And the series, despite much disinterest, continues. You may have noticed I stopped putting in the legal stuff. Guess it's cause I know everybody else's figured that I don't own the rights to this fei-oo. And give me feedback. I'm dying out here :-(

Timebomb

The light was harsh, its whiteness searing into Sylvia's eyes as the Alliance man paced up and down the length of the room, in front of the two-way mirror that undoubtably had a horde of people behind it. She rubbed her temples with her thumbs, trying to work away some of the ruthless ache that had worked its way into them. Today had been a gao tsao duh day, with Legacy as the dog. She kneaded her brow with shackled hands, and watched as the man finally took a seat, letting a file-folder drop in front of him. "You seem to have had an interesting day, miss Witherell," The man said in his most 'you can talk to me' voice. He leaned in close. "And as I see it, you all have quite a bit of explaining to do." "Really?" she asked, glancing up into the burning light. "Why don't you tell me what you know about yesterday's events, see if we can determine where the responsibility lies?" She already knew where the responsibility was going to fall, but she started talking anyway. <> For some reason, being in a full ship made her feel damned uncomfortable. She was usually the first to welcome folk into her house when she was young, always in the heart of the crowd. But now, with the holds full of sundries and the bunks full of people, she felt like she was practically going out of her skin. Her eyes stayed down, and she shuffled to the table. She could hear the loud conversation of those around her, but something else tickled at the background, like an earthspinner pushin' through under her feet. She glanced around. Everybody was too happy. Too alive. Weren't right. Then again, nothing seemed to be entirely right since she laid eyes on that Elias. Her Elias. Two by two? Comin' in fours, then? Or just two abreast? And who was coming? Still, she couldn't help but skake her head at the meeting. She talked to a Reader. She touched, loved, and tried to shoot, a Reader. A creature right out of science fiction. She hadn't told anybody of course. They'd just send Friday to dope her and drop her on the first rock with a looney-shack. Still, she wondered idly what he must have felt in this little boat, sliding along the black? The conversation washed around her, and she remembered the feel of his large hands. "What?" She asked, realizing that she'd been brought into the conversation. Zane nudged her with his elbow, and she looked across the table to the rather suai man who just asked her... something. "I was asking what sort of things you people haul, cause those tanks seemed kinda big," he said. Somethin' weren't right about him, though. Was it that he was irritated at having to repeat himself? Maybe he just assumed she was a complete back-berth and not worth his time? "This's a midbulk freighter," Zane explained, leaving her to continue picking away at her meal. "She'll take whatever can fit into her. This'n's outfitted for fluid transport, more than anything else," Zane lied. He gave her a look, then continued. "Thing is, them tanks can be rigged to dump into the engine, makin' them perfect fuel reserves." "Fuel reserves?" the man said suspiciously, before shrugging slightly and skewering a tomato on his fork. The family had not spoken on this topic till now, when the husband piped up. "What happens if someone were to shoot them tanks?" he asked cautiously. His wife swatted him across the shoulder anyhow. "Gunfights don't happen on my boat," Jacob said. "I don't let 'em." The father seemed placated by this, and he and his three ilk turned the conversation to other things. She took another bite of the tomato. It tasted disturbingly like dust. She took a drink. Dust turned to mud. She raised the bright fruit to her nose, taking a whiff. Smelled just like any tomato, so she hazarded another bite. Dust. She shook her head. Things just ain't been right since that astoundingly pleasant mid-morning. Things been... akimbo, she thought the word was. Bent. She pushed away from the table, waving off the well meaning but unanswerable questions that wafted up from the table. The air was humming, now, an alien song played on alien instruments. She wandered into the back of the ship, toward the engines. This had a different sort of rhythm to it, a steady beat of a heart. It was still not what she was looking for. She just wanted some quiet. Some peace. She was in front of the infirmery before she realized it, staring at that shadowed spot where she found Elias. What was it he'd said? Like noone'd ever spoke a harsh word there? She kneeled in the corner, crossing her legs as she'd seen him. The humming dimmed away, falling off of her in layers until there was utter silence. Oh, she could still here the conversation as it drifted down from the kitchen, she could still hear the hum of the engine, but in some undefinable way, the 'Verse had gone silent. She closed her eyes and let the silence wash over her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Jacob lounging in the chair next to her. On his knee was an old book, lore of Earth-that-was. Strange, she never took him for the historical sort. "Don't you have captainy things to do?" the words came out more harshly than she expected, and she winced inside as they left her mouth. When was she going to learn some gorram self control? "Not so much," Greyson murmured. She doubted he even picked up on the tone. "You left in a guay of a hurry, back there." She shrugged uncomfortably. "Needed some time alone, I guess." "Not to alone," Jacob nodded into the racks of beds not far away. "Mom and Pop put the little ones away not to long ago." Really, she thought. She hadn't heard a thing. Maybe she was so intent on hearing nothing that it was exactly what she got. She shook her head, trying to get the cobwebs out of it. Weren't no good to anybody if she was asleep at the switch. "He really spun you, didn't he?" Jacob said. "Shuh muh?" she asked. "That big guy with the grey eyes. 'S I recall, he was the only passenger at the time?" "What of him?" she was feeling kinda trapped, now. "You're afraid that he done something to you, gave you something you can't get rid of," Jacob smiled at her then. A real reassuring smile. It fell far short of the mark. "But you're startin' to worry that maybe you don't want to give it back. Maybe you want to keep it, your own little treasure." "I'm not sure what to say," she said. "I've seen it before," Jacob said casually. "Really?" she scrutinized her captain a bit more carefully. She hadn't been in Niska's employ long before the whole lot of them bolted. She didn't know Greyson as well as the other two did. "When?" Jacob smirked then. "Shouldn't feel beholden to a fellow just 'cause he gives you a trinket from Earth-that-was." She felt a grunt trying to escape. The elephant. She had to restrain herself from sighing with relief. "I know," she said, working on the story as she went. "But it was damned nice of him. And those eyes, ain't never seen eyes like that before." "Something that made you get nekkid with him?" Jacob said jokingly. She forced a smile, guessing he was just ribbing her. "We already got Friday's smutty mind to deal with. Don't need yours adding to it," Jacob rose from the long sofa and moved to the stairs. She settled down and began filtering out the noise again when Jacob's voice came again. "Really should exercise a bit of discretion when dealin' with Readers," his voice was very soft, possibly how it cut through her guard. She looked up at him, but he was walking away. He wasn't even looking over his shoulder. She shrugged uncomfortably and closed her eyes again. Even in the dark, she could feel the room was a lot smaller, and crushing in with every breath. She was gettin' sick of all the not knowin', all the not understandin'. The silence pushed in on her, just the same. She was shocked to her senses by a sound rather like a gunshot. She sat in a daze for a moment, trying to collect herself when she heard four more. She bolted from her seat, racing up the ladder when a fourth came, followed by the sound of a thump. She vaulted over the cleared dinner table and charged into the bridge corridor. Two men lay dead, and Jacob was screaming Anne's name. <> "So let me summerize, shall we?" the officer said. "You didn't like the company, so you left and spent some time down in the common area." "That is correct," she said. "Where you armed?" "Right then? No." "Are you usually?" he asked. "Armed or unarmed?" "Unarmed?" he pressed. "Not so much," she answered. "And you did not lock your room?" "Don't reckon I did yesterday. I don't often. It's a flaw I have," She stared defiantly back at him. "And this," he slid a picture of a firearm toward her, "is your gun?" "It is," she replied. "You are aware that this is the gun that killed an undercover lawman?" "And put a bullet into Anne's brainpan," Sylvia uttered bitterly. "Yes." "Besides breaking into your room and stealing your weapon, is there any other reason he could have for being in that part of the ship?" Syl shook her head. "No idea. Maybe he was visitin' Friday. She's got a bit of a streak to her." "I believe," the officer said, "that will be all for now. Take her to a holding cell for a bit." The guards stood up and led her away, and he fingered through his notes. A knock at the door revealed his superior, who nodded for him to follow. "Lieutenant?" the man said. The lieutenant followed, and the captain started to speak. "Did she give you any sort of indication as to what happened on that gorram bucket?" the captain was a veteran of the Unification wars, and didn't have much of the sophistication that most did, nowadays. Were the military just a bit more political, he'd have been placed on 'early retirement' a damned long time ago. "Not much," the lieutenant said. "She stayed clear of the current batch pretty well from the start, and only came onto the scene once the shooting had stopped. We could charge her with criminal negligence leading to death," he offered. The captain spat. Spat! "Don't be an idiot, Dave," the captain growled. "Can't charge a woman for having a man break into her room, steal her things, and kill a man with them. Blood's on his hands, not hers, and wanting it ain't going to make it so. Hell, her prints ain't even on the gun, only our man and his target's." The lieutenant was shocked. "Somebody has to be held accountable!" he said. The captain looked him square in the eye. "Somebody already has. He's on a slab right now getting a slug pulled out of his heart. You want to continue this innane inquisition, be my guest, but you are not getting any support from me," the captain stormed away. The lieutenant wondered how a man so decorated and stalwart in the defense of the Alliance could be so cavalier. He entered the next room. "Course, if you run that tertiary round the converter and port it right into the dorsal feed pump," the young man was rambling. The current interrogator was obviously out of his depth, "you can avoid the forward grav-boot assembly altogether, and that makes for a cleaner burn when you need that extra little bit of thrust." The interrogator turned and beheld the lieutenant with a very clear 'oh, thank God' look on his face. "Did you find out anything useful?" the lieutenant asked. The interrogator shook his head quickly and left the room. The lieutenant took his place, dropping the file folder onto the desk. "Now that you're done insulting the construction of our engines, would you mind going over the events of the twenty-second?" <> Zane had the duty of cooking that night, which was just as well for the passengers, as he was probably the most able one with a skillet aboard. He couldn't exactly say why, but he liked cooking almost as much as he liked this Firefly. He was making something. Something that'd be enjoyed. With flick of his hand to keep this hair out of his eyes, he went back to stir-frying the assorted vegetables "Hold on, say that again?" he said over his shoulder as something particularly absurd crossed his ear. The rather over-kept fellow grinned broadly, leaning over the table to repeat himself. "Like I was saying, I spent about four months on Liann Juin a while back, and I came upon a community who's primary source of entertainment was juggling geese." "Geese?" Noreen scoffed. "People juggling geese? Must have been dead." "Oh, no," he claimed to the farmer's wife. "They were very much alive, just weren't much older than goslings, to be truthful." "So they just juggled these goslings for fun?" she asked. "They had their annual Gosling Juggle championship while I was passing through. I've never seen that sort of mastery at slingin' live infantile fowl in my life. You haven't lived until you've seen the Huggetts keep seven in the air between the two." Noreen let out a laugh. "I suppose then I haven't," Zane turned with the meal out before him, carefully setting it onto the mat they'd placed over the bullet-notch Jacob'd put there a week back. "Jing tsai!" she cried, immediately snatching up a juicy tomato from the mix. "Good?" Zane asked as he began to fill his own plate. She gave a raptured expression that had her husband chuckling. The grey-haired man waved a comically warning finger at Zane, who did his best to look intimidated. The whole gorram thing was a silent play-of-errors, of which Anne and Jacob only saw the end. "Zane, you been makin' trouble for our fine, paying guests?" He said, pulling out the chairs at one end of the table. Zane smiled around a slice of cucumber, and Jacob lashed out with a for, skewering a sliver of chicken. Rooster weren't good for much else. "You'll have to forgive my mechanic; he has a habit of walkin' tall through a short door." "No worries," Noreen's husband placated. "'S long as he keeps his wiles away from my Noreen, I'll let him be," Zane gave him a courteous nod, which the man returned in kind. He heard Syl's chair being pulled out, watched her place some food onto her plate. She wasn't exactly lookin' too well. The pretty-man next to the farmer leaned forward. "What sort of things do you usually haul?" he asked Sylvia. Slippery as an eel, that one. Sylvia's head snapped up, glancing about trying to regain her bearings. Her eyes didn't seemed to be focused on anything in this room. Zane gave her a nudge. "What?" she managed through her stupor. "I was asking what sort of things you people haul, cause those tanks seemed kinda big," he repeated, obviously unhappy at having to do so, so Zane interceded on her behalf. "This's a midbulk freighter," Zane explained, making sure he didn't revert to that technical zip-language that nobody but other metal-heads understood more than a hint of the time. "She'll take whatever can fit into her. This'n's outfitted for fluid transport, more than anything else," Zane lied. He gave her a look to make sure she didn't interrupt him. When it was readily obvious that she wouldn't, he went on. "Thing is, them tanks can be rigged to dump into the engine, makin' them perfect fuel reserves." "Fuel reserves?" the well-kept one said, stealing a tomato from the farmer's plate. The farmer, distracted by the subject matter, didn't even notice, and spoke up. "What happens if someone were to shoot them tanks?" he asked with a great deal of worry. For his trouble, he was awarded with a swat in the shoulder from Noreen. "Gunfights don't happen on my boat," Jacob said simply. "I don't let 'em." Sylvia chose that moment to make a face and stand from the table. "Something wrong, Syl?" Zane asked, but she just waved it away and stumbled into the back of the ship. "What was that about?" Jacob was still, vegetables waiting on his plate as he watched her move uneasily down the stairs. Finally, with her out of sight, he took a bit. "Don't know," he said. "Might have to saunter over and take a look." Greyson quickly finished off his plate and whispered something to Anne, who shrugged and returned to the cockpit. Jacob waited a long moment before standing at the table. "Feel free to go back to your rooms when you want. The kitchen'll be open for a while yet. We'll be landing in the AM, but I figure y'all be gettin' rather tired." Jacob scootched around the bunch and made his way down to the common area. Zane didn't give another thought to him, or indeed anything else besides eating, which continued in silence. When the meal was over and Friday was saddled with the chore of cleaning up, Zane made his way to his bunk, glad to finally have the smell cleared out of it and made livable. He had a feeling that food was rotten before it got abandoned in the Miranda Belt, and the return of air just brought out the stench. He pushed down the hatch when he noticed that Sylvia's door was open. Best of his knowledge, she was still downstairs, since he certainly hadn't seen her come back up. He dropped his boots into his room, letting them land loud as they willed and snuck over to her room. He wondered why he was doing it, for just a moment. Thief? Too small a ship. Closet pervert? She'd lock the door before getting undressed, and kill anyone thought he could snatch a peek. Still, that door shouldn't be open. He slowly descended the cabin. Immediately, he saw the man's back, turned away and staring at something in his hands. Zane glanced up at Syl's gunracks, noting that one was missing. "Son of a bitch," Zane muttered. The man turned about, something bright in his hand. Zane leaned back out to the hatch. "Boss, we got..." He'd only managed that much when the intruder kicked him in the stomach. With his breath gone beyond all retrieval, Zane dropped to a knee. It was just about then that something very hard hit him in the right temple. <> "So you didn't see anything relating to the shooting?" the liuetenant asked. "Concussion can do that to a fellow," Zane grinned, holding the ice-pack to the shiner he'd developed on the side of his head. "Jing-tzang mei yong-duh," the lieutenant swore. The engineer grinned hopefully. Didn't the boy know a word of Manderin? Probably not, he considered. The Captain chose that moment to make an appearance. "The medic is telling the same tale as the rest. What did you get out of this one?" he said. "The man who stole the gun knocked him out. Medical claims its true," the lieutenant grudgingly admitted. A soldier took the youth away. "So you're sayin' it's our man who gave him that beatin' upside his head?" the captain asked. The lieutenant wracked his brain looking for another answer. "Just give me some time with the last one, he was actually there," the lieutenant implored. "We'll get the truth out of him." "There's no 'we', here, lieutenant," the captain growled. "I don't trust your objectivity. I'll be taking the last interview, and if you behave, I might just let you sit in on it." The lieutenant ground his teeth. What was that man thinking? He was the best at getting information out of people. He never failed. Had he been on the lines at Hera, Serenity would have been every bit the cake-walk it was predicted. "No," the captain said to his inferior's unspoken complaint. "Live with it." The captain waited until the lieutenant had seated himself in the observation room, looking in on the spartan space before he made his entrance. What both beheld was not exactly what they'd expected. They'd thought he'd be sweating it out under the lights, maybe pacing the room. But instead, he was laying out atop the table, his shackled hands behind his head as if taking a nap. "Captain Greyson, I presume?" the captain said. Greyson looked over, grinned, and returned to his comfortable position. "You're gonna be out of a job, soon," the rogue Captain responded. The captain's brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that?" Greyson shifted himself until he was propped up on an elbow. "Fredesa's party got in, you remember?" the captain nodded his knowledge. "And he called that big referendum, dong ma?" "Get to the point, mister Greyson." "While you were grilling my crewmates, the results just came in. Hera's going to withdraw from the Alliance. Congratulations." "I fought for the Unification," the captain began, but Greyson swung his legs to the edge of the table, cutting him off without speaking. "Would you do the same, now?" he asked quietly. "Shuh muh?" "Knowing what you do now," Greyson whispered, "would you do it all again?" The captain's back was to the lieutenant, so he couldn't see his superior's response, nore could he hear it. Greyson certainly made no mention to it, rather sliding off to take his seat. "So," Greyson said. "You want to know what happened yestarday." <> "Zane, you been makin' trouble for our fine, paying guests?" Jacob said, trying to look enthused at the meager offering. "You'll have to forgive my mechanic; he has a habit of walkin' tall through a short door." "No worries," the farmer said. "'S long as he keeps his wiles away from my Noreen, I'll let him be." "What sort of things do you usually haul?" that pretty boy asked Sylvia. Sylvia's head snapped up, but Jacob could tell she wasn't exactly in the moment. "What?" she managed through her stupor. "I was asking what sort of things you people haul, cause those tanks seemed kinda big," he repeated, annoyed at repeating himself "This's a midbulk freighter," Zane explained, prompting Jacob to completely tune him out. He nibbled on some of the odd-tasting chicken and let the conversation swirl around him. "What happens if someone were to shoot them tanks?" the farmer asked. "Gunfights don't happen on my boat," Jacob said simply. "I don't let 'em." Sylvia, with none of her usual vitality, stood from the table. "Something wrong, Syl?" Zane asked, but she just waved it away. "What was that about?" "Don't know," he said. "Might have to saunter over and take a look." He cleared his plate as best he could, then leaned over to Anne. "Make sure we don't hit the planet, this time?" he whispered. She gave him an indulgent look, then made her casual way to the bridge. Jacob stood and said his piece about where the passengers should be, then went down after Syl. Somethin' about her today just weren't right. He found her almost immediately, sitting in an abandoned corner of the common area. He waved his hand in front of her face, but her face was slack. Shrugging, he picked up a book and started to read. He'd been there rather a long while when the mother of that family... Noreen, her name was... shuffled her children off to bed, then returned back up to the kitchen. "Don't you have captainy things to do?" Syl asked with a touch of harshness to her "Not so much," Greyson murmured. He chose to ignore the tone and put the book down. "You left in a guay of a hurry, back there." She shrugged. "Needed some time alone, I guess." "Not too alone," Jacob nodded into the racks of beds not far away. "Mom and Pop put the little ones away not to long ago. He really spun you, didn't he?" Jacob said. "Shuh muh?" she asked. "That big guy with the grey eyes. 'S I recall, he was the only passenger at the time?" "What of him?" there was a trapped look in her eyes. "You're afraid that he done something to you, gave you something you can't get rid of," Jacob tried to give her his reassuring smile, but with his face as it was, it probably didn't work. "But you're startin' to worry that maybe you don't want to give it back. Maybe you want to keep it, your own little treasure." "I'm not sure what to say," she whispered. "I've seen it before," Jacob said in casual tones. Best to take this slow. "Really? When?" Bingo. He let a smirk slide across his face, "Shouldn't feel beholden to a fellow just 'cause he gives you a trinket from Earth-that-was." "I know," she said. He'd given her an out, and she took it. "But it was damned nice of him. And those eyes, ain't never seen eyes like that before." "Something that made you get nekkid with him?" Jacob chuckled. "We already got Friday's smutty mind to deal with. Don't need yours adding to it," Jacob rose from the long sofa and moved to the stairs. Really should exercise a bit of discretion when dealin' with Readers, he thought. He crossed the kitchen, still occupied by Friday and the farmers, on his way to the cockpit. He'd just made it to the threshold when he heard that word. "Freeze," it came out clear and distinct. Instinctively, Jacob's hands went into the air. "Ta ma duh, this is not my day," he muttered. "Kurt Cogley, you are bound by law to stand down," the voice shouted. Jacob turned, beholding a rather dirty lookin' fellow holding a gun on the pretty-boy. He stepped down the ladder, and stood beside Kurt. "Oh," he said. "You want him. Not my problem then," "Don't you move either, mister Greyson," the lawman said. "Jacob, what's going on out here?" Anne asked as her frame filled the door. The lawman, obviously on the verge of soiling himself, snapped a shot before he thought. Anne's head snapped back, and she collapsed back into the cockpit. He rushed to her side, dismissing that Kurt was now wrestling the lawman over the gun. "Anne, no," he whispered. It was the only thing which came to mind. He heard a series of gunshots sound from behind him. Hwoon dahn. "Now, everybody stay where you are, and nobody gets..." Cogley managed before Jacob pulled out his gun. An instant later he planted a bullet into Kurt's sternum. He'd have marveled at his shot were it any other time. But now, all he could do is hold Anne, fragile Anne, and say her name. <> "So," the captain said. "You are saying that the undercover agent fired the first shot, the one which struck your pilot?" Jacob's jaw tensed a bit. "Yes. Yes he did. Hate to speak ill, and all, but I ain't sorry your criminal put five rounds into him. Not sorry at all." The captain reached down to his belt. He could practically sense the lieutenant leaping out of the observation room and storming to the door. His suspicions were confirmed when the door began to pound. The captain firmly ignored the noise and pulled out his keys. "You admit to putting down Cogley, though?" the Captain said. "You have my gun, with my prints, and my bullet's in his chest. I did it, and I ain't regretting that either." "Cogley had a reward," the captain said, as he unlocked first one, then the other of Greyson's handcuffs. "Dead or alive. As it played, though, I think it'd be best if we kept this between us. Lawman dies on your boat ain't any good for business," he said. "Lawman puts a bullet to an innocent bystander," Greyson continued, "can't be good for you." "You see my problem. This investigation never happened, you know. Hold on a moment," the captain cracked the door, and the lieutenant's beet-red face appeared through it. "You are making a grave mistake. This man and his crew are responsible for..." "The death of an idiot," the captain completed. "Your idiot, if memory serves. Cogley would have got off and vanished for a while until some bank somewhere turned up empty. Your man was a timebomb waiting to go off, and he just happened to be the one to go trigger happy in a civilian transport. We'll talk on this later." Greyson was standing now. He offered his hand. "Good to see not everybodies out for the shan yao di fahn version of the truth." The captain accepted the hand. "I don't stand for it," he said. "'Cause no matter how hard you shine it up, it still smells like gos-se. <> Jacob walked slowly into the infirmery, looking at Friday for anykind of gesture. She must have been especially tired, becuase she didn't give so much as a nod. He made his way to the side of the table where she was laid out. He took up her hand. It was so cold. "Memory serves," he whispered. "Last time we were in this room, it was me on the slab and you holding my hand." He kneeled down beside her, gazing at the bandages that ran 'round her head. "I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry I couldn't protect you. Sorry I couldn't be there for you when you needed me." "How about now?" she asked, opening her eyes a trice. He smiled, and so did she. "Tougher than any gorram bullet, at least." Leave it to Anne to take a bullet to the brainpan and live. "You mean that stuff about bein' there?" she asked. "Every word. Weren't doin' it for the audience." She smiled again, brighter. "Where are we going now?" "I'm not sure," he said, kissing the back of her hand. "But we're still flying. And that ain't nothin'."