Kaylee’s Lament

Part Eighteen

The stevedores were doing a fast and efficient job of stacking and securing the freight in the cargo hold. There were six of them, plus a foreman, all dressed in gray coveralls with the station logo on their shoulders, and they all worked with the efficiency of insects. They didn’t even talk while they worked. They took their breaks exactly on time, and were back to work exactly on time. They even seemed to sweat in unison. That was one of the things Mal really didn’t like about the culture Core. All bland efficiency, no soul. On Polycarp he watched a dozen slaves do half the work in twice the time these men were doing. But they sang like birds while they did it, not enjoying the work, but suffering through it. These guys weren’t suffering. But they were handy when there was work to be done. He stood on the catwalk, overseeing the details of the stowage. He tried to look as scruffy and disreputable as possible to avoid prolonged conversation – and it had worked admirably. No one had said a word to him that hadn’t been about business. They had been going like this for six or seven hours, now, and they had gotten more than half of the job completed in that time. The medical supplies, pharmaceuticals and hard-to-find items like prosthetics and advanced medical equipment, had been loaded first. Crate after crate of expensive Alliance gear was loaded up, tied down, and readied to withstand the trip to the fictional Heracles Station. The larger pieces were going to be last, the huge, heavy masticator (the part of the TR-10 that processed the raw materials, Simon had informed him) would be the last piece on, first piece off, and it would be loaded up in less than eight hours. Then they could depart the station early. That would be fine by him. The sooner they were clear of this orbiting anthill, the better. He was a little wary of the coming shift-change. Wendell had warned “Captain Kuan” that a new team would come in at 16:00 local to finish the job. They would have to be briefed and directed, but at the rate things were going, he didn’t think they’d have much to do. Zoe was overseeing the equipment sorting in the cargo bay. She was finally starting to get into her role, which Mal found strangely gratifying. He liked to see her branch out and grow a little, and this little experiment allowed her the opportunity to at least pretend to be Captain. Mal thought she secretly enjoyed the scar, too. She was used to most men giving her a wide berth because of her demeanor, but with that horrible fake mutilation, they didn’t want to get near her. She had even taken to “encouraging” the stevedores by getting in their face and shouting about how they were costing her more money. Every now and then he could even hear her shouts from here. His reverie was broken by the foreman, who came in with a clipboard and looked around. His eyes finding him on the catwalk, the man turned and walked up, shaking his head and muttering. “We’re about to go off shift,” he said. “Captain says she wants you outside for something.” Shrugging, Mal thumped heavily down the steps as the workers filed out. Zoe wasn’t in sight, which meant that she was in Wendell’s office. He shambled over to the room and put on his best blank expression – under all the grime, he hoped it was effective As he turned the corner, he heard that tell-tale click of a pistol being cocked that was the hallmark of his profession. “Darryl Morgan, you are ordered to lay down your arms! You are bound by law!” Startled, he almost whirled, drew, and shot – but they had used his alias. They didn’t know his real name. It was worth the possibility that they could talk their way out of this without losing the cargo – so gunplay wasn’t necessarily the best idea. He put up his hands as he felt an insistent hand pull the old black revolver he had replaced his beloved side-arm with from the holster on his belt. “Wha—?” he said, still playing dumb. “What’s this all about?” he whined. A hand reached out and turned him around roughly. He saw Zoe, her hands already bound behind her, with a gun at her head. The gun was held by a member of the station security – not the big, tough, well-armed-and-armored professionally competent Alliance Feds, but the rent-a-cop security officers who were more used to breaking up portside brawls than arresting wanted fugitives. There were four of them there, dressed in green coveralls and carrying little black SK7 .38 revolvers. They all looked very anxious to use them. None of them looked like they really knew how. Mal sighed. If he hadn’t been anxious not to blow their cover before they got this straightened out, he could have taken a deep breath and blown them all away. “You have been accused by your employer of misappropriation of funds and theft of company property,” the pipsqueak guard said, looking at him as if he had robbed the First Alliance Bank. “My . . . who?” “Your employer. Your brother Milo Morgan? Remember him? The man who owns your ship? The man who says that you failed to disburse funds properly, which is the same as embezzlement?” “Milo? Milo Morgan?” “Yes. Your brother. I spent two hours with him this morning putting the final touches on the complaint,” the man said with a sneer. “You sure it’s Milo? One eye, bad teeth . . .?” “Yes! I’m sure! He wants both of you held until he can get the warrants from Sophia served. I’m allowed to hold you under Alliance law since I have a local complaint until the circuit Magistrate comes back through here. In six days,” he added with relish. “Six . . . days?” “Yes, hwoon dahn. Six days.” “Go se,” Mal said as they bound his wrists. He only hoped that Kaylee and Wash could do something that could get them released long before then. He looked over to Zoe, who was looking far more pissed off than afraid. But she wasn’t a fool. He looked at her, and in that semi-telepathic way that they had developed in almost ten years of working together, he told her to stand down. She frowned and looked more pissed. “This is your fault,” he told her, accusingly. “You’re the one who hired that gorram one-eyed pilot, and he’s the one who convinced you to run from my dear brother. I only hope that he can put this right,” he said. She nodded the tiniest bit, then called him something rather vile and accused him of being useless, stupid, and lazy. If he didn’t know better, Mal could have sworn she was enjoying it.

*

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Wash was just headed back to the Gray section, shopping bag in hand, when he heard a commotion – a large group of people – up ahead in the corridor and headed this way. Remembering that he was supposed to be avoiding attention, he ducked into a dark alcove (the industrial dock section was full of them) and bent to tie his boot. Two station security were walking past – followed, to his surprise, by Mal and Zoe in cuffs, with two more security men behind them, guns holstered but clubs out. He only caught half of Zoe’s eye in the split second that she was close, but it was enough. She let him know that things had gone to hell and they needed his help. “Go se!” he whispered to himself as they receded down the hall. He was reaching for his radio when another group came from a slightly different corridor. Four ugly looking spacers, led by a wretchedly familiar one-eyed man. They hadn’t noticed him, being too engaged in laughing about some turn of good fortune. He had a sinking suspicion what that turn might be. “Go se!” he repeated when they had gone. Making damn sure no one else was coming, he picked up his radio. “Kaylee! Come in! Rowen! Kaylee! Whoever the hell you are right now, wake up and answer! Cap needs our help! Kaylee! Kaylee!”

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Kaylee was busy trying not to throw up. She had been bound and gagged by Captain Morgan, who smuggled her passed the security guards on watch in a laundry hamper; they ended up at his ship, the Arachne’s Revenge. It was a smaller ship than Serenity, an old Mothbat light transport, a short-range ship that only made it’s long journeys between worlds because of the addition of two extra fuel tanks and an upgrade to the drive. The tanks and the over-large drive did nothing to improve her looks – or her smell. She was ugly, inside and out. Just like her crew. Morgan had not been charitable. “I’ll thettle up wi’ th’ whore wonth I take her thip!” he declared as he rolled her into the small cargo hold. There were ten men waiting there, a few of his own and apparently seven local toughs he’d hired for the occasion: out-of-work spacers left behind in drunk-tanks by commercial ships, desperate losers willing to do anything for a little coin, and out-and-out thugs. He rolled her triumphantly past the men, did a little circle with the cart, and then pulled the thing up a narrow set of stairs into his own personal cabin, where he picked her up and flung her on his unmade bed. “A li’l thumpthin’ t’ ge’ you inna mood!” he said, leaning his horrible, unshaven face down and kissing her on the cheek. “I been dreamin’ ‘bou’ thith for weekth!” With a hideous chortle he bolted the door behind him, leaving her alone with the lights off. The utter darkness was actually a blessing. From what she saw of the room before he left, it was a fitting lair for Morgan: foul and disgusting. Now that she was in the dark, bound hand and foot, she had time to reflect on some things. Like, how checking with Zoe – or even Wash – would have been a really smart thing to do, about two hours ago. Or, maybe how being called a whore four times in a bar wasn’t really such a bad thing, when you put it in perspective. Perhaps why she had neglected to struggle or fight or really do anything productive at all but collapse and capitulate. She had beaten Morgan once, after all. Of course, she had been drunk and a little more . . . limber than usual, but still . . . It only took her about forty-five minutes to quit crying and begin to stop feeling sorry for herself. She was angry with herself, of course, but that was not being practical or productive. And bound and gagged in the lair of an evil space pirate with a deep-seated grudge and a penchant for rape, well, practical and productive would be a good place to start. She could hear the activity in the bridge next to her – it would be hard to sneak past any kind of watch, but she wasn’t even there yet. Still, with her head pressed up against the wall, she could hear two voices. She could almost make out their words, and if she just wiggled a little closer . . . “ . . . says they jus’ walked up an’ handed ‘em the papers’n ‘fore ye know it, the gorram cops were waitin’ t’bind ‘em . . .” “. . . brilliance, pure brilliance, the Old Man has, fer this sort o’ thin’. Even ended up with that tchen wah from Soaf fer a permanent piece o’ quim. Hope ‘e’s gonna share, har har har har . . .” “. . . never been this far inna Core before – hey, made a rhyme! Core-before! Ha! When we headed back out t’ the Rim?” “As soon as the Old Man gets what he came for. Notice all th’ new faces he done . . .” “. . . bunch o’ gorram mercenaries, and Core types, too! Thought e’eryone inna Core was rich! Tha’ bunch’d look bad in gorram Onyxx or West End or . . .” “. . . member tha’ slut in West End, she was all o’er me, tell you what, never seen one with’er jets so hot for a big fat . . .” The voices faded in and out as some piece of machinery in the ship – and Kaylee figured it was the tandem oscillator being out of sync – was regularly interrupting their conversation for sixteen seconds at a time. Still, she could pick out many of the words, and after another twenty minutes she had learned some valuable information. She detailed in a list in her mind:

1. Captain Morgan was planning/executing some major crime that involved her kidnapping.

2. Captain Morgan planned to rape her repeatedly when this crime was complete, and then possibly turn her over to the crew.

3. That, for some reason, the crew of the Arachne’s Revenge didn’t think that her shipmates would be in any position to mount a rescue mission.

4. That they two crewmen left behind to watch her and the ship were known as Piggy and Sam. They had apparently been with Morgan for years and thought he was a criminal genius. Also, Piggy apparently had an evil-looking discharge coming from the head of his penis that he was somewhat concerned about, but which Sam seemed reluctant to discuss.

5. That the engine had been making this wreck list to port about two degrees, and it was messing up their course corrections.

While not completely helpful, you never knew what little bit of information could prove useful. That was one reason she was such a good engineer – she rarely forgot the important details. She filed it away for future reference while she concentrated on her immediate goal: freeing her hands. When Morgan had captured her, he had bound her with high-temperature black engine tape. If he had been an engineer, or even a decent spacer, he would have known why that was a bad idea. Kaylee sure did. The black engine tape was made for filling tiny cracks or connecting separate pieces of exhaust ducts or other pneumatic systems. Its advantage over other methods was that it was relatively cheap, and it was made of a ceramometallic compound that was very strong – and which cured to hardness after exposure to oxygen. In vacuum it would remain supple for much longer, but as soon as it’s adhesive oxidized or sublimated, the fabric of the tape would become very hard. And very brittle. You didn’t put engine tape on moving parts, Kaylee knew, because the tape was very subject to breakage due to metal fatigue. A repair you made like that would last an hour or so, depending upon how much pressure and stress was on it, but after that it would rip like thick foil. Kaylee had been working her bonds since the moment he locked the door. She wasn’t surprised when they parted. It didn’t take much longer to free her mouth and feet, and in moments she was free. After rubbing the blood back into her wrists and trying to pull ceramometallic adhesive gunk off her face, she did the first thing she promised herself she’d do after getting free: she turned on her wireless, volume low (she had thought that part out as she had rehearsed the move in her mind over and over while she worked her bonds and worked through her self-pity.). “. . . Kaylee? Kaylee? Will you please answer? I’ll be your best friend. Kaylee! Kaylee, Kaylee, through the daunting Black. With Kaylee on board we’re all assured we’ll go there and come back, Oh, Kaylee, Kaylee—” “Aw, that was sweet!” she said into the mike in a very low voice. “Kaylee?!” “It’s me, Wash. Did you make up that song? It was sweet!” “Kaylee! Thank God you’re alive! Listen, where are you? Cap and Zoe have been bound and are sitting in a detention cell. Meanwhile, a nasty band of thugs has invaded our ship! You gotta get to me, we gotta call in for backup! There’s at least fifteen of ‘em and I don’t even have a ruttin’ gun!” “Well, Wash, I gotta be honest with you. I ain’t gonna be able to participate in any rescue operations, save possibly as a victim.” “What? Why?!” “ ‘Cause I’ve been kidnapped.” “Kidnapped!?” “Yep.” Silence. “Kaylee, I’m very disappointed in you.” “I’m sorry, Wash, it’ll never happen again.” “Wait! If you’ve been kidnapped, then why do you have a radio?” “Because they aren’t very good kidnappers. It’s—” “I know, I know, that one-eyed punk we pasted in the brothel. I saw him struttin’ by here earlier with a squad of uglies. You know, I’m starting to think that maybe we were a little hasty with that?” “Gee, Wash, y’think?” “Where are you? Maybe after I’ve single-handedly bustin’ Zoe and Mal out of the joint, we can swing by your place for drinks.” “I’m in their ruttin’ ship. It’s disgusting, and I want a bath. Captain’s cabin. I don’t know exactly which dock.” “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Hang tight. I’m gonna send a wave to the Ambassador and call for backup. We’ll get all this sorted out soon. And Kaylee?” “Yeah?” “They took Serenity. I reset the launch sequence before I left, but if they started working on it now, they could have it figured out in a few hours. Just thought you’d like to know. Leave this on, I’ll touch base when I know more.” “Take care, Wash! .” “You too, dumplin’! You hang tight. There’s only one person who can save us now.” “Oh, don’t you dare say—” “The hero of Canton, the man they call Jayne.” “I am so killin’ you slowly when I get off this flying cesspit.” “Hope you get the chance. Bye, now!” There was a short click as signed off. She felt a little better now that someone knew where she was. Help would be coming for her. Wash was a goofball, but he was a really smart, cowardly goofball who knew better than to go up against impossible odds and get himself bravely killed. That was Mal’s and Zoe’s and Jayne’s jobs. Only Mal and Zoe were locked up, and Jayne was a few thousand miles away sitting in shuttle. Oh, surely he wouldn’t do something stupid . . . would he? He’d call for help and wait for Jayne, like he should. ‘Cause one almost-middle-aged-but-she’d-never-say-so-to-his-face-man would surely get himself slaughtered against ten or more thugs, especially when they— It finally hit her. What Wash had said. She had been too busy worrying about the others for it to register. They took Serenity. Her girl. Kaylee’s eyes narrowed. Oh no they didn’t! Suddenly, the prospect of immanent gang rape and eventual torture and death at the hands of these pathetic spacers was trivial. The idea of her friends awaiting judgment or worse in some Godforsaken jail cell was a minor inconvenience. The thought that they may all be bound by law and end up at an Alliance penal moon was laughable. There were more serious issues here. There were strangers. In her ship. In her girl. In her kitchen. In her bunk. In her engine room! Oh no, they ruttin’ didn’t. Oh yes, they ruttin’ did. Suddenly, the idea of a couple of bulkheads and doors and hatches between her and her girl was laughable. As long as she could draw breath and hold a wrench, she would come for her. And she happened to have one. The 10mm wrench she carried near everywhere. Lock up Kaylee? In a room made of steel and such? With any kind of door? She slid the wrench out of her back pocket. It was warm to the touch with her body heat, and smooth as obsidian. It was time to make some people sorry their mommas ever met their daddies, she thought as she bent to feel for the edge of the door. I’m comin’ girl!

*

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Wash was troubled. He sat in a little tea shop closest to Gray sector, his eyepatch off (too many people knew about that eyepatch) and a rented cortex terminal in front of him. He had waited until there was no one else in the shop before punching it in, but the moment he was alone he was speaking to Inara. “Ambassador, what a pleasure,” he said, in a sarcastic mocking tone he reserved for times when his wife was gravely wounded or imprisoned. “Wash, how are things going?” Inara said. He knew that she knew already that things weren’t going well by his tone, muscle position, the way his eyes moved, perhaps even by his sexual aura – he wasn’t certain just how far a Companion’s perceptions extended. “Would you be real surprised when I say ‘not so good’?” “What happened? We saw the Arachne’s Revenge on the station schedule, and got worried. We tried waving to Serenity, but there’s no response. We feared the worst.” “Funny you should mention the worst,” he said, scratching his chin. “Long story short, that ass-rat Morgan got Zoe and Mal picked up by station security, but didn’t blow their aliases for some reason. Meanwhile, intrepid little Kaylee got herself kidnapped by Morgan’s Merry Band and is now imprisoned in his ship, where she’s scheduled to get gangbanged at the victory party. But the idiot didn’t take her radio away from her, so I just talked to her and she’s OK for the moment. Morgan is apparently claiming Serenity as his, since we put his name on those fake papers. He’s hired about a dozen local bad guys and they are now prowling our ship and going through our collective panty drawer. I’m in a tea shop with no ship, no crew, and no gun, having a lovely little Darjeeling.” He paused. “How was your day?” “Tian xiz shou you de ren dou gai si!” Inara said, gasping. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. So I say we call a Plan B. Ditch the rich bitch act, come on in and dock, and let Jayne open up a six-pack-o’-whoopass. We bust out Zoe and Mal, rescue Kaylee, take back Serenity, and get back out in the Black where it’s safe. Questions? Comments? Rude remarks?” “Give me sixty seconds to discuss the matter, I’ll get back to you.” “Take all the time you need. Since I don’t have any gorram place else to go at the moment!” “One minute, no more, I promise.” It really was a lovely little Darjeeling – from Howchin region of Yuan. Supposedly a very good place to get tea, the Howchin area. Very scenic. Would’ve liked to honeymoon there, but the hotels, talk about expensive! At least in-season. The service was supposed to be superior, though— “Okay,” Inara said, back well before her minute was up. “I talked it over with Jayne. He concurs. Plan B. Whoopass. But we’re going to need some help,” she said, fixing him with that female-whammy-thing she used to insist upon her way. Wash was immune, but he appreciated her trying. “Anything you need,” he promised. “It’s my wife.” “Let’s start with where they’re keeping Mal and Zoe, and work from there.” Ten minutes later he severed the connection. He was all fired up, two fists full of brutal, brilliant irony ready to take on the ‘verse– And no one to hear it. This bites, he thought to himself as he sipped his tea. It would be almost an hour before they docked. And he had nothing to do. It occurred to him that maybe he should get his gun back. He might need it.

*

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They didn’t even grant them the dignity of a real cell. They were thrown into the drunk tank, a single square room with one door, solid furniture, and the ubiquitous stainless-steel toilet. Thankfully, it was sparsely populated, and the toilet wasn’t too nasty. Zoe and Mal had previously had occasion to be in a few drunk tanks, and despite the station’s bureaucratic zeal to see such to such things, they were unimpressed by the accommodations and company even so. “It was a dumb plan,” Zoe said, bitterly. “It wasn’t a dumb plan, it was a complicated plan, and we got tripped up on one or two . . . details. When we finally get out of this, remind me to talk to Simon about something.” “Uh, sure, Sir.” “Don’t call me ‘sir’. You’re the Captain.” “Very funny, Sir.” “I ain’t laughin’!” he said in a low mutter. “They have no idea who we are. We were bound by law under our dummy names. As far as they’re concerned, we ain’t who we are. So until they do figure that out, we stay who they think we are. And that makes you Captain. Sir.” “And makes you an idiot. Okay, I’ll play along. Why did that ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng not give us up? He knew who we are.” “He wants the ship. He wants the Firefly, and we pretty near just handed her right over to him. Full up with valuable cargo, and he’ll just fly off into the Black with it, leave our gorram asses here.” “And you are cheerful about this because . . . ?” “My luck’s back, Zoe! My good ol’ bad luck. I was really worried there for a while, but just when I least suspect it, here it comes! Juh jen sh guh kwai luh duh jean jan! Had me worried.” “Well thank God it survived intact. Or we could be in real trouble.” “It’s more important than you think,” he said. “Hell, Zoe, I ain’t never been on top. Or hardly long enough to matter. Every gorram fight I get in, I’m the little guy. And when I’m the little guy, I have an inclination to win, ‘cause that’s what I do. But when things start goin’ my way too much, well, I know somethin’s bound to come along, set things aright.” “So you are saying that our – your – bad luck is a good thing, because it lowers our chances of surviving, which in turn motivates you to try harder and get more creative?” Zoe sounded incredulous, and very tired. “Ah . . . yeah. I guess I am,” admitted Mal. “Mal? What’s wrong with a gorram good pep-talk?” “Aw, Zoe,” he said, slapping her knee and grinning, “Where’s your sense of adventure?” “I left it in my other pants. In my bunk. On my ship that’s about to fly away, never to be seen again.” “Calm yourself, woman. Everything’s goin’ t’be shiny. Promise.” She looked up at him, her soulful eyes meeting his. “Pinkie swear?” “Uh, ain’t no need for that, now.” “Thought so.” “I’m gonna take a nap, try to think o’ somethin’.” “You do that.” “I’ll be over here.” “Best place for you, at the moment.”

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Jayne was still wearing his suit and tie. That was the odd thing. He was now festooned with weaponry, his full assault kit. Body armor, pistols, Bowie knife and ammo pouches on his belt, and a fine selection of grenades in five convenient locations. He wore his second-best combat boots with a second knife in the top right and a back-up pistol in an ankle holster on his left, because they were really designed for indoor rather than outdoor operations. He wore a backpack with other weapons and supplies in it, and in his arms he cradled Vera, his favorite assault weapon, like a prized pet. He also wore sunglasses. For the flash-bangs, he said. Inara knew it was just so he’d look cool. And with the suit and tie, in a strange way he did. “We’re going in here,” she was saying as he was pulling on his fingerless gloves, pointing at a spot at the bottom of the station on the diagram. “It’s an emergency airlock, rarely used, no doubt. Two levels below the detention level. Shouldn’t be heavily guarded. But,” she said, scrolling over to another section, “this is going to be your problem.” “What’s that?” “That,” she said, biting her lip nervously, “is, I think, the main security center. They can be up and at the detention center in less than two minutes. If they do that, all the whoopass in the ‘verse isn’t going to help.” “So how do I work around it, jing zhi?” “You can’t. I don’t think. Not unless you think you could kill about eight armed police before they could sound a general alarm and call for help off-station. They have to be isolated somehow. I’m thinking,” she said, pulling up another picture, “that if this door can be closed, and this lift made inoperational, it would take them a much, much longer time to get up to you.” “How much longer?” “Probably ten minutes or so. Buy you some time, anyway.” “That’s plenty. Should be able to get in, get our crew, get out in about four. So what are we gonna do, General?” he asked sarcastically. “We’re going to use some feminine wiles.” “I guess if all you got is a stick, everything’s gonna look like a kneecap.” “Oh, it won’t be me – I have to fly the shuttle up to the next emergency airlock and pick you up before Traffic Control notices and sends someone to check on us.” “Whattayamean, it won’t be you? You ‘spect me to play kissy-face with a bunch o’gorram cops—” “Not you, Jayne. River.” “River?” asked Jayne, mystified. “River?” asked River, startled. “River,” Inara said. “I have no feminine wiles,” she said flatly. “ I’m with her -- ‘less you got a butcher knife in your hand,” he corrected, “then you’re just gorram charmin’!” “You have enough to do the job. You just need to get into that station and distract them for a few minutes, keep them from looking directly at the monitors. Try to shut down the lift and seal the stairwell, if you can. A woman can always be a distraction, when she sets her mind to it.” “You’re crazy,” said River. “Yep, I’m with her again.” “River,” Inara insisted, “you can do this. You’re dressed as a geisha. Men eat that stuff up. Trust me, I know. Go in, wiggle your fanny around, wave your fan, ask a bunch of stupid questions, act cute and vulnerable, and giggle. They’ll follow you around like puppies. Trust me.” “Ain’t no way she—” “I’ll do it.” “What?” “I’ll do it.” “You sure?” Inara asked, eyebrows raised. “Hey, it’ll be fun,” River said dreamily, staring out the viewport. “Haven’t had an outing in a while. Not since Onyx. Miss the excitement.” “I know that’s supposed to make me feel better ‘bout this,” Jayne said, “but you’re just creepin’ me somethin’ furious.” “I know what your thinking,” River said in a child-like sing-song voice. Jayne visibly shivered, shaking his weapons. “I changed m’mind,” he said, turning to Inara. “I’ll go play kissy-face with the cops, she busts Zoe ‘n’ Mal outa jail. Just feel safer that way,” he said. “Too late,” Inara said. “We’re here.”