The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Fifty-Six

RESCUE TEAM –39:01

“You sure about this, Sir?” Zoe asked, eyebrows raised inquisitively. “Don’t much like the thought o’ you havin’ all the fun without me.” She held her shotgun casually, but in a way that Mal’s long acquaintance with her told him much. She was irritated at being relegated to what she clearly thought was menial duty, when in fact she was far more valuable as part of the assault team that would make a foray on the Engine Room – but that she would accept his judgment because it did make a kind of sense, she did want to see Wash, and she was, after all, at lower flight rank than him. She would also get back at him in some painful, personally humiliating way at some future point for this assignment. Funny, he thought to himself, how a little thing like how a woman held her gun could communicate subtle nuances and distinctions like that. “I don’t much like it either, but there you go,” Mal admitted, warily. “We got wounded. And there’s too much evil lurkin’ in the hallways to let them go back without some protection.” He looked around, but didn’t elaborate. The second White Tiger base was just as frightening as the first, in terms of slogans and debris, but bigger. There was also blood on the deck, and one Tiger corpse that seemed to have been shot execution style, a pistol to the back of the head. He wondered about the story behind that – a good one, no doubt. At least there was one less Tiger to contend with. Eight, actually, after their assault. “Ain’t like they’re helpless,” Zoe said, her underlying tone a plea for another assignment. “Couple o’ commandos with ‘em. They’ll be fine!” “They ain’t up to the stress and you know it,” Mal reproved. “You want them relying on a couple of broken up soldiers, a recently tortured preacher, and a couple o’ Companions? Oh, and Dead-Eye Tam, scourge of the spaceways. Zoe, you gotta go. Don’t trust no one else to make sure they get back to Serenity.” “Yeah,” Zoe admitted reluctantly. “Don’t mean I gotta like it, Sir.” “I know. I said I wasn’t bustin’ out in sunshine, either. Don’t like the thought of a prolonged firefight without you at my back. But I got Jayne with me. And Simon don’t know it yet, but I’m takin’ River, too. Campbell’s suggestion. How he uses her, on account o’ that funny reader way she’s got. Got me started thinkin’.” “Sir, let’s not complicate things,” Zoe warned. “Thinkin’ ain’t your strong suit.” “Things started out complicated. I’m just tryin’ to make it through. River’s good at seein’ what we can’t, and considerin’ we’re outnumbered four to one or better, and the ship is still hostile, and we got just a spell more’n a day and a half to finish this job before we all go to an uncomfortable death, well, I think it’s best for her to be with us. She’s too much of an asset to leave behind. Can’t conjure a reason off hand why she should go back now.” “Doctor might,” Zoe said quietly. “I’m lettin’ Colonel Campbell handle that. He wants her to go, and he and the Doc have . . . bonded a bit.” Zoe made a face. “How adorable.” “I guess all that smooth espionage trainin’ let him put up with pretty near anythin’. Even His Snootiness on an anal retentive rampage.” “You said he held together in the fight,” she reminded him. “Yeah,” Mal admitted. “No one’s more surprised’n me, I do admit. Did real nice. Wouldn’t ‘zactly consider him a war-dog, but he kept his head, didn’t do nothin’ awkward. That’s more’n I thought he had in him. And better’n a few we knew in the War. Hamilton. Lt. Wally. Jagdash.” “Bendis,” Zoe added. This time Mal made a face. “Don’t count him. By that time, he’d done spent all his courage. Four weeks in Hera’s best mud getting’ shot at by the Feds second best troops, well, that’s liable to shake a body. But you’re right. Doc hung better’n Bendis.” “And we got our preacher back. As ops go, ain’t a bad score, Sir.” “Not at all,” Mal agreed. “And I got my guns back,” he said approvingly as he strapped on his belt holster and drew his favorite pistol. Their weapons had been thrown in a pile on a table of the shop, poked through and discarded by the snobbish soldiers of the 35th. Mal was a bit offended at that. Sure, the old girl was showing some signs of wear, but she was still as serviceable today as when he had first picked her up, years before. He popped out the cartridge and half-way field stripped her before he was satisfied she was all still there, then re-assembled her while he spoke. Unfortunately, the sword was also there and in perfect condition. Would have been a kindness to him had Fate seen Her way to letting it get stolen. “Felt naked without ‘em. ‘Specially when I was hangin’ up like a slab o’ meat, waitin’ for that steely-eyed Major t’get back.” He shuddered involuntarily, just a bit, and looked at Book. The old preacher was laying down on a stretcher – a fancy anti-grav unit scavenged from an aide station, complete with a complete body shock-hood that cocooned the wounded from additional injury – a blanket covering his legs, his shirt gone, and a mass of off-white foam covering his torso and neck. The healing gel would significantly speed up healing time by killing bacteria, supplying nutrients and other nifty medical stuff that, thanks to the Doc’s knowledge of them. They would have Book back up on his feet in a day. The damage was not severe, but it was extensive. Mercifully, the old preacher was heavily sedated, painkillers taking away even the subconscious memory of the abuse. Some wounds you couldn’t get to with medical foams. Jayne, for some reason, was hovering around Book like a nurse, a worried look on his face. That seemed a little out of character, but Jayne did sort of look to the Shepherd, and he had surprised them before. Not often, and rarely pleasantly, but it was known to happen. Apparently the idea of the poor man being seen to by the most evil man who ever lived – or at least in the top ten – was sufficient to engage his thin layer of empathy. “Shan humpin’ Yu,” Zoe said, echoing his thoughts. “Book said he was there for less than an hour. And he did all that. Certainly lived up to his rep. Man’s a devil.” “Ain’t no devil,” Mal disagreed grimly. “He’s a man. An’ he’s gonna die – like a man, if he’s lucky. Slow, if I got time. But I swear by my sunny disposition, he will die.” “Give him a shot for me, Sir,” Zoe said quietly. “Got some tricks I ain’t used since the War. Never thought I’d have call to, ever again. But I might could be persuaded to remember some o’ them, just for a special occasion.” “Might could you get your chance. I’m right pissed off at his effrontery. No one screws with my crew like that and gets away with it.” “What’s your plan, Sir?” “Why? So you can pick it apart, tell me why it ain’t gonna work, and how I’m gonna get myself and everyone else seriously killed?” “Pretty much,” agreed Zoe. “We’re gonna head aft, but we’re gonna take a corridor three decks down. Less chance of runnin’ into the gorram Tigers, River thinks. We don’t run into nothin’ too scary, we get to the Engine Room first. There’s a big vehicle bay back there, where the Emperor stashed an extra armored column he weren’t usin’. Should be a good spot to stop, catch our breath, and scout out just what horrors the Emperor—” he interrupted himself with a wide, long yawn, “—set up for us. Damn, I’m tired.” “Stop that!” she said, repeating the yawn. “Me, too. Been up what, two days straight, now?” “I got a little rest back in the torture chamber,” Mal admitted. “You?” “Caught a nap on the express lift. About twenty minutes. That was ten years ago.” “You got stims?” “Yeah. Put off takin’ ‘em. Make me feel all jangly,” Zoe said, wrinkling her nose. “Take ‘em,” Mal ordered. “And give me some, too. We got a lot o’ walkin’ left before we rest.” Zoe complied, digging in her pocket for the tabs. She popped two dry, then passed them to Mal. “Make me feel all jangly, myself. Water?” “This can’t be right,” Zoe said, shaking her head and digging her canteen out to hand to the Captain.. “Remember when we were able to go four days in th’ muck without sleep, an’ still be able to fight purplebellies to a cold stand?” “That was a long time ago,” Mal said, shaking his head as he unscrewed the canteen to take his pills. “And we were probably drunk at the time. Now we’re more . . . experienced.” “Can’t believe you gotta have a drink of water to take ‘em,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t like the chalky taste. Y’know, when they stick?” he complained. “It’s just nasty.” “Yeah, you’re right, Sir. We are getting old.”

*

“Doctor, I assure you that I will take the greatest care of your sister,” Colonel Campbell assured. “I will ensure that she is far from any combat.” “I didn’t rescue her from the Alliance just so she could get shot up in some inane gunfight,” Simon declared heatedly. “All I want to do is keep her safe, until I can make her well.” “I understand your dilemma. But let me point out that she would be in as much danger accompanying you and the others back to Serenity. This section of the ship is still rife with boobytraps and obstacles. Her extraordinary abilities will be little help against machines, but they may prove instrumental against the White Tigers. Especially now that . . .” Simon nodded grimly. “Shan Yu is back. That’s such an odd thing to say in casual conversation, you know? Almost like mentioning Napoleon or Stalin have dropped by for tea.” The doctor sighed, heavily. “So you think it’s true?” Campbell nodded towards the abandoned hibernation chamber with the Tyrant’s name emblazoned upon it, then at the reclining figure of Book. “Ask the preacher. He seemed fairly convinced.” Book had been very forthcoming about the nature of his ordeal, though it clearly pained him to do so, because of the identity of the torturer. The response from the assembled was predictable: shock, denial, more shock, defensiveness, more shock, and finally acceptance. To hear that the most feared and hated person of modern history, one thought long dead, his crimes only the fodder for textbooks, was to doubt the languid nature of reality. A forgotten company of soldiers was one thing – the proof of their existence was all around them, and the story of the origin was well within the realm of possibility. But Shan Yu . . . he was supposed to be dead. A figment of history. “I still don’t understand why Lei Fong Wu didn’t have him executed,” Simon said, shaking his head. “To have the dictator, the Tyrant, the slayer of millions lying unconscious in front of you . . . I’m a pretty peaceful man, but I’d have to seriously consider pulling the trigger.” “He could not,” observed Campbell, “though he clearly was as disgusted by the man he served as we. You see, he took an oath not to harm the Tyrant. An oath is binding on a Confucian gentleman.” “Surely under the circumstances no one would have objected,” Simon said. “Perhaps,” admitted the Colonel. “But Lei Fong Wu would have known, and to begin his reign with practical regicide would have undermined the very moral foundation upon which he wished to build. No, by merely suspending Shan Yu indefinitely, he could remove the source of the problem yet still maintain his solemn oath. An elegant solution to an intractable problem.” “And dump him on us. But then why freeze . . . what’s her name? Nyan-Nyan?” “To protect her. As these White Tigers have demonstrated, Shan Yu did have his disciples, and they would have tried to avenge him. The years following the re-establishment of the Amber Phoenix Throne was rife with assassination attempts, as Lei worked to consolidate his power base. Nyan-Nyan would have been a tempting target for them. Then there was the additional issue of her status as a princess of the previous dynasty. While he would have been fully justified in taking her to wife, thus securing his own legitimacy as Emperor, not only would that have been politically difficult, but practically impossible: Mrs. Lei was a formidable woman, an adept politician in her own right. She and the Emperor had a passionate love for each other – her collection of love-poems is still available, I highly recommend it – and Emperor Lei would not only have alienated her support by doing so, he would have also betrayed his own heart – something a gentleman should never do.” “So now we get to contend with the results of his political expediency,” Simon grumbled. Campbell shrugged. “I said it was elegant. I did not say it was perfect.” Simon sighed, looking across the shop at River, who was mumbling excitedly about something – something to do with electrons and irony. “You’ll watch out for her?” he asked, finally. “Like she was my own sister – and yes, I have two. Both younger.” Simon looked over the spy intently. “Any harm comes to her –” “Doctor,” Campbell gently interrupted, “while I can appreciate the art and necessity for a well-placed threat, do not forget that no one on this ship has more than a fifty-percent chance of being alive by the end of the week – yourself included. Consider that if she is with us, she will be surrounded by vigilant guardians well-versed in the craft of violence, and unencumbered by the wounded. As sincere as your desire is to protect her, consider that I am vastly better-equipped to do so at the moment – and I will do my utmost. I cannot promise anything more. I hope that is sufficient.” Simon thought silently for another few moments, then sighed heavily. “Fine. Fine. Only because it’s you – as much as my crewmates excel at survival, they have a nasty habit of getting innocent bystanders shot. Take her. Take care of her. She is the most precious thing in the ‘verse, to me.” “The most?” Campbell asked, eyebrows raised. “I was under the impression that you had feelings for Miss Frye?” “Kaylee? Oh, we’re just friends. There’s some interest there, perhaps – flirtation, certainly, maybe a little infatuation – but considering that we have no more than a fifty-percent chance of being alive by the end of the week, I think it imprudent to pursue anything at this point. It wouldn’t be fair to get that close. Hell, for all I know Captain Reynolds will throw us off his ship or out the airlock any time, now. He’s unpredictable like that. Not the best circumstances under which to pursue . . . well, pretty much anything lasting. Anything less would be a disservice to us both, I think.” “An . . . interesting attitude. But no matter. I will look after River, and she, in turn, will look after us. Now if you will excuse me, I have the singularly unpleasant task of informing my superiors about the small matter of the awakened Tyrant. This could well complicate things.” “Colonel,” Simon said as he packed up the last of his medical kit, “you have an amazing talent for understatement.”

*

As those who would be returning to Serenity lined up in preparation for their long trip back to the hanger, Johnny took a moment to pull Nyan-Nyan aside, out of earshot of the others – at least, he hoped it was out of earshot. He gave a nervous glance towards River, who seemed to be preoccupied with examining a wall of spools of various sizes of wire. “Hey, I just wanted . . . look, I know that it might seem strange, sending you back to somewhere you’ve never been but . . .” Johnny had a harm time articulating what he meant. His interlude with Nyan-Nyan had been all-too-brief, and he was in large measure still trying to figure out how to talk with her. Luckily, she made it easy for him. “Hey, I just woke up after a loooong nap, remember?” the princess said, grinning. “For all practical purposes, I’ve never been anywhere before. This whole world will be strange to me.” “I just don’t want to throw you in with a bunch of strangers, then go off and get myself killed, and . . .” “Oh, sweetie,” she said, her voice filled with mock sadness. “You’re worried about me. That’s so touching! But really, I’ll be fine. Inara will be with me, and Fong, and that’s a lot. Zoe seems very nice, and so does Dr. Tam. Don’t worry about me! You’re going after one of the most dangerous men who ever lived, and his fanatical followers. It’s me who is worried for you!” “Shan Yu? White Tigers? No problem. We aren’t going after them, in the strictest sense. We’re going to the Engine Room – we just have a very high likelihood of encountering them along the way. But I’m not worried. I have a bit of an incentive to make it through all of this alive.” “Finding the treasure?” “Taking care of the treasure I’ve already found,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know this isn’t exactly an appropriate time, but I’d hate to die and not tell you –” “No!” Nyan Nyan insisted. “Don’t say it! You won’t die. You can’t. And you don’t have to . . . profess anything to me. Just come back and give me another chance to impress you with my lightning wit and mysterious allure. Then you can find a way to say . . . whatever it was you were going to say.” “Done!” Johnny said. “Just remember, you are the descendent of the bravest man I ever knew, Lei Fong Wu. The man who defeated the Tyrant when no one else dared, and the man who made himself Emperor. Don’t forget that, and you will be fine.” She reached up and pulled his neck down and planted a hard, urgent kiss on his lips, much to Johnny’s surprise. He thought he was being subtle, but apparently a century on ice and a timely rescue was enough to engage Nyan Nyan’s desire. “To keep that incentive going,” she explained when she finally broke the kiss. She turned, and with a lingering stare over her shoulder she rejoined Inara, who was fussing over Book. Johnny didn’t move for a few moments, his lips still warm and wet from her kiss, her fragrance still clinging to his nose. He may have been aware of Mal and Jayne approaching, but he did not notice them until they were right behind him. “Nice girl,” Mal commented neutrally. “Yeah, she is,” Johnny said dreamily. “Seems like a smart one.” “Yeah, she is,” Johnny repeated. “You do know she’s playin’ you like a cheap guitar?” Jayne asked. “Yeah, she is. I know. She’s a power-hungry trained Companion. She’s working me over good. And you know what? I don’t care.” The three of them watched her for a moment as she spoke with Inara. Even in casual conversation, her every movement was graceful, deliberate and unhurried. She was utterly stunning. “Just so you know,” Jayne finally said, sighing. “Hate to see a man get trapped unawares.” “Oh, he’s awares, I’d say,” Mal grinned slyly. “He just don’t mind so much.” “Honestly. Just look at her: if she was using you, wouldn’t you let her? And would you care? ” All three men stared for a moment. “I see what you mean,” said Mal. “Oh, yeah, that might could be worth it,” admitted Jayne. “For a while, anyhow. But you know . . . she’s bound to start talkin’ eventually, and then there goes a perfectly good relationship blown all to hell.”

*

*

*

ALPHA TEAM REMNANT –38:54

Master Lei was still examining the situation outside the Sun Tzu, tracking the drones and monitoring the actions – or inactions – of the frigate when Campbell’s call came through. He was sipping tea – not very good tea, but he’d had worse. At least it kept you awake. “Heavenly Master,” the Colonel began, the deference in his voice clear. Lei smiled. He could almost hear the graceful bow. “I hope you are well?” “Perfectly fine, Colonel. I take it you want to report to the General? He is currently skulking around the support chambers, below us, seeking – well, I’m not certain what he is looking for. Shall I get him?” “Unnecessary, Master. But if you would be so kind as to relay a message . . . and one I think you will be interested in, as well.” “Go ahead, Colonel.” “We have successfully rescued the surviving members of Gamma Team, and will proceed towards the Engine Room with our combined force – minus the seriously wounded, the Doctor, and Mrs. Washburne for escort. We took no appreciable casualties in the counter-assault.” “Excellent! He shall be glad to hear of it. As am I.” “There is more.” “Go on,” the delighted monk said, sipping his tea. “While in the process of the rescue, we came across the identity of the leader of the White Tigers. No one less than . . . Shan Yu, himself.” Master Lei spit tea all over the console. “Master?” “Cao wo de zou zong shi ba! That better be a ruttin’ joke, Colonel!” Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t. The Colonel would not have joked about such a thing. “I’m afraid not, Master. It appears that your honored ancestor did not stoop to regicide. He imprisoned Shan Yu on this ship, along with his most dedicated and fanatical followers. He is even now loose in the aft portion of the ship, with almost seventy of his stalwarts. I can only assume that they intend to take the Engine Room.” “You are certain? His identity has been confirmed?” “Master, in the worst possible way. Shepherd Book and two of the men were captured and put to the question by Shan Yu. They survived, but not without injury. The Shepherd apparently had a long conversation with him as he was tormented. He leaves little room for doubt. It is the Tyrant.” Master Lei closed his eyes, imagining his friend Derrial subjected to the brutal interrogation that Shan Yu had made legendary. While he was glad the Shepherd had survived it – and Lei knew, from their many conversations, that Book’s pre-ministerial life was such as to likely include training on resisting torture – he knew that the man would be changed. Perhaps broken altogether. In his youth he had met old men who had been subjected to the Tyrant’s “laboratory”. The results, even after decades of healing, were pathetic. But . . . Shan Yu. A demon from their pasts. Yuan’s most famous son, long thought dead, resurrected into an unsuspecting ‘verse. And not alone, though that would have been bad enough. When he had first heard that the White Tigers were revived (another group that should have died a century ago) he had been properly horrified – they were the Tyrant’s iron right arm, responsible for thousands of atrocities during the wars with Xiao and others. The prospect of Shan Yu and the Tigers together was terrifying – especially if they gained control of this mighty warship. He could only imagine the course of events, should that happen: first, some small raids from deep space on outlying colonies, recruiting followers and capturing slaves. A year of that, and Alliance posts would get hit – small ones, at first, for supplies and material. Then Alliance patrol ships would start to disappear. He’d establish a base, some out-of-the-way moon or forgotten space station. He’d send agents into the border worlds, foment slave rebellions and corporate takeovers. He’d fragment the Alliance on a dozen worlds. And then he would strike at the heart of the Coreworlds. He had studied Shan Yu, of course. All Yuanese shared a part of his evil legacy, and even the spectacular reigns of his ancestors did not detract from the horror of Shan Yu. For the first time since he was a little boy, he was scared, scared of the dark, the demons, the ghosts. Of the mythical, legendary Shan Yu, who even now was somewhere on this ship, already plotting his strategy for conquest decades before he could see them to fruition. It was a wide, nameless dread that enveloped him, and it took every ounce of will and the peace of the Way to bring him back. “Very well,” the old monk finally said into the microphone, where Colonel Campbell was patiently waiting. “Shan Yu it is. You know what your responsibility is, Colonel.” He expected some sort of equivocation, some sort of excuse, even from this brave man. But the Colonel offered none. “I do, Master. I shall eliminate him at all costs.” “I’m glad we agree. I shall inform the General of this development. Unfortunately, it will be unlikely we can furnish you any assistance.” “The Relentless problem?” “Not the ship, per se. Mr. Washburne and Ms. Frye are working on that problem. No,” Master Lei said, watching a monitor which showed a troop of heavily-armed mercenaries cautiously advancing towards the Bridge through the lobby, “we have guests, and I expect the General and I will be busy. But good luck, Colonel. I don’t need to reiterate the stakes, here. No less than the fate of the entire ‘verse goes with you.”

*

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*

HAMMERSTRIKE TEAM ONE -39:04

They were so close. They were one section away from the Bridge, and one deck down. They were tired, and hungry, and a little beat up from the nuisance of anti-boarding traps that seemed to pop up every few hours, but they were more or less intact, they were here, and ready to fight. Singh had broken his men up into two squads. He would lead one, and Julian would lead one – though Julian left most of the actual command to a bright young “lieutenant” – he wasn’t sure if a mercenary group this ragged could pretend to have rank – so he could concentrate on the strategy. It was going to be hard. There was a single main passageway to the Bridge, an ornate catwalk – a literal bridge – hanging between decks in a kind of richly decorated mezzanine. This was the hub of the ship’s business, and it was huge. His lip curled into a sneer as he regarded it. A warship should be austere, utilitarian. This one was lush. This room looked more like a hotel lobby than the deck of a warship. A place for ceremonies and receptions. Decorative wood parquet flooring, marble planters with long-dead plants, decorative scrolls admonishing the crew to loyal and efficient service – but painted so artfully they could have hung in a museum. The pale amber and red of the Yuanese Empire ran throughout, in the fabrics, in the wall hangings, in the lighting. Decadent. Underneath it all, though, he could see the defenses. Plenty of cover. Plenty of room for a few men to hold off a great number of mutineers or a hostile boarding party. Sections of wall that no doubt concealed anti-personnel weapon emplacements. Very little in the way of cover from the only approach. And then there were the blast doors, which had been lowered and sealed. Off to the right were the main administrative offices – he’d checked those out himself. Office of the Captain, Office of the Commander of the Day, Office of the Censor, and others. Off to the left were banks of technical consoles used in command-and-control systems – damage control, fire control, etc.. In the middle the big “lobby” held a wide flight of stairs that led up to a great circular door. That led to catwalk that led to the Bridge complex. “You think they know we’re here?” the young lieutenant asked him. His squad had taken up a position on the right side. “I mean, if there’s anyone actually in there,” he amended. “Oh, they’re in there, and they know we’re here. Probably watching us right now.” “Shouldn’t we do something about that? Sir?” “My plan never counted heavily on surprise, son. The first man we send up that catwalk will get shot down, I guarantee. And the second. You want to be that man?” The lieutenant swallowed. “Nosir!” “Didn’t think so. They’re dug in – we can’t remove them without a team thrice this size, with more firepower than we have. A tactical assault is just likely to get us all killed -- just look at that catwalk! A man could hold out there for days. No, we won’t win the Bridge by shooting.” “Uh, sir? Then why did we bring all of these guns?” “I didn’t say there wouldn’t be any shooting. I just said it wouldn’t win the Bridge.” “Then what are we, uh, doing here? Sir?” Julian didn’t take his eye off of the catwalk until he had pulled the rigged radio that had become an atomic dead-man switch out of his vest. “We’re negotiating. Their surrender.”