The ship was quiet, drained of energy, even as the power on the upper deck was restored. The sun had set three hours ago, but there was still no word from Jayne and Zoë. Sky had emerged from her bunk just long enough to retrieve Emily and give Jamie a rest. Inara had locked herself onto the bridge, trying to find help in the vicinity, because she’d dared not ask in town. Mal paced the ship bow to bay, righting fallen furniture, replacing panels, moving cables to the side of the halls, making the ship as safe as possible in its current condition.

Coming up the stairs, he was surprised to see Sky unlocking the weapons cabinet, and he immediately worried that she’d suffered River’s fate. Mal rested his hand on his gun and moved closer.

“Between you and Jayne, there aren’t enough weapons in your bunk?”

Sky didn’t even flinch. Mal credited himself with pretty keen senses, but Sky was virtually impossible to sneak up on.

“Guns a-plenty,” Sky answered lightly. “I’m here for chocolate.”

She flashed a wily smile, keeping focus on her mission and Mal relaxed, chastising his paranoia. Sky kept a stash of chocolate in the weapons locker because the temperature and humidity were controlled, and the children couldn’t get at it. The adults were another story, and Mal was pretty sure Inara and Zoë had made a serious dent in the stash the day before.

“I need to talk to you,” Mal said.

Sky’s hands froze and she looked at him, immediately concerned. “Jayne? Zoë?”

Mal shook his head. “No word. They went into the fire zone five hours ago there’s too much noise in the infrared to track them.”

“What then?” She resumed her search of the weapons locker. Her face was swollen and purple and she sounded funny because she wasn’t breathing through her nose.

“This ship that shot us down – did Walker see it?”

“I’m not sure. He might’ve,” she shrugged, finding a handful of candy wrappers and tossing them over her shoulder. Mal picked up the trash.

“We just set the agreement and he left. He didn’t seem over-eager.”

“But he agreed quickly.”

Sky smiled slyly, her blue eyes sparkling in a way that defied her injuries. “You know me. What’s this about?”

Mal shook his head and leaned against the railing of the catwalk, looking down the floor into the bay. He shuddered at the shiny spot on the deck were the blood had been wiped clean with solvent and wondered if he’d ever be able to stand up here again and just look. Pressing his eyes closed, he turned his back to the bay and stood next to Sky, watching as she dug through carefully arranged stacks of ammo. She glanced at him expectantly.

“I just wonder, with all the mind games,” he began.

Sky stopped moving and glared at him, catching accusation in his words. “You saw it, right? We both saw it. The sensors saw it too.”

“Did the proximity alarm go off?”

Sky’s chest puffed, offended at the notion that the ship wasn’t real. Her eyes flashed with anger, but she reined it with reason.

“Ghosts don’t blast shockwaves through atmo.”

“River has been knocked off her feet more than once without being touched,” Mal pointed out. “Genny said it looked like Michael was thrown.”

Mal nearly choked on his words, it hurt so much to say.

“Serenity is not River. Our electrical systems are fried,” Sky said, her voice low and menacing. “Explain that.”

“I can’t.” Mal stood his ground, face neutral, showing it was a brainstorm not an arguement. Finally the tension drained and she turned back to the arranged boxes.

“Did the proximity alarm go off?” Mal asked her again.

Sky slammed her fist against the door frame, then leaned against it. “We’re out of chocolate.”

“Sky.”

She inhaled loudly and touched her bruised face tenderly with her knuckles. “I don’t remember.”

-----

Mal brooded over the strange ship, wondering if it mattered whether the thing was physical or imagined. Sky was right. The physical effects were damaging enough without having to worry about the thing appearing randomly. If any part of the computer memory survived, he could check the logs to see if the proximity alert went off. That would mean something physical, right? Yawning widely, Mal headed for the galley. The end of this day was already six hours overdue and he needed coffee.

The light from the galley glowed dimly orange, looking soft and peaceful. When stepped through the entrance, he saw Simon kneeling over Cole, tenderly checking the boy’s injuries. Mal was concerned at first, seeing Cole’s leg twisted at an odd angle, then he realized it was actually Jamie’s leg, and the two kids had fallen asleep on the couch in a tangled mix. Simon arranged the two carefully, then put a blanket over them.

“Don’t know why I spent good coin on beds for this lot,” Mal joked.

Simon jumped, startled, but recovered quickly. “Mattress forts and trampolines,” he answered, tenderly smoothing the hair away from Jamie’s face. “And in the event of a water landing …”

The two men smiled at the weak joke. Neither would tell the other to get rest. Both knew they needed it. Both knew there was little point in trying to get it.

Simon went to the galley and prepared a tray of juice and baked protein nuggets. “Are you hungry? Genny requested sustenance.”

Mal shook his head and found his coffee press, wondering if Kaylee would smack Simon upside the head for talking wrong to Genny. All the children had put in more than a fair share today.

“Don’t work her too hard,” Mal said. “The fixes she’s done will keep us till morning. She should rest.”

Simon smiled and rubbed his ear. “You’re kidding right? You’ve asked her to rebuild the ship’s computer from the circuit board up. It’s like Christmas came early for her. If she’s like me at that age, she won’t sleep ‘til it’s done.”

Mal was going to say something about Christmas being less tragic than their current predicament, but given the last few Christmases they’d had, he really couldn’t.

-----

Their pursuers gave up after the second mile, which was good, because Jayne was getting winded, and had half a mind to turn and fight, hundred rounds or not. It took an hour after that to get reoriented, and find a way through the fires which had closed around their initial entrance path. The day of breathing in ashes made his throat sting, and sometimes he’d start coughing so hard his head hurt.

Zoë was thinking up a storm, and kept looking over her shoulder, fingering the butt of her gun. At first, Jayne thought they were being followed, but Zoë’s face was pale, and Jayne knew she was feeling that first kill. He kept their pace quick as they crossed the border of the forest into the foothills. The temperature had dropped, the winds had changed direction, and despite the clearing air, he did not want to camp outside tonight.

“You’re slowing us down,” he nagged, as they crested a hill and she looked back toward the forest again.

Zoë looked at him sadly, her face smudged with soot and tears. “We abandoned her.”

“And the sooner we get reinforcements, the sooner we can go back and rescue her,” Jayne pointed out, walking again, hoping she’d follow. “Did you see how fast the guards were leaking out of that building? What we’re facing ain’t small.”

Zoë followed slowly. “We could’ve –”

“What?” Jayne challenged harshly. “Gone in and talked sense into River. Tied her down and carried her back? She would’ve killed us all to get off Serenity, and we do not want to force trouble like that into our hold. She ain’t coming back until she’s un … un-possessed.”

“What if they move her?” Zoë asked. Her voice was all high-pitched and timid.

“She killed the gorram guard. Whoever’s there, they don’t control her,” Jayne said, but Zoë wasn’t comforted. “The tracker’s still working, right?”

“What if –”

Jayne held up a hand to silence her. “Do not go thinking the ifs. Not unless it helps you make a plan to save her.”

“I did have a plan,” Zoë said angrily. “Go in and get her.”

Jayne rolled his eyes. “Think in ways that won’t get you shot.”

Closing the conversation, he picked up pace again going down the hill, plotting a path between the hills so they wouldn’t have to keep going up and down to get home. Zoë hustled up next to him and crossed her arms, keeping her eyes on her footing.

“I’m cold,” she said softly.

“I’m hungry,” Jayne countered unsympathetically. He wished he had a flash light, or that the moon were a little fuller. He hadn’t expected to be gone for so many hours.

Zoë reached into her satchel, and handed Jayne a cereal bar. His lips parting in breathless surprise, Jayne accepted the gift, and his heart melted so thoroughly it leaked out his boots and left a trail on the hills. He put an arm around Zoë to keep her warm as they walked. People always told him that he was warm like a furnace.

-----

Simon balanced the food tray carefully, thinking that maybe he should’ve asked Mal for a share in that coffee. His insides ached sharply from exhaustion and it felt like he’d swallowed a steel rod and that was the only thing keeping his body from collapsing in exhaustion. He’d skimmed through all the papers Zoë had left behind, and commandeered the computer on the bridge long enough to download the neuroscience journals onto a handheld. Even if River returned, there was nothing he could do for her until her mind was released. It was possible that whoever took her was sending her on a suicide mission. They’d asked if he would have her back. Would he have her back, knowing they could come at any time and turn her into an assassin?

The cup on the tray rattled and Simon paused, taking a moment to lean against the wall, and regain his composure. The engine room was a mess when he entered, and Genny was in the thick of it, her body twisted in a back bend. Then she kicked her leg and did a walk over, landing gracefully between two tracks of cable bundles. It reminded Simon of River. Genny could be such a tomboy, but she loved to dance. River trained her during the year, and for two months last summer, they’d sent her to a dance school. Simon would make sure she went again if he had to steal the money himself.

Genny stretched her sides, and smiled when she noticed him, accepting the food offering. They sat in the middle of the floor and she nibbled while she resumed her work. Simon glanced sideways and noticed Kaylee dozing lightly in the hammock, arm thrown over her eyes, one leg hanging out the side.

“Mom couldn’t take it, huh?”

Genny shrugged. “Just a ten minute power nap.”

“How many of those has she had?”

Genny reached into her tool box and consulted a watch. “This would be her fifth consecutive one.”

Simon nodded, and hugged his knees, watching Genny work. She was in the assembly and power testing phase. Every now and then, she’d tell him to flip a switch or hand her the amp meter. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and timid.

“Is Aunt River going to be okay?”

Genny didn’t even look at him when she asked and Simon was hesitant to answer. She’d let him get away with not answering, but no answer seemed too much like saying no.

“I don’t know, bao bao. I hope so.”

Genny sniffled tearlessly and kept going. “Me too.”

He was trying to be strong for her and she for him. How long could they go on like this?

Simon nodded toward Kaylee again. “Did she have more work? Maybe I should wake her.”

“No. She’ll just lay there and cry,” Genny said bitterly. “Especially if all you’re gonna do is sit there and look at her like a doctor.”

Simon’s jaw dropped at the harsh accusation, but he knew he deserved it. His kids captured every nuance of emotion between him and his wife. Any bit of joy between him and Kaylee was reflected in their eyes; any bit of tension reflected two-fold.

Crossing over to the hammock, Simon squatted so his face was next to Kaylee’s. He could see the tear tracks on her cheeks, and the dried stain of salty tears where her arm covered her eyes.

“Mind if I join you?”

Kaylee blinked and shifted in the hammock, her face scrunching, like she was about to cry again. “Is it over?”

Simon cradled her face as she watched him in desperation. Too often, he waited until the worst was past before coming to her.

“Far from it,” he answered honestly. “But it’s quiet enough for the moment.”

Kaylee nodded, and closed her eyes, swallowing a sob. “Don’t play a part for me. I know who you are, Simon Tam. You keep your heart in a lock box where you think it’s safe.”

“Yes, well,” Simon acknowledged, ducking his head guiltily, angry with himself for being so self-absorbed that he’d been blind to Kaylee’s pain. “The lock box got smashed by an overly observant child and my heart is torn in a thousand pieces and the only one I can find right now is the one telling me I love you. So make a space.”

Biting her lip, Kaylee lifted slowly, making space for him in the hammock, and then they shimmied until she was lying on top of him. He could feel the wetness on her cheek as she pressed her face next to his.

“Love you,” she whispered in his ear, and he wrapped his arms around her, running his fingers through her hair.

He did not want to cry. Not here. Not with his daughter watching. But he had no defense against Kaylee; he didn’t need one for the way she sheltered him with love, peace, and safety. She kissed his bruised cheek, where River had struck him twice that day. Then she laid her head down on the pillow next to his, not pressing him for anything more. A few tears fell, unbidden, down Simon’s cheek, and Kaylee opened her eyes, watching them fall, honoring their meaning, and offering only her presence. He met her eyes for as long as he could, sharing pain that he couldn’t put into words, taking comfort where comfort had no right to be. Then he closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

-----

Mal paced the bridge, radio in hand, trying not to rip his hair out from the roots. Inara had told him that if he had to, he should aim for the gray ones, but Mal didn’t find that funny. The coffee had made him more awake, but now his mind buzzed over the fact that Jayne and Zoë were still out there and he hadn’t heard a word. He wasn’t in a panic, but he was very intensely concerned.

Inara ignored him fervently, occupying the computer, and glaring at him when he hovered too close.

“Can you stop for awhile,” Mal said impatiently. “I need the band width to link into the sat feeds.”

“Just twenty more minutes. I’m close to an answer. I feel it.”

“What’s the question?” Mal asked stupidly.

“The question? The question!” she cried, lunging toward him like all of hell’s fury. “The question is what is happening to my son! What is this weapon against readers and how do we fight it?”

“We don’t know that there’s a weapon,” Mal said, his voice louder than it should be. He’d lost his calm to the caffeine. “Could be Michael reacted to River. She’s possessed, you know.”

“No,” Inara said adamantly, crossing her arms and turning back to the computer. Her whole body shook with rage. “No, Michael doesn’t do that. If Sky’s testy, he’s irritable. If Zoë’s angsty, he’s miserable. But River can be in tantrum and it doesn’t affect him at all.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“They’re shielded from each other,” Inara insisted, turning back to face him. “Somehow. If that’s possible, then there has to be a way to shield them from this weapon.”

Mal looked heavenward in frustration. “No one will post a how-to on the cortex. Give it a rest. I need to check outside and make sure no one’s taken undue interest in us.”

“What if they have?” Inara demanded throwing her arms up in challenge. “Will we move the ship? Are we all going to go out back and push?!”

Mal raised his hand, ready to hit, but he caught himself, and embraced her instead. She struggled against him, but he held her close, fighting his own rage.

“Get some rest, ‘Nara,” he pleaded, trying to impart peace, though he had none of his own. “Twenty minutes. Thirty if you can. I’ll wake you when I’m done.”

She stopped struggling, but pounded against his chest in frustration, finally letting loose the screams of agony she’d kept bottled in since all this started. Mal felt tears stinging his own eyes, as much from sharing her pain as knowing the source.

She rubbed her face miserably against his chest and he held on for dear life, thinking how close they’d come to losing their beloved sons. Thinking of how much they still had left to lose. Inara fisted the fabric of shirt, and closed in the pain again, fighting for control, because they weren’t anywhere near through this.

“When I saw them… when I – I very nearly threw myself next to them.”

Mal cringed and held her tighter.

-----

Inara curled into the Captain’s chair, eyes closed, overwhelmed with exhaustion. It was nearing midnight world time, but given that they’d been near ship’s evening when all this started, it had been almost 24 hours since they’d last slept. Mal focused intently on the computer, completely failing to uplink vid to the satellites. He huffed in frustration, glad when Kaylee dashed into the room, trailing a new cable. She pulled a panel off the wall, connected her lead, and half the lights on the bridge came to life.

“Kaylee, can you fix this damn connection.”

“No need, Captain, we’re about to upgrade,” Kaylee said cheerfully, and Mal had to wonder at the fresh spring in her step. She came over to him, powered down the computer he was working on, and started disconnecting it.

Mal watched in dismay and was about to protest, but then Genny came skipping up the stairs carrying a new box and a board.

“I made a dummy to test the resistance,” she said happily, then shooed Mal away from the console.

“You’re done?” Mal asked incredulously, backing away and watching the miracle unwind.

Genny took over his seat, lifting the panels, and placing fresh bits where Kaylee had extracted the fried ones earlier.

“Basic I/O only,” Genny explained. “The interface needs massaging.”

“Try it now,” Kaylee said.

Genny did and the monitors lit up, glowing bright, but not outshining the smile on her face.

“Where’s the vid?” Mal asked. “Do we have it?”

“We will,” Kaylee smiled.

“Test is clean, Mom. Let me swap out the dummy.”

Mal’s heart swelled, glad something was finally going right. Genny pulled out the dummy board and smiled broadly. Then high-pitched whine filled the room and half a second later, the power surged and the console burst into flames.

-----

Chapter 6