Shakespeare References: Henry V Act III Scene 2; Macbeth Act II Scene 2; Macbeth Act III Scene 1

"Not you, Kaylee," Mal said sternly as she started to dismount the mule. It was dark now, but the lights from the abandoned hospital blazed out like laid-off workers ignoring their pink-slips. Kaylee looked determined, so Mal shook his head again. "You get back to Serenity." He stopped. And do what? He started again. "Lock up good and tight, you hear? Cortex is broke, so you can get busy fixing that. I want it working properly when we get back." Mal was almost pleased with himself for breaking the fei-oo thing. Tinkering would give her something positive to do, keep her from feeling helpless.

Go on, Reynolds, his conscience prodded. Gotta keep least one of your crew safe through this. Gripping Kaylee by the shoulders, Mal looked hard at her as he said firmly, "We don't come back in a day or so, you get on that shiny working cortex and contact your folks. No arguments," he held up one hand as if to physically deflect her protests. "Callum ain't after a broad revenge, I don't reckon, else you'd be dead already." He pressed the money satchel he'd taken from the saloon owner into her hand. "So you just stay put 'til your kin can come fetch you, or find a pilot to take you to them. But we are coming back, so don't be packing your things just yet." Mal tried selling a forced grin and Kaylee reluctantly pretended to buy it.

Her kin! They must be near a week away at hard burn. Well, if it came to that, with any luck he'd be dead by then. 'Cause right at that moment, as he watched her drive away into the night, fighting back tears, Mal felt he'd rather take his chances with the revenge-crazed lunatic than have to explain to Kaylee's sturdy, honest dad why he'd made his little girl cry.

Now Mal sized up Jayne with a sidelong glance. He was always uneasy when he didn't know exactly where things stood with Jayne, when he didn't have a leg up on the truculent mercenary. Jayne had made it abundantly clear from the start that he'd stick around only so long as there was profit to be had. But Kaylee'd just drove off with the money, and they were walking into a trap, certain. In a bug house, no less. And yet Jayne was still here, waiting on Mal's orders. No accounting for it. Zoe was nothing to him, except maybe competition for a larger cut. Wash he tolerated even less than Zoe did. It just didn't figure.

Kinda reminded Mal of the war -- all those soldiers who'd stayed by him, followed him into the maw of violence, more than once. For a lost cause, as it turned out.

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more." Mal muttered as they crouched by the hospital's main doors. That was Shakespeare, too, wasn't it? Some king said it. About a battle where they were all outnumbered but they won anyway. Yeah, Mal thought, a little pleased with himself. Despite his admittedly spotty education, he nevertheless knew a smattering of the Bard. Wasn't the completely ignorant hump Callum took him for.

He signaled Jayne to take the left flank while he moved right as they entered the eerily silent building.

A shot rang out. Then another. The men of Serenity dove for cover behind the in-take nurse's station, although Mal observed that both bullets went almost criminally wide of the mark. Scrambling to a crouching position, Mal shifted his grip on his sidearm, and Jayne sought a target worthy of Vera's tender mercies. No one visible on the stairs or down the hallway.

There was a brief, sharp electronic screech as power surged angrily over the building's PA system.

"Do you sleep nights, Sergeant, or hath Reynolds murdered sleep?"

Ruttin' Callum. His voice reverberated through the whole of the empty hospital. Piss-soaked hwun dan sounded genuinely curious, conversational, even. More mind games, thought Mal contemptuously. Well, he was done playing.

"Sleep like a newborn with a thimble of gin, thanks for askin'. Now where're my people?" Mal demanded loudly, leaning cautiously around the side of the nurse's station to look through the sights of both guns down the long corridor ahead. No one visible. "And don't hand me any more of your gorram lies."

"Your man's hiding somewhere with the Corporal's body," Callum replied matter-of-factly. "You know," he mused, "in the play, too, Lady Macbeth dies off-stage. I wonder if he knows that?"

Impossible to be sure, thought Mal, given Callum's track record for falsehoods. But it sounded like Wash and Zoe weren't with him, which could only be to the good. Mal caught Jayne's eye and inclined his head sharply toward the first T-intersection in the hallway. The big man hefted his guns and scooted to the new forward position.

"This ain't no flight o' fancy, Callum. That's a lesson I'm aiming to teach you tonight." Hugging the wall, Mal moved to take up a position in a cell doorway a few meters in front of Jayne on the diagonal.

Callum's tranquil tone was insufferable. "'Better be with the dead / Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace / Than on the torture of the mind to lie / In restless ecstasy.' I await you, Sergeant."

Jayne snorted in disgust. "Ya couldn't just piss off some gangster, huh? Had t' go with the ruttin' drama queen!" he huffed and scurried past Mal, zig-zagging to the next T-intersection.

Callum left them alone, in word and deed, after that, which was for Mal, in many ways, more provoking than a firefight. A relentless silence dogged them as they moved systematically from the front the building to the back, finding nothing. The first floor was clear.

She noticed that Wash looked anxious. Zoe herself was more concerned. Similar to anxious, but with steadier nerves.

Mal was not a patient man, she knew, and she could hear Callum over the PA system, baiting him expertly into a trap. Only a matter of time before he made a mistake out of frustration. Grateful though she was to Wash for getting her away, it wasn't even a question that Zoe had to leave their improvised refuge, to get to Mal, watch his back, back his play. Callum thought she was dead, and apparently didn't consider Wash a threat. They could use that.

Just hump the sun black!

Another infuriating stab of pain along her arm as the knife fell to the floor, another reminder that she still lacked enough fine motor control to wield even one of Fluffy's smaller implements, let alone a proper gun (which they didn't have, anyway). Her strength was returning, but being able to lean against a wall unaided was a far cry from walking, running or kicking pi-yan. She sank down facing Wash, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the heavy ward doors.

Yeah, Mal was just about all she had left in the 'verse. Mal, Serenity (though she was Mal's ship, not Zoe's), and a few other war buddies she'd lost touch with (kinda accidentally on purpose). And shadows from the past like Callum. He called her a shadow, didn't he? No, not quite. Said she was full of shadows.

Her back to the wall, Zoe continued to watch as Wash struggled to repair the broken connections and bypass the burned circuits and reconfigure the deep-fried whatnots on the go se doors. Not the most far-sighted idea fusing the locks. But shouldn't berate him for that. He ain't trained for this kinda crisis. The man handled himself pretty well today, all things considered. Manhandled her pretty well, too, if it comes to being honest in that direction. Zoe allowed herself a private grin, although she was careful to keep it off her face. Lord! to have a capture at this moment, take a lasting image of her in nothing but that tropical top and crudely-fashioned gurney sheet panties, trapped in a madhouse with the half-naked pilot, who was... well, he was ...all manner of unexpected.

Yes, yes, she's staring at you again. Wash glued his eyes to the undoubtedly expensive locking mechanism he had broken. Just calm down. And stop gorram blushing! You should be enjoying this -- a beautiful amazon who could sling her pick of men over her shoulder, contemplating after your shuai, virile body. Still, now that she isn't dying, might be your best chance to get some answers.

"Zoe?" Avoid eye contact, it's less confrontational. And level your voice. Heroes don't squeak.

"Hmm?"

"Before I ask, just remember you need me to get the door open, okay?" Zoe blinked noncommittally. "Um, Callum said some crazy things to us in the cellar, and... and clearly the man has issues..." His voice trailed off.

"But?"

Wash didn't have to look away from the flinty circuit board to know that the dreaded eyebrow had been arched. Hey, Courage shrugged at Curiosity and backed away, you started this!

"But he seemed to think...he said this was all payback for something that happened during the war. Called it a reckoning." Called it worse than that, Wash added, but silently to himself. Besides the possible lusting, she appeared to be warming to him a bit emotionally, and nothing withers a budding romance faster than suggesting your newly-beloved might be a war criminal.

Gently but firmly, Zoe cupped his chin and turned his face towards her. The air hung heavy as she searched deep into his eyes, contemplating the risks and the costs, while Wash stared back, helplessly spellbound.

And Wash thought, "Aiya, her eyes are gorgeous! But no good's gonna come from this conversation."

And Zoe thought, "Gotta try to explain. Won't be a future with this man nor any other if there's not honesty between us."

Then, feeling suddenly protective, Zoe took his hand, because he seemed so ...vulnerable. And she held it, tenderly, like a parent readying to tell a small child some very unhappy news about the family pet.

Oh, such a happy reconnoiter through hell!

The second floor.

Below there was some variety to the architecture. But now only institutional monotony. Jayne and Mal alternated taking point as they moved through eternal corridors, checking endless rooms. No sign of anybody. It was maddening. Yeah, Mal curled his lip wickedly. The perfect word! One room made Mal almost heave -- an empty gurney at one end, and two massive, dark pools of drying blood.

"Gives you the creeps, doesn't it?" Callum's oddly sympathetic voice returned, echoing off the harsh metal doors, bouncing down the deserted hallways. "I spent a year in one of these places after the war. An Alliance facility, though, much nicer than this."

Mal grimaced and shook his head. Cat and mouse, cat and mouse. And even though he was the one prowling around, weren't no doubt who the mouse was.

Callum kept on in his patient, meditative tone. "The doctors, they wanted me to leave the Valley. Abandon my men. But I could never do that. Once you've been in Serenity, you never leave, do you Sergeant? You just learn to live there."

"It was just before the cease fire. Mal'd shot down an Alliance transport with a surface-to-air machine gun, and it crashed behind our lines. Marcus Callum and about a dozen from his unit were still alive. So we had them dig a pit and we kept them there. Weren't nowhere else to put them. Cease fire came, but we didn't know which way that was gonna go, so we just kept them. Couldn't send them back to the Alliance just so they could have another chance to put holes in us."

"Four days go by. And we had nothing. No food, no medicine, barely any supplies. I want you to understand, we weren't denying them anything to keep it for ourselves. Day four I was on guard, and Callum demands to see the captain. Again. I wish I'd said no. But I didn't. Y'know, Wash, sympathy is a weakness will get a soldier killed."

For the first time since he'd known her, Wash heard something...vulnerable in Zoe's voice. He squeezed her hand gently.

"So Mal comes over, and Callum shouts up to him about the articles of war, about how his men had rights. Rights! And Mal, he stares at Callum for a bit, and then he turns to me and says, 'Shoot 'em.' It didn't register at first. I just stood there blinking, looking from Mal to Callum and back again. Callum yelled something to Mal, I don't remember what. Then I aim my rifle at Callum and Mal says. 'All of them. We got nothin' to spare and I'll be strung up by my own suspenders before I see one of our side die to save Alliance luh-suh.'"

"And Mal walked off. Callum, he tells me, 'Corporal Alleyne, this is murder. Can you honestly stand there, like the Angel of Death, and not know that this is wrong?' He sees I'm gonna do it, so he says to shoot him, but spare his men. I remember he begged me, 'For God's sake, at least give them a chance!' But I have my orders, and start firing. And the men start screaming. And I keep firing, shooting to kill the noise, 'cause I can't stand it. And then they were all lying there, in a jumble at the bottom of that pit, and it was quiet again."

"I thought they were all dead, thought I'd done them a kindness by ending it quick for them. Remember, we were dying ourselves. Hunger, infection, exposure. Over 130 more Independents passed in the next two days. The lucky ones went in their sleep, but I can tell you none of 'em went quick. You gotta know, Wash, I would never have deliberately left someone to suffer like Callum did. He told me, back there," she gestured vaguely beyond the heavy doors, "I'd just hit him in the leg, and he was pinned under the others, knocked unconscious and bleeding out slowly from that wound. No one went back to check. A few days later, when the medships arrived, Alliance went to collect their bodies from the battlefield, and found him. But it was too late for his leg. Never healed right."

There are moments that demarcate a person's life, divide everything into 'before' and 'after.' Wash knew he'd had one earlier, when he bandaged her arms and fell in love. For the past few hours, he'd been thinking, hoping, he'd spend the rest of his life in that particularly joyful and effervescent after, with her always near him and there'd be friendship and laughter and really, really hot sex. But now a chasm opened and suddenly Wash was in a new after, a bereft and barren place, where Zoe was far apart from him, a stranger, capable of abhorrent, merciless things.

For a few minutes, neither of them moved. Then "I see." Wash's voice was tight and forced. He withdrew his hand from hers, carefully, picked up the circuit board and turned back to repairing the panel.

No, I see, thought Zoe with knowing regret as she watched his horrified expression evolve in profile. Won't be needing to ponder on romantic prospects with the pilot after all.

The third floor.

Mal was jumpy, but he could tell Jayne was near to crawling out of his skin, clutching Vera, Ginnylee and the rest of his lethal ladies as mental bulwark against a cruel, uncertain world. They moved along as before, first one then the other, wing by wing, scurrying from doorway to doorway. Between the mind-numbing sameness of the landscape and the constant vigilance, Mal felt exhausted.

Stay sharp, Reynolds. He shook himself and flexed his hands, before taking hold again of his guns. Ahead was the maximum security wing, which appeared to be sealed up tight. So Callum was in there, huh? Makes a kind of twisted sense, Mal supposed. This is where he'd be if he were still a patient. No sign of Wash or Zoe, though, so maybe they were in there with Callum?

Suddenly, there was a volley of shots from behind them. Much better aimed this time, Mal noted grimly as a bullet grazed his calf. He dove through the nearest doorway, Jayne doing likewise into the room opposite. And then they heard:

"Drop 'em, or I'll shoot her." It wasn't a threat, just a statement of incontrovertible fact.

Mal squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, as a picture of Callum holding a gun on Zoe formed in his mind. Having no choice, Mal extended his arms harmlessly away from his sides and stepped slowly into the hall. And into a fresh nightmare. There stood Callum, gripping Kaylee by the arm and calmly pointing a pistol at her head.

End Chapter 8.

Additional Author's Notes on Macbeth: If you are wondering why my antagonist has latched on to Macbeth in particular, rather than another of Shakespeare's revenge plays like Hamlet or Julius Caesar, the answer is that there are several themes in Macbeth that apply to this story. The first major theme is that you can't outrun your past. The wrongful deeds you have done will catch up with you in the form of your enemies' vengence, and even before that happens, your own conscience will plague you with remorse, guilt and doubt. Additionally, Macbeth contains the idea that mental torture (madness included) is as terrible, if not worse, than physical torture. There is also the existential question in Macbeth, what is the purpose of life? This applies to all the people who are stuck in some way in Serenity Valley, merely existing instead of living. Is life for them 'but a walking shadow'?

The shooting of the POWs plays into Macbeth as well, echoing the themes of loyalty, duty and betrayal. King Duncan was a guest in Macbeth's house when Macbeth killed him. This was a double violation: it violated the formal allegiance Macbeth owed Duncan as his liege lord, and also the customs of protection that a host is honor-bound to extend to his guest. In other words, Macbeth's betrayal is both legally and morally reprehensible (and he is, of course, suitably punished by his conscience and his enemies). In Callum's view, Callum and his troops were in Mal's custody. Callum equates Mal with Macbeth because Mal betrayed the legal responsibility Callum thought existed to treat his POWs humanely under the Articles of War, and Mal violated a moral responsibility not to kill people who were at his mercy.

Incidentally, the character of Macbeth is a bit like Malcolm Reynolds in terms of his basic nature – a soldier, swift to violence, and a person who refuses to give up. Whereas Hamlet says "To be or not to be" in reference to killing himself because he feels so put upon, Macbeth says "Why should I play the Roman fool, and die / On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes / Do better upon them." Or, to quote Malcolm Reynolds "I aim to misbehave." Macbeth and Malcolm Reynolds share an inclination to going down swinging.

Lady Macbeth, of course, assists her husband in plotting, carrying out and then reaping the dubious benefits of the murder of King Duncan. So it is natural that Callum equates Zoe, the actual instrument of his men's deaths and Mal's second-in-command, with Lady Macbeth.