The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Thirty-Three

Firefly class transports had not been designed with long voyages in mind. They were short to moderate range ships, created to ferry cargo and passengers between moons, or make short runs to resupply space stations among the Central planets – journeys measured in days. Trips of more than two weeks were rare, in the Core. It was a testament to their durability and soundness of design that many had found their way out to the Rimworlds, where two-week voyages were common. With a little modification the fuel capacity and the life support systems could be extended without much difficulty. While not roomy, they encompassed enough creature comforts within to keep a regular crew from each other’s throats for a fortnight. A trip lasting a month, however . . . that was stretching it. The hardest part was the lack of room. With two dozen H3 fuel cells stacked like chord wood, and a dozen soldiers sleeping in it, the usually roomy expanse of the cargo hold was not available. That didn’t keep the men from performing morning physical training – a half an hour of T’ai Chi, followed by forty-five minutes of strenuous calisthenics – which attracted the attention of Kaylee, Inara, and Zoe on a daily basis. River occasionally joined them, intellectually interested in their interest – and discovering some interest on her own part. Meal times were less homey than usual, and worked cafeteria-style, in two shifts. Two of the men, Hu Lu Xun and Yu Guan Tao, became the cooks, churning out plentiful but bland fare in an efficient manner: Army food. Neither one was a genius with the protein resequencer, but it was sufficient. The General and Master Lei consulted, and decided that it was time for Johnny to enter military service. They moved him out to the cargo hold and for four weeks he trained with the other men. Every morning he trained with them. Hand to hand combat, small unit tactics, exercises in discipline and the rules of war. In the afternoons he sat with the Heavenly Master in Shuttle Two and learned the history of the Empire, his House, and a hundred other things that the Master thought the last scion of the House of Lei should know. Simon eschewed Jayne’s quarters this time. Instead he set up a hammock in the infirmary, where he worked madly on his theory about River’s menstrual cycle. Kaylee studied her magic books and tried to find a way around the capacitor problem, which she was nursing when she wasn’t gazing at half-naked sweaty men stretching and flexing, or hanging around Simon in the infirmary. Wash was the fortunate beneficiary of the results of Zoe’s new man-watching hobby. At least twice a day the couple couldn’t be found outside of their quarters. If Wash took exception to where Zoe got her appetite, no one heard him complaining. Book enjoyed the extra company, as he always did, and spent plenty of time just talking with the men about their lives and playing chess in the lounge. Inara mostly kept to her shuttle, where she said she was conducting research. There was ample speculation about the nature of that research, much of it bawdy. There was one bit of friction, however, the very first day out of Salisbury. River and Colonel Campbell encountered each other in the Lounge. For the second time.

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It started simply enough. River was leaving the infirmary, where Simon had just drawn some blood (River had to turn her head – she hated needles and almost all things medical) to monitor her hormones, as well as give her the latest anti-psychotic cocktail he had worked up. She had her harmonica in her hand, caressing it like a pet, deciding whither to go to play. Kaylee was pretty good about putting up with it in her engine room for short periods, but Wash let her sit and stare out the viewport at the naked Black from the co-pilot’s seat and play. That’s when Colonel Campbell came through, saw her, and stopped. He recognized her. He tensed. “So,” he said in a low voice. “It’s you.” River didn’t say anything. She just stared at him fixedly – the type of stare that makes ordinary people uncomfortable. Colonel Campbell was not ordinary. “I didn’t really realize it until now,” he said conversationally, “but there is no mistaking it: it was you back at the hotel.” “It was a nice hotel,” River said absently. She could feel the waves of calmness and preparedness emanating out of his mind as his subconscious urge to engage his sympathetic fight-or-flight response was easily mastered by a lifetime of training and discipline. River had rarely felt such control. Book had it, to an extent, and Zoe. It was the mastery of the urge to react. Campbell controlled it like a tame horse. “You were magnificent,” he continued, circling serenely around her. “Absolutely flawless. You took them down like they were . . . were . . .” “Chickens,” supplied River. “Fowl, foul – foul fowl. They were just chickens.” Campbell smirked. “You are not far from wrong. They were not really my men, so I bear you no grudge. They were nasty and brutish, no more than thugs. They couldn’t have handled a nursery school class, let alone a . . .” “Teenager?” Campbell chuckled. “Not the word I would have chosen. Tell me, where did you train? The special ops camp on Boros? The Secret Service school on Isis? Because you are a credit to your teacher.” River studied him, her head cocked. “The last school I attended had no name. Before that, it was the Priscilla Camert Middle School.” Campbell nodded appreciatively. “One of what we call the ‘black academies’. Where they train the assassins, the spies, the Operatives.” “Mine was . . . blacker. Darker. A place of pain and despair.” “But you’re so . . . young,” Campbell commented. “Even in the Empire, we didn’t start training until fifteen in such areas. Has the Alliance really taken such measures? You must have been . . . exceptional.” “I am. I was. They hurt us,” she said, becoming more agitated. “I didn’t want to do those things, the things they made us do, but if we didn’t, they hurt us . . . in our brains.” Campbell looked sympathetic. Even while he appreciated her lethality, she saw, he pitied anyone who underwent that kind of training unwilling. “You didn’t volunteer.” “I thought it was an advanced academy. Special. I wanted to study physics. Instead they studied me. Took me apart and put me back together. Stole away my childhood and all my Christmases and tried to steal my family. Took them out of my head, piece by piece, and put in the dark things. Very dark things,” she said ominously. “They tricked you.” “They tried to take me away from me,” she said without emotion. “They let in the voices, let loose the River within. They took it all, Mommy and Daddy and Simon and playing outside and chocolate pudding and pretty clothes and the place where you run and hide when your scared under the bushes of your mind – they only left what they needed. And dancing,” she said, with intensity. “They never took dancing. It made me a better– it made me better. Only Simon came back for me. Not Mommy or Daddy. Only Simon.” Campbell studied her appraisingly. “Remarkable,” he breathed. “I’ve always despised the ways of the Alliance, but never more so than now. How old were you when they came for you?” “Fourteen and four months. One hundred seventy four months. Five thousand, two hundred and forty-one days. That’s all the Old River I had.” “Fourteen,” whispered Campbell. “And they turned you into . . . the New River in just three years?” “They hurt us,” River repeated. “All of us, but I was best so they hurt me most. Bad doctors. And the Hands of Blue. Two by two. Riding out of their shiny ship from the blue sun. Always watching, always measuring, always preparing always . . . they brought me a man, a very bad, very frightened man, once. His name was Horace Cleverly and he was a very bad man who knew things . . . they had me . . . look at him, in the spaces between thoughts and ride his mind until I found out where he had hidden the messages. Then they had me . . . close his file,” she said, her head tilted, a tear in her eye. “He was the first one. He was frightened and bad and I did it with one stroke, like a pirouette and three of his cervical vertebrae popped like popcorn and he shit and pissed his pants because . . .” “Poor little bird,” Campbell said. “No one should be forced into this life.” “His head was full of secrets that they didn’t want me to know,” she explained, “but you can’t take one without the others, and I saw all the bad things he had done and met all the bad people he had known and all the secrets, the Very Bad Place that they made go away and the others, the terrible others, he knew, he knew about them and the place they came from the place with no more name because they stole that too. And he was a bad man who had killed a lot of people, but he wasn’t as bad as the blue hands . . .” She looked up suddenly. “Please don’t tell Simon,” she begged. “Please, he doesn’t know he suspects and fears but he doesn’t know all the things I’ve done and all the things I know. Please don’t tell him. He won’t like New River, he suspects and fears but he doesn’t really know – I killed one of them with a pen, you know, when they thought I was crazy and needed to know something. It’s the knowing that kills. He treated me like a child and said Simon wasn’t coming and didn’t care but I sent the letters and he figured it out and he came and hurt me and said I was a bad girl, not like earlier when they caught my message in the bottle and I had to hide behind grammatical inconsistencies and secret codes and purposeful misdirection when they made me write because Simon was worried and Mommy and Daddy were asking questions so they made me write and told me Simon wasn’t coming, that he didn’t care, that he was happier without me. But he did come. But not before I inserted an ink pen into his trachea, one push before he knew, before he suspected I’d do it. But he tried to tell me Simon wasn’t coming and I knew, I knew that was a lie! Simon would always come! Always! I took his evil pen and pushed it into his throat before they could get to me, but I could see them, they couldn’t hide from me, only the blue hands could hide, and a few others, but they couldn’t hide I could see them and they took me back to my cell my room my cage and they punished me terribly, they put an electrode in my brain and tried to make me into New Improved River but I wouldn’t let them and I killed about three of them. Please don’t tell!” Her voice became tense and a little louder, but she never took her eyes off of Campbell. She clutched her harmonica tightly. “I can keep a secret, little bird,” Campbell said, gently. “Secrets are my stock-in-trade. Calm yourself. You are shut of them now, on a ship with friends and family. You have nothing to be afraid of, for now.” “Yes I do,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of New Improved River.” “Perhaps you are, little bird, but we are all afraid of ourselves. Our entire lives are a struggle to learn to live with ourselves. Your struggle is just . . . a little more . . . intense than most people’s.” “I’m getting better,” she said, sniffing away a tear. “Simon says so.” “And I have no doubt about it,” assured the man. “And you shall be better, yet.” “I have to pee now,” River said, as she started to leave. “Excuse me,” Simon said pointedly, sticking his head out of the infirmary. “What were you doing with my sister?” There was a note of accusation in his voice. “My apologies,” Campbell said with a bow. “I meant no disrespect. We were just discussing . . . her unfortunate history with the Alliance. Terribly sad.” “Yes,” Simon agreed warily. “Funny, she rarely talks about it with anyone.” “She seemed to open up to me quite easily,” observed Campbell as he watched River go up the stairs. “She said they hurt her.” “They conducted over a hundred invasive brain surgeries on her,” Simon said bitterly. “They re-arranged her neural architecture like it was a child’s toy. They turned her into . . . a freak. A dangerous freak. What they did to her . . .” “I know,” Campbell agreed quietly. “What they did to her was abuse at its worst. A violation. An abberation. Still, she remains a remarkable young woman. She said she’s getting better?” “Sometimes I think so,” Simon said with a sigh. “But it’s hard to tell. River was never what you could call normal even before they took her. What they did, it combines the worst elements of electroshock and surgical lobotomy with post-traumatic stress, and then they added some . . . unique elements of their own. They maimed her. I don’t know whether they wanted a telepathic spy, an assassin, or just a guinea pig. I’ve spent the last six months trying to figure that out. She’s better than she was . . . but she’s a long way from better. The cerebral issues alone . . . well, her cognitive functions seem to be working their way around the damage, which makes her more functional, but she still freaks out and tries to kill people sometimes. She slashed at Jayne with a knife, once. She’s been known to put soup in our hair. She hates guns, but we found her with one, once. Her very perception of reality is changed. They bent it.” “Perhaps she’d benefit from some time with the Heavenly Master,” suggested Campbell. “He has a very calming influence on his pupils.” “Perhaps,” said Simon doubtfully. “I’m open to suggestions. She and Book have had some . . . interesting exchanges, and I think it’s helped . . . I think. But even with all the physiological issues – and there’s a lot, don’t misunderstand – I think River is healing River better than anyone else could. There’s a lot of trauma for her to overcome.” “She seems like a very capable young woman. I think she’ll be fine,” he pronounced. Simon just looked at him skeptically for a moment. “And you’re a doctor? A psychologist?” “I am a soldier and a trained killer and an assassin and a spy, Doctor. But I am also a scholar of human nature. That girl is a survivor. When she finally defeats the demons that possess her, she will heal herself; I believe you are correct. But the struggle will be long, hard and difficult.” “Yes,” agreed Simon with a deep sigh. “I just wish it could happen without the harmonica soundtrack.” “Could be worse,” Campbell suggested. Simon looked aghast. “How?” “Bagpipes,” Campbell said with a small grin. “She could have decided they were therapeutic.” “Bagpipes,” Simon repeated, trying to imagine that scenario. “Y’know, maybe I should count my blessings.”

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Heavenly Master Lei sat in a pose of meditation in a corner of the cargo hold. He had been there since the morning, and now in addition to the little pillow he was sitting on, he had lit a piece of incense. Book sniffed the air as he came down the stairs with Jayne, towels around their neck. Tai Chi wasn’t Jayne’s style – he preferred to pump iron. “Smells like whore farts in here,” the mercenary complained. “That’s Inara’s. Sandlewood and myrrh, touch of cedar. She uses it when she prays,” Book said, with interest. “Looks like he’s prayin’ to that hunk o’ wood. Now I ain’t a preacher, but I went to Sunday School.” Book gave him a plain look. “I did,” he said defensively. “Some. Wanted to get a piece o’ my teacher, Mrs. Abrhams. Yee Soo, she was sweet. Anyways, I learned enough to know that that there is idolatry.” “In a very narrow sense, perhaps,” Book said. “But within the Taoist faith, meditation on an object is not really prayer. More like . . . an advanced appreciation for it’s existence. Zen and Ch’an Buddhism have something akin.” “Still looks like he’s prayin’ to a hunk o’ wood,” Jayne muttered as he set up the weight bench. “Bible says that’s wrong. You know that.” “ ‘My father’s House has many Mansions,’” Book quoted with a shrug. “I believe he’s doing a meditation on a famous part of Taoist philosophy: P’u, the Uncarved Block. It must have just been too tempting to pass up that kind of ironic opportunity.” “ ‘Poo?’’ Jayne asked in scornful disbelief. “They pray to lumber and call it poop?’” “No, no. Not ‘poo’, feces, but the Chinese word, ‘P’u’. It means, ‘the uncarved block.’ It’s sometimes called the essence of Taoism, though I ‘spect that might be a mite simplistic interpretation. Then again, it is Taoism.” “ ‘Uncarved Block’, Jayne said with derision. “What the hell kinda religion is that?” “It’s a deep philosophical principal,” Book said dismissively. Upon further reflection, he amended that. “Actually, Jayne, it’s one you know at such a deep level, you might be the best example of ‘P’u’ I’ve chanced upon.” “Shepherd, what the hell pardon my Chinese are you talkin’ ‘bout? I ain’t particular religious,” he spat. “Oh, but you are. P’u is an aspect of philosophy that values the simplicity of life and everything around us. See, an uncarved block of wood isn’t anything useful. It isn’t a table or a chair or a bowl or a cup. It is only a block of wood. But yet it has the potential to be all of these things – or anything else. But it remains a block of wood. Knowing P’u is appreciating that potential for what it is, but also appreciating the perfection of the block for itself,” he explained. “And that’s religion?” Jayne asked as he sat down on the bench. “Spot me.” “Yes, or part of a religious philosophy. It’s kind of subtle. But also kind of simple. It epitomizes the ideal of uncomplicatedness. Which is why I think you know P’u.” “I know P’u?” “You do. You live, sleep, breathe and eat P’u, Jayne. Of all the people I’ve ever encountered while walkin’ the world, your more full of P’u than any man I’ve met.” “Really? You think so?” “I do,” assured Book. “And the Taoists see it as a right admirable quality. A man who is full of P’u, one who embodies the concept of P’u, that man is close to the Way.” “The Way. Sounds like a buncha mystical crap an’ an excuse to waste a bunch o’ time t’me,” he said scornfully as he began to press. “I wouldn’t disparage the Way, if I were you,” warned Book. “While I can’t officially endorse it, of course, Taoism does have some remarkable attributes. A man who is firmly on the Way, he has what is sometimes called Virtue or Power. Kind of a . . . special ability with things.” “Super powers?” Jayne asked, suddenly interested. “They could be construed as such,” Book reluctantly admitted. “More like the Captain’s command presence, or Inara’s . . . feminine appeal, or how Wash flies or how Kaylee fixes stuff. They understand that thing so completely that they appear to have an almost magical ability with them. A Mastery. They Master their discipline.” “Huh. I guess my . . . super power . . . is ‘Ass’, then,” Jayne said nodding with understanding, under the weights. “I beg your pardon?” Book asked, surprised. “ ‘Ass’. Kickin’ it . . . or getting’ some . . . I’m pretty much . . . the Ass king . . . don’tcha think?” he asked with a wide grin as he pushed the heavy weights into the air and into their rack. “Well . . .” “Admit it, Shepherd: I am the Master of Ass! I am full of P’u!” he said, sitting up triumphantly. “Your turn.” “I . . . I wouldn’t be sayin’ that right much, son,” Book said. “Um. One of the verses in the Tao Te Ching states that “the Way that can be spoken of is not the True and Eternal Way.’ Perhaps it would be best if you . . . didn’t speak of this.” “Yeah. Right,” agreed Jayne as he took position above Book. “Might, y’know, might somehow hurt my super powers.” “No, wouldn’t want to do that,” agreed Book. “Right. Guess I’ll keep the P’u to myself. Secret, like.” “Remember, I ain’t endorsing it,” reminded Book. “That wasn’t what the Lord preached. But it is an interesting philosophy. I’m ready.” They went through several reps each, and took turns using the freeweights as well. Book tried to explain the intellectual intricacies of the Taoist religion, using small words and simple concepts. Surprisingly, he seemed to understand more than half of it. “Still think it’s silly to pray to a chunk o’ wood,” Jayne said as they toweled the sweat off of themselves, watching Master Lei meditate. “Remember, it’s the beauty of the uncut block, the stunning, elegant perfection of the thing as unrealized potential,” Book reminded. “Then—” Jayne was interrupted when Master Lei suddenly produced a machete, apparently borrowed from the ship’s stores, and began vigorously hacking at the beam, about a third of the way down. The attack was savage, sending splinters flying across the hold. The old master was silent, and plied the blade like a master chef. In less than a minute, the beam was cut in twain. Nodding with satisfaction, Master Lei picked up the short end –effortlessly – and returned the machete to its place before mounting the stairs to Shuttle Two, where he had taken residency. “What the hell was that?” Jayne asked, mouth agape, completely confounded. Book stared at the stump of wood that was left, the burning incense, and the pile of splinters. He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Hell if I know,” he admitted with a laugh. “Crazy old heathen prays to lumber – what kind of sense does that make?”

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“They’re . . . they’re trying to kill me!” he said desperately. “They can’t be . . . not really,” Kaylee said, soothingly as she handed him a bottle. Johnny took it gratefully, then took a healthy sip of the homemade “reactor squeezings” inside. “No, really, I think they want me dead. We did stair exercises this morning. For an hour and a half, I ran up one side of the staircase in the hold, then down on the other. For ninety gorram minutes I did that. I ‘bout died,” he said. “Then ten minutes of rest. Then they made me strip down and assemble a Dragon assault rifle, over and over and over, until I could do it in under four minutes from start to finish. Then they slapped a blindfold on me and made me do it by touch. They’re crazy!” he insisted. “Well . . . can’t say as how I’d enjoy that,” admitted Kaylee, taking back the flask and taking a swig herself – just for quality assurance purposes. “But soldierin’s hard work, so Zoë an’ the Cap’n’s told me about a hundred times.” “Hard, sure,” conceded Johnny. “I can appreciate hard work. My coach and my masters back on Epiphany were hard on me, made me work. I’m not lazy. But this is just . . . abusive. Grueling. Humiliating. I have to do all of this stuff, and be able to recite important technical aspects of weapons systems that no one’s used in ten years or sing the regimental song of any old Imperial unit they name. Tomorrow, they’re going to line up down that corridor,” he said, pointing out the Engine Room door, “and they’re going to make me fight each one of them until I get here. Then I get to eat.” “Oh, Johnny, that sounds a mite extreme,” she agreed, shaking her head sadly. “But I know your uncles are just trying to do right by you.” “Uncles,” he said, a little sourly. “I go from being an orphan and a fugitive to the last of a noble Imperial line. They’re a couple of delusional old men! The Honorable General, he wants me to be a soldier, and the Heavenly Master wants me to be a scholar and a gentleman. All I wanted to be was rich!” he complained. “Well . . . you may be yet. If we can dig up this treasure, that is. And folk don’t get to shootin’ over it. Been in this line o’ work a while, now, an’ that’s more likely’n not, truth be known.” “My uncles are honorable men,” Johnny said. “Oh, don’t get me wrong! I have nothin’ but the highest esteem for the General – an’ he’s kinda cute in a grizzly-bear sorta way – an’ the Heavenly Master, well, he’s amazing. Like a Chinese Book, almost. No, that ain’t quite it. He’s like . . . he’s okay with the whole ‘verse, y’know? Not tortured by it like so many bodies are. He just . . . is, and he does a damn good job of it. Nah, I like your uncles. An’ I trust my folk will behave – except for Jayne maybe,” she corrected. “Don’t worry about the big man,” Johnny said, shaking his head. “We came to an understanding on this matter when we started that mastodon stampede.” “I just get worried, is all. Folk with guns and a pile o’ coin to divide, well, that’s trouble in a glass jug. Be even worse if we don’t find nothin’,” she said. “Oh, we will,” Johnny assured. “And here I am , still nervous about bein’ out this far from . . . well, anywhere. Wash says three more days . . . I’ll feel a mite more proper we slide into someplace what has people there. Can’t say it’s been unduly unpleasant trip—” “For you!” “—but I wouldn’t mind seein’ some fresh faces and breathin’ some air I hadn’t breathed a thousand times already,” she admitted. “Three days,” Johnny repeated in a daze. “I can last another three days. Can’t I? Colonel Campbell said I would have some time off once we made port. Then, after we get the map, more training until we get where we’re going.” “Where is that, do you think?” Kaylee asked, conversationally. “Hell, could be anywhere. Any of the old Imperial planets. Xian, maybe? One of the early Rimworlds? The Emperor’s linen closet, maybe?” “What do you want to bet that it’s somewhere mighty inconvenient?” Kaylee asked. “No chance it’d be, y’know, someplace easy to get to.” “I’m thinking not,” sighed Johnny. “It’ll probably be in the hardest place to find, guarded by horrible monsters and demons, with cunning traps for the unwary and less than pure at heart.” “I’m thinkin’ there’ll be skulls,” Kaylee decided, taking another sip. “All the pictures of treasure I ever saw had skulls hangin’ around.” “Skulls would work,” agreed Johnny. “Be just like my family. All that Imperial crap is creepy, you ask me. I mean, I know it’s tradition and all, but it just seems so . . . impractical.” “Then why do you do it?” Johnny considered. “Two reasons. First, it’s my only way to get to the treasure. Second . . . well, apart from a fratricidal half-brother they’re the only family I got. As much as I’m bitching right now, they are a link to my dad, however distant. And they’re pretty decent folk, all things considered. The General, he’s hard, but he’s smart. Really smart. Some of the stories the men have told me . . . well, I read a bunch about him, and the bios on the cortex apparently don’t have half the real story. He’s ambitious, and selfless, and honorable.” “What about Master Lei?” “Oh, he’s . . . he’s interesting. Harsher than the General, and not at all ambitious. But he makes me think. Think so hard my head hurts. I know more about ancient Chinese history now than I ever wanted. Economics, politics, history . . . I guess it’s what school would be like. College, a real college. With one student, one professor, and no baseball team.” “Huh,” Kaylee grunted, stifling an alcoholic belch. “I’m sure he means well.” “He does. They both do. They both want the best for me.” “But it’s not what you wanted,” guessed the engineer. “I just wanted to be rich. Is that petty of me?” “Hell, I don’t know!” laughed Kaylee. “My dad always said he’d rather be a workin’ man than a rich man, an’ have workin’ man problems rather than a rich man’s.” She thought for a moment. “I always wanted to try it for a while, see what the difference was.” “Maybe we both find out. No telling how big the haul is on this.” There was a clanging coming from the vicinity of the cargo bay – someone was banging on the fuel container lid that had been suspended from a railing and used as the soldiers’ gong. Johnny groaned. “That’s the end of my break. We’re going to pick up the rest of that gorram pole and carry it around on our shoulders for an hour or so. There might be singing,” he warned. “Um, y’all gonna be wearin’ shirts?” Kaylee asked innocently, biting her lip. “No, probably not. The . . . the air temp has been a little high lately,” he said. “Humid, too. Didn’t Colonel Campbell come and ask you about it?” “Oh! That. Well, I’ve had these capacitors that have been over-heatin’, right? Well, I found out that if you run an itinerant bypass circuit to drain off a smidge o’ the current every two hundred cycles or so, they’ll artificially discharge at half-capacity. I gotta put that current to some good use, on account of it gettin’ out o’ hand if left to its own devices, so I use it to power the heat exchangers in the atmo system – an’ sometimes they get a might hot, ‘cause the new core is so efficient. Sorry. I look into it, see if I can’t get it beat into submission!” “Thanks!” Johnny said relieved. “Bad enough I gotta tote a tree trunk ‘round the decks on my shoulder – I hate to do it when it’s so hot you’re dripping with sweat when you run.” “Not a problem!” assured Kaylee. “Really! I’ll try to have that li’l problem under control – shouldn’t take but another day . . . or so,” she trailed off as he waved and left as the gong sounded again. Continuing to bite her lip, she turned on her heel and faced her engine, blushing furiously. “Damn! Busted!”