The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Three

“You must promise me,” Zoe begged her husband. “You can never let me leave this bathtub.” “It ain’t a bathtub, sweetie, that’s a gorram swimming pool.” He wasn’t far from wrong. It was a large sunken tub in pretty pink and green ceramic mosaic, with elegant fixtures, complicated controls to several jet massagers, soap, shampoo and bubble dispensers, and temperature control. A cortex connection was nearby, and when called into service it projected a moveable holographic screen into the middle of the tub. There was a sound system that they discovered could put a symphony orchestra in the tub with them. It was large enough to sit four people comfortably. Nearby was an ornate lacquered cabinet that contained the biggest, softest, fluffiest warm towels in the whole ‘verse. At the touch of a button, though, warm, subtly scented air from a vent in the ceiling could blow you dry. Hump Nirvana and Heaven combined, Zoe thought. Paradise was this bubble bath. “What are you doing?” she called out. Wash had headed right for the big, king-size bed the moment his baggage hit the floor. He had a pilot’s love of sleep – any profession where you often took four-hour-on, four-hour-off shifts was going to invite that. For herself, Zoe could sleep on hard ground with a rock for a pillow as easily as anywhere else. She appreciated comfort, but she was no slave to it. A bath, on the other hand . . . during the War there were times when she would go three months without bathing. Three months in mud, dust, snow, ice, sweat, blood, tears. Around corpses weeks dead. There were times when she thought she’d never be clean again. Though things were certainly better on Serenity, she still did not get the soul-cleansing rose scented catharsis she craved nearly often enough. Every chance she could, she indulged. A bath was worth more than silver and gold. Wash was certainly an enthusiastic supporter of her therapy. He loved sitting nearby and watching her soak, soap, splash and saturate herself. He would talk, sometimes, or sing, or just sit and stare. She once asked him why he showed such interest, even when she was immersed up to her neck and her . . . charms were not displayed. He had said that it was the expression on her face – the most peaceful and relaxed and beautiful he ever saw her, even after sex. “Why? What do I need to be doing?” “Just askin’.” “I’m snuggled up in a silk comforter that cost more than my first semester of flight school. I’m watching my naked wife take a bath through my eyelids. I’m listening to beautiful music that was played by virgins and composed by . . . some composer.” “Oh.” “Oh go se.” “What?” “You said ‘oh.’.” “So? I do that.” “I know,” Wash groaned. “And every time you say ‘oh’ like that it means that you’ve got something on your mind that you feel is too insignificant to justify a real relationship discussion, but that you think is important enough to you personally that you would like to discuss it but you think that I won’t think that it’s a productive conversation.” He heaved a deep sigh. “You got all that from ‘oh’?” “Curse my superhuman emotional sensitivity. It’s babies, again, isn’t it?” “Well . . .” “Go ahead. Our agreement was ‘no guns, no dinos’. Relationship discussions are not forbidden, even if they are uncomfortable. I’ve been expecting something like this for a couple of days, now. Since we left Trinity. Let’s just get the argument over with so we can enjoy the rest of the vacation.” Zoe sighed. He was right. “Honey, how ‘bout this?” she proposed. “We skip the baby talk all vacation. All of it. We table the discussion until we go back to work and spend our time here having fun. Bathing. Shopping. Having sex.” “What’s the catch?” he asked, warily. “No catch. I just realized it was foolish of us to spend the only decent vacation we’ve had . . . ever, makin’ each other uncomfortable. Let’s agree to stick to havin’ fun.” “You mean cuddles and drinks and dancing and not guilt and shouting and remarks about my personal habits? And no strings?” There was a pause. “I so love you,” he said, rising. “Is that thing cool enough yet?” “You are such a wimp,” Zoe complained. “Just because you enjoy second-degree burns doesn’t mean I do. I have delicate skin. I bruise easily,” he pouted. “Well, strip ‘em off, wimp boy! But do it slow.” One thing she loved about Wash was his willingness to flirt and have fun with their lovemaking. Other men she had been with were far more matter-of-fact about it. Once the premise had been established, they had no further need of the preliminaries. Wash, though, would often take foreplay far past her frustration point – which made it all the better when finally fulfilled. And when she made an outrageous request, one which would make other men groan and role their eyes, he did it with enthusiasm and humor. He made a show of it. Unbuttoning his Hawaiian shirt while moving slowly and sensually – the whole thing was comical, of course. He slid the shirt off with a flamboyant toss of his head, moving just slightly out of time with the music. She laughed. He turned his back, and gave her a pouty-trying-to-be-sexy look over one shoulder, and stuck his hindquarters out provocatively. She laughed and rolled her eyes. He gave a sassy toss of his hips, then started to draw off his pants (his socks and boots had been abandoned the moment they had opened the door – the carpet was that soft). He peered briefly through his legs, licked his lips seductively, and then pulled his pants completely off – revealing tight blue silk bikini underwear embroidered in red with the Chinese characters for “Stud Service Available Daily!”. Zoe howled with laughter. Wash was typically a boxer man – he had plain cotton shorts that predated their relationship by years – because sitting long watches in anything else was uncomfortable. She was shocked – pleasantly so, if her nether-parts were any indication – in the sudden and stunning change. “Oh my Lord, you’re wearing man-panties! For me! How shiny is that?” “Nothin’ but the good stuff for you, baby” he said in a low, breathless voice. “You animal! Xiè xiè bao bei! Where did you get those?” “It’s wise for a man to keep somethin’ back for his lady wife,” he said with mock dignity. “I gotta keep you guessin’, otherwise you’re eye might wander to all those well-muscled studs on the beach!” “God, you’re an idiot! I so love you! Now strip them silly things off and come and pleasure me!” Wash grinned and did just that. Until he hit the water. Then his expression changed a mite. “Gao yang jong duh goo yang!” he hollered, shocked. “You tricked me! It’s still boiling!” “Oh, shut up and take it like a man!”

*

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“River, you’re telepathic, right? I mean, you can tell what a body’s thinkin’, kinda, right?” “The exact nature and eteliology of my supposedly paranormal abilities has yet to be established by rigorous scientific investigation,” River said, shaking her head sadly while she jumped on the bed. It was a really good, springy jumping bed. “But you can . . . hear stuff what folks are thinkin’? You done it afore.” “The plural of anecdote is not data,” River said. “Whatever, then you know your dumb brother better’n anyone,” Kaylee said, from her position laying on the other bed, her feet on the pillow. “What the hell goes on in that gorram fung luh excuse for a pee goo masqueradin’ as a brain of his?” River’s body kept coming into and out of Kaylee’s vision as she stared intently at the ceiling. “I’ve been wondering about that since I was five,” River said, simply. “Watch this,” and she executed a tight, quick somersault, landing on her back. “That was really good!” Kaylee exclaimed. “Does he hurt my feelin’s on purpose, is what I wanna know.” “Oh, no, not at all. He holds you in high regard. He’s just an idiot.” “But he’s such a cute idiot,” Kaylee said with a groan that turned into a sigh unbidden. “I guess if he was really tryin’ to piss me off, he’d be more . . . more Jayne-like. A body expects that. I guess that ‘cause he’s so polite an’ all, it’s kinda more infuriatin’ when he does.” “Oh, it’s out of ignorance,” River said, breathing heavily with her sudden exertion. “He’s never shown much in the way of a malicious nature. That was my purview.” “You? Sweet kind little River what hates guns?” “You don’t need guns to be a genius at making someone’s life hell. Just ask my mother. Maliciousness and violence are not equivalent.” “Anyhow, I just wish your brother would stop doin’ what . . . well, what he’s been doin’, so we could get on with the kissin’ and courtin’. I guess part of it is my fault.” “Don’t say that Kaylee.” River said, her eyes darting over to where her friend lay. “Why? You don’t think it’s true? It ain’t part my fault?” “Oh, yeah, it is. But don’t say it. It’s more fun to blame Simon.” “You,” Kaylee said, beaning River in the face with one of the many small and useless pillows that festooned the bed, “are ‘bout the meanest li’l sis I think I ever knew. Seriously, I think I might’ve been . . . a little . . . sensitive about the whole thing.” “You have been a mite moody,” agreed River. “You gonna start soon?” “Oh, gwon nee tze-jee duh shr!” “Just sayin’,” River said with a sigh. “What are you gonna do tonight?” “I thought about getting’ a bite. That restaurant sure sounded good. An’ there’s others, I’m sure, ‘round here.” “I want to dance.” “You always want to dance. I look like a hippo having convulsions when I dance.” “You do not. You dance wonderfully, if not up to professional standards.” “Oh, thanks loads, I feel better now. SO you wanna come eat with me?” Before River could answer, there was a knock on the door. Both girls looked at each other. “It’s my brother,” River said, eyes wide. “Oh, you ain’ t telepathic, no sir.” River stuck her tongue out and got up to answer the door. She flung it open and then went back to jumping on the bed. A confounded-looking Simon stood there . . . in a magnificent outfit. It was the charcoal gray one he had bought on Onyx – a pirate port that had, of all unlikely things, and excellent tailor shop. It was a long, knee-length coat with subtly understated abstract embroidery in black silk. He had added the matching trousers and the slippers, as well as the cap with the polished onyx button. He looked very handsome. Kaylee suddenly felt pathetically underdressed. “Yes,” Simon began, watching his sister bounce for a moment before his eyes settled back on Kaylee – who was protectively clutching a pillow to her chest. “I was thinking that I may have inadvertently hurt your feelings earlier, and I wanted to know if you would forgive me after an incredibly expensive meal, one that involves lots of alcohol.” “Uh . . . you look . . . beautiful.” “Thanks,” Simon said. “I thought this would be a good occasion to wear my new outfit River will you PLEASE stop that for a moment until I finish my conversation?” River stopped instantly, extended her tongue again, and flung her wild shock of hair back over her shoulder. “Thank you. Now, I’ve made reservations at the Dragonfly, which is about two blocks away. It’s going to be a lovely night. I thought we could walk. If,” he said, eyebrows raised, “of course, you are interested in forgiving me?” “Can you give me a little while to change?” Kaylee asked. “Just . . . twenty minutes. Ten,” she corrected. “Take thirty, we have a while. I’ll be downstairs in the bar. Come and collect me when you’re ready.” “Okay,” Kaylee said, a tight, but extremely pleased smile on her face. Simon looked back to River, and gave a very formal bow from the waste. He ended by sticking his own tongue out. “I’ll see you then. Alone,” he added. “Fine, just ditch the annoying little sister. See if I care. I’ll just amuse myself,” River said indignantly. “Maybe something with fire . . .” “I know what meds you are on, don’t forget,” Simon warned. “I’ll know what’s insanity and what’s malicious, you little demon.” “There’s always room for unanticipated adverse events,” she countered. “Don’t forget – crazy girl prone to violent outbursts over here!” “Don’t be stupid. You’re more lucid now than anytime since I threw away everything in my life to come rescue you. And I think you should at least be grateful and decent enough to allow me one night of enjoyment. Besides, the Captain made everyone leave their guns on Serenity.” “I’ll improvise,” she said, staring him down. “Why are we arguing the point? You will stay here. Period. Watch something. Listen to something. Dismantle the comforter and count the feathers, calculate the harmonic signature of the ocean waves, do whatever it is you do when you are alone and bored, but make gorram sure that whatever it is you do does not require my attention or my intervention in any possible way until at least two hours after dawn tomorrow or after I have my second not my first but my second cup of coffee whichever comes first have we reached an understanding?” “Or what?” River asked scornfully. “You’ll tell Mom?” “Don’t you . . . I swear . . . Okay, I didn’t want to do this, but if you give me no choice . . .” “What, you’re going to up my meds?” “Chemicals don’t seem to have much of a controlling effect on you, but there are other methods.” “Like what? Physical restraint? Ghost stories? Corrective violence?” Simon sighed. “All right. You asked for it. When I left home, I knew there was a possibility that I wouldn’t return. I took a lot of things that would remind me of my dear, sweet, considerate, kind and loving family. Including a number of photo and video memories from the family album.” “Simon, you—” “Don’t make me use them. I will. You push me, and I’ll do it.” “Do what?” asked Kaylee, purely mystified. “Don’t even say it,” River warned. “Naked baby pictures,” Simon shot back vindictively, his eyes never leaving his sister. “What?” “Naked baby pictures. Gawky adolescent vids, pictures of her in her first bra, the vid of the time when she was seven and her skirt fell off at the school play – I have it all. An entire lexicon of embarrassment and humiliation. And I’ll use it. I swear to God I will, if you mess up my evening.” “You are the meanest big brother, EVER!” “I’m glad we could come to an understanding on this. Kaylee, I’ll await you in the bar. Order you something?” Kaylee was still in awe of the siblings quarrel. “Surprise me,” she said. “I’ll do that.” And with that, he gave one last warning look at River and retreated with quiet dignity. “Oh, I hate him,” River said, staring daggers at the door. “You think he’s bluffing?” “Simon doesn’t bluff. He’s pathetically predictable that way. Anyway, I was just yanking his leash. It keeps his life interesting. Let’s get you ready.” “Oh, God,” Kaylee said, a horrified expression flashing on her face. “What am I gonna wear?”

*

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Jayne sat at the ritziest bar he’d ever sat at, sipping the finest sipping liquor that had ever crossed his lips – Heflin’s Red Label, a single-malt whiskey from the Cumberland district of Londonderry, 22 credits an ounce and went down his throat like liquid sunshine – and wondering what kind of trouble he was going to get into tonight. The bartender was a nice fellow, an older Chinese fellow named Jesse with a friendly smile and a hysterical-looking comb-over, and he’d been gracious enough to recommend the stuff. Like all bartenders everywhere he knew where all the sinful pleasures were dispensed, from theater tickets to gang-bangs. He was surprised to learn that most of the stuff he liked to indulge in wasn’t hidden away, as such places usually were. Brothels, taverns, casinos, nightclubs, drug dens, theaters – apparently rich folks on holiday were a lot like recently poor folks on holiday, only with better-smelling soap in the bathrooms and no need to worry about the cops. What to do? A pocket full of cash and a pecker full of potential, what to do? “Another, sir?” Jesse asked, eyebrows raised. Jayne slammed the sweet liquor like it was two-bit an ounce hooch. “Yeah.” Before it was set before him, he was surprised to see the Doc enter the bar, all dressed up in a dark silk dress coat. Looked very respectable. When the Doc saw him, he looked around for a minute before sitting down next to him. “Don’t you just look purty enough to ask to the dance?” Jayne snorted. “If it was you asking, I’d have to say no,” he said. “Jĭng géi wŏ liăng píng pí jĭu,” he said, raising two fingers. “Well that was mighty pleasant of you, Doc,” Jayne said. “You ain’t never bought me a drink before.” Jesse came back with another shot of Heflin’s and two Green Stars – apparently a local brew. “What’s the occasion?” “We aren’t being shot at, followed, or otherwise threatened, for a change. Thought that might be worth a drink.” “I ain’t gonna argue that,” Jayne agreed. “Don’t mind the occasional piece o’ mortal danger, long as there’s somethin’ in it for me, but a chance to spend your loot every now and again without concern for your ass getting’ shot off, that ain’t too bad, every now and again.” “Hear, hear,” Simon said, hunching over the bar and pulling at his beer. Jesse again appeared nearby. “Zhī yān ma?” “No thanks, don’t smoke. Unless,” he said, having an idea “you have a macanudo? Osirian?” “Let me check the humidor,” Jesse said with a bow. “You smoke cigars?” Jayne asked, eyebrows raised. “Only on special occasions,” explained Simon. “On Osiris they grow some truly fine tobacco in the equatorial regions, and in Medical School it was a regular indulgence at our parties. Shindigs,” he corrected, for Jayne’s benefit. “I know what a party is, asswipe,” Jayne muttered irritated. “Anyway,” Simon continued, ignoring the jibe, “This friend of mine named Harold Bestner – became a gyno, I believe – his father had a plantation there, and he never failed to whip out a box of these stunning macanudos, just amazing things.” “So you an’ your doc buddies’d just sit there and puff away and . . . be rich and all?” Simon gave him a strange look. “When we weren’t beating the peasants and oppressing the working class, yes. I developed a bit of a taste for them. Only occasionally, mind – still very bad for you. They used to cause cancer, you know.” “Takes your wind away,” Jayne said. “Did it for a while, once. Bad habit.” Jesse returned a moment later with half a box of cigars, Ramses Select No. 4s. Simon bought three, then bought Jayne one as an afterthought. “You’re on vacation,” he said. “Live a little.” “Oh, yeah, I’m so repressed.” “Just what I was thinking.” They chatted, a lot more amiably than either suspected. They were by no means yucking it up, but they were two men at a bar: the Great Equalizer. A man at a bar is a man at a bar, and a certain compulsive camaraderie applied, even to them. As sports was an unlikely subject – Simon loved tennis and cricket, while Jayne had a deep attachment to the Fightin’ Elves – and talking shop didn’t seem quite appropriate or wise, under the circumstances, conversation became downright philosophical. “You and the grease-monkey goin’ out?” Jayne began. “Well, yes. I thought we both deserved a nice time out.” “We all been workin’ hard,” Jayne agreed. “I haven’t been out to eat – at a place with a real menu – in almost a year,” Simon reflected. “I’ve almost forgotten what it was like.” “Ain’t much for store-bought meals, m’self,” Jayne commented. “Most ain’t half as good as my mama’s cookin’. She could do a venison stew that – well, let’s just say it was the best piece o’ game you ever put in your mouth you ain’t had to buy a drink for first.” “High praise, indeed,” murmured Simon. “She could do stuff with a rabbit and herbs – maybe a li’l beer, if we was lucky and she didn’t drink it all first – that I’d lick the gorram kettle out after.” “My mother was perfectly useless in the kitchen, but we had a housekeeper when I was a boy, Miss Annie, who could make bowl of oatmeal or a six course Szechuan banquet. And both would be twice as good as anything you could find in uptown Capitol City or Memphis.” “Y’all had slaves?” Jayne asked, eyebrows raised. Simon looked up, startled. “Father didn’t believe in bonded servants,” he said, shaking his head. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a cigar cutter, would you?” he asked, gesturing toward the macanudo on the bar. Then he realized who he was asking. Jayne shrugged, then pulled the knife he kept behind his belt (Mal hadn’t said anything about knives) neatly sliced the tip from the cigar, and had it back in its sheath before anyone noticed. Simon looked down at the stoogie, realized what had just happened, and looked up, impressed. “You’re a man of many talents, Jayne,” he said, examining the cut for a moment before sticking it in his mouth and lighting it with the bar’s lighter. “Anyway, Father considered himself quite progressive. No slaves. Not even the groundscrew. All of our people were paid employees.” “Mighty rich o’ him,” Jayne muttered. “Well, bonded labor has fallen out of favor back home. Too many legal issues. Most families would rather have the work done without the responsibility or cost of bondsmen.” “Ain’t many slaves where I come from – ‘ceptin’ company skags, ‘course. Don’t rightly feel it’s a man’s place to sell hisself into bondage. Guess it’s different if it’s a criminal – beats jail, I s’pose. Better chance t’run, easy. And less like t’get your virtue challenged.” “I’ll keep that in mind, should the occasion arise.” The conversation wandered to girls they had known, bosses from their pasts, trivial bits of personal history that were closely held shipboard, but seemed natural to reveal from the top of a barstool. Just as Jayne was finishing his fourth drink, and thinking that maybe Simon wasn’t such a fay fay duh pee-yen, Kaylee came down. If she wasn’t quite dressed to kill, she might have roughed someone up a little in that dress. A dark green silk gown that seemed elaborately constructed, but a little plain, truth to tell, compared to some of the fancier whores he’d had – pretty, but still about six strokes under what Inara wore to do the dishes in. The mechanic had found some make-up somewhere, and her hair was up in a way that didn’t make it look like she was ready to take something apart and worried about it getting caught in the works. “Ain’t you just the cutest ewe in the flock,” he said, as kindly as he could. “You like it? Inara picked it out for me on Onyx. Never had a notion I’d actually wear it, but . . .” “You look marvelous,” Simon said approvingly, rising to greet her. “Drink, before? Oh, where are my manners, do you smoke?” he asked, offering her a cigar. She looked at it skeptically. “Not tobacco. Ain’t tried it much, though m’daddy liked a stoogie on payday, every now and again when he had a payday.” “Perhaps after dinner, they really are excellent. Drink?” he repeated. “’Druther get to the restaurant, you don’t mind,” she said, nervously. “If I gotta pee in this thing, I’m not sure I could get it back on again. River had to help.” “Well, definitely don’t wanna get outa it ‘till your good ‘n’ ready,” Jayne said, a leer on his face. “I reckon y’all have a good enough time and she’s gonna—” “Jayne,” Simon said warningly. “—just slide outa it on her own like a warm shell from a shotgun,” he finished. Simon closed his eyes, as if praying for something. “Bao bei, let’s go before he has a chance for further metaphorical inspiration drawn from the habits of livestock, shall we?” he asked, offering his arm to her. Kaylee took it, a little aggressively, and shot Jayne a look that he’d grown accustomed to from women who didn’t appreciate his poetic imagination. Nah. Bar or no bar, Simon was still an arrogant prick. Which left him back wondering just what kind of trouble he was going to get into. He was just about to ask Jesse for directions to the nearest house when trouble came in and sat down at the end of the bar. A woman, on the young side of middle-age, but without the high cheekbones that came from malnutrition, like most of the girls Jayne had been with out on the Rim. She had that well-fed look. A solid ton of golden hair, bright blue eyes, and wearing a dress that would have tackled Kaylee’s gown in a dark alley and beat it senseless. Legs . . . tits . . . ass . . . she had all the right parts and that dress bound it all together in a deadly dark red package. He was about to shake it off and find a house – safer than these bar hookers, usually, at least they had management you could complain to – but then her perfume hit him like a blunt instrument. He had to talk to her. He had money in his pocket and a free evening – if this woman wasn’t trouble just waiting to be had, then he hadn’t known what trouble was. He slowly walked down the bar, signaling silently for Jesse to provide the next round at her location. “Howd’ya do?” he asked. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cigar cutter onya, wouldya?” She smiled, and reached for her purse.

*

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One didn’t usually expect to have a knock on one’s airlock – especially not an airlock that wasn’t connected to another ship or station somehow. But since the Jubal Early episode, Mal had started to re-think the whole “space is safe as houses” idea. He crept down the stairs and went over to the airlock controls at the rear of the cargo bay. From what the meter said, the outer door was sealed, meaning that whoever it was had already come in. Of course, he could get rid of them rudely. By venting atmo into the lock, establishing pressure, then blowing the outer door quick, sending atmo and uninvited solicitor out into the Black. But his curiosity was honestly piqued. Why come in that way? And if the visitor’s intent was less than honest, why knock? Any idiot could run a bypass around airlock controls. Even with Kaylee’s rigged systems, it could be done – it’d just be slow enough to set off some alarms and allow for someone inside to take action. Muttering to himself something about curiosity and cats, he toggled the airlock door and drew his pistol. The space-suited figure waited calmly for the door open, and if the gun in his hand surprised him—her?—he (or she) didn’t let it show. The suit was a newer model, a rental, by the neat corporate logo imprinted on the chest and shoulder. Not a working suit – it had little in the way of armor. And at the figure’s feet on the deck was a pressure-wrapped bundle that was, in Mal’s professional opinion, too small to be a body. The moment the door was open, Mal aimed his weapon dead center on the man’s? woman’s? helmet. “If you would slowly remove your helmet, I’d take it as a kindness,” Mal said congenially. Nodding stiffly, the suited figure reached up, undogged the seal (much simpler than his suits – tourist-simple, actually) and pulled off the helmet. It was a man. Or boy, Mal amended. No more than nineteen. But with a killer’s eyes. “Howdy,” Mal said, face blank. “Howdy,” the boy returned. “Permission to come aboard?” “That all depends on who the hell you are, and why the hell you’re comin’ into the airlock when we got a perfectly gorram good space station sittin’ just up there,” he said, gesturing a but with the barrel of his gun. “Of course, those both beg the greater question of your overall intentions regardin’ my ship.” “All excellent questions,” the boy said, completely unconcerned with the pistol. “And worthy of answers. I’ll start with ‘why the airlock’. It’s the simplest. I have enemies, and I didn’t want them to know that I’d visited you. Had I entered by normal means, their watchers would have spotted me at once.” “Good reason.” “Which brings me to the reason I’ve come here in the first place. I want to hire you, Captain Reynolds. I’m looking for a . . . unique ship and crew, and of all of the ones docked right now, your Serenity comes closest to fitting my needs.” “Ain’t for hire at the moment,” Mal said evenly. “Havin’ our core rebuilt.” “I can wait for it to be done,” the boy countered. “And if I ain’t inclined to accept your job?” “You don’t even know what my job entails.” “All the more reason t’be cautious, don’t you think?” “A case could be made. But will you at least hear my proposal?” “Unless it has me makin’ a pile o’ cash at the end . . .” “It does.” “Then you caught me in a rare listenin’ mood.” “Excellent. What I need—” “Hold up, there, boy. Need your name, first. Real one if you can, whichever one you wanna used if it’s a problem.” “No problem. My name is Lei Chin Yi. Some people call me the Prince. But you can call me Johnny. Johnny Lei.” “All right, Johnny Lei it is. So what’s this job entail?” “Raiding the hidden trove of an ancient Yuanese Emperor. Screwing over the Alliance a little bit on the way. Probably a little danger. Certainly a little speculation.” “Ain’t got time for treasure hunts. Be on your way.” “I got a map!” Johnny insisted. “Hope it’s got a way to get home on it. You can go out the way you came, protect your privacy.” “Twenty thousand up front, twenty percent of anything I find, and it won’t take more than two weeks.” Twenty thousand. That sounded pretty good, considering what he just handed over to the Corporal for Serenity’s new core. That would take him from ‘just enough to get back on course’ to ‘able to look for another decent job and not run out of fuel before then’. “You have engaged my curiosity,” Mal said, lowering the pistol – but not holstering it. “Let’s go to my office and discuss the details. If I like ‘em then we might could do some business. If not, it’s back out the airlock.” “You’ll do me the courtesy of allowing me my helmet, in that case?” “Hell, anythin’s possible. Depends on how much I like you.” “Remind me to be utterly charming, then.” “You can count on it,” Mal agreed.