Kaylee’s Lament

Chapter Twenty

Kaylee hummed quietly to herself as she worked. She didn’t even realize she was doing it. She had found the cabin’s light switch and had spent a good ten minutes silently going through Morgan’s cabin. She wanted a shower more than ever, now. But she found some useful things. A couple of tools, a utility knife, and, most importantly, a small .38 automatic in the top of his tiny closet. It had a half-full clip, and while she could tell it hadn’t been used in a while, it made her feel a lot less helpless. It might even be her ticket out of this pit. She wasn’t just going to careen out of the room and attack the two spacers that had been left to guard her. Firstly, she was trying to avoid acts of obvious idiocy, and secondly the ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng had secured the door from the outside. Not a nice, easy to jimmy bolt, either, but a heavy, hard-to lift chunk of steel. But she wasn’t powerless. There was no place in a spaceship anywhere where Kaylee was powerless, as long as she had her brains, her hands, and her trusty 10mm wrench. Because there was no room on any ship (save a specially designed brig, she supposed) where there wasn’t some access point to some critical system. Space was always too cramped in a spaceship, and designers used what space they had to make maintenance possible. Not easy, sometimes, but possible. And seeing as how she was in the cabin right next to the bridge of this rust-pile, she had her pick of systems to monkey with. It didn’t take her a moment to open an access panel just behind Morgan’s greasy pillow where she found (to her distaste) a small selection of Morgan’s taste in visually depicted erotica. She also found two control junction boxes, a hydraulics line and a power line. A thorough study of the panel gave her little to work with. She could partially disable one of the ship’s major systems by interfering here, but nothing they couldn’t easily and quickly repair. One of the junction boxes she wasn’t even sure what it did – or if it still worked. “C’mon, Kaylee,” she urged herself. “You can handle this! C’mon! You’re girl needs you!” Suddenly, she remembered a detail, and with a slowly spreading grin she realized what she could do while she waited. She went to work and started humming. What was taking that rescue so gorram long?

*

*

*

Wash sat crouched in a stairwell, behind an emergency locker just down from the detention area. His pistol was out, fully loaded, safety off. He would have been nervous if it hadn’t been Jayne at the other end of the hall. His mind kept floating back to the only serious firefight he had been in – that ruttin’ Skyplex with that sadistic monster, Nyska. He had been running on pure adrenaline and vengeance, all of his normal physical reserves long evaporated under Nyska’s electrodes. He had gone in because he owed it to Mal, after what he had done for him by keeping him going during the torture – torture! He still couldn’t believe he had actually been through torture. Zoe had gone in because she was Zoe and Mal was Mal, and after Serenity Valley they wouldn’t be willingly parted ‘till one of them had gone on to their Reward. The Doc, the Shepherd, and Kaylee, well, they had come along out of a sense of loyalty and obligation. Jayne had been there, despite his better judgment about their chances of surviving, ‘cause he actually enjoyed this kind of shit. He had been doing pretty decently himself, the thought, popping his head around corners, blasting a couple of shotgun rounds at some bad guys, hopping up to the next corner, leapfrogging with Zoe. Zoe had been like an avenging angel, furious that not just her Captain had been tortured, but her husband – well, no matter what you could say about the quality of her selection of mate, you just didn’t mess with the husband of a woman like Zoe and expect to see another sunrise, no matter who he was. Jayne had waltzed down that corridor, a gun in each hand, blowing away bad guys like a machine. A very crude and very effective machine that sometimes smelled kinda bad. And every now and then, when things looked kind of hairy like they might get pinned down, he caught Jayne smiling a kind of gleeful sneer. Then he’d stand up and thunder out lead vengeance like it was as natural as breathing. And then the crisis would pass, the bad guys would be lying everywhere, and they would get to the next corner. None of the cops up there would even look twice at him as a threat. They would only have eyes for Jayne. Wash didn’t really like the crude ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng, but ai ya! You had to admire his work. That’s why he wasn’t nervous. Even though he was a nearly middle-aged married guy without a violent bone in his body, and he was about to mount an assault on a semi-fortified security installation with a crappy handgun and only six bullets, he wasn’t nervous. Not one little bit. He tried telling himself that over and over and over, but never quite convinced himself. The only thing, he decided, that didn’t keep him from slinking back into that stairwell and letting Jayne handle this was the fact that it was Zoe sitting in that cell, and he didn’t want to completely shame himself in front of her. Besides, they had some stuff to work out. He tried to get his mind ready for this. It wasn’t easy. He was a coward whenever possible, preferring flight to fight. He was a natural herbivore, like a Stegosaur or a Triceratops. He might put up a fight in a pinch, but be aggressive? It just wasn’t in him. Or was it? His wife, his bride, the love of his life that redeemed every petty and common aspect of his miserable life, was even now sitting behind bars. His proud princess, who wanted to have babies with him – with him! – was even now incarcerated, her future uncertain. What kind of hopelessness was running through her head? Was she scared? Lonely? Hungry? Cold? Maybe even beaten? How dare they! Did she think he had abandoned her to an uncertain fate? He stood, sliding his back up the wall. He readied his crappy gun, and took a deep cleansing breath. He found anger and rage had run through his veins like liquid fire. It had been transformative. A grim scowl now held his face hostage. Anyone who dared stand between him and his bride, well, they just had better reconsider. Because Hoban Washburne had found his Inner Tyrannosaur, He was ready to go when the first bomb went off. Teeth bared, chin out, he turned and started walking up the corridor, stubby forelegs waving defiantly and long thick tail wagging metaphorically behind him.

*

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* Jayne was starting to enjoy this. He decided to start the party with a flash-bang – a concussion grenade that produced a bright, blinding flash, an earsplitting bang, and a cloud of smoke all at once. It was a staple non-lethal tool of municipal police departments across the Alliance, useful for hostage situations and riots. Jayne wasn’t concerned with lethality – he didn’t particularly care if he ended a man while he was on a mission, and anyone with a gun in their hand was fair game in his book. But you don’t go around lightly throwing incendiaries or fragmentation grenades on a space station, no matter how tempting or gratifying that might be. In tight quarters like this, you make a mistake and the leg you blew off or burned up might be your own. Flash bangs were OK – little danger of decompression, no danger of messing up equipment, and if you knew they were there and were expecting them, it was unlikely that you’d seriously hurt yourself. So Jayne strode down the hallway from the stairwell, got about ten yards from the desk that marked the entrance to the detention center, and leaned out just far enough to throw a flash bang over the counter. He counted to three, threw a second. The first one was to capitalize on the element of surprise. It lured everyone in the area who wasn’t already a victim to turn and look in that direction, maybe even head that way. The second one, that was to take care of the survivors. When he peeked back around the corner, he didn’t see any cops’ heads peaking up. That probably just meant that they were hiding below the cover of the desk. He didn’t want to risk another flash-bang –smoke was already starting to get thicker than the air system could handle – but he could feel more alive and awake cops around here somewhere. A pistol shot came from the vicinity of the desk, the slug impacting on the wall over his head. It had the thudding sound of an extra-soft lead, low-grain load – just the type of gun you’d want on a space station. Not something that could puncture anything that might decompress. Probably a .38. He drew his favorite 9mm automag and shot once himself – high and to the left, a purposeful miss. The cop shot again, without looking. Jayne gave a loud, pathetic moan and waited. Sure enough, the kid popped up, gun drawn, ready to fire, in the wrong gorram direction. Jayne’s second bullet took him square in the forehead, blowing his brains all over the entrance to the cellblock. He sneered. Rookie. Okay, that was one. Before he could stand up again, the second cop to escape the bomb rolled on his shoulder into the corridor, riot gun in hand, ready to fire. He his a slick patch and spun about thirty degrees to far. Two shots from Jayne ended his counterattack. That was two. “C’mon, y’all! That the best you can do? I ain’t even broke a sweat!” There was no answer. Neither voice nor lead rose to greet him. Could it really be that easy? He peeked over the desk. Three bodies, one missing most of his forehead. The fourth in the hall. Jayne shrugged and hopped the counter. No more cops back here. He shrugged again, and began searching for where Mal and Zoe were stashed. He was about to get to the clipboard in the outstretched hand of one of his unconscious victims when he heard a pistol hammer cock. He could feel the man’s intention, feel it trained on the back of his head. He raised his hands without turning around. “Damn,” he spat. “Don’t even dream of moving, ! You are bound by law, !” The man’s voice was packed with stress, high and wavering. Jayne straightened slowly, hands still in plain sight, Vera slung over his shoulder. “I said don’t move!” the man screamed. “If I don’t move, you won’t see all these other weapons I’m carryin’, and when you tell me to get on my knees I’m gonna feel a might tempted to try somethin’ stupid with’em,” he declared honestly. “Fine!” the man shouted. Turn around, then!” Jayne pivoted slowly. Didn’t pay to rile a nervous cop unnecessarily. That sort of thing led to occupational accidents he would just as soon avoid. He turned, slowly, and saw the cop. He was young – not quite as young as that rookie he just dusted, but in his early twenties, easy. Probably the first time he’d ever drawn his gun in action. Definitely unnerved by the sight of two of his co-workers leaking their life’s essence and flecks of gray matter all over the deck where they worked. “Went t’get some coffee, didja?” Jayne asked. “Y-yeah! Shuttup! Keep your hands where I can see them!” “Just relax, fella,” Jayne said casually. “You got the gun. You got it pointed at me. I got my gorram hands in the air, couldn’t very well scratch m’balls without you takin’ exception to that. So just relax!” “I am relaxed!” the cop yelled. “All right, all right, don’t mean to tell a man his business. You call for back-up yet?” “No!” Jayne paused. “Well, don’tcha think that might be wise?” “Well, yeah!” “Well do it then, son. I don’t stand on ceremony. You got me, dead to rights, caught in the act, blatently perpetratin’. Get some gorram back-up up here afore I do somethin’ we both gonna regret!” “You don’t tell me what to do!” “All right. I warned you. But I’ll tell you this, too: I got so many ways t’kill you strapped on my body right now, you ain’t got a whore’s prayer that you can take me without some back-up.” “Shut up! I can do this!” “You wanna bet?” “You threatening me?” “You’re the one with the gorram gun. I’m just talkin’. ‘Course, I’m talkin’ ‘bout how I’m plannin’ on endin’ you, so yeah, I can see how that might make you a li’l riled.” “Shut up! Don’t say another gorram word or I swear I’ll put a bull—” There was a loud pop, a little more smoke in the air, a cop with a bullet wound in his temple, and suddenly Wash was striding into the security station, revolver in hand. “Jesus, Jayne, you remember we got stuff to do? Chatting with a cop at a time like this?” Wash actually looked highly annoyed. “He was holding a gun on me!” “Oh, please, like that’s ever stopped you before.” “For you’re infermation, I was very nearly ready to do him some damage when you walk up and step all over my savwah fare!” “Your what?” “Savwah fare! It’s French!” Wash rolled his eyes. “I don’t even want to know. Look, you keep an eye out for any more stray cops, I’m gonna figure out which cell they’re in. We’ll probably have to blow that door – got anything for that?” “Some plastique, little C4,” Jayne admitted. Wash looked at the door that led back to the cells and nodded. “Probably get through that.” “Might blow a hole in the side of the station, too.” “Well, we’ll just have to trust in your professional abilities, then, now won’t we?” “Don’t get your panties—” “Don’t tell me what to do with my panties!” he growled. Jayne was surprised. He never saw Wash quite like this. “My wife is in there,” he shouted, pointing at the heavily armored security door to the cellblock, “and God alone knows what kind of horrors those gorram bastards have put her through!” “Actually, the stainless steel toilet was the worst of it, wouldn’t you say, Sir?” “Huh?” Jayne and Wash said simultaneously. They turned around. Zoe and Mal were standing at the small barred window in the battered door to the holding cell. They both looked calm and collected, and very much un-tortured. Mal gave a little wave. “Chilly,” he said, shivering. “Stand back!” Wash shouted, pointing his pistol at the lock. He emptied it, blowing chunks out of locking mechanism. “My hero,” his wife said, rolling her eyes when the smoke cleared. “Next time dear, check a little closer. Simple bolt, no lock. No need for the machismo.” She kicked the door open and swept him into an embrace. Wash dropped his empty gun. Mal walked out, brushed off his borrowed coat, and shook Jayne’s hand. “’Bout ruttin’ time,” he said. “Any longer, they would’ve fed us.” “Thank the Black we got t’ya in time!” Jayne barked, laughing. No one ever had a good meal in a drunk tank. He reached back and grabbed something off his back, then presented Mal’s holstered pistol to him. Zoe’s usual over-sized side arm of choice was also there. “Thought you might be cold, so I brought you somethin’ t’wear.” “My size and everything,” Mal said, strapping it on and drawing it and checking the chamber. Zoe took hers, clutching it almost as eagerly as she held her husband. “You forget about me?” Wash asked, looking hurt. “I thought you got a gun?” “It was a crappy gun and it’s all out of bullets now,” he pouted. Jayne sighed and turned around, presenting his back to Wash. The handle of a pistol-gripped 12 gauge protruded. “I believe the gentleman favors a scattergun.” Wash took it with a grin, then stopped to strip off the body armor from the brainless cop at his feet. As an afterthought, he grabbed the cop’s crappy gun and stuck it into his belt. As he strapped the armor into place, he looked at Mal. “Orders, Captain?” he said, in his best fake-military-order-following voice. For added effect, he pumped a round into the chamber of the shotgun. “Depends. Y’all get us first, or Serenity?” Wash and Jayne looked at each other. “Does it matter?” “A little, yeah,” Mal admitted, looking guilty. “We got you first.” Jayne said, confused. Mal looked pained, groaned, and slapped his temporary station ID into Zoe’s hand. “Ai ya! Shoulda known.” “Yeah, you shoulda,” Zoe agreed, grinning. “What’s that all about?” Jayne asked, mystified. Evidently Wash didn’t know either. He shrugged. “Don’t matter much now. What was your plan?” “Well, we got Inara comin’ in fer an extraction at an emergency lock a few levels up. Didn’t do much figurin’ passed that. Never thought we’d get that far, honest.” “Well, anything else we should know? We can talk on the way.” “Cameras should be out all over th’station. River saw to it.” “River?!” Mal asked, incredulously. “You had River workin’ part of the plan?” “Well, ‘plan’ might be overstatin’ it a might. But yeah, got her t’use some feminine wiles, or somethin’. Worked, didn’t it?” “River got feminine wiles?” Zoe asked, confused. Wash shrugged. “Who knew?” “Just goes to show—” “Let’s just skip the platitudes an’ concentrate, shall we?” Jayne said. He was starting to get annoyed. Weren’t people supposed to be a little more grateful when you broke them out of jail? “Well, we can start by decidin’ how we can get the ship back. Any ideas what Morgan’s got?” “I saw about ten, maybe twelve hired toughs. Mostly amateurs,” Wash admitted. “But fairly decently armed. And a couple of men from his ship.” “Okay, I’m startin’ to get an inklin’ of a plan,” Mal said as they ran up the stairs. “Whatever it is, it needs to include a fair measure o’ haulin’ ass for the Rim before th’Alliance is all over us like a bad metaphor.” “That’s a simile,” Wash said, shaking his head. “God, doesn’t anyone read anymore?” “We’ll get to that. Nice jailbreak, anyway. Your idea?” “Did the hard parts,” admitted Jayne. “Thought I might be rusty, though. First jailbreak in four years. Nice t’know I ain’t lost it.” Shots rang out as they exited the stairwell on the correct level. They dove back around the corner before they could see who produced them. “Who invited them?” Jayne growled, hugging the wall. “How many?” asked Wash. Jayne dropped to his belly and wiggled forward, peeking just as much of his eye as he needed to see for a split second. Then he withdrew it, looked up at Mal. “Two, both cops. Probably on patrol, found out the lifts ain’t workin’ decided t’take the stairs.” “It’s better exercise,” Wash told Zoe. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout working out a little more myself, lately.” “Oh, baby,” Zoe said, putting her hand on his armor-covered belly. “You look fine! You don’t need to do that for me!” “It’s more about me, actually,” Wash said. “Health, not beauty.” “Well, I guess if it’s about health, that might not be so bad,” she said, pouting. “I just don’t want you to think I don’t love your little belly. It’s cute!” “When I count three,” Mal said, “I’m gonna draw their fire up top. You hit ‘em from below, dong ma?” “Yeah, but which direction should I shoot?” he asked with a disgusted sneer, looking up at the Washburnes. Who the hell made out in the middle of a firefight? “One . . .” began Mal. Jayne scowled at him. “All right, all right, three!” He stuck his gun around the corner and fired repeatedly at roughly eye level. As his second bullet left the barrel, Jayne sprawled into the corridor on his shoulder and back spraying a hail of lead from Vera. It had the desired effect, tearing both cops in half at the waist. Mal popped his head around the corner to offer some supporting fire, but none was needed. They made it to the end of the corridor where they found the airlock. And River, who was standing in the entry of the airlock, studying her painted face in a reflective surface. “Puppies,” she said. “They were just naughty puppies.” Jayne brushed right past her to the viewport in the airlock. There was no one there. “We had a ride,” he said when he turned back around. “Honest!” Wash was already digging his radio out of his jacket. “Inara,” he sang, “I’d really like to see a shuttle about now.” “I’m almost there. I’ve had problems. Is Mal OK?” He exchanged a meaningful look with Zoe. “We’re all havin’ a bad day, sweetie,” he said sympathetically. “But everyone is fine.” “Glad to hear,” she said. “I’ll be there in about four minutes.” “Lot can happen in four minutes,” Jayne said. “Everyone stay itchy.” “Puppies,” agreed River. Nothing at all happened for two minutes. “Or,” Jayne corrected, “we could just sit here and scratch our balls for four minutes.” “Let’s work on a plan,” Wash said. “It sounds like a good time for a plan.” “I think I got one,” Mal said. “We should be able to get Serenity back, with all the cargo, if we play this right. But we need Kaylee.” He looked around, suddenly confused. “Where’s Kaylee?” “About that,” Wash said. “Funny thing, Morgan kidnapped her and is holding her on his ship, while he’s taking over our ship.” “Morgan’s got Kaylee?” Wash nodded, a pained look on his face. “But she’s got a radio. He’s that stupid. You wanna talk to her? She’s fine.” “She’s okay?” “Just puppies.” “Kaylee, say hello to the Captain,” Mal said into the radio. “Hi, Cap!” came a contrite voice over the radio. “Sorry!” Mal took the mike, rolling his eyes. “Kaylee? What did you go and do?” “Got kidnapped.” “And, do you not know my policy on that?” “Don’t get kidnapped.” “That’s right. You really OK?” “Woof, woof, woof, all the puppies gone.” Jayne shot her an evil look. She looked up and gave him a disgusted sneer. “Five by five,” Kaylee was saying. “I’m locked up, but these guys are eight kinds of stupid. I don’t know how they even get this tub in the air.” “Can you hang tight for a spell?” “Sure, Cap. I found a gun. I’m locked up, but I can still shoot ‘em if they have designs on my virtue.” “You do that. You keep the radio warm, honey, and if you need help, you holler. But we’re going to go get Serenity back, first.” “Don’t worry ‘bout me, Cap! Just get our girl back!” “I mean to. Captain out.” “Okay, first plan? Not gonna work.” He thought for a moment. “Full frontal assault?” “With four of us?” Wash asked incredibly. “They got the high-ground, Mal. I’m an idiot, and even I know how stupid that is.” Inara’s shuttle slid into the airlock with a metallic clang, and the lock hissed as it began cycling. Jayne got a strange look on his face when he saw it. “Naw, frontal assault, good plan,” he said. “Damn good plan.” “No, it’s a very bad plan,” Mal said. “Just happens it’s the only plan we got.” “Four against fourteen?” Zoe said. “I like a challenge, Sir, but—” “Naw, not four,” Jayne said, grinning widely under his sunglasses. “Three.”

*

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* Milo Morgan was strutting today. Strutting across the deck of his new ship. He could not believe his good fortune. A Firefly! And the same nasty one that the whore and her whole stinkin’ tribe had come from. A gift from the God called Irony. He thought the ship looked kind of dim and dirty, worse than his own boat. But it could carry three times what the AR could haul. And the range! Looked a bit ratty, but she’d do. Paint a big spider on her hull, start doing the bigger jobs – he could do all right. Ship like this, with a cargo like that – well, he didn’t rightly know what the cargo was, but there sure was a lot of it. Bound to be worth something. And almost fully loaded, by Alliance goons no less. That little shipping twerp had come by twice already, asking him to fill out more paper. He didn’t mind. Long as he got to jet into the Black with this fine old bird, he would fill out every piece of paper Wendell stuck under his nose. “Captain?” he heard his mate, Willy, call. Willy had been with him longer than anyone. A real commercial spacer before he lost his license and couldn’t get commercial work no more. Morgan trusted him like no other. He was Morgan’s eyes and ears. And brain, half the time. Willy knew plenty about ships, and often translated for Morgan. He’d had him working on the launch sequence – old pilot must have had a sadistic streak. “Yeah?” “C’mere, think you wanna see this.” Sighing, Morgan went up into the cockpit after him. “Wha’?” “Look for yerself,” he said. Morgan looked at it, then looked out. “Thith coul’ be a golden opporthunithy for thomeon’.” “We ain’t gonna be able to make it there in time to do nothin’ ‘bout it,” Willy pointed out, shaking his head. “Couldn’ ‘o anythin’ ‘bou’ it, even if we were,” Morgan said, stroking his unshaven chin. “Maybe we thub thith on’ ou’.” “Who we know in that sector?” Willy asked, curiously. “Go’ thum pals I made few yearth ago.” “Like who?” “Jutht thum pirathes. I do thum fenthin’ for ‘em, thumthimes. Good fellath. The Red Rock Thong.” “Red Rock? You gotta lead in Red Rock? They’re some vicious ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng, I heard tell. And you know someone in there? How come I don’t know anything—” “Becauth I donth wan’ everythin’ I do tho ge’ blabbed all over th’ whole gorram Rim!” he exploded. “If I ge’ info they can uthe, the’ I pass it along to them, they give me good dealth on th’ thtuff they thell.” “You think they’d be interested in this?” “’Courthe! Wha’ pirath would path up a juithy target, when they know thactly where there gonna be?” He leered, caressing the console of his new ship. “Thith ith gonna work ou’ thiny!” *

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Kaylee closed the access panel with grim satisfaction, reflecting that it was kind of shiny to mess up something for a change, rather than fix it. She almost hated to – it was against her nature. But this monstrosity wasn’t worth fixing. It should be put out of its misery, if no one was going to be taken care of properly. And that’s just what might happen. When these idiots finally launched, they’d be in for big surprise. Nothing lethal – not only had she not been able to arrange it from here, she would have felt bad, somehow, using her powers for that kind of ultimate revenge. But this, this would prove to be annoying, at the least, and deadly only if they really were complete idiots, in which case they shouldn’t be flying in the Black anyhow. She had been so relieved when she had heard the Captain’s voice. She didn’t think any jail could hold him, and she had been right. And when he said he was going after Serenity, that made being kidnapped and abducted and imprisoned in a smelly, tiny little closet seem not so bad. She lay back down on the bed and took out one of the gifts she had gotten Simon. Morgan had thrown her packages in after her, for no real reason she could see. So she sat on his bunk and ate chocolate and wondered, idly, what kind of exciting adventures her Doctor was having in all of this.

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Simon looked up, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. He had a decision to make. He could bluff, and hope for the best – but that could prove disastrous in this particular case. Or, he could play it straight and trust that Fortune would favor him for one more time around. It all depended on just how optimistic he was feeling. He made a decision. It was time to act. Hesitation was for the weak. “Go fish,” he said. And let the chips fall where they may.