CHAPTER 9 Zoë woke up while it was still dark, her heart troubled, her back sore. With a deep breath and a long stretch, she reached for her toes, then pulled her boots on. For the first time in days, her leg did not hurt. In the dim lamplight, she saw that Wei had finally stopped circling and was resting next to Alegra. Tyler had somehow broken through Jayne’s defenses and was sleeping on his shoulder. Jayne leaned against the wall, one arm wrapped around Tyler, the other cradling Vera. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Zoë stood and strapped on her gun holster. It was empty. She checked the area around her, but the gun was nowhere to be found. Jayne’s holster was empty as well. The only gun in sight was Vera. Zoë walked over and kicked Jayne’s foot to wake him. “Seems he grew on you,” Zoë remarked. “Yeah, we’re attached at the hip.” “Where are the guns?” Jayne grunted, still tired, but maneuvered his way to standing, bringing Tyler with him. It took Jayne a moment to situate the boy so he could be carried with one arm, but once up, Jayne led Zoë out towards the church’s sanctuary. “Little Fidget thought it would be fun to take all the guns apart,” Jayne explained, enjoying the look of alarm that flashed through Zoë’s eyes. He led her to a storage locker which closed with a combination lock. Opening the locker, Jayne handed Zoë her gun, Mal’s revolver, his Rutger, and the pistol Mal and Simon had bought the day before. “Careful with that revolver,” Jayne warned. “May have a screw loose.” Zoë cocked her head, noticing the rifle in the locker as well. “Captain and I are heading out. Could use the rifle.” “Scoutin’ or fightin’?” Jayne asked. “Scouting, but you never know.” “May be best to take another hand-held. That particular rifle is illegal on the world.” “You carried it around all day yesterday.” Jayne shrugged. “Your call.” Zoë opted for an autorevolver, which she tucked into her boot before heading upstairs. She found the Captain fast asleep and unarmed, drool twinkling in the soft hue of daylight. Rolling her eyes, Zoë nudged his side with her boot. Mal sprang into action, scrambling for the missing weapons and struggling to right himself. When he caught sight of Zoë, he froze in embarrassment and wiped the drool from his face. “Way to watch out, sir.” “I was watching out,” Mal protested. “I just got lost in thought.” Zoë tossed him his revolver and his pistol. “Did you take these?” “The kid did, while you were sleeping.” “I wasn’t sleeping, I was just thinking really hard!” “Right, sir.” Zoë raised her eyebrows and began walking back inside. “Why’d you interrupt me? I had almost figured out how to get the ship back.” “Sorry, sir, I didn’t realize.” Mal paused and looked around the roof once more. “Where’s the rifle?”

*~*

Inara had been in her cell just long enough to finish her food before someone came for her. It was hardly enough time to collect her thoughts or recover from the horrors of the night before. She had seen through the window that it was morning and she desperately wanted sleep. Perhaps sleep deprivation was Prio’s way of torturing her. The guard led her into an interrogation room with two hard metal chairs and a small table. Prio sat in one chair looking relaxed and refreshed. He was pulling off a pair of blue latex gloves and eyeing Inara carefully. She sat down in the other chair, sitting straight, maintaining composure, and waiting for him to speak. “Your captain is not on his ship, nor are my specimens. He is hiding them somewhere and you will help me draw them out.” “Have you tried yelling olly-olly-oxen-free?” Prio sneered. “I thought you might try for me.” “Captain Reynolds will recognize a trap.” “I’m not sure he would,” Prio goaded. “You see, he still thinks you are safe, returning to the ship right on schedule. I’m thinking he will jump from the shadows in some futile attempt to warn you off.” Inara knew what he said was true, but she matched Prio’s sneer with her own wicked smile. Perhaps she could stir him the way he did her. “You must be pretty frightened. Going to such great lengths to retrieve these people,” she scoffed. “What do they have on you?” Prio twitched, amused and haughty. “They are powerful and dangerous creatures who will kill your friends with a single glance. I have used one to develop this.” He brandished a black rod, less than a foot long. It looked like a magician’s wand. “Dear me, it’s a stick!” Inara cried, bring her hand to her chest in mock alarm. “Be careful, you could poke someone’s eye out!” “You laugh at my weapon. One specimen, eighteen dead doctors, and I have a seemingly innocuous “stick” that will cause you a most unpleasant death.” Prio twirled the rod in his hand, smiling at its power. Then he cast moon-eyes on Inara, shaking his head with forged pity. “The subject still has the power, but less control over it. ‘Twould be a pity if he killed your crewmates while they slept. So you see, my lady, my intentions for retrieving this subject are purely philanthropic.” Inara looked at the stick again, not believing its power. Her determination wavered, but only for a moment. Prio was a manipulator and a liar. She wouldn’t be played. Firmly, she stated, “The Captain doesn’t take on passengers.” “Help me find him and I’m sure we can clear up the whole matter.” Inara stood, ending the debate. “Kill me with your little stick. I won’t help you.” Prio rose as well and walked her down the block back toward her cell, making no threats. Inara was beginning to think she’d called his bluff, but he stopped short of her cell. They were facing a window into another interrogation room, but the blinds were drawn. “Killing you serves no purpose as yet. But what if I kill him?” Prio pulled the blinds. “Would you help me to save him?” Inara couldn’t make out the face, but the blonde hair and Hawaiian shirt were unmistakable. Wash! He was lying in the middle of the floor, flat on his back, feet tied to a pole suspended about two feet off the ground. Wash’s boots were off and a brutish man was beating the souls of his feet with a bamboo cane. Inara shuddered every time the cane made contact. “What are you doing to him?” “Bastinado,” Prio reveled as if talking about a new recipe for cookies. “It’s really quite fascinating, the response. You don’t hit the feet hard enough to break them with a single blow. Rather, you can drive a man mad just by the repetitive low impact. It’s usually quite effective in extracting information.” Inara pressed her lips together, wanting to turn away, but unable. She feared that if she turned her back on Wash, he would die. “If I help you, will you stop?” “I would consider it.” “Then stop. Let him go.” Prio smiled smugly and pressed an intercom button on the wall. “Echi, take the subject back to his cell.” The brutish man paused, putting down the cane. Roughly, he untied Wash’s ankles and pulled him upright. Unable to stand on his battered feet, Wash fell hard on his knees and dropped to the floor. Inara saw Wash roll over, still throwing defiant insults at Echi. Prio rolled his eyes and clarified. “Echi, carry the subject back to his cell.”

*~*

Wash was still seeing stars from the pain in his feet. He wouldn’t be walking out of here. Echi had thrown him onto a foam slab, which was a poor excuse for a mattress, but Wash had slept on worse. He decided that Mal should give him time and a half for hours spent enduring torture on behalf of the crew. Maybe even double that. He imagined Mal taking the money out of his “vacation” time spent recovering. Finally able to lie flat, the blood circulation returned to his legs, and while his calves were grateful, the soles of his feet throbbed in agony. He considered lying on the floor and propping his feet on the bed, but just the thought of the position made him shudder. He pulled his feet to his chest in a fetal position. Yes! This could work! The position made him think of Zoë again, carrying a kid, craving headless cloud-duck. He thought of Mal threatening to sleep with her—arguing with Mal over Zoë had gotten him through his last bout of torture. He wondered if Zoë had been tortured during the war and if so, how had she gotten through it? He thought of that morning—Zoë waking up, still haunted by the memory of Serenity Valley. Maybe she hadn’t gotten through it yet. Maybe she was still pulling through. In his mind’s eye, he held his wife. He wondered where she was and hoped she hadn’t been caught. She would come for him, he knew. Just like he would come for her. Wash rocked side to side lightly, still holding his knees to his chest, and began to sing. His breath came in short bursts and the sound barely escaped his lips, but just the resonance of the melody in his mind held him true. “I cannot run into your arms / Or ‘scape this misery. / But till you come, my Zoë, love, / I’ll hold you close to me.”

*~*

Mal adjusted his jacket. He was still wearing his new suit from the day before and although he felt too clean to be in a gunfight, he did blend into the crowds much better than Zoë. “Maybe we should get you a nice suit too,” Mal quipped. In her tight olive pants and brown vest, Zoë didn’t blend into the flat grayness of the city, nor did she look like she was associated with him. “I don’t think the women here wear suits, sir.” “Then a fluffy dress and frilly shoes.” “That fancy suit’s gone to your head.” “I slept in it and it didn’t even wrinkle! And look!” Mal stopped walking and leaned against the wall, looking suave. “It’s like rich-folk camouflage!” Zoë stopped walking and shot him a snippy glare. “See there! Now you look like you fit in,” Mal laughed, but stopped quickly as the look on Zoë’s face suddenly changed. Mal turned quickly to see what had caught her eye. It was Inara’s shuttle! Immediately, the two started running toward the spaceport. Zoë led Mal through the back entrance, past the reclamation yard, the same way they had escaped the day before. “She’s early!” Mal carped, watching the shuttle circle the sky. “She’s never early!” “You think something is wrong?” The two slowed as the protective line of cargo crates thinned out. They needed to get to the topside of the landing port. Prio seemed to have scaled back his presence overnight. There were no guards visible along the ramps heading up. Mal started to rush forward, but Zoë grabbed his arm and shook her head. She nodded, instead, toward the basement level of the administrative building. With no time to lose, the two rushed through the building and up the stairs, nearly setting off an alarm with their guns. Once topside, they kept low on the causeway and ducked behind a pressure-washing truck. Mal cast a worried glance skyward. Inara’s shuttle was still circling. Serenity’s landing struts looked a little beat up and the cargo bay was open for the world to see in. If Inara landed, she’d be caught for sure. “She’s probably wondering why no one is answering,” Zoë said. “Let’s hope she assumes the worse.” A few moments later, two Alliance patrol cars came speeding up the ramp, sirens blaring. Nearly a dozen men streamed out of Serenity’s cargo bay, some taking refuge behind storage crates, others crossed the causeways to the adjacent docks or toward the administrative building. The Alliance Feds chased after them, only catching a few, but placing them in handcuffs and putting them into the squad cars. “She called the Feds?” Mal balked. “Makes sense,” Zoë said. “She had no qualm with them.” Inara landed her shuttle next to Serenity, then came out and thanked the two Alliance officers for their help. One of the Feds told her to wait outside while he checked the ship. Mal couldn’t believe her tactics, but she seemed to have successfully emptied the area of Prio’s goons. While Inara waited for the Fed to return, she sat on the ramp of the cargo bay and started fiddling with the hem of her skirt. Occasionally she glanced around the landing port, and Mal knew she was watching for him. The two squad cars departed, leaving the last Fed on the ship with Inara. Thinking it was safe, Mal looked to Zoë for her take on the situation. Zoë’s eyes were wide with emotion. “What is it?” “Prio has Wash,” she said solemnly. “Why do you say that?” “Inara’s seen him. Look at what she’s doing.” Mal looked at Inara, then back to Zoë. “It’s Inara. She’s preening.” “It’s a trap, sir. And she’s the bait.” Mal crouched a little lower and reexamined the situation. Inara’s hair, though beautiful, was not to its normal standard of perfect. He realized that even though he had been privy to her preening, it was not something she would do in public view. She would have gone back into her shuttle. Alegra had been right. Prio had set up this elaborate ruse to draw him out. It was a trap, but not a bad idea. Keeping low, Mal darted back down the causeway toward the administrative building. Zoë followed quickly. Once inside, Mal stood as straight as possible, working to adopt the same smugness he’d seen in Simon the day before. Smoothing his jacket, he approached a bored looking blonde receptionist whose nose was buried in a romance novel. “Hello, I’m Sergeant Callahan, this is Ms. Washburn.” He flashed his inside pocket as if it were a badge. “We’re from the morgue.” Reluctantly, the lady put down her novel and folded her hands. Although her posture asked “how can I help you”, her face said “shoot me now, I hate my job.” “We had a body come in this morning—a Captain Reynolds. We understand he has a ship here.” The lady consulted a computer screen, then she asked, “What’s his debt?” “Beg pardon?” “There’s a government auction tonight. I can make room in the line. What are his debts?” Mal thought quickly, having no idea of what sounded reasonable, and trying to balance that lack of information with the very firm limit of how much cash they could get. “Thirty-thousand.” The lady typed in a few more lines of her form. “The Firefly?” “That’s the one.” “We’ll start it at 50.” “Fifty?” Mal repeated, worried that this idea was worse than it initially seemed. The lady rolled her eyes. “It still needs to be inspected.” “Oh… right,” Mal nodded, understanding. “You see, I was hoping I could take it.” “Then you can come tonight and bid on it like everyone else,” she said, nonplussed, handing him a card with the auction information. Mal exchanged a look with Zoë. “Beat up old junker like that. We’ll be lucky to get 50,” the lady muttered. “Oh, I bet there’s a fella out there willing to go twice that. Right Zoë?” “I know someone that might,” she replied.

*~*

Inara wrung her dress as if it were wet, twisting so hard the wrinkles did not come out. It had been nearly two hours since their staged police sting, and still no sign of Mal. From her vantage point, she could see Prio in her shuttle pacing impatiently and conversing with someone on vid. What might happen to her if Mal didn’t show? As the next hour came and went, a blonde woman exited the Administrative building and started walking toward Serenity, bringing two people in bright orange jumpsuits bearing the Andover Spaceport logo. “Excuse me, can I help you?” Inara asked, jumping to her feet as they approached the ship. “Ma’am, is this your shuttle?” the blonde lady asked. Inara nodded. “I’m going to have to ask you to vacate this landing dock.” “But I’m waiting…” Inara pointed toward Serenity. “Tow this to the reclamation yard and get her polished up,” the lady ordered the two orange jumpsuits. “What’s going on? Did something happen to Captain Reynolds?” Inara stammered. Prio came to the mouth of the shuttle, looking confused. “Sorry to be the one to tell you, but Captain Reynolds is dead.” The news hit Inara like a ton of bricks. “And the others?” she asked, her voice trembling. The girl shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t know.” Inara tottered backwards toward her shuttle, the world becoming small. Prio’s jaw dropped in surprise as Serenity was piloted off the dock, the land lock clearly lifted. This was no prank. “I’m afraid you need to vacate this landing pad. Do you have a place to go?” “Yes,” Prio answered, pulling her angrily onboard. Inara stumbled on, letting Prio pilot the shuttle back towards his lair. Her eyes welled with tears as she circled the room, remembering how often Mal had entered it uninvited. “What now?” Inara asked, fearing for Wash and for herself. Prio shook his head. “I have no use for you. But you are the last of your crew still alive. The last one to see Chelsea Halden. And that’s of use to Jantis. You will go to him.” “The last? But Wash…” Prio leered evilly. “Didn’t I tell you? He didn’t make it.” Inara’s world crumbled. She felt faint. Collapsing on the bed, she no longer cared if Prio saw her cry. Through the sobs, she reached into her nightstand and pulled out a slender metal box containing the standard companion immunization kit. She had no guns, no swords, no great physical strength. She had only her skills of manipulation and seduction… and now, she had an immunization kit.

*~*

********* Go to Chapter 10