Chapter 7

Kaylee didn’t believe in miracles. Not today. As soon as she’d given Inara the okay, the ship took off. The engine kicked and the blast back from a loose cover hit Kaylee hard in the stomach, and she knew she’d bruised her innards. Thankfully, that was the worst of it … until she went to the Infirmary for help.

Two fallen flashlights cast the room in eerie shadow and that’s where she found them– Simon lying on the floor, next to a corpsified intruder and a pool of blood. Michael lay on the couch, groaning in pain, and Cole stared vacantly at the burnt out shell of the Infirmary, his finger trembling over the trigger of a gun.

“Simon,” Kaylee breathed, sliding on the blood and falling to her knees next to him. His skin was slick with sweat and he trembled violently. Grabbing the nearest flashlight, Kaylee checked him over for a gunshot wound, but the blood was not his. She nearly wept with relief, but for the charred and blistering skin on his leg. She could smell it. It filled the whole room.

“What do I do?” she asked him, cradling his chin.

“Water,” he said weakly. “Cool the skin.”

“The chem-ice –”

“Too cold,” he choked.

“Cole, go wet a towel for me,” Kaylee said urgently.

Cole didn’t move. She was on her own. Swallowing her panic, Kaylee went over to Cole and knelt so they were face to face. She placed her hand over his to take the gun, but his hand tightened around the weapon.

“Cole, I’m going to take the gun, okay?”

She waited. Cole’s hand trembled under hers.

“Okay,” he mouthed, nodding slightly, though his eyes never found focus. He released the gun and Kaylee tucked it into her tool belt.

“You’re not on duty any more,” she told him gently. “I’m taking over, okay?”

Cole blinked and cocked his head; he’d gone completely catatonic.

-----

By the time they landed, Mal and Sky had tied up the five captives in the cargo bay, and dragged the other one from the hall upstairs as well. Thinking that was it, he’d gone completely ashen when he found the scene outside the Infirmary. Simon was white-faced and propped against a wall, instructing Kaylee through treatments. Cole was still as a statue, sitting on the couch next to his moaning brother. Mal swallowed the bile rising in his throat and returned to the cargo bay to deal with the problem of the captives.

Sky had fanned the captives around the room, placing tripwires and explosives between them, so they’d lose a limb if they tried to do more than talk to each other. Inara was at the top of the stairs, rifle in hand, walking slowly, threateningly around the perimeter, covering Sky should any of them break free. Mal didn’t dare tell her about the scene outside the Infirmary. She’d kill them all. Mal’s own fist closed over his weapon, wanting to kick and pummel each of these men individually before shooting them all between the eyes for what they’d done. Given the day he’d had, he wasn’t feeling particularly merciful.

“This was supposed to be the whore’s ship,” one of the men spat. He had a long scar across his nose and around his eye socket. The complaint was directed toward the apparent leader – a clean-cut kid with a collared shirt.

“This is my ship,” Mal said, then looked at Inara, repeating emphatically. “MY ship.”

Inara smiled with sinister grace, coming down the stairs like a tigress on the hunt. “Community property, dear. What’s yours is mine.”

Mal made a face and turned to the kid in the collared shirt, kicking his ribs to get his attention. “Is this how you greet new folk?”

“Not much of a greeting,” Inara commented icily. “No wonder the Guild doesn’t service this world.”

“We just came for the ship.” That was one of the lantern techs who hadn’t been armed. His voice was high-pitched and panicked, but Mal hated him anyway.

“That’s not what your method says,” Mal pointed out. “You knew she was on board. You tried to kill my wife. I take offense to that – I take GREAT offense to that.” He looked quickly to Inara. “Do you take offense to that?”

Inara leered ominously, trailing her fingers across his neck as she circled the collection of prisoners. She was livid, and power-crazed. “I’m not so easily offended. But you tell him, dear.”

Sky held the bigger gun, but Inara looked evil enough to kill with a glance. She wouldn’t hold him back. He wouldn’t hold her back either.

“Not kill,” the leader protested anxiously. “Stun. S-sell. Just her and the kid, that was it.”

“Sell the kid?!” Mal repeated, flabbergasted. “MY kid!”

“I say we kill them,” Sky said simply, and all their prisoners tensed in fear.

“This ain’t up for a vote,” Mal said. “I’m in charge here, and I say we kill them.”

He aimed his gun, cocked the hammer, and cursed the wretched day. Then Inara placed a hand on his elbow.

“Wait,” she said, her voice dripping with malice. “I have a better idea.”

-----

Little Zoë closed her eyes as she walked, depending on Jayne to guide her. He wasn’t sure how much help he was, because the chill had sunk into his bones as well. Jayne’s head ached from hunger, thirst, smoke inhalation, and hypothermia, and the rest of his body throbbed and ached in protest of the day. Zoë was leaning pretty heavily against the bruises he’d gotten earlier when he’d carried the seizing River to the Infirmary. He wondered if they hurt more because of the biting chill in the wind. His throat was too sore to complain.

They crossed the ridge to the plateau where they’d left Serenity and Jayne froze. They were still a mile off, but he didn’t see the ship. He saw a few abandoned vehicles and a large scorch mark on the ground.

Zoë’s eyes shot open, nearly stumbling out of his arms when he stopped. Her arms fell by her side as she saw it too. Maybe it was a hallucination caused by smoke poisoning.

“No!” she cried, running toward the giant hole in the ground, but he grabbed her shoulders and covered her mouth. There could still be danger here. They fell to the ground, and she cried against his chest, pounding in frustration, overwhelmed with hunger and weariness.

“No sense panicking yet,” Jayne said, though he was a hairsbreadth himself from crossing the line. If she was as bad off as him, it was hard to think straight. “Give me the radio.”

Zoë writhed and wept. “They would’ve contacted us –”

“We had it off, remember. Stealth,” he said, gently, then reached across her for her satchel. They should’ve checked in hours ago. Sky was gonna kill him for making her worry like that.

“Serenity can you hear me?”

Zoë stilled her sobs, wiping the tears from her cheeks, chastising her own foolishness. Jayne kept her in a forgiving embrace, and they waited. Jayne called again.

“Jayne!” Mal exclaimed, then followed immediately with a mixture of swears and prayers. “It’s about time. Are you safe? Where are you?”

“Right where we left you. Where are you?”

“Ai ya! Move!” he ordered urgently. “Get out of the area.”

Jayne looked around at the quiet scene. He’d been planning to steal one of those vehicles. The world was grainy and unclear.

“Is Zoë alright?” Mal asked.

“Aside from a minor panic attack seeing the scorch mark you left,” Jayne teased, patting Zoë lightly.

“Baba, there is going to be a major peanut butter tax on this!” Zoë warned, grabbing the radio. Peanut butter was a luxury on Serenity, but Zoë had grown addicted to it when she’d stayed planet-side and in hospital for extended periods. Zoë tugged at her hair and paced in a circle, then buried her face in Jayne’s chest. “I am having serious abandonment issues.”

Mal chuckled sweetly, relieved by the sound of her voice. “I have a hug waiting for you, Zo.”

“You got a hug for me?” Jayne teased.

“I have your first born. I’ll send Sky with the shuttle.”

-----

There wasn’t much going right on Serenity, but Mal counted his blessings, and took what he could get. First, Little Zoë and Jayne were alive and whole, albeit smoked and chilled. Second, Kaylee had fixed the shuttles while she’d been waiting for Genny and the computer to come together, so he didn’t have to worry about bringing Zoë and Jayne home. Third, Serenity’s prisoners happened to have connections in various shops around town, so instead of Serenity being chopped to bits and sold in those shops, Inara had convinced their prisoners to supply the parts needed to repair Serenity. The leader had nearly lost an ear to the negotiation, but the desperate please of his friends overruled him. It had taken both Mal and Inara to hold Sky back, once she had the knife poised.

Mal was looking forward to telling Simon he could have all new machines in the Infirmary, because Simon had been harping him about upgrading for years. He worried for Simon, and not just because they were in dire need of a medic these days. Mal had seen burns like that before, and knew if he didn’t get Simon to a proper hospital with burn unit, he would lose his whole leg. Mal worried for Cole, too. For Cole, he bit back his anger toward God, and he prayed.

Mal paced the catwalk outside the shuttle dock, keeping an eye on the prisoners, but mostly just waiting. Simon had suggested he get Zoë and Jayne fed and warmed before bringing them to the hellish den where the others waited. It was a good idea. Zoë had been making light, but if Jayne was right, and she’d panicked on seeing Serenity gone, then she was too emotionally frail to step right into the thick of Serenity’s damage.

The couplings clicked as the shuttle locked into place, and the airlock hissed as pressures equalized. It was the sound of things working right. A few minutes later, the door to the shuttle opened and Little Zoë came out with a heavy blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a wool hat on her head. Mal embraced her, relief coursing through his veins, the weight of worry lifting from his shoulders. She didn’t hug him back, probably so as not to lose hold on the blanket, but her body molded gently against his, as if she were about to fall asleep in the safety of his arms.

“Ain’t you supposed to have escorts?” Mal asked, not releasing her. The shuttle door had closed behind her, with Jayne and Sky still inside.

“They …” Zoë hesitated and looked toward the closed door. “They missed each other.”

Mal rolled his eyes and pounded on the door. “Twenty minutes, you two,” he hollered, then turned to Zoë. “Let’s get you fed.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her to the galley. She moved slowly, constantly glancing over her shoulder to the shuttle.

“I don’t think Uncle Jayne can sit up,” she said softly, her voice laced with worry. Mal hadn’t realized it was so bad, but he couldn’t exactly send a medic in.

“Sky’s with him,” he assured.

“Sky said Uncle Simon …” Zoë’s face twisted in fear. “Baba, is he…”

“Singed a bit, but he’ll be fine,” Mal finished. They turned the corner into the galley and Zoë stopped at the door. She’d been expecting to see the others in here.

“Sit,” Mal ordered. He went to the stove and ladled out a bowl of soup that he’d prepared earlier. He’d sent some of the warm broth with Sky for Zoë and Jayne to drink on the return trip, but here were all the lentils and weird little vegetables that made it tasty.

Zoë hadn’t moved from the door. “I want to see Michael –”

“In time,” Mal interrupted. “Eat. Warm up. I need you whole.”

Mal set the bowl on the table and a spoon next to it and motioned toward the chair again. Zoë stood militantly by the door, suddenly looking at him like he was an imposter.

“Baba, you’re bleeding!”

Mal shifted the sit of his shirt and winced. The shirt he’d been wearing when the console exploded was a tattered mess, and he’d changed out of it, but most of the cuts were still open.

“I’ll keep,” Mal insisted. He took Zoë firmly by the arm and led her to the table. She sank heavily into the chair and cried into her bowl of soup.

“Please, you’re scaring me. Baba… what’s happened here?”

She was too frail, and he was too tired. He reached out his hand and she took it, holding on like they were the last living souls in the ‘verse.

“I got sprayed a bit when a console exploded,” Mal explained. “It’s just some surface cuts I haven’t had chance to tend to yet.”

Zoë swallowed a concerned sob, then looked around the room like hell’s bats were circling.

“You’ll be pleased to know your Mama survived the day relatively whole,” Mal continued. “Jamie is fit as a fiddle. Emily doesn’t have a scratch on her.”

That was it. That was all that was whole anymore.

“Cole is the same as when you left – a broken arm.” Mal didn’t mention the PTSD, but anyone on this crew with any sense was not more than a few heartbeats from that right now. He needed a segue to get Zoë off the inventory of injury. “Michael is the same as when you left. He had some words from River when he woke up this afternoon.”

“What did he say?” Zoë asked immediately, taking the switch. He sobs stilled and she picked up the spoon, and started eating slowly.

“He said we have 10 hours,” Mal answered. “I don’t know to what. I think we have about three left to figure it out.”

Zoë did the math quickly. “So that was seven hours ago?”

Mal nodded. Damn, this had been a long day.

“So we know Michael could still read River seven hours ago,” Zoë reaffirmed, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s good news.”

“Wasn’t reading so much as channeling,” Mal explained. “Like River was talking directly to me. And she couldn’t hear me.”

“Ch –” Zoë gasped in alarm and dropped her spoon, sending the soup splashing. “She didn’t!”

Mal sat up, immediately alert. “This is a bad thing. They’ve done it before?”

Zoë covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wild, her mind racing, like she was trying to convince herself that things weren’t as bad as they sounded. “We tried for years to get them to –”

“Excuse me?!” Mal interrupted, his protective instincts for his son flaring up.

Zoë didn’t flinch. She picked up a napkin and cleaned the mess of soup off the table, deliberately avoiding his eye.

“Remember when we were little and Aunt River would be in the middle of a story, but you told us it was bedtime.” She waited a moment, then finally met his eye, her lips pressed together in contrite confession. “We never conceded as easily as you thought. River and Michael would just keep reading off each other. The channeling idea – well, Michael wasn’t as good a story teller.”

She cringed, anticipating his harsh response, and she was right to expect it. Mal was furious.

“So you tried psychic experiments on your little brother,” he growled. Then he pounded the table and jumped to his feet, pacing a circle, and hitting the wall just to keep from hitting her. “Zoë, you of all people!”

“We stopped,” Zoë said defensively, but stayed meekly seated. She didn’t care if he hit her, because in this case, she thought she deserved in. Her face fell and she looked sadly at her hands, repeating, “We stopped. They got really close once, then both of them just freaked out. You probably remember the night. I couldn’t calm Michael down, so I took him to your room, and you said he was too old to sleep in your bed.”

Mal remembered clearly. Zoë had come in all guilt and tears, practically holding Michael up because he was trembling so badly and his knees kept buckling. He’d whispered, ‘Mama, Mama,’ but Mal wouldn’t let Inara go to him at first, because he thought it was just a nightmare and he wanted Michael to work it out on his own. He’d relented on the tough parenting when he’d heard River in the hall, screaming, and Simon’s footsteps as he went to fetch her. Mal remembered Michael crying out when he touched him, like he’d been burned; he remembered Zoë sitting by the bed, hugging her knees, sobbing; and he remembered waking up the next morning and finding that neither Inara nor Michael had fallen asleep yet. They were just sitting, Inara leaned against the headboard praying, Michael curled in her lap, whispering over and over, ‘Mama.’ He’d never suspected anyone was to blame.

The intensity of that night was ten times greater than what Mal had witnessed this afternoon in the Infirmary, but if that was Zoë’s experience with channeling, no wonder she seemed so concerned.

“There world is so different from ours,” Zoë murmured distantly.

Mal’s jaw tensed and he glared at her across the table. “I can’t believe you watched this happen. You knew, and you didn’t tell me!”

Zoë didn’t mount a defense. She’d berated herself enough over the years and come to terms with her actions. She was focused on the present.

“Aunt River must really be desperate, to try it again.”

Mal fumed. He was on a short fuse, and glad little Zoë wasn’t taking it personally. Michael seemed okay after he’d talked for River. It wasn’t like last time. In fact, it may be useful.

“Does the door swing both ways?” he asked. “Can he control her?”

“Don’t ask him, Baba. Don’t you dare,” Zoë threatened, her eyes narrowing dangerously, looking at him like she’d kill him just for thinking the thought. There was something powerful behind the threat. Something he’d never seen in her before. Follow-through. Mal’s jaw dropped in horror at the realization – she’d killed someone out there today!

-----

Jayne tilted his head up just enough to take another sip of the warm broth. His fingers were cold, his nose was cold, hell, even his eyelids were cold. His stomach growled eagerly for more broth, but his head felt like a lead weight, and he had to give himself a minute of shivering under the blanket before he tried again. He was half-asleep, but it wasn’t the pleasant kind of recovery sleep. It was the mellow calm that came just before one froze to death.

Coughing up soup, mucus, and black soot, Jayne rolled onto his side and curled into a ball, his frozen joints screaming in protest. Sky knelt by his face and wiped it clean. Then she leaned forward and kissed his frozen eyelids.

Jayne smiled dumbly and gazed at her as she pulled a hat over his head and placed a warm pillow underneath. She wore a pink camisole over gray armor, and his favorite brown jacket on top. Carefully, she removed the jacket and covered Jayne, and he could feel her warmth on the fabric. Her whole right side, forehead to fingertip, was bruised and her right eye nearly swollen shut, but Jayne could still see love in the way she looked at him. Sky snuggled under the blankets and jacket, spooning her warm body around his. For all the bruising, Jayne knew that she couldn’t be comfortable, but she found a position and stayed still, and they laid in silence until Jayne stopped shivering.

“Zoë made a kill,” Sky whispered, her breath tickling the back of his neck.

Jayne grunted an affirmation, too tired to put words together. He’d expected Sky to notice, but neither he nor Zoë had mentioned it in the last three hours of walking, and Jayne didn’t want to talk about it. Sky did. She lifted onto her elbows, taking her warmth, and pressed his shoulder until he was lying on his back, looking up at her.

“Are you okay?” she asked. It wasn’t a question about his physical health.

Jayne shrugged, looking sideways at the wall. “She did it so cold. Weren’t life or death. Weren’t anything. She was mad at me and she did it to prove a point.”

Jayne brooded, and Sky laid down again, resting her face on his chest. She heard the guilt, and she wasn’t going to tell him who was to blame. This was the ‘verse they lived in, and everyone had to make a first kill at some point.

“I’ll talk to her,” Sky said.

“She’s got her parents.” Mal always had wise words, and he’d cold killed a dozen men since Jayne knew him.

Sky tapped her fingers on Jayne’s chest reflectively. “Neither one made a first kill like you’re describing.”

Jayne looked at her in surprise, but all he could see was the top of her head. She knew – they both did – that this wasn’t about kills, it was about first kills. Jayne realized he didn’t know anything about Sky’s first kill, and she didn’t know his. Those weren’t the type of tales one repeated proudly. So he hugged her tight and they rested together silently.

“Think we should go?” Sky asked, just as Jayne was nodding off.

“Captain said 20 minutes.”

“It’s been 20 minutes.”

Jayne groaned wearily, knowing if he didn’t move soon, he’d be down for the night. “That was your 20. Now starts my 20.”

Sky smirked, and Jayne’s eyes twinkled. He was at least warm enough now to be properly hungry.

-----

Chapter 8