The thud of the mortars landing overhead shook the bunker to its very foundations. Mal crouched next to a support post, rifle in his lap, waiting for orders. He rubbed at the back of his neck where the itchy dust and fragments of concrete that rained down from the ceiling with every hit had fallen inside his collar. Ten feet away, Stephanie knelt as she spoke to the colonel on the radio, presumably finding out what they were doing next. Mal couldn’t help but flinch when another blast rocked the building. They were getting closer by the minute. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stephanie slam the radio against the floor in frustration, then hand it to the soldier sitting next to her. She stood up. “All right, people, Command says hold tight, they’re going to clear us a way outta here,” she shouted. “That means we’re waiting a bit longer. I want everybody who can to move to the lowest place you can find and stay close to the supports. If you got wounded near you, help ‘em get to a safe spot. Stay ready to move, people—we may have to get out of this place quick.” She had barely finished speaking when the ceiling gave out. He could see her silhouette moving, miraculously still standing, through the thick dust. Coughing, he leapt to his feet, scrambling over the rubble of the building. It seemed to happen almost in slow motion—she jumped over a slab of broken concrete, rushing to help one of her men who was pinned under a chunk of debris. Mal could hear the snap and hiss of rifle fire as the Alliance ground troops moved in. He emptied his gun into smoke of the ruin. His eyes were burning, and he reached up to wipe away the blood that was running into them from a cut on his scalp. Looked up to see the Purplebelly closing on her from behind as she tried to heave the piece of concrete off her trapped comrade. No time to load. He dove toward her, felt the breath leave her lungs as his shoulder impacted her stomach. Heard her cry out as the bullet sank into her arm—better her arm than her chest or her head. Felt the grit on the floor tear through the knee of his pants and grate away a layer of flesh as he landed next to her. “Mal?” a voice crackled from somewhere in the space above his head, and Mal pushed himself up from where he lay, not on the floor of the demolished building but in his own bunk. “Captain?” Wash’s voice repeated over the com, and Mal shook his head to clear the sleep from his brain. “Yeah, Wash?” “Can you come up here a minute?” “Be right there.” After the lunch had gone the way it had, Mal had returned to his quarters, intending to work on some of the bookkeeping that always seemed to pile up on him to pass the time and keep himself occupied until they cleared the Alliance cruiser overhead. Two days without sleep had gotten the better of him, though, and upon reaching his bunk he had collapsed fully clothed atop his bed and fallen into an exhausted sleep. After pausing to fix the top of his boot where it was rolled under, he climbed up the ladder, driving the dream out of his head. He’d spent a fair portion of his life being a soldier—nightmares came with the job description. Mal arrived on the bridge still yawning and scratching at his cheek where the fabric of his pillow had left a line. “Don’t look like we’re under an Alliance ship anymore. What’s goin’ on?” Mal asked, looking out at the field of stars in front of them. “No, we’re well clear of them, and you can thank Kaylee for that. She’s got our engine running smooth enough to go from mostly powered down to gone in the blink of an eye. We’re coming up on that moon—I can set down there if you want, but you oughta know we’re down to the wire on fuel cells.” “We were ok when we took off.” “Yeah, but you said yourself that hanging in that low orbit and fighting the world’s gravity like we had to really does a number on fuel economy,” Wash replied. “So what do you suggest? We go somewhere nearby, refuel, and come back for ‘Nara?” “That may be the only choice we’ve got, Mal. We don’t have enough fuel to sit on that moon and keep the engine turning for the couple of days you told me to have Inara wait.” “Actually, there may be a better plan.” Mal turned in surprise at the sound of Shepherd Book’s voice behind him as the man stepped onto the bridge. Mentally, Mal made a note to find the Preacher some louder shoes. Man moved like a cat when he had a mind to. “You said the cruiser didn’t notice our presence. Why not slingshot around and ask permission to land on the southern continent? You can refuel at the docks there and wait for Inara. You’d also have the advantage of giving the authorities the impression that you’d just arrived—they are unlikely to bother searching an incoming ship docking in a stable part of the world after the bombing has already taken place.” “Decreases the chances of them seein’ us leavin’ and comin’ back, too,” Mal mused. “Anybody asks, we’ll just tell ‘em we’ve got an ambassador to pick up and be on our merry.” ------------------------------------------------- Commander Belton stepped outside of his tent. He had sent Ngyen and Wilde out to stand guard hours before, after the prisoner that was bound to the chair in his tent had stopped struggling. It was fairly obvious that Masters didn’t know much of anything—he had only taken advantage of the chaos following the explosion to try to run away. And it was highly unlikely that he was familiar with the Browncoat contingent that had been held in the correctional facility—Masters had been a child during the war. He had recently been incarcerated for possession and sale of illegal narcotics. Belton sighed, conceding mentally that this was not his best day ever. He was looking for terrorists and all he could find was a drug dealer. Still, Masters was a scumbag, and it seemed the man had seen something that might prove valuable. Belton turned to Ngyen, who stood at attention beside the tent’s entrance. “Did you or Wilde see anything unusual in the woods when you brought in Masters?” “No sir. Unusual like what, sir?” “Masters claims he saw another person running through the woods. He says the person was shot and fell. He also claims that he saw a small transport ship shortly before you and Wilde captured him.” “No sir. We saw nothing in the woods. I suppose it’s possible that another prisoner would be out there, sir, but a ship? We saw nothing like that, sir.” Belton nodded. He had suspected that Masters was being inventive, trying to save himself further punishment with an offering of information. But it was better to be safe than sorry. “Ngyen, take Wilde and comb the area where you found Masters. And call the port authority and see if they’ve noted any light transport in the area. Although if there was a ship, the cruiser I asked them to move into low orbit should have seen it by now.” Ngyen saluted smartly. “Yes sir.” Belton shook his head again before turning back into the tent. Ngyen was a fine young man, that was for sure. Anxious to please. You could always tell the boys that had come straight out of training from their eager-beaver attitudes. Belton just hoped that Ngyen wouldn’t end up like the soldiers they had dragged from the rubble of the destroyed prison—dead in the name of a war that was long over. ------------------------------------------------- “How is she, Doctor?” Zoe asked, standing in the hallway outside the infirmary. “Mentally, she’s doing well. She’s staying awake longer now, and she’s aware of her surroundings. She’s letting me treat her with less resistance. Physically, though, well, I’m still very concerned.” “The gunshot wounds?” “They are close to her spine, and I repaired them as well as I could, but it will take time for the swelling to go down. We’ll have to wait and see what kind of return of function we get. What really worries me is her bloodwork. Whatever drugs they were giving her in that… that place… well, they shouldn’t be approved for human use any time soon. She’s developed some kind of coagulopathy, with a marked thrombocytopenia and massive endothelial damage. She’s iron deficient, and she’s got a nonregenerative anemia.” Simon caught the blank look in Zoe’s eyes. “It means she can’t clot her blood. I assume you saw the bruises all over her when Mal brought her in?” Zoe nodded. “She’s got scars, a lot of scars, that could have only come from abuse, but they are old. Those bruises didn’t come from trauma—they are the result of the effects that whatever drugs she was given are having on her vascular system. She’ll need more blood, and she’ll have to clear the drugs from her system before she starts to improve. Without knowing what she’s been given, I don’t have any way of knowing how long that will take or what kind prognosis she has. I’ll keep trying, but other than supportive care, there’s not much I can do for her right now.” Zoe nodded again, letting the implications of Simon’s words sink in. “I’ll make sure the captain knows. Is she awake now?” “Yes. You can visit her if you’d like.” Zoe stepped past Simon into the infirmary to see Stephanie lying on the medbed looking at her. Fluids dripped into the woman’s arm from the bag near her head, and there were bandages on her arm and stitches on her face, but Stephanie looked better just for being awake. Someone had helped her change into clean clothes, too—she was wearing what was for her an oversized T-shirt that Zoe recognized as belonging to Jayne, and a pair of Kaylee’s soft cotton pants. “Zoe Washburne, first mate,” Zoe introduced herself, sticking out her hand. Stephanie took her hand, shaking it firmly. “Stephanie Riemann. But I guess you already knew that.” “Captain told us at lunch. Said you fought in the war.” “In the war, and before it.” She eyed Zoe appraisingly. “So did you.” “How do you know?” Zoe asked, careful to hide her surprise. Stephanie shrugged in reply. “The tone of your voice. The look on your face. Just know, that’s all.” The pair remained in silence for a few minutes, Zoe leaning on the counter behind her. Finally she spoke. “I’ve known the captain a long time,” she said, keeping her voice carefully tactful. “It disturbs you that you haven’t heard of me?” “Captain ain’t one to talk about the past.” Zoe shrugged. “He’s a good man. I don’t want to see him hurt.” She paused, trying to think of a neutral topic to make this conversation less tense. “You from Shadow, then?” “No. I met Mal the first time he was in internment. After St. Lucia.” Stephanie was silent a moment before she continued. “I don’t know if Mal knows it or not, but my homeworld is actually Lakai.”