Red Run 16 Ita Moon

The second message was from Beck. It requested Mal call him ASAP. Mal keyed in the wave link to Beck’s ship casually. Itan authorities didn’t seem too focused on Serenity as a cause of their local trouble, thanks to young Kyle, and no surface flights appeared to be leaving Ita City on an intercept course for Serenity, and no shuttles or other craft were directionally headed toward them from Ita Processing station or the surrounding sky, so Mal figured a few minutes of “bon mot” chat…with as little “bon” as possible…with an ex-adversary-now-desperate-for-Mal’s-good-grace would be food for his soul. In a twisting the knife, pouring salt on a wound kinda way.

Beck sighed, most likely with relief at a saved deal, upon seeing Mal‘s face on the vid screen. “Reynolds…we noticed a couple of shuttles returning to your boat…and there’s some trouble down on Ita Moon,…you folks wouldn’t need any assistance would you?” Beck’s transmission, if intercepted, wouldn’t have implicated Mal, and on the face of it seemed innocuous enough, but reading between the lines got to be second nature when tradin’ and livin’ in the Black. Beck guarding his interest ranked higher than humanic philanthropy as a motive for the “courtesy call“ with a request for a dollop of reassurance on the side implied for his and Mal‘s “deal“.

Given their past history, Mal decided crushing that reassurance was far more pleasurable than sustaining it. “That’s CAPTAIN Reynolds to you. And yeah…heap of trouble on Ita Moon. We’re pullin” out in a couple of minutes,” Mal relished the look of momentary panic on Beck’s face. Never having given a damn in the first place about what Beck had to say, Mal’s joy at crushing his hopes tasted like pure psychological gravy and biscuits…and he’d been eatin’ light on joy lately.

“We had a deal! I get to make my pitch and you listen. You agreed!” Beck’s composure, and his knuckles, were cracking under the strain.

Mal conceded this. “That’s true,” he even nodded his assent as additional endorsement, “but that was before someone shot up Ita City. My team happened to be down there and saw some of it,” Mal added nonchalantly, by omission denying their involvement, injuries, and near fatal misunderstandings…and which, should anyone be in a data interception mood, tacitly “prove” that he and his crew acted “innocently” throughout the whole affair.

He could play the “keep your private business off the Wave” game too.

“Til I figure out what’s going on around Ita Moon I don’t want to get caught up in any local revolution, Reaver raid, or bad Girl Scouts ‘Verse jamboree gone wrong down on Ita” Mal smiled vindictively. “You understand I’m sure.” Without waiting for a response, he plunged the knife further. “But that means I got no time for ya.” He reached to toggle off the connection.

Beck raised a palm, signaling a stop. “Just hold on Reynolds…seriously I have something I need to talk with you about. It’s not just money and business.”

Mal felt his face tighten and knew it showed. Business that wasn’t just business, or money, was usually something else, and usually that something else fell into two camps. One, it was a trick to get a fellow to drop his guard before he got hijacked, robbed or assassinated; dangly just enough of a curiosity teaser in the wind to make a dunce Captain act like a feline--with the same result all cats meet with when they engage in curiosity.

The second camp for “business that wasn’t business” plopped into a nebulous social definition out here in the Rim. Could mean many things on many different worlds, but most lately the meaning was “politics”.

In terms of choice, Mal preferred crime--by a damn sight--over politics.

“Business that ain’t strictly business” Mal muttered softly. Beck, he noticed, leaned forward in his ship chair and turned up his microphone volume gain.

Beck frowned. “You say something, Reynolds--eh, Captain Reynolds?”

Mal touched his side where he still carried a bullet scar. “Same conditions. Come alone. Space suit. Unarmed. You got 15 minutes. Serenity out.” Beck looked surprised and startled, climbing out of his chair a full 2 seconds after Mal’s last words--before he finally remembered to kill the link.

“Business that wasn’t business” covered a wide spectrum. Mal wondered right now if that didn’t mean “slavers”. He didn’t think so. Beck might be many things…hell, Mal knew the son of a bitch was many things…but a slaver wouldn’t have been the first popper thought to leap to mind. Man seemed too much like more than that. And Mal’s encounter with Beck’s crewmate Red over on Ita Processing station a couple of hours before had left a general impression of potential illegality…but not the slime laden stink of sleeze that oozed off most slavers. Red hadn’t seemed much different than one of his own crew actually. Kind of a cross between Jayne and Kaylee…and a bumbling doctor Mal could have named. Dirty…but not pernicious. Out in the Black, that ‘bout described everyone…to one degree or t’other.

Could be Mal had just gone stupid in agreeing to a meet. He acknowledged this to himself. “Maybe I’ll get some tuna and a belly rub ‘fore he skins my hide”, Mal thought, playing out the cat metaphor.

One message flare continued to wink on his vid screen. He’d about forgotten it. The face that appeared when he keyed it caused him to grit his teeth.

“Captain Reynolds,” said the grim face of “Fancy” (Mal would later find out his name was Arthur from River’s mindfishin’…and like her would abandon it to stick with the moniker of Fancy.) “By now I’m sure you understand that there are a number of people interested in talking with some of your…” He paused and waved an effete hand. “ I guess the word “associates” describes them best.” Fancy steepled his hands in front of him, adopting a mild lecturing tone. “You see Captain, their…participation…would be extremely valuable to us. Holding on to such valuable resources, as a business tactic, might be viewed as disagreeably unprofessional in your line of work and unprofitable in the extreme. Get with the times Captain! Hear us out and come to a mutually profitable arrangement so that we might avoid any more….destructive competition.” A slight hardening of the eyes was the only clue that a threat was being issued and not a business proposal. “Wave me at this number when you‘re ready to talk.” A brief graphic with a Wave Code appeared on Mal’s screen. Committing it to memory, and closing the message, Mal cogitated on a course of action.

Unlike Beck’s message, which bordered more on desperation, “Fancy” left Mal with a feeling of cold inevitability. Like a glacier moving. Whether it was true or not, Fancy thought he’d eventually grind Mal down. Any thoughts Mal might have entertained about an alliance between Beck and Fancy got moved to the back burner. Not entirely shelved, but not prime motive number 1 on the list of “Why in hell would Beck want to see me?”

The control panel began flashing a yellow warning light from the “Proximity Alert”. A small shuttle, really more of an emergency pod, was approaching Serenity from Beck’s ship. Mal keyed the prox-alarm to keep it in silent mode for when it went to red. If he hadn’t, an alarm would have sounded through the entire ship when the pod got close enough to become a threat. With everyone stove up, caring for other people stove up, on edge, confusified, and just generally jumpy as sphincter hell, he wasn’t going to add to the burden by having a potential collision avoidance warning warbling all over. As long as Beck followed the rules, he’d pull up his velocity and hang off about 300 yards, exit his pod in a space suit and make his way to Serenity’s airlock. If he didn’t follow orders…well, that’s why Mal kept Jayne and his toys around. Secreted somewhere in Jayne’s room would be a noisemaker capable of putting holes in a dinky ole space pod, like as not.

Listening to the 3rd wave message from Fancy and following the progression of Beck’s ship to the point where it slowed and stopped off Serenity’s port, as ordered, didn’t leave Mal with much time to make it from the flight deck to the hold for his meeting with Beck. Running a little and taking the steps two at the time, Mal hit the loading deck with a couple of minutes to spare.

Locating a short range comm. unit and keying up one of the outside vid monitors, Mal was just in time to see a space suited figure emerge and hang in space.

Mal keyed the short range broadcast button, good for maybe 400 yards through a ships hull, and watched the figure closely. “Hit your suit thrust and come up on our air lock. When you are about 5 feet out, I’ll open the lock and you float in. I’ll keep grav plate off until you’re aboard. Light down and wait for grav and air pressure to normalize. If you understand and can hear me, key your suit strobe three times.” Mal watched the monitor and saw three slow flashes come from the distress strobe mounted on the suits arm. The figure slowly began to approach. At five feet away, Mal lowered the ramp sufficiently for a tight squeeze entry. Beck, or whoever occupied the space suit, floated in, touched down and remained standing. Mal engaged the grav plate to .50 Earth Standard and keyed the atmo to Earth Norm. Space suits varied in weight by make and model. Keeping your grav plate at minimum was a nice courtesy between spacers, if your “guest“ happened to be using a weightier model. Plus which, less courteously, if you boosted the grav plate from .5 gravs to 1.99 gravs (the legal limit on most space ships….Serenity’s could actually do 2.5 grav above Earth standard without blowing a power regulator thanks to Kaylee’s ministrations) while a guy was standing on it, you’d bring him at least to his knees, if not flat on his back or face just from the sudden grav shock change. From 1.0 Earth standard, he might not be effected as badly. Just one more bullet in Mal’s arsenal.

A green light flashed inside the air lock, indicating normal air pressure. Mal noticed that the figure still raised his left arm suspiciously to check his own suit integrated atmo monitor, which gave a reading on outside air consistency and pressure, rather than trust the green light from Serenity’s own systems. Didn’t matter none in this case though, cause Mal was playin’ it fair…at least for now.

The figure lowered his arm and raised a suited thumb with the opposite arm. Mal still couldn’t see the man’s face because the suit helmet was mirror shaded on the outside. Mal keyed his comm. “Now take off your helmet and suit and strip down to your skivvies.”

The suited figure froze into immobility, then the right hand touched a comm unit on the left arm. “What?!”, said Beck’s voice in middlin’ outrage.

Mal repeated himself. “I said, strip to your skivvies. This is the last time I repeat myself before I open the lock and blow atmo.” He moved his finger near the “Emergency Open” button near the door seal so the suited figure could see he meant it.

Slowly…very slowly…the figure reached up and undid the toggles holding the helmet to suit. If Mal had intended murder this would have been the time to do it. Sudden depressurization would have ripped the helmet from the suit and out the door of Serenity before Beck could have stopped it. He’d have lost consciousness and floated out the door once Mal hit the grav plate off switch.

For a second the figure paused as if waiting for those very events to happen. When they didn’t, the motions of removing the suit grew faster. Within 3 minutes a very disheveled and nearly naked Capt Beck stood trembling in the air lock. He raised his hands in a “what now?” gesture. Mal keyed the comm. “I just want to savor this moment for a minute or two so just stand there.”

Beck threw his arms over his head, and, defying the strict letter of Mal’s command, stomped around in place mouthing, to Mal, silent obscenities. One plus of the man’s tirade was that it offered a view of all dimensions of his anatomy. Unless he was carrying a shotrod in a place the sun don’t shine, he was weaponless as far as Mal could tell. Mal waited about a minute and a half until Beck’s feet looked blue.

Drawing his pistol, Mal popped the door seal and spoke to the now silent Beck. “Come on in. No sudden moves. Walk to the center of the deck, sit down on the floor…and start talking.”

Beck, shivering, fairly skipped across the threshold of the airlock to the warmer air of the cargo hold. “Gorramit Reynolds…turn the heat up!”

Mal thumbed back the hammer on his pistol and pointed it at Beck’s head. “Surely. No problem friend.”

“Alright, alright”, Beck moved to the center of the room and eased his way to the deck. Mal dropped the hammer slowly, stood off about 10 feet from Beck and let the pistol drop to his side. He didn’t holster it.

“Let’s hear it”, Mal ordered.

Beck took a deep breath….right as Kaylee came running thru the hold and straight up to Mal.

“Oh Captain! He asked me! It’s him! We’re doing it!” Kaylee whooped out a wordless cry that was part joy , part exaltation and part back Planet victory squall. Such was Kaylee’s preoccupation that she took only the barest notice of Beck, while Mal tried, unsuccessfully, to keep full view of Beck, and then only as she nearly stepped on him as she headed for Inara’s shuttle. “Hey fella! Watch it! And put some clothes on. You’ll get cold.” She beamed a final smile at Mal and hurled herself up the stairs two at a time, whooping the entire time.

Both men watched Kaylee until she left the room. Beck turned to Mal. Clearly he now considered Mal, the crew of Serenity and perhaps the very boat itself as cursed and crazy.

“She’s….” Mal paused cause frankly he didn’t know why “she’s”…” Manfully, he again tried to defend his crew. “I mean…it’s” and then he paused again because he also realized he had no clue about “it’s” either. He shook himself, determined to turn the conversation back on course. “Look, the ‘she’s , it’s’ is none of your concern. Speak your peace.”

Beck opened his mouth, looking toward the final spot of Kaylee’s departure. Then he obviously thought better of it. “Never mind…I don’t care,” he began. “It’s simple so I’ll just say it. My crew and I are meeting a ship out near Paddock to pick up a shipment of weapons for another planet, which shall for the moment remain nameless, with the intention of arming a militia corps they want to form. I’ve got to have another ship to help carry the whole load…mine’s not big enough to carry the whole shipment and the ship we are meeting won’t wait for me to find one and doesn’t need to travel to the planet in question because it doesn’t need to know the final destination of the goods. I’ve got no other option. The meet happens in 4 days. If I can’t take full deliver right then and there, I’ll never see the rest of the goods. You’re it.” Beck stated…sadly Mal thought. “And I’d sooner walk back to my pod dressed like I am now than have to ask you for help, or expect to get it from you after what happened during our last meeting, but here I am…at your mercy, near naked and hoping like hell this proves I’m on the up and up enough to keep your finger off the trigger.”

“So when you said this business wasn’t strictly just business…” Mal waved his gun as a conversational catalyst.

Beck picked up the thread. “…that’s because it isn’t about business. It’s political.” Beck looked Mal directly in the eye. “We’re going to have another shot at Independence.”