CHAPTER 7

The drop went smoother than Mal could have hoped for. No unkind words or bullets were exchanged. The coin was real, not counterfeit. Easy-peasy in the most unsettling of ways. Though his gut told him to press on to Persephone, Jackson begged him to stay aground just a little longer. It was the boy’s first trip to another world and he was itching to go off ship. He’d earned it after the scare he had earlier. With Kaylee still holed up in the Infirmary, Mal had convinced Simon to stay until they reached Persephone. The young doctor grumbled angrily, but went along with it, making some excuse about catching up with his sister. Inara volunteered to stay with Kaylee while the rest went to town to relax and resupply. “Breathe! Breathe real deep!” Jackson encouraged as soon as his toes touched dirt. “I’m breathin’,” Mal assured. “That’s 8,000 pollen spores right there,” Jackson laughed. “We got a quota?” Jackson ignored the remark, running ahead with Emma, picking up rocks and showing her the bugs. Zoë fell into step beside Mal, as natural as though she’d never left. “We cross through Qian Chung territory to get to Persephone, don’t we, sir?” “I got friends there,” Cappy volunteered. “It should be smooth.” “Should,” Zoë repeated doubtfully. “Though having the Doc on board could get us a peck of trouble,” Mal commented. “The You Qian and the Qian Chung aren’t known for their tea parties.” As they sauntered through town, River pulled Simon into an antique store. Mal paused and considered a broach in the window for Inara, but his thoughts were too much on supplies. They needed food stock. “Daddy, look!” Emma cried excitedly, running up to him with a hissing cockroach. “Why thank you, darlin’,” Mal smiled, taking the bug and tossing it as soon as Emma ran off again. Zoë laughed as he shuddered. “I hate those things.” Cappy went suddenly rigid and put his hand out to stop them. Mal tensed too, his finger going to his gun. It wasn’t something he’d seen or heard, so much as felt. The entire street went noisily about its business, people coming into and out of shops. With a snap of his fingers, Mal summoned Emma to his side, then he, Zoë, and Cappy went back to back, the children between them. They looked around, looked to the sky. Mal had no idea where the first bullet came from. Emma screamed as blood spurted from Mal’s arm onto her face. No time to think. He threw his body in front of her, his eyes searching for their attackers. From the alleys, from the rooftops, Mal recognized the sign of the Tao Wu, their leader crying for vengeance. “Fancy meetin’ you here,” Mal called cautiously. The kid approached with a swagger, shotgun tipped over his shoulder. “You killed ten of my men. Did you expect to just walk away?” “I’m just defending my own.” “You Browncoats thinking to rise again?” “So, you do remember history,” Mal applauded. “And history will remember me,” the boy agreed, cocking his shotgun and taking aim. “Question is will it remember you?” Mal dropped to the ground, catching Emma in his arms as he rolled for cover. She cried out in fear. “Brassy, them chasing us all the way here,” Mal commented, ducking behind a fruit stand. “Indeed,” Cappy agreed, popping off a few shots, none connecting. “This ain’t their territory.” “If not theirs, then whose?” Zoë asked. She jumped up and sprayed cover-fire watching as Jackson pulled Emma into hiding. The Sirens sounded. The Alliance had arrived. “All hail the great Alliance,” Zoë murmured. “Yeah,” Mal agreed tightly. “Let’s make ourselves scarce.”

*~*

River felt the first gun shot before she heard it, and stumbled into a porcelain statue, sending it crashing to the floor. She pulled Simon to the front of the store, but hearing the gun-battle outside, he restrained her. “You’re not even armed,” he pointed out. River tensed, ducking her head as stray bullets found their way through the window. The sirens burned her eardrums, louder than the gunshots and the shouting outside. Then a new sensation burst in her brain like an aneurism. “Cappy!” River cried, throwing Simon off her shoulders and dashing into the street. She charged full speed, and dove headfirst into the dust next to Cappy. His eyes glazed and open, the impression of the wrench still burned on his face, his heart bleeding. “Cappy?” she whispered, but Mal pulled her off, practically throwing her to her feet. “Get to the ship!” he ordered. He tossed Cappy’s gun to Simon. River looked uncertainly at Cappy as Simon tugged her hand, but Mal pushed her again, and so she ran.

*~*

The gunfire raged, Cappy fell, and the Alliance was pressing in on all sides, shields high. “Emma!” Mal called, turning around. From nowhere Zoë tackled him to the ground as a shell exploded overhead. “This way,” Zoë ordered, crawling into the ally, bringing back memories of wartime. Mal scrambled after her, his eyes searching for his daughter. “Come on!” Zoë urged. “Emma.” “They aren’t in the street.” Mal’s heart pounded as he crept through the ally. On the next street over, everything was still. Passersby had found shelter indoors and closed the shutters. Every now and then an angry bunch of hooligans would condense on a street corner and go running for the battle, weapons at ready. Panic rising, Mal started full steam for the ship, but Zoë grabbed his arm. “This way,” she whispered, heading across the street, behind the next row of houses, and into a forest. ‘Cover,’ Mal thought. Where was his head? Where was his daughter? “Jackson would have come this way,” Zoë explained. Zoë tread stealthily through the woods, hardly making a sound on the tree branches and fallen leaves. Every moment Mal could not see his daughter, his heart grew louder, his mind clouding. Zoë stopped suddenly and listened. Though he couldn’t hear much above his own cries of panic, Mal drew his gun. Zoë cooed into the air and a moment later, the sound returned. “Jackson!” she called, dashing pell-mell though the trees now. “Mommy!” the response came a moment later. Mal’s heart did a backflip. High up in the tree, his little Emma huddled in Jackson’s lap, her face and body doused with his blood. “Emma!” he cried, and her head lifted. She didn’t speak, nor did she smile. She just looked at him begging to know why his blood was on her. At Jackson’s prompting, she climbed down a few branches and fell into his arms.

*~* Go to Chapter 8