The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Four

Jayne stumbled good-naturedly out of the hotel, the extremely attractive blonde under one arm, her good smell sticking to them like a raincoat. She said to call her Mila, so he did, and he said he liked her dress, which he did (although he actually said something along the lines of ‘it’d look pretty gorram good crumpled up at the foot o’ my gorram bed!’ the message was not lost on Mila and she took the compliment in the spirit in which it had been given). Jayne had bought Mila a drink, and Mila had bought Jayne a drink, and after that they were old friends and would you like to see the beach? So they stumbled out, intertwined with each other, a single common (if shifting) center of gravity between them. Mila was real nice, asked lots of questions about him, let him tell a few lies, and probably told a few her own self. Something about being a “businesswoman”. Like he couldn’t guess her business was whoring. That didn’t bother Jayne none. All women were liars. They couldn’t help it. It was in their nature. The beach was nice, and Mila took her shoes off and asked Jayne to take his off. But he wasn’t about to lose his best pair of boots, and he really didn’t feel like carrying them, so he left them where they were and watched Mila’s pretty feet dance in the surf in the bluish light from the jovian planet Epiphany orbited on the horizon. It was all very pretty and poetical and it gave Jayne a most powerful boner. He was about to ask Mila if she wanted to go back to his place and transact some business when she pulled him down into the sand and kissed him mightily. Not having anything clever to say, he kissed her back. Then she asked if he’d buy her a drink at a dive called Eva’s, and he said yes, though he didn’t think a burg this new minted would have a dive of any sort but if Mila wanted him to get the Alliance Battle Standard tattooed on his ass right about then, well, he was up for it. Along the way to Eva’s, Mila had to put her shoes back on, and when she stopped to do so she dragged Jayne into a convenient alcove and there was more kissing. Just when he was about to beg for her to end the misery in his pants, she pulled him out and down the plaza, and started singing a rude ballad about the Magistrate’s Daughter and the Preacher’s Son and he fell on the pavement, laughing his fool head off and had to be drug back to his feet by Mila who was a lot stronger than she looked – and that boded well, all things considered. About three quarters of the way to Eva’s they popped into another alleyway for yet more kissing (Jayne had rarely kissed a woman so much, much less a whore, than he did, but Mila was something a little special). Jayne was starting to lose oxygen and get dizzy when he heard the familiar sound of a pistol cock behind his back. “Gorram it, I’m on vacation!” he bellowed into her sweet-smelling neck. “Can’t a man pitch a little woo without every pinheaded thug inna world come get in his business?” “Your money! Give me your cash and no one gets hurt!” came the reply, in a voice too high with stress and nervousness to be a pro. Jayne sighed and turned around. He didn’t bother raising his hands. Mila looked scared, and was clutching her purse like a shield. “Do what he says!” she urged, panic starting to rise in her voice. “You’re one sorry ‘scuse for a hold-up man,” he grumbled, peering through the gloom. It wasn’t a very good gloom. This town was too well-lighted for a decent, robbery-worthy gloom. “Shut up!” the robber replied feverishly. The revolver he held was shaking badly. The light wasn’t great, but Jayne could tell the kid was about fifteen, dark hair, leather jacket that was supposed to look scary and tough but ended up looking cheap and punkish. No obvious gang tags, so he was most likely an independent – a very green independent. “Shut up!” he repeated. “Just gimme your gorram cash!” “Boy, I said I was on vacation!” “And I said gimme your gorram cash!” Jayne took a moment to focus his eyes on the pistol. He started laughing. “What? What?” the kid demanded. Jayne slapped his knee. “It’s a real gun!” the mugger said, defensively. “Oh, yeah, a Han Cobra .22!” Jayne howled. “Shut up! It’s a gun! I swear it is!” “You call that a gun? A ruttin’ .22 six-shot? I piss harder than that!” Jayne said, shaking uncontrollably. Mila still looked scared, but he couldn’t tell what she was more scared of – the gun or his rapturous laughter. “Oh, this is good! Careful w’that thing, boy!” he giggled hysterically, “you’re gonna put an eye out!” This brought more gales of laughter, and the would-be criminal started looking more frustrated than nervous. He glanced at Mila, who was still cowering behind Jayne, but his attention was on his would-be victim. “Oh, Jesus! Oh! That’s too rich. You know how many times you gotta shoot me with that pop gun afore you make me notice it? Much less kill me? Oh!” he tried to straighten up, but a fresh peal of laughter wracked his body. “A ruttin’ .22! What happened – you wash it and it shrunk?” “No! Shut up! I mean it!” “No, no, lemme guess – your girlfriends all tol’ you that size don’t matter!” Jayne was pounding the side of the building, trying to recover his composure long enough to deal with the robbery in progress, but part of his brain just wouldn’t let go of the humor of the situation. “Or – wait, wait – you traded your .45 for rent, and this is what you got back in change! Oh, you’re killin’ me here! Does it got a label that says ‘not actual size’? Ooh! How ‘bout, how ‘bout you’re goin’ fishin’ for rifles in the mornin’ an’ your usin’ this li’l thing for bait!” “Shut up! I swear I will shoot you dead if you don’t shut the hell up!” Mila whimpered loudly. “Shhh! Honey, don’ make too much noise! You might scare it off! The young o’ the species are fair skittish!” “You gao yang jong duh goo yang! I’ll shoot you if you don’t shut up!” “For your sake, I hope you ain’t over-compensatin’ for anythin’!” “Jesus! Just gimme your gorram money! Please? Before someone gets hurt!” “Yeah, yeah, guess it no laughin’ matter,” Jayne said, trying to calm himself. “An’ you did say ‘please’.” He straightened, almost broke back out in laughter again, and found some semblance of drunken composure. “That’s better, gorram it! You ain’t taking me serious! This here is a dangerous weapon!” the tough said, brandishing the gun threateningly. “Yeah, yeah it is,” agreed Jayne. “Dangerous.” “It is dangerous!” insisted the robber. “Yeah, it’s dangerous ‘cause . . . ‘cause it might be a chokin’ hazard!” He fell on the ground, laughing, and even rolled once or twice. Mila started to giggle herself, despite the potential threat. “Mister, you . . . you—” the boy said with exasperation, his voice cracking. “Listen, boy – help me up.” Jayne got unsteadily to his feet, helped by the reluctant thief. “Son, I sympathize with you, I really do. I was in your place, once upon a time. You gonna do a robbery – and you don’t look the strong-arm type – then take some advice: boy your size, that gorram toy-surprise in your hand just makes you look like a kid. Boy like you, you need a more vicious threat. You gotta knife?” “No,” the boy said, sullenly. “No? You older’n me boy?” “No . . . sir.” “Tha’s better. You ain’t gotta knife? What’re they teachin’ you punks these days?” he muttered. “Tell you what: I gotta knife, I’ll trade it to you for that . . . that . . . cute li’l – ain’t it cute baby? – that cute li’l pup y’got there.” Jayne moved suddenly, and with speed and dexterity that belied his drunken stupor. One moment he was laughing, the next he was holding a razor sharp blade at the throat of a very surprised young thug. “Now this here,” he breathed in the boy’s ear, “this is a threat. Feel that? That’s seven double-edged inches of titanium alloy blade tempered with carbon nanofibers and a molecularly formed, ever-sharp edge – won’t ever need sharpenin’. Cut through a gorram steel plate. You hold this up to the carotid artery and just twitch your fingers two millimeters in pretty much any direction you choose, and your mark gonna soil himself – just plain piss his pants. It don’t make no sound, it don’t run outa bullets, and it is plain . . . simple . . . threat . . . of deadly . . . force.” His voice got lower and softer as he spoke. Swea poured off the boy’s face. “So, we gotta trade or what?” he asked in his normal voice, causing the boy to start. The nascent thug just nodded, shakily. “Good,” Jayne said, snatching the pistol. He handed the knife over to the kid, and examined his new gun. “Gorram, it ain’t even a real Han Cobra – it’s a cheap rip-off copy! Sonofa—” “Now gimme your gorram money!” the kid said viciously, his voice laden with frustration and anger as he brandished his new knife. This inspired another round of laughter from Jayne, which only ended when he suddenly pressed his new pistol into the forehead of the boy. “Y’know, I thought you was pretty gorram stupid t’give up your gun without a fight – in the middle of a robbery, no less. But you just went an’ compounded your stupidity by continuing to work on a man who so clearly overmatches you at ‘bout every level you can think of, and who gave you a golden ruttin’ opportunity to walk away with your ass relatively intact. In your hands, this kiddie toy was a joke, an’ you’d most likely shoot your ruttin’ pecker off as hit somthin’ you’re aimin’ at. But in my hands, it’s a real weapon, an’ at this range I ain’t gotta worry ‘bout the size o’ hole it’s gonna make, ‘cause that bullet is just gonna rattle ‘round in that pumpkin head o’ yours ‘till what little brain you got gets shredded like cabbage. Most likely won’t kill you, neither, just leave you a droolin’, pissin’, brain-dead . . . cabbage. “But bein’ as how I’m on vacation,” Jayne added, putting just a little more pressure on the kid’s forehead, “I’m gonna be generous beyond the reason o’ mortal man and let you walk away – again. But this time I want my knife back, huh choo-shung tza-jiao duh tzang-huo, ‘cause you ain’t earned it an’ you’re too stupid not t’cut yourself with it.” He plucked the knife from the boy’s limp hands. “Now get outa here, go back home, and change you’re ruttin’ underwear – you ain’t a punk no more. Not ‘till you grow some whiskers or some gorram brains, your choice. Dong ma?” “Uhn!” Jayne let the boy go, and he ran as fast as you could ask for, Jayne chuckling at his back. He stopped only when he heard whimpering from his date. “Was wrong, honey?” he said as he turned back around. Mila was slumped against the wall, still whimpering. He replaced the knife and stuck the gun in his pocket. “We – you could have – he was going to—” “Hush, now, hush, sweetness! ‘Cause Jayne ain’t about t’let the likes o’ him mess up our evenin’ plans. C’mere!” He swept her up in a powerful embrace, which did nothing to quell the eagerness of his pecker. She was hesitant at first, but then she returned the embrace, squeezing him tightly and confirming her strength. Jayne liked a strong woman. And she did smell so very lovesome . . . “Don’t worry none,” he murmured to her. “That weren’t a real mugger. Likely t’be just somethin’ the locals put together for the tourists, on account o’ this shiny-new town ain’t had time to develop no local color on its own yet.” She continued to cling to him, and just when it was starting to be emotionally uncomfortable Mila started kissing his neck with those soft, soft lips. That was more like it. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of drunk, scared, aroused whore, and sighed deeply. Vacations were good. He kissed her back some, and then suddenly her lips weren’t there anymore. They were on their way south to take care of his . . . problem, right here in the street. Yeah, he thought as he felt his pants open, vacations are real good.

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The Dragonfly was uncrowded – sparse, actually, but considering the entire city was still a work-in-progress, it wasn’t bad at all. Only two or three tables were being used, out of at least forty. That spoke of great potential. Kaylee and Simon were given an excellent table, and before they even sat down menus, glasses, and other accoutrements were placed before them. A pleasantly obsequious waiter appeared, waited on them as if they were royalty, explained the specials, took their order, and disappeared like a politician after election day. When wine had been brought and appetizers had been served, Kaylee and Simon were faced with that awkward dinner date conversation everyone inherently fears. After fumbling around a while, they took to discussing one of their common interests: River. “So her Migdala is all messed up.” “Amygdala, actually. Yes, a good portion has been removed. It’s as if they were scraping it away, neuron by neuron, to see what would happen.” “What’s an amygdala for, anyhow?” Kaylee asked as she picked up a steamed bun with her chopsticks. “Think of it like a filter. There is so much data our brain could be aware of at any one time through our six senses that the only way to process it is to filter out the stuff that isn’t immediately important.” “Six senses? I thought we have five.” “Six,” corrected Simon. “Touch, taste, smell, sound, sight . . . and balance. Most people forget about that one, but our semi-circular canals are sense organs.” “I guess that makes sense. So River, she ain’t got a filter.” “Pretty much. Well, there is some residual tissue left – and the neural scan I did on Ariel showed some sort of artificial neural superstructure laced through the space, but essentially she has no filter. She feels everything. Every breeze that wafts by her arm, every pulse of sound, every worry and concern she has, every abstract thought. She’s aware of it all. When you push something to the back of your mind, your amygdala is where it goes. River doesn’t have a ‘back of her mind’.” “That’s . . . scary,” admitted Kaylee. “It is,” agreed Simon. “Imagine worrying that the ship will explode every time you acknowledge the possibility that the ship can explode. And I mean really worry, the darkest, nastiest of your fears living right there in the parlor of your mind, not an idle concern. Even though River knows the ship probably won’t explode, she feels like she would if such an explosion was imminent – as soon as the realization comes to her. And she holds that sense of terror until some other thought comes along and replaces it.” “That must be . . . that must be pure hell!” “It explains a lot about her erratic behavior. Every irrational fear laid bare. Most normal people wouldn’t be able to survive that kind of injury. Autism has an effect – or is affected by – some things involving the amygdala, and so does schizophrenia. River shows some trace characteristics of each. In a normal person with her condition, I’d say that they would only be about, say 30% functional. Not enough to be left on their own for long. “But River isn’t normal – never was. I expect that’s why they selected her. And I think she’s making some progress dealing with her condition. She has to counter her emotional outbursts with logic and reasoning – running through all the reasons why the ship won’t explode, for instance. It doesn’t remove the fear, but it answers it enough so that she can scrape by with about 70% of functionality.” “Why?” Kaylee asked, eyes wide. “Why in the name o’ the Black would they do such a thing?” “Well, I’ve been thinking pretty hard about that. It wasn’t the kind of experiment that you do when you’re really looking for a cure for something. You don’t casually use a super-genius for a guinea pig. But if you wanted to create a . . . a telepath, this might be a way to go.” “How you figure?” “The amygdala acts as a filter for regular sensory data. What if it also filters out whatever EM band or mechanism that our thoughts use? Keeping the ‘mental static’ at bay? I wouldn’t even know how to approach such a thing to test it, but it has been suggested several times over the centuries that this was possible – lots of anecdotal accounts to support the theory. And perhaps the ‘voices’ that schizophrenics hear are actually the buried thoughts of everyone else in the room? From a scientific perspective, it’s fascinating. From a big-brother perspective, it makes me want to break things and hurt people.” “Ain’t there anyway for her to recover? Clonin’, or whatnot?” “This isn’t just a finger she lost, or even an internal organ. It’s a few cc’s of some of the most specialized neural tissue in the brain. Oh, maybe if I had a fully equipped lab, a dozen specialized assistants, and a government grant I could make things better in five or six years. To be truthful, at this point I think she may have a better chance of adapting her way out of it, rather than beating it with surgical intervention.” “Ain’t the drugs helpin’?” “Hard to say,” admitted Simon. “I’d like to think so, but at best they mask the symptoms. Problem is, the surgery wasn’t the only thing they did. Her blood is swimming with dozens of special – I don’t know what to call them. Chemicals, I suppose would be the best way to describe them. But they aren’t natural, and I don’t know if removing them – even if I could – would be in her best interest.” “Look, honey!” came a familiar voice. “I told you this place was good – all the spacers eat here!” Wash appeared a moment later, Zoe in tow – and wearing an outstanding slinky red dress. Wash himself was wearing a very plain shirt and jacket, and had even garnered a tie for the occasion. “Hey!” Kaylee said, jumping up. “You found us!” “Didn’t rightly know you were lost,” Zoe smirked. “I didn’t think we were,” Simon muttered under his breath. But he rose, as etiquette demanded, and welcomed the Washburns. “My don’t we all look spiffy!” Wash continued. “Kaylee, that’s the nicest coverall I’ve ever seen you in. And Simon, you look like . . . well, a really handsome funeral director.” “I hope we aren’t intruding,” Zoe said, politely. “We didn’t know y’all were here. We can find—” “Naw! You ain’t intrudin’! This is a big table, why don’t you guys join us? Simon, is that OK?” “That would be . . . that would be pleasant. Yes, please join us,” he said, disguising any hint of the annoyance he felt. Another couple might be good, after all, filling those awkward silences. And no one could fill silence like Wash. Two extra place settings were found, and two chairs, and the obsequious waiter appeared, took their order, and then vanished. Drinks appeared. “This is really fantastic!” Wash said, looking around the nearly empty room. “I mean, look at this place! All they need is people, and it would be ever so popular!” “Have you guys hit the beach yet?” Kaylee asked, finishing her second glass of wine. “Just for a little while. Didn’t even get wet. Oh, Wash stuck his feet in, but that’s about it. I’m waiting for tomorrow to do the whole day-at-the-beach thing.” “I ain’t been down there yet. Ain’t much for swimmin’, I guess. No ocean to speak of where I grew up, and the ponds and streams were usually too cold for swimmin’.” “Honey, beaches aren’t about swimming,” Wash corrected. “They’re about laying in the sun and looking tanned and muscular, utterly relaxed. And sand castles,” he added. “I love me some sand castles.” “I haven’t been to a beach since my first year of med school,” reflected Simon. “Ibis Beach, it’s a little resort town on the Placid Sea. Very upscale. Used to do a little surfing.” “I used to surf back home, too,” agreed Wash. “It’s tough. Real macho sport. Standing on the board, sun at your back, every fiber in your body struggling for balance, people watching all over, just waiting for you to make a mistake and fall. It was even worse when you tried it in the water.” “You need a board for that?” Kaylee asked, confused. “Special kind of board,” explained Simon. “Hydrodynamic. Kind of like a boat you can stand on. You use it to ride the waves. And with that big gas giant over there, I can imagine the tides are pretty intense. I imagine the surfing is pretty good.” “I just want to lay on the beach and bake,” Zoe said, shaking her head. “Water is pretty to look at, or bathe in, but that much in one place makes me nervous. No tellin’ what could happen.” “And I will cover you in sand and make of you the finest castle a warrior princess could ask for,” Wash said affectionately, squeezing Zoe’s hand. “Oh, that’s sweet! And you can play with your dinosaurs in it, too!” Wash’s face fell a little. “No, the missus and I had a deal: she don’t bring any guns, I don’t bring any of my plastic pals. Nothin’ but good booze and good sex this week.” “Well, the booze is pretty good,” admitted Zoe. The conversation wound around and around, touching all sorts of topics. Simon grudgingly admitted to himself that he was having a really good time. Dinner was soon served. Simon had the house specialty, duck in a plum brandy sauce, while Kaylee enjoyed the baked lobster. Both were incredibly good. Wash had the trout (he claimed the water on his homeworld was too polluted for fish) and Zoe had an amazingly good prime rib. Desert followed, a stunning selection, with a whole cart of liquors. Zoe and Wash split something huge, gooey and chocolate, while Simon got a fruit-and-cheese plate and Kaylee powered her way through a strawberry shortcake that made her make noises a lady ought not to make at the table. Afterwards, Simon retrieved his cigars, and offered one to Wash, who turned it down, then Zoe, who indulged. Kaylee spoke quietly to the waiter, and a moment later he presented her with a cigarette from the restaurant’s bar. “I thought you didn’t smoke?” Simon asked, curious. “I said I didn’t smoke tobacco,” Kaylee corrected, lighting the cigarette from the candle on the table. “But always enjoyed me a mood enhancer, on occasion.” “That’s cannabis?” Simon asked, shocked. “Isn’t that illegal?” “Oh, some places in the Core, I heard tell,” Kaylee said, exhaling. “Not much on the Rim. Some places out here, it and corn liquor are the only things a body can do for a buzz.” “I didn’t know you smoked hemp,” the doctor said, his brow furrowed. “I didn’t know you smoked tobaccy,” Kaylee countered, taking another drag. “Anyone else?” “Got me a stoogie,” Zoe demurred. “’Sides, ain’t fond o’ the weed. Couple o’ kids in our platoon got their heads shot off ‘cause they was high.” “And it is strongly discouraged in flight school, which means it is the drug of choice for half the shuttle pilots in the Core,” Wash said, taking the cigarette. “I don’t indulge much anymore, but, hey, we’re on vacation, right?” “It just seems so . . . illicit,” Simon said, sighing. “They really smoke it out on the Rim? And no one gets bound for it?” “Hell, you don’t find it in stores or nothin’,” Kaylee offered, exhaling a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. “But most farms got a hemp patch – for the rope. Ain’t no better rope than dope,” she said with a giggle. “The hempflowers are just a pleasant side effect. For kids, mostly. Keeps ‘em outa trouble ‘till they learn ‘bout liquor.” “On Osiris it’s illegal, but the bondsmen are unofficially allowed to indulge,” Simon said with a sigh. “Sometimes the college kids will get some.” “To me, it’s the perfect ending to a perfect meal,” Wash said. He picked up his wine glass and toasted. “To our good friends, to our noble captain—stop snickering, Zoe! – and to the best damn little ship in the ‘verse!” They toasted enthusiastically, first Serenity, then the captain, then each other. Kaylee grew giggly and Simon grew loquacious. The check came – Simon paid every bit, saying it was to keep in character – and the four headed back towards the hotel. Wash and Zoe went first, leaning on each other and singing something incomprehensible. “So,” Kaylee said. “You leave me any room in the closet?” “What?” Simon asked. “I thought you were going to stay with River.” “I checked in as your . . . li’l humpy, least I can do is play the part,” Kaylee slurred. “’Course, might pass out soon. Just to warn you.” “I’ll . . . keep that in mind.” “You take advantage o’ me while I’m sleepin’” she said dreamily, “and I’ll . . . I’ll . . . what was I sayin’?” “That you had a lovely time and you couldn’t wait to rub my feet when we get back to the hotel.” “I did?!?” “That’s what I heard.” “Oh.” “Short term memory loss is a common side-effect from cannabis use,” Simon pointed out. “It is?” “That’s what I’ve heard.” “Oh. Somethin’ about your feet?” “Yep. You’re going to rub them.” “Funny, that don’t sound like somethin’ I’d say.” “Short term memory loss is a common side-effect from cannabis use.” “I heard that before.” “So have I.” “So you gonna take advantage o’ me or what?” “I confess to having thoughts in that direction – providing you’re still conscious.” “Don’t let a li’l thing like that trouble you none. The anticipation is purely killin’ me.” They stumbled back through the lobby, and by the time they arrived at the lift Wash and Zoe were kissing furiously. Kaylee eyed him unsteadily, and then leaned in for a kiss. He turned to respond, when the lift doors opened. Revealing Jayne, who wasn’t wearing pants. And a blonde he had never seen before who didn’t seem to have need of underwear. “This one’s taken,” Jayne grunted, as he winked. “All full!” he snickered, then continued what he was doing as the doors closed. “I think we’ll get the next one,” Wash said, his face pale and his eyes wide. Zoe likewise looked disconcerted. “I feel ill,” Kaylee said, shakily. “That,” Simon said, “was perhaps the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” “I suddenly have no interest in sex whatsoever,” Zoe chimed in. “Did you see how hairy his butt was?” Kaylee whispered. “There really should be a law,” Simon mumbled. “I’m thinkin’ the stairs,” Wash said. “Don’t want even a chance of walkin’ into that again. Takers?” “Count us in,” Simon said, supporting Kaylee as they stumbled after them. “That reminds me,” Wash said as he found the stairwell. “Breakfast tomorrow in the dining room? Maybe we can find the captain by then.” “Just one thing,” Kaylee said. “’Bout breakfast, I mean.” “What’s that?” asked Simon as he helped her up the stairs. “No sausage.” There was an enthusiastic chorus of agreement.

*

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The next morning Jayne awoke with a woozy head and a sore groin. Mila had been magnificent. After the workout she gave him on the less-than-gloomy plaza, they had skipped Eva’s and went back to the beach, where he did her proper. After that she wanted to see his room. They got as far as the elevator before the urge hit her again, and Jayne was happy to oblige. Despite the untimely opening of the lift’s doors, he had triumphed in the end, and they had retired, finally, to his room. That was when the party really got started. The woman was insatiable. Jayne had heard of that word before, but he had never truly appreciated just what it meant until Mila. They had worked through every position, every combination, every sexual variation he had ever heard of two people enjoying. They had pounded away, screaming their fool heads off, until Jayne was sure someone would call the front desk. But no warning call came, so they just kept going until they both passed out, somewhere near dawn. He rolled over and found the bed empty – not surprising. Girl in her line of work rarely stayed for breakfast. He didn’t hear the shower. He worried for a moment that she had stolen his money out of his pants while he slept, but he didn’t care. She could have the whole gorram wad. It had been that good. Jayne felt great. He stretched in bed, taking up as much of the whole thing as he could, and luxuriated in the feel of the soft sheets. Her smell still clung to them. He decided he had to take a whiz, not an unnatural state for the morning, and started to get up. That’s when he saw it. The note. It said, simply, ‘You were magnificent!!” and held a lipstick print. And it was sitting on five hundred-credit Alliance banknotes. Jayne abandoned his plans to pee as the implications of the money hit him. He instead crawled back into bed, where he pulled the comforter up to his neck. “I feel so . . . used,” he whimpered.