Kaylee’s Lament Part Three

“Kaylee? Kaylee-boo? Can I come in?” The voice was Zoe’s, about a thousand times the volume it should have been. Kaylee moaned in agony and pulled a pillow over her head. She tried to shout Cheeng jeen, but nothing particularly intelligible came out. “I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’,” Zoe said, and came down the latter into her bunk. “You okay, hon?” “I will be if you’ll tell your gorram husband to quit whipping us around so much!” Kaylee said miserably. “I’m gonna puke for certain if he does that again!” “Kaylee?” Zoe said gently, a trace of humor in her voice. “Kaylee, we’re still on the ground. We ain’t even flyin’.” Kaylee let out a truly vile string of profanity in Mandarin, stopping only when her head couldn’t take it anymore. Zoe smiled and took a plastic container out of the bag she carried. “Thought you might be in bad shape. Here,” she offered, holding out a small vial of black liquid. “Take this. Don’t taste it or smell it, just take it.” “What’s in it?” she asked suspiciously. “You don’t even want to know, trust me. But it works, and works quick. Do it!” Kaylee pulled the stopper off and poured the contents as directly into her stomache as she could. She did trust Zoe. She was a survivor of a thousand of these kinds of hangovers. The few drops that did hit her tongue on the way down almost made her puke by themselves – revolting, and oily to boot. She looked up in distress, and Zoe handed her a canteen of cool water. The engineer gulped it gratefully. Then Zoe pressed a few pills into her hand and she popped them into her mouth and chased it without question. Three agonizing minutes later, she let out a tremendous, foul-tasting belch. But she felt better, and her headache started to recede. “Thanks, Aunt Zoie,” she smiled weakly. “I guess you heard about last night . . .” “You could say that. My idiot husband climbs into bed in the middle of the night, smelling like cheap incense, cigar smoke, blood and beer, and is feeling a little amorous. I was already annoyed at him bein’ late – that didn’t help matters. Naturally, I wanted the story.” Zoe folded her arms. “So I heard.” Kaylee opened one eye cautiously. “Sorrrry?” Zoe couldn’t help but laugh. “I’d say the other guy is sorry, the one without all the teeth. Honey, what happened? Your side of the story, please. Wash sometimes overlooks important details. Men are funny that way.” “Well, I was drinking in the bar with Book and Jayne, and Jayne excused himself to go to the Belladonna – it’s kind of pretty in there, Zoe, kind of like Inara’s place. Anyway, Wash came in to look after me, Book headed back for the ship because I— Oh, God, Zoe! I was acting like a total slut!” “It wasn’t that bad – I got that much from the Shepherd. Oh, you embarrassed yourself, but no worse than any girl who got the urge ever has.” “Oh, I was right horrid, I was! But your sweet Wash came to my rescue. He knew just what to do. He took me across the street to the Belladonna and introduced me to the most fascinating woman – kind of like the girls at the Heart of Gold, but real smart, too, and she introduced me to the cutest little farm boy.” “Oh, I heard about the farmboy. Every inch of him. All night, it was ‘am I big enough? Do you think I’m old? Is this shirt ugly?’ I wanted to kill him. Wash said he was handsome . . .” “Oh, God he was incredible! Huge shoulders, arms like iron, a butt like, like—” “—like a muscular beast, curled up and ready to pounce –?” “A lot like that, yeah.” Kaylee got quiet. “He was pretty big.” “Eleven inches is damn big,” admitted Zoe. There was another pause. “Wash isn’t—” “Not on his best day, no.” Zoe looked guilty. “I ain’t complainin’, mind. More to a man than that. But . . .” she looked wistful, “there are times when a little extra—” “We really shouldn’t be talking about this,” Kaylee declared. “Just what I was thinking. Anyway, back to the farmboy.” “Oh, his name was Buck, and he was real cute, and fun, and he thought I was pretty – I mean, he just wouldn’t shut up about it!” She giggled. “And he said I was funny, and smelled good. But it was his first time, and he was real nervous, and thank God I’d had about six drinks by that time, ‘cause I would have been oh so nervous, too. But I wasn’t – I was good. It was good. We were good!” She remembered fondly for a moment. “Then afterwards I went downstairs for a drink, to kinda let him, y’know, recover. I saw Wash sittin’ at the bar, so I went over there and had another drink. Oh, Jayne musta been there by then, too, I think. And then out o’ the Black comes this nasty, stinkin’ one-eyed spacer scag, and his whole ruttin’ crew, and he calls me a whore. Says he wants to be next!” “And then you hit him,” Zoe finished. “No, not quite then. I remember Wash getting up and claiming me – he said he was next, and one-eye – Morgan, that was his name, Milo Morgan – he backs down. I says I ain’t a whore, then – y’know, if I’d kept my gorram mouth shut about then, nothin’ eventful would have happened?” “Figured that out on your own, didja?” Zoe asked dryly. “At least Wash had some brains. I’m pleased. Shocked and astounded, but pleased.” “Oh, he handled himself real well. But Morgan let it go, until Buck came down and kissed me. Did I tell you he was a good kisser? A little soft and gaggy at first, but he got better. Anyway, then that hwoon dahn called me a whore again, and that’s when Miss Elizabeth got involved, and then he called me a whore again, and that’s when I remembered that little 10mm wrench I always carry, it bein’ one of the more useful ones, I grabbed that and I hit him.” She reflected. “I really hit him. Really hard. I did!” “Juh jen sh guh kwai luh duh jean jan! You surely did,” Zoe nodded, grinning slightly. “Actually, I pretty much kicked his ass.” “That’s what I hear.” “Oh, I forgot to mention, Buck was tellin’ him to ‘not sully her name’ and he called me . . . what was it? Magnificent? He was so sweet! I hope he didn’t get into any trouble. Anyway, I think he woulda thrown the first punch, I hadn’t beaten him to it. But Morgan . . . I kinda took out some frustration on him.” She looked sheepish. “I ain’t never knocked anyone’s teeth out before. On purpose, I mean.” “Well, our little Kaylee got in a drunken brawl and got thrown out of a brothel for the first time!” “Actually, Miss Elizabeth said I was welcome to come back any time. I like her!” “She sounds like a fine lady. I’m glad things turned out OK. Oh, and Wash did his part in the fight? Didn’t crawl away like a purplebellied crybaby?” “Oh, Zoe, he did awful much. Jayne did too, but you kinda expect rough play with him. But Wash, he was like a wildman! I didn’t notice until Morgan passed out—” “You beat a man unconscious? Oh, honey, I’m so proud!” “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Anyway, Wash was jumpin’ around, talking all sorts of evil, but in a funny way, and every time one of the bad guys bounced his way, he’d do somethin’ mean and painful. I think he kept one of them off my back, too, come to think. But he was bein’ awful noble.” Zoe patted her knee and smiled. “Glad to hear it.” “By the time the constable showed up, they was all piled up in the front room, and Miss Elizabeth was tendin’ our wounds. She told me she wasn’t upset, on account o’ them arses – did I mention that part?” She looked around and found a tattered scrap of fabric on her bed. “They was with a ship called ‘Arachne’s Revenge, a Salvage and Exploration team. They looked like a bunch o’ thugs. But they had A, R, S, E on all their flightsuits – I didn’t catch that until I jumped on one of them’s backs. ‘Bout died laughin’. Anyhow, Miss Elizabeth said she’d been havin’ trouble with them every time they made port. She had warned them twice already. Now they’re banned. Said they needed knockin’ around, and she was just glad we were there to do it, and didn’t bust up her place none to bad while we done it.” “Well, look, Kayleebear, you got knocked around some too, I hear. I want the Doc to take a look at that cut on your head.” A sudden dark and horrible realization occurred to her. “Go-se! Simon! What am I going to do—” She looked horrified, and tears started to well up in her eyes. “He can’t find out, Zoe, he just can’t! What would he think o’ me? Oh, God, he just can’t find out!” “Sweety, no one farts on this ship without everyone else knowing what they ate. He probably knew long before you woke up.” Kaylee sagged on her pillow. “He’s gonna think—” “Nonsense. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. It matters what you think.” “But Zoe! He’s gonna know! He’s gonna know I— I did— Because I –” Zoe sighed, hands on her hips. After murmuring “Where’s Inara? Never a whore around when you need one!” she stood up. “Kaylee, what you did? Nothin’ to be ashamed of. You are a grown woman, and no man’s wife. You can do whatever you gorram please. You ain’t a little girl, and you ain’t a fairy princess. You’re a beautiful, smart lady, and if some people can’t appreciate it, then that’s their fault, not yours! Got it?” “Probably not,” Kaylee said sadly. “I know, but it had to be said.” “I know. Thanks.” “No problem. You’d do it for me.” “No, I’d be scared you’d kill me.” “You’d be right to.” “Still, thanks.” “I’m going to go molest my husband now I know he ain’t a complete coward.” “I’m going to cower in here and hide from Simon until the Alliance catches us.” “Good plan.” “Yours, too.” “Light off?” “That’d be great, thanks.”

* * * Simon was poring over a sheaf of datasheets, trying to figure out the details of this caper. It had been going really well, so far. Book had waved three or four of the religious organizations he knew might work for this thing, committing nothing to record but inquiring if they would be interested. They had made selections based on how widely the order ranged, the frequency of travel of its members, and how well equipped they might be for producing and distributing low-cost pharmaceuticals. Meanwhile, it was Simon’s job to figure out how to get the equipment. Without that, the medicine-bearing fruit would be so much expensive salad. The Captain’s suggestion about how to do it was sound, he had decided, the alternative being a highly unlikely armed robbery. But how did you talk the Alliance out of a piece of equipment like that, without getting arrested out of hand? He had thought about it all night, came up with then discarded idea after idea. None had the elegance that he felt was needed for this plant to work. And he wasn’t about to propose a plan that wasn’t workable – or inelegant. The answer was sure to be there, he knew – anything was possible – but he couldn’t extract it. He was getting a suspicion that he would have to do the one thing he really didn’t want to do – hated to do – in order to craft a workable plan. Every hour or so he considered doing this thing, then talked himself out of it. As the hours grew longer, however, he returned to the unpleasant prospect again and again. His crewmates came and went around him while he worked. And finally, he knew he could put it off no longer. He had to do it. “River, would you come here please?” It galled him, it truly did. Ever since he was a child, River had been lurking just around the corner, ready to pounce on him with her brilliance and come up with the perfect answer when he had tried and failed. She’d been doing it since she was six, and it was the source of some small consternation he felt about her. It was embarrassing, getting help from your little sister, whether your thirteen or thirty. “Your tone. It says that you’ve reached the limit of your imagination and reasoning.” His sister skipped into the common room and slid into place at a chair next to him with one smooth motion, which appeared to be both sloppy and graceful at the same time. He had to remind himself, sometimes, that despite her intellectual brilliance, she was still a seventeen year old. “Essentially. We’re trying to act on your suggestion. We need this piece of equipment to make it work, though, and we want to steal it. Preferably without recourse to firearms, if possible.” “Interesting. The TR-10 Compounder?” “Uh, yes, actually.” “Easy.” “What’s easy?” “This. This!" She emphasized, picking up his notes and shaking them. “Stealing it is easy.” “Well I’ve been at this for twelve hours, now, and I haven’t figured it out.” He rubbed his eyes, nearly exhausted, but still too intrigued by the intricacies of this crime to sleep. “I really haven’t been able to think of anything else. I’ve gotten this far, identifying six different machines that we might be able to get. I just haven’t the faintest idea how.” “Easy,” River repeated. “I believe you said that.” “Explanation?” “Please,” nodded Simon, thankful that patience was one of the marks of a good doctor. River took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Then she began to speak. “When approaching a bureaucratic system for the purposes of manipulation into more favorable action, it is often useful to remember that the constituent elements of said system are in themselves subsystems with unique protocols and orders of operation. Exploiting inner-system communications is the simplest method to manipulation of the systems, for most bureaucratic systems have poor factors of redundancy and weak fact-checking mechanisms, due to the limited ability for any one element within the sub-system to have authority or responsibility for any other element within a competing or complimentary sub-system. Therefore, fabrication of initial data, followed by rigorous applications of redundant assurance, coupled with the appearance of standard bureaucratic procedure allegedly originating with a competing or complimentary sub-system – which in turn – in theory – demands accountability for its native protocols to the exclusion of the targeted sub-systems’ – plus the addition of the threat of oversight, consequences for a perceived inability for following accepted or standard operating procedures, an possible loss of promotion, advancement, or intangible political status within the corpus of the target bureaucratic sub-system, is often the best course of action when determining a favorable policy shift or merely desiring a minor shift in established policies and operating procedures for a limited amount of time or in a local field of environment.” She opened her eyes and looked at him, River Tam once more. “See? Easy!” “I think I like it better when you just talk to cows,” Simon said after a long, thoughtful pause. “I’m over cows. They got boring. Chew, sleep, swat, chew, sleep, swat.” Her attention was starting to drift. Simon made an effort to focus it on the problem at hand. “Now, how would you explain that to me if I was ten years old again, River?” he asked, steepling his fingers across this lips. “Make up such a big gorram lie, and back it with innumerable supporting facts including petty inconsistencies and staged issues to convince the Alliance bureaucracy that they should do what you want them to do. Like give you a TR-10 Compounder. And maybe other stuff.” Simon studied his sister intently. “So, Mei-mei, you’re saying that we should use the power of the Alliance’s own bureaucracy against them?” “Reckon’ so.” “And how would I go about doing this?” River looked exasperated, as if she were talking to a six-year old child. “Simon, who orders a piece of equipment like the TR-10? On the Rim?” “This is going to be a Socratic dialog, isn’t it? The kind that makes me look like an idiot? Medical centers – rich civilian ones. Small pharmaceutical companies. Corporate field offices of terraforming operations? Research stations, perhaps. And military hospitals,” he conceded. “How do they get them?” “Eh? I suppose they just wave-in the right supply request form, then wait for whatever it is to be delivered. I suppose if it’s a private hospital, they also wave the funds. For military hospitals and other government facilities, I suppose they just reference a funding code, and let the Alliance pick up the check.” “And who do you think they wave to verify the codes?” “How should I know?” River rolled her eyes in the exaggerated manner that every teen-ager learns. “Simon: pay attention. Imagine for a moment that you are sitting in the office that handles such requisitions. Are you a senior administrator? No, you are a very junior grade clerk, who gets about two thousand waves a day with such requests. In a standard working day, that means that you have to process an average of over four requests a minute to stay ahead. Figure that half of those requests are so routine that you let the automated systems handle them. That leaves two requests per minute of your day that merit your personal attention. There is no way any normal human is going to be able to process at that speed, even if they devoted all of their attention to it, which no clerk does. Which means that all of the clerks attention is going to be drawn only to those uncommon instances when there is a problem, i.e. the paperwork isn’t in order.” “I’m paying attention, but I still don’t know what I’m paying attention to.” “I wonder sometimes if we’re really related.” “Might simplify things a bit if we weren’t.” “Simon, as long as the paperwork is properly filled out, there will be no problem. No one checks names, cross-references signatures, or otherwise devotes any level of attention to a single item in a bureaucracy unless there is something out of the ordinary.” “A stunning revelation, but I fail to see—” “Jin tzahng mei yong-duh! Simon, pretend you are an Alliance installation out on the Rim that is in need of a TR-10, fill out the paperwork, and have it delivered!” Simon shook his head. “River, you’re a genius, I admit, but I’m one lone fugitive doctor. I can’t pretend to be a big Alliance facility. People would start to talk.” “You are so thick it’s impressive. What is the difference between a huge Alliance military base and a single Alliance postmaster to a bureaucracy? A number on a screen. From the Core, all such places are mere numbers on a screen. That’s all you need. A number. And a plausible excuse. Now, I’m going to let you work out the details while I take a brief walk around the starport – which the Captain approved, so don’t get your knickers twisted. I should be back in time to answer any of your other world-shattering questions, like how to spell your name.” Simon sneered ill-temperedly at her back as she stalked off. If she wasn’t a genius, pretty, and a blood relative, I might be inclined to kill her slowly, he thought to himself. I might even be able to sell tickets.

As the sun went down on Wisdom City (not an uncommon occurrence – the local day on this moon was only 17 hours long) the Captain brought in the last of their dinner (he had ordered it from one of Wisdom City’s four fine restaurants – roasted ox in a spicy sauce, with plenty of fresh-grown vegetables – a treat, he justified to himself, for all the crew had had to endure lately) and sealed up the airlock. Serenity wasn’t going anywhere, he just wanted to reduce the potential for eavesdropping. It was best to keep a low profile when conspiring to commit grand larceny on this scale. The supper table was rowdy, of course – everyone felt a little wooly while in port – but Kaylee seemed oddly subdued, and Simon was so enrapt with the details of the plan that he didn’t notice that he wasn’t eating the standard ship-board protein until he took his first bite. The boy had been working on this for hours and hours, and now he was ready to present it to the group. “Okay, people, we can talk while we eat,” Mal said, taking his seat. “The point of this meeting is to discuss a potential new job. Resident criminal mastermind Dr. Tam has come up with something good. Go ahead, Doc.” “Thank you, Captain,” Simon said as he stood. “Excellent beef, by the way.” There was a chorus of grunts agreeing to his assessment. “Let me start off by giving you some background on our new caper. Yesterday – Yes, Wash?” “Point of order, your Honor: when you call it a caper, it sounds like a bad musical comedy. While I enjoy the theater, my experience with crime has taught me that the funnier the situation, the more likely the criminals in question will end up incarcerated or slightly dead. We’re professional criminals: it’s a job, not a caper.” “Yeah,” agreed Jayne. “Can the fancy talk, Doc. I don’t understand half of what you say most-times, anyway.” “Well, if I can continue with my overview of the ‘job’, then, I’ll try to use small words,” Simon said dryly. “Wash, perhaps if you will translate for Jayne as needed, I can continue. “Much obliged,” Jayne murmured. “Yesterday Zoe and the Captain were investigating acquiring possible new and illicit cargo when it came to their attention that their local contact had in his possession a number of genetically modified seeds that could be very valuable to the Rim – and possibly very lucrative to us.” “He said Cap and Zoe found some magic seeds that could make us some coin,” whispered Wash to Jayne. Simon ignored the pilot. “To capitalize on this find, however, we are going to need a very advanced piece of Core-world technology, and a production and distribution network that is likely to withstand scrutiny from Alliance law-enforcement, or, worse yet, corporate mercenaries intent on maintaining the Core-world monopoly on pharmaceutical distribution to the Rim. Book has identified several religious orders that have trans-planetary missions that would serve adequately for this purpose, but the whole scheme is reliant on a TR-10 Compounder, a very expensive and rare machine, to extract the efficacious compounds from the raw floral material.” Wash leaned over again, and said between bites, “He said we can sell the magic seeds to churches, who want the medicine they have inside, but that we need to get a special magic machine to do it.” Jayne grunted, and kept chewing. “As acquiring this machine will be problematic utilizing our traditional methods, I’ve enlisted River’s aid in developing a plan to trick the Alliance into giving us the machine without unnecessary violence and bloodshed, not to mention capturing us or killing us in some way.” “He said he and the crazy girl have figured out a way to conn the Alliance into handing us the machine without shooting a bunch of people,” Wash relayed. Jayne wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and raised it. “Point of, um, order, I guess?” he asked. “I like shooting people, it’s what I’m good at, and I think it’s a lame ass plan if we don’t shoot anyone.” “Point taken, and tabled for further discussion,” Simon replied dryly. “I’m sure we can find someone for you to shoot, Jayne.” “Much obliged,” the mercenary said, and returned to his plate. “To get back to the job, what I propose is this: we steal the machine as it is en route to the Alliance pre-positioned medical facility in orbit around Heracles.” “That’s what I’m saying!” Jayne said eagerly. “But,” Book pointed out, “there is no pre-positioned Alliance hospital over Heracles. Or at least I’m pretty sure there ain’t.” “There ain’t,” agreed Zoe. “I’d’ve heard about it. Heracles was Independent territory.” There were nods of assent from several other heads around the table. “You are essentially correct. But not correct in bureaucratic terms. You see, after talking with my genius sister, I did a little background work on the cortex, and discovered some interesting items. For example, immediately after the war, the Reconstruction Commission originally had a grand plan of rebuilding both the Independent worlds laid waste in the war, but also building a string of new bases within Independent territory to ensure no repeat of the war would be allowed to happen. As you know, most of the reconstruction projects were never funded, nor were most of the other recovery projects mandated by the Commission. Except for the medical projects, which were set forth in a separate recommendation. The Alliance ended up funding about half of the base proposals, and all of the medical facilities, but stopped well short of the big construction projects the Commission wanted.” “And why does that matter?” asked Wash. “Because, when any thing is funded in the Alliance, it is issued a nineteen digit funding code which is used to pay the bills. Only, this pre-positioned facility – and that’s Alliance bureaucratese for ‘just in case the Browncoats get rowdy again and we need some extra hospital space’ – was due to be attached to a space station that was supposed to be funded by the main Reconstruction recommendation, but was never funded itself. Since they couldn’t very well build a two-hundred bed hospital and hang it from a sky-hook, so they shelved the recommendation . . .” “But didn’t cancel the code,” finished Mal. “Exactly. It’s even technically active, because the orbital lease option is paid to the planetary traffic control administration on Heracles, though it is then refunded back to the General Fund under agreement with the Alliance.” There was a few moments of silence while the idea set in. “All-mighty,” said Book, shaking his head. “So you propose to use this code to order up this machine, so we can turn around and sell it to one of the religious orders.” “Oh, Shepherd, my ‘caper’ is a lot more elaborate than that. Again, to give credit where due, River pointed out that it was less likely to arouse suspicion up the bureaucratic chain of command if the TR-10 was not the only item on the manifest. So we will use this code to get the TR-10, a SSV-980 Cat scanner, decontamination units, chemical analysis equipment, an auxiliary power supply, a start-up stock of pharmaceuticals, two instrument sterilizers, a thousand general trauma kits, oh, lots of things.” “Doctor gonna steal heap big medicine,” Wash whispered to Jayne. “Yeah, I got that part, shee-niou. Tell me again what all this medical crap is going to sell for?” “A bundle,” Mal said. “I’ve already priced out some stuff with a few fences I know. Whatever we don’t need for the deal, we can go back and use our contacts from the Ariel job to sell at a decent price.” “Isn’t this going to give us a rep as specializing in medical crime?” asked Wash. “I don’t want to be thought of as a one-trick pony. People won’t hire us for the real bloody jobs any more.” “And what’s to keep the Alliance from loading the cargo ship with a platoon of troopers ready to take us in?” asked Zoe. “Easy,” Mal said, with a boyish, good-natured grin. “We are going to be the cargo ship that it’s shipped out on. That’s the pure genius of this plan: we’re not only gonna steal a couple of million credits worth of Alliance medical equipment, but they are gonna pay us for the privilege and give us a safe-conduct pass through Alliance military checkpoints.” There was several minutes of silence while the plan buzzed around everyone’s brains. One by one the crew did their best to pick holes in the plan, but the fact that it was outside the realm of most of their experience gave them little idea of all the potential pitfalls. That doesn’t mean they weren’t nervous; as Zoe stated doubtfully during the discussion, “Don’t seem right to be able to just load up the loot with the Alliance standing right there.” “You won’t have to load a thing,” Simon pointed out. “According to Alliance standard third-party shipping procedures, Alliance personnel will load and secure the equipment on board to ensure the least amount of damage in shipping.” Wash stared, slack-jawed. “I don’t have to lift crates? Someone else does all the nasty evil back-breaking work? I’m in!” He looked around at the rest of the crew. “I have it on good authority I’m an ‘old guy’ anyway. Need to spare my fragile bones.” “Seems a might complex,” Book said doubtfully. “It isn’t as hard, actually, as the Ariel cape- the Ariel job was. We just have to be at the right place at the right time, say the right things, and make sure the right forms are filled out with the right agencies,” Simon insisted. “I don’t think it has escaped your notice,” Book said politely, “but we aren’t exactly a ‘paperwork’ kind of crew.” “But I am. Doctor, remember? Trauma surgeon? Do you have any idea just how much paperwork any doctor has to fill out to do just about anything? Even with a hospital clerical staff and the best in medical computers, at least half of my week was spent in surgery, the other half in an office filling out forms. The drug regulations alone are arduous, and the amount of additional documentation needed to do any kind of research would kill a lesser man.” Simon gathered up his notes and kept on the encouraging banter. “Look, it isn’t going to be as easy as you think – we have a lot of preparation to do. A lot of forms to fill out and wave in. We have some documentation to be forged and some special issues to be tidied up. But if we pull this off, the Ariel cape—job will look like the bobble-headed geishas when we’re done.” He looked around at everyone at the table. Most faces looked skeptical, but hopeful. Except one. “Kaylee, you’ve been awfully quiet. What are your thoughts?” Kaylee avoided his eye – and he noticed a small bandage on her forehead for the first time, as it had been obscured from his sight by the way she wore her hair. “You know me, Doc,” she said, not looking at him for more than a half-second. “Y’all just figure out where you wanna go. Me and my girl will get you there.” “OO-kay,” nodded Simon. “Hardly the ringing endorsement I was hoping for, but . . .” “I think it’s a great plan, and not just because it was mostly my idea,” River said quickly. “Look, the crazy girl likes it. Must be good, then,” grunted Jayne. “It has a lot of advantages,” Book said. “A lot of people could benefit.” “The fact that we will benefit is good enough for the Washburns,” Wash said. “Me and the Missus are pleased any time we come away from one of these ‘capers’ with some jingle in our pocket that ain’t the lead that Doc Tam pulls outa our arses.” “Still seems a might risky,” Jayne said. “It ain’t right. Ain’t proper. Stealin’ should have someone shouting ‘hands up or I’ll shoot!’. Or breakin’ glass, at the very least. Just don’t seem . . . honest.” “Plenty of theivin’ gets done with nothing but paper and computer,” reminded Zoe. “Most of it, you put a currency figure on it. Might as well get a piece o’ that action.” “Well, I think it’s a good plan,” pronounced Mal. “We win, we steal from the Alliance, and we don’t get shot at. As plans go, it’s a pretty good good ‘un. Jen duh sh tyen tsai. Now let’s get to work. We lift tomorrow afternoon.”