BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL

SCREWTHEALLIANCE

Unfinished Business -- Chapter Eleven
Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Mal meets up with some old friends. River plays a merry tune.


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 3319    RATING: 9    SERIES: FIREFLY

Unfinished Business

Chapter Eleven

By the time the dessert buffet was revealed, most of the crowd had settled down into small groups enthusiastically discussing the coming operation. Most of them hadn’t had this much purpose or direction in their lives since the War, and it was like a whiff of fresh atmo to them. As veterans, they were mostly infantry. The Independents had found it easier to recruit infantry than any other kind of soldier in the skills-poor reaches of the Rim, and it was easier to put a rifle in a man’s hands and show him how to use it than it was to take him and arm him with the education and background necessary to, say, crew a warship or fly a fighter. Now they were mostly gun-hands: smugglers and petty thieves, mercenaries and criminals. This was the most structure they’d had since Serenity Valley. It was also the first purpose they’d had. The real movers-and-shakers were crowded around the crate-cum-war-room at the head of the cargo bay. That group included most of the captains, the former intelligence personnel, Candy Cane McBane, and other Very Important Browncoats. Mal and Zoe were included, as was Duncan McKlintock, who suddenly looked like the loneliest man in the ‘verse. “We’ve reduced the preliminary stages of our plan to six main tasks,” Rachel was saying as she spread out dossier folders on the crate. “Each must be completed if this operation is to go forward. And each must be completed quickly – we have reason to believe that the ship is in danger from the current instability.” “None of these is particularly difficult,” the Brigadier added. “We tried to keep them simple and straightforward. But most of them are illegal and involve some risk to your ships, if something goes wrong. I’d like to say we have adequate back-up for you, in case that happens, but that would be what we in Intelligence call ‘a lie’. We’re not only unsanctioned, participation in this by many of us constitutes a violation of the terms of the Amnesty and Reconciliation Acts and could result in criminal indenture, life in prison, or firing squad. So don’t hump it up, because there’s no guarantee that we can get you out.” “This might, uh, take a little seed money,” suggested a grizzled-looking vet Mal didn’t know. “Don’t know ‘bout anyone else, but we just barely had the fuel to make it here. If we can’t find a job, might not be able to launch.” “You’ll get your money,” assured McBane, gruffly. “Our resources are not unlimited, but we can help out. This isn’t a for-profit venture, I remind you. I’m not saying that you won’t find an opportunity to profit along the way, but operational resources will be reserved for operational necessities. I don’t want to be paying for you to have your gorram quarters wallpapered. But if you need a hand, see Mr. Lockley, my aid, and he’ll sort it out. Go ahead, Colonel,” he said, nodding. “We have divided these six tasks by world,” Rachel continued, “knowing that each of you has contacts to a greater or lesser degree on each. If you think you can handle it, shout out. If no one does, we’ll have to draw straws or something. Let’s start with a . . . simple larceny on Aurora? Someone with a big ship, this thing’s pretty large. About the size of a six-seat shuttle.” Monty raised his hand. “I got some kin on Aurora,” he said. “Be nice to see ‘em again. And the Black Dog can handle the load.” “Done,” agreed McBane, handing over the packet. “Good,” agreed Rachel, grabbing the next packet. “I have a . . . a recon job on Ezra? Someone subtle,” she insisted. “Someone who won’t be noticed.” Mal glanced at Zoe. “Let’s us off the hook,” he grinned, weakly. Zoe nodded emphatically. Mal and Zoe’s husband Wash had been tortured in a skyplex above Ezra by a former business associate – then repaid the compliment by shooting up the joint getting out. Adelai Niska was not known for his forgiving nature, and Serenity would be flagged and tagged the moment she entered the system. “I’ll take it,” Tanaka said, bowing slightly from the neck. “I’ve not been to Ezra in three years. I can always unload some seed stock or consumer goods, there, without suspicion. And I’ve never dealt with Niska,” he added, with a certain sense of pride. “Lucky bastard,” Viktor Stiles grunted. “He’s a nasty, filthy piece of work. Hear you gave him an earful, last year, Mal,” he added slyly. “Yeah, well, that’ll be the last time HE gets away with getting a new pair o’ long johns at Christmas and not having the decency to send a ‘thank-you’ note,” admitted Mal with a wry chuckle. The details of the raid were well known in the demimonde, and while Mal was certainly entitled to bragging rights, he’d rather not embellish a tale that was already growing beyond the uncomfortable truth. He involuntarily touched his ear. “Don’t think we’re quite ready to kiss an’ make up, yet.” Rachel looked at him narrowly for a moment, then picked up another dossier. “Got a . . . looks like a trip to the Core – Londinium, to be exact, New Edinburgh to be precise. Need to make contact with a friend of a friend and pick up some data. Data that would get you killed if you were found with it. Remember, things are a mite unstable there right now. But that might be in your favor. Any takers?” “Right up my lane,” Beatrice said, taking the folder. “It’s on my itinerary, anyway – got a scheduled pick-up there in nine days. Factory equipment. Stuffed with duty-free brandy.” Rachel nodded and handed over the file. She scooped up the next one. “Anyone up for stealing an Alliance ship?” “Piracy?” Viktor asked, eyebrows raised. “Did someone mention piracy? I could do some piracy,” he said, picking up the file. He glanced at it and shrugged. “Got anything more challenging? Hell, I could wave this one in.” “You do that,” Rachel said, disparagingly. “That leaves two . . . anyone got a connection on Verbena?” “Me,” Randal Omphalos said, knocking back the ratty Greek fisherman’s cap he wore to cover his bald head. “What is it?” “Gonna be tricky,” admitted Rachel as she scanned the summary. “Might be good to have two ships on this one. You have to steal a communications relay satellite without the Alliance knowing. We’ve got a technical advisor for you, but this is going to be a two-ship job. What about you, Hiram? Up for a little tag-team?” Byrd shrugged. “I like Verbena,” he said. “Stationed there in the War. Good noodles. Yeah, I’ll go, too.” “Great, and that just leaves one,” Rachel said, looking up from the file. “Anyone have any decent connection on . . . Persephone?” Mal nodded. “I might could know someone who knows someone there,” he said, taking the file. “What’s the gig? And nothin’ involving swords.” “Why swords?” “Long story,” he said darkly. “Kidnapping,” Rachel said. “And I don’t foresee a sword in your future. A snatch and interrogation. You geared for that?” “I don’t see why not,” Mal agreed, after a moment’s thought. “Anyone who will be missed?” “Not particularly. But he’s got security.” “He just thinks he does,” Mal said, smirking. “Anything else?” “Might have to torture someone a little bit,” Rachel said. “Who? Little girls? Kittens?” “No, a former Alliance agent.” “Dibs!” Zoë called instantly. “Jayne’s not gonna take kindly to you elbowin’ in on his turf,” Mal pointed out. “He should be used to disappointment by now,” Zoë assured. “I got this one.” “Why we need to torture him?” Mal asked Rachel, and glanced at McBane. “To get some information out of him. Security details.” “I might have a way to do it without the rack and tongs. Not fond of torture. Ain’t reliable.” “As long as you get the specs on the ship, I don’t care if you propose marriage. Somehow I doubt you’re his type – unless you’ve continued dressing in drag all these years?” “Hey! That was – that was a long time ago!” Mal defended, looking around guiltily.. “Sir?” Zoe asked, surprised. “Later,” Mal muttered. “We’ll get your gorram data. And not beat it out of him. Unless we have to,” he corrected. “We’ve supplied an expert to determine operational requirements – they’ll be sitting in on the interrogation.” “Use some restraint,” reminded McBane. “Don’t kill him unless you have to, and do what you can to keep him quiet afterwards. That’s going to be key. Any word of this leaks to the Feds, we can punch out – there won’t be a rescue. All right,” McBane said, clapping his hands together. “You each have about three weeks to complete your assignment and rendezvous at Amphora Station. The rest of you go about your business until we call you – but don’t get too far away from that station. We’ll only have about three days lead time before we have to go. If you and your people want in on the fun, you’ll be close by. From there we’ll go to a secret base and set the stage.” “You got a secret base?” asked Monty, interested. “Where?” “It’s a secret, nimrod,” Rachel said, sourly. “Need to know, only. When you need to know, we’ll tell you. Now let’s finish up dessert while there’s still some left and get out to the party,” Rachel said. “And no one – I mean no one – talks about this to anyone you don’t trust with your life. Don’t make us have to deal with that, OK? Mal, a word?” Zoë shot him a glance, and in less than a second he had completed an entire silent conversation with his second-in-command concerning the appropriateness and the wisdom of her remaining to back him up.. She nodded once, barely perceptibly, and moved back to their table. “Long time, no see,” Rachel began softly, when they were no longer in danger of being overheard. “I’d’ve sent you a Christmas card, but I’ve been busy,” Mal grunted. “So I hear. I keep track,” she said, never taking her eyes off of him. “Du Khang. Serenity Valley. Ariel. Niska. Vajra. That whorehouse episode. And, of course, the whole Miranda thing you did. When I heard you were responsible for that, I . . . was surprised.” “So much for my low profile,” he said with a sigh. “And where have you been keeping yourself since our glorious utter defeat?” “In whatever cesspool seems least likely to get raided by the Feds. Set, Haven, Newhall, the Border Moons . . . lots of crappy worlds, lots of crappy space stations. You ever run into anyone from back home?” There was a pained look in her eyes when she mentioned home. Mal had worn it himself, often, over the years. Shadow had been destroyed by the Alliance mid-way through the war. In a stroke designed to remove a major Independent stronghold from play, as well as demonstrate Alliance firepower and willingness to use it, Shadow had been systematically nuked from orbit, leaving only glassy craters and radioactive fallout behind. Virtually every living person had been killed in the attack or in the aftermath. Those few Shadowans that had managed to make it off-world had been in the Independent Armed Forces, or had been wealthy enough to evacuate, and there were few enough of either of those left. It would be decades before the world was livable again. “Not . . . really,” Mal said, stiffly. “I’ve seen a few. No one from our old unit. But—” “Look, is there a point to this?” Mal burst out, his irritation masking deeper emotions. “It wouldn’t kill you to be civil,” Rachel said, evenly. “Thought you might o’ learned that by now. Or at least show some respect. We were on the same side, you know.” “Accidents happen,” Mal said darkly. “You became an officer, I became a grunt, and now we’re both losers. Yea, us.” He turned to go. “Mal, you’re being an ass! We were friends, once!” she said, loudly. “Once,” repeated Mal, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You wanna play ‘old home week’? Then let’s sing a few bars of ‘Rally ‘Round the Banner’, bitch about the Feds and get on with our gorram lives, OK?” “Why do you have to be so mean?” Rachel accused. “I came by it honest,” Mal reminded her. “A couple years marching with a rifle will do that to you. Lot harder than starin’ at a computer sim all day. Makes bad for the disposition.” “Fine! Be a wang bao dan!” she spat, indignantly. “I was just trying to be courteous. Because I’m going with you to Persephone.” “The hell you are!” “It’s part of the mission, custard brain. I’m the expert. Didn’t you read the specs? Or do you not know how to read yet?” “Academics weren’t never my strong point,” Mal shot back. “I work for a gorram living. Why the hell do you need to go?” “Because we need very specific intel from this one,” Rachel replied. “And I can’t trust it to a former-infantry sergeant turned ham-handed smuggler. No offense.” “I think you underestimate my capabilities Still,” he said, coolly. “Well, that’s your biggest talent, isn’t it?” she accused, her bright gray eyes flashing. “Being underestimated?” “’Spect it is,” he agreed. “It damn sure ain’t forgiveness. I’m fresh out!” “I’ll be at your ship in the morning,” Rachel said, evenly. “You can stick me in a corner there and back – I’m not picky about accommodations. But I get to interrogate the prisoner. Understood?” “I’m sure the boss can find someone else who—” “I’m going, Reynolds, so quite your righteous bitching and accept it,” she commanded. “You take the mission, you take me. It won’t kill you to have me along.” “No, but it might kill you,” he growled back. “A Firefly ain’t the most reliable of transports. Accidents happen. ‘Specially on my boat.” “Ain’t that fitting, then?” she said bitterly. “I’ll be there an hour after dawn. Don’t bother tidying up.” With that she spun on her heel and left. Mal started back towards his table when someone grabbed his arm. “Hey, Mal—” the normally welcome voice of Duncan McKlintock said. Mal didn’t wait for him to say another word – instead he spun, grabbed Duncan’s collar, and pushed him back against a support. Duncan’s eyes went wide. “Don’t you start with me, you traitorous bastard!” he snarled. “I trusted you – I TRUSTED YOU! Tsu ta min ya min tsu yi! You’ve been on my ship, you’ve been with my crew—” “Mal! MAL! Calm down!” Duncan yelled. “Calm down?” Mal asked, indignantly. “You betray me, and you tell me to calm down? Betrayal ain’t exactly calming!” “I didn’t even know you then!” Duncan protested. “You don’t know the whole gorram story, so you just calm down before—” “I’ll keep my own counsel about when to calm down, Captain! You lied to me – to all of us! We trusted you, and you sold us out – how much Browncoat blood is on your hands?” “I never swore to the black star,” defended Duncan, eyes staring back at him accusingly. “I never took up arms one way or th’other! That was an age ago, and I wasn’t political! Still ain’t!” “But you didn’t mind so much cashing in on us, now did you?” “Mal, that was a long time ago, and I had a family!” Duncan declared. “We got boarded – they had guns to our heads, literally! They were gonna take my boat, indenture my family— what was I supposed to do, huh? I had four kids back then – and one on the way! What would you have done, Mal?” “It wasn’t my call to make,” Mal said in a low voice. “It was yours. And you knuckled under to the Purplebellies while the rest of us fought and bled and died—” “I went to the Independents, Mal! I didn’t have to, but I did it anyway! I gave information both ways. It got me across the borderlands and through the lines! It saved Independent lives! Maybe your own gorram life!” “Don’t matter much to me anymore, now does it?” Mal barked back. “Millions on the ground fighting and bleeding, and you zippin’ back an’ forth cuttin’ a profit—” Mal moved to draw his pistol when he felt another hand on his arm. “Ease off, Reynolds,” Viktor Stiles said, calmly. “Yeah, Mal, ease back,” agreed Monty, who was standing right behind him. “We don’t do this. War’s over. No one likes a spy . . . but that’s history, now.” “Relax, Reynolds,” commanded the Brigadier-turned-crimelord. “McKlintock was always on our side. He did come to us, just like he said. I know your blood is up – all of ours is, too. But save it for the Purplebellies, when we get there. Don’t waste your rage on him. Duncan did save thousands of Independent lives, and kept the Alliance from knowing anything we didn’t want them to.” “And how do you know that?” demanded Mal. “How do you know that he didn’t tell them what they wanted to know?” “Because we had other spies in the Alliance who were watching him,” McBane said evenly. “I know you by your reputation – I know what you did at Serenity Valley. And afterwards. I can understand how a man in your position might take offense at this. But understand me: the War was a complex, nuanced thing. You had your part. I had mine. And men like Duncan McKlintock had theirs. “I don’t expect you to understand it – things look pretty straightforward from the infantry. But a war is a mighty thing to wrap your head around, and it’s never as clean-cut as an infantry battle. There are more ways to win a war than being in a foxhole with a rifle. Especially a war being fought on a dozen worlds at the same time, and in the Black as well. So when I say this man did a great service to the war effort, at great personal risk, trust me that I know what the hell I’m talking about . . . and relax.” Mal gave Duncan a long, cold stare, then relaxed his grip. Without another word he spun on his heel and walked away.

*

*

*

“You ain’t getting’ in,” the young man with the dark hair and the Komodo 9mm submachine gun said matter-of-factly. “You ain’t on the list.” “I need to get in,” Rowan McKlintock said, emphatically. “We all do! Hell, it’s my gorram ship! I’m the gorram pilot!” The young man looked up at the cockpit, thirty feet above. “Don’t look like you’re needed at the moment, missy,” he said gently. Another young man stood near the controls, a flexi in his hand. He was tall, dark-skinned, and had an amused smile on his face as he watched the three girls try to convince his mate to let them in the big meeting. He, too, carried a Komodo, but he made no attempt to brandish it. “You fail to grasp,” River said, breathlessly. “Our families are in imminent danger! Angryhatingyellinghittinggun things! Argh!” she cried in frustration. “From whom, Miss?” the boy said with just a hint of a patronizing manner. “From . . . each other!” River said, realizing how dumb that sounded as she said it. “It happens,” the boy admitted. “Not our concern. Our concern is to make certain that this hatch stays closed unless we’re ordered to open it.” “Well, that’s settled then,” Rowan said evenly. “I’m ordering you to open it.” “Sorry, Miss,” he said, tossing his long, shaggy brown hair out of his eyes. “I take my orders from my patrol leader. I’m not a thug, I’m a militiaman.” “Would you be open to a bribe?” Tinker asked, hesitantly. “Right!” River said, smacking her forehead. “Of course! A bribe! How much is a bribe?” she asked. Then she got an idea. “Oh! Rowan, I know! Show them your breasts! Boys like that! And yours are really big, too!” That earned River a dirty look from Rowan, a guffaw from Tinker, and a deep blush from Daisy. Both guards laughed. “Sorry,” the darker boy said, casually. “We’re Greenies. On Muir it takes more than a healthy bust to turn a head. Me Mum still goes about with her business hanging free. Gets hot, out here.” “Look, we have to get in,” Tinker declared. “We’re ship’s crew, and we need to get in.” “Don’t care if you’re the mayor of Munchkinland, you ain’t gettin’ in,” the boy insisted, still laughing. “Don’t make me get violent!” Rowan said, her nostrils flaring. She moved her hand near her gun. “Sweetheart, you’ve got courage, I grant. But me an’ Trev, here, we ain’t the only Greenies about. Got a patrol comin’ by in about eight minutes. You try any gunplay, we’ll have us quite the hubbub before long. Besides, don’t make me shoot you. Your friend is right – they are really big. Hate to see them perforated.” “River,” Rowan said, her eyes narrowing. “You still got your . . . harmonica? The one you got on St. Albans?” “Right here,” River said brightly, taking it out of a pocket in her new vest. “A little travelin’ music, if you’d please,” Rowan said. “Mayhap that snappy tune you played then?” “I don’t see why not,” agreed the girl, who held the instrument to her lips and began to play a merry folk song. “Now they want to dance us t’death, Crom!” the guard by the panel said with a grin. “Play us a little tune!” River began to sway hypnotically, emphatically to the music. Rowan just stood there, glowering, arms crossed under her breasts. Tinker put himself before his bride-to-be (who was confounded by what was happening) and whispered harshly: “Rowan! What do you think you’re doing!” “I’m just standin’, mindin’ my own,” his sister said, intently. “An’ River’s just playin’ a harmless li’l tune. Now shut up so you can enjoy the music.” “I hate it when you do this!” he replied in the same whisper. “Is your family always like this?” Daisy asked, wide-eyed. “Pretty much,” agreed Tinker. “Your friend plays well,” Trevor said, nodding. “But—” Before he could finish uttering the syllable, River spun daintily and kicked him carefully in the jaw, sending him swiftly into unconsciousness. Before the other guard could make a quarter turn to see what the problem with his friend was, River’s elbow caught him in the throat, sending him to his knees. A follow-up tap to his temple left him sprawled. The entire incident happened so quickly and so smoothly that no passers-by seemed to notice. “Sorry,” River said apologetically as she stepped around the guard’s body. “Got a door to open.” “Tink!” Rowan yelled. “Get the gorram door open!” The young engineer hurried to do so, trying not to look at the unconscious bodies as he approached the battered console. Rowan put her hand on her pistol and started looking around for that patrol. “Riv, Daisy, get them bodies out o’ the way – slump ‘em together next to the hatch, like they was asleep!” “Gorram it!” Tinker swore. “They’ve got it locked out!” “Goodness,” Rowan said, rolling her eyes. “If we only had a competent engineer with us . . . “ “I’m on it, I’m on it,” Tinker grumbled, taking tools out of his vest and bending to pry open the case. “Did we just do something wrong?” Daisy asked, nervously. “Don’t let it bother you,” River said, lugging the guard with the brown hair back to sit next to his unconscious friend.. “Minor transgressions of legal authority are a common factor in frontier business negotiations.” “Welcome to the gorram family. It happens,” Rowan said, dismissively. “Riv, that was brilliant!” “I’ve been practicing,” River said, smugly. “But I think I hit a C sharp instead of a C on the chorus.” “Yeah,” Rowan said, staring at her. “You should work on that.” “And . . . done!” Tinker said triumphantly. “Watch your head, Ro!” “Party time,” the young pilot said, drawing her pistol as the hatch whined its way open. “Remember, no killing,” River lectured. “I’ll keep that in mind.” “We just keep them apart – your father isn’t injured yet, that I can tell!” “Just get the gorram hatch open and follow me in!” “Right behind you, Sissy – Daisy, you stay out here and out of the line of fire!” “This is all so—” the young woman said, backing up. As the hatch finished opening, Rowan was preparing for a grand entrance – but before she could start, Mal Reynolds and Zoë Washburn strode purposefully out of the hatchway, ignorant of the minor mayhem responsible for their exit. “ . . . believe they want me to be calm,” Mal was grumbling. “Well, we did pledge a truce,” Zoë reminded him. “River – what are you doing here?” “Uh, saving Mr. McKlintock . . . from . . . the Cap’n . . .” she said, guiltily. “He ain’t hurt none,” Mal growled. “He’s right as rain.” “What happened—?” Rowan started. “Grown-up talk. Ask your pa. River? You hould go enjoy yourself – but not too much. We lift in fourteen hours. And have Kaylee prep Book’s old room. We’re gonna have company.” “Captain?” River asked, hesitantly. “Are you okay?” “Fine,” Mal lied. “Just o’ercome with emotion seein’ old friends. Get to it, River, and then dance up a storm, on account of you’re gonna be plenty busy for the next couple o’ weeks.” He looked at Tinker and Rowan a little guiltily. “You kids go see to your Pa. I expect he could use a friendly face about now.” “What about you, Sir?” Zoë asked. “I’m thinking there’s a drink in my future,” he admitted. “Maybe it’ll invite a friend or two over.” “Care for some company?” Zoë asked. “Yeah, that’d be fine. We need to get off this rock, Zoe. Planet-crazy, I’m gettin’. I’m starting not to be a ‘people person’ anymore.” “And you can tell me about your early flirtation with transvestism?” “Ain’t drinkin’ that much, Zoe.”

COMMENTS

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 3:03 PM

SCREWTHEALLIANCE


Shiny props to the CaliBrowncoats and their magnificent Browncoat Backup Bash! I was touched beyond words at our people's response to catastrophe and adversity. We have a mighty community, folks, and I'm gorram proud to be a part of it!

StA

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 8:55 PM

NUTLUCK


Oh thank god, not sure I could have lasted much longer with out another chapter. Ok now I am fine.....but whens the next chapter?

Wednesday, December 13, 2006 8:14 AM

BLUEEYEDBRIGADIER


You're back! And you posted another brilliant chapter! Huzzah!

;D

Definitely was busting a gut at Rowan, River and Tinker's antics to bust into the McKlintocks' ship to save Mal...only to have Mal walk out unscathed after River had just dropped the guards! That and River's hilarious (but completely tactless) remark about Rowan flashing the guards as a bribe;D

Gotta say though...really intrigued about what exactly came between Rachel and Mal that provoked this moment of *makes gesture simulating a knife cutting something*...cuz I don't think it's a simple grunt vs. officer conflict:(

BEB

Thursday, December 14, 2006 12:10 PM

RELFEXIVE


Exxxcellent. And lots of lovely conflict to come :)

Tuesday, December 26, 2006 1:14 AM

LOESJE58


Mmmm, the plot thickens. Love how River is handling things, beautiful!


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