and I’m nervous enough as is without having someone over my shoulder.” “No problem Doctor. Anything you need…ANY THING…pick up that intercom and Zoë and I’ll have it here soon as we can. You’ve got my word,” Mal’s determination ringing clearly in his voice. Mal headed for the infirmary door. “One other thing Captain,” Simon’s voice showed his confusion. “Kaylee spoke to me earlier about the gunfight. She described how River was running toward their shuttle—straight toward their shuttle—when Jayne fired Vera at her. Kaylee saw her fall then.” Kaylee, listening, nodded her head. “That’s the way it were all right. Poor thing,” Kaylee stroked an errant hair on River’s head back into place. Simon continued. “The only problem I see with that Kaylee” addressing the young woman directly, “is that River’s wound is on the back. Her wound isn’t an exit wound. I’m certain of that.” The doctor looked toward Mal. “And Vera leaves a lot bigger hole.” Mal froze, his mind not comprehending what the doctor was implying for a few moments. Dramatically, his thoughts caught up and overcame his fatigue. When they did, Mal felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh God,” he whispered. “Zoë.”

Half following the progress of the doctor and the Captain by ear and half focusing on any noises in front of her, Zoë cautiously approached the shuttle door, her finger tight on the trigger of her carbine. At her feet, just inside the doorway, a bright spot of blood, turning black but still liquid, pooled at the entrance. A thinner swath of it showed where the Captain had dragged River’s body. To step inside, Zoë would have to tread in River’s blood. She’d done worse. Stepping quickly into the doorway, alert for trouble, Zoë scanned all the available hiding places that could contain a man. She no longer worried about a party of men. They would have moved on the Captain once he turned his back to flee with River, but she was CERTAIN at least one man was still aboard. Ordinarily, a survey of the shuttle would have been easy. However, the crew had stacked so many crates and boxes in the shuttle that their efforts had created accidental nooks and shadowed areas. Zoë’s training wouldn’t allow her to step around the boxes and potentially leave an enemy behind her. Therefore she swept the area box-by-box, moving as stealthily as she could. Still near the doorway, she could discern that the pilot’s chair was unoccupied, but that area was in shadow for the most part. Moving forward slowly, Zoë scanned her perimeter, ready for the sudden movement that she’d counter, suppressing her fear. Nearing the pilot’s chair, Zoë found what she was looking for. Jayne lay on the floor stomach down, spread-eagled. Even in the poor light, Zoë could see the black pool of blood running away from the man. Surprised, and suspicious, Zoë raised her carbine and took two steps back. If she fired from too close, she might get blood on her clothes. She hesitated. She knew her orders. She knew what she personally wanted to do. But still she hesitated. She eased the hammer down on her carbine, and stepped over to Jayne. If he was faking, this was his moment. He didn’t move. Bending her knees, she dropped beside the man, and felt his neck. Pulse. Not strong, but not weak either. She felt under the man, where the blood was coming out. Sure enough, it was blood. He’d gotten tagged. Clear enough. “Shot River and then someone shot him?” she wondered. Inara hadn’t mentioned it. Could have happened after they left. Zoë sighed, rose, and stepped back from the body again, and raised her carbine once more. She hesitated a second time. “Course…it could be he went to shoot at somebody running near River and got shot himself,” she speculated. “Threw his aim off and he shot River by mistake.” She lowered the firearm again and moved back to him. She bent down and twisted his ear. Jayne didn’t wake up. Zoë slapped him on the face. Jayne still didn’t’ wake up. Standing up, Zoë took precise aim with the toe of her boot and kicked Jayne directly on his wound. “WHA!…HOLY GORRAMIN’ HELL! ARRRGGGGAGGGAHHHHH!” Jayne hollered. The merc thrashed around a bit, rolled over, and clutched at his wounded shoulder with his good right hand. Squeezing the tears of pain from his eyes, the mercenary shook his head by way of clearing them, and focused on Zoë. “Zoë,” he identified her. “Jayne,” she responded neutrally. “Did we make it?” he asked. Zoë noted the “we”. It didn’t cause her to drop her carbine’s aim on his forehead, but she noted it. “Who’s we?” she asked casually. “Me….and River,” he looked around the shuttle. “She was just—. She’s gone!” his voice cracking up several volumes. “She’s been shot! We gotta get her to the doc! Help me look for her!” The merc agonizingly tried to lever himself off the floor. The pain and anxiety clear in his darting eyes. That’s when Zoë dropped her carbine and leaped to help him.

Mal reflected on the fact that he’d been running up steps all day. To the bridge. To the cargo bay. To the bridge again. Back to the cargo bay. Now here he was again. Climbing the steps to the shuttles as fast as he could, well aware that he was in all likelihood already too late. Pounding down the catwalk, Mal arrive just in time to see Jayne and Zoë emerging from the shuttle. Jayne stumbling along with Zoë’s body supporting Jayne’s left side; the blood he was pumping down her back uncaringly ignored. Mal skidded to a halt. “Jayne. You’re alive,” he panted, near hysterical with relief. Jayne, not at his best, came back with the wittiest rejoinder he still retained. “Oh yeah? Well. So are you!” Putting an accusatory twist on the last part, wincing at every step. Mal’s dazed fuddlement was clear when he looked at Zoë. She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Don’t start on me, sir. I already regret it.” Looking up at the merc she spoke harshly. “I hope you picked up some deodorant while you were in town cause you aren’t walkin’ around the ship smellin’ like this!” Jayne grimaced on his next step forward then answered her. “Can’t use deodorant. I got sensitive skin.” The two of them passed Mal. Who suddenly started laughing and found he couldn’t stop for several seconds. Turning around, he rushed after the two crewmen, getting on Jayne’s right side, and annoyed both of them with his beaming smile all the way down to the infirmary. _____________________________________________________________

Entering the infirmary, Mal and Zoë supported Jayne between them and struggled to keep the increasingly lightheaded man from passing out before they reached a table. Manfully, Jayne focused on the wall bunk and managed to stay awake until he was eased down to its surface by Mal and Zoë.

“I’m just….”he muttered slowly, with rapid eye blinks. “Just gonna….pass out…for awhile.” And with that, he did so. “Doc?” Mal said lightly. Simon, intent on River’s treatment, heard the commotion behind him and looked at the bleeding Jayne on the bed. Frowning, Simon motioned Kaylee closer. “Kaylee…please hold this in place. Don’t wiggle it around.” Kaylee held the metal rod with apprehension, an understandable condition seeing as the rod was stuck into the bullet hole in River’s back. Simon stepped quickly to Jayne’s side. Surveying the injuries, he snatched up more blood plasma and set a transfusion tube in Jayne’s right arm. “This ought to keep him for awhile. It’s clear he’s lost a lot of blood.” Gesturing at Jayne’s shirt, a bloody ruin. “But it doesn’t seem as though any major organs have been damaged. He’ll make it for awhile I think.” Pointing at Zoë, Simon directed her to gather clean bandages from one of the shelves. “Just wrap his arm and shoulder as best you can and tape down the bandages to stop the bleeding. I should be through with River in a little while, and then I can give Jayne the proper care.” Zoë proceeded to wrap Jayne’s wounds, using the gray industrial tape to hold the bandages down. With both of his patients momentarily stabilized, the doctor, needing a break from working on River, breathed deeply and tried to calm his nerves and alternated between watching River and Jayne. “How’s she doing?” Mal said, breaking the silence, his concern clear. “I’ve found the bullet. It didn’t penetrate far. It did hit a major blood vessel which I’ll have to suture, and I think a nerve cluster was damaged. Probably hurt like the devil when she was hit, but the bullet broke her rib fairly cleanly and then followed the rib around the left side of the body. And not very far in actually. About 3 inches. I’ll have the laser probe…” Simon pointed at Kaylee. “…the device Kaylee is holding….to cauterize the wound, and also a tiny flange on the front of the device to grip the bullet and remove it. I’ll also need to use a regenerative nerve paste that is applied to the wounded area. The rib can be repositioned and wrapped. It should heal naturally.” Simon, his professionalism slipping, pursed his lips, momentarily frightened of what had almost happened to her. “Other than that, I think she’ll be fine. Her BP is strong now that she’s gotten blood.”

Mal reached out and gently pulled Zoë away from River’s table, where she had gone to clinically gawk after wrapping up Jayne. Simon noticed the gesture and stepped back to River’s side, ready to begin again. Taking the laser probe from Kaylee and watching a display on a vid monitor that was coming from a tiny camera located in the laser probes head, Simon found the bullet and removed it over several minutes, blasting the sudden influx of blood into the resulting cavity with the laser and thus stopping the internal bleeding. Pulling the bullet out of the body, Simon dropped it into a nearby metal tray. Zoë, curious, disobeyed her Captain and stepped closer to the tray, examined the bullet and stepped back to Mal’s side. “Zoë?” Mal asked Zoë nodded toward Jayne. “Just makin’ sure, sir. Just makin’ sure.” Mal glanced at Jayne his ownself. “And are we---?” He left off the end. Zoë nodded. “No way Vera shot out that little bitty round. Looks like a .380. Probably from an old machine pistol. Not even a hollow point.” Professional soldier’s instincts engaged, Mal pondered this as a means of distracting himself from the creepy sight of a metal tube being inserted into a young woman’s back. “Use to be a favorite weapon type with bodyguards for awhile.” “Probably a Sig-Ingram New Model,” she concerred. “Lotta bullets. Not much power,” he said, his dislike for the weapon clear. “Good thing,” she responded quietly for his ear only. “Could have done some major damage otherwise.” “Yeah…good thing,” he replied bitterly. Reluctant to leave, but realizing that the doc had things largely under control, Mal walked toward the exit. “I’m going to check on ship status. Zoë…you are to remain here. Get anything the doc needs and just generally help out. Any problems or requests for supplies comm. me on the bridge.” Zoë nodded once. From outside the infirmary, a muffled gasp occurred. Catching everyone by surprise, and causing Zoë to reach for her carbine. Even Mal whirled around, although he’d recognized the voice. One hand raised to her lips in shock, Inara stood frozen in the doorway, the sight of River and Jayne having caused her to cry out involuntarily. Trembling slightly, she stepped to Mal, her astonishment clear. “I heard Jayne’s voice over the intercom. I waited in my shuttle. I didn’t want to see what you’d—“ Catching herself, Inara looked her apology at Zoë and Mal, even though she hadn’t accused them of any actions. Uncertain, she fumbled her explanation and blinked her eyes, trying to move past the implied suspicion she had harbored. “I mean—I wan’t sure if you were going—“ Again stymied by her own voice, Inara redirected her comments toward Simon. “So that’s River?” she ended heroically. “And could someone tell me what’s going on?” she added to the general gathering. Simon, without looking away from River, smiled at the Companions discomfort. Kaylee beamed happily at her, but remained near Simon to help. Jayne started snoring. Zoë was still enraptured with watching the surgical technique and had ignored the Companion after she’d seen that she was no threat. Mal felt he was too busy for palavar. “Talk with them. I gotta go check the ship.” With that, he abruptly stepped away from Inara, leaving her to feel like she was in a conversational void. Moving to Zoë, she asked, “Do you know what’s going on?” Zoë gestured at River. “Looks like he’s sewing up a blood vessel from the inside.” “That’s….it….exactly,” Simon answered Zoë slowly, intent on his work. “Micro threads…and lasers to seal the nastier parts.” “That’s not what I meant,” Inara protested. “I meant…what’s going ON?” Pointing at the unconscious, and obviously not dead Jayne then sweeping her arm to include River. “Last word I heard was that Jayne shot River.” “Seems unlikely now,” Zoë admitted to Inara, but still watching Simon. “Bullet we took out was too small. Not the type that Jayne favors in his work.” Zoë looked at her feet, giving the impression of extreme reluctance. “Fact is…Jayne may have saved her. Much as I hate to be wrong on something. Not that we’ve got any real hard word on that yet,” she hastened to explain, partly backing off her apology. “From either of ‘em. But the facts are sorta leadin’ that way.” “Jayne?” Inara snuck a quick peek at the merc behind them. A fine drop of droll was just beginning to form on his lip. Inara looked away from the disgusting sight. “Somehow I found it easier to accept that he tried to shoot her.” Zoë finally rewarded Inara with a full look. “Tell me about it.” Then shrugged at the bizarrity of the Universe. Silent for a moment, Inara then whispered to Zoë. “Then they’ll both be okay?” “Doc says he thinks so.” “Then Kaylee…?” Kaylee piped up, acoustics in the infirmary being excellent for voices to carry. “Looks like I got it wrong. River weren’t killed. Can’t say I’m upset bein’ wrong this time neither.” Kaylee never moved but still managed to convey the impression she was jumping for joy. Jayne groaned, and Inara moved to offer him help. Jayne opened his eyes. “He’s awake,” Inara informed them, attempting to reach for Jayne’s arm. He motioned her back. Simon spoke loudly, frowning in concentration at a particularly tough part of River’s treatment. “How are you feeling Jayne? I’m a little busy right now but I’ll be with you soon.” Jayne, pained more than he wanted to admit, spoke harshly while looking at his shirt. “Playin’ golf ‘gain doc? Why don’t ya—“ Turning his head and seeing the room, Jayne took in the scene instantly. Recognizing that River was under the knife, Jayne spoke more softly. “Forget what I just started to say. Take all the time you need doc. I’m fine right here.” Inara and Zoë exchanged incredulous glances. Jayne, wincing and biting his lip, eased himself upright and wedged himself against the wall. “Gorram this arm hurts.” In an effort to deny the pain, Jayne focused on River’s surgery. Startled a bit when he saw the doctor pull an 18 inch blood clot out of a hole in River’s back. “Kaylee,” Simon muttered. “On the shelf behind you there should be a vial marked “Proxelox”. Please insert a hypodermic needle into that bottle and pull out 10ccs. I’m going to have you inject Jayne with it.” Kaylee readied the hypo, walked to Jayne and, without waiting for Simon’s advise, scrubbed his right arm with alcohol. “I’d…sorta like to watch for awhile,” Jayne mentioned. “Took me a little bit of….I mean…I sort” Giving up on his own weak attempts, he just blurted it out. “I gotta know she’s goin’ to be okay. I don’t wanna go to sleep.” Simon answered him. “Shouldn’t have that effect. It’s a local pain analgesic. You’ll be awake. I just want to start numbing your arm.” “Oh…okay” Jayne responded. By now, Zoë and Inara were beyond the ability to respond in the face of this side of Jayne. Too many revelations were coming on too quickly for the two to emotionally assimilate. “Captain told me to stay here, doc, but I’d really—“ Zoë started. “Go on,” he interrupted. “We’re almost finished here with River. And I’ll be working on Jayne soon. If we have any problems, I can use a comm. just as well as anyone else.” Zoë again caught Inara’s eye and inclined her head toward Jayne, raising her eyebrows in silent communication. Inara indicated her own befuddlement by sign. “I think I’ll go with Zoë. Get out of your way.” Simon waved at them dismissively. Inara and Zoë then turned and left the room. “Now then Kaylee,” Simon instructed the mechanic, still not looking behind himself to see what was going on. “You’ll need to swab a small part of Jayne’s left arm.” “His left arm?” she asked uncertainly. “Yes. This is a local. It needs to be administered near the site of the injuries.” Kaylee moved around to the other side of Jayne. “Swab the area around his inside elbow. That’s where the needle will go.” Kaylee, hurrying to accomplish this, poured a bit too much alcohol on the cotton swab…and managed to drop a small splash of alcohol onto Jayne’s wound in the forearm. Gritting his teeth savagely, the merc almost managed to keep from crying out, but he finally couldn’t hold it. “OOOWWWWW. Gorramit,” he exploded at Kaylee. “Not on my whole gorram arm.” Kaylee profusely began apologizing. “I’m so sorry Jayne. I’m sorry. It were an accident.” “I KNOW THAT!” he proclaimed loudly, gripping the covers of the bed until his knuckles showed white. “JUST…don’t do that no more,” he finished, releasing the grip on the covers now that his agony had dropped from excrutating to simply God-awful. Simon’s voice intruded. “We’ll have you feeling no pain momentarily. Kaylee…inject the hypo into the inside crook of his elbow. You’ll need to find a vein first.” Kaylee found the vein, and inserted the needle, but didn’t push the plunger. “Like this?” she asked, afraid to commit without getting some higher approval. Simon stepped quickly away from River, examined Jayne’s arm, and then skipped back to River’s side. “Looks good. Just press the plunger down slowly.” Kaylee did so. After thirty seconds, Jayne said, “Not that gorram slow!” Kaylee, stressed out of her good mood at River’s survival by Jayne’s attitude, flared back. “Just hush! I’m getting’ there!” A few moments later, she completed the injection and pulled out the hypo, her hands shaking a bit. Even remembering to cover the pinprick with a cotton swab—minus any alcohol. The relief came so quickly Jayne found himself blowing out a tensed breath. “Whooooo…..that does feel a might better.” Simon stood back from River’s table, wiping his forehead with a cloth. “There,” he proclaimed. “Now we just have to wait.” Pushing against his sister’s shoulder, he was able to roll her onto her stomach. “Now we inject her with a broad range antibiotic,” he stated as he did so, “and she’ll get better soon.” Leaning over her, he spoke in her ear. “Hear that, brat? Get better soon,” he ordered. Gathering his supplies, Simon approached Jayne. Examining the mercenary again, Simon nodded his satisfaction. “It looks like you’ve been shot three times and had three exit wounds. I’ll have to clean the channels of debris, but I won’t have to probe for a bullet. This shouldn’t take long.” Pausing, the doctor appeared to remember something. “Kaylee, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a medfile on my pocket comp. I think I left it in your room—“ “I’ll go get it now,” she said, hurrying to retrieve the device. Simon stopped her. “And Kaylee…I won’t need it immediately. Take some time to wash up,” he added, pointing at her hands. Kaylee looked at the blood that had gotten on her from Jayne’s wounds, and blushed embarrassedly. “Yeah. Right. I’ll clean up and then bring that back down.” “That’ll be perfect,” the physician told her, even going so far as to purse his lips and blow a kiss in her direction. She grinned happily, mood restored, and fairly skipped up the stairs. Simon then stepped away from Jayne. “Ah….doc?” Jayne asked, taken by surprise at the doc moving to the other side of the room. “The thought of constantly watching my back with you since I’ve come aboard has been tiresome, Jayne,” the doctor muttered flatly. Jayne got quiet. He’d heard this tone from Simon before, and it didn’t bode well. Sighing, Jayne realized that…yet again…he was going to have to explain himself to someone who would, in all likelihood, never believe him. The doctor reached into a bottom cabinet and snatched out an object. From it’s size, it appeared quite large, and didn’t have the glint of a medical device about it, although the doctor was moving to quickly for Jayne to make easy identification. Without turning around, the doctor spoke over his shoulder. “That’s why I’m going to break on oath that I swore.” Jayne, alarmed, could nevertheless only sit motionless as the doctor turned around. Simon extended the object toward Jayne, and a muffled popping sound emerged. “And celebrate the fact that I never have to worry about you again by asking you to share a drink with me while I’m on duty,” the doctor said, as he extended the vacuum sealed bourbon bottle toward Jayne’s unbelieving eyes. Unsure, and still frightened, Jayne automatically took the bottle, but in his astonishment couldn’t find the strength to raise it. Looking blankly at Jayne for a few moments, uncertain why the mercenary wasn’t drinking, the doctor suddenly cried out. “How stupid of me! Glasses. Can’t drink bourbon without glasses.” Turning around again, the doctor frantically searched the lower cabinet. “Well…you can drink it…actually,” Jayne muttered, but still didn’t tilt it up and go for broke. Although ‘Verse knows he wanted to! Finding two glasses, Simon washed them under the distilled water dispenser and strode triumphant back to Jayne. Pouring a generous measure into both glasses, Simon tapped the rim of his glass to Jayne’s and knocked off a large swallow. Jayne still didn’t drink. “With the medicine in my arm…won’t this hurt it?” Simon waved away the concern. “Not on a local. And we aren’t going to drink enough to thin your blood stream and lead to anti-coagulate excessive bleeding” “Well…that’s good then,” Jayne agreed, wondering what had happened to the real Simon. Delicately, he sipped at this bourbon, found it to his liking and took a more manly chug. Simon raised his glass. “How can I express it? My life…my sister’s. You’ve saved both of us, and been injured in the doing of it both times.” Slyly leaning closer to Jayne in a near conspiratorial fashion, Simon gave the appearance of a man imparting a great secret. “I’ve got to admit…and I mean no offense by this now….that there were times I had my doubts about you.” Jayne understood that and wasn’t offended. He was having some doubts about Simon right now, so it only seemed fair the doctor would have entertained a few himself. “But River” Simon’s voice cracked a little. “She’s….my baby sister. I don’t care what she can do. She’s still….” Simon couldn’t continue and he got quiet. Jayne stared at the far wall, unwilling to see the doctor in his emotional moment. Simon sniffed, and busied his hands with the tools of his trade. “Let’s take care of your arm now. The local and the bourbon should have made you ready.” Jayne couldn’t claim the process was pleasant. Enough pain got through the meds and alcohol to make the experience unwelcome, but not as bad as Jayne had felt when he’d felt earlier. Midway through the process, he found an entirely different method of dealing with the pain. A method inadvertently offered by Simon. The doctor continued cleaning Jayne’s wounds. Clearing his throat, he spoke, apropos of nothing. “You know…I had another reason for sending Kaylee out of the room, not just to secure my medical articles.” “Really?” Jayne asked, taking another sip of his bourbon. Tightening a bandage around Jayne’s forearm, the doctor motioned his head toward his sister’s prostrate form. “I’d intended to speak with River on this matter…and I will…eventually. But I’d like to speak with you also. That’s another reason for giving you the liquor. To elevate your mood. For what I’m going….to ask.” Jayne raised his eyebrows. “About the fight?” “No. Absolutely not. I believe the evidence is quite clear on what happened.” Simon chuckled grimly. “Besides, if we discover in the future that you were pulling some elaborate scam, I have no doubt that Captain Reynolds will kill you messily dead. If River doesn’t do it. Or Kaylee. Or Zoë…especially Zoë….or even Inara.” Simon applied an antibiotic ointment to Jayne’s shoulder. “And…truthfully…I’d probably do it myself. Fool me once…shame on you. Fool me twice…well, let’s just say I better not find out you fooled me twice.” At the mention of all the good people he knew he’d kill him if they suspected betrayal, Jayne raised his glass and finished the entire thing. Coughing as his stomach spasmed. Then he waved his empty glass under Simon’s nose. “Do you mind doc? I think I’m gonna need more for this conversation.” Simon dutifully paused in his treatment, and filled another glass. Jayne gulped another sizeable portion before waving the doctor to continue. “But as I say…this seems unlikely. In fact…so unlikely that I’d almost call your actions in this business….well…I suppose the only word I can use is miraculous. I’m greatly indebted to you,” Simon said, not looking into Jayne’s eyes, but entirely solemn and serious. Reaching for his own glass, Simon took another stiffener as he approached the meat of the matter. “Only one more to go,” he stalled, referencing Jayne’s final wound. Jayne was tired of dancing. “So get to the point, doc. What’s on your mind?” Simon inserted a cleaning probe into the man. “It’s….well….I’m—“ Putting the implement down and clasping both hands together, Simon decided to step sideways of the topic and approach it obliquely. “Jayne…do you know that Kaylee and I have….a relationship?” Jayne snorted, but considered the doctor’s words. Did he know? How could he not know? Everyone on the ship knew. Walk out of your bunk at the wrong hour of the night and you were liable to hear some mighty interesting moans and thumping coming from Kaylee’s bunk. Did he know? Ha! Jayne, reluctant to reveal this while Simon held sharp objects, temporized. “Well…I’ll say that I’ve suspected. Course y’all done a good job keepin’ it secret,” the other crewmembers—had they been present—would have dissolved into laughter at this comedic obfuscation. Simon, oblivious to how widespread the crew were aware of his affair with the mechanic, took this in stride, proud of their ability to hide the relationship. “I’m sure you’ve noticed us holding hands and standing together. But…I’m delighted to say…our relationship has gone beyond this. We’re….serious,” Simon informed Jayne man-to-man. Terrified at the thought of a Simon related tale about his relationship with Kaylee, Jayne drained another ounce of bourbon. “Which is why I’ve come to the decision to ask Kaylee to marry me.” Jayne tried to breathe and drink at the same time, and found he couldn’t do it. He began choking. Simon pounded the merc’s back with gentle blows until Jayne regained his air. “You’re…..you’re gonna—“ Jayne again reached for the bourbon, and successfully manged to drain the whole glass. “More, please doc. In fact…can you bring the bottle back?” Simon retrieved the bottle, taking a long gulp from the neck himself before surrendering it to Jayne, who immediately took two strong pulls. “Okay…I’m ready,” Jayne informed the doc. “Tell me again.” “I’m going to ask Kaylee to marry me,” Simon raised his hand. “I know…it’s sudden. Especially given the fact that you didn’t know how…serious…Kaylee and I have become.” Actually, that part wasn’t what concerned Jayne. Marrying the finest mechanic in the ‘Verse and breaking her heart was Jayne’s first thought. Fast on this one was the latent dislike Jayne retained for the doctor as a Core Worlder. Not so much the contempt he had for Simon as a person. Jayne had changed his opinion on that gradually over time. Simon had been shot a couple of times, and saved everyone’s life a few times, and even punched Mal once. And he did try to look after his sister. Had never given up on doing that, far as Jayne could tell. But still…at his heart, in the guts of the man, he was still a Core Worlder. With all the prissy values, and airy notions that brought with it. And this wasn’t the Core. Kaylee wasn’t Core. She was Frontier born and raised. Mixing the two cultures in one marriage just seemed wrong to Jayne. Course…he’d seen ‘em together. Moon-eyed over each other. And lookin’ to each other when one or t’other was hurt. Carin’ for the other. Maybe even lovin’ each other. Jayne had to admit he’d seen lesser marriages--founded on far less--work. “It’s a….decent notion,” Jayne said, taking another sip. “How do you think she’ll answer ya?” Simon breathed out nervously. “I’m hoping…that is, I’m sure….I mean….there are a lot of bad things. I’m a fugitive. And River….I can’t ask Kaylee if River objects to the union. It’s all—“ Simon fluttered his arms, and then began attaching Jayne’s final bandage. A few seconds later, he patted Jayne’s left arm. “All done. When the local wears off, don’t move it. You’ll see why the first time you do.” Jayne flexed his left hand, not even feeling the movement of his fingers. As soon as the local was gone, he was headed for the time of Hanging Hellfire, when it felt like your arm was being pulled out by demons, but he’d deal with it. “So you wanted to ask me how to go about askin’ her?” Jayne questioned the doctor. Still not sure why the doctor was talking to him about it. “I might could give you some advise.” Now it was Simon’s turn to reach hurriedly for the bottle, and slug back a long drink. Gasping, Simon shook his head vigorously and laughed at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. “That’s not--. You’ve misunder—“ Simon threw up his hands, and decided to just spell it out. “Jayne, no offense, but I’d NEVER ask you for advise about women. I’m not sure you’ve ever had the experience of speaking with a decent, honest women like Kaylee. Also…you tend to be a bit crude and horribly direct. Horribly direct,” Simon added in emphasis. Jayne protested this. “I know good women.” “Be that as it may,” Simon explained patiently. “Advice on asking Kaylee to marry me wasn’t why I wanted to speak to you.” “Well, gorramit, what was you wantin’ if you don’t want my opinion?” Jayne huffed. Simon tilted the bottle up and then passed it back to Jayne. “I wanted to ask you….” Simon paused, not noticing the slight slur his words were beginning to develop. “To be my best man.” Jayne nearly dropped the bottle, snatching desperately at it to keep it from crashing to the floor, he managed to catch it between his one good arm and his knee. “ME?! You want ME to be your best man?!” Jayne roared. Scratching his neck with one hand, Simon nodded. “I admit. It’s not how I pictured my wedding. But…given recent events…it makes sense.” “Sense?” Jayne asked desperately. “No sir. No sense.” “Yes, it does.” Simon pointed his finger toward the ceiling. “I’m going to ask Mal to officiate the wedding. He can’t be the best man. Zoë will be one of the bridesmaids. Same as River. Neither of them are male. It’s down to you.” Simon shrugged. “Besides, you did save my life and Rivers recently. There wouldn’t even be a wedding if you hadn’t done that. Assuming Kaylee and River both agree, “Simon remarked worriedly. Jayne, touched in spite of himself, gestured toward River. Offering rough assurance, Jayne said, “You know how well she and Kaylee get along. She ain’t gonna be holdin’ up no weddin’ on account a her own self. You got no worries.” “You don’t know how River can get sometimes,” Simon said, glancing anxiously at his resting sister. “Butcher’s knife,” Jayne said, miming a slash across his chest. “Yes…I suppose you do,” Simon admitted. “But the special torments?” Simon pointed at himself. “Those she leaves for me.” “Brothers and sisters,” Jayne mumbled philosophically. “Hatin and lovin’ go ‘long with each other.” “Too true,” Simon waved for the bottle and took another pull. Beginning to feel no pain himself, the doctor shook at his head at the heady bite of the bourbon. “Oooooo….that’s good whiskey,” he drawled in his bad Frontier accent. “Might fair,” Jayne agreed, taking the last belt for himself. “So iffn I agree to be yer best man….what I gotta do?” Jayne asked, unfamiliar with the procedure. “It varies. On my homeworld, you’ll be responsible for holding the ring at the ceremony, and passing it to me when the Captain asks us if we have a ring.” Jayne nodded. “I can do that.” “It’s mostly symbolic,” Simon added. “But I wouldn’t feel right without you there. You’ve done a helluva lot for us.” Simon was beginning to get a bit maudlin along with being tipsy. “Yeah,” Jayne muttered, “And done stuff TO ya, too. I suppose I owe ya this much still.” Simon, serious, told the merc. “After today Jayne…you don’t owe me anything. Really. Of course, I can’t speak for Kaylee,” he continued, smiling to show his jest. Jayne guffawed and then yawned. “Well…I’ll think on it then. Long as I ain’t gotta organize the whole thing.” “Well…you would have to organize the bachlor party,” Simon informed him. Jayne’s drooping eyes flopped open. “Say now! THAT’S somethin’ I can swing together. No problems on THAT side.” Jayne now looked faintly interested. Simon shuddered inwardly at the thought of a Jayne bachlor party, but kept it to himself. “Well…I can see you are tired,” Simon stated. “Drunk too!” Jayne said, putting his head on his pillow. “That also,” Simon concerred. ‘Just go to sleep.” Jayne needed no prompting. The alcohol and the tiring day were enough to knock him out quickly. Simon pulled up a chair and sat next to River’s bed, watching her monitor. Luckily, she still looked good. Kaylee appeared about ten minutes afterward. Dropping the medical reader on a table near Jayne’s bed, Kaylee studied the scene. “I guess you went ahead,” she stated, seeing Jayne’s bandages. Simon, by now the worse for the alcohol he had taken, said only, “Yep!” Slurring even this one word. Alarmed, Kaylee came to the side of his chair. “Simon…are you alright?” “No. I’m not,” he told her, the emotion he’d held back when talking to Jayne gathering in his throat. “I almost lost her today.” Kaylee pulled him to his feet and led him out to the couch in the waiting area. They could see all the monitors and still watch both patients, but Simon would be more comfortable. Simon sighed, his shoulders shaking. Kaylee could see the tears slowly rolling down his cheeks, and she hugged the man, now ready to offer the comfort back to him as he had offered comfort to her when she’d arrived back on the station. “It was horrible,” she told him. “All of it. If Jayne hadn’t…” “I know,” he answered quickly. “After all of you left, I gave Jayne a bottle of bourbon to let him know how grateful I was to him. I may have had a couple of drinks myself,” he whispered. “Uh-huh,” Kaylee told him critically, well aware he’d had more than a “couple”. Simon didn’t try to defend himself, but he spoke the plain truth. “I didn’t need it. But I wanted it. I wanted to forget. So I broke my oath. I shouldn’t be drunk while my sister is hurting. She could relapse. I might have to go back in—“ “Shusshhhh,” she whispered to him. “She’s doin’ fine. Sides which, even drunk you’re better than any three sober doctors!” Punching him lightly on the arm. He smiled, cheered again by her irrepressible nature. With poor drunken skill, he kissed her. Luckily, Kaylee didn’t mind. After this was over, she planned on both of them getting drunk and fooling around. Preferably in the engine room. Simon began pulling himself off the couch. At first, Kaylee thought he wanted to stand, but that wasn’t his intent. Dropping to the floor, Simon knelt in front of Kaylee, and laid his hands on her knees. Using her as a prop, he levered himself to one knee. “I wanted to wait until I could speak with River, but I’ve decided I don’t want to wait,” he whispered to her. She frowned, and almost moved to help him, so somber did he suddenly appear. Therefore she almost didn’t hear him when he said, “Kaywinnit Lee Frye…will you do me the honor of marrying me?” “What?!” she asked, her arms suddenly cold and her hands beginning to shake. Unbidden, tears came to her eyes. Deterred, but committed, the doctor repeated himself…in an amended fashion. “I…asked you…if you would marry me?” His voice trailing off quieter and quieter as the tears flowed more freely down the mechanics face. In his heart, he could tell this hadn’t gone the way he thought. The sudden blow to his upper body took him completely by surprise, knocking him off his knees and bowling him over. He was unable to keep the heavy form of Kaylee from pinning him to the floor, straddling him. Smothering him with kisses, the mechanic kept saying, “Yes. Yes. Yes,” over and over again while wiping her eyes, laughing, and then recrying. All the while touching his arms, his face, and his hands. Holding him to her and kissing him constantly. “Oh…yes,” she finally calmed down enough to whisper. Barely able to breathe, the doctor said, “That’s good. Now can you get off me so I can get some air?” Sheepishly, Kaylee rolled off him and stood, offering her hand to help him up. After he was once again standing, Kaylee slowly eased next to him and molded herself to his body. Taking his hands in hers, she guided Simon’s hands to some areas that he probably wouldn’t have touched on his own…in public. “Kaylee,” he whispered. “We’re in—“ She grabbed his head and kissed him hungrily, rolling her tongue deeply into his mouth and trying to suck his teeth out. With a tiny pop, they separated. Suddenly, Kaylee wanted to tell everyone. Whirling away from Simon, she made a little “wheeeee” noise, and headed for the cargo bay. “I’ll come back soon. I just….I just….wanna run for a minute!” she told him, and darted off. Simon watched her run away, jumping every few steps into the air. “That’s my future wife….running away from me after I asked her to marry me,” he pouted. “At least she said yes.” Flopping back on the couch, Simon intended to rest for a moment before going back to check on his patients. Instead, he fell asleep.

“Doc!” Jayne whispered fiercely. “Doc!” Figures. Can’t hold his liquor. By his blood stained watch, Jayne estimated that not more than 45 minutes had passed since he’d laid his head down. 45 minutes, he discovered, can be a long time. Long enough for a pain reliever to wear off. His arm felt like it was molten lead. Outside the room, he could see the doc sleeping on the couch. He’d been trying for the last few minutes to get the doc to wake up. No such luck. The idea of moving to go rouse him left Jayne feeling faint. Any movement at all threatened to knock him unconscious. Or worse…not knock him unconscious. He didn’t want to yell out or throw anything because he was afraid of disturbing River. But much more of this was going to leave him few options.

Mal found three messages waiting for him when he reached the bridge. One was from a Portmaster down on the planet. “Captain Reynolds,” a chubby man said. “My name is Randolph Paull. As you are no doubt now aware, we had an…incident….down here today on the planet. It seems that two gangs may have been fighting each other, and some of your crewmen got in the way.” Paull corrected himself. “Of course I’m sure you know that now…having spoken with your people. I’ve been told by one of our citizens…a taxi driver, young Mr. Manfro…that your party was brutally accosted by these ruffians,” the man actually snarled the word, “and were forced to defend themselves. Believe me, Captain, we are deeply upset by this. If there is anything we can do, please contact me here at my office. I promise you we can get the ball rolling.” Looking suddenly anxious, the man leaned closer to his viewer. “And Captain…if you could….I mean….if it were possible….could you please relay a message to Ms. Serra and inform her that we are TREMENDOUSLY sorry that this occurred while she was in port. I understand from young Manfro that she was forced to flee from these bandits,” dropping his tone as though talking about a horrible disease. “The thought of her being frightened while under my care,” the man exaggerated. “Well…..it leaves me cold. “I’ve already taken the liberty of contacting our local security forces and advising them of your crew’s status as innocent bystanders, and included young Manfro’s full report of the incident.” Mal was vaguely curious to one day read that report. Might find out if the young man had a career in fiction writing ahead of him. “Of course,” the man continued slyly. “If you were to call up our station and confirm that I was in no way responsible for anything that happened….” The man looked directly at the screen. If anyone were to intercept the Wave, you would clearly see the man wasn’t asking for a favor. But Mal was adept enough at reading between a Wave. He’d call the man’s superiors before leaving and put his own coat of whitewash on the whole affair. And pray that the man’s superiors were as lack-witted as he was. Besides…it never hurt to leave a man thinkin’ he was beholden to you. Not that he wasn’t beholden himself. Mal had no idea why the taxi driver had stuck his nose out for them, but Mal wasn’t about to forget the young man either. A carefully addressed payment voucher for “consultancy” work on Serenity was going to find it’s way back to Ita Moon, and into the hands of the fella. “Say….3000 credits?” he asked himself. He’d wait before he did. Get the backstory. If it was a good backstory…3000 might be low. But maybe the kid was keeping the law on Ita Moon off their backs. And if so? Oh yeah…Mal would pay for that. The other two messages for Mal were less pleasant.