The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Thirty Five

“Most of you guys know that I was a great pilot starting out . . . that I graduated second in my class from flight school. Ever wonder who was first?” “Well, yes, baby, I did always kinda wonder about who was a better pilot than you,” Zoe said, after some consideration. “I didn’t say he was better,” Wash said sullenly. “I said he was first.” He thought for a moment, then sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Okay, the flight school I went to – well, it wasn’t the best. Not even the best on the crappy little moon where I grew up. But it accepted government guaranteed student loan vouchers, it was two blocks from a all-girls liberal arts college, and it was cheap. Very cheap. Two year program, no frills: pass the test, and you could leave behind your squalid existence in this industrial slum for high adventure in the open Black with your Grade B pilot’s license, makin’ stacks o’ cash and with a health and dental program. Or that’s what the brochure said. “Anyway, we didn’t touch a real ship until late the second year. That first year-and-a-half was classes and sims, sims and classes. Mostly automated, so they wouldn’t have to pay too many instructors. Usual foolproof security to keep anything . . . unusual from messing with the results. And I was good – I zipped through the coursework and spent more time in practice sims than anyone else. When the practicums came first year, I shoulda walked away with the top spot. Only I didn’t. “This creepy little guy named Manfred Asbach was in my class, and he always came in just ahead of me. I was good, and the guy kept beating me. Problem was, no one ever saw him step into a sim. And you’d know it, too, ‘cause Manfred wasn’t too conversant in the ways of hygiene. He barely showed up for class. Mostly, he’d make a couple of crude remarks at the few girls in my school and spend the rest of the time dodging boyfriends and defensive chemical sprays. Never scored to my knowledge. Found out later he had a Love-Bot back at his apartment.” “Eww, gross!” Kaylee said, wrinking her nose. “Sweety, if you saw this little turd, you’d write the Love-Bot company and thank them for keeping creeps like Manfred out of sexual circulation,” Wash said with a laugh. “Trust me. “But the little snot kept beating me, over and over, and I couldn’t stand it. It would be one thing if he really was a better pilot than me – but he sucked. This went on for two years, and this guy was acing every gorram test we took, and every sim, and when it came to our first solo, he almost crashed it on take-off and then flew the course perfectly – before almost crashing on landing. Brilliant, but with some serious gaps. “Anyway, I finally clued into something the week before graduation. I knew for a fact he’d flunked the Emergency Preparedness practicum, because I’d flown with him for it – I aced it, by the way,” he added smugly. “He totally bombed it. Could of killed us all, wiped out a small town when he crashed. A total fail. “Except when we were looking up our finals grades, I saw that he’d aced it, too.” Wash looked around at all the expectant faces, then grinned. “He was hacking the hell out of the school computers,” he explained. “The un-tamperable ones. Only, not so much. He overrode everything, changed grades, pre-programmed autopilots, everything. If I hadn’t been so pissed, I would have been in awe. As it was, I just hunted him down at graduation and threatened to beat him to death if he didn’t confess.” “He did . . . to me. Little shit liked me for some reason. Said I was funny. And said I could beat him up if I wanted . . . or keep his secret in exchange for a little assistance, from time to time.” “Is this Manfred any good?” Booked asked, quizzically. “I never heard tell of him.” “He didn’t really travel in ecclesiastical circles,” Wash said wryly. “And Manfred, of course, wasn’t his real name. He prefers to be called . . . Mr. Universe.” Everyone was looking at him, unblinking. Then they found the words. “That’s the most gorram egocentric steamin’ pile o’—” Mal swore. “Gotta ego?” Kaylee said, rolling her eyes. “What, he’s some kinda gorram superhero?” Zoe said with a snort. “Well, actually,” Wash said, reluctantly, “he’s the best gorram hacker in the ‘verse. And he owes me a few favors.” “How do you know he can bust into the Citadel and lift a couple of terabytes of data without every Fed in the ‘verse knowin’ about it?” asked Mal. “Because he’s done it.” Wash waited for quiet. “I know for a fact he’s done it. In the last few weeks before graduation, there was a running debate on the specs of the new tippy-top-secret SE-11 aerospace interceptor – the Skull Warrior model.” Master Lei rolled his eyes and murmured, “Piece of crap!” “Well there was an argument about it, about the thrust ratios or something like that. But of course no one knew. So we debated about it endlessly, and a lot more beer was spilled over that stupid thing – well, Mr. Universe gets sick of it, and the next day he’s showing off a flexi of the stats – the real stats – that he yanked from Alliance R&D. Inside the Citadel.” There was a moment of silence while that sunk in. Wash couldn’t let it just hang there unattended. “Look, I can put out a wave to Mr. Universe, get in touch with him, see if he’ll help us out. Hell, he’d do it for laughs.” “How do you get in touch with him?” Simon asked. “I don’t believe that they have a ‘meglomaniacal anti-social computer genius’ listing in the cortex.” “Wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Campbell said, smirking. Apparently he’d met a few in his intelligence work. “You don’t call Mr. Universe,” Wash explained. “He’s got no fixed address, no real name, no . . . no electronic existence at all. But he does have a dozen or so aliases, and I know a few. I’ll throw out a couple of intriguing tidbits under those names, and likely he’ll be scanning for them. Then he’ll get in touch with me. Or not,” Wash amended. “He’s not real . . . dedicated to anything or any one except that gorram Sex-Bot. But he might do it for the sheer nerve of it.” “We can pay him,” the General said, hopefully. “We can make it worth his while for the attempt.” Wash shook his head. “Won’t work. He doesn’t lack for money. Man of his talents, he just . . . he has plenty, believe me. No, if he does this, it’ll purely be for kicks.” “Send your waves,” Mal ordered. “I’m sure it will take a few days for Mr. Wonderful to get back to us. That’ll give Kaylee some time to fix the ship, give us a break, before we head back to civilization.” “Aye, Captain,” Wash agreed, strangely silent. “And with that, I guess we’ll leave the Lei Family to catch up on old times, while we go catch up on some sleep.” “Very good,” murmured General Lei, eyeing his wife with undisguised hunger. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow, we can get you reprovisioned and repaired. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything. Tell the portmaster to put it all on my private account. And,” he said, with a grin, “expect to sleep in tomorrow. I know I will.” *

*

*

As Colonel Campbell led the crew back through the winding, labyrinthine corridors of the station he made a point of walking next to Simon, letting the others trail behind them. “Doctor, a word,” he said politely. “Yes, Colonel?” “I was reminded of something while his Imperial Majesty was speaking. Something you might be interested in.” “What would that be?” “In the course of my duties in intelligence, I occasionally came across files from long ago – intelligence agencies never throw anything away, you see, because we never know what shred of information will prove essential to some future operation.” “Go on.” “I recall coming across a reference to an early project – Project Daikini, if I remember properly – which was a research project dating back to the time of the Tyrant.” “Did it have something to do with boiling puppies? I’ve heard Shan Yu was into that sort of thing.” “Oh, the Tyrant’s excesses went far beyond such simple . . . amusements, I assure you. But the reference to the Daikini project involved his attempts to . . . well, to create someone very much like your sister.” Simon stopped and faced the man. “I beg your pardon?” Campbell cleared his throat. “The surgical inducement of psychic abilites,” Campbell said in a low voice. “The whole project was designed around it. A decade’s worth of unwilling experimental subjects, all left mentally maimed by the process.” Simon looked skeptical . . . and wary. “Colonel, I never said River was psychic.” Campbell ventured a small smile. “Please, Doctor, I meant no offense. I concluded your sister had rare insight after our last conversation. Some things she said . . . and how she said them,” he added, “led me to the unmistakable conclusion that her intuition went beyond the norm. Since then I’ve tested her twice, in unobtrusive ways. Your sister is an empath, at least, if not a full telepath. Quite remarkable, really.” “Quite brutal and perverse, actually,” Simon countered. “And you say that someone else tried to do this?” “The goals of the Daikini project seem similar,” noted Campbell. “The Tyrant wanted an intelligence service to match his military forces. The idea of a telepathic spy has been around since the ancient Soviet Empire, and he wanted to be the one to accomplish it. The Tyrant took all of that data and put a whole research team on it. At least a hundred surgical subjects, from what I could tell. But they explored several ideas: drugs, genetics, machines, diet, meditation, everything. Emperor Lei closed the project when he took the throne, I suppose, but apparently someone in the Alliance has revived the research.” “That’s a profoundly disturbing thought,” Simon said, wide-eyed. “Indeed. It may happen that we run across that sort of information on this . . . quest, I suppose is the best description. If we could somehow recover that data, perhaps it could give you some more insight on what they did to your sister. Perhaps even aid in her recovery.” “It might,” agreed Simon, enthusiastically. “Right now it’s a lot like trying to discover how a hovercraft works by peering in the windows. If I knew what those bastards were intending to begin with, it might give me a hint of direction in regards to treatment.” “My thought exactly,” Campbell said, nodding. “But . . . forgive me for asking, but why are you taking such an interest?” Simon asked suspiciously. “Since I’ve been . . . been out in the Black, especially among this crowd,” Simon said, nodding towards Mal and Zoe and the rest of the crew, “I’ve noticed that helpfulness is often in direct proportion to self-interest. You aren’t hoping to recruit River to your cause, are you?” he asked, alarmed. “No, not at all. She’s a remarkable young woman, is all, and I hate that she was forced into this life against her will. I feel compelled to assist, is all.” “That seems rather altruistic for a spy.” “Point taken. However, I try not to let myself become defined by my job. An interest in the lives of others is the mark of a gentleman.” “So you, a spy and, I’m guessing, an assassin, you have a strong moral code? One that involves altruism?” “Don’t sound so surprised, Doctor. Any brain-dead slab of muscle can carry out a tactical assault, with enough training,” he said. “Jayne certainly bears that out,” agreed Simon. Campbell grinned. “But to be able to do . . . to do what needs to be done, sometimes the incentive of money is not enough. You must believe . . . and belief without strong moral guidance leads to fanaticism. And fanatics make poor spies.” “Forgive me if I find your perspective . . . unusual.” “Not at all. Your sister may or may not have value to me and my cause. But she has a great deal of value to you . . . and herself, and the greater ‘verse at large. By helping you to help her, I advance the cause of all of humanity.” “An interesting perspective,” admitted Simon slowly. “But . . . well, thank you. Thank you very much. I’ve been tackling this thing by myself for months, without even the option of waving specialists for advice. If I had that clue . . . well, it could be important. Thank you.” “My pleasure,” Campbell said – and he did seem genuinely pleased. *

*

* The next day Kaylee and three technicians on loan from the station worked at more permanently repairing the damage wrought during the firefight back on Salisbury. One of the men, Joseph Hierdall, had been in charge of spaceship architecture back during the war and was able to help her find an innovative way around her little capacitor problem. It involved adding a regulator to the circuit, which took all day, but in the meantime the minor issues with the hull – the few places where a stray round had hit something vulnerable – and by the time the men went home Kaylee was feeling good about Serenity again. Meanwhile, Wash put out several subtle queries on a variety of channel’s using his classmate’s aliases liberally. If he was still alive and attached to the cortex – and Wash couldn’t honestly believe that he could keep away from it short of imprisonment – then he would be able to detect it . . . and if he actually felt like it, he might respond in a few days. When he had sent the last of them, he leaned back in the pilot’s chair, closed his eyes, and sighed. “Problem, Husband?” Zoe asked cheerfully as she entered the Bridge. “No . . . well, sort of. No. Maybe – nah.” “Ai ya, I haven’t heard you give that many wrong answers to the same question since you seduced me that first time.” “Me? Seduce you? Oh, no, you were the aggressor, honey, not me.” “We’ll argue about it later. Back to what’s troubling you.” Wash sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just a little wary about calling for this guy. He did kinda make an ass of me, back at school.” “Sweety, that was years ago,” soothed Zoe. “I’m sure he’s gotten better.” “I’m not,” Wash insisted. “You just don’t know. This guy . . . he’s a piece of work.” “How come you never mentioned him before?” “Because if I did, then everyone would figure I was just pissed off about him beating me. Like I was making excuses.” “So you’ve pretended that you actually did come in second all these years?” “I didn’t want to sound like a whiner,” explained Wash. “Any more than I already am,” he amended. “Honeybear! No one thinks you’re a—well, no one important, anyway. And since the Doc came on board, you’ve oozed coolness. He’s got a corner on the whine market.” “No kidding,” Wash said, rolling his eyes. “I just wanted to avoid the appearance of whining about this, I guess. This guy . . . he’s no pilot. But he’s brilliant. He can find out anything. If it’s possible to break into the Citadel, he can do it.” “How long do you think it will take for him to get back to us?” Zoe asked. “Oh, at least a couple of days, I’m sure. I—” he was interrupted by a beep that indicated an incoming transmission. “Or less,” he conceded, toggling the pick up. “Hoban Washburne, of Serenity,” he identified. In a moment the picture cleared and the not-terribly-attractive face of an acne-scarred young man with dirty hair, an arrogant grin and engaging and slightly crazed eyes. “Wash!” Mr. Universe exclaimed. “Imagine that! Haven’t heard from you since you wanted the stuff on that soldier-girl you were after. How’d that turn out, anyway?” “Uh, fine, look, Manfred, I—” “Name’s not Manfred, Wash,” the man sang, rolling his eyes. “Soldier-girl?” Zoe asked softly behind him. Wash tried to continue despite the color in his cheeks and the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Fine, Mr. Universe, I got a . . . challenge for you.” “So I’m asking myself, ‘self, what the hell does ol’ Wash want now?’ and I said, ‘hey, let’s find out!’ so I waved you back. You need more juju? Need to hitch a ride with the master of zap?” “I got something but I don’t think you can do it,” Wash said. “It’s impossible.” “Impossible?” the man laughed derisively. “There is no impossible. If there’s a signal, I can ride it.” “Including to the Citadel on Londinium?” “The Citadel? That dusty old castle?” he scoffed. “In my sleep. With one frontal lobe tied behind my back.” “With all that black ice around it?” “Yeah, well, this for ice,” he said, snapping. “Ain’t met the ice I can’t melt with the heat of my passion.” “Yeah,” Wash said carefully. “I remember that about you. Quite the ladies man. By the way, how is your pre-fab girlfriend?” “Fiancé,” corrected the geek proudly. “We moved in together – cozy little moon out in the middle of nowhere, just Lenore and me. Got the whole world to ourselves – it’s quite romantic.” “The whole world?” Wash asked, puzzled. “Yep! Moved in about six months ago. Quaint little thing, only about two thousand miles across. They had just finished it, poor things, when their predictive modeling computers told ‘em that the atmo was going all tainty. So they pulled about a half-a-million people off and left it to me.” “You live on a tainted planet?” “Moon, cadet, moon. And it isn’t really tainted – I just told ‘em it was. Cheaper than building one of my own. Besides, I’ve got the loveliest little ion cloud in my ionosphere, which keeps things private. Not even the Reavers bother us out here. So when Lenore proposed, how could I refuse?” “Sounds like a fairy-tale wonderland.” “Oh, it is! The Citadel, huh? I never pegged you as the espionage type, Wash. More of a smuggler, maybe. Perhaps a little light armed-robbery. I’ve been following your ship’s exploits, by the by, and what a clandestine splash you guys have made! First that whole Ariel thing and then that heist in the Vajra system? That was a first-rate con!” “Thanks,” Wash smiled. “We’re trying to diversify. We don’t want the whole record, but there is a cell we want for background purposes for a prospective job. The old Yuanese Imperial Archives. I want it. Whole thing. The Feds lifted it about fifty years ago? Probably around then. Shouldn’t be difficult for a man of your talents,” he said, knowing that Mr. Universe was prone to be diverted by flattery. “No, not at all. I pee better data security than that. But it will take a little time – they changed their interlink protocols to something exotic, lately, I’ll have to find a new way in. But I can get it for you. Not something I really want to zip out over the traceable cortex, though. Have top make the drop in person. And I want something in return.” “Money? Not a problem – within reason.” “Wash, Wash, it isn’t about the money – I have more than I can ever spend. I own my own freakin’ planet, for God’s sake! It’s something, well, personal. Since Lenore and I just got engaged, I think it’s only right that we have a little celebration, y’know, just a few folks, we keep it casual, just friends. And you’re about the only friend I have been able to get a hold of . . .” “Gotcha. I’ll have to talk to my people, but I think we can work something out.” “No party, no data-y,” the irritating little hack sang. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Wash assured. “But without tellin’ tales, we’re at least six weeks out from anywhere civilized—” “Yeah, yeah, the transnuclear platform. Shiny place to hide, that. I’ll have to keep it in mind, ‘case the new missus and I need a vacation from our moon with the white picket fence. So where do you wanna meet?” “Hmmm,” Wash hummed as he checked out starcharts on another monitor. “Six weeks . . . Persephone’s out of the way . . . Boros, no . . . Beaumonde, no . . . Merovingia, no . . . how about . . . Athens? In six weeks?” “Yes, great, haven’t been back to that pile of marble in two years,” he agreed. “We can meet at my estate. It’ll be a party.” “I didn’t know you had an estate on Athens,” Wash said. “I don’t,” admitted Mr. Universe. “Yet. But I’ve always wanted one. I’ll be in touch. Chiao!” As the monitor flickered off, Wash could feel the eyes on the back of his neck. “’Soldier-girl’? Just what ‘stuff’ did you pick up on ‘soldier-girl’?” “Oh, nothing, sweetness, just . . . it’s nothing, really,” he soothed. “You wanna reconsider that position?” “Hon, really, I would never . . . look, okay, it was a long time ago – years, really – but we weren’t even married yet. I was looking for a way . . . well, a way past the whole, ‘I’ve killed enough men to stuff into a football stadium’ charming exterior of yours, and I needed an edge. Hell, I never thought anything would come of it. I was just trying to get into your pants.” “I thought I seduced you?” “Only because I let you. Anyway, I needed a little edge, so one drunken night I was feeling sorry for myself, called Mr. U, and asked him for a little . . . inside help.” “Inside help?” Zoe said, lips pursed. “Oh, this is getting better and better.” “Sugar butt! No! I never meant – look, it was just a comprehensive cortex search on everything that’s . . . ever . . . been . . . you aren’t finding this nearly as amusing as I thought you would.” “You noticed. How charming.” “Look, I just wanted some leverage! I wanted a little background. You were bein’ all tough and experienced and nobly war-like and I was this pathetic little pile of flabby man-flesh. If I didn’t use all my resources, you never would have taken a second look!” “I just couldn’t get past that gorram mustache,” she hissed back. “I shaved it! When I found out . . . look, the only thing I ever used outa that package was a single picture when you were fourteen years old and you got in the paper for the provincial fair where you entered—” “Black-eyed Susans,” Zoe accused. “You son of a bitch.” When Wash had first begun his unusual courtship of Zoe, he had appealed to her sense of romance. This manifested itself in many ways, private messages, little gifts, courtesies, flattery, poetry . . . but one of the things that had captured Zoe’s heart had been one day when she had gotten up to go on watch, opened her ladder-hatch . . . and been showered with a hundred fresh black-eyed Susans. They had always been her favorite flower, a secret she hadn’t shared with anyone for years. But she had taken second place in the provincial fair back home with her stunning crop of the pretty yellow flowers when she was fourteen. She had always been impressed with the display – Wash had seemed to just instinctively know how to reach out to her, and the flowers were just icing on the cake. Not to mention hard to pull off stunt in the depths of space. Now she knew it had been less than instinctive. “You . . .” she growled. “Sweetheart, no,” Wash protested. “No! I just needed some hints! It’s not like Mal was slippin’ me any answers – remember when he told me your favorite dish was liver and onions? And I cooked it for you? And you vomited all over the kitchen? Remember? Well, that’s what I was up against. I not only had to win you, I had to do it around Mal, who was standing firmly in the way. So don’t give me any crap if I tried to stack the deck a little! Otherwise, I’d have one very lonely mustache right now.” “You might be making each other’s acquaintance again very soon,” she said, seething. “I’m going to bed. I suggest you consider how comfortable the passenger’s dorm is. Plenty of room back there.” And she stomped off. Wash looked miserable, but sighed in resignation. He wasn’t sorry about using his resources – a man had to do what he could when he was in love with a wonderful woman like Zoe. But he knew she wouldn’t understand his position, which is exactly why he never told her. “That’s it,” Wash vowed with a growl. “When we see ‘em, I’m putting itching powder in Lenore’s panties. Serve the bastard right.”

*

*

* “You need a hand, child?” Book asked as Kaylee struggled to push empty H3 fuel cells out of the way. Book grabbed one that was in danger of tipping over and moved it gently out of the way. The engineer was looking frustrated. “I just can’t stand it when the bay gets all junky like this,” she said bitterly. “A body tries to get at a thing, it’s gotta be buried under six feet o’ crap.” “What are you looking for?” “My cargo. That last mastodon penis. Master Lei found me a buyer – says he’ll pay twice the goin’ rate, on account o’ its real thin on the ground out here.” “Twice, eh?” Book said, raising his eyebrows. “That’s . . . that’s quite a bit!” “Yeah!” she said victoriously. “An’ this one is all mine. Paid for it out of my own funds. So I get all the profit, too. That’ll be more’n I ever had in my pocket at once. Hell, more’n my family ever had. I might send’em some, too – Pa wrote that Mama wants to build an addition onto the house.” “That’s quite noble of you,” agreed Book. “Very nice, indeed. A well-raised child is a right blessing to her folks.” Kaylee beamed, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “Thanks, Shepherd! I try. Truthful, I felt a mite guilty when we was sunnin’ an’ funnin’ on Epiphany, me knowin’ my folks were doin’ without. But that last letter said Pa got some regular work out at McPherson’s, so I shouldn’t worry too much. But if I can make their lives a bit more comfortable . . .” she thrust aside a discarded crate. “There! I got it!” “Child, perhaps this isn’t the best time to be working a trade,” Book said, cautiously. “Why not, Shepherd? Ain’t like we’re shippin’ out for another few days. General’s gotta get his team together, Mal’s got some business to transact . . . now seems like a perfect time, ‘specially at them prices!” Triumphantly she opened the locker and grabbed at the long package inside. “There, perfect! Now . . . whatthehell?” she asked as she realized that something wasn’t quite what it seemed. “Ain’t that strange?” “What’s that?” asked Book, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “This here package. It’s . . . someone’s et it!” “All of it?” “A generous gorram third! Shepherd, who would do such a thing? That there was mine! Bought and paid for! An’ someone just came in an’ hacked away at it like . . . like . . . like it was free or somethin’!” “Now, Kaylee, I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Book said gently, though he felt he knew where this was going. “Perhaps we have rats . . .” he offered. “Rats?” Kayle asked. “Rats what can open a sealed locker?” “Very ingenious rats,” amended Book, lamely. “Must be,” Kaylee said, trying to determine the extent of the damage. Her face was red with anger. Just as she was unwrapping the end of the package, Jayne wandered by, saw the wrapper, and grinned. “’Bout time someone found that stuff!” he said, gleefully. He reached out and grabbed a sliver and stuffed it into his cheeks. “Love me some yak jerky. Best gorram chew I ever et. Li’l between your cheeks, gives you a right boost.” Kaylee stared at him through slitted eyes. “You were not far wrong, Shepherd,” she declared. “We got us a rat! A two legged kind, but still a rat!” “What?” Jayne asked, confounded. “What’d I do?” “You! Ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng! Chu ni duh! Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze fuh ur-tze!” “Calm down, calm down, what’s got your panties inna knot?” he asked, his mouth full. “You stole my penis!” “I did no such thing!” he shot back. Then something occurred to him. “wait, you gotta penis?” he asked. “Yes! A very expensive one, too!” “Now that ain’t right,” Jayne said, his mental universe tumbling out of control. “I been ridin’ with you for a few years, now, an’ while I ain’t rightly had personal carnal knowledge, I’m fair certain you come equipped with girl parts!” “Not my penis, you baboon, but my penis! My mastodon penis! You been chawin’ on it for, what, weeks now? And you never even asked?” “What?” Jayne asked, mystified. “MY MASTODON PENIS!” Kaylee shouted. “That stuff you got in your mouth!’ “It’s . . . it’s yak jerky!” Jayne insisted. He picked up the package. “See? ‘Yak Jerky, product of Wuhan!’” “That’s because it’s illegal and we were smugglin’ it, you moron! Ugh! Ni meiyou langun!” she shouted, lividly. “In point of fact,” Book pointed out gently, “he does have a penis. At least, he’s got a piece of one in his mouth.” Jayne turned his attention to Book. He had stopped chewing altogether. “You . . . you mean she’s . . . serious?” “I do,” affirmed Book. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to howl with laughter or run for cover. “You mean . . . all this time . . . I had an elephant Johnson in my mouth?” “I’m afraid so, son.” “But . . . but why would anyone . . . anyone do that?” he asked, horrified. “Chinese medicine,” Book explained. “An’ right expensive medicine, too!” Kaylee said, bitterly. “You owe me a lotta money, pud!” “Now . . . I didn’t know Kaylee,” he said, defensively. “I didn’t . . . ohmy God did you say penis? I been eatin’ . . . penis?” He swallowed reflexively, and suddenly the wad of meat in his mouth was no longer welcome. “How expensive? I can give you a couple o’ bucks, cover it,” he mumbled. “Well, that chunk you just put in your mouth? That’s about ten credits worth. Back in civilization. But I woulda got paid twice that here. So twenty credits. Matter o’ fact, looks like you done ate up ‘bout . . . thirteen thousand credits or so?” “That’s a lot of penis,” commented Book, shaking his head. “Thirteen . . . thousand?” Jayne asked, even more astonished. “They pay that much for elephant wienies?” “Yes, they do,” Kaylee said flatly. “In cash. But I’ll give it to you for half that, seein’ as how you et most of it back in civilized parts.” “Half?” Jayne whined. “Half,” Kaylee said stubbornly. “Don’t make me change my mind.” “I won’t,” Jayne said hurriedly. “Here, want me t’help get this t’where it’s goin’?” he offered. “No. You done enough, Mr. Cobb,” Kaylee spat coldly. She hoisted the package over her shoulder, gave him a final disgusted look, and left. Book clapped his hand on Jayne’s shoulder as they watched her go. “Y’know, son,” he said kindly, “this might be seen as some sort of cosmic lesson, by some.” “Cosmic humpin’ joke, more like,” Jayne said sullenly. “Penis! First that . . . incident on Epiphany, now this. Preacher, is it me goin’ moon-headed or the rest o’ the ‘verse? Seven thousand! For a . . . snack!” Something occurred to him. “Uh, you ain’t gonna mention this to no one, are you? Ain’t you got that code thing what says you can’t?” “Oh, my lips, completely sealed,” Book assured him gravely. “But I suggest you find a way to pay the lady, before she decides your reputation could use a tweak.” “Damn! An’ she would, too!” Jayne said anxiously. “Maybe . . . maybe I shoulda been . . . nicer to her?” “Might could,” agreed Book. “She’s kind-hearted – never met a sunnier person, God’s truth. But she looks powerful angry.” “Yeah, I better get some coin together,” he said, nodding his head. “Right quick, too. Last thing I need is t’have it all over th’ship that . . . that I did . . . that thing I did.” “Oh, I’d hurry,” agreed Book. “But . . . well, you might want to see the Doctor. Or better yet, Master Lei.” “Why?” he asked, his eyes perceptively wider. “Is it . . . poisoned?” he asked in a meek voice. “Oh, no, no,” Book reassured him. “It won’t hurt you. Won’t even make you sick. But . . .” “But what?” Jayne demanded. “What? What is it?” His eyes got even wider. “I ain’t gonna . . . turn sly, now, am I?” he asked, petrified. “No, most likely not,” Book said. “No, not an herb or potion in the ‘verse can work that sort of magic. But in Chinese medicine, well, mastodon penises are prized for their aphrodisiac properties. I believe I heard Master Lei say it kept one’s ‘yang’ up.” “My . . . ‘yang’? What if I been chewin’ on it for a month? What then? My yang?” “I’m not certain,” admitted the Shepherd. “Might be fine . . . might fall off. You been feeling . . . randy at all?” “Hell, been on a gorram boat for a month, Shepherd!” Jayne almost shouted. “’Course I got one in the chamber!” “I’m no expert, but an excess of yang, well . . . all sorts of unfortunate things could happen. That much aphrodesiac . . . I conjure it could be a painful proposition.” “Damn! Damn it all!” Jayne swore. “Fine! I’ll get the money for Kaylee, then I’m gonna track down Heavenly Master, then . . . well, what I’m gonna do, I ain’t gonna talk about with you ‘till I done and did it!” “I believe there are one or two bordellos on the station, I believe,” pointed out Book. “I’m sure you could find someone willing to take your trade.” “Hell, I better!” declared Jayne. He stopped and thought a moment. “You think maybe I shouldn’t mention chowin’ down on elephant num-nums, though, huh?” “Might be a bad move,” agreed Book. “Best you approach ‘em natural . . . otherwise they might charge you extra.” “Y’know, that’s a gorram great idea, preacher!” Jayne said, enthusiastically. “Surprised to hear it from you , but a great idea. I better . . . I better get goin’. Gotta talk to Master Lei. Don’t want anythin’ . . . untoward happenin’ below th’belt, you know?” “I understand completely,” Book said. “You go do what it is you gotta do.” “Hey! Since I kinda gotta do it for, you know, medical reasons, maybe it won’t count as a sin?” “With God, all things are possible.” “I s’pose. ‘Preciate your guidance on this, though.” “Not a problem, son,” the Shepherd said pleasantly. “God bless.” He watched Jayne mount the stairs and head for his bunk. When the man was out of sight, he turned his eyes up to where the lights were dangling. “Hey, no, thank you, Lord,” he said, grinning at the humor of the ‘verse. “Thank you kindly!”