Unfinished Business

Chapter Thirteen

Inara really needed to get back to work. She knew it, of course. By all rights she should have started her practice again as soon as Serenity was spaceworthy once more. But she had been putting it off, encountering one convenient excuse after another, for over a month, now. True, she was due some rest, after the horrors she had witnessed on Miranda, and that rock Mr. Universe had called home. But she was weeks past the point where she could use that as an excuse. The Reunion, likewise, had provided a gay distraction – it had been every wild, wooly thing she had dreamed of about life on the Frontier, and she had indulged herself in the unsophisticated – and decidedly unsanitary – celebration with abandon. But as they left Muir’s orbit, she knew she had to get back on her back, no matter how reluctant she was. Mal hadn’t made it any easier. He hadn’t asked her for rent once since Miranda, and because of that Inara still had a comfortable cushion of savings to live off of. But it was only a matter of time before the crew got hungry, and the businessman in Mal would force him to her shuttle door. She had enough for a few months, perhaps, but beyond that she was at his mercy. And while the exact nature of their relationship had changed – in what way, she wasn’t entirely certain – she felt most comfortable keeping the business end pure business. No, she needed to get back to work. Otherwise she’d be beholden to Mal, and that she just couldn’t bear. She looked around her shuttle with a sigh. It was hardly a fit space for her work, anymore. All of her luxurious silks and wall hangings and carpets were back at the training house, clear on the other side of the system. She had done what she could in terms of shopping at the few dusty worlds they had visited since she had rejoined the ship but the result was decidedly low-end. She had found a few tapestries, the rugged homespun design of which could be told off as “artistic”, in a barbaric sort of way. She had discovered some lovely plum-colored satin brocade at a spaceport market that almost matched the tapestries. She had procured a tiny Buddha statue for her new altar, and added a few hanging plants that could survive the haphazard whims of space travel. She had found a few traditional native items at the Reunion which made interesting . . . souvenirs. A hand-turned earthenware teapot, a hand-blown saki decanter, some cups, a few dresses that would have passed for elegant . . . sometime before the War – but it was all makeshift. Until they were able to stop at someplace civilized, it would have to do. Luckily she had found out from Kaylee where they were headed – Mal had just muttered something about ‘need to know’ and looked smug. They were Persephone bound on some job Mal had pulled together, one that apparently involved the hard-looking woman that had gotten on at Muir. But that was fine – Persephone, while decidedly a Rimworld, was as close to real civilization as they were likely to find for a while. She had regular clients on Persephone, and plenty of prospects. Three good days of hard work there and she could pad her credit account enough to keep Mal at a comfortable distance. She pulled the bamboo mat off of her terminal and established a cortex link – the first she’d bothered to do in a week. Her mail was piling up, she knew, but she didn’t care all that much. She skipped on to the Guild database, eager to look at new clients and see which old ones might be in the market for some Companionship. She was waiting for the link to the Guild to be established, daydreaming of a few new young and handsome – and wealthy – young bucks to fill her time when it occurred to her that it really shouldn’t be taking this long to establish a link to the Guild. She frowned and punched up a diagnostic. ACCESS DENIED. She sighed grumpily and re-entered her passcodes. Sometimes these long-distance cortex relays could omit a crucial bit as they flung terabytes through the ether with gay abandon. She didn’t think that there would be a problem, considering the relay at nearby Ita moon was a full, highly secure corporate node, but solar radiation . . . ACCESS DENIED. “What the . . . ?” she muttered. Time to contact the Guild. She tapped the code from memory, waited what seemed like an interminable time, and soon found herself staring at a middle-aged Guild administrator with a pretty face soured too soon with the weight of petty beuracracy. “Ni hao, Guild Services, this is Maya, howmayIhelpyoutoday?” She sounded utterly bored. “Lo hin hao,” Inara said with a cautious bow. “This is Inara Serra. I’m having trouble accessing the database.” “Guild number?” “278433. Sihnon Mother House,” she said, with just the barest hint of snobbish superiority. As Guild training houses went, Sihnon was the top of the line, and Companions who were trained there were justifiably proud of the ancient traditions and breadth of education implicit in their training. Lesser houses could turn out outstanding Companions, of course, but the Eternal City boasted the best of the best. Only the Jane Shore Motherhouse in Avalon, on Londinium, came close in prestige. It apparently did not impress Maya, who called up Inara’s file. With a subtle but unmistakable grunt, she looked back up. “I have a record here that you were notified over a week ago,” she said, a little accusingly. “Notified? Of what?” Inara asked, mystified. “My dues were paid until—” “It’s all in your Notification,” Maya said, dismissively. “I suggest you read it. Please let me know if I can be of further assistance,” she said, and signed off. Inara was speechless. She scrolled back to her mail icon and tagged it, displaying over a hundred messages. Most were from old clients, a few from old friends, some was straight business – she sorted them by date and narrowed the field to the last two weeks. There, in burning crimson, was an official communiqué to her from the Guild Council. “Oh, crap,” she whispered, hesitating to open it. Rarely did the Guild contact a Companion, outside of purely administrative issues that were handled by lower-level departments. Finally her finger brushed the screen, and the document opened.

To Inara Serra, Greetings of peace and prosperity from the Companionate Guild General Council: As required under the Guild Charter, and set forth in applicable by-laws, this message is to be considered a NOTIFICATION . . .

It went on for two paragraphs, at the end of which Inara’s mouth was open in shock. By the time she got to the Secretary’s chop and the Guild seal, she let out a shriek of anguish and horror. “Lao tien bu! Su ma niao! Oh rutting mother of God, I’VE BEEN RUTTING SUSPENDED!”

*

*

*

“What?” Mal asked, confused, sitting up in his bunk. “I said that Inara needs you, Cap’n,” Kaylee’s voice said over the intercom. “Why didn’t she call me?” he asked blearily. He looked at the clock and realized he’d only been asleep for less than an hour, since they broke orbit. “I didn’t say she wanted you,” Kaylee explained patiently. “I said she needed you.” “She doesn’t want me . . . but . . . she needs me?” “Yessir, Cap’n Thickhead, Sir,” Kaylee said. He could almost hear her roll her eyes the way she did when some supposedly obvious point of inter-gender communications had eluded his attention. “She’s gotten a wave . . . there was screaming . . . I asked if she was okay, and she sent me away.” “She sent you away? That don’t sound like ‘Nara,” Mal observed. “And to think we let you run the ship,” Kaylee said. “I can’t go in there uninvited, Cap. ‘Nara’s my friend, and that just wouldn’t be hospitable of me, now would it? You, on the other hand, make a daily practice of it. If there was ever a day to barge in, I reckon today might be a contender.” “What is it, do you think?” “Now, Cap’n, it would be rude of me to listen in on –“ “She changed the encryption key on you, didn’t she?” “Yeah,” Kaylee said, sullenly. “Didn’t realize it ‘till it was too late to listen in. It’ll take me an’ River a whole day to break the new one. But she called the Mother House on Sihnon, an’ pretty much went to pieces after that. My guess? It ain’t the fall fashion lines she’s upset about.” “Kaylee, are you sure?” Mal asked, skeptically. “Dong ran. Trust me, Cap. You need to be there.” “All right,” he grumbled, pulling on his shirt. “But you’d better be right about this.” “I am, Cap’n. But you’d better hurry. My Plan B was to send Jayne in, all nudified an’ crazy eyed. Then there’d be bloodshed, an’ I could follow Simon in to help collect his body.” “Fine. Fine! I’m going. Crazy ruttin’ ship . . .” he muttered darkly.

*

*

*

“I’ve been dreading this wave for a week,” the image of Sheydra said, dully. “As soon as they issued the notice, I figured you’d wave. When you didn’t, I was actually hoping that that deathtrap you call a spaceship finally broke up in orbit.” “It’s a Firefly. They’re unkillable. What’s all this go se about suspending my gorram license, Sheydra?” Inara demanded. “Was that you?” “No! No, no, bao bei,” Sheydra insisted. “This was completely over my objections. But you have to understand, I had no choice. When the military dared profane our temple, I had to notify the Mother House, and they sent an investigator. You may remember her: Mona Aruna.” “That ancient bitch!” Inara swore. “I thought she’d retired!” “She got bored,” admitted Sheydra. “She interviewed all of the girls and left. I thought that was the end of it. Then I get a summons last week to appear at your hearing—” “Hearing!” she spat. “What kind of—” “It’s just a routine procedure,” Sheydra insisted. “To determine whether you put the girls in any danger . . . because of your . . . personal issues . . .” “My WHAT?” “Inara, love, calm yourself! Like I said, it’s just a routine hearing. Nothing to worry about. Probably last about an hour, purely a formality, and then you can go back to practicing again.” Inara’s eyes narrowed. “They didn’t even try to interview me,” she observed. “There’s more to it than that. Something deeper going on. Isn’t there?” Sheydra’s eyes shifted guiltily. “Well . . .” “Out with it, sister!” “Okay, okay, the hearing is pretty standard – you’ve been to them before, I believe – but this one does have a tinge of . . . desperation about it. You’ve been safely out on the frontier since . . . well, the truth of it is that all that Miranda mess has significantly and suddenly altered the politics in the Core, and the Guild wants to know where you stand.” “Where I stand? Politically?” “No, no, not like that,” assured Sheydra. “Look, you’re right, the incident with the Feds is just an excuse. But that wasn’t your regular happy-go-lucky frontier shoot-out. You attracted the attention of an Operative of Parliament, mei-mei, which means you have the attention of powerful people. The Council knows this, and it’s just trying to protect the Guild’s interests by taking you off the market.” “Mei rong dian niao se du doo guai!” “I haven’t heard anything specific, but there seems to be a perspective at the Guild that because of your involvement in this affair that you might suddenly become a . . . a political liability.” “I’m no threat to anyone!” “It’s not like that,” Sheydra insisted patiently. “Inara, I don’t know if you’ve been watching what’s going on in the Central Planets, and in Parliament, but there is a power struggle underway. Corps, political parties, the military -- everyone is involved. Conspiracies abound. Assassinations, infighting, high political theater. It’s a mess, and it looks to get worse before it gets better. There will be winners and there will be losers, but the Guild has to protect itself. So until things straighten out, and some faction or another holds power, they’ve pulled your credentials – temporarily – until they can make sure your presence is not a threat to the Guild.” Sheydra sighed. “Try to look at the bright side: three months of vacation. What I wouldn’t give . . .” “I’ve had a vacation, thank you. I want to get back to work!” “It isn’t allowed,” Sheydra said, shaking her head. “Don’t even try it. If they catch you working freelance, they’ll pull your license for good. I’ve seen it happen.” “I know, I know,” Inara moaned. “Is it money, pet? I know you left in a hurry – do you need a loan?” the headmistress asked. “If you’re in trouble . . .” “No, no, you’re very gracious for offering, but I have some savings,” Inara said, touched by her friend’s generosity. “I should be fine.” “Is your pirate friend taking care of you?” Sheydra inquired with far more eagerness for detail than was absolutely required. “He’s not a— He’s not taking— OH! You are SO infuriating some time!” “Well,” Sheydra said, casually, glancing away, “if you can’t practice – and mei-mei, I know how long you were here, and you were celibate the entire time, unless my spies were wrong – then something tells me you’re going to get awfully grouchy unless you get some—” “Bi zuie! Don’t you DARE!” Inara shrieked. “He’s just a friend—” “A friend that came swooping to your rescue in a moment’s notice,” Sheydra pointed out. “Risked his life to save you . . . and what a handsome, manly friend to have,” Sheydra acknowledged with a practiced cattiness. “Those shoulders – those eyes – that butt! And a former military man—I know how you get about—” “He was a sergeant,” Inara dismissed, “Not even an officer. And he isn’t that handsome.” Sheydra just stared at her a moment. “Perhaps,” she said slowly, “some time off would be a good idea for you, mei-mei,” she said gently. “Obviously your professional judgment is impaired. A rest . . . and maybe an optical exam . . .” “Chu ni duh! Oh, will you just –!” Inara began, then caught herself. “Mal is a friend, and sometime business associate. Nothing more.” “Have you seen him naked?” Sheydra asked flatly. “Well . . .” Inara said, surprised by the question, “yes, but it wasn’t— Things are different out here, and—l” she struggled. “It was just the briefest, most momentary— What has this got to do with anything in the entire gorram ‘verse, Grandmother?” she finally exploded, visibly seething. “Two thin—no, three things. First, since I brought him up you haven’t worried one bit about this fei hua hearing; all you can do is feebly defend your virtue.” “Bi zuie!” “Secondly, you do need shelter, mei-mei, and he’s got big strong arms. And guns. And a ship. And the guts to walk into a trap—” “That was just stupidity!” Inara insisted. “Stupidity or cunning, both required guts. If he’s as good a friend as you say . . . and I know he’s a damn sight better friend than you claim . . . then he can protect you—” “I need NO man’s protection!” Inara said, her eyes narrowing. Teasing her about a supposed crush was one thing – Sheydra’s implication attacked her independence. Inara knew full well she was capable of surviving – thriving! – in any situation she was put in, with no help. “Don’t be stupid, mei-mei,” Sheydra said, shaking her head. “He’s an ally – an asset – and you need one right now. You don’t have the Guild’s full protection right now. There’s a lot going on in the ‘verse. And you do have enemies.” Atherton Wing. And they were headed right to Persephone. Inara had kept up with her former client after the disastrous duel Mal had instigated last year. While the young aristocrat was currently out of favor in Persephone’s polite society as a result, he still had significant resources and enough allies and partisans to keep his position, which was not inconsiderable. Atherton had a vendetta against her. While she didn’t think he’d stoop to underhanded tactics, she wasn’t about to trust to that – the machiavellian aristocracy of Persephone was built by those who had played hypocrite with the rules of polite society. While she had allies of her own on that world, the truth was that without the Guild’s protection, she would be vulnerable. Yes, Mal would be handy, in that case. “Point taken,” she said, hating that she had to admit it. “And thirdly . . . mei-mei, I think you’ve been a Companion too long.” “How so?” Oh, this would be good. “It isn’t healthy to be all business. You know that. If your heart has a mind to seek . . . solace, then you have a duty to yourself to let it.” “That’s the biggest load of romantic bullsh—” “Hear me out,” Sheydra snapped. “I’ve known you since you were a novice. I know my business. You are one of the finest Companions I’ve ever known, Inara. No one I know epitomizes the Art more than you. But you are going to burn yourself out if you don’t tend your own garden first.” “I am not!” “Then why were you here?” Sheydra demanded. “Not that I minded – I jumped at the chance to have you. But first you leave the Core, and then you turn up here . . . I see a pattern.” “I . . . I wanted to impart what knowledge of the Rim cultures to a new generation of—” “Stop it, Inara, you’re embarrassing yourself. What are you fleeing? Because you can’t run from your own heart, mei-mei. Not when your heart is the horse you ride to work every day. You have to let her rest . . . and indulge herself. Don’t look at this as a suspension . . . see it as a vacation that will allow you to remember the woman behind the Companion.” “You are so full of—” “See what I mean by going without? Grouchy!” Sheydra complained playfully. “I will deal with you, later!” Inara said. “I can’t believe you would tease me so. You set a poor example for your students!” “To whom you have become something of a legend,” Sheydra smiled. “If the ‘burning temple’ rumor wasn’t bad enough, you were swept away from the clutches of the Alliance by your pirate prince to fight an army of Reavers. And won. Whatever happens in front of the Council, I think you have earned a permanent place of glory among the next generation of Companions.” Inara shuddered involuntarily. That rumor was a little too close to the truth. She had, indeed, faced down a horde of Reavers, and had acquitted herself well with her bow. She was alive, and not everyone who had started that journey was. But on one point the rumor was in error. “Malcolm Reynolds is a petty thief, and about as far from a prince as your dog!” Too late she heard the rustle and soft scrape of boot behind her. Mal. She blushed even as she added, “It is your duty to correct such . . . baseless lies!” “I shall do nothing of the kind, mei-mei,” Sheydra said, her smile turning to a grin. “The ability to capture the essence of romance is our stock-in-trade. I can’t very well disabuse them of this myth, when it has energized them so. You go have fun with your pirate prince, now, my sweet. I have work to do. Enjoy your vacation!” Before Inara could formulate and deliver a scathing response Sheydra ended the wave. “I’m going to kill her slowly,” Inara said to the blank screen. “How much of that did you hear?” she asked to the room at large. Mal entered with his customary boldness. She watched his reflection in the glass of the screen before she turned around. “Somethin’ about a vacation? And . . . an unfavorable comparison between me an’ a lapdog in regards to our relative proximity to royalty?” “Sorry about that,” Inara said, turning around and blushing. “She . . .” “. . . got your blood up? I see. Problems?” Inara considered. It was pointless to try to hide her status, now. Better to get it out in the open. “I’ve been – temporarily – suspended from the Guild. They want to hold a hearing in a few months. Until then . . . I can’t practice.” “You’d think you’d about got it right by now,” Mal smirked. “Mal! This is serious,” she complained bitterly. “Without the Guild I’m . . . don’t say it!” “I’m not! I didn’t! I wouldn’t!” Mal said defensively. “Better not. Not today. I can’t take on clients, Mal. Which means my income is stopped. Which means my rent . . .” “Don’t recollect I asked you for none,” Mal observed. “Well, you haven’t brought it up . . . but our agreement . . .” “I am not a tyrant, if that’s what you mean. And I ain’t opposed to revisiting the terms.” “Mal . . . seriously, you could rent this shuttle out to . . . a prospector, or something. You can’t afford—” “Why don’t you leave it to me what I can and can’t afford? Truth? I ain’t made up my mind yet about just what I want to do with that shuttle . . . and in light of your current situation, wouldn’t be prudent to make a hasty decision and lose a good, steady tenant, now would it?” “But I can’t pay . . . not like I was.” “Again, I don’t think the matter has come up.” “Mal, I pay my bills,” Inara said, evenly. “Every last cent. Just because you haven’t addressed the issue doesn’t mean—” “You ain’t very good at bein’ broke, are you?” Mal grinned sorrowfully. “Most folk with cash-flow issues ain’t real eager to discuss them with their creditors. But since you did bring it up, now I can’t very well ignore it, can I?” “Of course not! I pay my way,” Inara said, with summoned dignity. “Of course you do, Ambassador,” Mal soothed. “I know you’re good for it. Ain’t like I know where you live. Let’s . . . let’s us table the issue, ‘till after your hearing. Once you know how that goes, then we can sit down and settle up proper. Deal?” “All right,” Inara said. “But I can’t just freeload my way all across the ‘verse! And I still won’t service the crew!” she warned. Mal looked offended. “None’s asked you to. Well, maybe Jayne . . . but I couldn’t allow it, no way. One thing for a ship to have a real honest-to-goodness Companion on board, but if you ain’t got standing with the Guild, then . . . well, I ain’t about to provide that kind of benefit for my people without some bona fide credentials. No, I think we can work somethin’ out that leaves your clothes on.” “Like what?” she asked warily. “Like I think we just hired a new cook. You can cook, can’t you?” “I get by,” Inara said, sarcastically. Mal knew full well she had cooked for the crew several times, and always to good reviews. The culinary arts were basic for a Companion, and while Inara had no extraordinary talent for cooking, she was more than proficient in the kitchen – even when all she had to work with was protein base and spices. “Then you’re on the chart for two meals a day. And sundry related duties. I’m sure you’ll find some way to make a contribution. Oh, and one more thing: I got a job that pays in jingly coin, once we make planetfall.” “Is it a . . . criminal enterprise?” “Why yes, as a matter of fact there might could be a couple o’ felonies occur in th’ normal course o’ business. But I can reasonably assure you that you won’t get shot at, stabbed, or lasered. But those are common occupational hazards.” “What’s the gig?” she asked, intrigued, as she got up from the chair. “ ‘Femme fatale’, actually. ‘Course if you ain’t up to the part, I can always get Kaylee to do it.” Inara winced. Kaylee was perhaps the least suited crewmember for the part. “You’re just saying that to get me to commit. You know how ‘fatale’ she is.” “I was banking on the ‘femme’ part,” Mal admitted, “which was why she weren’t my first choice. But if your available, an’ you don’t mind soilin’ them delicate digits with the grime o’ crime for a day, would surely prefer to use you.” “I’m in,” agreed Inara, firmly. “Since I’m not a Companion anymore, I ‘might could hafta’ learn another trade.” Her face started to break. “Oh, Mal, what am I going to do?” she said, choking back tears. “You,” Mal said, swallowing as he took a step closer. “You’re gonna do just fine,” he assured. “Never met a more capable woman, save for Zoe . . . an’ my mother.” “Thanks,” she said, trying to accept the compliment gracefully. “But . . . being a Companion . . . it’s all I know!” “It ain’t all you know,” Mal countered. “An’ bein’ a Companion might be all you’re used to, but it ain’t all you are, if you take my meanin’.” “That sounds so . . . trite,” Inara said, “though I know it was kindly meant. I guess this is just the first time I’ve ever had to face the idea that I wouldn’t be able to practice.” “No, not the first. You remember Atherton Wing’s offer last year? That would have been an exclusive, if I can speculate.” “Well . . . yes, but I never took his offer seriously.” “You didn’t?” Mal asked, surprised. “Are you kidding?” Inara asked, a smile shining through her tears. “Take up a life of luxury, social position, leisure, and financial security and give up . . .” she gestured around her shabby shuttle, “. . . all of this?” Mal laughed despite himself, and without either of them being aware of it – or prepared for it – Inara was suddenly in his arms. He was a bit startled, at first, and recognized the embrace for what it was: a gesture of security and friendship, not a sexual overture. He responded accordingly. Inara felt herself embrace him despite herself. She wanted to be brave and stoic in the face of adversity – especially in front of Mal – but she felt strangely comfortable and safe in his arms in a way she hadn’t anticipated. She clutched at him tightly as tears came to her eyes unbidden. It all seemed so odd. The rough leather of his browncoat scraped her cheek as she burrowed into Mal’s shoulder. That coat. He wore it long after its function as a uniform had been destroyed. He wore it now that it was a symbol of defeat and a badge of shame for so many. She wondered if she would end up like that . . . she could imagine surrounding herself with the trappings of a Companion, and being a simple whore like Nandi . . . or the mistress of some powerful magnate . . . or perhaps going to Muir and becoming a priestess like Sister Lister . . . or a tutor of young ladies on the frontier, all prim and proper, talking constantly about how she used to be a Registered Companion for the rest of her life . . . None of those prospects, she realized, gave her the sense of peace and security she felt at this very moment. The big brawny arms in the scratchy old coat that smelled of sweat and gun oil made her feel safe in a way she desperately craved right now. She was wise and experienced enough to know that this was a purely emotional reaction, and one that shouldn’t be relied upon when making plans about her future. Damn you, Sheydra, she thought to herself bitterly while the tears just flowed uncontrollably down her face. Damn you for knowing my poor battered heart better than I do. Here I am, a successful businesswoman at the top of my field, and I turn into a warm pile of mush in the face of adversity. I turn into a basket-case that can’t seem to summon the strength I need. I turn into a foolish little girl who finds solace in the arms of a big . . . strong . . . man! “Sorry,” she whispered into Mal’s ear. She made no sign of letting go. “’S’all right,” Mal excused. “Coat’s no stranger to tears.” “I suppose not,” she conceded. “Still, I must look the fool, bawling about my problems like this. I just—” “Shhhh,” he said, squeezing her just a bit. “Can’t quite say we ain’t friends, can we? So you take your moment, get your head screwed on proper, an’ we can go our ways.” “Thanks,” she whispered, and held on just a little tighter. “Thank you so much.” She knew then that it would be all right, eventually. She would appear at the hearing, defend herself and her actions, and regain her place as a Guild Companion. She would be able to take on clients then, and do the work she knew best. She would have clients lined up out the door, if she wished, and on her own terms. She would be a woman of standing again. Perhaps go back to the Central planets and compete with the great Companions of the day for favor at court, among the politicos, among the executives and tycoons. She would show the Council what Inara Serra could really do when she set her mind to it. Even as she thought it, the arms around her protected her. Sure, she could do that, she realized . . . but in the process she would be giving up . . . all of this. Inara wept.