Mal made his way down the corridor of the temporary base. Apparently, in the two days or so that he had been gone in, Command had decided that their precious asses were too close to the front for comfort. Mal didn’t need the map of Persephone with all the little thumbtacks in the wall to know that they were being pushed back- badly, bloodily, and at the cost of more men each and every day. Sure, the Bugs paid in blood and bodies, too, but… Gorramit! They just… breed too ruttin’ fast to beat! Come on! For every man killed, the bugs could lose ten thousand and still get a net gain. How could any rifle beat that? They sure as Hell weren’t killing ten thousand for every one man killed. Zoë came up beside him silently, walking with him. Her presence was comforting, having someone so reliable by his side. She was grudgingly using a crutch, but probably would be out of using it by a week from now. Mal smiled. He knew he could count on her and Tracey (The latter to a slightly lesser extent). They had been with him almost everywhere. They had been with him when they nuked Shadow… the refugee ships still coming out of the atmosphere even as the Alliance skiffs skimmed the upper stratosphere. When he came to where River was being held, he saw, as expected, Simon was fighting with two orderlies there, his face marred from where one had punched him in a futile attempt to stop a brother’s love. Kaylee was looking worriedly on at the scuffle, her green eyes looking at Simon like he may drop in a moment. “Let me through!” “No good! Go back, Doc!” “Like fucking Hell,” said Simon furiously. Being around the Independents sure had increased his vocabulary, cussin’ wise. He shoved one of the much more burly men into the other, jumping past them. “Somethin’ wrong hereabouts?” Mal walked into the white washed room. The two men stiffly saluted, somehow managing this feat while keeping the struggling doc Tam in place. “Orders from the Gen’ral, L.T. Gotta keep him outta the room, Sir.” Mal regarded both the men for a moment. “’Parently, General don’t trust me none at all. Right, Simon, keel off.” “But, Mal! They-“ “They’ll shoot you both iff’n ya don’t stop. I can’t stop ‘em, and neither can you.” He moved closer, whispering to the younger man, “We’ll get her back, no worries.” “Yeah, and I’d like to be the King of Londinium and wear a shiny hat,” muttered Simon back. Louder, “Sure, Lieutenant. I’ll stand down… for now.” He stiffly marched out, shoulders hunched crisply. Kaylee gave Mal a worried look, and then followed. Mal regarded the still saluting orderlies. “Right, you two. At ease.” They relaxed their shoulders, hands clasping behind their backs. “Lissen up; I expect ya’ll to treat River kindly. If not… there won’t be enough left a ya to let Simon have a go.” Both men got the message, and gulped. Mal smiled. “Have fun, boys.” Then, he left with Zoë. *** Simon punched the wall by his head, knuckles bruising under the pressure. He shook his hand to rid it of numbness, glaring at the small dent he had put in the panel. “Ta ma duh. Those cunts. They… mei-mei…” He fisted his hand, so hard that it turned white. Kaylee was right behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. After a moment, he unclenched his hand. He embraced her, engine oil smearing his white clothes. It mixed with the red of his blood as it dripped slowly, methodically, rhythmically, off of his bleeding palm. “Sheh-sheh… bao-bei.” *** Mal stomped down the hall, Zoë hobbling after her. Normally, he would help her along, but, as it was, he’d probably end up breaking one of her crutches in anger- a whole new world of not good. “You know, they’ll kill her before they let her go.” “Who’s there? Ni jiao shenme mingzi?” “Pengyou,” said the voice from the shadows. A movement out of the corner of his eye. Mal turned, to see a man who he was sure had not been there before. He seemed to be made of the shadows; he was older, with his hair tied back in a ponytail bun. His clothes were all grey to match the wall, although Mal couldn’t actually pin a true “Color” on them. “To you, at least.” “Well, ‘friend’ you may be to other folk, but I ain’t as trustin’ as them.” “Touché,” said the man, smiling a little. “Still, if you must know my name… call me Book. I wish to help, dong ma?” “Who sent you?” Mal’s hand itched and danced around his holstered pistol. “Myself,” said Book. “I know about River. Pity. She seems like a nice girl…” “Besides the whole ‘I can kill you with my brain’ problem, I guess she does.” Zoë came to his side, hands gripping the crutches tightly. “Yes. Well, I know what you’re thinking about, Mal-“ “You ain’t a Reader, so I’s don’t see how ya could. Even then, you won’t stop me.” “I don’t plan to, nor do I wish to. Actually, I want to help you.” “Oh, really. Won-der-ful. Fricken great. Now, could you be helpful and leave?” Mals’ voice dripped with sarcasm. “Sorry, no can do. There’s much that I must atone for- you me both, mind. I don’t plan on leavin’ this girl to the hounds- any of you, come to think.” “Like Hell. I got a plan of my own… not that I said that…” He glanced around for cameras. “Smooth, sir,” said Zoë. “Cameras are disabled. I planned ahead.” “Yeah, yeah. Alright, I’ll bite- what’s your big grand plan-a-mabob?” “It’s a very good one. Tell, me, Lieutenant… have you ever heard of… Miranda?”