“Let her go,” Branscombe said, stepping forwards, regardless of his own safety. “She’s a child!”

Jones pressed the knife point a little harder into River’s skin, drawing a single drop of blood that ran quickly down the blade. “And I have finished waiting!”

River smiled, and Branscombe felt a thrill like ice water run down his spine.

---

Mal’s comlink buzzed. Quickly freeing it from his pocket he whispered, “Yeah?”

Freya’s voice sounded quietly. “Mal, Jayne’s nearly got to Inara. Level five.”

He smiled a little. “Good work. River tell you that?”

“Yes. She also said to hurry before she does something she won’t regret.”

“Like what?”

“Do we really want to find out?” Freya asked.

“Not really. We’re almost at the ballroom.”

---

Jayne nodded towards a door. “That’s it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He reached up to the frame, running his large calloused fingers along it, then grinned as a small key fell into his palm. “Told ya.” He unlocked the door.

“Jayne?” Inara cried from inside, throwing her arms around him.

“You okay?” he asked, looking her up and down. “Not hurt, are ya?”

Inara glanced at the bruises on her hands from where she’d been beating the door but shook her head. “No, no. But River –“

“Cap’s taking care of that,” Jayne assured her. “Come on. Best get you home.” He put his arm around her and stepped out into the corridor.

“Jayne!” Jethro shouted, pushing him back, falling into the room himself even as a shot rang out.

-

River screamed.

-

“Oh, dear God,” Freya breathed, staring at Hank, her face going white.

-

Mal ran into the ballroom, fearing the worst.

Jones looked startled, his ears ringing from the noise she was making, and it gave her more than enough time. She slipped under his arm like oiled water, pulling the knife from his hand and slitting his throat in one smooth movement. Blood spattered across her skin but she ignored it as he fell to the floor, thrashing as his life spread out beneath him.

His men, although shocked, were hard enough to know trouble when they saw it, and all raised their guns to kill this sao bi. But they were too late. Half a lifetime too late.

Mal could do nothing but watch in fascinated horror as she took those men apart. Literally. Within the space of a heartbeat the raiders were dead, body parts and viscera spread around.

River stood still, blood running down her skin, none of it hers. “Jethro,” she murmured, then collapsed to the ground.

Mal ran up, taking off his coat to cover her, but Branscombe was there first. He laid his jacket over her, not caring about the blood. Mal went down onto his knees, lifting her up. “Zoe. Fifth level. Find out what she meant.”

Zoe nodded and ran out as he laid the psychic on one of the tables.

Simon checked his sister’s vitals. “She’s not hurt,” he whispered, his own heart thudding against his ribs.

“No.”

“What she did …” He was trying to be professional, objective, but ... “Why?”

Mal didn’t answer, just looked bleakly at the young doctor.

---

Jayne was sitting on the deck, his back against the wall, Jethro in his lap. “I don’t get it,” he said quietly as Zoe ran up. “Why’d he do that?”

“What happened?” Serenity’s first mate asked, looking from the big mercenary to Inara.

“There was a … a gunman,” Inara managed to say, her arms wrapped about herself. “We didn’t see him.” She pointed towards a body lying half in an open doorway a dozen metres up the corridor.

“I didn’t see him,” Jayne corrected her.

“He … fired at us.”

“He saved my life.” Jayne was staring down at the young man lying so still in his arms. “Why’d he do that? I ain’t worth the saving.”

Zoe went down onto her knees, and pressed her fingers against Jethro’s neck. There was nothing. Just flesh.

“Jayne,” she said, her voice low. “We have to get him back.”

“Ain’t no good,” he said, finally looking up at her. “Nothing anyone can do. I know that. Killed too many men to be fooling myself now. Killed him.” He nodded towards the dead gunman. “Too late.” He dropped his head, such confusion across his features. “I just don’t understand.”

“Jayne.” She put her hand on his shoulder.

“How’m I gonna tell her?” he said softly. “How do I say what he did?”

“She knows.” Zoe swallowed. “Jayne, she knows.”

He raised his eyes. “Yeah. Guess maybe she does.” He somehow got to his feet, Jethro in his arms.

“Let me –“

“No.” He shook his head. “Ain’t your fault.” He walked down the corridor.

“Zoe …” Inara was trembling.

“Come on.” She put her arm around the other woman’s shoulders and they walked slowly in the big man’s wake, Jethro’s blood staining his shirt.

---

Branscombe had overcome his initial shock, and his natural leadership had taken over. He ordered some of his crew to begin taking the passengers back to their rooms, and the rest to gather up some of the arms from the dead men and make sure there was no-one else on board who shouldn’t be.

“Careful you don’t shoot any of mine,” Mal said, tugging cloths from the tables and covering over the bodies. He’d experienced worse horrors during the war, when the only recognisable bits were maybe a hand, all raggedy ended. Then you could only wait to see who didn’t come back and make a note to write another letter of condolence. It never got any easier.

“Mal,” Simon said behind him.

He turned.

“Wuh de mah.”

Jayne stood in the doorway, Jethro in his arms.

“He’s dead, Mal,” the mercenary said.

“Yeah.”

“I killed him.”

“Jayne –“

“Sure as if I’d pulled the trigger myself.”

Mal looked at the big man. “Take him back to the shuttle.”

“Yeah.” Jayne glanced at River lying so quiet on the table. “She okay?”

“Take him back.”

Jayne nodded and walked out of the door, passing Zoe and Inara without a word.

“’Nara?” Mal asked, moving across the ballroom to her.

“Why did you have to come for me?” she asked, her voice shaking with anger. “If you’d left things alone this wouldn’t have happened!” She struck out, her hand connecting with his cheek so hard the sound rang through the room. Then she turned and ran.

Mal watched her go, her handprint burning brightly on his skin, not touching it.

“I’ll watch her, sir,” Zoe said softly.

Mal nodded and his first mate slipped away.

Branscombe stepped up behind him. “She’s angry.”

“She’s right.” He looked across at the young woman still unconscious on the table. “Can you clear this mess up?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” Branscombe went to put a consoling hand on the other man’s arm, but pulled back at the last moment. “I'm sorry. For the loss of your man.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Mal didn’t look at him, just strode to the table and gathered River into his arms. Her weight seemed nothing as he walked out of the room, Simon at his side.

to be continued