Kaylee’s Lament

Part Ten

“It really wasn’t that bad,” Mal said as Simon put a single stitch in his arm. “hardly bleeding at all.” He was taking it easy, or trying to, as the effects of absinthe and the five (maybe seven) or so drinks he’d had on top of that with Judge Roy and his boys wore off. His vision was a little blurry, still, and his brain had that ‘insulated from reality’ aspect that he occasionally felt after over-indulging, but all things considered, he wasn’t hurting too bad. He didn’t even feel the needle Simon wielded for a moment, before he sealed a weave over the wound. “There you go, good as new,” the young doctor commented. “Now, unless you want a shave and a haircut, you’re done.” “Painless, as always,” Mal lied. He made no move to get up and put his shirt on. He and River had arrived accompanied by one of Roy’s strongmen, who he had detailed to make sure they got back to their ship without further incident. River had called ahead to warn them that the Captain needed medical attention, but only gave a few tantalizing details: Captain got shot, in the Rectum. Simon had scrambled to get a full trauma kit laid out in preparation for a massive, bloody gut-wound. When Mal did arrive, held up by his sister (who also, he noted at the time, had liquor on her breath) there was a lot less blood than he had prepared for. It took a few moments to sort out the miscommunication, but once Simon was assured that the Rectum referred to a location, and not a piece of anatomy, he relaxed and took care of the minor graze the Captain did have. He was relieved, of course, that his benefactor and de facto boss did not have such a horrid injury. On the other hand, it would have been the first really interesting trauma in a while, and the purely clinical part of him was disappointed. “It helps when the patient is legally drunk,” he said, stripping off his gloves. “Cuts down on anesthetic costs. Now, want to tell me why you took my sister out to mortal danger?” “’Cause we were fresh outa mortal danger here – looked e’erywhere – had t’go out’n get summore,” Mal slurred. “’Sides, it was good for her . . . fresh air . . . educational . . .” “Stabbing a man in a bar with a chopstick is not exactly the type of instructive field trip my parents would approve of, Captain.” Simon tried very hard to look stern. “I know you may disagree, and I am not so intolerant of cultural diversity that I don’t respect your point of view. But I remind you that despite her brilliance – and her clinical insanity – River is still a minor child, under the law.” “Doc,” Mal said, slowly, “That might be true back on Osiris, but out here on the Rim you’re a ai ya adult from the moment you can pull a gorram trigger. An’ it was a skewer, not a chopstick.” “How pathetically romantic,” he said, dryly. “Ain’t it, though?” Mal grinned weakly. “‘Sides, on Onyx, the law is a li’l different. I met ‘em. It’s Roy. Roy ‘I am the Law!’ Kim! He’s a good hwoon dahn, Roy is. An’ he’s the Law.” Mal seemed to think this was hilarious and broke himself up with the chuckles. “I suppose my next question,” Simon said as he cleaned up his trauma tray and put it back into its cabinet, “is who did you manage to piss off this time? River said that the ‘bad men who needed shooting’ were part of some sort of criminal gang. We don’t exactly need more enemies, do we Captain? That could have repercussions later on,” he warned. “Simon, you are part of a criminal gang,” Mal reminded him. “Don’t worry, any o’ those gou tsao de losers come callin’, we’ll send them packin’ like we did on Sophia. It’s part o’ th’ innersteller criminal gang omnibus code of conduct, or some go se like tha’.” “Oh, yes, I’ve been meaning to ask what that Sophia thing was about. I overheard Wash and Jayne saying something about it, so I figured it was probably something illicit business oriented or tawdry. But I never got around to asking them what the fuss was about. I suppose it serves me right for thinking that sterilizing my instruments was more important than—” He was interrupted by a snore. Captain Reynolds had passed out in the chair. “Well, isn’t that just typical?” he asked rhetorically, with more than a hint of disgust. * * * The next day Wash and Kaylee took the shuttle out to the site at first light, taking Jayne with them to help load and continue the scavenging. Inara minded the ship and worked on some mundane housekeeping – and watched over Mal when no one was looking. Mal slept off his hangover, without Zoe’s magical potion to help (she claimed she was out – in truth, she just wanted to punish him for his foolhardy behavior.). Simon, Zoe, Book and River went to be fitted at Magnifique. In order to discourage idle gossip, Simon had thought it best to distance himself from River to avoid being known as her brother here. Instead, he had Book mind her. He found it fascinating to watch their dynamic. Book was a very patient man. That was one of the virtues his Order cultivated. And he needed every ounce of it to deal with River’s logical shenanigans. They were conducting a running verbal battle as they walked down the Concourse, having already gotten fitted for their costumes, and discussing the validity of faith and the veracity of scripture as they dodged pickpockets and prostitutes.. “So, if Adam and Eve were the first humans, and they had children, who did those children have to marry? If the demiurgic institutional deity didn’t create more than one family, as the book clearly says? Did they practice incest, which is also clearly prohibited?” “The Bible doesn’t really say,” Book said, pursing his lips. “But it really doesn’t matter, seeing as how we are all here now.” “How can you make that conclusion? It isn’t reasonable.” “Reason is a poor master. You have to have faith that the scriptures are true.” “But faith is merely absolute belief without proof.” “Well, yes, I suppose it is,” conceded Book. “Then you are making the assumption that your scriptures are not mere fictional fabrications without any real evidence of that fact.” “The Bible has been revered as a historical document as well as a spiritual guide for nearly three thousand years.” “Yet there is little in the way of corroborating source documentation, and none that can be completely relied upon for establishing veracity.” “True, but the historical events described, the historical people it speaks of, they existed. That’s a historical fact. Palestine, Rome, all of it was there, back on Earth That Was in the First Age of Man.” “Yet little, if any, evidence exists to support the central assertion that this alleged historical document,” insisted River, with all the annoying tenacity of a teenager. “All evidence available seems to discredit the contention that your book is, indeed, a literal history of the universe.” “But that does not invalidate the underlying truth of what it says.” “How can you say that? There is no empirical evidence for the soul. Nor an afterlife. Nor the existence of any being that could categorically be declared as divine.” She ticked off on her fingers: “No demiurge, no psychopomp, no protector, no redeemer, and, indeed, no apparent current manifestation that would be irrefutable.” “Yet the truth it expounds is not a truth in the literal sense,” Book insisted, with passion but also with the patience that would at least pre-qualify him for sainthood, “not in the empirical sense of the word. The truth contained within this book transcends those things. The truth is that we have nothing to fear, for the Almighty watches and protects us, and not even Death itself has power in His presence.” “This same entity has declared, within the same text, that any and all who do not abase themselves in the prescribed manner will be summarily doomed to eternal torment for their error, regardless of their adherence to an absolute and objective moral code. Is this the work of an omni-benevolent deity, as you have said?” “Well, damnation and torment do seem a little on the harsh side, I admit . . .” Book said, taken aback a might. He wasn’t used to this level of intellectual challenge to his faith. When he was preaching to the disaffected, their arguments commonly ran along the line of, “If there is a God, why’d my momma die?”. “They’re so cute when they tussle,” Zoe remarked to Simon as they walked behind them. “All scrappy and intellectualized.” “River was never one for religion or superstition even before the Academy,” Simon commented, amused. “There isn’t a lot of stock placed in religion on Osiris. I suppose that as the planet developed and humanity’s lot improved, the need for it declined. Out here,” he said, gesturing around at the splendid squalor of Onyx, “you need something to fight back the despair.” “You not a believer?” Zoe asked, intrigued. “Not as such, no,” Simon said. “I suppose part of that is due to medical school. Once you hold a beating human heart in your hands, and realize you can end someone’s life just by closing your fingers, the idea of God is a little . . . naïve.” “Interesting perspective,” Zoe said. “As a soldier, I often held the lives of my enemies in my hands. Point a shotgun at someone, and you can end their life just by moving one finger a half a centimeter. Or not. So the idea of God is a necessary thing.” “I don’t follow you.” “If you are put in the position of takin’ a perfectly good life, Doctor, you have to ask yourself a few questions before long: How did I get here, in this position, with this gun, facin’ that man in the other uniform? How did he get here? Chance? Fate? Divine plan? You can juggle all of these in your head your whole life – which could be measured in seconds on a battlefield. You’d better come up with some answers right quick, or you’re gonna find out first hand about the afterlife. So you make a choice. And you stick with that choice, because to do otherwise is to call into question every action you’ve ever taken that led up to that point.” “ ‘There are no atheists in foxholes’. I’ve heard that.” “There ain’t no atheists on the battlefield, period. When a missile hits your squad and the soldier next to you has a head one second, and doesn’t the next, and you are there, perfectly sound, you develop a powerful feelin’ of purpose – or a profound fatalism that borders on religiousness. But you believe in God.” “Even the Captain?” “Especially the Captain.” Zoe said, looking up sharply. “You don’t know him like he was, before Serenity – the valley, not the ship. Mal was about as great a war leader as you could ask for, and his faith was a fair portion of his strength. He could talk up the fellas like a Shepherd himself, quotin’ scripture and talkin’ about the glory of the angels and the nobility of our cause and such. Used t’pray before every battle, afore every meal, before we’d bed down on whatever scrap o’ mud we’d found. Days when we was hungry, and tired, and cold, and shot up – well, Mal would come in, give a speech about how we were doin’ God’s work, striking a blow for freedom, and how God rewarded His heroes, in the next life if not in this one. We would’ve followed him twice around Perdition.” “That doesn’t sound like the Malcolm Reynolds I know,” Simon said doubtfully. “It ain’t,” she said wistfully. “Serenity Valley changed that – changed him. We was supposed to hold that valley for just a few days, against the vanguard of the Alliance force. That valley covered our whole southern flank. We give it up, the Alliance comes walkin’ through and the war’s over. Colonel came and said so, let us know that it was the most important part o’ the battle. The Overlanders needed to hold, stick it out, and keep Alliance from passing. “I still remember,” Zoe said, her eyes lost in memories. “Mal stood up and said that the Alliance would come through over his dead and smashed body, and even then his spirit would hold ‘em back ‘till he got called up to heaven. Said he knew God was on our side, ‘cause o’ all the other times we won out against such superior odds. And we did. Good God, we did. Every time the Overlanders went into battle, it was against more numbers, better equipment, and soldiers who actually had a supply truck come up every now and then. What’d we have? Nothin’ but some cheap rifles, homemade body armor, our Browncoats, and whatever food we got off o’ dead Feds. But we kept alive, kept winning – or at least completing our missions. We knew God was on our side: Sergeant Reynolds told us so, and he was the Voice o’ God as far as we were concerned.” “Then what happened?” Simon asked, fascinated. He remembered some of the War, but in the Core it had more impact on popular culture than it did the day-to-day lives of the people. Propaganda set the tone. The Independents were filthy rebels, uncivilized and barbaric. If the war even got a mention on the daily press of the cortex, it was to present some interesting bit of lore about the Rim, or to detail Browncoat atrocities. When the War was over, there wasn’t so much as a celebration on Osiris, outside of those few families whose children went into service. The fall social season was more important. It was fascinating for him to hear this side of the War. “We held,” Zoe said, simply. “We held for that few, precious days. And they asked us to hold on some more. So we did. And then they asked us to hold another week. Even sent another platoon in, as reserves. And we held. The Alliance started pouring mechanized armor at us – rollers, hate ‘em. “But we held. They threw airborne units at us. We held. They threw in more infantry. We threw ‘em back. We didn’t have a chance. Analysts on both sides said it was impossible. Mal made it possible. He went to every soldier in that valley, every miserable day, and he told them how God was with us, and how great we were, big damn heroes every one of us, and that the glory would be ours when the day was won.” “But it wasn’t.” Simon tried to imagine Mal like that. He could see it, easily – the man was charismatic. Even the cynical, brooding manner the Captain displayed daily was peppered with an appealing humanity and a cocky friendliness that gave Simon a hint of how he would be, unfettered by defeat and full of faith. “No, Doctor, it wasn’t. We had held out a pure month by then. Alliance had wasted some mighty fine troops on us – and even though we took three for every one of ours they took, they still got the better end of it. Command stopped sendin’ in reinforcements – they had been outflanked to the north – but we picked up stragglers and wannabe deserters and we held. It was some of the most ferocious fighting of the war. In places it came down to bayonets and knives – rocks, if they were handy. “We kept the faith. Mal said we would hold, and by God, we did. All we needed was a little more support, a few more troops, and some gorram air cover, and we could have held that gorram valley to this very day.” She sighed heavily. “But the Alliance got their reinforcements afore we did. Command had had it by then – they were buggin’ out. Our airborne units were all but gone. And despite all the glory, all the impossible things we did, all the blood we spilled, those damn demons came outa the sky, shootin’ and killin’ in the valley. That pretty much ended the war.” “And that’s when Mal stopped believing in God?” Zoe looked at him sharply. “Mal didn’t stop believing in God,” she said, finally. “He just hates Him.” There was a long, long pause, as Simon tried to imagine that. It was one thing to believe in an abstract deity, a distant creator god responsible for all existence. It was quite another to imagine a deity that you knew and felt so personally that you could have a personal relationship to it. A deity that you could love – or hate. Especially hate. In many ways, it was beyond his comprehension. “Time to change the subject, ‘fore I start revealing Mal’s underwear size and his finger puppet fetish. A little Kayleebird tol’ me that she found a strawberry patch on her bed when she got back yesterday. You know anythin’ ‘bout that?” Simon grinned self-consciously. “Inara recommended I do it – a peace offering, I guess, or a . . . a token of my affection.” “She’s a smooth one,” Zoe agreed, smiling. “I done learned more ‘bout the womanly arts from her than anyone else.” She glanced meaningfully at Simon as they were walking. “Y’know she’s got it bad for you?” “Who, Inara? I thought—” “Kaylee, you idiot.” “Oh. What a relief. That WOULD have been complicated.” He swallowed, relieved. “I’ve gotten that notion, yes.” “You want to tell me your feelin’s on the subject?” asked Zoe. “Do I have any choice in the matter?” Simon asked, eyebrows arched. “Not unless you’d enjoy walking with a limp.” “I won’t cheapen the moment by asking if you’re serious about that,” Simon sighed. “Well, at the moment, let’s just say that I have a deep and abiding affection for her, and leave it at that. Things are pretty complicated, right now, and I’d hate to start something I can’t finish. No need to get too deeply entangled in someone else’s affairs when you are most likely to be dead before your next birthday. Messy.” “Fei hua.” “Shumma?” “Bullshit, squared and cubed. You’re using this whole, ‘Uncle Al is gonna get me!’ thing to hide behind your own insecurities and inadequacy issues. You’re putting the responsibility for your emotions squarely on the shoulders of the situation, and not taking any for yourself. Simon, do you realize how unlikely it is that the Alliance will kill you? Or take you prisoner?” “Why do you say that?” “Because we’ll probably get killed some other luh-suh way long before they can get up with us. Every time we climb into that deathtrap my husband flies so manfully, we take a major risk with our lives. You remember your last birthday party? The one with all the fire and freezing and near death experiences?” “Vividly.” “Well, that was just one of the thousands of things that could go wrong at any moment in space. Freak meteor impact, explosive decompression, contaminated atmo, you name it, it can kill us.” “You sure know how to make a fella feel all warm and cheery about a place. I suppose I can wake you up in the middle of the night when I have screaming hysterics?” “Only once. I don’t think you’d find me a comfort. But to refocus the conversation, you can’t use the ‘life is too dangerous and stressful to maintain a healthy relationship’ excuse my husband is so fond of – though in his case, it’s about babies. Get with it, Simon. If your life is going to end, then isn’t it best to live a life worthy of envy?” “I—” Simon stopped. Suddenly, there was a ruckus. While Simon and Zoe had been discussing his love life, River had continued her discussion with Book. It had gotten to the point where she was tossing her hair in a cocky post-adolescent manner, telling the old preacher “Just ‘cause you have that book, doesn’t mean that you have a well-established premise for an objective reality – and without that, an absolutist objective moral code is specious!” when she collided with a passer-by, not looking where she was going. A passer-by with a red headband. And a limp from a bandaged thigh. “You!” he accused, as he realized who River was. “Me?” she asked, confounded. “You! You’re the one! The girl that just ‘bout ended Lee!” he snarled. “Fei hua! I merely defended myself,” River said, matter-of-factly. “Well, you ain’t got no big-ass tah ma de bodyguard boyfriend at your back now, tchen wah!” The man looked quickly around and raised his hand, extending his thumb and index finger in some kind of sign. Within moments the thin crowd parted as five more red-headbands – all of them looking like thoroughly disreputable pirates – emerged, clearly looking for action. Zoe halted, put a hand out and restrained Simon from rushing in. “Uh oh,” said Simon. “Nice and easy, Doctor, nice and easy,” Zoe said calmly in low tones. “They don’t know we’re with them.” “Shouldn’t we announce our presence? It might defuse the situation.” “An’ it might get us all killed. We’re outnumbered, if only by a little. Don’t cede the element of surprise. Ever. Learned that long afore we got to Hera, I did. You just be patient. You got a handgun?” “Uh, actually, no.” “Well here,” she said, quietly pressing a small black wooden-gripped snub-nosed revolver at him. “Hide this. Move around slowly, get behind them or to their flanks. Don’t let them see. And don’t do nothin’ ‘till I do. Then do exactly what I do.” “You’re the boss,” Simon said, his stomach twisted up at the prospect of shooting someone. River was in danger, though. That made something like the Hippocratic Oath seem mighty arbitrary at the moment. “This is the one!” the gimpy man was saying, pointing at River. “She’s the tchen wah what got poor Lee shot up!” “Now wait just a moment, young man,” Book said, interposing himself between River and her accuser. “This girl hasn’t done you any ill—” “Shut up, preacherman!” the hoodlum spat. “You ain’t a big-bad Browncoat with a big, bad gun, now, are you? All you got is that book! An’ I got five o’ my boys wi’ me now! An’ there ain’t no gorram judge around!” “And what are you planning on doing about it?” Book said, calmly. “We gonna take her, that’s what! Gonna take her and do her right, like a gorram whore should be done! Red Rock Tong style! Then, when we’re done, we gonna take her o’er to th’ infirmary, and let her wait on poor Lee! Give ‘em a little comfort in his hour o’ need!” “Am I to understand that you are planning on raping this young woman?” Book demanded in a stern, fatherly tone. “Don’t you know,” he continued, brandishing his Bible like a weapon, “that rape is a damnable sin?” The man didn’t look impressed. “Ain’t the worse thing I e’er done,” he said with a sneer. “’Sides, your silly book don’t scare me none – I done taken’ refuge!” “You’re a Buddhist? Well, I might be mistaken, but rape isn’t condoned by the Buddha’s teachings, either.” “Didn’t say I was a good Buddhist, now did I?” he cackled. His compatriots had surrounded him and laughed along with him, a snarling, evil laugh. “Nor a very good pirate, either, I suppose.” “Now why would you say that? Just fer that, I’m gonna be the first to use her gorram ‘auxiliary airlock’, if you know what I mean!” “I mean, it’s clear you’re a just petty hood that the Tong picked up as port-side cannon-fodder. How long you been in the Tong?” The man looked taken aback. “’Bout five years, now. No, six,” he corrected. The other gang members looked a little confused, exchanging glances with each other. Book continued, keeping their attention focused on him. “Six years. And how many raids you been on in six years?” “Uh, one. Took a slave ship, I did! On the Invisible Shadow! Honorable Coty says I’m more valuable keepin’ the boys in Onyx in line than I’d be as a grunt on a skiff,” he said, defensively. “Six years, and you’ve only made one raid? You must have made a right hash of it, to never get back to the real deal. If you had the brains or the guts required you’d be flyin’. That’s where the money is. One good raid, that’s big cash, even for a ‘grunt on a skiff’. More than you’re getting shaking down merchants and whores on Onyx. No, you are a very poor pirate, and even the other pirates think so.” “You tryin’ to piss me off, Shepherd? ‘Cause you done gone and done that!” the man snarled. “Now we gonna take care o’ you, as well! The Black Scarab done got into port last night, and those huh choo-shang tza-jiao duh tzang-huo done been in the Black a long time; they ain’t too picky where they put their peters – hell, some o’ them enjoy playin’ sly, as long as the catcher don’ wanna play!” “Trying to piss you off? No, I was trying to avoid bloodshed. I was trying to appeal to your better nature,” he said, his voice rising like a sermon. People were starting to stare. “I was trying to keep this poor, sweet, innocent girl from your rapacious and licentious hands!” “What’s that mean?” the man said, confused. “That means you like to rape and do other nasty things,” explained Book in a friendly tone. “Uh, thanks. Go on.” “I was trying to abstain from violence, for the power of the Lord is mightier than the greatest of men!” Book continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I was trying to give you an opportunity to repent of your evil ways! But no! You resist the Word! You resist the commandment of the Lord! You resist the peace of common decency and the brotherhood of man! You are a sinner! And for the sinful, lo, this Word shall be as a weapon of light!” he said, brandishing the Bible over his head – and every eye was focused upon it – before he brought it down – hard – on the bandage around the gimpy pirate’s thigh. The effect was immediate. The man screamed loudly and collapsed on the floor. Book stooped and smoothly plucked the Black Knight automatic out of his holster. He straightened, but didn’t point it anywhere in particular. He didn’t need to. While he had been talking, Zoe and Simon had worked their way surreptitiously behind the pirates. When he made his move, Simon had put the pistol to the temple of one pirate and whispered menacingly, “Move, and I’ll show you what happens when a small caliber bullet goes through your frontal lobes. It won’t kill you – just make you a vegetable.” Zoe had pulled her side-arm cut-down shotgun out of her holster and pointed it to the neck of one pirate, and pointed the barrel of a very shiny .357 revolver at the head of another. “No one needs to do anything heroic,” Zoe said, calmly. “’Cause I’m already pissed off myself, an’ it don’t take much to move me to violence. Sorry, preacher, just a weakness of mine,” she said with a smile. “We all have our weaknesses,” Book said, understandably. “I’ll pray for you.” He looked down to where the gimpy pirate was sprawled, still clutching his injured leg. “Now you, sir, need to find some direction in your life. Because if you run with a pack of wolves, then you’re gonna get ticks and fleas – and an early and unmourned death with no help of salvation OR a decent future incarnation.” He gestured with the Black Knight like it was a baton. “You wanna be careful w’ that piece, Shepherd?” the wounded pirate said nervously. “Shootin’ a man in cold blood, that ain’t a very Christian sorta thing t’be doin’!” “Maybe,” Book said darkly, “I ain’t a very good Christian.” He looked around surveyed the gathered crowd, looked at the captured thugs. He had the very thing every preacher loves: a captive audience. “Violence begets violence, my friend. Live by the sword,” he said, pointing the big pistol at the pirate’s head, “and you’re likely to die by the sword!” Book fired. The shot went through the soft metal of the Concourse walkway, not three inches from the pirate’s ear. “You need to rethink your life, son,” he said to the pirate, kindly, pointing the pistol barrel toward the ceiling. “I think I just wet m’self,” the man whimpered. Book just shook his head. In one smooth motion Book removed the clip from the gun, removed the round in the chamber, and took it over to a near-by noodle stand where he dropped it in a boiling pot. Simon had relieved three of the thugs of their visible guns while Zoe took care of the arms of the other two. One by one, they all got unloaded and added to the broth. Simon tipped the vendor lavishly to pay for the ruined noodles. “Don’t think this is over, pretty boy!” the pirate he had threatened spat at him. “You stay here, I’ll find ye’! You leave this rock, I’ll find ye’! Red Rock Tong takes care of it’s people! We’re brothers! You make an enemy o’ one o’ us, you got the whole damn Tong on yer ass! Wherever ye’go inna ‘verse, we hunt you down, we make you our woman! We—” “Oh, shut up,” Simon said, and hit the man in the face with his gun. It wasn’t a powerful blow – it probably hurt Simon’s hand more than the pirate’s face – but it reminded him of who held the gun. “Now,” Zoe said, when the thugs were more-or-less unarmed. “We don’t wanna see no more red headbands makin’ trouble for folk, OK? We got enough other crap to deal with. Now git on your way, and don’t poke your heads outa your ships ‘till you’re ready to space out again. Or there’s gonna be consequences and repercussions, dong fa?” She turned to leave, and the pirate nearest her scrambled in his sash for something, presumably a weapon. Without even turning her head she pointed the shotgun at her hip at his head again. He put his hands slowly in the air. “No heroes, today,” she said, and waited until River, Book, and Simon passed by before she left the Red Rock Tong standing there without much in the way of protection. Simon doubted they would fare well. By the looks in the eyes of the Concourse patrons and vendors, Red Rock Tong wasn’t too popular on Onyx. Once he caught up with River, he had put the little pistol in his coat pocket, laying aside the role of two-fisted pistol-whipping avenger for a moment in favor of the role of concerned big brother. “Are you okay, Mei-mei?” he asked quietly. “I hope those men—” “You hit like a girl,” River complained, then sped up so she could talk to Book. “I was saying, using an objective moral code on the basis . . .” “I’m a doctor,” Simon defended himself weakly, holding up his fingers to her back. “My hands are delicate, life-giving instruments!” If River heard, she ignored him. “Good work, Simon,” Zoe said, holstering her weapons. “Very cool under fire. I like that. Very manly.” “You heard the ‘hit like a girl’ comment, eh?” “Oh, yeah. And while technically accurate, I don’t think it detracted significantly from your performance.” “I am a doctor, you know, my hands—” “Yeah, yeah, life-giving instruments,” she said dismissively. “It’s the confidence that I was talking about. Your voice didn’t waver, your hands didn’t shake. An’ you woulda pulled that trigger in an instant. Plenty o’ new recruits I couldn’t say the same about.” “Well, it was my sister! What else could I do? With them talking about raping and enslaving her? I mean, aren’t there standards of conduct, even among pirates?” “Only the better sort,” Zoe said soothingly. “Still, you think I did OK? I’m pretty new to this ‘desperate, dangerous fugitive’ thing.” “Oh, we’ll have you twirling your big black mustache and laughing evilly in no time.” “Oh, good. I want to fit in,” he said. “You are going to have one problem,” Zoe said, after a moment of consideration. “And that would be . . . my hitting like a girl?” “Two problems, then. No, I was talking about how Kaylee is going to react.” “Oh no! Will she lose respect for me?” Zoe eyed him significantly. “ ‘Lose respect?’ Simon, after I tell her about this – with appropriate embellishment, of course – she’s gonna be leavin’ snail trails all over the decks! Brains, cute, and violent?” She grinned widely, showing row of sparkling, sinister looking teeth. “How can a girl resist a tasty treat like that?”