BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - ADVENTURE

VALERIEBEAN

The Osiris Run - Book 2, Ch 1
Monday, December 11, 2006

B2.C1: The ship is waking up, getting ready for the job, Inara slaps Mal. We got it all. …Download the complete PDF here


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 2785    RATING: 9    SERIES: FIREFLY

(A.N. Start at the Prologue!)

CHAPTER 1 The taste of ash filled her mouth. Her room and her body were coated in black soot. Smoke choked her breath and burned her eyes. River rolled off her bed, trying to get below the smoke. Flames leapt from the floor, consuming her skin. She screamed as her body melted and died. “River!” Simon’s voice cut through the flames. Stay away, she thought. Not safe. Suddenly, she felt his cold hands on her skin. The fire disappeared. She was lying on the floor, cradled in her brother’s arms. The cool air chilled her sweat-coated body. The vision dried up until all that was left was confusion. All she knew was that Serenity was going in the right direction, but with the wrong mission. “What were you dreaming about?” Simon asked soothingly, stroking her hair. “I’m in the wardrobe,” she answered. “Found mother’s black dress. I hear her counting.” Simon did not answer, but River no longer expected it. She had told him the plan a dozen times and he never acknowledged. Time was running out. Almost to a hundred. “I woke you,” River pouted, upset at herself for disturbing her brother. She touched his face which was rough with stubble. “It’s okay, mei mei. Would you like something to help you sleep?” River shook her head, sitting up. “I can’t see when I sleep. I need to find the lamp post.” “Maybe tomorrow,” Simon offered, not understanding. “Ready or not,” she answered. Simon helped her off the floor and she crawled back under her covers and closed her eyes. As soon as he left, River crept out of her room and up to the kitchen. The ship was still asleep, so she did her best to keep quiet. Pulling out a pack of matches, she lit one and watched it burn until the flame touched her fingers. Where was the lamp post? Scrounging around the kitchen, she found several long candles and set them up in a circle on the table. She lit the candles and watched them burn, the wax dripping down the side. Time was running out. Five. Six. Seven. Ready or not.

*~*

Shells exploded overhead and Zoë crouched in the remnants of a church for cover. Desperately, she searched the fallen bodies for a weapon that still had a few rounds in it so she could defend herself. The sound of exploding mortars drowned out the warning sirens and the blast threw her backwards. Where was everyone? Zoë awoke with a start. Wash’s arm was draped over her and though he didn’t seem to stir, his hand began stroking hers. He had stopped asking if it was the same dream—it always was. He had stopped trying to get her to talk about it, stopped trying to council her through it. He had accepted the fact that she would never leave Serenity Valley. He had marked the experience as something he would never understand in his lifetime. But every time the dream of Serenity Valley plagued her, he acknowledged. He woke up with her, though less vocally these days, and he soothed her to sleep again. It had been her greatest fear, sharing this secret with him. She hated that the screams from the war still haunted her. She hated the memory, the horror, and the loss. A shell exploded overhead. Then another. The walls around her crumbled, but no one screamed. They were all dead. Zoë crawled out of bed to escape the dream, her toes tingling as they touched the chilly floor. Was it too early for breakfast? She had no desire to sleep anymore. Her leg throbbed where she had been shot on Three Hills. Her shoulder began to throb as well, then her chest. Old war injuries flared up angrily, shouting at her to remember. “Stay with me Zoë!” Mal was shouting. He was carrying her to cover, but it was too late. Shrapnel had pierced her body armor. Her limbs were going numb. Mal phased in and out of her vision as the sky above them crackled with mortars. In the distance, she could hear singing. “…I’ll hold you close to me.” Wash! The screams of Serenity Valley diminished and Zoë could feel Wash’s arms around her waist. He rocked her slowly, his warm breath caressing her ear. How long had he been singing? Zoë’s hands tightened around his as they swayed together in their bunk. His voice brought her to the present, to warmth, to love. Wash had made up the song long ago—about the same time he had stopped trying to council her through the dream. He made up most of the words as he went, but the refrain was always the same. She let his voice anchor her to the present as he repeated his song. “I cannot calm the raging war / That haunts your memory. / But ‘til your calm, my lamby-toes / I’ll hold you close to me.” Zoë smiled, amused that he’d worked the pet name “lamby-toes” into the song. Always different, yet always the same. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I love you,” she whispered. He kissed her cheek “You coming back to bed?” he asked. “I just want to walk around for a bit, clear my head.” “I’m sorry; I can’t let you do that.” “Oh?” Zoë challenged. “I promised the doctor I’d keep you off that foot. But I do know something that might clear your head.” “You mean clear your head.” “You know you like it too,” he said playfully. “And you’ll be off your foot.” “Okay,” Zoë agreed mischievously. “But only if we’re really quiet.”

*~*

“Waaaaaa-hoooooo!” Wash whooped as he sped around Serenity’s cargo bay in their new hover mule. Freshly stolen from the pirates on Three Hills, Wash considered the mule an upgrade in every way. The mule swung sideways, fishtailing mildly as he rounded the corner again and headed for the stairs. Zoë laughed as she held on for dear life. She was sitting sideways in the back seat, her injured leg propped up. As Wash whirled around the next turn, she felt herself sliding. “Careful, Wash! Doc told me to take it easy!” “You’re off your foot!” Wash pointed out, gleefully. He throttled back, giving Zoë a chance to reseat herself. After one more spin around the bay, Wash parked the mule and climbed into the back seat with Zoë. He tried to balance on top of her, but having bucket seats rather than a bench, he tumbled to the floor. Zoë’s giggles erupted into laughter as Wash rested his chin puppy-like on her lap. “And I said quietly,” Zoë giggled, running her fingers through Wash’s hair. “Captain’s gonna shoot us both if he catches us here.” “Captain seem a little testy lately?” “He does a bit,” Zoë agreed, catching her breath as the laughter subsided. “Captain just doesn’t like being handled. Stolte’s been pushing him around from the start.” “Stotle, pushy, right. I don’t like it,” Wash mocked, knowingly. Zoë knocked his head playfully off her lap causing him to slide backwards into the front seat. They both laughed a moment, and then Wash jolted in surprise. “Whoa-ho!” Wash jumped to his feet. “I’m vibrating.” Zoë watched quizzically as he pulled a portable alarm out of his pocket. “Problem?” she asked. “No, just getting close to planet-side traffic.” “I thought we weren’t landing till mid-morning?” “Core traffic laws, dear. Alliance is telling me that I have to pay extra attention to all the empty space around the planet.” Wash crawled into the back seat again and kissed her lightly. “You wait right here for me. We’ll go for another spin after we land.” “Wait here?” Zoë asked playfully. “Right here.” “You mind if I get some breakfast while I wait?” “Bring me some?” Zoë smiled as she watched her husband go to the bridge. As soon as he was out of sight, she turned a frustrated glare at her injured leg. If she couldn’t walk, she couldn’t do her job and that irked her. Captain had already grounded her for this job, but when things went wrong, she’d have to rescue him and rescues usually entailed running. Her mind turned to the Infirmary. Perhaps some pain killers with breakfast.

*~*

The morning waned, but Jayne still lay in bed, the Lassiter resting on his chest. The Lassiter was a stout little beast as laser pistols went. The first of its kind, much of the bulk went into shielding and casing for the source. Jayne slipped his fingers through the grip, feeling the pistol mold to the shape of his palm. The piece was perfectly crafted… for someone with small hands. The first of its kind, and it seemed this laser pistol had been designed for a woman’s grip! Jayne envisioned Elle holding the Lassiter, but suppressed the vision quickly. His cousin’s second death weighed heavily on him and he fought desperately to fill his mind with other things. Jayne aimed at the ceiling lights, making sound effects for the pistol. Then he swung to various other ‘targets’ around the room. Elle’s room. Since her death, Jayne had spent many nights sleeping in her bed rather than his own. There were times that he swore he could feel her next to him. There were days he was convinced that her second death would not be her last—that she had somehow cheated death and would meet him again. He could understand her reluctance to contact him. Working for Nia Stolte meant working close to Jantis and Jantis could not suspect that Elle and Nia were one and the same. In the week and a half since Elle’s death, Jayne had spent every waking minute moving. Push-ups, sit-ups, chin-ups, squats, curls, presses. He tried everything to make the pain in his body greater than that in his soul. He avoided the crew most days, partly for their overly sympathetic manner, partly because Mal told him not to return to meals until he could keep a civil tongue. Jayne hadn’t noticed his talk being any less civil than before, but he didn’t care much for the crew’s company of late anyway. Jayne had been up late last night, lifting weights until he had dropped the bar on himself. Aside from a bruise across his chest and a lot of soreness, he felt fine. But then, he hadn’t tried to move today. Book had come in earlier without a word, set a tray of scrambled egg-style protein on the table, then set himself on the floor to pray. Reaching into the backwaters of his memory, Jayne recalled Book saying that he was taking a day of silence, though Jayne could not understand why. Laying the Lassiter on his chest, Jayne reached underneath himself and pulled out the LeMat revolver he seemed to have rolled onto. Also poking into his back were his Buhnder, Rutger, Mateba, and Desert Eagle. Vera rested patiently on the pillow, not mixing with the others as her scope was freshly aligned. Carefully, he adjusted Vera’s position so he could sit up in bed and start eating his eggs. They would be landing in a few minutes and soon Mal would be asking him to run around and do things. Jayne needed the distraction. As he delved hungrily into the eggs, he looked at Book who was still sitting on the floor, head bowed. “You don’t have to stay, you know,” Jayne told him. Book looked up, catching his eye. He just smiled and nodded, as if to say he knew, but he wanted to be there. “Damn shame losing this Lassiter,” Jayne said quickly. “It’s something I’d want for my own collection. ‘Course I’d want it to work.” Jayne picked up the Lassiter again, turning it over in his hands and examining the power source. Huge, clunky, antiquated. A retrofit was possible because modern laser sources were so much smaller. Book reached out for the gun and Jayne handed it over. “You probably know more about this gun than you let on,” Jayne chuckled. His mind turned curiously about the Shepherd’s well-guarded past. “You know a lot more about everything than you let on.” Book gave a short laugh and handed the Lassiter back to Jayne. “Do you think Elle—” Jayne stopped himself from finishing the thought, sank into the pillow, and set his breakfast aside. He buried his head in his hands, wishing to pull the thoughts of his cousin out by brute force. Normally, Shepherd Book would make an eloquent speech at this time—something about letting go of the pain of the past. But today, Book was silent and the silence drove Jayne crazy. With his eyes squeezed shut to close out thoughts of his cousin, Jayne reached for his Mateba, pointed it at his head, and pulled the trigger. The revolver clicked as the chamber turned. Book had long since taken the rounds from all of the weapons. The clicks of the revolver filled the silence where Book’s voice should have been and the sound anchored Jayne to the present. He felt the rumble of the deck plates as the ship landed. Soon they would take on new cargo and he’d be put to work doing the heavy lifting. Soon, they would have a huge payoff—a hundred-thousand credits per crate. Soon, he’d forget his cousin, just like he had after her first death, and life would be back to normal.

*~*

Captain Malcolm Reynolds hated the core planets. As soon as he opened Serenity’s hatch, the smells of the city wafted in—exhaust fumes, bleached concrete, and stale urine. The whole space port was coated in an artificial gray and there were no trees or natural dirt in sight. With his forged papers freshly updated, the Port Authorities had paid Serenity little mind outside of a complimentary refueling. Working for Nia Stolte had its perks, but that didn’t mean he trusted her. Mal had made a conscious effort to refer to “Elle” as “Nia” in the context of this job. Between Jayne’s continued denial that he knew Elle/Nia and the advice of the people on Stolte Moon, he wanted his crew to keep the aliases straight. Jayne’s words echoed in his mind. I’m the one this truth is meant to protect. Mal didn’t have time to deal with cryptic truths and mysterious cargo. On Stolte Moon, he had met Andre Stolte, Jr.—Nia’s stepson and heir to the Stolte Moon—and was convinced that these were bigger fish than he was accustomed to dealing with. They kept trying to exert control over this job and at one point had very firmly suggested he change the markings and the name of his ship. Mal had nearly punched the Stolte kid, but held back as he didn’t want to end up fighting a duel with swords again. This was not his world and it made him uncomfortable. Mal didn’t like being uncomfortable, and the only thing he could think to do about it was to make his own job. Now if only he could find that Lassiter. As he came down the stairs for a second look through the cargo hold, he saw his first mate reclining in the passenger seat of the hover mule, her right foot propped up on the driver’s seat. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” Mal asked suspiciously. “Just sittin’, sir,” Zoë answered. “Uh, huh, right.” Mal figured she was up to something, but didn’t have the time to care what. “Keep your husband off that thing. It’s not a gorram tricycle!” “I think he did notice the lack of wheels.” “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doin’. Ridin’ around my cargo hold all week, wastin’ all my fuel, and stinkin’ up the air.” “Given the practical experience we’ve gained, I don’t believe it counts as wasting fuel, sir.” At that, Wash came bounding down the stairs from the cockpit and hopped into the mule next to Zoë. “Does she need fuel? We can go fill her up, Captain!” Wash said excitedly, revving the engine. Mal rolled his eyes. “Fine. To the fuel station and back. If you get arrested for joy ridin’, I ain’t coming to bail you out.” “Understood, sir,” Zoë said with a smile. As the hover mule zoomed out of the cargo bay, Inara glided gracefully down the stairs. She looked beautiful and elegant as always… and very, very angry. “This is low, even for you!” she growled at him. She was wearing her tall shoes so she could look him in the eye, and boy did she have a mean eye when she wanted to. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mal said quickly, walking away from her angry face and grabbing a flashlight. He crawled into the storage area, shining the light around the back corners, but the Lassiter was not to be found. “Jamming the docking clamps on my shuttle! You can’t forbid me to work!” Mal backed out of the hold and faced Inara. “No one is forbidding you!” he said defensively. “Look, I’m sure Prince Gavin is a very nice man and I promise I’m not trying to get in the way of your whoring—” SLAP! Inara smacked him across the face, catching him off guard. “You slapped me!” “You deserved it.” She was beyond angry. “The shuttle malfunctioned. It ain’t my fault.” “I didn’t say it was your fault, but I do hold you accountable.” “Isn’t that the same thing?” “You are responsible for the upkeep of this ship.” “Inara, I didn’t sabotage your shuttle. You got a problem, talk to Kaylee. Don’t go slapping me. It don’t help nothin’.” “It helps a little,” Inara muttered, crossing her arms. She fumed silently for a moment as Mal shone his flashlight through the grating in the floor. He swept back and forth, knowing the search was fruitless, but determined to leave no stone unturned. “Excuse me,” a sinister voice called, stopping Mal mid-sweep. A navy-suited man had walked onto his boat, accompanied by a rather brawny looking thug that Mal could only assume was his body guard. He could tell immediately that they were not Port Authorities, nor Feds. Although he didn’t know who they were, he did know that when men of their type showed up, he tended to get pushed into something he didn’t want to do. And Mal had been pushed around enough for one week. His hand rested on his gun as he walked toward the stranger. “Can I help you?” he asked, warily.

*~*

******** Go to Chapter 2

COMMENTS

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 9:11 AM

AMDOBELL


Inara really is a pain, I do hope she improves and stops her attitude. Usually she at least makes sure she has her facts right before opening her mouth or in this hand the flat of her hand. As for the new arrivals methinks Mal is in trouble and why oh why can't River ever warn the crew in time of danger ahead? Ali D
You can't take the sky from me

Monday, December 18, 2006 1:57 AM

RIVERISMYGODDESS


You have the characterizations spot on, in my humble opinion. It is taking all of the self control I have not to just sit and read the entire story right now, instead of interspersing it with work like I should. :)


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