The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter One

Lei Chin Yi watched with steady eyes through a crack in the door as the three big men came down the hall – and to the wrong apartment. Not that this tentament was long on exact addresses – in fact, it was worse than the slave dorms on the other side of Meridian City. Crowded with “guest workers” and low-paid contract labor, the Company didn’t care too much if the mail got through to the right place. So there was little organization, standardization, or labeling. If you wanted directions to somewhere on the East Side, you got them by landmark. But this, this was incompetence, and Chin Yi silently shook his head. Unprofessional. Disgraceful. A good hit-man knew the right place to hit, and a squad of three should have had enough brain cells between them to ask directions. Everyone in the neighborhood knew where Lei lived. To make that kind of mistake, to disturb an old lady like they were about to, that was almost unforgivable. His father would have had the men punished for such sloppy work. But standards had slipped inside the Tong since his father’s day. With Tortoise in charge of the gang, muscle had been chosen for political reasons, not for competence. Lei knew all three of the thugs. Not one of them should have been given anything more complicated than bouncer detail at a brothel. But since Tortoise had come to power, standards had slipped. He rewarded personal loyalty over effectiveness, and these three cutthroats had been promoted to jobs only seasoned killers should have held. Chin Yi eyed them again, preparing himself for the storm that was to come. He had been ready for this move for months. Ever since his father, Lei Peng Wu, had mysteriously died, leaving the leadership of the Yellow Ribbon Tong open to question. Chin Yi was a candidate, of course – he had been in the business since he was a child, and had studied the subtleties of effective criminal management since he was a thirteen at the knee of his venerable father. He had seen his father’s lieutenants come and go, had learned how to spot good people and how to spot the dross. He had learned what a responsible Tong leader should and shouldn’t do. But the Tong was not a monarchy, and though Chin Yi’s handsome face and proud bearing had led to him being called “Prince” Chin Yi (especially by the smitten girls of the slum) he was young, and had no real claim to the leadership. Instead, one of his father’s assistants, Tortoise, had stepped into the vacuum in the Tong’s hour of need. Tortoise had been in charge of the eight nameless brothels the Tong ran. As one of the Tong’s prime money-makers, he had much influence with the other leadership, and had entered the administration of the syndicate’s affairs slowly and surely – just like his namesake. He changed very little at first. Chin Yi expected that. He had slowly moved his own men into positions of power and authority. Chin Yi expected that, too. And he had preached peaceful relations at every meeting, insisting that the path to prosperity was in cooperation between the various factions inside the Tong, not competition and warfare. Gang wars were bad for business, after all. Chin Yi had certainly expected that kind of talk from a pimp grown far beyond his station. Chin Yi had his own adherents, of course. His group was responsible for the oversight of the many slaves and immigrants to Epiphany, the mutual-aid-and-protection side of things. As the work wound down here, there was much less new labor coming in, so his band had weakened. But it still had many canny fighters who were loyal to the Prince. Chin Yi had expected this move from the moment his father’s ashes were buried. Tortoise had a tenuous control over the organization, and other bosses were jockeying around for position in an attempt to gain power in the new regime – or possibly supplant it. Chin Yi had himself done little more than shore up his position, protect his people and revenue streams, and stay out of everyone’s way. He knew that Tortoise and the other old bosses fully expected him to make a play for the top seat, but Chin Yi wasn’t stupid. In fact, Lei Chin Yi was very, very smart. On another world, in another situation, he would have gone to University and become a brilliant student in law or medicine or engineering. Instead he had become a gang leader who, despite shrinking revenue, had continued to prosper as the world changed. Instead of studying classics and science he learned the arts of the shake-down, the retributive strike, the steely gaze that turned a shopkeeper’s guts to water. He studied the martial arts and the use of firearms. He learned how to bribe and when to bribe and how much. He learned how to command respect from his men and earn it from them. He learned how to avoid the attention or detection of the brutish Company police. He learned how to drive, and fly, and had even been into orbit three times on business. He learned all these things, and mastered them, as he would have mastered so much else in a mythical alternative life. He was very smart. He was too smart, for instance, to get complacent after six months of peace between factions. He knew the blow was coming, slowly but surely. And this obvious, clumsy attempt was the result. He watched as the inept men pounded on Widow Ma’s battered door, yelling for him to come out and play. Stupid. Not even their body odor was stealthy, he could smell it from here. All three wore the blue silk suits and yellow headbands of the Tong, with the chop of the Tortoise freshly embroidered upon it. And all stank of rice beer and hashish smoke. While Mrs. Ma no doubt hobbled to the door to see what was wrong, the men gave each other toothy, thuggish grins and pulled the weapons of their trade from their coats: knives, cleavers, wooden clubs. No doubt they had pistols concealed about them, but Lei also suspected that they were stupid enough to think that three of them, as big as they were, could over-power the smaller, faster Chin Yi without recourse to such arguments. Idiots. It would be a pleasure taking them down. Chin Yi had prepared. He had readied his men for this day, and had prepared himself. Lei was smart. He had a plan. And the first part was to dispose of these talking apes. The moment that he heard Mrs. Ma come to the door he shot both barrels of his shotgun through the thin wood of his door, and was gratified to see two of Tortoise’s thugs fall, one with a gut wound and one who was bleeding profusely from his thighs. The third man – who sported an almost comically sinister mustache – was spared the brunt of the blast, but did nothing to defend himself when Lei dropped the scattergun and drew a revolver from his sash. Three carefully placed bullets later, he and Mrs. Ma were able to drag the three bodies into his apartment, where they would be found, eventually, by Tortoise. Though he only had a few moments before the inevitable back-up arrived to discover them, he sent a message to Tortoise by setting all three men at his rickety kitchen table, tea-cups in their rapidly cooling fingers. Mrs. Ma helpfully provided three ornate ladies hats, the kind they wore to temple. As a final touch, he used their blood to write a nasty poem about the infamous twisted nature of Tortoise’s pecker – it was said by the poor girls who serviced him that it was massive and bent almost ninety degrees in an ungainly direction – and alluded that it was easily the most pleasant thing about him. It was an insult, carefully given, which would elicit a response in defense of his besmirched “honor” – as if a glorified pimp could have such a thing. Then Lei Chin Yi paid off Mrs. Ma handsomely, bid her a fond good-bye, and took his bundle of belongings with him as he headed out the dirt track that was the major thoroughfare through Meridian City. He hid his face under a wide straw hat, and bore his burden like a paid porter to escape detection. On the way, he stopped at the Clement’s fruit stand and bought an apple. He also slipped a folded slip of paper into Jarise Clement’s hand, and she nodded faintly at him before waiting on an old man with a yapping dog. The note was instruction to his own lieutenant. Chin Yi i had prepared a response to this attack in advance, and he was more than willing to use it now. He had little to lose. When that note reached Benny, his best fighters would simultaneously spread out across the tentament city and destroy key revenue streams for Tortoise, and assassinate key people in his operation. Then they would fade into the darkness, hiding and waiting until the gang war was over. The advantage of working the immigrant protection racket was that you made a lot of friends, friends that owed you favors. He didn’t worry about any of his men getting caught up in the inevitable power struggle. Bull and Hare would both see the counterattack as a sign of Tortoise’s weakness and go after him. But Chin Yi wouldn’t be here to see it. He was retiring from the criminal life – at least this part of it. Meridian City held too many old enemies, and there was nowhere for him to hide long enough to outlive them. He had protected his people the best he could, as he had sworn to do – he could protect them better, now, by leaving. He had bigger dragons to slay than Tortoise. His father had left him a legacy. Part of it was money, of course, about fifty thousand credits stashed here and there. The other part was a small Yuanese crystal box, which he carried in a special purse on his shoulder. It had been in his family for six generations, perhaps longer. That part of the legacy required him to leave – not just Meridian City, but the world of Epiphany all together. As he trod down the road towards the port, he passed by two of Tortoise’s men who didn’t even see him. A half-mile later, two more. He was starting to breathe a little easier when the gates to the port came in sight. He was not more than fifty feet away when he saw them coming. Apparently Tortoise wasn’t completely stupid. Four more of his thugs approached him as he walked. One of them was his half-brother, Lei Fei Wu. Fei Wu and Chin Yi had been rivals almost since birth. Chin Yi was the son of the elder Lei by his wife, while Fei Wu was the result of a liaison with a whore. Both had taken positions in the Tong, but Chin had always been favored. Fei Wu was taller, lanky, and had a lazy eye. He was not politically adept, and was barely a thug himself, but pride and honor had forced their father to offer him work, and he seemed best suited as a brothel manager. He had always been bitter about it, considering his mother’s profession, but he had taken the work – under Tortoise – and had used his influence with their father to rise quickly through the ranks. He was now one of Tortoise’s chief enforcers. He sneered as he saw Chin Yi, and pointed him out to his men – all thugs no better than the ones he had killed at his apartment. They drew knives and clubs and rushed him, like they were assaulting a drunk in a brothel, and it was no great feat of arms for Chin Yi to draw his pistol and drop them where they stood. As the crowd scattered and screamed at the sound of the shots, Fei Wu had drawn a huge shiny revolver, and by the time his third man had fallen he had it trained on his Chin Yi. “Going somewhere, brother?” He used the title sarcastically. “I thought I’d take a stroll. Bad idea, I see now. Too many insignificant gnats around today.” “Insig—we’ll just see about that. I want it. Give it to me!” “Want what? A bath? I’ll be happy to contribute.” “I want that gorram box, the one that Father gave to you. I want it. It’s mine by right.” “It isn’t,” Chin Yi said, shaking his head but not moving the pistol one millimeter from his target: Fei Wu’s pimple-scarred face. “I am eldest!” Fei Wu insisted. “I was born first! The Lei legacy is mine!” “You are illegitimate,” pointed out Chin Yi. “No bastard, however . . . tall, should have such a fine box. Besides, I hid it. But it’s someplace where you will easily find it.” “Where? Tell me, and I will spare your life!” “There is much to debate about who is in a position to spare who’s life,” Lei Chin Yi said casually. “But like I said, it’s somewhere where you will easily find it.” “Where! You must tell me!” “I left it in your mother’s vagina.” The roar that Fei Wu uttered could be heard across the square. He rushed Chin Yi, throwing down his pistol as he came. Chin Yi fired but missed, and was suddenly fighting for his life. He lost his gun early on. He scolded himself about that – it was clumsy, and he should have been prepared for it. He blocked Fei Wu’s attacks easily enough – the man was slow, if strong. But when the older brother drew a knife from his sash, a long, curving blade, Chin knew it was time to put an end to this farce. Fei Wu was well known for his love of blades – the whores he bossed were terrified of the uses he put it to. Chin Yi took just a moment to draw his own favorite weapon: a baseball bat. Lei loved baseball, and had since he was a child. He had played in the empty lots around meridian City all his life, and gave up the sport only when his duties for the Tong became to great for him to continue. But he never lost his love of the sport, and his bat was a work of art: hand carved hickory, elaborately painted a rich blue color, with a golden dragon and a white crane painted up the side, their necks entwined. He was good, very good, a demonically fast shortstop and a power hitter without peer. Had the squalid little slum kept track of his hits, he figured his average would be in the high 300’s, perhaps more. After his first homerun, in front of his parents, his father had rejoiced in how he had bombed the ball over the fence. Henceforth, the bat was known to him as the Blue Bomber. It was as much weapon as it was sporting equipment. The bat had been an ancient weapon, more than a mere club, valued by the Tongs of old for its balance and power, when properly used. There was a whole style of fighting built around the weapon, and he had endeavored to learn every nuance of it. The Blue Bomber swept out of his tattered pack like an avenging angel, and a low swing almost ended the fight before it began when he missed Fei’s knee by the narrowest of margins. Fei recovered, though, and though he was out reached by the bat he persisted in his attacks the best he could. Fei had many faults, Chin Yi reflected, but cowardice was not one of them. Chin Yi attacked, swinging his bat with precision, catching the knife blade on its haft, smashing at his brother’s wrist, and using his elbows, knees, fists and feet to block and strike. Fei Wu had a muscular build, four inches in height over his brother, and about thirty pounds in mass. His arms were longer, and his legs were powerful. Fei had never taken an interest in baseball – most likely because his brother had excelled at the sport – but he had been a very good soccer player. He was fit, and a formidable opponent with a burning desire to repay Chin Yi for all his years of torment. It wasn’t very long into the fight when Chin realized his brother was not trying to kill him. He was fighting just hard enough to keep Chin occupied. It would only be moments before his reinforcements arrived, and no matter how valiantly Chin fought then, he would be overwhelmed. He needed to end this . . . now. He took two steps back out of range, then made a rolling summersault to his right, in an apparent attempt to get behind his brother. He rolled to his feet and faced his brother again, a fierce expression on his face and his terrible bat whirling in tight circles in his left hand, flashing in the light like a hypnotic cyclone. Fei Wu eyed the bat carefully, and made a tentative feint as he started to realize Chin Yi’s desperation. Chin Yi made a wild, one handed swing to block the feint, over extending himself and spinning half-way around. Fei Wu laughed wickedly at his brother’s misstep . . . . . . until Chin Yi spun back around. He had picked up a rock in his right hand during his concealing somersault – one thing that Meridian City had no shortage of – about the size of a fist. Or a baseball. He hurled the rock side-arm, and with the accuracy born of hundreds of games and thousands of hours of practice. He was a deadly shortstop, once upon a time. A target so close was child’s play. The rock hit Fei Wu a sharp, glancing blow on the side of the head, exploding with blood on impact. Fei Wu fell to his knees, then onto his face in the filth of the street. Chin Yi stopped just long enough to retrieve his pistol – and for good measure he collected Fei Wu’s as well – and his baggage. He gave his brother a backwards glance, and motivated by respect for the family, if nothing else, checked the wound and his pulse. He would live. He stared at his brother, then the gun in his hand. It would be so easy . . . “No,” he said aloud, sending a prayer to his father’s spirit. “I will not become a fratricide.” But still, this opportunity was too good to pass up. Looking around to make certain none of Tortoise’s men were coming, he ducked down and ran his finger in his brother’s blood. Flipping him onto his back, he spent a few moments inscribing the pictogram for “Tortoise’s Prick” on his forehead. He took one last moment to savor the image, then picked up his belongings and hurried into the port. One of the armed guards tried to stop him, until ChinYi threw something else – a platinum coin. The man let him pass unmolested. Once he was in the port he was free, for a little while, of the Yellow Ribbon Tong’s clutches. He had spent the last several months cultivating relationships with the port workers, and had made certain arrangements. Soon he would leave Meridian City behind, along with his idiot brother and the ashes of his father. It was hard. But he would be taking his legacy with him. The Lei family legacy. And that would be worth all the sacrifice. That box had been in his family a long time, and it had significance beyond its jeweled exterior. That small box held a treasure that could be worth enough to purchase everything in Meridian city, ever man, woman, child, cart, horse, building, and every square foot of land. If he was right in his suspicions about the box, he may well one day have enough to purchase most of this very moon. With an exultant feeling he slung the Blue Bomber in his pack and walked towards the service bays. All he needed now was a ship. And not many questions.

*

*

*

The good ship Serenity dropped down through thin clouds and bright sunshine onto the designated landing pad at the Epiphany Interstellar Starport – and for once, it was worthy of the name. It was brand new, having only opened for business eight months before. It had taken over duty for the far less attractive landing field that had been used – and used hard – by the Epiphany Chartered Terraforming Company (ECTC) for the last fifty years. The old ‘port was located in a desolate industrial site far from the new facility, in the bowl of an oversized crater – an area that was as close to the original landscape of Epiphany as remained, after the transformation. While ECTC still used it for importing equipment for the decade of final terraforming touches still needed on the small moon, the new port was designed for the yachts and barges and luxury liners of future residents. Epiphany was designed to attract the wealthy, who were expected to congregate on the sumptuous shores of the moon like fat flies on a steer’s ass. The port itself gleamed with newly-cured concrete pads yet unmarred by years of thruster exhaust, and beautiful support buildings made from the indigenous raw pink igneous rock. Serenity stood out like a whore in church. The old Firefly-class transport was rusted and faded, what little paint she claimed being chipped and marred by hundreds of thousands of micro-meteor impacts and the occasional bullet scar. But Wash, the pilot, set her down in the midst of the glamour like she was the belle of the ball. “Travelers, this is your pilot speaking,” he said giddily into the ship’s intercom. “We have arrived at our final destination, the fine, brand-spankin’ new capital city of Epiphany, Apex, on the shores of some ocean I don’t know the name of, but plan on becoming intimately acquainted with in the very near future. If you’d like to assemble in the cargo hold with your luggage we can commence off-loading of personnel in preparation for food, fun, and fornication if you are into that sort of thing. Once again, thank you for Traveling on Serenity, the happiest little tub in the ‘verse!” And it was a happy ship, for once. Coming off of a big score which left a big wad of cash in everyone’s pockets, Malcolm Reynolds, Captain and Master of the ship, had ordered a full week long vacation for everyone while he had the ship’s reactor core rebuilt, a long overdue maintenance issue that might have had serious repercussions if not addressed. The fact that the re-build would burn through most of his profit on his last major heist bothered him not at all. He would still have enough of a nest egg left for operating expenses, investing in a few strategic supplies, and mayhap a little fun, if he could squeeze it in. Serenity was his home and his business, and when he had the brass for it he didn’t hesitate to spend his money on her. It was an investment in his continued livelihood. He wasn’t worried. He could always steal more. Mal Reynolds had little moral problem with theft, within reason. He never took from those in need, if he could help it. There were plenty who had extra coin that could stand to be re-distributed, however, often enough for him to keep flying – if just barely. He especially enjoyed it when the Universal Alliance, the governmental body who asserted their authority everywhere they went, was the victim. Six years ago Mal had been an infantry sergeant in a regiment of Browncoats, the military force of the Independents faction of the Great Unification War. They had not been successful. Mal hated the Alliance more than just about anything else. Any time he could fill his pockets at their expense, well, that beat honest work any day of the week. “Excellent landing,” he said as he rose, slapping the pilot on the shoulder. “Helps to have a nice, clean, flat, level surface with professional ground control. And no one shooting at us,” he added as he powered down the thrusters. “The day is still young,” Mal quipped, rising from his seat. “Oh, no, don’t even joke! I’m on vacation!” Wash insisted. “No gunplay for at least three days! You promised! And after that you have to give us at least twenty-four hour notice. I’m not letting Zoe bring anything over .38 caliber, so don’t get any ideas!” “Wouldn’t dream of it. ‘Sides, I won’t even be there.” “Which you should. You need a vacation as much as anyone. More. Might even out that grumpy disposition of yours. Sir.” “I like my grumpy disposition,” Mal defended. “It discourages small talk,” he said, “It discourages smiles and laughter and happiness,” Wash muttered. He looked up, a bit of concern in his eye. “You sure you can take her up?” “Through this atmo? I could take three strides and leap into orbit. It may have been a while, but I did it once or twice, you know. And if anything goes wrong and I get myself killed for my own incompetence, then Zoe inherits the ship.” “What ship?” Wash asked. “You die, that doesn’t bode well for Serenity.” “She inherits the wreckage, then.” “Even better reason to be cautious. I don’t want to work for her. She’s oppressive.” “I empathize. But don’t worry! What could go wrong?” Wash just stared at him, his jaw hanging. “I can’t believe you just said that. That kinda talk, it invites the gods to make your life interesting. Mal! Gorram it! Don’t you know that by now?” “What do you care?” Mal said, shaking his head. “You’ll be on a beach drinkin’ fruity drinks and pullin’ sand out of your crack while you fend off well-muscled studs flexing for your wife. No worries.” “You really do have a grumpy disposition. Seriously, Mal, take a day or two off.” “I plan to. After I turn her over to the shop, I’m takin’ shuttle two back down. I’ll be in the same hotel as you.” He looked around. “Just feels queer. She ain’t been without one of us on her since . . . well since Kaylee came aboard. Feels strange lettin’ strangers run about.” “I checked it out, they’re bonded,” Wash said. “No worries.” “Still . . .” “Mal! Relax!” he looked out the viewport at the cresting ocean that filled the horizon. “I know I’m gonna. And I want to thank you for doin’ this. This vacation. Especially someplace like this, with sand and fruity drinks. Zoe and I, we needed this, I think. Danger and excitement might add spontaneity to the relationship, but it ain’t a substitute to properly executed hotel sex.” “And you know this how?” “I read a lot.” “Good. Have fun. Get a tan. Have good . . . marital relations. I’ll try not to intrude. We’ll be here for eight days, just make sure you show up when she’s ready to go.” “I will, and I will be rested and enthusiastic for anywhere you wanna go, whatever you wanna do.” “I have no idea where we’re going next,” Mal confessed. “I’m sure something will suggest itself. Maybe someplace with . . . well muscled women flexing for me.” “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The crew was making its way down to the cavernous cargo bay, one or two at a time, bags packed. Hoban “Wash” Washburn, the sandy-blonde pilot, came down with a battered suitcase and a hideously ugly orange and blue Hawaiian shirt. Just behind him was his wife, Zoë, usually an imposingly figure in leather and rugged work clothes; now she wore a wrap-around patterned sundress that showed off her womanly figure and perfectly complimented her dusky skin. She incongruously had an old military duffel slung over her shoulder. Zoe was the first officer of Serenity, and an army-buddy of Mal, having lived through everything he had. Mrs. Washburn was fanatically loyal to him, and as deadly with any weapon you cared to name as any three men you cared to name. She was also deeply in love with Wash, which seemed as incongruous as a duffel bag with an attractive sundress. Coming down the other set of stairs was Jayne, a mercenary Mal had hired out from under a man who was holding him at gunpoint. Mal was a fine judge of character, and knew a prize when he saw one. Despite a long and inglorious criminal career, Jayne Cobb had proven his worth over and over in tight combat situations. He was an expert shot, a skilled hand-to-hand fighter well versed in dirty tricks, and had a keen eye for tactics though he had never been in the military. Mal knew talent when he saw it. He’d made Jayne an offer the first chance he had, and only regretted it about every three days or so. Jayne had a burlap gunnysack in which his vacation belongings were held. Kaylee Frye was coming up from the engine room, a green surplus backpack on her back, a large conical straw hat on her head, and a colorful parasol in hand. She also wore a grim expression – for the next six days someone other than she would be poking and prodding Serenity as they stripped down and rebuilt the radioactive core that powered the ship. Kaylee was the ship’s engineer, a prodigy who knew her way around engine systems and the ten thousand other parts on the ship the way Jayne knew his way around a gun. She knew she didn’t have the equipment or technical skill to do the core rebuild, and she knew it was necessary, but she still didn’t like the idea and it showed. The ship’s unofficial chaplain and occasionally inspired cook was also leaving the ship, his belongings stowed on a little two-wheeled cart he pulled behind him. Shepherd Book was an enigmatic man who had let little of his past become known by the rest of the crew. Why he still stuck around, Mal had no idea. None of the crew were overtly religious (barring, perhaps, Inara Serra, a registered Companion who had left Serenity in her shuttle/home before they entered atmo to meet a client) and Mal didn’t allow services on his ship because of past issues he’d had with any Supreme Deity there might or might not be guiding the stars of the ‘verse and the fates of men – but for whatever reason, the Shepherd had continued his journey with the crew long after Mal quit charging him fare for passage. The mystery enveloping the Shepherd had deepened considerably in the last few months as he had shown both a surprising aptitude with firearms and an encyclopedic knowledge of law enforcement and criminal activities that Mal was fairly certain were not garnered in any seminary he had ever heard tale of. The man was useful. A useful puzzle, no matter how perplexing it might be was still useful, and Mal had learned long ago not to turn his face from those who might be useful. From what he had said, Book was planning on spending a while helping construct a mission his Order had established here for the benefit of the slaves and other workers who, in one way or another, belonged to the ECTC. The man was handy with a hammer, Mal had to admit, and he wasn’t the sort for sampling the nascent fleshpots of Epiphany. Lastly, the Siblings Tam filed out. They were a problem. Both were wanted by the Alliance for a number of reasons – River, the seventeen year old super-genius who had been a prisoner/patient at some top-secret government research lab, where they had turned her amygdala into hamburger and rendered her clinically insane – and Simon, her older brother, who had abandoned a stellar career as a brilliant trauma surgeon in the wealthy, developed Core-worlds in order to break his sister out of said institution. Both now had a price on their heads that was worth . . . well, worth quite a lot. Enough to have every system in Serenity overhauled, upgraded and replaced. He knew Jayne often wondered why, in his mercenary way, that the captain he respected so much for his criminal genius and willingness for violence would fail to turn over the Tams to the Alliance, collect the reward, and spend the rest of his days ass-deep in whores and booze in some pleasure palace – that was what he would do, after all. He wondered a lot less now that he’d tried to betray the Tams himself. He’d not only been screwed on the reward by the Alliance, he had gotten bound by law himself and nearly imprisoned, necessitating his escape and his engineering their escape. To make matters worse after that episode, Mal had almost killed him for his betrayal. He’d been on his best behavior ever since – though Mal was sure he still wondered. He did it because they were useful. Simon had proven his worth over and over again – what criminal gang – or, for that matter, what light freighter – had a board-certified trauma surgeon on board? And after their latest heist, he had probably the best filled-out clinic in his own scrungy corner of the Black. Mal wasn’t thrilled about his personality – if Mal was arrogant, then Simon was pretentious and pompous – but he had to respect the man for his skill with a scalpel as well as the intestinal fortitude it took to leave everything behind and break your sister out of a secure government facility. Especially when, outside of medicine, the boy didn’t seem to be able to grab his ass with both hands. River Tam. She was the wild card. Literally. Mal had long ago eschewed any faith in the Divine having any particular interest in his success or failure in life. And while he could not make himself go that last step, towards a total atheism, he did place a lot of stock in Luck. He never tried to depend on it – though circumstances often forced the issue – but it was always there. And River Tam was a big, fat, bundle of luck, all wound up in the addle-minded body of a moody seventeen-year old super genius. The only problem was it wasn’t always Good Luck. River and Simon, they were the reasons that Serenity was here. That and the core he needed rebuilt. He had scoured the cortex looking for the perfect place where his crew could get some well-deserved rest and spend a little of their loot, where he could get Serenity seen to, and where the Tams were not under the collective nose of the Feds. Epiphany was the answer. The little 4500 mile wide moon was discovered a century before, the fourth satellite of a eighteen moon system, and the only one suitable for the expensive and exhaustive process of terraformation. It was on the scrawny side for a world, its small size compounded by a big disparity between the lowlands and the highlands that led to over forty percent of the world being converted to ocean, thus reducing the habitable area even further. But other than that, it was a jewel of a world – and eventually would be about as expensive. Epiphany was being sculpted and developed into a high-class playground for the wealthy, a vacation world designed to flatter and entertain the rich and powerful. Though it was small, it’s soil composition had allowed a rapid development of flora, which after fifty years of intense work by a hundred thousand company-owned slaves and half again as many contractors (plus the few thousand management, but Mal didn’t rightly count them as real folk) provided a dense growth of forest around the world’s primarily equatorial land mass. The polar oceans, fed by cometary ice dropped into the thin atmosphere for the purpose, now lapped at the shores of the super continent where it churned the multi-colored sands of proto-Epiphany into thousands of miles of pristine beaches, in a variety of hues. Add to that the numerous archipelagos that dotted the oceans, and the amount of prime beachfront real estate available here was astounding. And it would go for a dear price, he had no doubt. Someday. But not today. Epiphany was still in the final phases of terraformation. Despite being the home for nearly three hundred thousand people, it was officially “uninhabited”. It had just submitted an application to the Alliance for consideration of Certification just last year. A year from now the place would be crawling with scientists and inspectors, measuring every factor of the new world to determine if it was a suitable orb on which to stake humanity’s future. If all went well, it would receive Colonial Certification, and the ECTC would become the Epiphany Chartered Colonial Company and start selling pieces of the future in thousand acre lots. With such a large terraforming labor force the place would have a built in underclass, able to cater to the slightest whim of its new citizens. But that was a while away. Until it was Certified it was legally a construction site. There was a single Fed office in the administrative center of the protocolony, some eight hundred miles away, but this new city was free from Feds, the Alliance, and anyone but Company police. And salesmen. Lots of salesmen. Until Certification the Company couldn’t sell land. But it could show it off. Apex was essentially one huge resort/showroom for the ultra wealthy who were just barely starting to trickle in from the Core. Which made it a perfect place for a Fed-free getaway, a place where Simon and River could roam without too many questions. Simon was here posing as a wealthy Core-world playboy vacationing with his mistress (Kaylee, unsurprisingly, volunteered for that role; River was her servant, which amused her to no end) and investigating real estate investments. As he was with his mistress, and not with his fictional fiancée, he was traveling incognito as Mr. Smith. Serenity was his charter, and the crew were . . . the crew. Keep it simple. Not so many details. As long as he paid in cash and acted all pompous and overbearing, there would be no questions. The good folk of Apex were too eager to make a sale to rock the boat with embarrassing legal questions. They even comped the hotel rooms. So it was a week-long vacation in paradise, a well deserved rest, and a chance to get Serenity up to par. What could go wrong?