The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Nine

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“So,” Zoe said, casually, “you wanna tell me what’s going on?” “I’ve done something terrible,” Mal said, slouching against the bar. “What’s that?” “I’ve . . . I’ve ordered a . . . a Mai Tai – and . . . and there goin’ to serve it . . . I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this . . . they’re gonna serve it . . . in a little ceramic Buddha . . . with a hole in his belly for a straw!” He leaned his head into his hands on the bar in an overly dramatic display of shame. “Just wait. For my blasphemy I’m gonna come back as a possum or somethin’." Just for effect, he let out a sob. “You’d make a mighty fine possum, Sir. But you’re still full o’ fe hua.” “Zoe, have I ever led you astray?” he asked, rising again. “Don’t make me hurt you, Sir.” “And relax with the ‘sirs’. You’re on vacation.” “Then let me put it this way: Mal, what in the hell is goin’ on to get five Tong enforcers on your ass when you haven’t done nothin’ but go to the beach, eat, and sleep since you got here?” “Could you conjure that it ain’t anything I done?” She thought about it. “No.” He sighed. “Just trust me. We’re on vacation,” he repeated. “Last night’s little adventure wasn’t nothin’ but an interestin’ floorshow. If I got somethin’ in mind, well, let’s just say it don’t concern your holiday none, and you should put it outa your mind ‘till we leave the world. Dong ma?” Zoe sighed. “You’re really gonna make me hurt you , ain’t you?” “I mean it, Zoe. Get some rest. Screw your husband. Drink little fruity drinks with me from the belly of a Buddha and enjoy life for a change. All will become as crystal in the fullness of time.” “Yeah, it was a regular party talkin’ to security in the middle of the night in my skimpies.” “C’mon! Lyin’ to cops is fun! ‘Innocent bystanders to a gangland shootout’ – ain’t like we were even involved!” “Sir – sorry. Mal, we laid out those two proper. But somethin’ has me mystified. Who ended the other two?” Mal considered. “I figure it was that big suit you were tellin’ me about. If he’s Tong, he’s upper level Boss-type material. Probably wasn’t thrilled at havin’ his targets shoot back at them, nor havin’ his men go down like wounded turkeys.” “Why not shoot ‘em, then? Why break their necks? Security says there was a Triad signature on the head of one of ‘em. Some firm in the Core. We ain’t been near the Core, proper, since Ariel, and we didn’t mess with the Triads at all.” “You got a point you’re lookin’ for?” “My point is, this whole thing stinks like Jayne’s spacesuit. And I’m lookin’ around for who dealt it, and all I’m seein’ is you with that ‘Zoe, don’t worry!’ expression you used on me the time you took me behind enemy lines and stole a battle tank.” “Hey, no fair! That was fun! And that one turned out okay!” he said, defensively. “That don’t excuse you usin’ that bullshit innocent look on me. Gorram it, Mal, you wanna be all mysteried around the rest, I’ll keep my mouth shut and let you have your fun. But this is you and me and a bar, no one else, and you owe it to me to be straight and level ‘bout somethin’ that could get us all killed.” “I just want you to trust me a little. We’re only gonna be here another day or two. Plenty of time for recriminatin’ when were back in the Black.” “And if they come back with more Tonglings and finalize you before we get back in the Black?” “Then,” Mal said, as a twelve-inch Chinese “Happy Buddha” drink with umbrellas, flowers, and a bamboo straw stuck in its tummy was put in front of him, “you hunt down the nearest possum and hold him to account!” “Don’t think I won’t,” she muttered. She caught the bartender’s attention. “Gimme what he’s got. Bein’ a possum gotta be easier than this.”

*

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*

“This is nice,” Kaylee said, sighing deeply in the sea breeze. She and Simon were walking down the beach, hand in hand, under all the stars that could creep through the corona of the emerald gas giant that dominated the sky. “I never been on vacation before.” “Why not?” “’Cause where I’m from, ain’t no place to go to vacation to. Hell, didn’t even know the word, ‘till I come out. Back home it all looks pretty much the same. Well, I guess ‘ceptin’ the Crater.” “ ‘The Crater’? That sounds ominous.” “It ain’t. Just a big ass impact crater left over from pre-terraformation times. Company decided it would make a good reservoir – world’s a might dry – so they smacked a couple of comets into it, let ‘em fill it up, and ‘presto!’: instant lake.” “It became a resort?” She giggled girlishly. “Ain’t no resorts, silly. Just this big crater lake that the kids snuck off to . . . to do their courtin’ and sparkin’. And underage drinkin’.” “Of course. Sounds lovely.” “No it don’t! Sounds like a gorram hole in the ground filled up with dirty water. Which is pretty much all it was. Pretty sad if the most ‘citin’ place on your world is a gorram hole in the ground.” “Sounds like a great place to be . . . from.” “’Zactly,” she agreed emphatically. “But this . . . this kinda place I never dreamt of! Like somethin’ off of CorVue or somethin’.” “You’d like to settle someplace like this?” The question was simple, but pregnant with meaning. Kaylee thought. She thought about it hard. “I reckon,” she said slowly, “that someday, when I’m gettin’ too long in the tooth to keep flyin’, I might could find me a nice little moonlet like this, take my ease.” “Someday,” echoed Simon. “I got a job, Simon. It ain’t the best job inna ‘verse, but then I ain’t the best engineer inna ‘verse. Compared to where I came from, it’s almost glamorous. I got some respect on Serenity. I got a purpose. Weren’t for the Cap’n, I’d be back home with a no-account husband, a couple o’ young ‘uns, and probably a fixit shop. And no chance to see somethin’ like all this!” “I can understand that,” he said, sighing. “’Sides, what could I do, place like this? Run a higher grade o’ fixit shop, and never see nothin’ new. I like it here – it’s nice – but I’m earnest: it’s been hard even bein’ away from my girl even for a week – even with all this, and some right smart company, and fresh strawberries, and the best ruttin’ food this side o’ Millie MacKlintock’s—” “I thought the asparagus tips last night were limp and uninspired, actually,” Simon murmured. “— and that hotel – that hotel! – nicest bed I ever did sleep in, and the not worryin’ about the Law, and people callin’ me Miss like I was a society lady – all of it. All of that, and I still miss Serenity somethin’ powerful. She’s like some drug. Only . . . she’s a purpose, the only real purpose I got in the ‘verse that ain’t inside my own skull.” “You love that ship that much?” Simon asked, smiling indulgently. “I surely do. She’s small, spunky, cozy—” “—falling apart, antiquated, archaic—” Simon interrupted. “—reliable, sturdy, homesome—” Kaylee insisted. “—idiosyncratic, prone to catastrophic failure—” “—flies nice – well, when Wash is at the helm, Cap’n ain’t the best pilot –” “—uncomfortable, cramped, untidy—” “—she’s got character, an’ personality—” “—possibly possessed by demons—” “—and she’s the best ship in the whole ruttin’ Black, bar none.” She looked at Simon warmly. “She got somethin’ else aboard I’m partial to,” she said with a grin. “If you say the protein sequencer, I might just drown you. Fair warning.” “No! But she’s got all I got in the ‘verse that I can rightly call a home and family ‘twixt helm and engine.” Simon paused and pondered this for a moment. “I suppose that’s true. If a ruthless gang of outlaws and killers can be called a family.” “We got lots of ruth!” she protested, laughing. “Crime’s just a job,” Kaylee dismissed. “The people, that’s what’s important. The people – and the ship.” “Well, she isn’t a cruise liner,” Simon said. “But she does keep the atmo in and the Black out. And some of the crew are . . . well, I like Zoe and Wash. Even if she almost killed me that one time.” “That happens.” “Jayne . . . well . . .” “Yeah, let’s table discussion of him for a moment. I still can’t get that vision of that hairy ass outa my mind’s eye. And that bo ba cho ji bai ji nv slut he was with! Getting’ a piece of that? What kinda man does that to hisself?” “Inara is quite nice,” Simon said, hurriedly. “I’ve never had occasion to get to know a Companion like this before. In her way she’s fascinating.” “I love me some Inara,” agreed Kaylee with a smile. “Book is a gentleman, very well read. And quite open minded for a man of the cloth.” “I like the Shepherd lots. Always have.” “Then there is Mal . . .” Simon trailed off. “What’s wrong with the Cap’n?” Simon sighed. “Well, for starters, he doesn’t like me much.” “Don’t hold that against him. He don’t know you much.” “He knows me well enough. I know my . . . ways seem a little pretentious out here, on the Rim, but they’re the only ways I know. He seems to take offense every time I try to point that out, like I act the way I do simply to piss him off. And this whole ‘veteran Browncoat’ thing— well, it’s been six years, almost seven, since the war was over. He needs to move on. He lost. Get over it.” “He fought hard, Simon, and he didn’t give up even when the Independent faction surrendered!” Kaylee defended. “Yes, so add ‘hard-headed’ and ‘obnoxious’ to the list.” “Well . . .” “I’m not trying to offend you, Kaylee. I’m just telling you how I feel about him. He scares me. He has complete power of me and River and I don’t much like that.” He kicked at the beach sand, still too young to have developed seashells. “I gave up everything to save River. I love my sister that much. And I’ve done everything in my power to keep her away from those who would do her harm. Serenity has been a haven, I’ll be the first to admit. Mal took us in, gave us shelter, protected us. And while I appreciate what he’s done in allowing us to stay, it’s never been an easy thing for me to bear. Ever since he punched me – without warning – that first time, I’ve been scared. On board, we live or die at his sufferance.” “Cap’s proved himself to y’all,” Kaylee insisted. “He hasn’t handed us over to the Feds,” admitted Simon. “That’s true. That isn’t the same as having our best interests at heart. He keeps me around because I’m useful, and he can make fun of me and I have to take it or else. And as for River, it tickled some part of his vanity to know he had something the Alliance wanted – and I daresay he’s becoming fond of her, somewhat. Beyond that, we’re just another couple of pieces of interesting cargo to him. And if it suits him, or we become too much trouble, he’ll stuff us out the airlock or dump us out in the middle of nowhere.” “Or he’ll die fightin’ for you.” “Yes, I believe he would. But every morning I wake up wondering which one he’s more inclined to do that day. I hope you can understand my confusion.” “Look, Cap’n ain’t the wisest body in the ‘verse, you don’t need to tell me different. But he’s brave, and smart, and kind – well, mostly – and he is loyal to his people. He ain’t gonna space you ‘less you deserve it.” “But where is that line? It’s in his head,” Simon said, answering his own question. “And it has a disturbing tendency to shift from moment to moment. That’s just a little . . . unnerving.” He sighed. “I suppose part of it is because I’m so enamored of order, of predictability—” “You do got some control issues,” Kaylee agreed. “— and I haven’t really had that kind of stability since I came aboard. Or before,” he admitted. “Mal . . . he’s everything you say. It’s true. But he’s everything I said, too. And that scares me.”

*

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“General, I must report failure.” “Speak to me.” “I took four of the Tortoise’s . . . best men,” Campbell reported. “I outlined the op, I arranged for a safe location, I kept them inconspicuous. But we were compromised, somehow.” “Explain.” “We were about to enter the target’s room, in force, when someone opened fire on us. I can only assume they were bodyguards, and that they were warned. They took us from the flank, by surprise, and before I could even draw two of my . . . men were down.” “How did you respond?” “I considered it more prudent to retreat at that point, thus avoiding any unpleasant confrontations with local security.” “You made the correct decision. The men?” “Two were killed in the firefight. The other two . . . during the retreat.” “They pursued?” “I . . . I’m not certain. We were attacked again in the stairway. By a . . . girl. Young girl. But she took my men apart like they were paper dolls.” “Did you not defend them?” “I tried. She somehow dodged my shot. She was adept. But she left me alive when she could have destroyed me. While I am shamed by the admission, I am under no illusion that I would have prevailed in that contest.” “She was an operative?” “Someone’s,” he admitted. “Unless you know someplace where the teenagers all fight like Kung Fu masters. Security later said that there was another Tong sign drawn at the scene in their blood. The vengeance sigil of the White Lotus Society.” “White Lotus? Out here? I think not.” “Nor I,” Campbell agreed. “They would have made the kill with that gorram knife they love so much.” “Exactly. It was a ruse. A very, very clever ruse that in one stroke explained the entire incident to the security forces.” “Indeed. We are not dealing with mere spacers, then.” “That is my feeling, yes.” “Very well, I will take this under consideration.” “It has been an honor to be of service, General. I humbly offer my life for my failure.” “And I proudly return it to you. Anyone can be surprised, Colonel. Especially when clumsy men compromise your op. Have your own men discovered anything?” “Nothing of consequence. A few coincidental leads, but they do not have the . . . feel of the Lei style of work.” “You are not resorting to flattery in your dotage, are you?” “I am far from ancient, General. You have returned to me my life. Allow me the pleasure of speaking my mind on such matters.” “I would be foolish to ignore your perspective.” “Orders?” Again, the General thought a moment. “Punish that fat fool that has the indecency to run my cousin’s Tong. Then gather your men and return. I will place a watch on the ship – but we shouldn’t need one. If young Chin Yi has ambitions regarding the Treasure, there can be only one place we know for certain he will go – even if he does not yet realize it. We shall prepare a reception for him there.” “Yes, my lord General, as you have commanded.” Campbell bowed low to the screen. “And Colonel?” “Yes, General?” “Good work. Despite your failure, you have learned some important information about our prey. He has allies outside of the Tong to depend on – allies with a ship, weapons, and the ability to use them to effect. Had we not known this in advance, the outcome of a future engagement could well have been disastrous. I congratulate you, for in defeat, you have learned far more than you would have in a victory.” “Does not the Master say that defeat and failure are the best teachers?” “He does, and that is a lesson you have learned admirably. Good night, Colonel.” “Good night, General.” *

*

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“Um, River?” Wash asked, hesitantly. They were at a beachside arcade, mostly filled with off-duty service workers and teenagers. A wide variety of sophisticated electronic entertainments vied with more simple and ancient amusements for the coin of the patrons. The noise was a combination of electronic buzz and wooden balls striking wooden frames. “Can we go yet?” River was trying her best to play a dance game, against a holographic opponent whose programmed sneers at her failures were starting to seriously irritate her. “Not yet!” she insisted. “I’ve still got coin left, and this contraption has become an aggravation to me.” “River, we been here four hours now,” Wash whined. “You’ve played that thing to the last ruttin’ level. I say you call it a win and move on. There must be other worlds to conquer.” “I shall not be defeated by a simple algorithm!” She said adamantly as she prepared another run at the fictional electronic ‘championship’. The six or seven young girls around her cheered. A few boys were there as well, but most were too testosterone poisoned to take notice of a “girl game”. But River had gone four hours straight, now, while Wash had wandered around and played every game in the place. He was bored, tired, and hungry, now, but he had “River Duty” – imposed by Mal after last night’s origami episode. He didn’t mind much – he had wanted to indulge in a little adolescent puerile behavior here since they landed, but Zoe had little interest in arcade games – apparently you fight in one little war, and you become too superior for mere electronic simulations. Secretly, he was glad. He didn’t know if he could handle losing to Zoe in what he considered his arena. He had entered flight school partially because of an adolescence squandered in pumping thousands of coins into such machines. He not only had to justify his investment, he had developed the superior coordination required to push a boat through atmo and fly rings around the rings of ringed planets. He had loved to fly the moment he did it – he was good at it because he would rather play games then be rejected by girls. But Zoe had this unerring knack of becoming really, really good at everything she tried – everything competitive, at least. In most cases he had no trouble dealing with that – she was, after all, his Amazon warrior princess. He had no illusions about his own level of fitness and strength, or lack thereof. He could quite easily stand by and let her handle the brute force, physical violence end of things. But so far she hadn’t shown any especial aptitude with the youth-eating holographic games that required more coordination than agility, and he would rather she didn’t. When he threw a rock to Zoe’s paper and got stuck with River, he tried to make the best of it. What does one do to amuse a seventeen year old at the beach, that doesn’t involve intoxicants or sex? The arcade seemed a natural solution. At first River just wandered around. She tried her hand at a few games, but mostly watched other kids playing, studying their emotions (from the inside out, probably) and observed social interactions. She had even gotten hit on by a particularly sleek boy, three years younger but utterly convinced of his innate charm and sex appeal. Wash had been about to move in when River stared at him a moment and shot him down with a simple “Does your mother know what you do with her panties?” and he slunk away, metaphorically bleeding from his figurative arteries. But then she had spotted it. The Hiroki Competition Freestyle Dance Machine. It was a small box, about waist high, that contained the computer and holoprojector. A platform nine feet wide, with a little six inch wall above that, was the dance floor. The machine presented a number of garishly dressed, flamboyantly competitive dance contestants that you were supposed to dance against. Green footprints appeared on the floor as a guide. There were twenty five levels. River raced through the first ten in twenty minutes. It had taken forty five minutes to conquer the next ten. The last five had been difficult, even for her, and even though she was already far and above the highest scoring player – ever – she would not relent until she had defeated the sinister smile that sneered at her in the Final Round. She had drawn her crowd while on the final five levels. Wash listened in to the teen chatter and discovered that no one had ever seen these levels. She was in virgin territory, and to the girls (and few boys) who knew the machine, she was a hero. Wash had to admit how impressive she was. While there wasn’t room in the ring for complicated dives, the tight space provided ample room for expressive and exhausting dance. And River could dance. She was flexible – lithe – bendy. And she had the stamina of a bull elephant. She slammed another coin into the slot, waited for the thirty-second sneering challenge, and took her place. Cue cheesy music, and she’s off! She hammered at the steps like she was playing a piano with her toes. She made graceful arm motions, which earned her bonus points, and tossed her head properly to achieve virtual perfection against the machine. But the last two minutes of dancing were vicious, a flurry of steps and step-overs, kicks and bends, twirls and other moves that Wash was sure had names but none he was familiar with. And for the last eight times, River had fumbled somewhere along the line. But with each repetition of the level, she got further into the routine. This time was the charm. She powered through it, as gracefully as a gull in flight. She moved like a snake – or a kitten – or some sort of bizarre kitten-snake hybrid that really knew how to dance. The music got louder, the beat changed tempo, the machine threw holographic lights and designs and other distractions – but River rose to every challenge, and within three and a half minutes the fictional game champion tearfully conceded defeat. “I beat the chou wang ba dan!” she said at last, as a holographic whirlwind of blue light surrounded her, and triumphant music played. “Ni meiyou langun! Ni male ge bi!” she screamed primally at the humiliated hologram. “Ni shi wo de biao zv! You are my bitch!” “River!” shouted Wash, “ease down!” “Shuttup, grandpa!” some young punk shouted at him. “She’s a gorram genius!” “Grandpa? Why you little crap-eating chun zi—” “Geriatric son of a bitch!” “Cao ni ma!” “Ha wo deh bang!” “Ass eating monkey slut!” “Wo cao ni ba bei zi zu zong!” “Cao ni zou zong shi ba dai!” “Yin yang ren! Ji bai!” “Gan ni niang!” “You leave my gorram mother outa this!” bellowed the boy with rage. “I’m callin’ you out, mister! Name the game!” “You’re callin’ ME out, asswipe?” Wash asked, incredulously. He started to laugh – and then realized he had an overwhelming desire to publically humiliate this wretched excuse for a teenager. He looked around, spied an old favorite: an intricate combat flight sim based on the romantic World War Three period on Earth-That-Was called Aerospace Ranger EU6. He had wasted hundreds of hours with it back home. He was a master. “That one, sha gua. Let’s see if your dick is as big as mine.” The punk’s eyes narrowed. “Try me, Honorable Ancestor.” It was a massacre. Wash held nothing back, going for every advantage, hitting random bonuses and piling up points like they were cherry pits. River joined him at his shoulder, but he was only distantly aware of her. He loved this game. WWIII had always been a favorite of his – the first true Aerospace War. He flew a Euroimperial Fire Eagle, and stomped the Eastern Compact forces like they were so many flies to be swatted. His opponent did respectably, but he had no true feel for the game. There was a rhythm you needed for this kind of work, and you only got that rhythm by feeling this game with the sensitive underbelly of your soul. He handled the stick like it was a baton, and while missiles burst all around him. Hanlin34s and Royal Djinns exploded at his whim, and ground targets took strafing fire in complicated loops and dives that evaded AA missiles like they were paper airplanes. The kid struggled to keep up after the first three levels, even though his game face, fueled by bravado, remained defiant. But by the fifth level Wash had him beat, with over twice as many points. A gentleman would have quit there. Wash ground the heel of his boot into the pimply face of the kid’s spirit. He didn’t just beat him, he humiliated him. He ended Round Six by destroying all the Shah’s defenses, all the incoming fighters, and strafing his name into the helpless city below. “Ni ya lianzhang de gen lan bi shi de! Ni shi wo de biao zv!” Wash said to the kid, evilly. “You are so my bitch!” The punk retreated, tears in his eyes, as other kids laughed. Wash felt like a king. “That was incredibly harsh and needlessly cruel,” River commented calmly as they walked away. “He’s a big boy. With a little therapy, he’ll learn to live with it.” “I wasn’t chiding. That was shiny.” “Can we leave now?” “Can we get something deep fried first? With a beverage that’s really bad for me?” “I thought you’d never ask!” Wash said, grinning. His back was tense, and his shoulders ached a little – but he always felt most at home behind the stick, even if the plane was holographic. And trouncing that whiny little gan ni niang had left him exhilarated, pulse pounding, chest heaving (probably a little more than was proper for a mere video game). They made their way through the crowd to the snack bar, which was playing some gawdawful Arabic Funk as imagined by Chinese musicians, and ordered. River insisted on paying. “Um, River sweetie? We kind of noticed your little art project in your room last night. Now, without commenting on the intrinsic artistic merit of the piece, I’d kinda like to know just where you might have found ten thousand credits in crisp new sequentially numbered Alliance bills.” “They’re my flock,” River said. “They’re going to help me fly away.” “Honey, I’m sure they could – I know what a thousand cranes means. But people don’t usually use money to make their – well, yes,” he admitted, “I guess people do use money to make their dreams come true. But that isn’t what I meant. People don’t usually use money to make cranes as a mythicopoetic device to get the gods or whomever to grant a wish. They usually use money in the plain, old fashioned, ‘buy that car over there with the leather seats’ kind of way. Dong ma?” “They will help me fly away, and dance among the stars.” “Great. I mean it, I want you to dance – you’re a good dancer – but is there anything you want to tell me about that money? Something involving . . . Chinese gangsters, perhaps? I won’t judge,” he promised. “Just kinda want to know – sure you can appreciate that.” “Would you believe me if I said I prostituted myself for it?” she asked, a trace of wickedness on her face. “Well . . . no, not really – but that was a stunning try, really imaginative. Let’s try . . . the truth? The here-and-now truth, not the River’s World kind of crazy truth.” “I won it,” she said, simply. “You won it,” Wash repeated. “Yep. Won it.” She sipped her drink dry, but kept on sipping, producing an annoying sound that epitomized everything that was wrong with teenagers these days. “How? Cockroach racing? Competitive javelin catching? Give me a clue, here, little bird!” She rolled her eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. “If I tell you will you take me by that ice cream place again?” “If you buy,” he agreed cautiously. “Why not? Fine. You convinced me, with your boyish good thoughts and your willingness to treat me like a gorram human being. I won it in the casino.” “Casino?” “Yes, they have them here. Oh, and they have public restrooms with condom machines, too. And the cutest boys who want to play—” “River . . .” “Fine,” she said sulkily. “I wanted to try an experiment last night. So I went to the casino. I still had a thousand that Mal gave me, plus some change. I played blackjack for a while and tripled my stake, then played five hands of Texas Hold’em Poker and made some . . . cunning wagers.” “River!” Wash said, accusingly. “Did you read those poor men’s minds and take improper advantage of them?” “Umm. Yeah. Sure did. Cheated them bad. I knew what they were going to do before they did. But don’t worry, no one will notice. I played one hand at each table, and was sure to lose just enough to make it seem fair.” “River, what have we told you about cheating?” “That I should . . . do it as long as I don’t get caught?” “Well . . . yeah, I guess we have. Guess I blew my big shot at being parental. Okay, just checking. Any of those players Sinic?” “The five birdies last night were not connected to my experiment. They wanted Mal. They didn’t know I was even there,” she said, biting her lip and looking uncomfortable. “They wanted Mal to kidnap and torture. They wanted something he knew.” “But . . . Mal doesn’t know anything!” River rolled her eyes and held up her hand. “Preachin’ to the choir, flyboy.” “I mean, what would Mal know that would interest a Tong?” She continued slurping, even though the beverage was long gone. When she didn’t answer, Wash leaned over and pinched the straw. “Any . . . hints?” he asked deliberately. “Y’know . . . from maybe inside their brainpan hints?” “Is this pick on the poor little shen jing bing girl day?” “It is if it means no more shoot-‘em-ups involving my wife and no underwear.” “Look, the man who did that, he’s already off world. He’s failed. He isn’t looking forward to telling his boss that he failed.” “Great. So, bad guys want what’s in Mal’s empty head, are willing to torture and kill him to get it. And they are definitely Tong?” “Those were. The four stupid birds. The Chickens. Yellow Ribbon. Locals, but based on an old line. But they were hired for the job by someone else. The hawk.” “Who?” “The man who wants to overthrow the Alliance and impose an aristocratic hereditary dictatorship.” She stared at Wash, whose mouth was open, for a moment, then glanced down. “You gonna eat that?”