The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Fifty Two

RESCUE PARTY -45:20

“We’ll break for ten,” Zoe called out, holding up a hand to stop the mule. Ever since they had left the forward sections of the ship, where everything worked, she had insisted on taking point, leaving the commandos to guard the flanks and rear. “This was the second-to-last position the Gamma Team reported from,” she noted as she unslung her Dragon. “Keep a sharp eye out for anything suspicious. Anything that might give us a clue.” “Like corpses,” added Jayne, sounding authoritative, as he brought the mule to a stop. “Corpses’d be a dead giveaway.” It took him a moment to realize that he had inadvertently made a joke. When he did, he doubled over in laughter. No one else did. “And to think I gave up the chance to ride on the mule with him,” Simon muttered to Campbell as he caught up. “Where the hell are we, anyway?” Jayne asked. “Looks like a gorram snack bar! They got snack bars on warships?” “Folks gotta snack,” River pointed out. She took a chocolate bar out of her bag to prove the point. “Folks gotta pee, too,” Zoe said. “Campbell, can you keep an eye out while I squat?” “Consider it done,” he said with an elegant bow. With a motion he dispatched two commandos to cover the intersection. They nodded and loped off, guns ready. “It’s the Deck Eight Canteen,” Simon said. “You can tell by the big square thing over the bar that says ‘Deck Eight Canteen’. It’s a dead giveaway.” “Ain’t you all . . . um . . . educated,” Jayne said without humor. “This should lead us to the last place they reported in from, which was the Reserve Infantry unit. That should be up ahead a ways,” Campbell noted, as he scanned the fleximap he brought along. He gave River a casual glance. “Any idea what’s ahead, my dear?” he asked quietly. “The frozen dead,” she replied airily. “Sleeping corpses.” “Anything else?” River closed her eyes and just listened for a while. Campbell continued to watch her long after the pause would have been uncomfortable in normal conversation. Finally she opened her eyes and nodded. “Two or three decks below, about . . . maybe six hundred yards ahead? And to the right. Starboard. There’s two lovers there and a man who is having a really shiny dream.” Campbell didn’t press for more detail. He understood that whatever River said would be accurate in a River framework. Three people, further aft, then down. And probably not a threat. He nodded. “Good. Let me call back and let them know,” he added, withdrawing his radio from his vest. A moment later he put it back. “Jammed. So we know that whoever, or whatever, Gamma Team encountered, it didn’t start jamming their signal until after they had passed through here.” “Correct,” River agreed sagely, a smear of chocolate collecting at the corner of her mouth. She wandered over to the women’s room and went in. Jayne made a bee-line for the men’s room, muttering something about “dropping anchor”. “Have you had an opportunity to review the research on Project Daikini?” Campbell asked as Simon set his medical kit down and removed a flask from his jacket. The air in these aft section was still cool. Simon offered the flask to Campbell first, and he took it – it contained a truly fine Napolean-style brandy from Merovingia that had aged beautifully on Hecate. “No more than the overview and some abstracts,” admitted Simon. “I was a little busy with those trauma cases you were good enough to bring in. I admit, I haven’t been so simultaneously appalled and fascinated at something since I watched Jayne eat three plates of chitterlings on Greenleaf a few months ago.” “Unfortunately, humanity is replete with examples of casual brutality in the name of science,” agreed Campbell. He passed the flask back to Simon with a quick bow, and took a seat on the hundred-year-old chair in front of the bar. “On the one hand, I’m fascinated – in a macabre sort of way, understand,” Simon corrected himself. “What they did was quite . . . intriguing. On the other hand, they were so cavalier with medical ethics that I dare say they deserved to be shot.” “It is interesting,” agreed Campbell. “Of course, there have been apocryphal accounts of mind-reading spies in the business for years. Almost all of the ancient empires of Earth That Was had some sort of program devoted to the idea. Rather silly, actually. Reading an enemy’s mind . . . it sounds good on the surface, but I can imagine all sorts of complications. Verification. Reliability. Close identification with the subject. Hard to kill or torture a man for information if you share his childhood memories. In my business, compartmentalization is key. Which is why I am personally curious as to why they chose your sister – super geniuses, as it were – to experiment upon. You would think that above-average intelligence would be sufficient.” “I was curious about that, too,” agreed Simon. “I was able to find out this much from my contacts, when I broke River out. Some of the earlier work used normal subjects, but there was a high rate – well, a universal rate, actually – of madness in the subjects.” He swallowed a healthy sip of brandy. “The idea of using geniuses was proposed to harness their superior cognitive abilities to discover new coping mechanisms, to get around the insanity issues. They wanted them to think their way out of madness. After all, what they’ve done is essentially given her Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Associative Dissonance Disorder, and medically induced Paranoid Schizophrenia, all at one time.” “So they expected these genius children to develop methods of coping with their disabilities,” Campbell said, shaking his head. “That doesn’t strike me as good science.” “Actually, it is,” Simon disagreed. “The most basic kind: trial and error. Only this time instead of mice, they used savants. And the surgery isn’t the only factor in her presentation. There’s the intense subliminal tampering they did with her subconscious, the way they hijacked her endocrine system to augment their neural work, and of course the sheer mass of data they stuffed into her head – what I can only assume is the distilled essence of spy craft.” “You are forgetting the psychological trauma,” added Campbell. “Post Traumatic Stress. From undergoing the surgeries and the training . . . and from being forced to listen to everyone’s most private thoughts, with no way to turn it off. That alone would drive a normal person mad.” “Luckily, River’s not normal,” Simon said with a heavy sigh. “By the way, I meant to ask: Project Daikini? The reference escapes me.” Campbell chuckled. “It’s from ancient Tibetan mythology. Pre-Buddhist, part of the Bon nature religion. The Daikini were spirits of the air that lived in the Himalayas, capable of all sorts of improbable magic. They could be a generous help to the hero of a fable, or they could be a positive curse. In Anglic the name means ‘skywalker’. They were supposed to be able to read minds, too.” “ ‘Skywalker’,” repeated Simon. “I suppose that fits. Although, if you’ve ever witnessed one of her four-hour nature-walks around Serenity’s hull while we’re in flight, I’d say that skydancer is more appropriate for our River,” he said with more than a little affection. Campbell smiled, and River took that moment to come out of the bathroom, tossing her long unruly hair over her shoulder and wiping her hands on her skirt. “She is a remarkable young woman, to be sure,” Campbell agreed. “I hope that everything works out, I really do. I know she loves you dearly. She would do almost anything to protect you.” “Her? Protect me?” Simon said with a hint of scoff in his voice. “I’ve spent the last year doing nothing but protecting her.” She came over and studied the two men in the strange, unearthly way she had. Her eyes seemed to inspect every inch of them without ever seeming to focus on them. Her face twisted slightly, no doubt as she mentally absorbed the love and admiration that came, respectively, from Simon and Campbell. She drew closer, and glanced from the Colonel to her brother. She stared deeply and seriously into Simon’s eyes, and they seemed to reflect both the chaos that reigned in her thoughts and the love that she held for her brother. “Simon,” she whispered. “Your fly is open.” Before Simon could react, Jayne burst out of the men’s room. “Gorram! Shu ma niao! Boys,” he called to the commandos who were on watch, waiting their turn at the facilities, “y’all might find it best to do your personal business in the setter’s lounge. The gent’s is a mite whiffy. Glad I ain’t ever gotta come back to that one – no sir!” “All right, folks, five down, five t’go!” Zoe called as she exited herself. “It took them two hours to float to the last contact point – I want to be there in half that – wu dei tien a, Jayne! The stench -- What the hell did you – no, don’t want to know.” She shook her head in frustration as Jayne took his seat on the mule. “Could I ask you a favor?” Zoe said, eyebrows raised. “Maybe,” he said cautiously. “Light one o’ them stinkweeds. Never thought I’d ask you that, but mustard gas’d be an improvement o’er that!” “Y’all are just jealous of my clockwork regularity,” Jayne snickered. But he did reach in his pocket and took out one of the macanudos he had left and struck a match on his vest. “No,” Simon disagreed. “No, Jayne, jealousy isn’t the basis of what we’re feeling at all.” “Uh-oh!” River said, looking off into space at something that wasn’t there. “Ma always said it was a sign of superior breedin’,” Jayne said as his head was enveloped in a cloud of smoke. “For livestock,” Simon shot back. “You callin’ my momma a— “They’re coming!” River said, intently. “What?” Campbell asked. “They’re coming. Lots of them,” she said in an eerie monotone, her eyes darting as if watching a dramatic scene only she could see. “In a ship. Bad men. A pack of wolves, savage, hungry. They just arrived at the airlock. Their noses are cold. They’re scared and excited. They are hunting.” “Hunting what?” Simon asked, concerned. “Me,” whispered River.

*

*

*

GAMMA TEAM REMNANT AT LARGE -43:18

“First priority is stopping that jamming signal,” Johnny said as he checked his carbine’s magazine. They were in a corridor near to the site of the disastrous battle that had left more than half their team dead or captured. The bodies had been policed, and there was no sign of a guard, but Johnny didn’t take that for granted. They were staying concealed. “We do that, we can radio for reinforcements. My uncles will send some men, get you back to Serenity, and rescue the others.” Despite his confidence in his own abilities, an adolescence as a gangster and a few brief weeks of military training had not endowed him with the ability to single-handedly take on a military unit whose prowess was legendary. He had no illusions about that. “I think it’s a good plan, sir,” Fong nodded. His wounded shoulder precluded him from handling his own carbine with two hands, so he had passed to Nyan Nyan and made do with a machine pistol. Where the weapon had seemed compact when he wielded it, in Nyan Nyan’s graceful hands it seemed huge. She did seem to know her way around it, though, pulling the strap over her shoulder and keeping it always near to hand. “But how do we locate it?” “Triangulation,” Nyan Nyan suggested. “Use the radios to take directional signals from several locations, vector in on the jammer.” “And hope that there’s no one guarding it,” added Fong, sourly. “They seemed to have pulled back from their initial position,” Johnny observed. “No guards, so far, and no traps or captures.” “That you can see,” Fong murmured. “That I can see,” agreed Johnny. “Let’s get on that triangulation and see what we can discover.” It took them twenty minutes of taking readings from four or five different location. Nyan Nyan proved the most adept at identifying the line-of-broadcast, and she also was able to hold the relative positions of each in her mind. When the last reading was taken, she found a wall-mounted map and stared at it for a few moments before daintily extending a finger and touching a section. “There,” she said. “It has to be somewhere in there.” Johnny looked at where her finger – her delicate, long, thin, beautiful finger – had pointed. “A . . . cafeteria, it looks like. Attached to the hibernation recovery rooms. Are you certain?” he asked, inclining his head at the princess. “Absolutely,” she affirmed. “It is in that area. Somewhere.” “Great. Let’s go. We should move up to here,” he said, pointing, “and hold this area – it should be defensible, and it has a way out. I’ll recon the area from there. You two can support and cover me.” He sounded brave and confident. He couldn’t help but worry that they were walking into a trap. “I can’t help but worry that we’re walking into a trap,” Fong commented. “I’ve been considering that myself,” Nyan Nyan admitted. “We probably are,” Johnny shrugged. “But we have to restore communications. We’re too far out from the ship, too isolated. We need help. We can either spend a day walking back to the ship, which would expose us to enemy attack and wear us out, or we can take out the jammer and call for help. I say we do the latter.” Fong shrugged. “You’re the lieutenant.” “Yeah,” Johnny said, the full weight of the responsibility of command suddenly settling on his shoulders. “I suppose I am.” Making their way to the service alcove that Johnny had chosen was easier than expected. The retreating soldiers had not dogged or locked any of the hatches along the way. While it was fortunate, it also made Johnny nervous. The White Tigers were not supposed to have been that sloppy. Once they got to the alcove, he knew why. As he peeked his head around the corner to look at the entrance to the cafeteria, he saw a flickering in the shadows that concerned him. In a few moments, he saw why. The Tigers had not left the jammer unguarded – they had deployed anti-personnel seekers in the area, probably keyed to attack anyone without their RFID chips. Three of the deadly little machines floated like mechanical insects at head level. He withdrew and sighed, explaining the situation to the others. That made Fong want to take a look. “Yes sir, those are seekers,” he reported when he pulled his head back. “Hsiung Feng cutters, it looks like. Old model . . . of course. But really nasty. They don’t really explode, as such, they come at you fast and either spray you down with sticky foam – if you’re lucky – or shoot hundreds of tiny shredding shiruken at you at point blank range. Worse than shrapnel. They create tiny wounds, but that many all at once can send you into shock quick, and you can bleed to death pretty quickly.” “How do you get around them?” Johnny asked, his face pale. “Well . . . they have to get close to activate. Real close. Their sensors are weak, limited to optics and not great optics at that,” the soldier said. “I’ve known men to enfold them in a coat or something, obscure the sensors. They aren’t heavily armored. You can blast them with a shotgun.” “Which we don’t have. Where’s Zoe when I need her?” he complained. “Exactly. Well, I can draw them off. Most of those shredders won’t make it through my armor . . .” “Negative,” Johnny said with a sigh. “You’re wounded already. No, if they act like you say they do, I’ll handle this,” he said, shifting his carbine around to his back. “With what? Shall we go back and salvage some bedding from those apartments back there?” “I don’t think that will be necessary,” Johnny said, drawing his new bat from his back. “No, these shouldn’t be harder to handle than three quick fastballs. Stay here, I’ll take care of them.” Before they could object he launched himself around the corner, ran halfway up the corridor, and stopped abruptly, taking a batters stance. With icy calm he waited – but not for long. In seconds the tiny electronic brains on the seekers realized he had invaded their zone and caused them to attack at full speed. The first one came in a little high, but still well within the strike zone. Picking up his front foot only slightly he bore down and cracked the armored case of the flying munition wide open, sending piece of it everywhere. The second one was a second behind it, and Johnny dealt with it on his backswing, sending it hard against the ceiling before it came apart with a crash. The third one he missed. Instead of exploding automatically, though, it evaded his bat and swung around for a second pass, emitting a raw hiss that made it seem even more intimidating. Shrapnel or foam, Johnny didn’t want to play around. He hit the deck hard, covering his head and waiting for the inevitable explosion. It came, but not from where he expected. There was a heavy report from a gun, and suddenly he felt bits of plastic and metal on his back, a small shower of debris. When the wreckage stopped falling, he ventured a glance . Nyan Nyan was standing in the corridor, her carbine slung behind her and Johnny’s big revolver held steadily in both hands. She grinned coquettishly. “Apologies. Were you going to get that one?” “Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?” he asked, astonished. The seekers were fast – he didn’t think he could have taken one out with a pistol, especially a large, ungainly .45. “Long story. Check for more, I’ll cover you,” she said, not lowering the gun. Fong appeared a moment later, his machine pistol in hand. Johnny grunted and pushed himself to his feet. In a moment he had established that there were no more seekers hovering about. The cafeteria did show signs of recent activity: discarded food wrappers, gun-oil soaked rags thrown in a pile, some plastic sheeting tossed aside. They found the jammer on a table in plain sight, hooked to a large powercell. Fong turned it off and unhooked the power. “Try it,” he said, nodding to Johnny. Clearing his throat, he opened his mike. “Gamma team to Delta team. Gamma to Delta. Come in.” He repeated the phrase twice more before someone answered. “Johnny, that you?” Kaylee’s voice answered, sounding relieved. “Where are you? Is the Cap’n with you? Inara and the Shepherd?” “Not right now,” Johnny said, pained at having to say it. “I think they were captured. We’ve lost two men, dead, and I’ve got Fong with me. He took one in the shoulder, but he’s walking. The others were taken prisoner.” “Ai ya! Oh, Johnny, that’s terrible! Who took ‘em?” “There are thousands of old Imperial infantry soldiers in hibernation down here . . . but the men who took the Captain and the others, they are from a special unit, loyal only to the old Tyrant. They must have been put on ice back when he was in power, and no one bothered to thaw them out.” “Why the hell would they do a fong luh thing like that?” the engineer shrieked. “Jen tao mei!” “No tellin’,” Johnny admitted. “I guess it was my ancestor’s way of making sure that there was a real challenge in capturing this ship.” “Well, I got some decent news, then: when we lost contact, the other two teams came back here and sent out a rescue party. Colonel Campbell, Zoe, Jayne, some soldiers, and the Doc. They’re on their way to fish y’all out. I’ll patch them to you in a hot second!” “Wait! What about my uncles? The other quests?” “Two down,” Kaylee acknowledged. “The Bridge and the computer core are both active, now, an’ our people is sittin’ on ‘em. Just need the Engine Room.” “Then we need a gorram army, ‘cause there are at least a dozen of these thawed-out relics between us and there. Can’t my uncles . . .” “Look, Johnny, we done sent all we could. We got other issues. Those bounty hunters what wanted us back on Salisbury? They found us. They went an’ docked two shuttles, one fore o’ us, one back towards where you are. But that ain’t the worst: they deployed about a dozen mean, nasty anti-ship drones to cover the escape orbits. We don’t take ‘em out, then you had better get to the engine room, ‘cause we won’t be able to get out on Serenity!” “What?!? More bounty hunters?” “That’s what the Heavenly Master says,” agreed the engineer. “He an’ th’ General are up in the Bridge right now, tryin’ to conjure a way through. Me an’ Wash have been pokin’ around some o’ the defense lasers, but we crapped out. Ain’t nothin’ gonna work ‘till we get full power!” “Ai ya! No pressure!” “I’m jus’ sayin, is all. But here, I’ll put you through to the rescue party, y’all link up and . . . do whatever it is y’all think is best.” “Thanks, Kaylee. Good to hear your voice.” “You too, Johnny. Luck!” “You too.” In a moment of crackling static the welcome voice of Colonel Campbell came on the line. “Chin Yi?” “Here, Colonel.” “Report, Lieutenant!” “Sir, two dead, five captured. By men, not machines. And not just any men: they were special forces, loyal to Shan Yu. White Tigers.” “Tah ma deh! Are you certain?” Johnny looked around their former quarters, noting the vicious slogans and lurid symbols the 35th had painted on the walls. “Pretty sure. They hit us by surprise. Hard. Looking for prisoners, not bodies. We’re standing in their old HQ now, a cafeteria outside of the recovery ward. But they bugged out. No telling where they got to.” “We’re . . . we’re about twenty minutes from that position. Hold tight. Look around, see what you can find. But hold!” “Yes, sir!” “Good boy. Campbell out.” Johnny sighed with relief. He was no longer ‘in charge’. The responsibility, as long as he had had it, had been oppressive. He had a new appreciation of what the General and Captain Reynolds went through while in command. “She sounded nice,” Nyan Nyan said, quietly. “Huh? Oh! Kaylee. Yeah, she’s real nice. Serenity’s chief engineer. You’ll like her a lot.” “I’m sure I will. I take it you two are not . . . involved?” “No! She’s more like a . . . a big sister or something. But there ain’t a thing she can’t take apart and put back together.” “Are you – wait!” Nyan Nyan froze, listening intently. “There is someone coming!” “It’s too soon for the others to have made it here!” Fong whispered, eyes wide. He drew back the bolt on his machine pistol with his off hand and slid toward the door to the hallway they had come in, favoring his wounded shoulder. Johnny readied his own carbine and joined him at an angle designed to provide cover fire, if called upon. Nyan Nyan held back, pulling her carbine around to the ready. Johnny listened intently, and indeed he could hear footsteps – at least two sets. Nervously he raised his gun and crawled forward. Far, far down the corridor there was a flicker of shadowy movement. “Friend or foe?” whispered Fong. It was a quiet whisper, but enough to get the attention of the approaching intruders. They stopped. “Let’s find out,” Johnny whispered back. “Get ready, on my signal.” What could he do to ensure they were good guys? What would his people know that the White Tigers would not? Then it came it him. Cautiously he rolled to the other side of the corridor and took up a prone firing position. Wetting his dry lips nervously, he pursed them and whistled the first few bars of a song: ‘Rally ‘round the banner, the banner . . .’ The song had been the unofficial anthem of the Independents Faction, and was known all over the Alliance as a song of rebellion. No one who hadn’t been around for the last ten years would have any idea what it meant. From down the hall came an answering whistle, completing the musical phrase. ‘. . . the banner yellow, black and green!’ “Cap’n?” Johnny called out. “Johnny?” came a hesitant response. “In the flesh. You got the others?” “Just ‘Nara. They got our guns, too. You?” “Me, Fong, and the Princess. We’re reasonably secure. Come on, then!” In five minutes there was much hugging and a few tears as the two parts of the party were reunited. Mal slapped him on the back heartily, and only deference for Fong’s injury kept him from getting the same treatment. “Johnny! It’s great to see you! Thought maybe they had killed y’all in the attack!” “Nah, shot our way out. Holed up for a few hours. Then decided that I’d had enough with the radio silence phase of the operation. I stopped their jamming. Why don’t you call the ship? Sure it would make you feel better.” “That it would,” agreed Mal, taking the headset he was offered. Johnny turned his attention to where the two Companions were sitting at one of the tables, chatting like they were waiting their turn in a beauty salon instead of in a dire situation that was sure to have a bad end for them all. He shook his head. Women. They were joined soon enough by the rescue team, and the round of hugs and back-slapping started all over again. Even Jayne hugged him, which was unnerving. So did River. That earned an interesting look from Nyan Nyan. When things had gotten sorted out, Campbell and Reynolds took a few minutes to consult, then posted sentries and ordered a thirty-minute stand-down. That gave Tam an opportunity to examine Fong’s dressing – which he pronounced was well-done, and needed but a few adjustments – and re-arm the Captain. There was enough arms present to ensure him a wide selection, and nearly everyone offered their spares before tearing into their rations or taking a short nap. “Cap’n?” Johnny asked, after Campbell had moved away and started to examine the scrawled slogans of the dreaded White Tigers. “How’d you get away?” “Them kitty-boys, they’re good in a fight. First rate soldiers. But lousy cops. I’ve been tied up better by a half-drunk deputy on Greenleaf.” “I . . . I guess that makes sense. It’s just strange. The White Tigers are notorious for their viciousness. I thought you folk would be dead or tortured.” “They were confused, lookin’ for answers. ‘Nara an’ I were lucky, ‘s all. They would have been back with the whips and chains momentarily. I was just tellin’ the Colonel where they were.” “And you know about the bounty hunters?” Mal picked up one of the pistols that Jayne had donated – his big chrome plated .357 automatic – and checked the load before tucking it behind his back. “Yeah, Kaylee tol’ me. Can’t worry with them. Not right now. Your kin an’ my folk can handle it. I did tell ‘em how to shut down that frigate, though. But we got business. We got us some tigers to hunt.” “What, we’re going back against them?” Johnny was troubled. Not for the prospect of combat, but it seemed stupid to strike the Tigers when the real goal was the Engine Room. But Mal misunderstood. “They’re just men, boy. Don’t care about their fancy rep. I went up against some of the toughest special forces the Alliance had to offer in Serenity Valley, and I’m still here. Most o’ them ain’t.” “Shouldn’t we worry about taking the Engine Room? Less than two days left, according to my watch. I mean, if we mess that up, we’re all going to die, us and them and the bounty hunters all together.” “All in good time. We go after the Engine Room, we leave a nasty bit of business starin’ at our hind end. And walk into whatever those chou wang ba dan bounty hunters have prepared at the other end. From where they landed, they’ll beat us to it. Don’t want to fight defensively from both ends. So we’re gonna go offensive.” “But . . . no one attacks the White Tigers!” “I do,” Mal said stoically, choosing a .45 revolver from the pile on the table and tucking it into the pocket of his browncoat after checking the load. “We hit ‘em hard, fast, and keep goin’ ‘till they holler. I ain’t gonna leave my people there for the likes o’ them to practice bein’ evil on.” “The Tigers are tough,” cautioned the boy. “Have you heard . . .?” “Yeah, Campbell tol’ me. Fanatics. Tattoos, chemical enhancements, years o’ training. Got bombs in their necks to ensure their loyalty, can ‘splode on their master’s command. But their master’s dead, been dead a hundred years,” he said, picking up Zoe’s spare shotgun and starting to load shells into it. “They ain’t got another. Might could be talked into a truce. Maybe even become allies, what with them not ‘sactly havin’ a purpose in life no more. That’s a concept I can sympathize with,” he said, tiredly. Johnny nodded, not completely convinced. “All right. You’re the Captain.” “Damn right,” Mal nodded, slinging the shotgun onto his back before picking up a spare Dragon assault rifle. He was about to say something else when the base radio station on the back of the mule crackled. “Colonel? This is Sgt. Cho! Just made a sweep of the perimeter, found out where they were coming from. There’s a special hibernation unit down here.” Campbell came to the back of the mule and picked up the handset. “You sure, Sergeant?” “Yessir. Fresh puke, open coffins, and everything.” “How many?” “You aren’t going to like it, Sir.” “Report, Sergeant!” “Yes, sir. At least . . . seventy. There’s a few more left, and a couple that malfunctioned and just hold corpses, but there’s at least seventy empty capsules.” “Seventy. Ai ya. All right, complete your sweep, return to our position. Campbell out.” “That change anything, Colonel?” Mal asked. “It might,” he admitted. “Seventy . . . against the few we have here. Perhaps a head-on assault is no longer the wisest course of action.” “We have people back there what need rescuing,” Mal said flatly. “Plus they got a gun I’m overly fond of, an’ a sword that someone loaned me.” “I didn’t say we should abandon them, Captain,” Campbell said politely. “Merely that we should adjust our plans. Besides, we have two things that they do not, nor could they expect.” “My rugged good looks and witty conversation?” “No. We have Jayne Cobb. And River Tam.” Johnny and Mal both raised their eyebrows. “Mr. Cobb!” Campbell called out. The big mercenary was wolfing down some rations – rice with vegetables, the plastic chopsticks flying -- still sitting behind the wheel of the mule. “Huh?” he answered, mouth full, a little rice spilling out. “You feel like being a pain in someone else’s ass for a while?” Mal asked. Jayne shrugged. “Y’all just keep tellin’ me who to kill.” “Good enough.” “Great, we have the ‘verse’s biggest irritant for a distraction. What about River?” “She can feel them. Hear their thoughts. Best tool for recon I’ve ever seen – if you can interpret it.” Mal considered, then slammed a magazine into the Dragon and pulled the bolt with a decisive click. “Perhaps I ain’t been exploitin’ that particular factor enough. But you’re right. We got River. We got Jayne. We got me, pissed off like a Reaver at a salad bar. Let’s go get us our preacher back.”