The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Fifty-Nine

THE RELENTLESS -33:50

Sinclair couldn’t take his eyes off of the great ship. He had always had a passion for military history, far more than the mere professional interest of most of his peers. While nearly everyone else on the Bridge of the Relentless merely saw a whopping big but decrepit warship, Sinclair saw a ghost of history made incarnate. It was as if the Merrimac or a Roman trireme had suddenly appeared in orbit for his inspection. She was only about a third of the size of one of the Dortmunder-class Alliance cruisers – about the size of a Holloway-class battleship – but after looking at the thing all these hours, he couldn’t swear that the Sun Tzu in top form couldn’t stand toe-to-toe with the best the Alliance had to offer. Even excepting the three big lasers – some of the biggest ever built – she was an impressive beast, pocked with fighter bays, bristling with gun emplacements, and festooned with missile batteries. But the ornate style of the ship was far different than the austere, sterile look of the Alliance architecture. Alliance ships were designed to intimidate, ideal for keeping a lid on the inevitable Outer Rim rebellions. The Sun Tzu was designed to impress a foe with her lethal magnificence. She was the ship of a conqueror, not a peacekeeper. She was one of the last of the great warships built by independent planetary governments, back in that wild time where every dipshit moon in the galaxy insisted on planetary sovereignty and the right to oppress its people and invade its neighbors as they chose. Not soon after she was decommissioned, the Alliance had seen to most defense needs of its members. There was no need for such impressive doomsday weapons such as the Sun Tzu under the Alliance. She was the last of her kind in so many ways. He tried to insist to himself that it was awe of the vessel that had kept him in the command chair all this time, staring at it. Sinclair did not like to admit to himself that he worried about Julian and the men (even these new ones) when they were on this sort of mission, but he did. For every five minutes he spent inspecting the exterior of the history-making ship he glanced at the clock at least once. Just when he was about to take a break and catch a nap in the cot in the breakroom, one of the bridge crew called out that Mr. Martel was calling. Sinclair answered the call with as close to an eager expression as the reserved man ever wore. “What’s the situation?” he began without preamble. All business, all professionalism. “I got Singh’s people encamped outside of the Bridge over here, but there’s apparently just two old Sinic geezers in there,” Julian replied blithely. “Our friend the General, and the monk. He’s not a hostage, by the way – a relative, apparently. The Tams and the others must be elsewhere in this maze. Have you heard from Team 2?” “An hour ago. They took some losses doing it, but they’ve gotten control of the Engine Room, for what it’s worth. They can’t seem to access any of the systems – a security issue, they tell me. I’ve got people working on it.” “From what the geezer said, if it isn’t brought on-line in the next day or so, the whole gorram ship plunges back into the planet. And he’s got the code. Says it’s some part of a quest from his ancestors, or some fei hua like that.” “Intriguing,” Sinclair said, simply. “Yeah, I’m overcome with the intellectual stimulation of the exercise. Look, I’ve left Singh and half of his team to blockade the Bridge so Grandpa and the General don’t get out, and I’m taking the rest of the team down an express lift to link up with Team 1. Then we can start searching for the Tams in earnest. But I wanted to check in – especially about the drones. Are they in place and active?” “Yes, sir,” Sinclair replied. “Number six is giving me a little intermittent telemetry problem, but it’s minor. Why?” “Because among the rare and precious curiosities I’ve discovered in this flying museum are about thirty active nukes. Probably biologicals on board, too. We don’t let anyone escape, I don’t care what their story is. Even one of those nukes gets out, I’ll be pissed.” “Noted. I don’t think it’s an issue. Without full power, they don’t have the guns to take us from where we are. And if they try to fly off, well, if the drones don’t get them then the Relentless will. By the by, how did our new people do?” “I’d say they were rough around the edges, and that they seem to be mostly edges. But they aren’t cowards. Couple of bright kids we may want to pick up, after this job. Which reminds me, how deep are we into this now?” “We are,” Sinclair said, reaching towards his accounting computer, “ . . . there. Counting the repair bill, mortality pay-outs, re-fitting, fuel, overhead . . . call it 2.2 million.” “Ai ya women wanle! All right. Well, our clients had better be feeling generous. Saving the galaxy is all very noble, but we got bills to pay. Maybe I’ll pick up a few things while I’m over here, to help defray the cost.” “Try to get the whole ship. She’s a work of art.” “She’s a decadent, flamboyant old piece of go se,” Julian countered. “She might look pretty from out there, but she’s been on ice for a century. It’d take a thousand men a thousand days to make her truly flightworthy. And another thousand to make her warworthy.” “It would be worth it,” Sinclair insisted. “Have you noticed that we could dock the Relentless in that main bay?” “You thinking of this thing as your retirement home?” Julian asked with a grin. “It is awfully pretty,” Sinclair admitted. “She’d look good, say, in orbit over our new tropical headquarters. On Epiphany, maybe.” “Well if that’s where you want to retire, there are worst places,” agreed Julian. “I’ll see what I can do. But all talk of retirement is moot unless we have a couple of Tams in our brig when we meet the boys with the blue latex fetish. So let me get going – the lift just arrived. Let the other team know that we’ll be there in just a few hours. The last third of the ship is apparently unpowered and uncontrolled. We’ll have to go by foot.” “Good luck, Julian,” Sinclair wished. “And watch your back.” “That’s what I got you for,” the older man said with a grin. “You keep ‘em from running, I’ll jump on them hard.” *

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RESCUE PARTY REMNANT -33:12

“. . . so when the Independent movement swept to power in planetary elections on Boros, Persephone, Shadow, Hera, and other Rim-worlds, it gave other factions the impetus to advance their own petty causes. The Imperials, of course, saw an opportunity, but they weren’t the only ones. All over the Rim it was like every little moonlet with atmo suddenly had a major grievance with the Alliance: the Puritans on Echo, the Constitutionalists on Beaumonde, the Greens on Muir, the Hispanocatolicos on Santa Maria, and a dozen others. Within six months of the Independent Compact being signed, local private militias began forming all over the Rim. A lot of those later folded in with the Independents and became Browncoats, but many also stayed at home and ran guerrilla insurgencies against the proper Alliance authorities,” Inara explained. The column of walking wounded, non-walking wounded, doctors, companions and soldiers slowly wound its way through the aft-section of the ship. While most of the route had been taken before, and was, therefore, presumably free from bobby traps and unpleasant surprises, they took things slow anyhow as a kindness towards the infirm. This gave the two Companions a chance to talk and get to know each other – which led Inara to give Nyan Nyan an update on the last hundred years of history. In five hours time she had covered everything up to the Unification War. “So what was the major grievance against the Alliance?” Nyan Nyan asked. She seemed generally interested – if not fascinated – by the topic. “The Independent worlds wanted the technological benefits of Alliance civilization – manufacturing, innovation, medicine, the cortex – but wanted to continue with their home-spun archaic ideas of governance. They were insistent on maintaining obsolete customs and laws, and many wanted to repudiate their planetary debts. They tried to make it about other issues – basically, a lot of powerful local landholders and factory owners wanted to control the local governments without answering to a higher authority. Add a little religious fervor in places, some hyperbolic nationalistic rhetoric, and it wasn’t long before a million misguided soldiers were marching under the Black, Green and Yellow banner.” “Feh hua,” Zoe interjected. She had come up from behind them, where she had been inspecting the two soldiers walking rearguard. “I beg your pardon?” Inara asked politely. “That’s a load o’ feh hua,” Zoe repeated, matter-of-factly. “The war was about slavery.” Inara shook her head. “No, it was about competing power centers.” Zoe snorted. “Maybe from the ivory tower of academia. I was there, remember? I heard the speeches. I participated in the debates. It was about slavery, as much as anything else.” “Slavery was never the main issue,” insisted Inara. “To y’all in the Core, mayhap. Don’t you remember the Schezuan Hornet?” Inara rolled her eyes. “That had about as much bearing on the war as Austin’s crappy book, Rimward, Ho!” “It had everything to do with it,” Zoe disagreed. “You see, Princess, about ten years before the war a company chartered slave ship was headed out to one of the terraforming projects. One hundred and twenty indentured souls – most from the Core, actually. Criminals, debtors, and just plain poor folk who had been all but kidnapped by the labor agents. The ship was a terrible old wreck, an ancient Grummond Everlift, leaks and rust and bad atmo. Crew was no better than pirates. Captain was a drunk. They broke down on the way, of course, and waved for help. First ship that got there was out of Boros, jack freighter called Misty Eyes. When they couldn’t get the Hornet fixed, they took on the ‘cargo’ and crew, headed back to Boros. “Only when they got there, the Captain of the Misty Eyes let the slaves off first – without chains. Under local Boros law at the time, if a man stepped foot on the planet without bonds, he was free to settle. Boros was a big world, they welcomed settlers of any type.” “But that was a clear violation of Alliance law!” Inara sputtered. “The Shanda-Bleckly decision established the coherency of a contract of indenture trans jurisdictionally for Alliance-chartered corporations!” “Boros never signed the Alliance charter,” Zoe countered. “Not until the War was over and they were ass deep in purplebellies. The upshot was that when the company what owned their indentures came to re-enslave them, the people of Boros met them with guns and politely told them to go to hell. They made it to Boros without bonds – the law was clear. Hell, by that time most o’ those folks had settled down, had families.

“Company took it to court on Boros – and lost. So they took it to the Alliance court, bribed the right judges and solicitors, and two gorram years after they got there, they were ordered to be re-indentured. And they sent two Alliance gunboats and a company of purplebellies to make sure they were. They were forced back onto a company ship at gunpoint. Had to leave behind their kids, their land, the lives that they had made for themselves. “Most Rimworlders have a poor experience with indentures,” Zoe continued. “Seein’ as how a fair number of our kin once wore a corporate tattoo. So when the choice came to support the freedmen or the corporations, three guesses which side they come down on.” “But that was just one incident,” Inara said, shaking her head. “And indentured workers are vital to the expansion of settlements.” “Why?” Zoe asked, simply. “Why? Because terraforming is an expensive, dangerous business. If the terraformation companies had to rely on for-pay labor, they’d never be able to finish a project – it would be prohibitively expensive. It’s not like the indentures are permanent –Alliance law ensures that no man is held in servitude for longer than twenty standard years. There’s the Indentured Persons Rights Act to protect them. And they get retirement benefits, including a right of settlement, which must be paid on every indenture.” Zoe snorted again. “Convenient, ain’t it, when the average life expectancy on a terraforming project is seven years. And I ain’t met a former slave once what collected two bits of that gorram ‘retirement’. No, Princess, you actually live to the end o’ your contract, the Company finds a way to take that last pound o’ flesh. That’s why we rose up: Alliance pushes folk into slavery and calls it progress. You speak out, they come for you. You rise up, they send in soldiers. You try to govern your own affairs, you get overthrown by some gorram bureaucrat in the Core who knows what’s best for you – and that’s likely to be chains and a tattoo.” “That was not the issue!” Inara said heatedly. “The Independents were led by a bunch of greedy local oligarchs who wanted to carve out their own little fiefdoms on the Rim, without any kind of oversight or regulatory authority.” “From where I’m standin’, the Alliance is led by a bunch of greedy corporate oligarchs who want to put everything in one big happy endless empire, whether we wanna be or not. Tell folk far off what to do, what to say, what to think. You know how many of the slaves who built the Rimworlds were there for political offenses? Every time there was a dissident demonstration on Osiris, the Sandzor Corporation gets another thousand workers for their mines for less than the cost of their transport. Bread riots in the slums of Hera, and Blue Sun gets another thousand field hands for their corporate farms on Bellarophon. You stare that in the face for a while, while you’re listenin’ to your kids cry ‘cause they’re hungry and the company store raises it prices and cuts your credit, well, that’ll make a body as desperate as you please.” “Indenture is a decent and humane punishment,” insisted Inara. “No one likes it – but it’s legal, and well-regulated.” “Well regulated? Fay-fay d’pian. I know of a case happened before the war, on Persephone. Corporate work farm. Pretty slave woman got raped by her boss. Not a casual tumble, mind, but a brutal raping – daily. She complained to the ‘proper Alliance authorities’, and in retribution the boss invited a few friends by. You know how long it took for an inspector to hear her claim? Two years. Before they even opened an investigation. She was getting’ humped six ways from Sunday by this bastard and his buddies every day for over two years. Inspector finally comes in, investigates, finds merit in the case. Fines the company a thousand credits. Fines the boss five hundred. Company appeals, ties it up in magistrate’s court, and she keeps gettin’ raped, day after day. Three years after she complained the company settles for half the fines, with no admission of guilt, and the boss celebrates by having middle-management come down to the fields for a crack at her in public. To teach everyone a lesson. She has enough, stabs the sonuvabitch, and she ends up having her indenture extended by nine years.” “That’s horrible!” Inara said, aghast. “Case was big – made the cortex out here. Y’all probably didn’t hear about it – what’s one more skanky Rimworld slave slut gettin’ bent over a haybale to the Core? But on the Rim, we heard. Caused a mess o’ laws to be passed on all the Independent worlds, setting up separate planetary Indenture Inspectorates. But the Alliance, they couldn’t have their precious authority superseded by ignorant locals. Got all o’ them declared illegal. So that’s your ‘well-regulated’ indenture system, right there!” Zoe’s blood was up, and her nostrils were flaring. “Those are exceptions,” the Companion said, though she didn’t sound convinced. “Abuses . . . happen. It’s unfortunate, but true. That doesn’t mean that they are condoned by the Alliance. The Alliance exists to protect the people.” “What people? The shareholders in the Core? ‘Cause the Independent worlds made it clear that they wanted to protect their own people, and the Alliance sent purplebellies to put a stop to it. We said we didn’t want slavery under any banner, and they put ships in our skies and nukes at our throats.” “There has to be some kind of order,” Inara countered. “That laughable ‘platform’ the Independents put forward would have plunged the whole Alliance into anarchy.” “We just wanted to be left alone,” insisted Zoe. “We didn’t want trouble. We just wanted to be able to order our affairs like we wanted to – not with some Alliance do-gooder standing over our shoulder tellin’ us how unhealthy we was bein’! Hell, y’all didn’t even allow us to celebrate a Founder’s Day or a Planetary Pride day, on account o’ it bein’ ‘unpatriotic’ to think we lived somewhere that weren’t the Core!” “Local celebrations like that contribute to the kind of unhealthy nationalistic feelings that gave rise to the war in the first place,” Inara said heatedly. “Unhealthy for whom? The poor kids on Shadow who went to a carnival to ride rides and play games for Founder’s Day, and went home in a gorram box ‘cause the local purplebelly lieutenant can’t tell sedition from cotton candy?” “He was brought up on charges for that!” Inara defended, shrilly. “An’ there were plenty what weren’t.” Zoe sighed with disgust. “But that’s neither here nor there. Fact is, Alliance wants everyone to act and think the same way. Keep inside the lines. Don’t make waves. Don’t raise your voice. Don’t agitate. Go through channels. Respect the institutions. And if it’s a question between you an’ some big-ass corporate giant, don’t even think about redress – it ain’t gonna happen!” “Those corporations you despise are the ones who built the worlds you were born on. If the Alliance didn’t support them, then there would be no more new worlds. There would be no more frontier. They wouldn’t invest that kind of money without some assurances that they would profit. And the Alliance does keep them in check. Between the corporate interests and the Parliament, they ensure a brighter future for everyone.” “Can’t say I see it that ways. But it don’t matter none, now. Y’all kicked our asses righteously, an’ now you got the whole damn galaxy in your cozy li’l empire. Write all the gorram rules you want. Bright future for everyone, and every kid gets a puppy. Sure it’ll last a thousand years.” Inara blanched at that, as Zoe knew she would. She headed back for point without another word. “That seemed . . . awkward,” Nyan Nyan observed. “Zoe was a Browncoat,” Inara explained quietly “One of the Independent Faction soldiers. Just like Mal – Captain Reynolds. That’s what I get for talking politics. The truth is, I did support the War. It seemed like a good idea at the time. We wanted to bring the benefits of high civilization to the poor on the Rim. Which means getting rid of a bunch of stupid local despots and outdated ideas – frontier societies are inherently conservative. I thought we were doing good work,” Inara admitted with a sigh. “Better health care, stable, orderly society, progressive laws – how could anyone say no to that?” She blinked. “But they did. And the truth is . . . well, I’ve been out here in the Black for over a year, now, seen a lot of different worlds. I’m not going to say I’d change my position, but I will admit that things are a lot more . . . complex than they seemed back on Sihnon.” “They usually are,” soothed Nyan Nyan. “And politics are never easy – take it from me. But she seemed a little sarcastic when she talked about the prospects of the Alliance – are they in trouble?” “Not on the surface,” Inara said. “Since the war the Alliance has actually expanded its powers and its reach considerably. The Parliament is in control. But . . .” Inara thought for a while before continuing with a sigh. “Well, just before we got here, I’d come across some information that has led me to believe that not all is well with the Alliance. Specifically, the political and economic elite seem to be willing to allow the Core systems to slide into chaos and decay – oh, it’ll be years before it happens, of course, but the signs seem inevitable. And as ashamed as I am to say it, I have to admit that the same corporate interests I was just championing are in the lead.” “How so?” “Take Epiphany – that’s the moon that Johnny – Chin Yi – grew up on. It’s a beautiful world, lush and tropical. Most of the population is descended from Yuanese dissidents who were indentured, but the whole project was designed to be a safe-haven for the corporate elite for when the troubles come to the Core. Not that they are climbing over themselves to invest, just yet – a client of mine is one of the developers. But the fact that they designed and built such a place as a refuge, while they are willing to let the heart of our civilization burn out and decay without a backwards glance, has given me pause to think.” “That must trouble you a great deal,” the young princess nodded. “Yes . . . I suppose it does. The Alliance has always been a symbol of peace and stability to me. I never understood how anyone could say no to what it has to offer. But the last year or two, I’ve come to see the cracks in the foundation. I’ve heard of things that I’m not happy about . . . like what they did to River.” “That’s Dr. Tam’s sister, correct?” “Yes. She’s a charming young woman, utterly brilliant – but they made her crazy with unnecessary brain surgery and other things. And that’s not the kind of government I wanted to support. It’s one thing if it’s war-time, I guess, but not now. I’ve come to see a dark cloud of deceit over the Alliance. Not exactly enough to make me take up a brown coat – I still think the Independents were wrong – but I no longer trust my government the way I once did.” “Politics is always a messy, complicated business,” Nyan Nyan said diplomatically. “Believe me. Let us move on to a more pleasant subject: tell me more about Chin Yi!” Inara smiled knowingly. “He is a cutie, isn’t he? A very nice boy. Brave, strong, smart . . . he’s quite a catch.” “He seems so gentle,” Nyan Nyan said dreamily. “We only talked for a while, but I feel like I’ve known him forever.” “The Fates willing, you shall know him much longer . . . and much better!” “Have you entertained him? I wonder how he performs.” “No, I have firm rules regarding whom I service. Crew and passengers are off limits. It would be complicated.” Nyan Nyan raised her eyebrows with surprise. “Then you and the Captain . . . ?” “Oh, no,” insisted Inara fervently. “No. Not once. Never. How could I?” Nyan Nyan thought about the prospect. “I can think of a few ways. Remember, I’ve been on ice for a century – I’ve got some lost time to make up for. He’s got a kind of rugged charm. And kindly eyes. I like his sense of humor, too. And those glutes . . .” “Stop it! You are so bad!” Inara said, her face coloring. Nyan Nyan burst out laughing at the other Companion’s discomfort despite herself. The noise attracted Simon’s attention. “Are you ladies still talking politics?” Simon called from the mule, which he was driving inexpertly. The covered stretcher that bore the heavily medicated Shepherd Book concealed within was trailing behind. If the heavily sedated preacher objected to the jerky ride, he hadn’t mentioned it. “Because I’m in favor of another break soon, to change Book’s dressing and give him more meds, and I’m loathe to recommend one to Zoe while she’s in a mood. And politics always puts her in a mood.” “No, that’s fine, we’ve moved onto a more important topic,” Inara called back, straining to regain her composure. “Boys!” Simon looked warily from one beautiful face to the other. “A collective shudder just went through everything in the ‘verse with a Y chromosome.”

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DELTA TEAM -33:41

Wash looked down fondly at Kaylee. The young mechanic had fallen asleep sprawled out on the engine cowling cover, her face and hands covered with nine kinds of grime. Her body twitched every now and then – he supposed it was the stimulants – and he noted something that did not bode well for any potential relationship with Simon: She snored like a rusty thruster. “Time for school, Kaylee!” he shouted playfully. “Um, unh, five more minutes,” Kaylee muttered back, her eyes glued shut. Grinning even louder, Wash picked up a hefty 25 mm wrench, held it out at eye level, then dropped it with a crash to the floor. The loud noise forced Kaylee to sit bolt upright, her eyes wide but bleary. “I’m up! I’m ready!” she insisted to no one in particular. “Calm down, Hind End,” Wash soothed. “Just me. Checkin’ on progress.” “She’s done,” Kaylee yawned. “All but the ordanance.” “Done?” “Just put the last access panel back into place, checked the hydraulics, and pressure-tested the cockpit. You done a mighty fine job with them gaskets. Held pressure to six atmos.” “Shiny,” Wash nodded, impressed. “What about the ordanance?” “Gonna wait ‘till the last second to load the missiles,” Kaylee acknowleged, standing and stretching her arms over her head – which caused her chest to poke out impressively. Wash stared good-naturedly – he was happily married and thought of Kaylee like a sister . . . but this sister had big boobs, and marriage did not make him immune to their inherent power. “Good plan,” he agreed. “I think we got enough that tested positive for two full racks. Master Lei shouldn’t need but one.” “You talk to the Master yet?” Kaylee asked, finishing her stretch. “Wanted to check with you first. Guess it’s time,” he said, pulling out his radio mike. “Master Lei, this is Delta Team Leader, over!” he said, approximating what he thought was an efficient, military-like manner. “Go ahead, Wash,” Lei’s voice said tinnily. He sounded a little tired. “Your chariot awaits,” he reported. “Just got the green light from our grease monkey. We can load up the missiles while you’re on your way down.” “Change of plans, Wash,” Lei replied. “I can’t do it.” “You . . . what?” the pilot asked in disbelief. “Why can’t you do it? Did we just do all of this hard work – uff!” he said, taking a grease-stained elbow in the ribs from the indignant mechanic, “I mean, did Kaylee just do all this work for nothing?” “Negative,” Master Lei said. “The task remains to be done, and it is important. But I cannot do it. We are under siege in the Bridge, right now, and until someone can lift that siege I will not be able to leave. And considering that the bulk of our forces are tied up in the aft section, that will not be soon enough.” “Well what the hell are we supposed to do, then?” Wash demanded, upset. “Remember all those gorram drones out there, waiting to take our milk money?” “I do,” agreed Lei, quietly. “But it can’t be helped. You’ll have to do it.” Wash was silent for a few moments. “What was that?” he asked, finally. “You broke up.” “Hardly. You will have to take care of the drones, Wash. No one else is qualified.” “Hell, I ain’t qualified!” Wash insisted. “I’m a transport pilot – class C commercial license, remember? Closest I ever came to an aerospace fighter was an old militarty surplus trainer!” “You are the next qualified pilot,” Lei persisted. “And you’re the next candidate for the papacy!” Wash shot back. “Buddha’s hairy nuts, Master Lei, you can’t expect me . . .” “To take out a brand new aerospace fighter and shoot down a few crappy little unmanned drones? Please. You’re twice the pilot you think you are. You’ve run a thousand sims like this. A dozen targets, no opposition, and a sweet little ship . . .” “Well,” admitted Wash, looking at the Marauder, “she is pretty sweet.” “Trust yourself, son,” Master Lei said. “You have found the Way in flight. You have become a gull on the breeze,” he said. “A leaf—” “Yeah, yeah, leaf on the wind, got it,” he said, annoyed. “Now it’s time for you to soar. You can do this, Wash. You go suit up and run pre-flight. Familiarize yourself with the controls. Remember that game a few years back, Sky Raptor?” “Oh, hell yeah!” the pilot agreed. “I lost a girlfriend over that one. Not a very good girlfriend, but still . . . good game.” “The controls will be most like that game. Like a C314 Skyhook-Class cargo sledge, or the B771 military variant. Both ships’ control systems were taken from the Marauder’s design, originally – except for the guns and missiles and ECM. This will be easy for you, Wash, trust me. I’ll talk you through it. Besides,” he said, his tone of voice shifting persuasively, “you don’t want Zoe to come back and ask ‘how was your day, dear,’ and not have anything worthwhile to brag about?” “God, you are one sick, manipulative bastard. All right, I’ll do it. I’ll get Kaylee to start the preflight, and I’ll suit up. I’ll call you when we’re ready.” After putting the radio back in his vest he put his arm over Kaylee’s shoulder, giving her a hug. She almost slumped in his arms from exhaustion. They looked at the sleek shape of the Marauder silently for a while, a sea of discarded parts and pieces making an untidy halo around the ship. “You really think you can fly that thing?” she asked, finally. “Dunno,” the pilot said with a shrug. “You sure she’s gonna fly?” “Nope. Think so. But I’m not sure at all.” “Good, good. We’re both on the same page, the one with ‘total failure’ writ at the top. Good. I just love these little chats of ours. I feel like they bring us closer.” “Um, Wash?” “Yeah?” “Can I have your fixity vest after you crash this thing? If Zoe says it’s OK, of course.” “Sure, sweetie. All I have and all I can borrow. But you might want to remember that if I crack up, y’all are gonna be contending with whatever drones I missed, plus that gorram frigate. Which means y’all got an even chance o’ being incarcerated or killed.” “That’s a mighty fine point you make.” “It bites to be right all the time,” he agreed. “Let’s go do this before I wake up and realize what I just volunteered for.”