The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Sixty-Four

HAMMERSTRIKE TEAM REMNANT –25:44

“Ta mah de!” Rel said, when he first realized that his eyes were open and that he was alive and conscious. Then the pain hit. His head hurt. His chest hurt. Three of his four limbs hurt. His jaw felt like he’d been kicked by a mule. Hard. But nothing seemed broken . . . only hurt. The wild girl who had successfully defeated a vastly superior force – in bare feet – had left him alive. Looking around at his comrades, he couldn’t swear that she had extended them the same courtesy. Sometimes you just had to appreciate the little things in life. Ma always said that. Rel groaned and tried to get to his feet, and settled for getting to his knees. He steadied himself for a moment, took several painful breaths, and then forced himself up. A moment later he was leaning against a wall, looking at the scene of destruction. There were bodies all over, and all of them were wearing the same uniform as him. That had to be bad. He glanced over to the entrance of the Engine Room and knew without any real proof that there was no longer a conscious guard in there. That girl – River Tam, he remembered – had been through there. For all he knew she was still in there. Rel looked around some more, more to kill time and come to his senses than anything else, and he considered: In two months time he had gotten his ass righteously kicked by a girl no bigger than his mother. If she was that close, and chanced to encounter him once again, a third ass kicking was likely. Rel was not an educated man – literacy had come to him slow and painfully in the last two months – but he was wise enough to know the outcome of such a conflict. So he did what any seasoned criminal and all of his family members would do in a similar situation: he got the hell away from there as fast as his sore feet could carry him. He looked down at his comrades for a moment, realizing that honor and chivalry and team spirit dictated he not leave a wounded man behind, especially if that man had been a friend. Luckily his new military training was incompletely grafted on his old sense of self preservation. He knew his limits. He knew that River Tam was unlikely to kill an unconscious man for the mere spite of it. They’d be safe enough, he guessed. It was time for him to go. He hobbled over to the hallway he knew led back in the general direction of their shuttle. He didn’t know how to fly a shuttle, but that seemed the safest course of action. He hadn’t taken three steps when he heard noise from behind. He ducked into an alcove and hid himself, pausing only long enough to slip his metal shaving mirror out of his pocket – Ma couldn’t abide unruly whiskers. He crouched down and quickly positioned the mirror to cover the entrance to the Engine Room and watched as five Chinese fellows in long white coats, carrying really big guns, stalked cautiously through the pile of unconscious mercenaries to enter the Engine Room. Where River Tam was. He almost felt sorry for them. River Tam. He had been dreaming of her ever since she had effectively taken him hostage with his own gun in Milsa’s Manufactory back home. He remembered every moment of that day, not because it marked the beginning of his incarceration and eventual enslavement, but because River had been the last sweet-smelling girl that had been close enough for him to kiss – or be killed by, but he preferred to be an optimist. He didn’t count the tough-as-hardtack Constable Umbeck, or the processing clerk that had filled out his indenture paperwork – she had looked too much like Uncle Josiah, facial hair and all. River was the object of his odd fantasy life, developed in cells and bunks for the last sixty-odd days. And he knew a fair bit about her, too. “Know your prey,” Mr. Martel had repeated over and over at the mission briefings. He had laid out pictures of the Tams for them to study, and Rel had scanned them pretty well, he had thought, but he hadn’t identified the woman they were hunting with the woman responsible for his being here – and appearing in his erotic fantasies – until she had just kicked the stuffing out of him. Then it had all come crashing together in his over-worked mind. It was a small ‘verse. After the new soldiers passed by, Rel beat a hasty retreat. He waited until he had put a substantial amount of corridor behind him before he called Mr. Martel on the officer’s channel – peons like him were to stay off those except in emergencies, and he figured this might qualify. “What is it, trooper?” his boss asked brusquely. “Where is your team leader? And what’s your name?” the voice buzzed in his ear. “Rel Fexive, sir. One o’ your guns down on Engine Room duty. Only we done been attacked a couple of times now, and there ain’t much of the team left no more. Some new johnnies in white coats come through after River uh, kinda disabled us.” “River? River Tam? You saw her? You can confirm that?” “Yessir I did. I found her but good. Got the contusions to prove it.” “Keep her under surveillance, as close as possible! I’m closing in on your location with half the team. You stay put ‘till we arrive, dong ma?” “Yessir! Loud and clear, sir,” he shot back automatically. At least that much of his paramilitary training had remained: a painful respect for any authority that could cause him suffering. “Only, them Chinese fellas looked pretty serious. They knew their business, no doubt.” “Just keep an eye out. I figure we have another twenty-eight minutes before we arrive there in force. You can hold on for another half-hour, can’t you son?” “I might could,” Rel admitted. “Long as I don’t gotta move nothin’ bigger’n my eyeballs a while, we’ll be set.” “Just keep ‘em peeled, son, that’s all I ask. We’ll get you some medical attention, see to your comrades. But River is highest priority, except her brother. Remember: he’s the devious one. She’s merely a . . . theoretician.” “A whozit?” “She thinks good,” Martel explained gruffly. “Oh. Thought it meant ‘bad-ass barefoot demon fighter’. Would fit. You mean she’s smart, too?” “Where the hell were you when your team was briefed? She’s brilliant. Smarter than you and your whole family put together. So don’t try to approach her. Wait for us, or you’ll end up dead. Just tread water a while.” “Tread what? How you tread on water? Only Jesus could do that. Shepherd tol’ me so! You ‘spectin’ a lot outa me, Mr. Martel.” “Treading water means – it’s a swimming term.” “Oh. That ‘splains it, then. Ain’t no one swimmin’ on St. Albans, leastaways not in th’ Hills where my people come from. You ever been? Cold as a banker’s heart. Snow most o’ the year. Not much of a . . . beach culture. I guess if you count ice as water, though, you could say we—” “That’s enough, Fexive. Watch her. And remember you’ll pull enough from your bonus on the bounty that you could buy that puissant moon. Martel out.” Rel turned off the radio without further comment. His boss had a point. As pretty as River Tam was, as good as she had smelled, well, a generous five figure bonus would do him right. Could move back to St. Albans, maybe find a house in Greenwood, or maybe even Trentown. Hire a couple of hands, do a little respectable farming, maybe he could make something out of his sorry ass, if he played this proper. Of course, there was an alternative. He could marry River Tam. The more he thought about this course of action, the more appealing it became. Going back home, even with a pile of cash, would almost be like giving up. But you had a woman like River Tam on your arm, you couldn’t help but go places. She was brilliant, she was pretty, and she could thrash any man alive. Something about her eyes appealed to him, too. She was supposed to be crazy – he remembered that from the briefing, too – but he could handle that. Any man what lived with his Ma for any stretch could handle crazy, no problem. These thoughts rattled around in his head like loose change for a good while – maybe ten whole minutes, when the white-coated boys returned carrying River and another man. The other attacker, he remembered. Despite their professional demeanor, Rel was tempted to open fire on them then and there for the temerity of capturing River Tam. Then he realized how good they had to be to do so, and that self-preservation circuit clicked back on in his head. Yes, he reflected, best to sit here in semi-comfort and rest and let his wounds heal while he waited for Mr. Martel’s group. In the meantime he pulled out a ration bar and started chewing – it wasn’t jerky, but it was sweet and edible. And to his sore mouth it tasted like . . . like some really good stuff, he couldn’t think of a proper comparison. But sitting there with his back to his wall and his gun between his knees, munching away on a surplus snack, he reflected on the unlikely fact that he was till alive. It confused him, but he didn’t mind. He’d rather be confused than dead. Sometimes you just had to appreciate the little things in life. *

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GAMMA TEAM REMNANT –26:08

Johnny slowly came to consciousness with the realization that something was pressing very hard against his face – something cold, dusty and metal. It took him a moment to realize that the object was, indeed, the floor. Or, more precisely, the deck of a ship. It took him a moment longer to remember what ship, and then everything came rushing back to him like a pail of cold water, and he remembered just what circumstances brought him to be hugging the deck. That’s when the pain in his back kicked in. In that space between his spine and his right shoulder blade, it felt like throbbing fire. It took a lot to surpress a moan, but as groggy as he was, part of him knew just how deadly making any sound would be right now. That’s when he realized that he didn’t hear gunfire, anymore, and that the only noises he did hear over the subdued hum of the ventilation were some murmurings from far, far away. Cautiously he was able to roll to his knees. Taking great care to not touch or move anything that would jingle, clank, or otherwise give away his position, he flipped his baseball cap around backwards and peeked over the hood of the FAV and saw a White Tiger work detail hauling the last of the bodies out the door. Johnny’s heart sank for a moment, until he realized that few of the bodies were actually dead – and he recognized the stun rifles in White Tiger hands as such. A bare movement of one of the bodies confirmed that his friends had likely been captured alive. He was tempted to feel elated, but then he remember by whom they had been captured, and his heart sank just a little more. He returned to his place under the FAV and began contemplating his options. If Mal, Jayne, River, Colonel Campbell and the others were indeed held prisoner, then his first duty was to rescue them. By himself. Against at least . . . call if fifty of the most dangerous men alive. Against . . . Shan Yu, himself. Alone. He was utterly alone. He considered calling back to Serenity for help – Zoe would come running, he knew, as her devotion to Captain Reynolds knew no bounds, including those of stupidity. Likewise Wash might follow. A few of the commandos who would be on “walking wounded” duty could brave the long trek back to his position. Would they be enough to overcome at least fifty or more elite special forces troops? Would Nyan Nyan insist on coming along? He could contact his Uncles, at the opposite end of the ship, but they were even further away, and they could do little to assist him. There were a few able-bodied commandos at the computer core, he knew, but . . . not enough and not soon enough. Besides, they were guarding some important assets. No, he had to face the fact: it was just him, now. And his friends, whom he had hired in the first place, were about to be tortured to death. And he, alone, might be able to prevent that. He spent the next fifteen minutes feeling utterly alone and completely sorry for himself. There was little else he could do: until the White Tigers quit the vehicle bay entirely, he had to remain in a freeze, alone with his thoughts. A perverse part of him suggested surrendering, but he didn’t give up that easily. So for fifteen minutes solid he wallowed in his own misery. There might have been tears. When he was good and sure that no stray kitty-cats were lurking in the bay, he rolled to his feet – painfully, as his shoulder reminded him of its condition – and made his way back the way they came in, to the empty store-room the Gamma Team had used as an encampment – was it really only hours before? He continued his self-flagellation along the way, and the pity rose. None of this would have happened, but for him. A year ago he had been a perfectly normal, ordinary eighteen-year-old kid who played baseball on the weekends and who had a fast-track job in a well-respected criminal organization . . . and a father. He could trace a lot of his misery to the loss of his father. He felt guilty, not to have been able to protect him from his enemies. It didn’t matter that his father had made it clear that he was not to take part in inter-tong politics. He was the son, the only son, a strong and smart son who should have protected his father in the first place. And when he was gone, did he protect his legacy and move quickly and decisively to consolidate power? No, he had laid low and let the older, wiser heads of the Tong fight it out. Dullards like the Tortise, and idiots like his half-brother. He was content being the object of adoration among the young women of the town and admiration in their parents. Johnny liked being liked – he didn’t want to be feared – and that was why he did nothing to protect his father’s legacy. Then he had the damnfool notion to go collect his ancestor’s treasure. He never thought anyone else would be interested in such a pie-in-the-sky venture – especially not long-lost relatives. But he had put the proposition in front of them, waved it enticingly under their noses, and bring Master Lei out of a comfortable retirement and General Lei out of a hopeless exile. Then there were the men who had followed blindly, Feng and Han and Chou, and the others, the men he had learned to see as comrades. And then there was the crew of Serenity. They wouldn’t be here at all if he hadn’t pulled them in. By the time he returned to his refuge, his brain was near to boiling over with self-directed rage. How dare he set that chain of events into motion, and disrupt the lives – and take the lives – of so many? He should have found a quiet berth to some new colony world and started over. He was young, and smart – by now he’d have his own ranch. Instead he was responsible for how many deaths? For Shepherd Book getting tortured? For Serenity being chased by ruthless bounty hunters? For . . . For Nyan Nyan escaping an icy and eternal grave. Nyan Nyan. He had only known her for a few hours . . . but it felt as if he had known her forever. Like she was created just for him. He was aware of her history. Inara had taken a few moments to fill him in on what it meant to be a Bonded Companion. He didn’t care. She could have been the bonus whore for a gang of field hands, and he wouldn’t have cared. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, or young. She was intelligent, and graceful, and wise. She was noble, not in the titled sense, but in the inherent sense of doing the right thing. She was tenacious. She was worth fighting for. Worth dying for. Worth living for. She was worth founding an Empire for. Empire. The very word had started sounding sour in his ears. The great an majestic Yuanese Empire, as authentic a descendent of the ancient Chinese Empire as there had ever been. Glorious, and rich, and sophisticated and decadent. His forefathers had fought for it, had fought to rule it. He stood in their legacy now. His uncle, General Lei, was still fighting for it long after it was apparent that the actual people of Yuan and T’ien and Wuhan were quite content without an Emperor . . . and that Xiao, eternal enemy for the temerity of being Chinese but not under the Empire, they certainly did not want it. Xiao took its cultural pattern from the Later Imperial period, the Maoists and the Dengists. They did not want to be ruled by an archaic holdover. In fact, the Empire did not exist in any meaningful way, anymore. Except on this ship. He took off the baseball hat that his Aunt had so thoughtfully gifted him, and traced the red crest of the Empire with his fingertip. What was so special about the institution, that all of these people were willing to die – to kill – either to restore it or to defeat it? A tradition, a custom, a system of government, that was all. Artificial majesty so that the peasants would think that they worked for something bigger and better than their own lives. Here he was, the last scion of that great Empire, cowering silently in a doomed ship, his friends and allies dead or captured. The love of his short life was hours away. He was a Prince of the House of Lei, a knight – such a silly thing. What use was an Empire? All he wanted to do was get away from this death ship with his woman, enough loot to be a grubstake, and a new, pristine planet upon which to settle and have stacks of babies. Someday he would tell them about how the family used to be important. Then he would tell them of his improbable adventures, and how he met their mother. He didn’t need an Empire for that. But he would need an army, if he was going to rescue his friends. Nothing less would defeat the deadly insanity of the White Tigers and their malevolent master. Indeed, if he made no further contribution to the life of the ‘verse, he had to make certain that the ship, with its riches and its deadly weapons, not fall into the hands of Shan Yu. Otherwise there would be an Empire, someday, a brutal Empire that made the Alliance seem benevolent. He couldn’t let that happen. He considered going back to the vehicle bay and seeing if the other battery would start up one of the tanks or FAVs or even another motorcycle, and then burst into the encampment of the Tigers, guns blazing, bullets flying, doing everything in his power to stop the Tyrant. That would be a glorious way to die, a death worthy of his line. A warrior’s death. But despite the last several weeks, Johnny had never truly been a warrior. He was a decent soldier and an accomplished street fighter, but he was not a warrior, one for whom the thrill of combat was the finest thing in life. One for whom honor meant all. Men like his uncles, or Captain Reynolds, or even Jayne. That was not how Johnny had been raised. He wasn’t a warrior, he was a thief. And a liar. He traced the insignia and thought about the hopes he represented to his people – his people? Since when did they become his people? The members of the Thousand Families in exile. What was left of his own family. The rogues of Serenity. To each of them he represented the hope of a brighter future. The General wanted him to rebuild the Empire. The Heavenly Master wanted him to produce an heir. Captain Reynolds wanted him to make him wealthy. All those people looked to him as their salvation. They wanted a hero, a warrior-king. And he was only an unemployed thief. As his mind whirled around and around the frustration he felt, he imagined himself as that hero, that warrior king that kept prosperity and honor in his pocket. That was not a Johnny he knew. He could not lead a non-existent Empire, no matter how much his uncles hoped him to. Even if he had been that man, an Emperor is nothing without subjects. And subjects would come in real handy right now. Subjects would give him the army he needed so desperately. But there were no subjects, there was no Empire, there was no army. Except . . . The Empire didn’t exist anywhere. Except on this ship. Johnny let the idea trickle through his brain for a while. Then ignoring his sore shoulder, he rose resolutely, and checked his weapons. Then he made the walk back to the vehicle bay, found the other battery, and plugged it into the other motorcycle and started it. He needed to get somewhere fast, and he didn’t care if he made noise. Just let a White Tiger get in his way, now. He could use the exercise.

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REUNITED GAMMA TEAM –25:57

When Jayne came to, his shoulders were aching and he had a howling bitch of a headache. He groaned conversationally. “I think he’s awake,” a strange voice whispered. “Don’t rile him,” a more familiar voice said – it had to be Mal, no one else had that boyish chuckle behind every third word – “He ain’t what you call a mornin’ person.” “Is it gorram mornin’ already?” he gasped. “I lost track.” “Keep it quiet, Jayne,” Mal whispered. “We’re being held prisoner. Kitty-cats.” “Really?” the big mercenary spat. “Never woulda noticed.” He struggled into a seated position and noticed a field of bodies around him in the gloom. Only three or four were awake. The rest had the disturbed expression of a man on the wrong end of a police-quality stunner. “Least they didn’t use no sleepy gas,” Jayne said with a sigh. “Then I’d have a headache and I’d be vomitin’.” “Thank God for small favors,” Mal agreed cheerily. “Good dance, right at the end, though. Almost got yourself away.” “Lotta good it did. Where the hell are we, anyhow?” “Engine Room,” one of the strangers supplied. “Great job with the bike, too – you made poor Austin piss hisself!” “Just business,” Jayne insisted. “Weren’t personal.” “Oh, we know,” the voice said. “That was just some professional admiration. Me an’ Cap’n Reynolds, we decided t’make common cause, seein’ as how we’re all about to be tortured to death. Put ol’ differences aside. Bygones,” the man assured. “Ain’t that peachy? Well, they get all o’ us?” he asked, his mouth tasting nasty. He wanted a drink of water something powerful. Or something stronger, but water would be ideal. “Everyone what weren’t playin’ shortstop,” Mal said casually – but with an emphasis and expression that caught Jayne’s attention. Something was there . . . shortstop . . . that was a kind of . . . sport thing. He tried to remember, searching the last few weeks of his memory that weren’t saturated by violence or such, for the remnant of a conversation . . . shortstop. Finally, it came to him, the rusty gears of his mind creaking along, from a conversation he’d had with Kaylee. Shortstop. Baseball. Shortstop was a position in baseball. Shortstop was Johnny’s position in baseball. Even though he weren’t that short. Stupid Chinese game. “Oh,” he said, looking around. No Johnny. “Well, damn,” he continued, louder than was necessary. “I guess they really did get all of us!” That earned him a disgusted look from Mal, who continued to change the subject. “What I wonder, is what happened with the Colonel and his . . . little helper.” “I wouldn’t worry none about them,” Jayne sighed. “I’m sure they got things all well in hand. Should be seein’ lights come on any time now.” Another man moaned as he came to consciousness. Jayne tried to shift around to a more comfortable position, and discovered that there was none to be had. Figured. “I dearly hope so,” Mal continued. “Might could change the dynamic, if you catch my meanin’.” “They get all your toys?” “Yeah, they searched us all real good. No guns left. Even pulled the knife outta my boot.” “So, you fight in the war, too?” the new guy asked. “By the way, name’s Wingate. Davey WIngate.” “Jayne Cobb,” Jayne grunted back. “Shake your hand, but . . . Nah, I weren’t political. And Army pay plus Army food – well, ain’t a way for an ambitious man to live.” “Jayne don’t care much for authority figures,” explained Mal. “ ‘Sides, either side woulda booted him the first few weeks o’ Basic.” “All this is very pleasant, had we a pot o’ tea an’ cookies, but any o’ you geniuses got an inkling o’ how we gonna get outta here?” “Just patience,” Mal indicated. “We still got people at large, somewheres. They just got to get time to set up right.” “Feelin’ optimistic, Mal?” Jayne asked, accusingly. “Just now pessimism would look an awful lot like realism, so I’m bein’ contrary,” Mal said, an edge to his voice. “You know as well as me the time will come. Best be ready when it does.” They all went silent as four White Tigers appeared, dragging two more bodies. One heavy-seeming one, one light and childlike: Campbell and River. “I’m feelin’ a tad less optimistic, now,” Jayne said when they departed. “They alive?” “Yeah,” Wingate said, since he was closest to the two newcomers. “Look a bit worse for ware. Hey! That’s the girl! The one we come for!” “You can have her!” Jayne said resolutely. “Three days with her, you’ll pay us to take her back!” “Ain’t she some kinda evil genius or somethin’?” one of the other Bounty Hunters asked. “Genius, yes,” Mal explained. “But evil? Not unless . . . well, ‘less you’re Jayne Cobb. Most other folk she’s fine for.” “I thought she an’ her brother were tryin’ to take over th’ whole damn ‘verse,” the man continued. Jayne burst out in gut-punishing guffaws, far too loud to escape the attention of the sentries nearby. A less-than-subtle kick of Mal’s boot made him choke it off to a chuckle. “Y’all been drinkin’ piss poor booze, you think that! Those two Core-babies couldn’t ‘evil’ their way outa a game o’ jacks! ‘Cept the one time she stabbed me . . . I was surprised,” he added defensively, “or I woulda put her down. Ruined my third best shirt. Crazy, yeah. Hell, yeah! And her sib is annoying as a crotch full o’sand. But evil? They’re stupid, they’re so good hearted.” “Yeah, well, good guys don’t get quarter-mil bounties on ‘em for a poorly played game o’ jacks,” the nameless bounty hunter muttered. “What Captain Martel says, they—” “Y’all have been the subject of misinformed speculation, and the consequences of conclusions prematurely jumped to,” explained Mal. “Them two are fugitives, true. But it weren’t for what they done, or what they gonna do: it’s for who they are. Y’see,” he continued, “River, there, she was got ‘hold of by the Alliance, who cut open her super genius brain a couple o’ score times and tinkered with her brainpan. Made her go all moony. Tryin’ to make a superspy, or assassin or somethin’, but not doin’ it the regular nice way. So she snuck a message to her brother the doctor, he drops all his wealth and riches to come across six systems, bust her out under heavy Alliance security, an’ sneak her away. She’s a tool t’ them,” he finished. “Alliance don’t like it when their tools up an’ scamper afore they get used to ‘press the common folk.” “Gorram purplebellies!” a clearly enflamed Wingate said savagely. “Asshats! I hate the Feds! She’s so pretty, too!” came another disgusted whisper. Looked like a bumber crop of Browncoats. “She weren’t but fourteen when they took her,” Mal added. “That’s just a kid! Gorram purplebellies!” “Settle down!” Mal insisted, as the volume became noticeable. “River’s all right. A little . . . quirky, but her brother has her a right cocktail of medicine what keep her sane. Mostly,” he conceded. “But that’s why your bosses are so anxious to get ahold o’ her. ‘Cause she knows stuff, knows stuff about the Alliance that they don’t want the common folk – especially a bunch of piss-poor backwater Rim-rats to know. Might make their shiny new Alliance seem not so pristine.” “And y’all been . . . protectin’ them?” one of the bounty-hunters asked. “Somewhat,” admitted Mal. “We got some help. All these ol’ Imperial Faction soldiers, they’ve signed on. That’s why we’re here.” “Imperials, huh?” Wingate asked. “Weren’t they our allies in the War?” “Sure were,” agreed Mal. “They ain’t no happier with purplebelly rule than y’all are. So they’re . . . they’re helpin’ us. Hell, may yet get a real rebellion started.” “Can’t say I’d be happy for that,” one voice in the gloom said. “Got my ass kicked enough back in th’ war. Just want my three squares an’ a little coin, now.” “Well, don’t matter none,” agreed Jayne. “That’s what we all want, politics or no. But if keepin’ River is a stick in th’ eye for the Feds, an’ you ain’t fond o’ purplebellies, then keepin’ her outta they’re hands might tickle your sense o’ honor.” He licked his lips. “What if it was your sis they took? What would you do? Tip your hat and say you’re leave? Or throw everythin’ away bust ass across the ‘verse out into the wild Rim, bounty hunters an’ Alliance boats an’ Reavers doggin’ your step the whole way?” “Well, when you put it like that,” one of the men said. “He was just tryin’ to do right by his kin!” insisted Jayne. “He didn’t want nothin’ but to see her safe – and this after they cut open her brain like a sausage! Just wanted to take his poor li’l sister back to somewhere safe . . . even if that somewhere was an old, nasty tub of a Rim-world transport.” “Tone it down, Jayne,” Mal whispered quietly. “I’m just sayin’,” the big mercenary continued. “Y’all want to eat, I can see that. But if you take her in, or take her brother in, then you’re dinin’ on other folk’s busted dreams. You’re no better than the purplebellies what took her first ways!” “Yeah!” a voice said forcefully. “We ain’t gonna let ‘em take her!” another one said fervently. “Over my dead body! And three o’ theirs!” came another one. “Damn, Jayne,” Mal said, sliding closer across the floor. “That was nearly inspiring. Didn’t think you had it in you.” “I get pretty gorram inspired when my ass gets humped by fate,” he whispered back. “If Shan Yu is gonna start tearin’ us up, I figger, maybe we get these pooh-boys riled up enough so he takes them first, does ‘em slow, gives us more time before the others come and rescue us.” “Not a bad plan,” Mal said with a straight face. “Just does my heart good to hear you stick up for your crewmates like that.” “Hell, they get away with her, they stop chasing us – that’s just win-win. But I figger a bunch o’ romantics like old Browncoats, they’ll fall over each other t’protect ‘poor defenseless River an’ her noble, sacrificin’ whiny-assed brother’ while we can slip away.” He tried to make out Mal’s face in the darkness and grinned. “Cunning plan, hey?” “Pure genius,” Mal agreed, though Jayne couldn’t be certain if the Captain was being entirely sincere. “What I want to know is—” Jayne stopped when another group of White Tigers appeared, this time with an officer. Mal turned over and looked up at the man. “Well, good afternoon, Major. I hope you’re in good health?” “Likewise, Captain Reynolds,” the Sinic officer said pleasantly. “Because I want our coming conversation to last . . . weeks, if possible.” “Ain’t gonna have the chance, more’s the pity,” Mal continued. “None of us got weeks. Not more’n a day, if I’m not mistaken. Seems this ship is going to destruct, all souls on it, too.” “I wouldn’t be so certain of that, Captain,” the Major said. “My Master is eager to be underway and explore this new age. And it wouldn’t do for him to appear to the ‘verse in any less of a ship than the Sun Tzu. So my Master has declared that the ship will be saved. And my Master has a way of getting precisely what he wants.” “I’ve heard that about him.” “That is why we are going to wait until everyone here is awake and refreshed. Then we are going into the Engine Room. And then you all are going to tell him exactly what must be done to repair the ship.” “That don’t sound likely.” “Oh, but it is. You see, we shall push you to the limits of human endurance. And there are many of you. By the time we have . . . used up the first few, the rest of you will be eager to tell us what we want to know. And how to do what we want to do.” With that the Major ordered his men to begin wakening those who remain unconscious, which they did with brutal precision. “This ain’t how I imagined the plan working,” Jayne whispered to Mal, just under the screams of the men as they were awakened. “For the record.” “You don’t say?” Mal whispered back. “Yeah, in my plan there was a lot less screamin’ an’ a lot more of us getting-the-hell outta here,” Jayne finished. “Looks like you need a new plan,” Mal returned. “Looks like,” agreed Jayne, his heart sinking as more White Tigers entered and began hauling people to their feet and dragging them away.