Click here to go back to chapter 46 - Wash's return from solitary.

~~~~~

"Why didn't you tell me!" Wash yelled. "You – you –"

Mal drew a deep breath, opting for absolute honesty. "Because this could destroy me. I'm gonna walk into a courtroom in a couple days an' listen to the Alliance end my life. Only way through that is to look straight ahead, an' there's nobody can do that for me."

Wash gulped. "I –I want-"

Mal cut him off, a sort of steel in his voice. "I know you wanna help, an' you want to be a friend. But there's some nightmares a man has to walk through alone. Having friends along for the ride'll rip me to shreds, dong ma?"

Wash nodded back at Mal, his eyes filled with pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and hurried inside.

Mal leaned against the fence, pushing his head back painfully against the wire and gritted his teeth in a desperate effort to distract himself from the utter despair that kept trying to attack him.

Nothing I do matters. Fighting, coping, trying. The Alliance will take a person who’s everything good and kind in this world and crush him, they’ll lock me in a cage and throw away the key. What’s the good of hope, of tryin’ to think something’s goin’ right, when it’s just gonna be yanked from under you?

~~~~~

"He can't just go through this alone," said Wash, pleading with Zeke.

"Might be he has to," said Zeke. "He's a soldier, and he knows how to fight. Best let him do what he knows."

Wash nodded unhappily and paced across the room. He looked out the window at Mal, and Zeke took hold of his sleeve and pulled him firmly away.

~~~~

Because if you give up, you hand them victory. Mal drew a deep breath, staring sharply at the fence in front of him. It was that stubborn voice again, the one that raised all manner of nagging questions in the darkest recesses of his mind.

He set his jaw, his focus clear. I will not do that, not in a valley, not in a prison. I will stand in silent accusation until your so-called victory is tarnished beyond all repair, and we will rise again.

~~~~~

Mal swallowed hard as he stood quietly, holding his wrists forward so the guard could lock cuffs around them. Held himself unmoving as a chain was wrapped around his waist, irons locked around his ankles. He’d always made it a point not to resist the restraints they put on him, giving himself the small dignity of at least pretending that this was something he was enduring willingly. Why let them force him into submission? At least this way he felt some tattered remnants of control over his own destiny, but he hated it more than he would ever show, and all the despair he’d been kicking to the back of his mind came rushing to the forefront. They’re going to convict me, and this is going to be my life.

The guard picked up a streamlined electronic-looking device and curtly ordered Mal to sit. The device was strapped to Mal’s lower leg under his crisp new suit, and he felt a set of cool electrodes press firmly against his skin. Wonder what that’s used for, he thought sarcastically.

The man flipped the remote around in his hand and aimed it at Mal for a split second before addressing him. "You're in my charge while off campus. I won't use this on you without warning, or to enforce commands, but if at any time you attempt hostilities or escape, I will activate the charge. It's horribly painful and it’ll incapacitate you completely - not an experience you want to have, dong ma?"

"Funny thing, sir," said Mal.

“What?” asked the guard.

“Shackles, chains, electric shock - ironical how the self-proclaimed shining light of civilization has such affection for goodies from the oldest and darkest corners of humanity,” said Mal.

Irritation flashed across the guard’s face. “Hey, at least we gave you a suit.”

“Gracious as that is, I’d prefer the handcuff key,” said Mal.

The guard rolled his eyes. “You won't be restrained during your trial, but there's no way determination or any other force will get you out that courtroom door, understood?" The expression on his face was plain. No more rutting games.

Mal nodded, his one remaining flicker of hope extinguished. He'd entertained fantasies of escaping the courtroom, and he was still halfway tempted to try.

~~~~~

The small transport had windows, and the guard had honored Mal's request to be seated by one. As the grounds of the prison faded into nothingness and the acceleration pressed him back against his seat, a feeling of peace washed over him. Orange fire flashed across the windows as they broke atmo, and then they were floating. Oceans and forests were blue and green below, and a black, sparkling vista greeted his gaze out the side.

It was like a glimpse of heaven and freedom, surrounding him and holding him close in a soothing embrace. They held in low orbit over the planet for nearly an hour, but Mal didn't spare a thought for the passage of time. Every star, every moon, every expanse of white and blue and green below them was a thing of wonder and beauty he could have looked at for days. He felt his breathing steady as somewhere deep inside, he became human again.

When they descended back into atmo, back into the drab bustle and smallness of cities and buildings, a part of Mal's soul stayed up there. It was where he wanted to remain; it was a new home found, a home that couldn't be taken or destroyed. ~~~~

“How do you plead?” asked the judge.

“Not guilty, your honor,” replied Mal. No, don’t send me to prison is what I plead.

The courtroom was a showcase of marble and architecture, with an Alliance flag made of stone set into the floor in front of the judge’s stand. The witness benches of gleaming, polished wood stood empty but for two bored-looking journalists recording the proceedings. It was a room meant to be watched by the universe, but the affairs being conducted here today mattered only to him.

His eyes traveled to the flags draping the walls in colorful splendor. Every one of the unified planets was represented, even those newly unified by force. He lingered on Hera, somehow sobered by the sight of the flag. He’d given his life there. Not lost it, perhaps, but given it. Seeing that flag hanging there was like looking at a prisoner, and he moved on.

Finally he looked down, staring sightlessly at the gleaming marble of the desk he and his sharply dressed advocate were seated at. There was a flag missing, the one most familiar of all. Shadow.

The hours of evidence, questioning, cross-examination slid by in a blur. At the start he listened to every word, dissected every argument. That faded as he realized that these so-called crimes he was accused of weren't something he wanted to defend himself from. They were his actions, real and true.

The prosecutor prowled in front of Mal. “Not guilty? He enters a plea of not guilty, knowing the evidence against him? Typical Independent mindset, don’t you think? Mister Reynolds wants to violate the rules of war, wants to keep killing out of spite and revenge, but when it comes time to account for his behavior, he wants us to consider him ‘not guilty.’ He wants to do whatever he wants, regardless of the impact on others, and get away with it!”

He stared entreatingly at the panel. “Isn’t that why we fought this war? To bring civilization and enlightenment to the Allied planets, to stamp out brutality and corruption, to bring all planets into the light of accountability and bring justice to those who, like Mister Reynolds, bring shame upon all of humanity with their actions?”

“Millions of people died for this cause, good people. You sit here, in a courtroom, fighting the final battle of a war. If you let this man walk free, if you condone his behavior, you will betray every fallen soldier who was willing to give his life for this cause. You betray the brave men and women who died at this man’s brutal hands, when the least we can do for those poor souls in honor of their memories is to bring justice to their killers. Stand up and tell the universe you believe in a better world, that you are willing to fight beside our warriors in a court of law. Stand up and return a verdict of guilt against this man.” With a gracious bow, the prosecutor sat.

Mal whispered a question to his advocate. “The panel, are they all loyal to the Alliance?”

“You have to be a full citizen of the Alliance to serve on a judicial panel,” the advocate replied. “Independent sympathizers typically do not have citizenship granted, or will see it revoked.”

Mal sighed. “And advocates?” he questioned quietly.

Martin looked him in the eye, sympathy in his expression. “Citizenship is required.” He put a hand on Mal’s. “But my job is to defend you, and I will.”

With that, the advocate stood and wandered in front of the panel to present his final argument. “It’s easy to paint this man with the brush of murder. After all, isn’t that what good and honorable soldiers do? They kill. If they don’t, they’re branded as cowards and court-martialed. Yet here we sit, ready to pass judgment on a good and honorable soldier for doing his job.”

“The prosecutor talked to you about humanity. Is it humanity for the victors to sit at a table of power and pass judgment on the losers? To exact revenge for actions committed in a time of war, actions motivated by forces of courage and honor? This was an armed conflict. People fought and died. I would argue to you that it’s anything but civilized to seek to punish those who have already lost not only a war but families, homes, and hopes. Let us lead the way by example, by showing our enemies compassion and mercy.”

With a sober bow, the advocate returned to his seat beside Mal. Mal gulped and looked at him in thanks. It had been a good argument, a worthy argument. But the sick feeling in his gut told him it was a losing one. Just like the war. He sighed and looked down at the table, numb and hurting all at once.

~~~~

“The defendant will stand.” Mal heard the order through a haze, and stood facing the judge. The judge looked him directly in the eye, boredom with the proceedings written on his face. “Malcolm Reynolds, the panel has returned a verdict of guilt against you for war crimes against the Allied governments. You are hereby sentenced to ten years imprisonment, effective immediately.”

With the crack of a gavel, it was over. Mal stood silently, unmoving as he felt the advocate’s hand on his arm. “That’s a good thing,” the earnest man assured him. Mal whipped his head around and looked at him sharply. Martin continued speaking. “He didn’t specify where you were to serve your sentence. That means you go back to the camp. Very decent sort of place, from what I hear.”

Mal bowed his head downwards, unable to speak.

~~~~

The blackness of space and the sparkling stars felt as though it could swallow him up and whisk him away from the tiny, nightmare-filled world below him if only he could stare at it hard enough.

What if it’s ten years before I see a thing like this again? Mal gulped and forced the thought away.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” said the guard in a quiet tone.

“Yeah,” said Mal.

“Ten years isn’t so very long,” said the guard. “It’ll all still be out here, you know. Never go away.”

Mal turned his head away from the window briefly to look at the guard. Those were the first words he’d spoken that hadn’t taken the form of an order or a warning, words spoken to another human being. He met the man’s eyes for a second and nodded his thanks.

He faced the window again. I want to live out there. This sight was the most beautiful gift he could imagine, wrapping him quietly in the comfort and peace his soul was crying out for.

~~~~

Mal felt numb as the transport door was opened and he saw the familiar fences and buildings of the prison. This tiny little world was all-encompassing, yet it had faded to utter insignificance from space. A part of him was still up there among the stars where prisons and courts were invisible. He barely noticed when the guard grew tired of waiting and jerked him forward down the steps of the transport vehicle.

He tuned out his surroundings, deadening himself to the activity around him as he was turned over to a series of different guards, logged, strip-searched. It all blended together in a blur, something happening outside him as he lived through yet another worst-case scenario. Somewhere, he’d left behind the ability to feel.

He caught the uniform a guard threw at him, looking at it in vague confusion. They normally wore pale gray jumpsuits; this was a flimsy bright orange shirt and pants. “Ah – do I get a jumpsuit?” he asked, putting them on.

“You’re in the max unit, dumbass,” said the guard in a bored voice, jerking him forward and putting handcuffs and ankle chains on him again.

“Since – when?” asked Mal, uneasy.

The guard punched him in the stomach. “You’ll address officers here as 'sir.' Oh, wait, you knew that already, didn’t you?” He followed his words with another punch, and the world snapped painfully back into focus. What happened to the whole pick on someone your own size thing? I'm in chains, you despicable gou zá zhong.

Mal bit back his pain and fury and any remaining pride he might have had laying about. “Sorry, sir.” Max unit? Where the hell are they putting me?

“Max unit, sir?” he asked, trying to keep his voice flat.

“Well, not exactly,” said a new voice. Mal looked over and saw a tall, iron-jawed fellow sporting a buzz cut and Lieutenant’s stripes on his uniform. The Lieutenant strode forward and stood no more than a foot in front of Mal, placing his fist under Mal’s chin and forcing his head up uncomfortably. “We’ll start you out with a nice little vacation in solitary."

He met Mal’s eyes with a plainly sadistic glare. “Orders from the biggest brass of all, fellow called Lee. Not overly charitable towards convicted war criminals.” He chuckled, exchanging a humorous glance at the other guard. “Of course, who would be?” The other man laughed in return.

What the hell?

~~~~~~