Unfinished Business

Chapter Ten

“Olfactory . . . Optic . . . Oculomotor . . . Troch-Trochlear . . . Trigeminal, Abducent, Facial . . . Vestibulocochlear . . . Glossopharyngeal . . . um, Vagus . . . Accessory . . . um . . . and . . . um . . .” Heather McKlintock recited from memory, as she dogged Simon’s steps. “Hippos,” supplied Simon, with a grin. “Hippos?” Heather asked, an eyebrow raised skeptically. “Hippos?” Kaylee asked, confused. “ ‘Hippos’,” Simon repeated. “ ‘Oliver the Optimistic Octopus Trots Triumphantly About Facing Audiences Glossily Vaguely Spinning Hippos’. Hippos is Hypo—” “Hypoglossal!” the fourteen year old said, smacking her forehead. “I knew that!” She then looked troubled. “But, ‘hippos’?” “It’s an ancient mnemonic device,” explained Simon. “It helps remember the names of the cranial nerves.” Heather paused for a moment, and Simon could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. “You sure you went to a real medical school?” she asked skeptically. Simon had to laugh at that, and Kaylee did as well. “I wonder, sometimes,” he said with a sigh. “I think I’ve learned more about space medicine in the last three days than in the two semesters I had.” He had been happy to see Heather McKlintock show up half-way through his shift to begin hers – despite her youth, she was a ship’s medic, if you wanted to stretch the point, and every ship had to contribute. Simon enjoyed catching up with her on her studies, and in between stitching up fallen drunks and treating the odd bit of drug-induced excesses, he had peppered her relentlessly with questions to ascertain just how much of the material he had sent her had stuck. He was pleasantly surprised to see just how advanced she had become in such a short time, and how serious she took her studies. He was realizing, slowly, that her zeal was not the altruistic compassion and desire to serve a greater humanity that motivated her, but an almost desperate enthusiasm to prove herself competent in her trade. Perhaps they should start medical school cirriculum when all doctors were fourteen, he mused. “There’s theory, an’ then there’s practice,” agreed Kaylee. “I got in a drinkin’ contest once with a cute boy engineer at Hannover Station once, on one of the medium sized corporate clippers – a ’92 dual-core Seeawani Concorde, with quad outboard—” she stopped, realizing her audience would not appreciate the finer points of her description and wisely re-focused. “Anyway, he went to some fancy engineerin’ school. Still didn’t know squat about squat. Diploma didn’t do him no favors – not thick enough to keep him from ‘bout burnin’ his nuts clean off when he walked into an unsheilded area. If they didn’t have any of his wrigglies on ice, that’s the end o’ his gene pool. Evolution in action,” she said, shaking her head. “Yeah,” agreed Heather, “Uncle Devon’s like that. That’s why he ain’t got a wife, an’ why Pa has two. Only, it weren’t ‘cause he was bein’ stupid, he was just tryin’ to save his daddy.” “That’s a serious hazard, then?” Simon asked. “Radioactive sterilization?” “There are plenty o’ miscarriages an’ still births with spacer women,” Heather said, informatively. “Mama Winnie had a still, back jus’ afore Owen. Or was that Mama Althea? Anyways, I hear tell they ice up the genes o’ the regular corporate spacers, as part o’ their contracts, but we ain’t got that kinda . . . security workin’ freelance. Else maybe Uncle Devon would be wed by now. Else I might consider doin’ it my ownself. Too expensive. You just gotta be careful, is all.” “The Black ain’t for stupid folk,” Kaylee agreed. “Plenty can go wrong when you do everything right. When you’re stupid on top of it . . . well, the Black don’t tolerate it long. Plenty of rads out there, an’ they can sneak up on a body.” “Do you . . . do you think you’ve been . . . overexposed?” Simon asked. “Oh, hell no!” Kaylee assured him, wide-eyed. “I ain’t big on EVAs, an’ Serenity would never hurt me!” “Well, you can’t really ascribe menace to a piece of machinery,” Simon pronounced. “The hell you can’t!” Kaylee swore. “I’ve worked on go se I coulda swore was possessed by the powers o’ darkness! But my girl, she won’t ever hurt me. Not unless I neglect her, get stupid. I keep her runnin’ smooth, stay out o’ the hot areas, an’ I should be able to start havin’ babies any time, now!” Simon went pale at the thought. “Is . . . that a plan? Or merely an observation?” “I ain’t tryin’ to have a young ‘un now, if that’s what you’re askin’,” Kaylee said crossly, a hint of wounded growl in her voice. “Hell, you ain’t even settled on whether we’re co-habitatin’ or not. You can’t be decisive ‘bout that, how you supposed to pick out baby names?” “You guys goin’ Downtown later?” Heather asked, desperately trying to change the subject. “Well . . . I done danced my little toesies off this afternoon,” Kaylee admitted. “But maybe after a nap . . .” “It’s early yet,” Simon observed, looking at the sun. “I think it is, anyway – I hate worlds with non-standard periods!” He gave Kaylee a very quick but meaningful glance. “But I did just get done with a six-hour shift. Maybe a nap would be just the restorative to get me in the mood for more festivities.” “You wanna nap in your room or mine?” Kaylee asked, her eyes wide and sparkling. “ ‘Cause you got that comfy bed, but I got all them . . . accessories,” she baited. “I’m thinking comfort over exotic, at the moment,” Simon said slyly. “Although my mood could change. It has before.” “That’s what I like about you, Doc,” Kaylee blushed. “Your open-mindedness . . . about the carnal pleasures, at least.” “There are children present!” Heather burst out, blushing furiously. “What, girlie, you don’t know where—” “Yes, I know about sex!” Heather said. “Geez, I’m fourteen, after all, an’ I got a Pa randy enough to keep two wives happy – it’s come up. I ain’t a baby. An’ I got a sister and brother whats both ruttin’ like tomcats! But do you gotta talk about it in public like that? That’s just . . . gross!” “It’s all part o’ what makes the ‘verse go ‘round,” Kaylee said, soothingly. “Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.” “It is if you do it right,” Simon said in a joking whisper, earning him a playful slap from his girlfriend. “Don’t worry, Heather, some day you’ll get all twitterpated ‘bout some handsome young man. You’ll understand, then.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, dismissively. “I understand NOW. That don’t mean it still ain’t gross. Hey, is he okay?” she asked, suddenly. She pointed to the body of a man laying face down in the dust of the mesa. He was still breathing, Simon noted. Just some poor decrepit spacer drunk to the point of unconsciousness. “Great, I’m supposed to cover up him up,” Simon sighed with resignation. “But, first why don’t you give a quick assessment to the poor bastard?” he added to Heather. “Good practice.” Heather eagerly rushed over to the man, set down her medikit, and began assessing him: “Male, approximately thirty eight years old, breathing, unconscious – HEY, YOU! YOU AWAKE? -- unconscious, pupils—Oh, God, it’s Mr. Cobb!” “Jayne?” Kaylee asked with interest. “Oh, lucky us,” Simon muttered. He knelt down beside Heather. “Continue,” he said, knowing at a glance that the diagnosis was Drunken Stupor, and not anything more serious. “Pupils are dialatin’, whites are blood red, pulse is . . . slow but normal, temperature appears to be normal, no obvious signs of trauma . . . color is a little red, under all o’ that stubble, probably borderline dehydration . . . Doctor, I’d say he’s dead drunk.” “Excellent diagnosis,” agreed Simon glumly. “Jayne? Jayne! JAYNE!” The mercenary's eyes opened abruptly. He looked around blearily, confused, until his eyes settled on Simon’s face. He reached up with his arm and tenderly cupped the doctor’s chin. “You take such good care o’ me,” he said in a simpering tone. “I ever tell ya I love ya, Doc?” Simon’s eyes opened up dramatically. “Oh my God, he’s serious!” he said, jerking back. “He’s . . .” Simon leaned down, paused for a moment as if praying for strength, then inhaled deeply Jayne’s exhaled breath. “Oh, that would gag a maggot,” he said, jerking away again. “But underneath all of the alcohol, I smell nutmeg, very faintly!” “He’s . . . been eatin’ pumpkin pie?” Kaylee asked, mystified. “There’s whole a class of designer hallucinagens related to the phenethylamine family that act on the emotions . . . empathogens. Some of the stronger ones leave a faint aroma of something like the smell of nutmeg on the breath as they metabolize.” “He gonna be okay?” Heather asked, nervously. “Well,” admitted Simon, “without knowing exactly what he got ahold of, it’s hard to say for sure. But its rare to get a bad reaction to them. Kids back in the Core use them at parties, and they do have some theraputic value. He’ll probably be fine—” “I love all of you guys!” Jayne moaned happily. “—but it might be burdonsome on the rest of us,” Simon finished. “They call these things ‘hug drugs’. They make people all mushy and peaceful and in touch with their deeper emotions. It really would be helpful to know what he took, though. Jayne!” he commanded, attracting the intoxicated man’s attention. “What did you take? What happened?” “Oh, me an’ a local honey got cozy, is all,” he said airily. “Jasmine, her name was. Oh, I so love Jasmine. Sister Jasmine, with the Great Big Boobies!” He held his hands up as if picking melons to demonstrate her most favored characteristic. “There are children present, Mr. Cobb!” Heather said, blushing indignantly. “He’s under the influence,” Simon reminded her. “He’s not in control of his language. Not that really makes much difference in his case . . .” he admitted. “Jayne! What did she give you?” “Nuttin’,” Jayne declared. “I was drunk afore we met. She just asked me if I was willin’ to . . . to . . . somethin’ ‘bout the ‘lifeforce’, I dunno. Then she slaps a sticker on my heiny an’ afore you can say ‘ouch, you got mighty boney elbows fer a bird’, she’s ridin’ me like the law were after her!” “Children present!” Heather declared, putting her hands over her ears. “Yeah, that’s gonna give me nightmares,” agreed Kaylee quietly. “Let me see the ‘sticker’,” Simon ordered. Jayne shrugged, unbuckled his belt – causing Heather to look away . . . mostly – and flipped over, displaying his hairy hindquarters to doctor, engineer, student, and any passers-by who were in the line of fire. “Jayne,” Kaylee said, slowly, “Did you know you got a tattoo of a tree on your pi gu?” “A what?” he asked, dreamily. “A tree,” she repeated. “Deciduous, in case you’re curious,” Simon added. “Oh,” Jayne said, and then paused. “Is it pretty?” The three of them looked at each other for support, and came to a concensus. “Yeah,” Kaylee said. “It’s pretty.” “Oh, good!” Jayne said, closing his eyes happily. “I like pretty trees!” “I don’t care much for the frame, though,” Simon added, dryly. “Okay, we’re going to . . . well, Heather, what do we do?” he asked. “Um . . . get him back to his bunk. Get some fluids in him. Probably . . . administer a counter-agent?” she asked hesitantly. “Ultimately, ideally, yes,” Simon agreed. “But you have to know what ails him, first. We need to know what this Sister Jasmine gave him.” “Oh,” Heather said, nodding in agreement. “I guess she’s one o’ them heathen priestess whores they got ‘round here.” “More than likely,” agreed Simon. “Inara!” Kaylee said, snapping her fingers. “She’d know! If it’s somethin’ to do with whorin’, she’s the one to know.” “Inara’s real gorram pretty,” Jayne said. “Such a compassionate, fine woman. I’d like to –” “CHILDREN!” Heather and Kaylee said in unison. “I’ll take three. I actually like the little bastards,” Jayne said sleepily, and passed out cold. “Couldn’t just pass out drunk,” Simon muttered. “Couldn’t just get alcohol poisoning like a normal . . . mammal,” he said with disdain as he pulled Jayne to his feet, one arm around his shoulder, with Kaylee on Jayne’s other side. “No, big gorram . . . lizard has to get involved with a psychoactive native shamaness.” “He ain’t that bad,” Kaylee muttered back to him. “No,” Simon admitted coldly. “But I’d endure a week of vomit and loose stools to get the memory of Jayne Cobb telling me he loved me out of my gorram ears.”

*

*

*

“Sister Lister, here, is the senior priestess of the area,” Inara said, introducing a stately, very beautiful blonde woman in flowiing robes to Simon and Kaylee. Jayne was resting comfortably in the infirmary, where Heather was watching his vitals. “She’s a friend of the Stiles family, friends of Mal’s.”

“Oh, I know Tinker!” Kaylee said, beaming.

Sister Lister smiled beatifically. “Valdemar was one of my students. I bore witness to his oath.”

Simon scratched his ear. “Well, thank you for coming. Apparently one of your . . . coreligionists administered a hallucinagen to one of my crewmembers at the party last night. I’d like to find out what it is.”

Sister Lister got a troubled look on her face. “A tree, right?”

“Well, yes,” admitted Simon. “But I doubt that has any real effect on his presentation.”

“It is pretty, though,” Kaylee offered helpfully.

“What I’m guessing is that this . . . priestess of yours gave him a drug that was absorbed dermally, probably using DMSO as a carrier agent. A contact posion,” he summarized.

“Well, poison might be a little strong,” Sister Lister said, defensively. “It’s a sacred drug, among my sisters. For religious and ceremonial purposes. But it’s never given surreptitiously – or against a man’s will. Any idea which Sister conducted the Rite?”

“Well, he has been goin’ on ‘bout ‘Sister Jasmine’” Kaylee offered.

Sister Lister nodded, and rolled her eyes. “I should have known,” she sighed. “One of the more provincial among us. Look, my religion is dedicated to recruiting champions to defend the lifeforce. To battle suffering, and protect the Goddess-given environment. Usually, this means a long and intense process of meditation, discussion, teaching, rites of preparation . . .”

“But Sister Jasmine likes to cut to the chase,” finished Inara, a knowing smile on her face.

“She’s pretty devout,” Lister nodded apologetically. “We aren’t like a Church, with a bishop and a hierarchy and such – it’s not our way. Once a Sister has been ordained, she’s responsible for her own actions. She answers to no one but the Goddess. And some of our more zealous sisters make a habit of convincing potential recruits to the merits of our cause through seduction and sex,” she explained. “When they encounter a man of weak will, they can’t seem to resist . . . encouraging him to take the Rite.”

“That’s one hell of a church!” Kaylee said, eyes wide.

“It’s been said,” agreed Sister Lister with another deep sigh. “Look, I apologize, personally, if what Sister Jasmine did inconvenienced you, but your man must have consented to the Rite, else she never would have emblazoned him so. He may not have understood what he was getting into, but he did consent. The good news is, I’m familiar with the drug – the worst effects will only last a few days. But as long as the sigil remains, even faintly, he will have flashes of rememberance of his Rite. It might be an annoyance, but there is little long-term effect. It may even cause him to re-evaluate his life.”

“Wouldn’t THAT be a crime,” Inara muttered. She looked at Jayne through the infirmiry window and watched him play ‘itsy bitsy spider’, a huge grin on his face.

“And this is a legitimate religious practice here?” Simon asked, mildly shocked and extremely doubtful. “It sounds more like a cult.”

“Why, because we embrace a fundamental biological practice that other religions view as profane, even evil?” she asked, an edge to her voice. “Sex is universal, Doctor. Just about everyone’s parents had it at least once,” she said, smirking.

“Sorry, I try not to mix my biology with my theology,” Simon said, dryly.

“You can consider us a cult, if you wish. We have no sacred text, no organization to speak of, no motive save protecting the fragile thread of Life. The very land is our church, the sky our temple. And that can be hard for outsiders to grasp. That’s why we went against the Alliance in the War, because they thought we needed to look like a suburb of Sihnon, not our own world. Over a third of all native Muirians are followers of Tradition of the Land. And sex in a sanctified way is a vital, vital part of that practice.”

“Yes, the Sisterhood and their followers consider sex a sacrement, not a sin,” Inara explained. “They use sexuality as a tool for spiritual enlightenment.”

“And drugs to ease the conscience?” Simon added, skeptically.

“Drugs are a sacrement in many religious traditions,” countered Sister Lister. “Christians use wine – albeit sparingly – Buddhists use the caffeine in tea, many sects use cannibis, peyote, psyillocybin—”

“It is quite common, especially in mystical traditions,” Inara agreed. “And Muir has more than its share of those. Psychoactives are common, here, and when properly used they can lead to great spiritual growth. Or madness,” she conceded. “I must admit, I’m fascinated by the practice. Being a Companion has always meant that sex was a sacred interchange between individuals who’s paths cross on the wheel of dharma, but what the Sisterhood does, that takes it even beyond the Guild’s philosophy.”

“And I have to admit that many of my sisters are prejudiced against the Guild – not that they’ve met many Companions,” she said, apologetically. “They see them much the way a professional soldier sees a mercenary: what one does because of duty and heart, the other does for money.”

“Oh, but we aren’t—”

“I know, dear,” Sister Lister said soothingly, smiling. “I trained for four years at Tendara House on Merovingia. I just found that the Sisterhood offered me more than a vocation. I was Called to the service of life, much like a priest is. But I bear you no ill will – indeed, I highly respect what the Guild does.”

“So, y’all are priestesses of a religion where scrumpin’ is sacred, an’ y’all are like . . . whores?” Kaylee asked, confused. “No disrespect,” she added, hastily.

“None taken, my dear,” Lister said, smiling. “I’m used to it. ‘Sacred whore’ might be a better term, although it still isn’t quite accurate. We use our femininity, our sexuality, and our wisdom to effect change in the ‘verse. Positive, life-affirming change. And part of that is encouraging spiritual growth in many ways, including through sexuality. When your friend agreed to the Rite, he took an oath to defend and protect the lifeforce, and that oath was sealed with the bond of intercourse, and symbolized by the tree of life sigil.” She noted Simon’s expression. “Let me guess: not how they did things at the Church back home?”

“If they had, I might have gone more,” Simon reluctantly admitted.

“Don’t worry, we’re highly selective of our champions,” she said, then glanced at Jayne, who was staring at his reflection in the glass and giggling. “Usually,” she amended.

“I’m curious: just what does this oath entail?” Inara asked.

“Oh, upholding justice, protecting the weak, defending Earth-That-Is against all whom would despoil Her. Many of the native men are so bonded by oath – the Radical Green Militiamen, especially. They find the exposure of their raw emotions to be a liberating, life-changing experience. But the real bond isn’t the oath. I’m afraid one of the elements in this particular drug contains elements of the Sisters’ DNA. When in her presence, a pheremonal reaction to her will cause your friend to be rather well-disposed to her.”

“Mind control, now?” Simon asked. “That doesn’t seem very sporting.”

“Oh, it never rises to that level. Let’s just say that he will look upon anything she says favorably. Not enough to subvert his own will, but if he’s hazy on something, he’ll take her lead. Apart from that, all you have to worry about is him being a little more . . . affectionate than usual. For about three days. Then it will start to wear off. He’ll have some lapses of memory, a slightly skewed perspective, maybe a little vomiting while he recovers, but nothing innately harmful. It’s no worse than a bad hangover, I promise.”

“Great, so we get three days or more of warm, mushy Jayne. Can we keep him sedated, at least?” He glanced over his shoulder, where Jayne was gazing adoringly at them all.

“Well, I suppose – there shouldn’t be any conflicts with common sedatives. But he’s no danger to himself or others. As a matter of fact, he won’t hurt a fly for several days.”

“Oh, it’s not him I’m worried about,” Simon sighed, running one hand through his hair. “An . . . overly affectionate Jayne might cause more issues than an overly belligerent Jayne. Sedation might help. It might just save his life when Mal and Zoe come back.”

*

*

*

“Good gravy, girl!” Rowan McKlintock exploded as they stumbled away from the beer tent. “Two pints in ten minutes? Li’l bitty thing like you? I’m surprised you can still walk!”

“I don’t need to walk,” River said, giddily. “I can dance!” And to prove it, she did a graceful pirouette, which made her unruly hair fly out in all directions. She stopped on a dime, then almost tripped when she tried to walk again. “Maybe I do need to walk,” she amended.

“Didja see that swarthy fella lookin’ at me like I was a cool drink o’ water?” Rowan whispered conspiritorily.

“Yeah, he wants to sleep with you,” River said, matter-of-factly. “They all want to sleep with you. Or me. Or anyone. It’s all they think about. I don’t know how they actually get anything done.”

“I can’t argue with that,” agreed Rowan, emphatically. “Even my dumb brother, speaking of whom, there he is with his new girlfriend – oh, excuse me, ‘fiancé’,” she said with a hint of scorn. River saw Tinker McKlintock, too, along with a very pretty brunette girl just a hair shorter than he was. She was wearing a cotton print dress with a woolen shawl, and boots. She smiled a lot, especially when she looked at Tinker.

“Have you met her, yet?” Rowan asked. “She’s not too bad, for a groundhog. Very sweet, actually. Daisy’s her name. From Vesta, he met her when he delivered a load to her daddy. Tinker’s all hot ‘n’ bothered by her, wanted to marry her right then an’ there, but Daddy made him wait ‘til we found out if she’s worth a damn.”

“She looks pretty,” agreed River, unsteadily. “And she seems to have been blessed in the secondary sexual characteristic department. Not as big as yours,” she conceded.

“Oh, Riv, don’t fret none o’er your girls,” Rowan said, laughing. “Truth, they’re a pain mostly. Can’t hardly get no one to take you serious. All the men, they stare and think you’re stupid, all the women are jealous.”

“Just wishin’,” River said, staring at her own chest, as if she could make her boobs grow by mental force alone. “They’d likely throw off my balance when I dance, but there are times I wouldn’t mind showing up somewhere with a couple of big guns,” she said, wistfully.

“River!” Tinker yelled, and ran ten steps to sweep her up in a hug. His fiancé looked uneasy at the display – River could see that her ample endowment did not add much to her sense of personal security – but Tinker’s decisive action added considerably to her own. She found herself enjoying the very public attention from such a handsome young man, especially when she knew that he had no other designs on her than friendship. “I was wonderin’ when we’d see you!”

“I been hangin’ out at the pilot’s poker game, dancin’ and experimentin’ with the evils o’ drink,” River said, adopting the McKlintock’s Rimworld accent. As part of her considerable training as an assassin, she had become conversant with hundreds of accents, and when she was in close proximity with one for any length of time she took it up. It was supposed to make people feel more comfortable, although her brother frequently disapproved of her sounding intentionally ignorant. Like a growing number of his opinions, she was not terribly concerned.

“That’s a Reunion,” agreed Tinker, laughing. “I heard ‘bout Mr. Washburn. And Shepherd Book. I’m powerful sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame, but now Riv’s Serenity’s pilot!” Rowan said, almost screeching the news. “Ain’t that properly shiny?”

“It surely is,” agreed Tinker with a grin. “An’ t’think you were the same novice who almost made me pee my pants on her first shuttle ride on St. Albans just months ago!” “Yeah,” River agreed with a shy grin. “Now I make everyone pee their pants.”

“Riv, I wanna introduce you proper to Miss Daisy Shimoda,” he said, grabbing the shy girl’s hand and leading her forward. “Soon t’be Mrs. Tinker McKlintock!”

“A pleasure to meet you,” the girl said with a bow, and then extended her hand. “Rowan and Tinker have told me so much about you!”

“Nice to meet you,” River said, shaking her hand. “You’re in love with him?” she asked bluntly. That caused Daisy to blush and cut her eyes away, but nod vigorously. “How did you know?” River asked, quizzically.

“Oh, well, funny feelin’ in my . . . belly, y’know. An’ I had a hard time breathin’. He looked so handsome, an’ then he smiled, an’ my heart jus’ melted into a little puddle, y’know?”

“Intestinal instability, cardiac tissue degeneration, shortness of breath,” River said, ticking off each item on her fingers. “Did you notice any increase in vaginal secretion?” she asked.

It took a few moments for the girl to process what she was asking, and then she proceeded to blush brilliantly. Tinker had beat her to it.

“Riv,” Rowan said, gently, “You an’ me, we gotta have a talk ‘bout this new thing called ‘tact’.”

“I was just curious, because – uh oh!” she said, her head whipping around.

“What is it?” Rowan asked.

“Mal,” River said, frowning. “He’s getting ready to kill someone.”

”Mal? Who’s Mal?” Daisy asked.

“Cap’n Reynolds, of Serenity,” Rowan explained.

“How does she know –” Daisy began.

“She’s the reader,” Tinker whispered. “The one I tol’ you ‘bout.”

“Oh!” Daisy said, her eyes opening wide. “She’s the . . . ?”

“Yeah,” Rowan agreed. “She can see what you're thinkin'. 'Course, she's a couple sheep shy of a flock, you get my meanin', so you don't usually gotta worry none. Who’s he fixin’ to end?” she asked, out of curiosity. She’d always had a bit of a crush on the Captain, and delighted to hear his dashing exploits. Killing a man at the Reunion certainly counted.

River thought for a moment, focusing on the voices in her head. Then her eyes got wider than Daisy’s had.

“Your father!” she squealed in horror, and began to run in the direction of the Sky Hawk. The McKlintocks were close on her heels, and Daisy, while confused, felt compelled to go along.