CHAPTER 6 The halls of Serenity burned, unable to cool efficiently in the hatch. Book hardly noticed the heat of the stove over that which radiated from the engine room. He chopped vegetables to add to the chicken stir-fry; River helped by boiling water for pasta and Simon set the table. All were quiet, withdrawn into their own thoughts. Though desperate for food, Book was plagued with a new emptiness that it could not fill. Kaylee was gone. He felt responsible, having talked to her just before she went topside. He should have gone with her; he should have been more insistent on helping her. The image of the dead attacker was burned in his memory—a pudgy man in an outdated, purple Alliance uniform thrown flat on his back with a 12 inch screwdriver puncturing his abdomen. The blood had pooled around his body, and then flowed over the side of the ship. Streaks of dry clay were spattered over the hull toward the helm. Kaylee must have cried for help, but none of them heard. As Book had prayed over the fallen assailant, he felt remorseful over the loss of life, and guilty because he was grateful it was not Kaylee who had died. He worried about what danger she might be facing now. He worried about her response to killing a man, even though it was self-defense. He should have stayed outside to talk to her while she fixed the ship. “You didn’t know,” River said quietly, bringing him back to the present. Book looked at her, his eyes deep with sorrow. The chicken was burning and he stirred quickly to keep it from searing to the bottom of the pan. He added the chopped vegetables to the mix and kept his hands moving, his mind on the task at hand. River was right, he could not have known. The three were silent again. Simon, having carefully laid chopsticks beside each bowl and filled the mismatched cups with lukewarm water, sat at the table and waited. He stared reflectively into space. River stirred the pasta to keep it from sticking. She glanced occasionally at the two men, wishing they would worry more quietly. She was worried enough about her friend. The meal was not the joyful celebration that they had all envisioned that morning. They were hiding out in the dark, burning up from engine heat, hoping they would be able to move again despite their kidnapped mechanic. They were consumed with guilt at not being there to help Kaylee and with fear for where she might be. They were confused by the new stranger lying in the Infirmary. Jayne had not left her side yet, and would not join them for dinner. Wash stayed at the helm, waiting for the hatch to open, so Zoë took their meal there. The table seemed empty and joyless, eating a chore to be dealt with. After Book had served the meal, he prayed out loud, not caring if the Captain respected it or not. The only words that were spoken were the occasional “Please pass the salt” and “May I have more water.” The Captain did not sit at the table to eat; at first, he held his bowl and leaned against the wall. Then he carried his food to the engine room, mumbling something about checking the radiator. Book looked around the table at Inara, River, and Simon. All stared quietly into their food, eating hungrily, but not happily. With Kaylee gone, a light had gone out.

*~*

Kaylee picked half-heartedly at the protein bar Braddox had shoved into her hand. Her fingers were still caked with clay and blood. Her body trembled from the horrors of the afternoon. Fear crept in, but she held it at bay with a single thought: Captain will come for me. She thought of Serenity and of the flowers she’d painted on the walls. She thought of its warmth. The Neptune was a cold, sterile place crewed by far too many angry, frustrated men. Like the crew of Serenity, her first meal in days did not bring her the satisfaction she had hoped for. Braddox had gotten rid of his wide-brimmed hat and his voice was somewhat less twangy than before. He seemed angry about giving her food, angry at having to escort her around, and angry at having to button up his uniform for the Captain. Captain Caddock was an altogether frightening man, with a lingering aftertaste attributed as much to his foul smell as his sour manner. Above all, she knew that he hated women. Her kidnappers had brought her to the side of the ship and dumped her on the ground, waiting for Caddock before taking her on board. As soon as Caddock had seen her, he had pointed his gun at Braddox and rasped, “No women!” Kaylee cringed at the memory, at the gun, at the realization of why she was there. The Neptune was broken; the mechanic had died, and they needed a new one. Although Caddock had seen the logic in this, he had glowered at her until she shrank against the back of the ship. Shortly thereafter, another member of Caddock’s crew came over the hill, pushing a woman in front of him, claiming a nice bounty on her head. Caddock shot the man in the head; the woman he brought got caught by a knife as the man fell and she went down too. Kaylee wondered if the previous mechanic of the Neptune had died of natural causes or been shot by Caddock in a fit of anger. Before bringing her on board, Caddock issued the threat: “You keep my ship running, I keep you living. Dong ma?” Kaylee understood. Braddox brought her to the Neptune’s engine room. Compared to Serenity, this ship was running fine. The twin engines sang with the sweet harmony of well-oiled and well-maintained machines. An older, war-torn woman slouched in the corner giving great attention to a familiar-looking pile of tools that she had fanned out on the floor. Kaylee’s tools. “Saskia,” Braddox grunted. The woman stood up, pushing her thick, black braid over her shoulder. She wore civilian clothing that fit her body loosely, concealing her figure. “I got us a new mechanic.” Saskia eyed Kaylee, annoyed. “Yeah. And.” “You get to baby sit,” Braddox jeered, then walked off purposefully. Saskia didn’t seem happy about the assignment, but didn’t object. “You got a name, girl?” “Kaylee.” She choked on the word, her mouth parched, her tongue swollen. It was the first word Kaylee had spoken since coming onto the ship. It was swallowed by the cold, unfeeling room. “You can fix this thing, Kaylee?” Kaylee nodded. “Fix it, then,” Saskia said curtly, waving her hand at the tools. Kaylee walked over, slowly, as if being asked to peer into a grave. She knew the tools would not help at the moment. A high-pitched whir over the normal turn of the engine told her that the compressor belt was slipping every few turns, so efficiency was down. All they needed was a new belt. She thought about performing an exhaustive diagnostic to stall the repair and give Captain Reynolds time to catch up, but Caddock’s threat echoed in her ears. “Got any spare parts?” Kaylee asked, not wanting to be too specific about what was needed in case she felt brave later. Saskia led her to a large, but mostly empty supply closet. Although it did not contain the needed belt, there were enough spare parts to completely restore Serenity’s cooling system. Her heart caught in her throat at the thought. She had mentioned to Book that they needed to re-engage the cooling system, then switch to the radiator in space. What if they used up all the coolant flying in atmo? What if they burned up before they even got to the Black? What if— “Something wrong?” Saskia asked impatiently, causing Kaylee to jump. “Oh! Um. It’s not here,” Kaylee explained. “What’s not here?” “The belt. One of your belts is slipping. We need a belt.” Thinking quickly, she added, “We’ll probably lose a whole engine if we don’t get one soon. Thing sounds about ready to snap.” Her mind reeled. She was feeling brave. She figured she could through a few kinks into the work to slowly kill one of the engines over the next few days. Saskia, for her part, didn’t seem to care one way or the other. She walked to a com-box on the wall, so flat it was nearly invisible. “Captain, we need to commandeer ourselves a belt before we lose an engine.” There was no answer. Kaylee looked expectantly at Saskia who resumed her slouch in the corner behind the tools. “That’s it?” Kaylee asked. “We changed course. What more do you want?” Kaylee’s brow furrowed, disappointed. She hadn’t even felt the course change. Everything on this ship was quieter. Having nothing better to do, she gathered a few tools, pried open the panels that housed the engine, and took a look inside. She’d never seen the engine of an Alliance scout ship before. Although she knew easily how to fix it, she’d have to learn a little more before she could perform her subtle sabotage.

*~*

Wash relished the food his wife brought to him, almost as much as he relished his wife. Hungry as they both were, she ate slowly and gracefully. A few wild tendrils of brown hair escaped her ponytail framing her face. Her lips were sweeter than Inara’s honey. He sat in the pilot’s seat; she leaned against the control board, facing him. As he finished eating, he reached out to touch her. His hand stroked her torso from hip to breast then back again. Perhaps it was because that part of her body was within easy reach. Perhaps because of how the tan leather vest flattered her figure. She was updating him on their adventure in the pirate ship and the strange girl Jayne had brought on board. As Wash listened, he caught only a few details, but heard loud and clear the suspicion in Zoë’s voice. He noticed the uneasiness in her eyes; he noticed the way she had stopped eating her food and started picking at it. He wanted to ask if she was alright, but instead it came out “Are you going to finish that?” With a disgruntled sigh, she handed him the half eaten plate—noodles and chunks of chicken. Must have been a bone fide chef aboard the Neptune! He was a little concerned. Zoë seemed more disappointed that she couldn’t finish the meal than that she was given the plate to him. “You ok, sweetie?” he asked, glad it came out this time. “Been too long without food,” she said dismissively. Wash let it drop. Zoë began pacing about the cockpit. “I feel trapped in this place. We’re squeezed in so tight, we can’t come about. No way to back out. Just waiting for this door to open.” Wash finished the last of her food and placed both plates on the floor. “We’re not trapped,” Wash assured her. “We can get out whenever we want!” Zoë did not seem convinced. She picked up a plastic dinosaur from the console and started tapping it against her hand as she continued to pace. “What’s this damn thing doing here, anyway?” Zoë asked. Her volume was rising, which Wash knew was a bad thing. As she crossed the room again, he grabbed her wrist, rescued the toy dinosaur from strangulation, and looked her square in the eye. “Listen, Zoë, my love, my sweet, we’re not trapped. It’s okay in here. I know where we are!” “So where the hell are we?” Mal interrupted, coming up the stairs. Zoë took two steps back from Wash, quickly regaining her composure. Wash was momentarily disappointed at Zoë’s cover-up. “We’re in a hatch, similar to the White Hall hatch,” Wash answered. “I knew that much. What’s the White Hall hatch?” “The White Hall hatch was built by a bunch of pilots, such as yours truly, who were tired of dodging anti-aircraft missiles. There’s always a hole in the defenses. The hatch is meant to give people a place to hide until they can take advantage of that hole. Zoë raised an eyebrow. “You built a hatch?” “Well, I commissioned it,” Wash conceded. “…or I agreed with ten other guys that it was a good idea. But I was right there in the planning stages.” Zoë smiled, giving Wash all the encouragement he needed. “So being in the Newhall hatch probably means that there’s a very active smuggling community routed through here and that the locals get pretty trigger happy about shooting them down.” Mal and Zoë pondered this a moment, so Wash continued. “It also means the defenses have a hole that we can slip through.” “When?” Mal asked. “Another half hour, I think. The door will open automatically.” “Not soon enough,” Zoë muttered, looking uneasily into the darkness of the closed hatch, arms wrapped around her body. “Zoë, you okay?” Mal asked. “Fine, sir,” she said, her eyes not leaving the window. “Any food left, Captain?” Wash asked, deflecting attention from his wife. “Pasta’s about polished off, but Shepherd’s making soup. Somewhat easier on the stomach.” He directed the last bit to Zoë. She ignored him, preoccupied with thoughts deeper than her own hunger. Suddenly, the proximity alarm screamed, causing all three to jump. Wash silenced the alarm immediately, and tried to make out what had triggered it. He considered shining Serenity’s outboard lights, but didn’t want to risk revealing their position. Infrared sensors were near useless with the heat that Serenity was radiating. Realizing that fact, Wash lamented that they would be a shining beacon to any other ship using infrared. He decided to flip on a small light and finally, they could make out another ship in the hatch behind them. “Who is that?” Mal asked, impatiently. “Is that the Newhall police?” “You think they tracked us here?” Zoë had gone rigid to full war-mode. “If they had tracked us, they would have been here awhile ago,” Wash assured, not wanting to panic. “Unless they were driving the speed limit,” Mal countered. “See if you can see who they are.” “They might not like that,” Wash said. “Yeah, well I don’t like not knowing who I’m in the foxhole with.” Compliantly, Wash panned the track light to get a better look at the ship that now blocked them into the hatch. Within a few seconds, the track light exploded, taken out by a silenced gun. “They really don’t want us knowing who they are,” Zoë said. “It’s a smuggler’s hatch,” Wash pointed out. “People who use it don’t like it known that they use it.” Zoë looked at him sharply. “You think we should just assume they’re nice people who like to shoot at track lights on other people’s ships.” “Yes,” Wash said forcefully. “We are here to hide. So are they. I’d say it was pretty kind of them to ONLY shoot out the track light.” Mal and Zoë weren’t convinced. With the loss of the track light, they could no longer make out the outline of the ship. Another alarm sounded, but Wash quickly silenced it. “Another ship?” Mal asked. Wash shrugged. With no visual, there was no way to tell. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, mustering his confidence. “They’re just lining up for departure.” He’d been in the White Hall hatch before. He kept telling himself that this was no different. Only it was. On White Hall, because he’d been part of the planning, he was intimately familiar with the defense system. From what he’d seen of the system here, the position and timing of this hatch made no sense. This area of the sky should have been completely covered. But he trusted Book. The Shepherd seemed to know all sorts of things a Shepherd had no right knowing. His knowledge of the White Hall hatch, while surprising, was not unusual. If Book said the doors would open at sunset, there must be a brief window of opportunity. He only hoped that Serenity didn’t stall and leave them blocking the other ships. If a ship would shoot out his track light, they were already suspicious, and probably wouldn’t hesitate to plow the road if he showed a moment’s pause. Frustrated by the lack of answers, Mal grabbed a flashlight and headed toward the rear of the ship, planning to look out the back window. Zoë had resumed her stare out the front window, only now she was slightly crouched, ready to move at a moment’s notice, looking as though she were being hunted. Wash ran a check on Serenity, willing the engine temperature to drop. He wished he could talk to Kaylee and find out what she’d been planning for their take-off. Without her, it seemed almost certain they’d burn up before they ever broke atmo.

*~*

************************************* LINK TO CHAPTER 7