Kaylee’s Lament

Part Seventeen

When the first surveyors came to this system, two hundred years ago, they found metaphorical gold in the giant mottled green ball of gas that was the fifth planet. It was a titanic Jovian sphere, and it had more than thirty moons – over half of the material in the solar system – ringing around it. Four of the moons looked promising for terraforming. Two of them were ideal. The surveyors called the emerald gas-giant Vajra, and the two moons that were eventually coerced into becoming life-harboring worlds were named Varuna and Agni. Air and Fire. Varuna was the larger of the two, nearly 10,000 miles across, while Agni made do with a only a tad over 6,000. Both surfaces were warmed as much by the proximity of Vajra as they were the bright but relatively cool star. Once they were simultaneously beaten into submission by the Chartered Vajra Company, they became warm, lush paradises, and settlers rushed in from the other worlds. Under the political regime in place at the time, Varuna was primarily settled by Anglo descendents, while Agni became the home for the Sino peoples. It was an experiment in peaceful cooperation. As no war ever broke out between the two closely-linked worlds, it had to be seen as a success. After 150 years of human habitation, warm, wet Varuna was home to nearly twenty million souls, and her sister world boasted sixteen million – Varuna’s prolific oceans kept the total livable land mass on each one relatively equivalent. Varuna made up for it by hosting dozens of gigantic geodesic flying cities, where the rich and powerful descendents of the original stockholders played sophisticated and pointless games and occasionally worked. Agni didn’t get the oceans – she didn’t have Varuna’s natural water ice to start with – but she did get an Alliance military training facility and the Alliance Exploration Academy. It also got the lion’s share of industrial production, and the eventually lavish headquarters building of the Chartered Vajra Company, which was now filthy stinking rich. In co-orbit with them, in the shallow gravity well of another moonlet, the lifeless rock of carbonaceous chondrite known as Gopi, was the Alliance Supply and Distribution Center #4. It rarely was in sight of the other moons, but its convenient location to both made it an ideal transfer point for their contact with the other nearby worlds, which in turn kept the mega-barges en route to the Rim from landing on their respective paradises. They just preferred the ugly and utilitarian station be kept out of their spectacular view, thank you very much. Wendell had been to Agni twice, for training, and to Varuna once, for vacation. He didn’t particularly care for either of them. Agni was too hot, Varuna too expensive. He didn’t much like his quarters at the ASDC4, but they were cheap and the air was pleasantly cool. Wendell didn’t like much of anything. That included the job he was very good at, and which was currently causing him a fresh attack of ulcers. Wendell looked again at the clock. The Pear Blossom was fifteen minutes late. He hated that. He had a dock full of equipment and supplies, a General who had royally reamed him out just four days ago, and a Doctor who was going to hunt him down and kill him if the equipment wasn’t delivered on time. He hadn’t been thrilled about chartering a deep-space Rim-world tramp freighter, but he’d done it. He had a contract. He had codes. He had every gorram thing on the gorram list. And they were fifteen minutes late. Sixteen minutes. He had expected this. While his dealings with tramp freighters in the past had been limited, he knew how lax their idea of scheduling was. They could be off time by a matter of hours and it didn’t seem to bother them – unless their money was involved. Wendell preferred dealing with the smaller commercial carriers for a job like this, but he checked: almost no one had heard of Heracles Station, nor had they any burning desire to go there. So he was stuck with the Pear Blossom. If she ever showed. He had expected this. The last of the cargo had come in last night, the huge package (a TR-10 Compounder, whatever that was) in three parts. One massed in at close to four tons, nothing but a big block of steel and plastic – the “masticator”, the manifest said, part 3 of 3. It had cleared with over twelve hours to spare. But he knew that the pick-up would be late, so he didn’t schedule the stevedore team to begin the careful loading process (a TR-10 was considered a Class 5 Medical Instrument, and therefore required a union team of six to properly pack and load) for an hour after the ship arrived. Seventeen minutes. He had expected this. It was frustrating, but there was nothing else he could do until the ship showed up. And that could be anytime, with these people. It was possible they ran into engine trouble, or even exploded. Mutiny wasn’t unheard of among these savages. Or slavers. They probably wouldn’t even do him the courtesy to wave. Eighteen minutes. Probably eat their own young, he fumed. Nineteen minutes. At twenty five minutes, he knew, they would start incurring financial penalties, according to their contract. He smiled at that. Usually, those penalties came out of the Captain’s bonus. He wondered how Captain Kuan would take that. Twenty minutes. How soon was lunch? Twenty two minutes. He wondered if he could get out early, should this idiot not show. At twenty-three minutes and thirty seconds, he got a wave from Traffic Control requesting berth for scheduled transport, M1J11577. He grumbled to himself and gave the authorization. “About gorram time,” he said, standing. Now he had the unpleasant task of welcoming the crew and initiating the paperwork on them. He waited a whole eight additional minutes for the airlock to seal and cycle before the door slid open. Another four minutes for the Captain to come out, stinking of sweat and wine and worse things, he had no doubt. Her long black hair was dirty and tangled, she wore a long green coat with the company’s logo on it shoulder, and she wore a very heavy automatic pistol at her belt. She showed her horrific face like she was reeling into a spaceport bar, not conducting official business with the Alliance. Damn Rim-world tramps. “Ni how!” he said with a polite bow. “Welcome to the Alliance S&D Center Number Four! I’m Wendell, Captain Kuan, so nice to finally meet you in person.” “Likewise,” she said, her breath as potent as a brewery. Wendell tried not to scowl. “We’ll have the team here in just a little while to load up, but before that can happen I need to do a little paperwork. How many crew on board today?” “Countin’ me? Four.” “Any passengers?” “Do I look like a gorram passenger cruiser?” “That would be a no. Crew names?” “Why you wanna know that?” she asked, suspiciously. “Station policy, is all. Got to know what to put on your temporary station IDs.” “Well . . . okay, guess we ain’t done nothin’ here t’be ashamed of. Yet!” she howled, slapping Wendell on the back. “Day’s still young, ain’t it?” “Yes. Indeed,” Wendell said. He was almost tempted to run their names on the cortex, but realized what would happen if something popped up. Lawmen, extradition, impound – and in the meantime, their sorry ship would sit in his dock, leaking radiation and taking up space and grinding his smooth operation to a halt. Wendell wasn’t about to do that. “Names?” he repeated politely. “Name’s Regina Kuan. We got Spike Watson, he’s the pilot, we got Darryl Morgan – sorry sonuvabitch is the owner’s gorram brother, ‘bout mos’ useless pile o’ go se this side of—” “The fourth crew?” “Rowen, she’s our engineer, that’s Rowen Tchenwah.” Wendell raised his eyebrows on that, but didn’t comment. Rim-worlders. “Anyone sick? In need of medical attention?” “Nope.” “Name of the ship is still the Golden Pear Blossom?” “Was when I got up this mornin’.” “The owner of record and ultimate responsible party is still Captain Milo Morgan, doing business as the Arachne’s Revenge Transport & Hauling Company, of Wisdom City, Sophia? “Yep.” “Okay, and I’ve taken the liberty of waiving the usual health and safety inspection, due to the . . . very brief nature of your stay. Take these temporary ID cards, please wear them visibly at all times while on the station. I trust you will properly inform your crew of the station rules: “Please do not try to leave the station except by the means of transport which brought you here. Please do not bring any fresh fruits or vegetables into the station. Please do not bring any off-world pets onto the station without supplying the required veterinary health inspection paperwork at least three days in advance. Please do not engage in sexual relations with anyone who did not accompany you on your ship without first completing a health exam and turning it in to the CMO. Please use your own ship’s quarters to rest, sleep, or engage in sexual relations in, or secure a private suite at any of the station’s three fine hotels; public fornication is a misdemeanor. Please use public rest room facilities or the facilities on your ship for the relief of bodily wastes; public urination is a misdemeanor. Should you be suddenly overcome with sickness that prevents this, then please inform station janitorial personnel, who may be reached via station intercom by pressing the large mop-and-bucket icon, and remain at the location of your accident until a member of our staff arrives and decontaminates the area of any potential biohazards. “In the very unlikely case of a station-wide emergency, including, but not limited to, decompression, fire, communicable disease, radiation exposure, chemical contamination, improper atmo mixture, freezing, or over-heating, then please observe all applicable safety regulations and proceed in an orderly manner to designated areas for decontamination, evacuation, appropriate medical treatment or other disposition as determined by station Emergency Management personnel. “During your stay, no cargo shall be loaded on or unloaded from your vessel without the express consent of station personnel – that’s me – and without the proper import/export paperwork being completed. This shall not be construed to include personal belongings of the crew, limited to one large bag or two small bags, all of which are subject to search without cause or prior notice by station security personnel. There shall be no gambling on the station outside of designated casino facilities in Yellow section. Firearms and knife blades over five inches in length are not permitted beyond the Gray section, under penalty of law. Such weapons may be entrusted to station personnel at the point of entry – that’s me, again – and secured within the locked cabinets near the entrance of the loading dock, there and there. Note that discharge of an unauthorized firearm within the station constitutes a Class C misdemeanor, above and beyond any incidental damage or injury you might cause, which is punishable by a fifty credit fine and up to two days in the station’s detention facility per occurrence. “Food and lodging may be secured on the Blue section and below, and additional entertainments to make your stay more pleasant may be found in the Yellow section. Should you elect not to do so, for your comfort and convenience coffee, tea, doughnuts, and rice cakes are available free of charge in the Visiting Crew Lounge in Gray section, room 18. The Red section providesa wide range of medical treatment at a reduced rate with the display of your ID cards. Green section is a Security Zone and may not be entered without escort by designated security personnel. Violet section is command, communication, and traffic control and must be considered off limits by all unauthorized personnel. Gray section, Brown section, Orange section, and Indigo section are the port and warehouse sections of the station, which can only be entered by authorized persons on official Alliance business.” “That all?” Kuan asked, her eyes wide, as Wendell paused to breathe. “Not quite. As this is a very busy port facility, it is required that your ship must leave the loading lock no later than three hours after your cargo has been loaded or unloaded. Failure to do so will result in a fine based on the amount of time over the limit. Should they be needed, repair and refueling facilities are located at the extreme lower end of the station; please note that repairs are conducted by a private contractor. The Alliance, its agents, assigns, and duly appointed representatives shall not be held responsible or accountable for any damage done by this contractor, although the Alliance will be responsive to properly filed civil or criminal charges should an independent advocate determine that such charges are meet, just, and proper.” “Any more?” Wendell sighed. “I’ll skip most of the rest. Just keep your people out of trouble while we work. I encourage you to make use of our entertainment and . . . hygienic facilities while you wait. I’m going to have the loading team in here in a few moments. Estimated loading time is eighteen hours, twenty minutes, but remember: that’s just an estimate. Now, do you have any requests for how the cargo is loaded? While I can’t violate any Alliance shipping rules, it is acknowledged that the Captain of a chartered freighter has ultimate authority over disposition of the cargo.” “Put the heaviest go-se in back,” grunted Kuan. “Now, we get paid?” “After the cargo is loaded, yes. Here is a crew stipend, as stipulated by contract, a fifty-credit per diem per crewman, to be deducted from the port fee. They can use their ID cards to activate the temporary accounts. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay around long enough to see the first few items loaded. I can’t let you touch it in any meaningful way, but if you tell my people how to load it, they’ll handle it from there.” “No problem,” Kuan said, taking a flask out of her coat and throwing back a shot. “I’ll probably only let my crew out two at a time. Don’t like to leave my boat alone.” “I assure you Captain Kuan, your ship is perfectly—” “I said, I don’t like leavin’ my boat alone! Why we still talkin’ ‘bout somethin’ that’s already been decided?” Her eyes were flashing angrily . . . and that scar . . . “I . . . see. No problems, Captain. Here’s your fuel voucher, here’s your Medical Equipment waiver. Just sign here . . . here . . .here and here. Initial here. Sign here. And . . . here. All done.” “All done?” “All done.” “There a form I gotta fill out t’take a dump on this rat-trap?” “Uh . . . no.” “Good. ‘Cause the moment I get your boys straight, gonna hafta find me a can.” “Charming,” Wendell said as Kuan turned on her booted heel and headed back into the flying fei oo rust-bucket she had crawled out of. *

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“So here’s the situation, kids,” Zoe said as she came back into the bridge. “Darryl and I are gonna stay here for the first watch – about nine hours. If you want to go out, sniff some Alliance-paid-for air and catch a meal, go ahead. We got fifty credits apiece, per diem. That should buy you some dinner, maybe a souvenir or two. You might even want to catch a nap. But don’t talk to nobody but each other, if you can help it.” “No problem, Cap,” Wash said, adjusting his eye patch. He looked at Kaylee. “Wanna go get somethin’ to eat? Free money!” “I could eat,” Kaylee agreed. “No more than one drink apiece,” Mal warned. “Captain, after Sofia, that ain’t a problem,” Kaylee said. “Ain’t like we’re gonna shoot no one and get tried for murder,” Wash pointed out helpfully. “See you don’t,” growled Mal. “I’m not real happy ‘bout anyone gettin’ off the boat, but it wouldn’t be in character if we didn’t. How’s that goin’? Any suspicions?” “Not a one,” chuckled Zoe. “Let’s keep it that way. I know we got Team 2 on stand-by, but I really don’t wanna have to use ‘em.” “Okay, go eat,” Mal said, shooing the two out. “Keep your radios on, and be back here in . . . nine hours or less. I’m goin’ to seal up most o’ the ship – no need for strangers to wander where they shouldn’t.” “Shiny!” Kaylee said, smiling through her grime. She caught herself, and immediately transformed her face into a grubby scowl. Jayne’s orange hat – borrowed against his better judgment – helped distract the casual eye from her face. “I mean, ‘gorram shiny,” she said in a low, harsh voice. She and Wash headed out the hold, their temporary ID’s in sharp contrast to their filthy uniforms. Wash stopped to check the cortex for good food – he was on a bao hunt – while Kaylee wandered over to Wendell, who was checking in the stevedore team. When he was done, and the crisply uniformed men began loading up the stacks and stacks of crates and boxes, Kaylee managed to get his attention. “Where can a girl get a room hereabouts?” she asked, as gruffly as she could. “Feelin’ a nap comin’ on.” In truth she just wanted a shower, but she knew that would probably be a bad idea. After nearly a week of not bathing, she was riper than she cared to think about. “Blue section and below. But needn’t bother.” “Why the hell not?” “Because your boss already paid for a room. Blue section. The Vajra View, room 8. Not the best, I’m afraid, but it’s . . . clean.” “Really?” Zoe was so considerate. She hadn’t mentioned that part. Probably paid for it with her own per diem too, Kaylee thought. Good captain. “Yes, all paid up. They have excellent showers there, too. And free soap. All included. Right down the hall from the Black Hole Lounge, which is popular with the spacers.” Which meant that she wanted to stay away from there. But a good meal that she neither had to cook or clean, followed by six or seven hours of sleep in a clean-smelling room sounded great. “What do I gotta do to get in?” she asked huskily. “Just show the front desk your ID. They’ll issue you a card key.” “Thanks,” she muttered, then stood by the hatch, waiting for Wash. “Oh! Almost forgot,” Wendell said. “If you have a weapon, please put it in the cabinet. I’ll issue you a key.” Frowning the way she thought Mal would have frowned, she pulled her little gun out of her shoulder holster and put it in the metal cabinet. She tried to look like she was comfortable handling it. At least she didn’t drop it. Wash came up about then and did the same. “Feels kinda nice, not having to carry a piece,” he remarked. “There are some good points to civilization, like not usually having someone shoot at you.” “You find a restaurant?” “The Lucky Turtle, Blue level. I thought we could eat, then have some fun. I want to hit a couple of stores, buy some souvenirs. Maybe some decent booze.” “What’s wrong with my booze?” Kaylee demanded. “You don’t seem to mind it too much when we’re out in the Black!” “Honey, sweetie, your reactor squeezin’s are the best in several cubic light years, I’ll be the first to admit,” he soothed. “But there are some kinds of booze you can only get in the Core, and I thought I’d get something special.” Kaylee shrugged. Booze was booze. She drank for the effect, not the flavor, and her home-made still was just as good at making ethanol as any three-hundred year old distillery. “What are you going to get with your free money?” he asked, with all the enthusiasm of a kid with four bits burning a hole in his pocket. The corridors in this part of the station were poorly lit, very industrial looking. For all that, they still looked more “civilized” than anything on the Rim to her. Even someplace like Persephone. “Oh, I don’t know . . . maybe something . . . civilized for Simon. Any idea what he’d like?” “Hmmm. Stuffy doctor boy. Toughie. Something for his room, maybe? Art?” “Art? Nah. He’s kinda fussy about his art,” she said, remembering a certain ceramic plate on a frontier world about which they had divergent ideas. “Well, I’m sure I’ll know it when I see it,” she said, after several unproductive minutes of thought. “How are things going with him, anyway?” Wash asked, sincerely. “Well, kinda hard t’say, really,” admitted Kaylee. “He’s real nice and sweet one minute and . . .” “And stuffy doctor boy the next?” “Yep. He hasn’t said anything too terribly stupid lately – that’s a good thing, I ‘spose. We had a good time at the McKlintock’s.” “That’s why you chose the name of their oldest – and hottest – daughter and paired it with ‘drunken whore’ for your alias.” “She was just makin’ eyes at him!” she said defensively. “Of course she was. He’s a young, attractive doctor. Hell, I’d make eyes at him. She’s a young –very young – extremely attractive young woman with raging hormones and no single men in sight that aren’t a blood relative. It’s not like he solicited it.” “Don’t matter,” Kaylee said. “He might not be my boyfriend . . . but he ain’t gonna be someone else’s ‘till I’m good and done with him.” She waited a moment until some station crewmen passed – giving them a wide berth. “D’you think Simon’s still interested?” “Sweetie, how could he resist,” he began taking her shoulders and turning her towards a semi-reflective panel, “all of this?” Reflected in it was her filthy, misshapen uniform, untidy hair, dirty face, and shockingly ugly knit cap. “I mean, I’m happily married, and it’s taking everything I got not to strip you naked and take you right here in the corridor.” “Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze fuh ur-tze!” Kaylee said, smacking him lightly. “I don’t know how Zoe puts up with you, but I’m sure there’s some pain involved.”

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“Y’all done playin’ girlie dress-up yet?” Jayne grumbled behind the curtain. “Never heard it took this long to get purty!” “A woman doesn’t ‘get pretty’, Jayne,” Inara called out. “She reveals her inner beauty.” She looked down at River. “Hold still, bao bei, almost there.” River was leaning back, face perfectly motionless – and perfectly white. Knowing that if they were called upon, they wouldn’t have sufficient time to prepare a decent disguise – and River couldn’t be seen, here. Not with that bounty still out. Masks and veils were out. While on some Core worlds they were in fashion, the Vajra system was not one of them, and displaying one would be more noteworthy than they were willing to risk. Any kind of prop disguise – like Zoe’s scar or Wash’s eyepatch – would also have called attention. But Inara had come up with another idea. There was plenty of interlunar travel that went through the Gopi station, and much of it was members of the hospitality industry headed to resorts on Varuna – including many native Agni geishas. Luckily, Inara had an only slightly too-large traditional kimono in bright red, with a Yuanese love-poem embroidered in Chinese characters all over it. When wearing it, River looked like a geisha. Inara’s skilled use of Zoe’s makeup kit was completing the picture, including accents around her eyes that made her look decidedly Sinic. All she lacked was the black wig, which Inara had plenty to choose from. Many of her clients had a penchant for role-playing. “Are you doing all right?” she asked, concerned. River was unnaturally still. “I’m in a play, a wonderful play,” she whispered. “Almost done, I promise,” Inara promised. “It’s itchy,” River mentioned. “That’s the price of . . . well, beauty, officially. But it’s more allure than beauty.” “Can I have a fan?” “Sure, you can have a fan. I’ve got a lovely purple fan that would go very nicely with this.” “Can I have a fan, too?” Jayne asked in a mocking tone. “Jayne, I’m not sure you’d be comfortable with where I put it,” Inara said warningly. She made a final few strokes with her brush. “Okay, River, we’re done.” River sat bolt upright almost immediately. “You want to see?” the Companion asked. River nodded. Inara picked up an ornate hand-held mirror and positioned it for her. River’s eyes got wider. “That’s River?” she asked, amazed. “That was River. Now it’s . . . let’s just call you Mei-mei, for now.” “Am I alluring?” “If you act alluring. We can practice a few moves.” “Whores got moves?” Jayne asked incredulously. “Outa bed moves?” “Geishas are not whores, pee goo,” Inara said. She was starting to lose patience with the man. He had done nothing but moan and complain since he came on board. “Geishas are hostesses. They are there to make sure hard working men and women have a pleasant and enjoyable time.” “Huh! If they want me to have—” “Jayne, let’s just spare the crude remark and the acidic and snappy retort that you aren’t going to understand anyway, okay? We have at least another twenty hours in this shuttle together. I’d hate to run short of material before we’re back on Serenity. By the way, we’re done. Come inspect my handywork.” Jayne flung the curtain back and openly gaped. “Gorram! You don’t look like River no more at all!” “That was the point,” Inara said, snapping shut the makeup kit. “I ‘spected some thick goop, maybe make her nose look different or somthin’, but ai ya, you look like a little plastic doll!” “ ‘Porcelain doll’ is what we’re looking for.” “What’s porslin? That French?” “It’s ceramic . . . like the stuff the Mudders harvest.” “Oh. Well, she sure do look like she got mud on her face. An inch of it. But she sure don’t look like River Tam.” During the conversation River hadn’t taken her eyes off the mirror. “I’m in a wonderful play, and my mask will hide me from the ‘verse,” she whispered. “But not them . . . they can see, they can see.” “Well, she ain’t the only one what looks different. When can I get out of these rags?” he asked, posing uncomfortably in his suit. “You’re supposed to be my bodyguard, and a Companion has high standards of behavior and dress to maintain,” she pointed out. “Remember the security detail that accompanied the Counselor? But you honestly don’t look bad in that. In fact,” she said, turning her attention to him more fully, “if you tie the tie properly, and trim up that mustache thing of yours, you might just pass for a handsome legitimate businessman. I’ll hand it to Frank, he knows his business.” “What, this?” Jayne asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “I look good?” “You look good,” Inara admitted. “I never thought I’d say it. But if I was passing you on the street, and you didn’t open your mouth at all – and I mean at all – you might just pass for handsome. And legitimate. Frank does good work. That dark color gives you a certain appearance of savoir faire. That’s French,” she added, smiling a little. “French? How do you say it? Sav-wor-fare?” “Repeat: Sav-wah.” “Sav-wah.” “Faire.” “Fare.” “Savois Faire” “Savwah Fare.” “Close enough.” “Savwah Fare. Shiny! What’s it mean?” “Well,” Inara said, rising and circling the well-dressed mercenary, “it means a certain confident sophistication, a certain style, that is almost always alluring.” “Style?” Jayne asked. “Y’mean, I got me a style?” “Oh, you so do,” Inara agreed, nodding her head emphatically. “Huh. Never had me no style before. I mean, ‘less you count how I end folk. I ‘spose I always had a flair for that.” “Believe me, Jayne, you do have your very own style.” She stood back after she had made a complete circuit and considered. “You might even make a decent male Companion, with your build. Of course, it would take a lifetime of training, and a whole new education, but I know of some very wealthy ladies on Persephone, Ariel, Xiao and other places who might pay handsomely for a fellow such as yourself.” “You . . . I . . . what? You think I’d make me a good boy whore?” “Male Companion, and no, I don’t think so. I just said you had the build for it.” “Y’mean that . . . some ladies . . . pay a man t’ . . . y’know, have sex?” “Yes, of course!” Inara giggled despite herself. River was observing, but not interacting. “They pay the men?” “Yes. Why, is that troubling to you?” “I just don’t see – you mean, they’re too ugly to get men, so—” “Nothing of the sort! The clients I’m talking about are wealthy ladies of class and distinction, ladies who can afford body sculpture and the finest cosmetic artists in the ‘verse. No, they hire Companions because they are often too busy to pursue a social life on their own, or they are wary of predatory suitors. But they have . . . needs, just like everyone else, and there are plenty of social functions they attend where having a Companion is highly beneficial to their business interests.” “That’s just . . . it don’t seem quite right. And these boy whores do this on purpose? And ladies want’em? And they get paid to get their rocks off?” “The male Companions are highly sought after,” she agreed reluctantly. “They gotta service the sly fellas, too?” “Yes, Jayne, a certified Companion needs to be trained in all the acts of love. It says so in the Charge: ‘For behold, all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals.’ That includes both genders.” It took Jayne a while to assimilate this information. Inara took the time to sit at the pilot chair and check on their pre-arranged message drop from Serenity. Two hours in, and so far no contact. That was to be expected. Either everything went wrong the moment they arrived, or everything was going well, and communication silence would be maintained. She pulled up the station news on the cortex, just to make certain that nothing noteworthy had escaped her notice. “Nope, couldn’t do it,” Jayne finally said, after many minutes of contemplatin. “Do what?” Inara asked absently. There was nothing in the news. “Couldn’t be no boy whore. Not if I had t’be a butt monkey. Even once. Just couldn’t do it.” “Jayne, I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Inara said, turning to face him. “Being a Companion takes tremendous dedication and years of training. You have to really have a vocation for it. Just being . . . randy and enthusiastic isn’t nearly enough.” “He’s scared,” River said dreamily. “He’s scared of what he truly might—” “That’s quite enough talk ‘bout my private business!” the mercenary said. “Ain’t gonna be some rich lady’s tool, and damn sure ain’t gonna be no pillow-biter, don’t care how much coin I could make! Now y’all just go back to your girlie talk and give me some peace!” River looked at Inara and winked, and Inara couldn’t help but giggle again. “Gorram job’s the biggest waste o’time I done ever seen,” he grumbled. “Ain’t ‘sposed t’be wearin’ a suit ‘till I kick! Best fighter in the Rim an’ I get stuck tellin’ panty tales with two women in a stinky-ass shuttle . . .” “Don’t worry,” River said, coming up behind him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “You will get what you want. And soon.” “What I want is to be bustin’ heads and kickin’ ass!” he snarled. “Not playin’ nancy-girl!” “That’s what I said,” River said softly. Inara wasn’t paying attention. Something had come up on the screen. She had gotten the docking schedule from the cortex just to make certain the Pear Blossom was listed. It was, along with time of arrival and estimated time of departure. But six lines below that was another entry that suddenly caught her attention. Arachne’s Revenge. “Go se,” she whispered.

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Kaylee found the front desk of the Vajra View without any trouble – it was a popular hotel that let rooms by the hour, to accommodate the odd schedules of the many spacers that came through the station. The front desk clerk took a brief look at her ID, threw her a key, and went back to the cortex. She was looking forward to a nap. She and Wash had eaten their fill at the Lucky Turtle (the bao was not the best, but the soup had been quite adequate) and they had both wandered off to do some shopping. She had found a few things, some for her and some for Simone and River, and now she wanted sleep like she wanted atmo. She popped the key card into the door and swung it open. Small room, smaller than her bunk on Serenity, but it smelled fairly clean. She dumped her shopping bags on the bed and started taking off her boots, when the door slammed shut behind her. “I wath wonderin’ who migh’ thow up if I renthed a room for ‘em,” came the sinisterly happy voice of Milo Morgan. “I thuthpected one o’ my buthineth rivalth.” He came out of the shadow of the door, a small automatic pistol in his hand. “I even hire' thum exthra boyth ath backup. Didn’ realithe tha’ I’d geth thum thwee' reventh, thoo!” “Oh, go se,” Kaylee whispered in horror, dropping her boot.