The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Forty-One

When the exploration party returned Master Lei bid them all to assemble in the lounge to hear the Map’s pronouncement, and its direction. Though it was all business, the result of several month’s work, everyone was in a festive mood. Book put on a large pot of coffee and another of tea, and Kaylee broke out the popcorn. Even Inara came out of her shuttle for the occasion – a rare occasion this past week – leaving only River absent. She was strapped down in the infirmary under heavy sedation, so she was close at hand. The more jovial attitude was welcome after the last few hours on Hecate. The dead world strangely beckoned. The crew could not help but to stare out of the viewports at the desolation outside. Ostensibly, they were in a busy downtown of a frontier world, a commercial and cultural center for the entire planet. Only there were no people, no movement, no sky, no wind, no rain, no noises at all. Within sight of the ship more than forty frozen corpses could be seen. The whole world was one big, dark, spooky forest, it seemed, a constant and depressing reminder of man’s mortality. “Are we ready?” Johnny asked. “Everyone here?” “Close enough,” agreed the General. “I think Yang is in the can. He’ll catch up. I’ll go ahead and start.” He placed the Map in the center of the round table and activated it. An air of expectation filled the room. “Greetings, honorable descendents,” the holoimage of Emperor Lei said, bowing first toward Master Lei, then to the General and lastly to the Prince. “I trust you have succeeded with the final portion of the quest? Or do you report failure?” “We have, Your Imperial Majesty,” agreed Master Lei, bowing in return. “We have the motto you seek.” “What is it, then?” the hologram asked serenely. “Res dura, et regni novitas me talia cogunt moliri, et late fines custode tuer,” Master Lei said respectfully. The hologram wavered as the Map’s computer accessed the concealed data. Then the Emperor smiled broadly. “Excellent,” it whispered. “The three lines have agreed, they have journeyed forth together, and they have made it half-way across the ‘verse at a dead man’s whim. Excellent. Tell me, are we still in vicinity of Hecate’s system?” “We are landed upon that moon,” agreed Master Lei, without elaboration. “Are we in a ship of the line?” the long-dead Emperor inquired, “or a patrol boat?” “Nay, Majesty, we are in a humble transport,” Master Lei replied. “ ‘Humble.’ Huh!” Book muttered, casting a glance to Mal, who was watching intently. “These folk are fresh out of ‘humble’.” “Excellent. I would have counseled you to abandon such transport for something less noticeable. But you have anticipated my request. Very well.” “Very well, my ass!” Jayne barked. “Where’s the ruttin’ treasure?” “In time,” Master Lei said, holding up one finger but not taking his eyes from his ancestor. “All things in time. But I share his curiosity on this matter, Your Majesty.” “I am preparing for that,” the image said. “Is this ship equipped with local data broadcast? Or must I plug in to access?” “It’s limited, but yeah,” agreed Wash, confused. “Then allow me to interface with the ship’s controls,” the image said, then flickered a few times while that was done. “I promise there will be no harm done.” “Hey!” Kaylee protested. “No sir! Captain, stop him! No one gets to access the control ‘less I tell ‘em they can!” “Kaylee,” Mal warned, holding up a hand. “Let him do it. It do it,” he corrected. The engineer looked pained, but kept her peace. “And. . . there. Very good. I have directed the pulse beacon towards the planet overhead and relayed a signal. I will now deactivate for twelve hours. You should rest and prepare yourself for the coming task. What you have been through thus far . . . well, it is merely the overture. The real challenge awaits you.” “Wait, the treasure is on that gas giant?” Simon asked incredulously. “That isn’t possible! Is it possible?” “Gorram unlikely,” agreed Zoe. “Twelve hours?” asked Johnny. “What happens in twelve hours?” “Patience,” counseled the image. “All shall be revealed in time. In twelve hours the Treasure will be safe to approach. Arm yourselves as you may, and prepare for a journey of days. The final test of your worthiness is at hand. Twelve hours – do not try to activate me before!” the hologram warned, flickering off. “Well wasn’t that just ruttin’ enigmatic!” Wash said, a trace of exasperation in his voice. “It isn’t enough that we’ve spent three months chasing this thing around? Now we have to wait on this economy-sized mortuary? Y’know, this kinda thing only leads one place: ice zombies.” “It is time we can put to good use,” insisted Master Lei. “If the trial ahead is the match of what we have endured thus far, a time of rest might be prudent.” “Yeah, who’s for a horseshoe tournament? Before the ice zombies show up?” Wash continued. “Hands?” “Switch off, Wash,” Mal directed sternly. “Master Lei is correct. We could use a deep breath before we take any kinda plunge into the unknown. I could use a nap and a meal or two. Need to check my gear, too. I ain’t the only one. But some intel would be handy, wouldn’t it? Any ideas where that treasure might be . . . now?” “He sent the signal towards the planet,” observed Simon. “It couldn’t be there. Or could it? Not really my area.” “Impossible,” the General agreed, shaking his head. “The gravitational pressure would pull you apart. It must be elsewhere.” “Eight moons worthy of the name in system,” Zoe pointed out. “Could be on any one of ‘em. ‘Safe to approach’ – that could mean a lot of things. Radiation,” she suggested. “Or a mile tall crystal pyramid built by the Ancients that takes twelve hours to come into the perfect astronomical position before it can be entered and its arcane secrets revealed,” Wash said sarcastically. “One of which might be how to fend off the inevitable invasion of ice zombies.” “I’m sayin’ it’s down here,” Jayne said. “Nasty place like this,” he said, pausing to swallow, “it’s perfect for somethin’ like that. ‘Ice zombies.’ I believe it.” He thought for a moment. “’Course, I will be returning to steal whatever I can stuff into my pockets,” he added philosophically. “Hecate was a living world when the Map was made,” pointed out Mal. “No, I don’t think it’s here. Wash, if you can spare a moment in your busy sarcasm schedule to check out the pulse beacon and pinpoint ‘zactly where His Majesticness aimed – and what he sent – we might could figure it out.” “I could pencil something in for this afternoon,” the pilot decided. “Just because he aimed at the planet don’t mean that’s what he hit. Might be a number of possibilities. You can bounce a pulse signal. Could be anyplace in the system.” “Which of those places has a bunch of bad guys on it?” asked Kaylee. “I didn’t much like the way he said ‘arm yourself’.” “I did,” admitted Jayne. “Made me all tingly.” “And a journey of many days,” noted Master Lei. “Most obvious answer is a cave system on one of the other moons,” suggested the General. “We used a few places like that during the war as covert supply bases. Good place to raid from. Could there be such a place here?” “What about the old terraforming stations?” suggested Simon. “In all those bad serials on CV the bad guys are always hiding out in some old terraforming satellite or construction zone.” “That seems a little prosaic, in consideration of how wily your ancestor was,” Book observed. “I’m guessing it’s something a mite more poetical.” “It may be worthwhile to search the Imperial Archive,” suggested Colonel Campbell. “No doubt there are clues there . . . subtle, concealed clues. I shall seek them out, with your permission.” “Do it,” ordered the General. “Look for anything about this system. Especially caverns, mines, and terraforming stations.” “Check for ice zombies, too!” insisted Wash. “Both are possibilities,” admitted Master Lei. “Not the ice zombies. The others. Shepherd Book is correct: our ancestor was known for his craftiness – only he, among all of the Tyrant’s ministers, was able to remove him from power. The clues we have gathered point towards his cunning in doing so. His imagination is worthy of respect. And I do not doubt it when he says it shall be a challenge. I suggest we do as he says and prepare as for battle. Plenty of rest and check our kits. In truth, there is little more we could do,” he said with resignation. “Believe me, I am as eager as any of you. This mystery has haunted my family since my childhood. To see it finally revealed . . . well, I have waited my entire life. Twelve more hours will not hurt.” He cleared his throat a little and smiled. “But first, my friends, I hope you will stay and join the General and myself in a little ceremony.” There were curious nods of assent among the crew and the soldiers. The Master looked around until he was satisfied everyone would stay. “Very well. Lei Chin Yi, present yourself!” the monk ordered sternly. Surprised, the young man stood, straightened the baggy work pants and faded shirt he had on, pushed his baseball cap to the center of his head, and stood at attention in front of his Uncle, a worried expression on his face. “Lei Chin Yi, it was the tradition in the Imperial Household that when a young scion came of age, he would embark on a course of study that would make him fit to rule the Empire, regardless of how remote he was from the line of succession. Any one of us was to be ready to take the reigns of power, should disaster strike. “This education comprised a term of service in the military, diplomatic instruction, courses in history, mathematics, science, psychology, and many other fields. Along the way were periodic examinations by qualified examiners, the Emperor and his brothers included. The courses were rigorous. Not all who attempted them passed them. Your half-brother, for instance, was examined by Colonel Campbell and the General on Epiphany, and it was their opinion that he would not have completed even a third of the courses before he failed. He had not the native wit and cunning a true son of the Imperial house is justly famous for. “Upon completion of his studies, he was honored with induction into the Amber Order, a knighthood reserved specifically for the purpose. Thereafter he was allowed to carry a badge remarking the fact, and be addressed as ‘Sir’ in the European fashion – the institution came from the old Orders of the Garter and the Golden Fleece. This particular order traces its roots in fact back to the old English Carolingian-era orders of knighthood reserved for the loyal expatriates of Hong Kong who fought against the Kuo Min Dynasty in World War Three. It is an ancient and prestigious order. “After diligent consultation with the General and the Colonel, as well as your drill master, we have decided to invest you with this honor on the eve of our triumph.” He took the sword that Inara gave to Mal, borrowed for the occasion, and drew it. “In the name of the Empire . . .” he said, tapping the right shoulder, “the Emperor . . .” he said, tapping the left shoulder, “and the Gods, Ancestors and Immortals I invest you, recognize you, and knight you as Sir Lei Chin Yi, Last Knight of the Amber Order. Let you always be recognized as a peer among nobility, an heir to the Imperial line, and justly worthy of the throne, should it ever come to you,” he said, solemnly. After a brief silence, the assembled burst into applause. Chin Yi blushed. Master Lei looked pleased. “Ordinarily there would be lavish gifts and a wild party,” continued the Master. “As we have little resource for that, we hope that these humble offerings would suffice.” He pulled a small paper-wrapped package from his sleeve and handed it to his nephew. Johnny took it gingerly, carefully unwrapped it . . . and beamed. It was a golden silk baseball cap with the badge of the Order embroidered upon it in red stitching. Johnny was quick to strip off his old faded white cap and don the new one. “Oh, it looks good – Madame Lei will be pleased,” chuckled the General. “She had some of her girls stitch it up when they did that other set of clothes. Now,” he continued, a twinkle in his eye, “ordinarily the young Knight would be presented with a blade worthy of his rank and status. But apart from a few practice swords, this was the only blade aboard, a gift from Inara Serra to the Captain – and anyone who is familiar with the customs of Salisbury knows what that means! So we couldn’t give you this. “The Heavenly Master had a better idea, though, a token that will stand for your sword until a fitting blade can be found or made.” He motioned back to the Master, who pulled a long purple silk bag from behind the couch. He handed it to Johnny with a bow. The young man unfastened the cord at the end, and stuck his hand inside. When he withdrew it, he held a long, tapered baseball bat, hand carved by the Heavenly Master from the block of wood that had found itself aboard on Salisbury. It was magnificent, perfectly balanced and smooth as glass. The hand-painted ‘label’ was a woodburning of the badge of the Order, which itself was based upon the Imperial badge. On the far end the old monk had painted in traditional ‘stadium’ font the legend ‘The Imperials’, as if the entire faction was a team. “Heavenly Master . . . Uncle . . . I have no words!” Johnny stammered. “You need none. It was my pleasure. I regretted the loss of your stalwart bat on Salisbury, and determined that a replacement was in order.” “But the honors do not end there,” added the General. “As part of your investment in the Order, you automatically gain a permanent rank of Major in the Imperial Armed Forces. Assuming that there will be, again, Imperial armed forces. You are an officer, now, and will be held to the high standards of the service.” The General called the men to attention, and led them in a salute. There was more applause. And then the hugging began. “Was there this much hugging when you went into the army?” Wash asked Zoe out of the corner of his mouth. “No. But then again I was a private, not an officer.” Mal stood in line to congratulate the young man, then moved out of the way . . . coincidently enough, very near to where Inara stood. “So,” he began casually. “Just what is the significance of you given’ me that toadsticker?” he asked. “Mal . . . I . . . look, there are a lot of different cultures in the ‘verse,” she tried to explain. “Different things have different meanings to different people. I can’t help if . . . the Salisburians have particular . . . customs revolving around their swords.” “Oh, I can conjure that there are different folks – get Wash to tell you about the geese juggling, sometime – but I was curious what you knew . . . as a . . . researcher into different cultures?” “You can look it up. It isn’t a big secret,” she muttered. “Why would I do that when you could just tell me?” “Because . . . because it isn’t my job to educate you, and whoever’s job it was should be shot!” “C’mon, ‘Nara! You know I’ll know it in a few minutes. Spare me a painful crawl through the cortex and let me know now,” he demanded. “It’s nothing!” she insisted. “Then why are you blushing?” he asked. “You . . . look it up, see if I care! But you remember just one thing when you do that, Captain,” she said haughtily. “Sometimes a sword is just a sword!” she spat, and stomped off as ladylike as she was able to manage. “Oh, this ought to be good!” Mal grinned to himself as he watched Kaylee give Chin Yi a hug – and then hug him again. Was that her hand on his—? He shut the thought off before it went too far. Things were complicated enough, what with all this sword-talk . . .

*

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Only four people went back Outside. Despite his earlier experiences in the Temple, Jayne found that he could not resist the idea of massive amounts of loot just outside the airlock door. He ignored the tempest in his stomach and fears of ice zombies and donned his space suit, adding a few empty sacks. Shepherd Book also agreed to come. He felt obligated to walk on the dead world and pray for the salvation of the souls of the departed. He brought his Bible. Surprisingly enough, Simon also elected to spend an hour or so Outside. He had no particular purpose in doing so beyond morbid curiosity. Hecate was a legend to him, one he wanted to see with his own eyes. While ordinarily he shunned spacesuits, he found the idea of stepping out onto a dead world easier to handle than propelling himself into the abyss of the Black. He took his video capture. Lastly Inara insisted on accompanying the party. She gave no reason other than curiosity and a desire to leave the ship. She didn’t take anything. Mal had authorized the trip providing that more than one person went, that they all maintained constant radio contact, and that the excursion would not last more than two hours – the Map’s deadline loomed, and without more definite information about the remainder of their journey, he wanted everyone to be well-rested and ready. When the airlock door hissed open and the party lumbered forward, Book had to hold out his hand to steady the doctor, who had forgotten about the absent grav field. The moment he crossed Serenity’s grav threshold, he suddenly weighed two thirds less than he was used to, and that first step nearly sent him sprawling. “Careful there,” cautioned the Shepherd. “These suits are built for utility, but one bad step and you’ve punctured them. If you’re lucky you’ll only lose a leg or an arm.” “Full of cheery news, aren’t you?” Simon said, steadying himself carefully. “Seems like the place for it,” agreed Book, nodding inside his helmet towards the city around them. They were in what should have been – what was once – a busy downtown commercial district of a small frontier world. The buildings here were four and five stories high, though there were signs of more primitive dwellings still in evidence here and there. Corpses littered the ground, covered by the permafrost that was the last vestige of man-made atmo here. Eventually, Simon knew, the frost itself would sublimate away, leaving nothing between the mummified world and the naked vacuum of space. “I saw a bank over there,” Jayne said with determination. “Thought I’d check on it, maybe make a withdrawl.” “You quite certain you ain’t been beat to it?” Book asked. “Place has been open to salvage for more than thirty years.” “Might be picked clean,” agreed Jayne, “but there ain’t but one way to make sure. Who’s with me?” “I came to pray, not steal,” Book said simply and without reproach. “I’ll go with you,” Simon said quickly. “I’d like to take a look around. A bank would be as good a place as any.” “I’ll . . . I’ll stay with the Shepherd,” said Inara quietly. “Let’s go, then. Radio checks every ten minutes,” ordered Jayne. “And no foolin’ around! Place gives me the creeps.” “ ‘They say it’s haunted,’” Simon mocked. “Yeah, well, I see anyone in a white sheet without no space suit, we’ll see how well they haunt with a .45 round in their ice-zombie ass!” he said fervently, patting his hip. He had one automatic pistol designed for vacuum work, a Benfield with the trigger guard removed to allow a space-suited finger access. It took special self-oxidizing ammunition. He was the only one of them so armed. He nodded for the doctor to follow, and he turned and trudged down the street, stepping around a pile of corpses to do so. The commercial sector was a mess. Hovercraft and mules littered the street, parked or crashed in random piles, the long-dead drivers occasionally still behind the controls. Large billboards stared blankly down at them, their power sources long depleted. Simon snapped still captures of everything he saw of interest. Jayne hurried to get to the bank. Someone had beat him to it. The First Bank of Hecate was a neo-classical façade better suited to Athens than this backwater, a façade that concealed a facility as modern as anything in the Core. Monitors that had once spat out unending streams of financial data and news were silent, holoemitters that had once hawked a variety of financial products were dead. But someone had come in after the fall with a goodly amount of explosive and blown the vault door. Every safety deposit box was torn open and empty, and Jayne cursed until he saw a pile of money on the floor of the vault. “Lookee, lookee!” he said with relish. “Gotta be at least fifty thousand here!” Simon came in behind him and took a look for himself. “You’re right,” he agreed. “But don’t waste your time.” “Why not?” Jayne asked, a hint of derision in his voice as if to say ‘what do you know about being a criminal, doctor-boy?’ “Because while that pile of cash looks appealing, if you look more closely you will see that they aren’t Alliance notes. They’re banknotes issued by this bank.” He looked around. “I’m guessing they’re closed, right now.” “Which means they’re worthless,” Jayne sighed. He then began swearing at the parties unknown who had stolen his rightful loot. “Calm down,” Simon said patronizingly. “Look, you have to quit thinking about money in terms of cash,” he explained. “If you are looking for value, there are other ways to find it.” “You got any suggestions?” he demanded. “As a matter of fact, I do,” Simon assured, ignoring the mercenary’s tone. “Follow me.” He led Jayne outside and across the street to a restaurant. “What the hell you wanna do here, rustle up breakfast?” “Jayne,” Simon said, patiently, “I used to make more money in an afternoon than you’ve gotten paid in a year. My family has considerable holdings. I was raised in a level of affluence that you can only dream of.” “You gotta point, or you just tryin’ to butter me up?” Jayne growled. “Pay attention. This is the high-end commercial capital of the planet. That was the biggest bank in the biggest city. This is where the movers and shakers plied their trade. But speaking as a formerly affluent brat, I can assure you that the boardrooms and conference rooms were not where the real business was done. That would be in places like this. This is a high-end restaurant, where the business community would come after hours and hash out the real deals in this society. So you can expect a certain level of tasteful decadence here, some of which might be considered portable wealth.” “Like what?” Jayne asked as they forced the icy door open. “Look, French onion soup is on special today.” A chalk board near the door advertised that very fact. “Like liquor, for instance,” suggested Simon. “Not the rotgut you usually drink, but fine vintages of spirits and wines that cost thousands to import. Most of it will be wasted, of course, but I’m assuming that they had decent refrigeration, which means a sealed environment for their more delicate varietals. Follow me.” He walked back into the deserted kitchen and found a walk-in cooler. It took a concerted effort by the two of them, but they were able to pry it open – which sent a cloud of trapped atmo out at them, temporarily disturbing the frost. “Jackpot,” Simon said with satisfaction. “Shiny!” agreed Jayne eagerly. Shelf upon shelf of quality foodstuffs, including a substantial stock of liquor and wine, was sitting there undisturbed. Jayne quickly began stuffing his bags with the largest bottles without regard to label, while Simon carefully picked through the offerings and selected two cases of assorted spirits. Some of the wines were over a hundred years old, vintages from Merovingia and Athens and Londinium that had become impossible to find elsewhere. A single bottle of the ’88 Trapsburg Chardonnay, he knew, would cost a few hundred platinum alone in a civilized port. Nor did he stop with the beverages. He went down the rows and shone his light on delicacies from all over the ‘verse, imported at great expense to tantalize the palates of Hecate’s elite. Caviar, tinned smoked oysters, chocolate in various configurations, fine cooking oils, coffee beans, quail’s eggs . . . he shopped lavishly, stuffing a laundry bag he found with goodies until he couldn’t fit another bottle or tin inside. With a grin he grabbed a half a case of canned strawberries – he knew Kaylee preferred the fresh – who didn’t? – but these would make a lovely gift. Jayne finished with the liquor and wandered around a bit until he found a freezer cache of meat – beefsteaks and horse steaks and frozen fish and poultry, all perfectly preserved. He used a hammer to dislodge the frost that encased it and stuffed another bag with butcher’s fare. They were about to leave when Simon led Jayne back to the back, to the manager’s office, where a safe sat open, a few thousand in clean, frozen Alliance bills lay. “Make sure you hit the register on the way out, too,” he reminded after Jayne finished whooping about the find. Simon went back outside and left his bag in the street, confident it would not wander off, and he continued his inspection. The sheer scale of the event was mind-boggling. Death in this degree was beyond his capacity to imagine. Everywhere he looked he saw it, single corpses and knots of people who had huddled together for warmth while their air went bad. A few had donned oxygen masks, he saw, but it had been in vain. There were also signs of some last-minute violence, no doubt folks who went mad at the thought of their planet’s impending doom. He came across one corpse who had died violently, shot through the head, his blood a black frozen puddle and his pants around his knees. A woman lay near him, blouse torn open and skirt hastily thrown back, a look of terror on her face as her last moments came to her in the brutal agony of rape. Others had taken their own lives. Two had hung themselves from doorways, and another had used a nearby pistol to end his life. Simon picked up the gun, recognized it as a svelte 9mm security model, and tucked it into his belt – it irked him that he had become so familiar with firearms, but he wasn’t about to turn loose of one like that. His survival may depend upon it someday, he reasoned. “Anything else you wanna pick up, Doc?” Jayne radioed, a touch of glee in his voice. “Not that I can . . . no, wait. There is something.” He walked over to a gift shop, the kind that was ubiquitous in the ‘verse, and went inside. He returned a few moments later with a plastic shopping bag full of loot. Jayne just stared at him quizzically. “Wha’s that?” he asked. “Just few things for my sister,” he said, smugly. Jayne nodded until he saw the pistol in Simon’s belt. “That for her too?” he asked, worriedly. “No, of course not, don’t be daft,” he dismissed. “River prefers a .357.” “You ain’t even close to funny,” Jayne growled. “One day we’re all gonna wake up dead on account o’ that moon-head. You mark my words,” he warned. “Well, Jayne,” Simon said as he slapped the big man on the shoulder, “the day I wake up dead, I’ll be sure to tell you how right you were. I’m sure you will appreciate that.” “Damn straight I will,” agreed Jayne grimly. He didn’t catch the implicit sarcasm. That hardly surprised Simon. “Now let’s get the Shepherd and the Ambassador and get back to the ship. I’m anxious to see what a thirty-year-old steak tastes like.” “Well, I’m pretty sure it won’t be as tasty as mammoth prick,” Simon commented, “but with the right spices . . .”

*

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*

“You okay, Inara?” Book asked, holding his helmet against hers to avoid broadcasting his concerns to the others. She bit her lip and nodded. “I have to agree with Jayne,” she said. “This place is beyond creepy.” “You could have stayed behind,” he offered, gesturing towards the open airlock behind them. She shook her head. “No, I need to do this. I don’t know why . . . I guess I need to see . . . death. To put some things in perspective,” she offered. “Strange way of doing it. But you get uncomfortable, you let me know. We’ll be back inside in minutes.” “Thank you , Shepherd. Which way?” “I think there is a . . . a school over that way. Church school. Eurocatholic order. I thought I’d start there, on sacred ground.” “Funny way of looking at it,” she said quietly over the radio. “Mayhap you‘re right,” agreed Book after some contemplation. “It seems as if this entire globe has been hallowed now.” “Or cursed,” murmured Inara, following the Shepherd, her boots making an odd crunching sound in the frost as they left the pavement. Our Lady of Versailles Catholic School For Girls had once been a busy, noisy place. The large gothic arch that was the hallmark of a Eurocatholic church stood sentry in front of the main buildings, a single chapel backed by a squat stone school. The chapel door was open, and it only took a glance to note that the interior was as full of bodies as the Buddhist competitor up the street had been. The only figures still standing were the statue of the Blessed Virgin and the crucified figure of Christ. All the rest had gone the way of all flesh. Graven images alone still stood. Book began his prayer, opening his Bible carefully – it had not been designed with a space suit gauntlet in mind – and starting to read from the psalms. He did so without his radio on, leaving Inara in peace and at liberty to walk the grounds. Once children had played here. All the old playground equipment was present. Even the grass was a gray-green, the individual blades frozen into thousands of sharp little knives that crunched and hissed as she walked. The light from the pale yellow planet that dominated the horizon splashed off of the mirror-polished slide in an eerie fashion, unhampered by atmosphere and bright with clarity. Inara wandered over and touched the cold metal staircase that led to the top. For a moment she considered trying it out, then realized that she’d be far too likely to rip her suit by doing so. The monkey bars were likewise macabre, the frozen remains of blackbirds still clinging to the top rails. Inara self-consciously made a sudden move, to see if they would take flight, but they remained immobile. The swings brought a shock. Big enough for twenty children to play upon, Inara’s breath was stolen when she saw a figure riding the second one from the end. She cautiously approached, her heart in her throat, until she could see who it was. A girl of about nine years old sat on the swing, a heavy coat and blanket bundled around her. Her face was death-pale, and her eyes were disconcertingly opened, gazing at the church with a thoughtful expression. Her fingers were clasped tightly to the swing’s chains where they had frozen. Her feet dangled stiffly from the bottom of the swing, and a few strands of coal-black hair peeked out from under her hood. Inara walked all the way around the girl, inspecting her and wondering what her last hours had been like. She had come here, of all places, to die. Here, a place of mirth and laughter and silly school-yard jokes. Here, where the swings lived. It took Inara back, way back, before she was a Companion, before she entered training, all the way back to when she, herself, was nine years old on Sihnon. She had loved the playground. A place where “young ladies” could be free to run and play tag and scream and swing and whisper secrets to each other without fear of censure by The Adults. The playground had been a sanctuary. She found that she suddenly missed it, that there was a place in her heart that ached for a time before she was trained and had to be concerned with appearance and men and sex and composure and the million other things that had taken her girlish spirit and forged a mighty Companion. Before all of that, she had been a little girl with Princess dreams who escaped her lessons in arithmetic and history on a tiny sea of green grass and bird droppings. She found she missed a time when she didn’t have to worry about bills or clients or love or the downfall of Alliance civilization; a time when her greatest concern was candy and the betrayal of a best friend who told a silly secret. Inara reached out and touched the unmoving face of the girl. Had she been loved? Had she parents in the chapel, yonder? Had she snuck away from that last depressing service to spend her last few moments of life on a cherished playground ride? Inara imagined she had. Her fingers moved aside the stiff hood to reveal a tag with the name ‘AMY’ written in it, then crossed off with ‘Elaine’ scribbled in below. Obviously a hand-me-down, which meant Elaine had a sister or cousin. Inara noticed a little bag in the girl’s lap, and despite herself and the tears that rolled down her cheeks she pried it open. Inside were girlhood treasures: jacks, marbles, hair barrettes. A piece of gum. Silently asking permission, Inara took the bag and put it in a pouch on her belt. Then she sat on the swing next to Elaine, confident in the insulation of the suit, and she began to slowly rock. In moments she was swinging, pumping her legs a little, putting her helmet against the chain and listening to the creak of metal against metal, a sound that should have been carried on the breeze. She noted the scuff marks on the ground where thirty years ago innumerable girl’s shoes had worn away the grass, leaving a gently sloped crater. As she swung she tried to imagine the life Elaine may have had in the absence of this disaster. She’d be in her early forties, late thirties, now. Probably married with children and maybe even grandchildren. Proprietor of a shop, matriarch of a farm, last person on the assembly line, all of these would have been possibilities. Elaine’s life had been nothing but possibilities, at nine. All the great moments of her life had been ahead of her: first kiss, first boyfriend, loss of her virginity, her wedding, her first child, her first home . . . instead she got eternal youth. Her dreams had died a quick and painless death on this playground. She had no worries about finances or relationships. Just a blissful girlhood and then a few short days of fear and panic. Too young to have faith in God, she had chosen as her final resting place the one area where she felt the most at home. Inara was swinging widely, now, finding it easy in the light gravity. She pumped her suited legs with exertion, building up momentum as she swung back and forth. She could imagine the heat from friction that was building up on the chains, and felt the smallest pressure from a new-formed droplet of liquid that was born of that heat as it fell on her helmet from above. Still she swung, still she pumped, until the tears rolled down her face in sheets and her breath came in ragged pants of exertion. At the proper moment – and hours of archery had taught her the value of the proper moment – she released the swing. For a glorious few seconds she was propelled skyward by the force of her momentum. The light gravity did not slam her back to earth as her body anticipated. Instead she soared, enjoying a sacred moment of childhood glee in homemade free-fall. At the apex of her flight she squealed with deep emotion, allowing all of her worries, guilts, fears and frustrations fly into the naked Black above, then landed on her feet three times as far as she would have back home, as if dismounting in a gymnastic maneuver. She was giggling hysterically. She looked back at the frozen girl, who swayed slightly from the vibration of her swing, and Elaine seemed to smile back at her. Inara held up a hand and blew her a kiss, and said a silent “thank you” before she went to find Book.