Disclaimer: Go buy the DVD. And fall in love with this damn fine show all over again.

HAWKS AND DOVES (part 4)

* * * * *

Inara gave Simon a brief nod of encouragement as they entered the prison door. They followed a guard along a bare, echoing corridor and waited as he knocked on a battered wooden door.

“Come in!” A solid man in his mid-fifties who had squandered the good looks of his youth sat behind a desk that like its owner had seen better days. He scrutinized Simon with a cynical eye before turning his attention to Inara. It was apparent he found her a far more welcome sight.

“Say you're here to see our latest inmate?” he asked, with a hint of suspicion but without taking his eyes from Inara.

“Yes,” Simon's voice faltered at first but he reminded himself of what was at stake. “Yes. Alliance Prisons Inspectorate.” He flashed the fake ID card Book had laboured over but the governor wasn't interested. “You should have been notified.”

The governor reluctantly removed his gaze from Inara's legs and looked Simon up and down with undisguised disdain. Pompous young pup, turning up out of the blue to throw his weight around before heading back to his life of privilege. Meanwhile Marlon was condemned to this God-forsaken rock all because of a simple misunderstanding about a superior's daughter.

“Don't tell us much out here,” he grunted. “Not important enough.”

“Please feel free to call headquarters...” Simon said, praying that back on Serenity Book would be able to intercept the wave.

“No. Let's jus' get on with it,” Marlon interrupted him. “Though God knows why the top brass are wastin' your time with the likes of Trautmann. Man got no more'n he deserves.” He looked over at his subordinate. “Take 'em to his cell.” His chair creaked as he leant back and took out a cigarette.”Think you'll find everythin's in order.”

The guard opened the cell door and preceded them into a cold, bare room. A figure lay on the bare ground, his only cover a ripped, brown blanket. A touch of official irony? Simon wondered. Apart from an enamel bucket in one corner, there was no furniture at all. And the smell was nauseating. If Simon had had any doubts about Mal's decision to free his comrade, the sight before him would have swept them away. He looked bitterly at the expensive Alliance insignia that adorned one wall, its extravagance oddly out of place against the mouldering whitewash. Typical. They could spend money on glorifying big government but not on a living human being. Gorramit, I'm even starting to think like Mal, Simon realized with a start.

The guard stood against the door as Simon and Inara approached the prone body.

“Prisoner! On your feet!” Simon ordered, trying to sound authoritative. “We're here for a medical inspection.”

Trautmann grunted but didn't move. Inara bent down and pretended to take his pulse, keenly aware of the guards eyes following the seam of her stockings up the back of her legs. “The pulse is erratic, Doctor,” she reported, bluffing furiously. “Temperature very high.”

Simon crouched down and went through the motions of carrying out a medical examination. Checking that the guard was still interested only in Inara, he breathed into Trautmann's ear. “Malcolm Reynolds sent us. We're going to get you out of here.”

Standing up again he announced loudly, “This man is seriously ill. He must be removed to a medical facility immediately. I'll need to call my ship. With your permission?”

The guard nodded. “You can use the gov's link.”

* * * * * *

“In here!” Simon told Jayne and Wash, as they wheeled the stretcher with difficulty into the cell. “And get a move on!”

Jayne threw him a rebellious look that promised a reckoning once they were back on ship. Wash merely looked terrified, rolling his eyes from Simon to Inara in a please-god-get-me-out-of-here sort of way.

Somehow Trautmann was hoisted up onto the gurney without sustaining serious injury. Simon blamed himself for having overlooked the necessity of training Jayne and Wash in the proper method of lifting a patient. Still, no-one seemed to have noticed their unprofessionalism.

“Better cuff him to the stretcher,” Marlon advised, standing in the door way. He grinned at the group of warders standing behind him. “Don't wanna lose him when he's only jus' been caught.”

“Ofcourse,” Simon agreed hastily. “Handcuff him,” he told Jayne.

“With what?” Simon feared Jayne's sneering tone might alert the wardens that all was not as it seemed, but Marlon simply gestured to one of his officers to provide a set of cuffs.

“Thank you, Govenor,” Simon said, allowing himself to feel some relief that the ordeal was almost over. “For all your help”

Still in the doorway, Marlon scratched his chin thoughtfully. “No, sonny. Thank you for yours. I think you people may just have handed me my ticket off this rock.”

A series of five or six metallic clicks echoed off the bare walls as Marlon and his officers trained their revolvers on Simon and Jayne