The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Sixty

RECONSTITUTED GAMMA TEAM -31:54

“Damn,” Mal swore appreciably under his breath as he saw the bay for the first time. It was dark and cavernous, about the size of . . . well, Serenity and twenty of her mates could fit into it with room left over to barbecue a hog and hold a village dance. It was big. And it was packed to the brim with all manner of mechanical death in the form of armored cavalry vehicles. Mal was struck nearly speechless at the sight – there was just about everything here: Rollers, Hovers, Walkers, Flyers. Heavily armored tanks with two and three gun emplacements on their turrets. Gunskiffs and recon cars, APCs and AFVs, fast-attack vehicles and one-man, two-wheeled motorcycles with machine guns on the handlebars. There were support vehicles, too – command-and-control cars, communications stations, a mobile medical unit, and a big boxy thing that Mal strongly suspected was a field kitchen – but the vast majority of that vast bay was taken up by combat vehicles. Every kind of rolling nastiness that had ever tried to kill Mal during the war was represented, along with a few he hadn’t had the pleasure of being shot at by – yet. After all, the day was still young. As an infantryman, Mal had a deep respect and a loathing that bordered on the pathological when it came to armored vehicles. He had seen plenty of his men mowed down like bamboo by heavily armed armored hovercars on Boros, and he’d been on the wrong end of a heavy cavalry flanking movement at the siege of Du Khang – those terrible rollers just kept coming, no matter what the Browncoats had thrown at them. He still had nightmares about those evil machines. And of course Serenity Valley had become a graveyard studded with smoking hulks of metal that the purplebellies seemed to have in endless supply. These vehicles were painted in a mottled Imperial yellow, and bore the insignia of the Empire in red, but they still made him nervous. Old habits die hard. “You conjure some o’ them might could still fire up?” Jayne asked in a the mumbling cant of the professional thief – or the professional mercenary in enemy territory – as the two were strikingly similar. “’Cause a little armored support might go a long ways in this fight. Seein’ as how we’re out-numbered an’ all.” He nodded toward the far end of the bay, so remote that the figures there were indistinct. They held the main entrance – the one that led to the Engine Room. “Not likely,” Mal murmured back in the same monotonous, quiet tone. The key was keeping your voice low, above a whisper, and adding a slight lisp to dampen the syllabants so they wouldn’t carry. Of course Jayne likely thought of a syllabant as something you picked up from a whore and got a shot to cure, but he was smart and experienced enough to know how to speak in a dangerous situation without attracting attention. “Power cells probably bled to death a lifetime ago. But grab a couple anyway, maybe we can recharge ‘em a bit. Never know what we can use.” “Check,” Jayne said, pulling out his binocs to take a look at the opposition. “Well, well. Ain’t the kitty-cats, Cap. Mostly Anglic, looks like. And a scruffy lot, too,” he added. The irony of Jayne Cobb calling anyone else scruffy was not wasted on Mal. “Looks like basic light infantry combat armor, automatic rifles, couple o’ submachine guns. They’re playin’ cards. Looks like some money on the table, too,” he added, with obvious interest. Jayne could no more pass up a chance at a casual robbery than a Reaver could pass up a nursery school. “Gotta be the bounty hunters,” Mal affirmed. “Ai ya. They got here first. Assholes.” “Rather take them than the Tigers, truth,” Jayne observed. “Don’t look to me for an argument,” Mal agreed, taking the binocs and seeing for himself. “They look like a bunch of drunk-tank refugees. We musta took apart the better part of their men at the spaceport fight on Salisbury. Sanchez did say he was hirin’ muscle.” “Don’t look like they got enough brain cells twixt the lot o’ them to rub together,” Jayne said with a sneer. Mal had to check himself. The irony . . . “We can take ‘em,” Mal assured. “Hell, we could probably take ‘em right now, you an’ me both – but that ain’t my intention.” “It’d be fun,” whined Jayne. “The objective here is not to wipe them out, but to draw their forces away from the Engine room. We seen what we come for. C’mon, grab those cells and let’s get back to camp.” “Camp” was an unused storage room three sections back from their present position – far enough away from the vehicle bay to avoid detection, but close enough to use as a temporary base. Apart from a bathroom, the store room was where everyone had taken four, blissful, uninterrupted hours of slumber at Mal’s insistence. You couldn’t run a combat operation on stims and expect your people to do the right thing. He’d learned that the hard way at Serenity Valley. “Y’know, Cap, occurs to me that even if those rollers can’t roll or shoot, they still got some hefty armor,” Jayne mentioned when they were sufficiently far away from the bay to risk a normal voice. “Man gets up there in one o’ them – say, with a 105mm recoilless rifle – he’d be able to bring down a powerful amount of fire without his ass hangin’ in the breeze.” “Thought has merit,” Mal agreed. “But remember that we don’t want a slaughter. We want a long, drawn out messy battle. That means wounded, not killed. Wounded man takes up a lotta resources in combat. Draws on reinforcements.” “You want ‘em wounded, you’ll get ‘em wounded,” Jayne griped as they came to the Camp. River was sitting in a corner, holding her harmonica (Mal wouldn’t let her play it so close to the enemy, and she had so far respected that) and staring vacantly into space. The half-dozen commandos were stretching, cleaning their weapons, and eating. Johnny and Campbell had already returned from their own reconnaissance. He was field-stripping his carbine. “Hey, Cap!” the erstwhile Prince called between bites of pre-packaged pork and rice. “Was wondering when you might show up.” “We just arrived ourselves, a moment ago,” added Campbell. “Our task was successful. The alternate route is lightly guarded, and puts us just outside the entrance of the Engine Room. If you would be so kind as to create a ruckus in the vehicle bay, we can likely draw off enough of the guards to penetrate the room.” “Ruckus is gonna be easy,” Mal grinned. He tossed a power cell at Campbell, who caught it automatically. “That whole bay is just askin’ for a ruckus. Think you can get a couple o’ those charged up? We might be able to use ‘em.” “Simple,” Campbell agreed, examining the ancient cell. “There is enough auxiliary power running now to have it ready in about thirty minutes. Will that suit your plan?” “Shiny,” agreed Mal, setting down his rifle and picking up a ration pack. Red Beans And Rice. He felt for the small chemical capsule inside and pressed it with his thumbs. In seconds the package heated up. “You pick your team yet? Or is it just gonna be me an’ Jayne on this side?” “I have. I will only be taking River. The rest can join you in the diversion.” “. . . Seven, eight, nine . . . hey, that’s not right. We can’t go in there outnumberin’ them. Hell, I don’t know how to fight with the advantage,” he said, grinning. He snapped the chopsticks from the pack apart. “You shall have yon love-struck puppy-dog with you,” Campbell pointed out, nodding towards Johnny. “That should even things out a mite.” “Might could,” agreed Mal. “Still, only River? You sure?” “The objective of our task requires stealth, not firepower,” Campbell demurred. “River and I should be sufficient for the task. And that will keep a . . . non-combatant out of your way.” “That it would. All right then – River?” “Sir?” she answered, absently. “You all right with going with Colonel Campbell?” “Shiny,” she replied. “He has cogs in his head. A chessboard of cogs and gears. Each one delicate and precious. Each one utterly vicious. A head full of pretty piranhas. If you get too near, you get caught in them,” she insisted. She looked up at Mal. “You could lose a finger,” she cautioned. “Uh . . . yeah. I’ll keep that in mind. You eat yet?” “Yes. Shirimp and lo mein, fortified with additional nutrients and overburdened with thrice the caloric value to ensure a plentiful energy supply for extended field combat operations. It tasted like ass.” “It’s army food, darlin’,” Mal soothed. “Beats hell outa what we had back in the War. Most o’ the time we got by with wishbiscuits.” “Query? Wishbiscuits?” “That’s when you scrape together enough protein powder to mix with water and cook over an open fire. Then you cut it open and dearly wish you had somethin’ better.” “Humor,” she said humorlessly. “How intriguing.” “So we got time for some chow?” asked Jayne after he delivered the cell he was carrying to Campbell. “And then some,” Mal conceded. “If you want those cells charged, that is. We cut out in thirty. That’s when the big hand is on the six.” “Great! I can get in a crap and cut my toenails, then,” Jayne said happily as he dug a ration pack out of his bag. “Disgusting,” whispered River, “but utterly predictable. Ignorance and id, fighting for dominance over a well-muscled, vacuous kingdom.” “Y’know, suddenly I ain’t that hungry,” Mal muttered to himself, staring down at the beans and rice. *

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DETA TEAM -31:33

Kaylee put the final touches on the missile rack of the Marauder, inspecting each one for . . . well, anything visibly wrong. Kaylee didn’t know beans about missiles, except that there was a pointy part that blew up somehow and a simple chemical reaction engine at the other end and a bunch of electronics in the middle that were responsible for it behaving in a proper fashion. Wash had assured her that all of them had passed his inspection, and she supposed that would have to do. The rest of the ship was as fit as she could make it. It gleamed with new parts, and the reactor was active and hummed pleasantly. The lasers had passed their own tests, and everything else she knew to check had been checked. It had been exhausting, but worthwhile. She had learned a lot about the ship, about small ships in general, from the experience. “Is she ready?” called Wash from the pilot’s lounge. “Quiverin’ like a bride on her honeymoon,” assured Kaylee. “You gonna come out or what?” “Promise not to laugh?” he asked, pathetically. “No,” Kaylee replied. “Gee, you’re all heart.” “Get your ass out here!” she insisted. Then she picked up her capture with a grin. She wished Zoe was here to see this – but since she wasn’t, she wanted some video to show off to her later. “All right, all right! I’m coming!” he said, irritated. A moment later he emerged. Kaylee had grown used to seeing the pilot looking scruffy in his wrinkled Hawaiian shirts and torn blue jeans. She stifled a gasp when she saw him walk across the docking bay in a fighter’s flightsuit. It was pressurized, a glossy medium shade of blue with black trim and sleek black flight boots – the colors of the Imperial Fighter Corps. The insignia of the corps stood out on one shoulder, and on the other was his ostensible rank – Kaylee was inexpert in reading such things, but she was pretty sure that he had chosen a Colonel’s rank. A jet black flight vest made his chest look big and manly and nearly hid all of the middle-aged spread around his middle. He carried a white flight helmet in one hand, and wore a neat military-looking automatic pistol in a shoulder holster. To complete the picture he wore mirrored flight glasses, giving his jaw a squarish look she hadn’t noticed before, and a kind of mysterious air that was new. “Da-bian-hua! Ohmygod!” she said gleefully. “You look so swai! All studly and military!” “You think so?” he asked, looking a little embarrassed as he approached the fighter. “Hell yeah!” the engineer said enthusiastically. “I’m having a really hard time controlling the urge to tear your clothes off.” “Wow,” Wash said, appreciatively, looking around. “Aw, you went and got a capture!” “Yeah, thought you’d like some footage. Want one of you and the ship?” “Oh, mais oui!” he said, grinning foolishly. He went to stand next to the cockpit and struck a pose. Kaylee prepared to take a visual when she suddenly stopped. “Wait! We forgot something!” she said, rushing forward. “What? My fly unzipped again?” “No, no, just this,” she said, picking up a marker. She found a blank spot on the nose of the ship and wrote “ZOE” in big letters, adding two little dots in the shape of hearts over the E. “Now we’re ready!” she said, returning to her place, grinning widely. A moment later it was done. “You ready for this?” she asked. “Hell, I dunno,” Wash admitted. “I guess so. Actually, I’m kinda eager.” “Shiny! Let’s call Master Lei and get this over with.” “Yeah, I guess that’s the next step.” He picked up the radio and spoke. “Delta Team Leader to Alpha Team Leader.” “What is it Wash?” “We’re ready,” he said, simply. “Go ahead and neutralize the gorram frigate so I can do this.” “Will do. Bide a moment.” Wash took the time to climb gingerly into the snug cockpit, then had another thought and climbed back out. “Gimme the marker?” “Why?” Kaylee asked, even as she did so. “I forgot something, too,” he said, turning back to the cockpit, where he started writing something just under the clear bubble. He was still doing it when Master Lei got back to them. “It’s done. Happy hunting, Wash. You’re a go!” Wash finished, tossed the marker back to Kaylee, and climbed back into the cockpit. Kaylee couldn’t quite make out what he had written until she got closer, but he explained. “For this one, I ain’t Wash,” he said, strapping his helmet on. “Call me . . . Wildfire!” And that was, indeed, what he had written under the cockpit. He paused for dramatic effect, and struck another pose, encouraging Kaylee to snap a few more stills. “Too much?” he asked skeptically. “Under the circumstances,” Kaylee admitted, “a little over-the-top ain’t such a bad thing. I say, go with it!” “You’re sweet. Give Zoe my love. Lord willin’ an’ the creek don’t rise, I’ll be back shortly,” he said as he lowered the canopy. “Good . . . hunting?” she said, unsure of herself. That’s what people said on the CV, though, so it must be appropriate. When he gave her the thumbs up (which she took as another photo op) she stepped back and activated the launcher. Two clamshell doors swung creakily up to cover the ship. There was a hiss, a loud clank. And then Wash was gone. Kaylee shook her head. “Wildfire,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Boys!”

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ALPHA TEAM REMNANT -31:25

“It’s your turn,” the General urged. “Don’t rush me,” complained the old man, eyeing the board. “I’m not rushing you,” the younger man shot back. “Just thought you may have forgotten.” “I haven’t forgotten,” Master Lei insisted. “It is a conceit of the young that the old are all spiraling into senility. Eight decades come and gone have not dimmed my memory. I’m just studying the board.” “Take your time,” the General said, with exaggerated gentleness. “I shall,” the monk replied indignantly. “Sometimes a man your age needs a few extra moments – eyesight dims, I understand.” “My eyes are perfect,” insisted Master Lei, testily. “It’s a small board,” the General conceded. “It is sufficient!” “Plenty of time,” the General murmured after another few minutes of silence had passed. “You are the most—” “Delta Team Leader to Alpha Team Leader!” squawked the radio. The General rolled his eyes at the delay in play, and Master Lei looked daggers back at him as he picked up the mike. “What is it, Wash?” he asked, tiredly. “We’re ready,” the tinny voice said. “Go ahead and neutralize the gorram frigate so I can do this.” “Will do. Bide a moment.” Master Lei turned back around to the console he was manning and punched in a few score of instructions. Sanchez had been quite specific. Lei only hoped Reynolds had remembered everything properly. When he was done he punched up the wave combination for the Relentless, and in a moment he was staring at a serious looking middle-aged man in the Captain’s Chair of the smaller ship. “Ni how,” Master Lei said with a bow. “Lo hin how,” responded the man with a matching bow. “I am Captain Augustus Sinclair. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” “I am Heavenly Master Lei, current commander of the Sun Tzu. I’m waving to request that you retrieve your men and quit the system.” “And why would I do such an unlikely thing?” the Sinclair asked, amused. “Because your ship will face grave danger if you do not,” explained Master Lei. “We know you don’t have full power,” pointed out the man. “Trying to bluff us is admirable, but foolish.” “I am not bluffing,” insisted the monk. “Your ship will, indeed, face grave peril should you not quit the system. Our power is almost restored, and when it is we will be forced to fire on your ship. Then we will have to destroy your expensive drones. But that does not mean we are defenseless. Do not force me to disable your ship with our new toys. Much bloodshed and waste could be prevented if you simply retrieve your people and leave.” “That will not happen,” Sinclair insisted. “We are in hot pursuit of two fugitives . . . maybe more, if General Lei is truly aboard.” “He is losing to me at go even as we speak,” assured the monk. “Excellent. One more reason to continue our current course of action. There are a number of Federal officers anxious to question him about . . . oh, all sorts of things.” “They should be used to disappointment by now,” countered Lei. “Nonetheless, out of the spirit of compassion I am giving you one final opportunity to quit the system before we take action. Will you yield?” “Not in your fondest dreams,” Sinclair said. He said it totally devoid of malice or scorn – he had simply stated the situation. Master Lei sighed. “Very well, then. We have an experimental anti-ship weapon that we’ve been anxious to test. If you do not yield, then I will be forced to use the Relentless as a target.” “Do your worst,” Sinclair said, shrugging. “It makes no difference to us. I believe you are bluffing. We simply want an end to the plot, the criminals in custody, and that terror weapon you are commanding decommissioned permanently. We are the forces of legitimate law here. And as should be obvious by now, we’re quite determined.” “Your commitment to your task does you credit,” agreed Master Lei. “I am saddened that I must interfere with so noble a cause as criminal justice – even when there have been no actual charges filed against the fugitives. But you leave me little choice.” He turned to the General, who was off-screen. “Prepare the Blitzen Device. Target their reactor.” The General gave his uncle a quizzical look, expressing his confusion, which earned him a subtle but emphatic expression from his ancestor. Master Lei turned back to the screen, a sympathetic expression on his face. “I do apologize in advance for the rude treatment you are about to receive,” he explained. “I hope you will use the approaching crisis as an opportunity to meditate about the wisdom of meddling with affairs you know nothing about. I did try to warn you,” he added. “Little more than bluff and bluster,” dismissed Sinclair. “You have no secret weapon.” “Remember those words in the coming hours,” the old monk said, a little more sternly. “Activate the Blitzen device!” he ordered the General. He then activated the Trojan Horse program that the Sanchez brothers had installed. The screen went blank as a data file was uploaded on the carrier wave of the signal. In the background, on the Relentless’ bridge, lights started blinking wildly and Sinclair started looking around, wide eyed and confused. So was the general. At a subtle prompting from his Uncle, he finally choked out, “Blitzen device is fully deployed and targeted! Power at 100%!” but he looked as confused as ever. The trap laid by the Sanchez Brothers was simple and subtle. An encoded radio signal activated an auxiliary control panel on the other ship, and a particularly malicious piece of software was inserted into the power control protocols. It was a very specific and very subtle program, one that mimicked a catastrophic failure of the central core. In moments the main power would be completely shut down, rendering the ship dead in space and unable to communicate long range or deploy its missiles and lasers and other weaponry. Life support would survive on auxiliary power, at least long enough for a competent mechanic to figure out the true nature of the problem. The engineer would run a diagnostic routine to determine where the fault was, and another piece of software would confirm the catastrophic diagnosis. Only when tons of shielding was removed from the reactor and a physical diagnosis was made – which would take hours – would the engineer realize the flaw was in the computer, not in the reactor. Ingenious. Master Lei made a mental note to never piss off the Sanchez Brothers. He looked back at the screen, which showed an alarmed Sinclair sitting in a Bridge lit only by emergency lights, with the voices of his crew becoming more shrill and panicked as one essential system after another failed for lack of power. “This won’t help you, you know,” Sinclair said with confidence. “Our drones are independently controlled. You will not escape before we repair this damage. “We have a contingency for that, actually,” admitted Master Lei. He picked up the radio mike. “It’s done. Happy hunting, Wash. You’re a go!” “Remember, too,” Master Lei cautioned, “that we did not strike you down while your ship was helpless, when you know we could. Surely a real cabal of super geniuses would not be so merciful.” “We have our own contingencies, Commander,” Sinclair replied in the gloom through gritted teeth. “I take my leave to see to them.” “Have a nice day, Captain,” Master Lei said sweetly, then switched off. “What the hell is the ‘Blitzen Device’?” asked the General. “Blitzen was an ancient Teutonic storm divinity,” explained the monk. “A god of lightning, I believe. I’ve noticed that Anglics have a superstitious dread of Teutonic names. It seemed an appropriate label on such short notice.” “I thought it was one of Santa’s reindeer.” “The folk god’s steed was taken from the older storm god, in homage and to portray a sense of speed.” “Shiny,” the General dismissed. “But why the subterfuge at all?” “And they let you run an army? Misdirection. They already suffer under the belief that we have sophisticated technological devices, thanks to Captain Reynolds’ quick thinking and Ms. Tam’s extraordinary abilities. This will make them suspect such a device is responsible for their ordeal. Which will waste their time and resources searching for damage that is not there. Which makes them more cautious in approaching us in the future. Which buys us time to complete our mission and get this old wreck spaceworthy again. And gives Wash the largest window possible to complete his mission.” “You are a cagey old man,” the General admitted, nodding appreciatively. “I apologize for my earlier insinuations about your age.” “Thank you,” Master Lei said, bowing. “Now, who’s turn was it?”

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RECONSTITUTED GAMMA TEAM -31:02

“Everyone ready? Anyone need one last crack at the can before we go?” asked Mal in a loud voice. “Hate to be in the middle of a firefight when someone needs to go number one. Right, River?” “It won’t happen again,” she muttered guiltily. She was standing just behind the line up of commandos preparing to go into battle, black armored vests strapped on, rifles at port, knives, grenades, and other deadly accessories hanging from every point. Jayne had donned wrap-around safety glasses, making his eyes look unnaturally big, in addition to more firepower than he usually carried by half. He had grudgingly loaned out his new toys, the laser and the 105mm recoilless rifle, to the commandos. For this op, Jayne would need mobility more than capacity. “See it don’t. Now, we have a real easy job, ladies. We go in at the far end of the bay. We silently deploy – silently, Jayne! – to various strategic points. Then we begin our attack runs. The objective is not to kill them, or even defeat them. Our objective is to pin them down and make them squawk for reinforcements. So we shoot to wound, we put a lot of lead in the air, we make ourselves seem bigger than we actually are. All the tactics we used in the War against the purplebellies. I want them thinkin’ that there’s a hundred of us screaming for their blood, an’ they’re keepin’ us heroically at bay. Anything less and they won’t call for back-up. Anything more, they bug out entirely. Questions? Good.” “While you are pursuing this little training exercise,” Colonel Campbell said, addressing his men, “Ms. Tam and myself will make our way to the Engine Room complex entrance under stealth, via the alternate route I discovered. When reinforcements are called, we will infiltrate and activate the Engine Room computer, initiate the other four reactors, and then fade back here, our rendezvous point. Our plan is to secure the door to the Engine Room behind us to keep the bounty hunters from getting back in and causing mischief. The moment we have arrived here we will contact you. At that point you are to break off attack and return here. Then we can bug out back to Serenity and let Master Lei and the General run the automated counter-boarding protocols from the Bridge at their leisure.” “This should go simply, by the numbers,” added Mal. “I don’t want no heroes, no martyrs for the Empire. I want everyone back in one piece so we can spend some o’ this loot on booze an’ whores an’ gambling. So line up – Jayne, you’re point. I’ll take the rear.” “Good luck,” Campbell said, patting Mal on the shoulder. “Shouldn’t be no big drama. Hell, me an’ Zoe used to go after bigger purplebelly patrols just by ourselves, back in the day. An’ these hayseeds don’t look up to Purplebelly standards.” “Many things can happen,” warned Campbell. “Not all of them are dependent upon the enemy.” “I’ll keep my eyes open and try not to do anything too stupid, if that’s what you mean.” “That is exactly what I mean.” Mal fumbled in his jacket and pulled out a small black automatic and offered it to River, butt first. “River? You wanna . . .” “No!” River said loudly, her eyes wide as she stared at the gun. She swallowed hard and then looked away. “Just a thing, just a thing, just a thing, cold black metal, lead and plastic and chemicals, just a machine is all, just a thing, justathingjustathing . . .” she muttered insanely, her eyes scrunched shut. “I will watch out for her, I give you my word,” Campbell said, putting his hand gently on Mal’s and pushing the gun away from River. “Suit yourself,” Mal shrugged. “Anything does happen, you get River back to Serenity and bug the hell out,” he ordered. “Grab whatever you can carry on the way and hit the Black.” “You have my word,” assured Campbell. “I mean . . . don’t waste time on no rescue party. If we’re bein’ held prisoner again.” “I assure you, I will not.” “No matter how much everyone tries to insist on a rescue, you tell ‘em I said ‘no’, in big red letters.” “I will make your wishes clear.” “Zoe’s gonna be a problem. She’s in command if somethin’ happens to me. She’s gonna insist on mounting a rescue op.” “I will do everything in my power to dissuade her.” “I mean . . . if we’re captured . . .” he continued, lamely. “Oh, just say what you mean: that you want to be rescued as quickly as possible, but don’t want to look like a crybaby for asking!” blurted out River. “Um,” Mal said, confused. “Behold the dangers of working with a telepath,” Campbell said with a smile. “Just . . . didn’t want to look . . . y’know . . . like a . . . a whiner,” he stuttered. “Just say what you mean! Honestly!” River said in exasperation. “Don’t you people ever just say what’s on your mind? It’s right there in your brain. Right there! And you won’t say it. All the lies, the deceptions, the obfuscations, the filters of tact and diplomacy that shroud the truth of your thoughts in a futile attempt to protect your ego and present a façade of machismo . . . it’s annoying,” she declared. “That’s a really annoying little trick there, little girl, an’ it really pisses me off t’no end when you do that,” Mal said evenly, his cheeks coloring in embarrassment. “How’s that for what’s on my mind? Enough open and honest communication for you?” “Boys!” River said, looking disgusted. “Why we even bother talking to you is beyond me!” she said, and flounced off. “Hey, have a good time with her,” Mal told Campbell after she left the room, his words laced with sarcasm. “I hear she’s a fun date.”