CHAPTER 2
I.A.V. Dortmunder
In high orbit of Haven
A little later “Commander on the Bridge!” Jenna Wilson, the First Officer, announced on seeing deVries entering, and then frowned on seeing Mal with her. “Um, sir -” “As you were, First,” deVries stopped her, trying not to smile. “Captain Reynolds is a guest. He’s to be treated as such.” “Yes, sir,” Wilson acknowledged, a little uneasily. “Open a secure channel to Londinium, First - I want to speak to the Director of Planetary Security. Tell her if she asks that this isn’t a social call,” she added, scowling for some reason. Mal carefully didn’t ask her why. “Transfer to my office.” “Aye, sir...channel open...Londinium Comms Centre responding. I have the Director, sir.” “With me, Captain,” deVries said tersely. Mal nodded and complied.

- deVries’ office was much as he’d expected - mostly bare, the usual lines of Alliance style (i.e. none) present, a scattering of personal effects, very little colour. Except for the fish tank on her almost empty desk, containing the smallest, most brightly-coloured fish he’d ever seen. He stared at it curiously, but again said nothing. She noticed. “It’s a meditation fish. My job can be very stressful; watching fish is very relaxing. It helps.” “Sure,” he said noncommittally. “Honestly, it does.” “I ain’t arguin’.” She was sure he was laughing at her, but decided not to pursue it. She sat at the desk and motioned him politely to step outside the camera’s pickup range; he obliged. The screen lit up with the face of a dark-haired woman of obviously mature years, though she was wearing them very well and looked nowhere near the age she surely was. Her hair was arranged in restrained curls around her face. Her resemblance to deVries was obvious - the same cheekbones, the same jaw line, the same pale, long features. Her eyes, though, were very different. These were an icy grey, where deVries’ were blue-grey, lacking their warmth. This was a woman unused to compromise or defiance, Mal knew. “This is the Director of Planetary Security, responding to your hail, Dortmunder. What do you want, Lindayne?” deVries cursed. “I told you this was not a social call, Director. I need to speak to you in your official capacity.” “I see,” Sylvia Duquesne deVries replied, a slight ironic smile touching her lips but coming nowhere near her eyes. “It can’t be about Miranda - Dortmunder’s logs show you haven’t even got there yet. In fact, you’ve stopped off at Haven. This is contrary to your orders, Commander.” deVries winced at the pointed emphasis on that last. Serves me right, I suppose. “It was on our way, Director. Something else has come to my attention -” “Excuse me? You are under orders from the Parliament direct! What are you doing, sightseeing? Resume course for Miranda immediately!” “I can’t! Another matter has -” “What part of ‘Resume course for Miranda’ was unclear, Commander - the part where it was an order from a superior officer, perhaps?” “If you would allow me to explain,” deVries ground out, visibly fighting for control, “I think you will agree the matter is important.” She finished, grimly, “Sir.” The Director scowled, much as deVries had earlier. “Very well, Commander. It had better be good.” She was definitely overdoing the emphasis on deVries’ rank, but the latter didn’t make an issue of it...preferring to simmer quietly for the moment. “I have information about the attack on Haven. It was not made by Reavers.” “I’m still missing the good part.” deVries cursed again. “Dammit, Mother -!” “There it is.” What was going on here? Mal wondered. Each seemed determined to get under the skin of t’other. And clearly the Director was winning. “Haven was attacked by Alliance forces. Alliance, Director. We killed those people!” “And I’m still missing the part that led you to believe you could defy a Parliamentary order.” deVries’ jaw dropped at that. “Haven should have been, at the very least, investigated long since in any case, as it was a suspected hideout for petty criminals - including, I might add, the very man from whom the Parliament has requested assistance. Against my advice, I might further add. I assume, knowing you as I do, that he’s listening in?” she finished, leaving Mal in no doubt as to where Lindayne had acquired her own shrewdness. She couldn’t help glancing in his direction, with a hopeless expression; he took that as permission to step into pickup range. “I thought so. Captain Reynolds, isn’t it?” “Yes, ma’am,” he answered guardedly. “Director, we cannot ignore this!” Lindayne protested loudly. “There were children in that settlement! Babies! All of them murdered by some Parliamentary Operative!” “Really. An Operative, you say? Who?” Lindayne cursed yet again. This was getting tiresome. “Gorram it, how do you expect me to know that?! Some of them don’t even have names!” “And that should tell you,” the Director stated seriously, flatly, ”what you’re dealing with. It was obviously a high-level operation; one that, since I was not informed of it, was clearly above my pay grade - and, therefore, way above yours.” “You - you’re not going to investigate?” Lindayne stammered, shocked. This wasn’t going the way she’d imagined. “I can’t, even were I so inclined. Nor can you,” she added indifferently. “I don’t pretend to understand the entire picture, but I see a good deal more of it than you do. Operatives conduct their business as they see fit in order to maintain Alliance security. He must have had a compelling reason to attack the settlement.” “It wasn’t the only one! Whitefall and Boros were hit, too, and there were others -!” “Ditto for them. It’s not my concern, Commander. It’s certainly not yours. You have your orders.” She turned to Mal, her face pale again. She was expecting to see anger or contempt, but instead he showed only a tired acceptance. He clearly understood what was going on, and sympathised. Not that it helped. She tried once more. “Director, the Alliance exists to protect its citizens, not kill them. How can we ever persuade the outer worlds to join us if this is all they can expect from us?” she pleaded, trying to be reasonable. “Those children were no threat to anyone.” The Director sighed in clear annoyance. “You never change, do you? You’re always finding some damn crusade to launch off on! I argued against your taking this mission even though you volunteered for it, and now we see I was right! I knew this would happen! It’s just one more gorram cause as far as you’re concerned, isn’t it? With the future of the Alliance possibly hanging in the balance! When, Lindayne, when are you going to grow up?!” “If growing up means becoming a cold-hearted bitch like you, I think I’ll stay childish!” she spat, but then caught herself. She was actually shaking with outraged anger. That was not the way. “Director, I am making an official request for an investigation into Haven!” “Denied,” the Director responded, shaking her head firmly. “It’s not your bailiwick, or mine. I repeat: you have your orders.” Then the Director’s face softened, somehow, slightly. “Can’t you just for once do as you’re told without arguing, Lindayne? There are thirty million people waiting for justice, whatever the gorram hell that means. Go find it for them. Director ou -” “Wait! Put me through to Mum!” Lindayne cried in desperation. The Director stared incredulously at her as if she were the first genuine evidence of alien life in the ’verse. “You cannot be serious.” “If you won’t help -” “Can’t, you mean.” “- then at least put me in touch with someone who can!” She sighed, steeled herself, and added, quietly, “Please.” “No. I can’t. I’m done indulging you.” “Mother -” “I can’t. Even if I wanted to, Parliament is currently in session.” She paused, sighed again. “But I can leave a message for her; she’ll contact you when she’s free. I’m stretching the very limits of my authority doing even this much, I hope you realise that.” Lindayne sagged in relief. “Thank you, Mother.” “I was always too damn soft with you. She was worse. If it weren’t for the hot s - well, you don’t need to hear that,” she caught herself hurriedly. “As far as I’m concerned, I wash my hands of this. If you want to throw away your career, I suppose that’s your privilege. Just don’t expect me to help you do it. Understood?” “All too well,” Lindayne answered bitterly. “Grow up, Lindayne. While you still have time. Director out.” The screen went blank. After a long, stunned silence, Lindayne slowly put her head in her hands and started to watch the fish, but Mal could tell it wasn’t helpin’. After several minutes of this, he couldn’t stand the silence any more, and ventured: “Family, huh? Can’t live with ’em, can’t kill ’em.” She managed a wry chuckle. “There are times I understand matricide, there really are.” “Seems you don’t get on too well with your mom, huh?” “She’s not my ‘mom’, as you put it,” she told him resignedly. “A ‘mom’ tucks you in at night. A ‘mom’ kisses it better when you scrape a knee. A ‘mom’ supports you even if she doesn’t agree with you. Sylvia Duquesne deVries is my birth mother, and that’s as far as it goes.” At that point, the screen lit up again. She turned and smiled brightly. “But this is my mum.” “Hello, Lindayne,” the woman on the screen called warmly. “I gather you’re in trouble again.” Fiona deVries, the Parliamentary Speaker, couldn’t have been a greater contrast to Sylvia. Apart from her entirely different colouring - strawberry blonde with hints of grey, and a light tan - and her bright green, merry eyes, her entire demeanour was different. Mal could well imagine her in a kitchen, complete with apron, covered in flour, baking cookies while li’l critters played at her feet. She was - well, there was really no other word than maternal, with a round, friendly face. She was something completely other than what he’d expected given her position in Parliament. He found himself liking her immediately. “Well, not yet, but I’m getting there. I need help. But I need it from the Speaker.” “I see. Well, then.” Fiona straightened, tried to look haughty. It didn’t work. Mal was hard-pressed not to laugh. “For what do you need the Speaker, Commander?” For her part, Lindayne managed to stay serious...for about two seconds. Then she laughed - more giggled, really, to Mal’s surprise. “Oh, Mum, I wish you wouldn’t do that. You know what you look like!” “Have to at least try to look the part, dear; appearances and all that. Why don’t you just tell me?” She did. As her tale progressed, Fiona looked increasingly grim, which was sad to see on such a cheerful face. When Lindayne faltered on speaking about the dead children, Fiona held up a hand. “I get the picture, dear. I have to say I’m not surprised; one or two people were very keen to get their hands on those two, but to go so far...well. I don’t suppose you can give me any details, dear? Or you, Captain?” “I can give you a description, if it’ll help,” Mal offered. “He was, uh, not as tall as me, but not short; kinda well-built, black guy. Very well-spoken - cultured, you might say.” “That isn’t much to go on, I’m afraid. Anything else?” “He talked about ‘a world without sin’, as I recall. Seemed to think I was a sinner.” He grinned. “I conjure he was right. Oh, an’ he was sportin’ a sword, too.” Fiona’s face jumped at that. Clearly Mal had hit a nerve there. “A sword? What type?” Mal shrugged. “Beyond knowin’ what end to hold, I couldn’t tell you anythin’ ’bout no sword.” He turned to Lindayne. “Come to think of it, Inara might know...” “Is it important, Mum?” “It could be...can you find out for me?” “I’ll put you through to Serenity, over here,” Lindayne indicated a wall unit. - “I only saw it in passing when he drew it in the Training House,” Inara told Mal, “but I think it was an old one. My best guess would be a katana.” “Japanese sword, huh? How old would that be?” “Probably brought from Earth-That-Was; and most likely dating back much further than the Exodus. Not to remind you of traumatic events, but I imagine you had a somewhat closer look at it when he ran -” “Yeah, yeah, wasn’t takin’ in details as such, in fact,” Mal interrupted hastily. “Thanks, Inara.” “You’re welcome. Serenity out.” Mal turned to the desk screen. “A katana, we think.” Fiona nodded slowly. “I think I may know the Operative you mean. Not by name - if it’s the same man as the one I’m thinking of, he has neither name nor rank and is very, very seldom deployed. Very, very high up. Oh, dear. That may be stretching things a bit, Lindayne.” She sighed dispiritedly. At least she’d tried. “Okay. Thanks anyway, Mum.” “Now don’t be giving up that easily, young lady - I taught you better than that. And while we’re on the subject, you mind your posture. Ladies don’t slouch!” To Mal’s considerable amusement, Lindayne momentarily looked like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and sat bolt upright. “Better. Now, then...there are one or two channels I can pursue here - not exactly...official. I imagine Sylvia would be furious if she knew. She wouldn’t dare say anything, though - she knows damn well what happens whenever she forgets who the senior wife is in our marriage.” A wicked grin which really didn’t fit those maternal features flashed across them. “I remember you catching me chastising her once, didn’t you, you nosy little minx?” Lindayne flushed bright red and looked away. Mal tabled that one as something he was definitely gonna ask about. “It’s just occurred to me: didn’t you consult Sylvia first?” “I did,” Lindayne confirmed, and frowned. “She refused. She said it wasn’t her concern.” “Just like that?” Fiona also frowned. “Odd. That’s a very odd attitude for a Security Director to take, especially one whose authority does extend beyond Londinium.” Lindayne frown deepened. “That’s not what she said. In fact, she said that even leaving a message for you was stretching it.” “Well, she’s lying for some reason,” Fiona told her definitively. “I know for a fact that isn’t true. And Operatives do have some oversight, however highly placed they are. We can’t have ungoverned influences in an orderly society, now, can we?” The ironic tone wasn’t lost on either of them; both essayed a smile. “So you’re saying there are grounds for investigation?” Fiona abruptly no longer looked so maternal. Now Mal could see something else in her - a layer of adamantine steel just under the surface. He suddenly knew that Fiona could be hard and unrelenting when the situation called for it, perhaps more so even than Sylvia. Then again, no-one who was overly soft and sentimental could ever have risen so high. Appearances, as ever, were deceiving. Bet Lindayne didn’t get away with much as a kid, he mused - correctly, as it happened. “It is difficult to reconcile the murder of children with the duty of maintaining Alliance security, Commander. The one hardly seems essential to the other, especially when the Haven settlers were, technically, not the target.” deVries didn’t miss the change of address, or the starkly grim tone. “There are limits. It certainly sounds as if he exceeded them. I take it you gathered as much evidence as possible?” That last contained just a hint of threat, but deVries took it in her stride because she knew she had followed proper procedure and was able to reply confidently in the affirmative. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered, not daring to use the more familiar term of address. She was indeed talking to the Parliamentary Speaker now, not her mum; any hint of informality was out of the question. “We took holos of the scene, and samples; we secured testimony from Serenity’s crew, and retrieved slugs from the casualties. We also analysed damage and deployment patterns.” “Good. Collate your findings as soon as you can, then transmit your report and the raw data to me.” “To you, M - ma’am?” she caught herself just in time. “Yes, to me. You needn’t route it through Alliance Fleet channels, as it is by definition a Parliamentary matter. At least, I am choosing to interpret it as such. In theory, of course, the Parliamentary Speaker has very little power...” How such maternal features could assume such a predatory expression wasn’t clear, but they did. “...the reality, however, is rather different. “Leave it with me. I’ll make inquiries; I think I shall also have a little chat with that wife of mine,” she smirked. “Um...surely you know how she’ll see that - as if I’m hiding behind your skirts,” Lindayne ventured uncertainly. “And went bawling to Mum, yes, I know that tune,” Fiona agreed sourly, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Oh, let her, because if she does, she’s wrong, and I will call her on it - this is not some childish peccadillo on your part; it goes beyond you, and you were right to bring it to my attention. She really doesn’t give you enough credit, you know. As a last resort, I’ll invoke Parliamentary Privilege and call a question with one or more Members - Persephone might listen to reason, or Ariel. As you can imagine, we’re all wrapped up in the Miranda business at the moment - and on that point,” she added sternly, “I shall expect your best effort. No excuses. Are we clear, Daughter?” “Yes, Mum,” Lindayne answered solemnly, “Perfectly.” “Good. I know you won’t let me down. You never have...whatever your mother might think. But do take care, dear.” “I will. Thank you, Mum.” “Captain Reynolds?” “Uh, yeah, ma’am?” Mal ventured respectfully. “It’s been a pleasure to speak to the Last Man Standing; I honestly wish I had more time to talk further with you. I’ll be looking to you to keep my daughter out of trouble as far as possible.” “Uh, yeah, I’ll, uh, do that,” Mal managed lamely, so taken aback he didn’t complain about the LMS issue for once. “Mind you do. I’ll speak to you soon, Lindayne.” She signed off. Lindayne glanced once more at her fish and asked, “Well, what do you make of that?” “Wasn’t remotely what I’d expected, truth to tell,” Mal told her. “Wasn’t what you were expectin’, either, was it?” he added shrewdly. She sighed. “Not in the slightest - not from Mother, at any rate. She’s a stickler for procedure, always has been. I honestly thought she’d be willing to investigate…I don’t understand her refusal,” she shook her head, baffled. “But I know I can count on Mum; she’ll push it.” She did. -
Londinium
Residence of the Parliamentary Speaker
Two hours later Sylvia had learned to expect certain things on being greeted by her wife whenever either of them came home from work and the other was already there. A ringing slap definitely wasn’t one of them. “What are you playing at, Sylvia?” Fiona demanded fiercely. Sylvia raised a hand to her burning cheek, shocked and hurt. “What - oh, damn, you’ve talked to Lindayne, haven’t you?” “I have indeed. Why did you lie to her? Since when is your authority limited to Londinium? You have a very broad remit - I should know, since I helped you secure it!” “I know, and I seem to recall showing you how grateful I was,” Sylvia replied, trying for a saucy smile to deflect the older woman. But Fiona was clearly not in the mood. “But there are still limits. If an Operative was involved -” “- all the more reason you should investigate. Such excesses are why Operatives are so seldom deployed, Sylvia, especially that one - there’s a tendency for what you military types call ‘collateral damage’ and what I call ‘murder of uninvolved innocents’! Have you seen the evidence Lindayne gathered, the testimony from Serenity’s crew? It was a massacre! Anyone deploying an Operative needs to be very certain as to why!” “And I’m sure they were,” Sylvia protested feebly. Fiona caught the subtle undertone. “‘They?’ So you know who it was?” Sylvia hesitated for a fraction too long before denying it. She paled slightly when Fiona raised her hand threateningly. “Don’t you dare lie to your wife of thirty-two years, Sylvia!” Fiona yelled furiously. “Don’t even try!” “I’m not!” “I don’t believe you! Tell me the truth!” “I can’t, I’m not authorised -” “Sun Xa, was it? Or Taihun? Tell me, damn you!” “I can’t!” Sylvia snapped. “If I do, it may put Lindayne at risk! And believe it or not, I do care about that gorram girl, whether I show it or not! She should never have taken the assignment!” “Then why didn’t you tell her that?!” Fiona cried incredulously. “Since when does she listen to me?” Sylvia retorted bitterly. “Her and her gorram causes!” Fiona was about to make a cutting remark about reaping what you sow, or slap her again, but the honest pain in Sylvia’s eyes, rare for Sylvia, stopped her. She softened. “Isn’t that mostly your own fault, love? Listening is a two-way process, you know. And what’s wrong with fighting for your beliefs?” “Isn’t that the same question the Independents asked?” Sylvia observed ironically. “If you recall, we damn near lost her then. I don’t want to lose her now, as much of a -” She stopped herself, horrified by what she’d nearly said. But Fiona knew. It was an old pain, an old point of contention between them that had never been settled, and probably never would. “- disappointment she’s been to you? Wasn’t that what you were going to say?” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Gorrammit, Sylvia, when are you going to forgive her? Why can’t you let it go? She had to do it, though it was the hardest thing she’s ever done.” Her voice broke. “Don’t you remember how Matthew suffered, our husband, her father? How can you blame her for not wishing that on a child? Don’t you think she suffered, too, making such a terrible choice?” “She should have waited before having herself sterilised,” Sylvia returned stubbornly. “A treatment might have been developed -” “For a disease that’s afflicted a grand total of perhaps fifteen thousand people in the whole of the ’verse? Oh, that’d be a real priority, wouldn’t it? When most people are far more concerned with diseases that shouldn’t even exist any more, that were wiped out on Earth-That-Was! Is the family line so important -?” “On my side of it, she’s the last blood descendant of safe childbearing age! When she’s gone, that’s it! A family line that dates back to before the Exodus, one of the last of the old families -” “Sylvia,” she sighed, not unsympathetically, “don’t you understand? All families die out eventually. What we leave behind isn’t as important as how we’ve lived. That’s why Lindayne does what she does, fighting for these ‘causes’ you seem to despise. It’s a shame you don’t understand your own daughter. She doesn’t do it to spite you - she does it because she must.” “She wants to be remembered?” “No,” Fiona told her gently, “she wants to do some good and set an example for others to follow. I think she’s doing a very good job.” She moved close to Sylvia, stroked the slapped cheek gently. “I’m sorry about that, love,” she apologised. “But you can be such a bitch sometimes, you do ask for it.” “I thought that was why you married me,” Sylvia answered wryly, caressing Fiona’s hand. “Among other reasons, I suppose. There’s some salve in the bedroom, dear. Come on; let’s talk.” “Just talk?” Sylvia inquired, innocently. “Well...I haven’t eaten all day, and I imagine you haven’t either...E.F., or F.F.?” “You know me better than that, Fiona,” Sylvia smiled, “why not both?” Fiona giggled like a schoolgirl and slid an arm around Sylvia’s waist. They kissed. “You’re not off the hook, you know.” “I know. “ “We’re still going to talk about Haven.” “Okay,” Sylvia sighed resignedly. “I’ll tell you what I know. It isn’t much. I’ll cook.” “Don’t think you can get around me with that beautiful crab fondue of yours.” “You don’t mind if I try anyway?” Fiona grinned lustily. “Not in the least, love. Try away.” -
Londinium
Parliamentary Speaker’s Bedroom
Six hours later “I think there’s something big happening, but I swear I don’t know what,” Sylvia informed Fiona, as the latter snuggled close to her, the fondue and an utterly sinful chocolate cake demolished between them, crumbs everywhere that their husband would doubtless complain about...briefly. He’d often wryly quoted the Chinese ideogram for “trouble” that translated as “Two Women Under One Roof”, but any bad mood he ever had never lasted long under the influence of two beautiful, mature, sexy women. He’d never complained about being henpecked. He didn’t dare. “It’s something that’s been brewing a while - again, I don’t know how long.” “Relating to Miranda?” Fiona wondered, stroking her wife’s hair. “I don’t think so. Miranda was an accident, plain and simple.” “We don’t know that. That’s what Lindayne’s going to find out.” A thought struck her. “Assuming she’s allowed to, that is.” “You don’t think that -” “There are certain Members I wouldn’t put anything past, Sylvia. I know them better than you do.” “Fiona, if another Operative had been deployed, I’d know. True, I wasn’t told about Haven or the Tam Directive, but...well, we know why, now. But the secret’s out. I’d know. I would have told Lindayne.” “So what else is happening?” Fiona puzzled. “I don’t know.” She frowned. “But...there was one odd thing...” “What’s that?” “There was a notation in the records; it seemed to be a cross-reference of some kind. But when I chased it up, purely out of curiosity, it led back to Hera, of all places - back to Serenity Valley.” “Strange...what’s the connection?” “Again, I’ve no idea.” Sylvia caught the warning look in Fiona’s eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know. It makes no sense.” “It makes sense to someone,” Fiona pointed out. But she left it at that. It was a decision she later came to bitterly regret. -
I.A.V. Dortmunder
In high orbit of Haven, preparing for departure
Just before the bedroom discussion “Ready to leave orbit, Commander,” Wilson reported. “Engage engines,” deVries ordered. “Let’s go.” “Aye, sir - now breaking orbit...we are on course for Miranda,” Wilson announced, “ETA 11 hours, sir.” “I’d best be gettin’ back to Serenity, they’re gonna be wonderin’ what we’re up to,” Mal joked. deVries frowned ferociously at the implication, but Mal could somehow tell she didn’t mean it. “There’s no rush, Captain,” deVries offered, in a sincere effort to be sociable. “You’re a guest, as I said.” Mal ruined the moment, as he could generally be counted upon to do. “Can’t get enough of me, huh?” he couldn’t resist jibing. But her response was a glare. He’d gone too far. “She said you were annoying, and by God she was right!” deVries retorted. He raised his hands in mock surrender...before realising who ‘she’ was. He looked indignant. “Hey, now -” “Just go, if you please,” deVries sighed, abruptly unwilling to play or fight further. He made as if to argue, but realised it would do no good and likely make things worse. Once again, he’d screwed up. Gorrammit, why do I do things like this? First Inara, now this Alliance bint...she was just tryin’ to be friendly, you dozy bunger, didn’t hafta throw it back in her face... He decided discretion was the better part of valour, and left the Bridge. In so doing, he missed the pained look Lindayne cast in his direction, hoping Wilson and the rest of the Bridge crew wouldn’t notice. Gorrammit, why does he do that?! Is it deliberate? Why does he push people away? Why didn’t I ask Inara about it? And how do I apologise for behaving just as badly? - Once back aboard Serenity, Mal sighed regretfully. There were times he wondered about himself. He decided to give her a bit o’ space, let her cool off a spell while he figured out what to do next. He caught himself wonderin’ what the Shepherd might have said, and chuckled at the thought of a Shepherd knowin’ anythin’ more ’bout women than he did. Then again, ain’t no way of tellin’ what Shepherd Book knew... The answer came to him. There was one person he could ask. -
Serenity
Inara’s shuttle
A minute later The quiet, polite knock surprised Inara. She knew immediately who it was, though. It bothered her that she could never pin down precisely how she knew. But he hadn’t annoyed her in at least two days, so she decided to be friendly. “Come in, Mal.” “How’d you know -?” he asked, as he entered. “Would you believe an explanation such as ‘arcane Companion skills’?” she joked. “Knowin’ you, yeah, I just might,” was his wry rejoinder. A small laugh escaped her. “What can I do for you?” she asked. He looked mildly affronted. “Well, can’t a body just be lookin’ for a little quiet civilised conversation?” “In your case, hardly,” she shook her head. “You sayin’ I can’t be civilised?” he demanded, annoyed. Gorrammit, he was tryin’ here! She almost gave him an angry retort, but something in his demeanour brought her up short. She read the myriad little clues, and realised what his problem was: Lindayne. She amended her approach and apologised, “No, of course not. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Um, would you like some tea? Or perhaps something a little stronger?” she offered. “Well, there’s an offer I don’t get every day," he responded, mollified. "I’m pretty partial to rice wine, if you got some.” “I do, actually. A gift...” she deliberately trailed off, unwilling to remind him of a most painful memory. The wine was a gift from Nandi, and was older than both of them put together. She now saved it for her most special clients. Mal wasn’t a client, but for all his faults he was equally deserving of decent treatment. She poured without hesitation. But she hadn’t counted on his good memory. He sipped, and immediately sobered. “Ain’t this the wine Nandi had?” he asked tentatively. She sighed. “It is. I’m sorry, Mal, I didn’t mean to -” “No, it’s okay. It’s fine wine. She wouldn’t want it to go to waste. She’d want it to be appreciated. Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” They toasted each other politely. “Now, what can I do for you, Mal? It isn’t too much of a stretch to imagine it’s about Commander deVries - or,” she couldn’t resist a little teasing, “are you on a first-name basis with her yet?” “Inara - I need a little help here.” “How so?” she asked, reading him again and now knowing full well what he meant. She was going to enjoy this, though she knew she really shouldn’t. “It’s this - well, connectin’ I keep doin’ with her - or is it her doin’ it with me?” he floundered. “Is - is that gorram Alliance piece trained? I mean, Companion-like? Do I got another gorram Saffron on my boat?” Inara chuckled softly at that, genuinely amused. She’d seen, and clearly understood, what was going on between them, and Mal’s increasing agitation as it progressed. “No, it’s a good deal simpler and more basic than that. The answer may disturb you, though.” “Well?” “You like her. What’s more, it’s mutual.” She couldn’t help laughing at his expression. It rather reminded her of Fess Higgins, when she gently initiated him into the world of adult sexuality. “Gorram it, ke ta chi hóu nao bìngbiàn, this ain’t funny!” “Yes, it is,” she countered, still laughing. “I think it’s sweet.” “Sweet - ?! Now that’s just goin’ way too gorram far! She’s Alliance! I’m a gorram Independent!” “Which doesn’t change the facts,” she stated, turning serious now. “Your body language was and is shouting it, Mal. There’s real chemistry there; it’s pointless trying to deny it. Why do you think you argue so much with her, or why you set each other off so easily? Even a novice Companion could see it, let alone one with my experience. And if you could lay aside certain issues for a moment,” she added, raising her voice over his strident protestations, “you’d realise you can use this.” “How?” he asked her, intrigued now. “For a start - wouldn’t you like to know how Dortmunder got so close without showing on Serenity’s scanners? Correct me if I’m wrong, but you didn’t even know she was there until you could see her out of the cockpit window, did you? Play this right, play her right, and she’ll tell you, freely. You do have some charm,” she quipped. “Use it.” “I’d sooner ask you to ask her,” he quipped back. “It’s tempting,” she teased again, “she’s very attractive. Very warm and friendly,” she added, laying it on mischievously. “Okay, okay -” “But she’d probably be prepared; it is possible to resist a Companion’s allure if you know how it’s applied,” she added, more seriously, “and most likely, she does. It’s quite difficult to apply it to another woman, since she, of course, knows the tools of the trade herself, as any woman does. A Companion merely brings the talent to a whole new level. “You, however, are a man. That’s all you really need, Mal, given the mutual attraction. Talk to her. Just talk. More importantly, listen. But first, apologise for whatever you said and/or did.” “How -?!” Now she laughed, but kindly. “Mal, I know you.” - He waited another hour. Then he called the Bridge; Kaylee was on watch. “What’s up, Cap’n?” she asked brightly. “Put me through to Dortmunder, willya? And no smart comments,” he added, knowing too well what he was leavin’ himself open to. On the Bridge, Kaylee smiled knowingly. “Callin’ to apologise, huh?” “What’d I say ’bout smart comments? Just make the damn call, huh?” She chuckled, and hailed Dortmunder. -
I.A.V. Dortmunder
Commander deVries’ quarters
A minute later “Commander?” Lindayne’s First Officer called over the intercom. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I have Captain Reynolds for you.” “Thanks, First,” Lindayne told Jenna, “route it down here, please.” “Aye, sir.” Mal’s image appeared on the screen; the first words both spoke, at the same time, were, “I’m sorry.” Both looked surprised and confused at that, and a little embarrassed. “Um, I guess I was outa line there, Commander,” Mal told her. “Won’t happen again.” “Knowing you, I imagine it will,” Lindayne couldn’t resist. “I, um, I - you were just making a joke, I’m sure, and I overreacted. May I make it up to you?” she asked, on impulse. She’d had an idea. “Uh, okay, thanks. How?” “I’d like to show you the arboretum.” “The what now?” Mal puzzled. She gave him an exasperated smile. “The garden,” she elaborated. “It serves a practical purpose, of course, namely to recycle some of Dortmunder’s CO2 and provide fresh fruits and vegetables; it also caters to the aesthetic. Come aboard.” -
I.A.V. Dortmunder
Recreation Deck, Arboretum
Ten minutes later It was more of a small park; Mal estimated the floor space to be at least forty times that of Serenity’s cargo bay. It was filled with trees, bushes, flowers - he could even see insects buzzing about. Grass was underfoot. Overall, the effect was pleasing, and quite unlike the antiseptic hard-edged order of the rest of the ship - which of course was the point. DeVries led him to a small, wild-looking area in one corner. “This is my spot,” she told him quietly. “I wouldn’t expect you to recognise the flowers.” He looked askance at her, but saw she wasn’t being sarcastic. Besides, she was right. What Mal knew about flowers and gardening you could fit into a protein pack without taking out the protein first. “No, can’t say as I do. Pretty, though,” he noted appreciatively. She reached down, caressed one of the yellow blooms which had a somewhat taller stalk than most of its fellows. “Do you know what two other things they have in common?” He shook his head. “They’re all original strains from Earth-That-Was, for one, as is the grass - my family brought all kinds of seeds and cuttings with them during the Exodus.” “Hmm. Your family’s that old, huh?” “Oh, yes. The other thing - and this I have never understood - is that on Earth-That-Was, they were all considered weeds.” She proceeded to point out what any citizen of pre-Exodus Earth-That-Was would readily have recognised as dandelions, buttercups, daisies. “I don’t know about you, but when I think ‘weed’, I think ‘ugly scraggy thing with no redeeming features whatsoever’. These, though...they’re pretty. Yet they’re weeds. “The arboretum caretaker - I suppose you might call him a gardener - doesn’t approve. But I paid for this patch of soil; it’s mine and I’ll plant whatever I gorram well like and keep it as untidy as I want! Apart from the patch being mine, there are times when I think it’s escaped his attention that I’m the gorram Commander!” “Happens to me all the time,” Mal chuckled wryly, with a disarming grin. It was the grin that did it; she couldn’t help laughing. “I s’pose most gardeners like a neat an’ tidy garden, huh? And this ain’t.” “They do...but nature isn’t neat. You walk into a forest - one that wasn’t planted, I mean, one that was established naturally - and you’ll see that the trees aren’t in straight lines. There’re denser patches, little clearings and so on. Their seeds and pollen are carried on the wind, or birds, or animals, or insects, settling any which way, growing wherever and however they can. And I firmly believe that’s as it should be. Neatness is overrated. “Call me vain if you like, but I honestly think this little wild patch is the prettiest part of the arboretum. I didn’t actually plant a thing - I just scattered my seeds over the grass as randomly as I could and hoped for the best.” She smiled, shyly. “This is the result.” “Looks just fine to me,” Mal told her gently, honestly. She caught his tone, and decided to drop her guard a little. “I’m not exactly what you expected of an Alliance officer, am I?” “Nope,” he admitted, “not even close. You’re the first one didn’t wanna arrest me an’ mine, for a start. But if you mean as a person, then no, you ain’t. You’re way more - well, human, I guess would be the best way to tell it.” “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m well aware of the stereotype, and admittedly it’s accurate in 99% or more cases. I play up to it when I have to; there’s little room in the Alliance fleet for anyone who’s excessively - well, touchy-feely, as Mum describes it - so I cultivated a persona that’s not unlike Mother’s. Certainly I can be ruthless and official when the situation calls for it; I’m no innocent - far from it. I’ve killed, sometimes with my own hands. I’ve been disciplined a few times, actually, for killing miscreants I was supposed to be apprehending and bringing to trial...but since the miscreants in question were scum who were already proven to be selling youths and children into sexual slavery, I never lost any sleep over it. “But yes, I am human. I don’t accept that efficiency is the be-all and end-all of the Alliance; I learned that from Mum. Nothing I’ve learned for myself has taught me she was wrong. In fact - can you keep a secret?” “Yeah, sure,” he nodded. “I once arrested a crew like yours - they were smuggling medical supplies to Regina -” “Lemme guess - Pescaline-D, for Paradiso?” “That’s right. They were seriously undercutting the Alliance suppliers. Strictly speaking I should have impounded their ship and had them imprisoned, but when I saw one of their crew, who was suffering from Bowden’s Malady herself...I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Those people needed that medicine, and they weren’t going to get it any other way, because one shipment didn’t get through that month owing to some admin foul-up. So I simply altered the paperwork to make it look as if they were licensed but the licence had expired the previous day, fined the crew a nominal amount for that offence and let them go. There was no mention of smuggling in my report. That I could live with - doing anything else would’ve deprived Paradiso of the medicine for a month, and I couldn’t live with that.” “And your superiors don’t know that.” “And I’m asking you not to tell them. Or anyone else; I’d likely be demoted at least.” “Okay. Hell, I’ve been there myself - Paradiso, I mean. Got a job liftin’ cargo from a train, but the guy who hired us didn’t tell us what the cargo was -” “- and you didn’t ask, I imagine. Let me guess - that was Pescaline-D, too?” “Yep.” “And when you found out what it was for, you did...what?” she asked. “You returned it?” He nodded. “Really? And you weren’t arrested?” “Nope. Seems the sheriff was an understandin’ sorta guy...like you, I guess.” “He understood that circumstances alter cases, as do I. I’m well aware of the irony, in that that was precisely the point the Independents were trying to make. It doesn’t make the rule any less true, though.” She sighed. “Not that I’ve ever been able to persuade anyone else in the Fleet of that, I’m afraid. I gave up trying three years ago.” They talked a while longer, Mal making very sure - for the moment - not to mention or ask about Dortmunder’s apparent stealth capabilities, or scanner jamming, or whatever the gorram hell it was. But he’d have to ask sooner or later - was it somethin’ unique to this boat, or could all the cruisers do it? If so, then as far as he could see the ’verse had gotten a fair bit smaller. Gettin’ real crowded in my sky nowadays. He’d have to ask. Later, though. The last time he’d walked on grass as far as he could recall was - well, Persephone, just before the swordfight with ol' Ath, and he was too busy tryin’ not to get killed to notice his surroundings. Might as well enjoy it for once while it lasts, he thought. No rush. -
Serenity
Docked with I.A.V. Dortmunder, en route to Miranda
ETA seven hours, fifty-three minutes After returning in a thoughtful mood, Mal made his way up to the Bridge after checking with Simon and discovering River had been up there a while; he wasn’t sure how long. It wasn’t crucial, as they weren’t even flying under their own power, but still. Immediately, as so often occurred with his li’l albatross, what he saw worried him. She was staring fixedly at the scanner screen as if its very existence offended her. “Hey, you okay?” “Two by two...hands of blue...” Oh, no, not again. “Hey, little albatross, d’you think you could use a break?” “Two by two...hands of blue...” she said again, louder this time. “They’re close. They’re coming.” Uh-oh. “I thought you said they weren’t on Dortmunder?” “More to the ’verse than that. They’re close.” Mal remembered River’s early warning capabilities and reached a decision. There was no point asking her how she knew or if she were sure, he knew that from experience. Crazy the girl might be, but she hadn’t been wrong yet. He keyed the intercom. “Zoe, Simon, get up here. Kaylee, where you at?” “On our way, sir.” “In my bunk, where I should be, cap’n,” Kaylee replied testily, “seein’ as I’m on a break.” “Ain’t got time for breaks, little Kaylee. Need you in the engine room, just in case.” “What’s up, sir?” Zoe inquired as she and Simon entered. “Not rightly sure. Our li’l albatross seems a mite upset.” “Two by two...hands of blue...” “Zoe, get on the scanner. Gimme all the range you can.” She gently eased River aside and manipulated controls, but shook her head. “Already on maximum, sir. Can’t go any higher or we’ll burn it out. Nothin’ reading as I can see.” Mal was feeling pretty captain-y today. He reached another decision and called, “Kaylee, change of plan. Come on up.” “Wish you’d make up your mind, Cap’n Can’t-Decide,” Kaylee groused. “I just got here!” When she arrived, looking none too pleased, Mal wasted no time on preamble. “Kaylee, I need you to extend the scanner’s range, can you do that?” Her immediate reply was “Can and can’t.” “Say what?” “I can increase the range, but I’ll have to reduce the power an’ resolution to do it. Y’see -” “Whoa, Kaylee, gettin’ too tech-y and less captain-y,” Mal stopped her. “River seems to think there’s someone out there, and I need to know if she’s right.” “And the last time she was wrong was...when?” Kaylee asked waspishly. “Yeah, well...do what you can.” Kaylee didn’t start straight away; instead, she put an arm around River’s small shoulders and asked comfortingly, “Hey, what is it, sweetie? What’s troublin’ you?” “They’re here. Can’t make them understand. The others don’t know.” Kaylee shook her head, baffled. “Okay, hon, let’s take a look here...” “I can help,” River suddenly piped up brightly, her entire demeanour changed. “Just think about what needs to be done.” Kaylee smiled and nodded, divining River’s meaning immediately. Both ducked under the flight console and began working busily. For two minutes, the two worked intently, so rapidly no-one could follow what they were doing. Components were being rewired, moved around, changed and, in one case, thrown out, seemingly at random. They kept exchanging brief snippets of technical jargon and shorthand, aided by the fact that Kaylee hardly needed to speak: “AD-25 to BX-19?” “Better to BV-06, sweetie.” “Yes,” River reconsidered. “Tighter beam. Tune down?” “Gotta. Can’t risk burnout or we’re blind.” “20%?” “Mmm...25.” “You’re brilliant.” “Thanks, sweetie. This is fun!” “For me, too,” River remarked, taking a momentary timeout to kiss the end of Kaylee’s nose. She giggled, startled but enjoying the contact as the tactile affectionate woman she was. Then suddenly: “Got it, cap’n!” “Okay, good work, girls - what do we got? Zoe?” Zoe checked the scanner. “Kaylee, this frequency is a little unstable.” “I know,” Kaylee said apologetically as she extricated herself from under the flight console, a new dirty mark on her cheek. “There’s only so much you can do with this model. Plus we can’t scan for more than thirty seconds continuously on this setting, or the emitter’ll overheat.” Zoe acknowledged this without comment; one of the first lessons she’d learned as a soldier was: don’t think about what you don’t got, work with what you do. So she did. Eighteen seconds in, a tiny blip suddenly registered, showing aft at considerable distance. “Whoa, I got...somethin’...can’t tell what it is.” She kept scanning. “Twenty-eight,” River spoke suddenly. Zoe understood, and shut off the scanner. “Kaylee?” “Give it a minute.” She did, and scanned again. After 22 seconds, the same blip showed, but not in precisely the same location - though it was at exactly the same distance. “Whatever the hell it is, it’s way too small to be a regular ship, it’s barely readin’ at all,” she reported. “Couldn’t hold more than three, maybe four crew total, sir.” “Life capsule?” Simon suggested. “Or a glitch?” “No way it’s a glitch, doc,” Zoe replied, “wouldn’t show up twice if it were.” “Be squawkin’ out a distress beacon if it were a capsule.” Mal shook his head grimly. “We’re bein’ followed by someone don’t wanna be seen.”