Well, here's episode twenty, of the twenty four in season two. Jacob's astounding ability to collect enemies finally comes in handy, and we learn just how much damage Jane is willing to reap. With only four episodes left, there's not much more that needs to be said about this season. There are still a few surprises, but I think it's wrapping up nicely. Serenity is property of Joss. Yup. Joss. Not me. Feedback is love. Love me.

With Enemies Like These, Who Needs Friends?

She watched from the doorway as Friday made her way briskly around the infirmery. She'd been standing here for rather a long time, just watching as her sister went through her routine. She'd almost felt like some sort of voyeur, but she didn't know what to say, or what to do. Things, as Jacob would have said, had seriously gone south. It was dark, that was for sure. The ship still clung to a rhythm held by Legacy and pretty much nobody else, meaning they were almost never awake to catch incoming Waves, but also active when most ships in the 'Verse were running on the night shift. As she understood the situation, that meant that whatever ship they happened upon would be on its 'B' crew, giving Anne an advantage. Sylvia was kneeling nearby, as she often did, eyes closed and so still as to seem almost inert. Monday didn't like that woman; no, that wasn't right. In truth, she was more than a little afraid of her. She was a telepath. What sort of things could she hear off of this crew? Off of Monday herself? It was an unsettling notion. Even more so considering she'd never acted lucid for this long at any point that Monday could recall. Zane, Anne, and the rest seemed to take it as a good sign, but Monday... she was nervous. "Are you just going to stand out there all night?" Friday asked, not even looking toward the door. Monday gave a start at being spoken to, at the silence, but for the quiet, heartbeat thrum of the engine, being broken. Friday still wore the old robes that she had when Monday had first boarded this maniac ship, silks in a rainbow of colors, but now she wore several of them at once. As if the extra milimeters of cloth were some extra shield of protection. Monday stepped through the threshold, glancing around the room. It looked like it had when her sister had been truely of her element, its hangings pristinely clean and its floor swept and scrubbed. In truth, it was a bit worrying. Monday hadn't seen her for three days. It seemed like her barely-older sister was hiding from the entire crew. "Are you alright?" she asked, keeping her eyes on Friday. The doctor paused a moment, as if hesitant, then continued. "That there's a tricky question to answer, mei-mei," she said, loading her doubtlessly clean implements into a strange, orb-shaped contraption sitting in the corner. Friday moved away, reticient to answer any further. "It might be 'tricky' but right now, I'd really like to know," she replied, running her fingers over the orb-thing's surface. "What is this thing anyway?" "That's an autoclave, and don't ruttin' touch it. Thing ain't cheap," Friday snapped, pushing it further into the corner and away from Monday's curious fingers. Monday was shocked to see her airy, hopelessly happy sister so callous. Monday had seen Friday viscious, but never cold. Friday was never cold... and yet here she was. "Is something wrong?" she asked again. Friday scoffed. "Nothin' in particular," she muttered, and Monday rolled her eyes. "Something is wrong," she said. "And I know exactly what it is." Friday stared at her suspiciously. "Ain't no way in the 'Verse you can know what's goin' on in my head," she whispered, looking away. Monday took a deep breath. "He's still out there, I know that. You know that." "What're you talkin' about?" Friday asked. Monday sighed, not particularly relishing in bringing up the memory. "About six weeks after you left for Boros, I took my first client. He was suai, older, and wealthy, the holy trinity of an inexperience Companion." "I don't see what this has t'do with..." "Bi zwei," Monday snapped. "At first, things went as I was instructed that they would. Dining, dancing, massage. But when the formalities were dealt with... he turned into a very different man. Cruel, violent. He kept me locked in his chambers for a week." "He..." Friday said. "It was three months before I was recovered enough to take my next client," Monday said heavily, trying to bypass the truely unpleasant parts of the memory as best she could. "I learned that no matter how much money a man has, he is still an animal. Back then, I would have said monster, but I've learned since then that not all men are pigs. Just most of them." "Did you tell the Matron about him?" Friday asked. "I was ashamed, and afraid," Monday admitted. "I was sure nobody would believe me. And he's still out there, preying on us." Friday shook her head, a smirk on her face. "We're just walkin' targets, ain't we?" Monday laid a hand on her sister's shoulder, and Friday did one better and pulled the younger into a light embrace. "It's the price of being beautiful, sister." "Well, this'd be all manner of interestin' hadn't I known y'all was sisters," Zane's voice cut into the moment. Monday cast a glance at him, noting with a bit of uneasiness that his arm seemed to be bending the wrong way. Friday immediately broke the embrace and moved to him. "What are you doing up?" Friday asked. Zane was still smiling, despite the paleness of his face and the sweat of pain beaded on his brow. "Ain't you rememberin' I don't never sleep?" Zane quipped. "And what happened to your..." she grimaced as she pulled the elbow into its correct direction, accompanied by a loud pop which made the bile rise somewhat in Monday's throat, "arm?" "What else? I was workin' under the engine, and I got distracted," he grunted, sitting onto the slab as she began to wind the arm. "Guess I was lucky it didn't get torn off." "Damn lucky," she said. "Although I ain't sure why you didn't just go to Syl, considerin' she'd have done this quicker and a great deal less painfully." "Ain't happenin', Doc," Syl's voice wafted from her corner. Monday leaned out, noting that Sylvia hadn't moved in the slightest. Zane shrugged, then cast a glance at his medic. "Come to think on it, why're you up this hour of the night?" he asked. "My bunk is right next to the captain's," Friday said, as if that were all that was needed to be perfectly obvious. Even Monday cast a questioning glance. "If you hadn't noticed, those two have been retiring awful early these last few nights." Zane snorked, then laughed lightly, ending when he joustled his arm. Must have hurt, the way his face screwed up into a rictus. "You, disturbed by cries of passion? Never thought I'd see the day." "Neither did I," Friday muttered. "Don't screw with it, and it'll be fine in a couple weeks." When the mechanic left, Monday cast one last look to her sister. "Are you going to be alright?" she asked. Friday managed to make a small smile. "I guess we'll see when we hit Paquin tomorrow." <> "BOSS!" the tinny scream tore through his head, startling him out of the large bed. "WE NEED YOU UP HERE NOW!" He glanced back on the bed. He remembered last night... and a glorious night it was. Of her falling asleep atop him, like she did in the better days. She wasn't there now, though. As the cobwebs cleared out, he realized it was Anne who had done the screaming. He pulled on a pair of pants and pulled a shirt from a pile of leavings from last night, barely throwing the unbuttoned thing over his shoulders before throwing himself up the ladder. Before he reached the third rung, gravity betrayed him, spitting him up into the corridor and onto the cieling. He grabbed a pipe to prevent him falling back into his room when down returned to its natural direction. "What in the shiny Hell's goin' on?" Jacob demanded as he hauled himself into the cockpit. Zane was sitting in the Gunner's seat, and Anne was leaning hard over her controls. She gave no warning before sawing hard on the controls, dragging the ship into a hard turn that threw him into the last remaining seat on the bridge. He was about to ask again when he saw a missile burn past where they had been flying, eventually slamming into the ground. "They came out of nowhere," Anne shouted, dragging the ship lower still, so the belly tore off the tops of the trees. "I didn't see 'em comin'," Zane groused, wincing in pain every time one of Anne's maneouvers made him shift the arm which was now in a sling. When had that happened? "Ain't blamin' nobody," Jacob said, quickly reaching past Zane and pulling down the intercomm. "This is your captain speakin'," he said, as the ship performed another brutally sharp turn. "If y'ain't figured it out yet, might be wantin' to strap y'self into somethin'. Make sure your tray table's up and your seat's in the fully upright position," he was interrupted by a missile exploding just in front of Legacy's nose. "'Cause we'll be hittin' the ground pretty definitely." Jacob practiced what he preached. "What the hell is going on?" Jacob asked as the ship cleared the woods and headed out into a stony badlands. These were the Dom Outskirts, now that he had a moment to look them over. "Alliance Lancer craft," Zane said. "Hit us as we were makin' our approach, couldn't kick out, so we had to make for a landing." "Ain't much of a landing," Jacob said. "Can you lose them?" "Lancer is a damn quick ship with damn strong sensors," Anne gritted. "Ain't no way we're gettin' out of eyeshot less'n he makes a mistake, and he ain't done none yet," she shook her head once. "One hell of a pilot, I've gotta say." Jacob wracked his brain for a solution. "Can you get us behind them?" "That's... Tzao!... what I've been tryin' to do for the last five minutes," she shouted, driving the ship downward now, straight toward the earth. She pulled down, of all directions, and on his monitor, Jacob saw that another missile impacted the ground only a few yards from the back end of the ship. The ground zipped past, a few feet above the cockpit, until the pilot pulled the ship back up, now headed toward the city of Dom once more. "Gorram it!" Zane shouted. "I can't get a lock on it. It's first shot took out the rear aimin' pylon." "Why are there always bits flyin' off my ship?" Jacob shook his head. This was not his best day ever. An idea finally occurred to him. "Anne, you think you're up for an Ivan?" To answer him, Anne sawed on the controls, sending the Firefly into a three-axis flip. When the move was completed, they were traveling in the wake of a brutal lookin' missile which had been aimed right up their pi gu. "I'll take that as a yes," Jacob said. He activated the Intercomm. "Casher, unbuckle and get Zane into the engine room." When the large man made his unsteady way back aft with the lanky mechanic in his care, Jacob levered himself into the gunners seat. There was a moment of odd silence as the stone and yellow grasses zipped past, entirely too close for Jacob's liking but appearantly perfectly to Annes. For that one, shining moment, there was no Alliance ship fixing to shove another missile down his throat, there was no pair of feng kuang Operatives out there hunting him down. There was just him, his wife, and his ship. Then, as moments do, it ended. "Hold on," Anne shouted, hauling back on the controls, and catapulting the ship into the air. With a triumphant grin, she snarled, "Here's somethin' you can't do!" The ship threw him against his restraints as the craft brutally spun about, dragging the needle-like Alliance craft into the front of the ship. The targeting system registered a lock, and a missile flew. As fast as the system would allow, more followed. The air in the rapidly closing gap between the two craft became filled with grey contrails, and explosions played over the flesh of the Lancer. Then, with a jolt that nearly toppled him backward out of his chair, despite his restraints, Legacy blasted away in the opposite direction. He let out a triumph holler of his own. One that, unfortunately, was cut short. A last explosion sounded entirely too close to Jacobs ears, and when the alarm klaxons began to sound in its wake, he understood exactly how close it had been. Close, as in contact, blowing out control to the starboard engine and sending the craft into a low velocity spin. The two shared a look, and Jacob thumbed the activator for the ships Intercomm. "Folks? You remember that landing we made on Newhall?" he said. "Oh, hell!" Zane's annoyed voice came from the back of the ship, followed by the sounds of two people strapping in. "Can you even us out?" Jacob shouted. Just about then, though, his question was answered as the ship slammed into the sparse turf. He watched in horror as a rock face drew inexorably closer. Anne threw the controls over one last time, and the face twisted away as the ship spun along the ground, sliding now sideways and tipping slightly and lifting Anne's chair heigher than his. Finally, the ship stopped sliding, and the only sound was the alarms shouting about things which weren't so much of a problem any more. There was another long moment of silent. "Alright," Monday said, shakily. "I need a new dress." <> Shockingly blue eyes stared hard at the man on the other end of the connection. Some, who didn't know him that well, said that sometimes it felt like he was scrutinizing the innermost workings of their souls. Those that knew him better, knew that he did exactly that. "You are absolutely sure of this?" Agent Blue asked. The soldier, a low ranking Federal, gave a scowl. "She said that's where we go, so that's where they are." "Very good," Blue said, steepling his blue gloved fingers. If there was one constant in the universe, it was ambition. Subject McKenna had proved that even death can be circumvented. So he resorted to the gifts he had. And ambition was as reliable as clockwork. "You'd better get there quick, though. Our ETA to Paquin is twenty days," the soldier offered, and inwardly, Agent Blue spat in frustration. It would take at least that to reach Paquin from Londinum, this time of year. "When the subject is in my possession, you will be compensated for your information," Blue said. He knew full well that the Operatives would kill this man when they learned that he had undermined their efforts, so that was one less loose end that he would inevitably have to tie up. He found himself to be smiling. "Get me the office of the Coordinator," he said, pressing the button to his assistant. "I believe I have a long way to travel." <> Jacob's heart sank when he saw the smoke billowing up from the neighborhoods of Dom, a black behemoth overhanging the city, setting a grim backdrop for the capital city, which some called the Jewel of Paquin. Well, the jewel was plenty tarnished, now. It seemed like the only spit of luck he'd gotten today was that Lancer spinnin' out of control and flyin' right into a rock face. Weren't much left of it, he'd noted to his satisfaction. That being the only bit of good luck. Jacob activated his communicator, waiting until he heard the electric crackle of the one on the other end being activated. "What's the prognosis on my ship?" he asked. "Oh, well... ah..." Zane stammered. "Out with it, Zane." "We're not liftin' off till we get that thruster fixed, and that's gonna take me three weeks at least to fix." "That's not a good answer, Zane," Jacob replied, staring around the intersections. The chaos seemed to have died down, and with the fire spread out this far, it meant that the attack must have happened almost a day before they'd hit Paquin's atmo. "You should be happy I'm sayin' I can fix it at all," Zane reminded his captain, who rolled his eyes. "Most folk'd just give up on a wreck like that." "Did you just call my ship a wreck?" Jacob asked deadpan. He heard Zane groan, and the communicator shut back off. "You see anything?" he asked Syl, who was making her way slowly past the charred remains of the outer city. They'd passed through a gap in the flames, where the inferno was still expanding readily. Spreading outward. "Nothin' ain't crispy, Jacob," she said, her eyes scanning the ruins around her. "How much longer?" "Right about..." Jacob said, coming upon the beams of the once-three story structure that still managed to stand despite the inferno. An iron bracket still jutted away from the tallest of the beams, standing next to where the door once set. A few yards away, Jacob saw the remains of Brownlee's red lantern. "Son of a bitch," he swore, pulling up his communicator again. "Anne, are you there?" "What is it, hon?" "Get on the horn with Badger, Fanty an' Mingo, anybody we ever had business with. I got a feelin' this is a bomb, 'stead of a bullet," he said. "I got a damn, damn bad feelin' about this." "Jacob!" Sylvia said, sliding through the ruined timbers into the heart of Brownlee's former domain. He glanced to her, then made his way next to her. Under a section of collapsed roofing, he could see a damaged, burned form. She lowered herself into the ash and soot, laying her hand on its back. "Alive?" he asked. She cast him a blank look and grabbed onto his shirt. Jacob gave her a surprised glance, but she wasn't focusing on anything in the 'Verse at the moment. He was about to ask her what the hell was goin' on, when the burned form let out a cry of pain, flopping about like a fish as her, and he recognized it was a her, skin reformed slowly. Syl collapsed backward, her eyes rolled up into her head. "Gorram it," he swore, pulling off his coat and draping it over the woman who was so horribly damaged. It was about then that he recognized the brutalized form. "Brownlee?" She looked about as much like hell as was expected; her hair was pretty much burned off, and considering her skin went along with it, it was a testament to the woman's force of will that she hadn't died a few dozen times over. Her breathing was easier now, though. "They did this to get at us," Jacob muttered to nobody in particular. "They should have hit us." He glanced to Sylvia, who was starting to come back to the 'Verse. "Is she alright?" Sylvia asked slurringly. Jacob scooped the twice-burned woman up, scowling at the burned horizon. "Not nearly, shao jeh," Jacob replied. "But she's alive, and that ain't nothin'. Can you walk?" "Hell," Syl replied, getting unsteadily to her feet. "I can run a ruttin' marathon." "Good to hear, 'cause I'm thinkin' we're gonna have some company, and I don't like our chances here." <> "Alright, the simple questions, the how could you dare steal from me, the why you think to insult me... these things, we are past," he smiled as he brought up the wicked, backcurved blade to the man's cheek. "Now, we meet the real you." "Sir?" Ivan said, but Aleksandr ignored him. "Have you ever read the writings of Shan Yu?" Niska said, his mature face taking on the kindly look his father taught him could be used in oh, so many situations. "Mister Niska," Ivan pressed again, and Aleksandr let out a throaty growl. "Always with the distractions," he muttered in Czech. "What is it?" "One of your spies learned that Jacob Greyson crashed down on Paquin ten days ago," Ivan replied. And Niska smiled. "Crash, you say?" "Yes, his ship was crippled," Ivan continued. Niska began to grin, his handsome face loosing all of the kindly quality which was so hard to instill into it. "Yes, yes. Very good... Prepare my ship. I believe it is time to collect on old debt," Niska said, his grin malevolent as the devil's. While Jacob killing Adelai was what allowed Aleksandr to raise to his current position, the murder of his father was still a crime needing repayment in kind. After all, Aleksandr had his own reputation to upkeep. "What about him?" Ivan asked, as Niska set down his knife and headed up toward the office. Niska cast a glance back toward the pilferer. He thought that he could slip through the cracks, now that Adelai was no longer in charge. He was dreadfully mistaken. With the grin still upon his lips, Niska turned back toward the office. "Throw him out airlock." <> Casher was slowly flipping through his work, the monumentally long expose on the debaucle of Miranda. Having to research, write, and edit the manuscript himself was a task and a half. Once again, he had a marvelously exciting adventure in sitting, when everybody else was surveilling, repairing, or doing whatever else. Public relations, ha! What really had him on edge was Friday. She'd been all... grabby with him. But now, it was as if she couldn't stand his presence. She confused him, and he didn't like being confused. It... He sighed, realizing he'd missed the last few pages he was supposed to have been editing. He shifted his position on the couch. It was usually Jacob's spot, but of late he was spending most of his time with his wife. He was about as mechanically inclined as an average strain of moss, so he more or less just got in the way. So here he sat. A sound made him look up, into the infirmery. He'd met Brownlee before. She was a strong woman. Not physically, with all of her capacities turned against her so brutally, but she had the will. She could walk into a wall, expecting it to get out of her way. And chances were, it would. And that will was manifest again, with the woman was sitting up from the slab. "Where am I?" Brownlee asked. Casher glanced about. "Friday?" he asked, hoping she was somewhere nearby. Brownlee winced, running her hand along her bestubbled pate. "I asked a very simple question, kid," Brownlee scowled. "Where am I?" "Well," Casher said. "You're on Legacy." She scowled, glancing around the extravagent infirmery. "I've got to get back to my place. The girls... Oh God, the girls!" "Friday?" Casher repeated, louder this time, and she made her appearance at long last, with Jacob on her heels. The two were in the midst of some discussion that Casher had obviously missed most of. "What is it?" Friday asked, then she saw Brownlee sitting up on the slab. She swatted Jacob in the arm, startling him to silence. "Greyson," Brownlee said, lowering herself off the slab to stand unsteadily on the floor. "You mind tellin' me why I ain't back in my town lookin' to my people?" Jacob shared a glance with the doctor. "This ain't easy to say, but your brothel is gone." "Fei hua," Brownlee argued. Jacob rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Do you remember what happened?" "I remember some soldiers bargin' in where where they ain't got business, and the girls openin' up on 'em. Not much after that," she said slowly. Jacob sighed. "They burned it to the ground, Brownlee," Jacob said evenly. "You were the only one we found there that was alive." "I don't believe you," she said, taking a step away from the slab, and stalling, a look of shock on her face. She stared down at her legs. "What the hell...?" "You really should lie down," Friday said, but Brownlee stared her down. "A miracle," she said, her eyes still hard. "But not enough of one. I'm goin' back to my home." Jacob sighed. "If you wish," he said. He turned to the intercomm and flicked it on. "Anne, come to the shuttle, Syl, join us there." "Sir?" Casher asked. "You too, Casher," Jacob said. "You want to see the truth, do you?" Brownlee took an awkward step forward. She still seemed a decade older than she was, but her back was ramrod straight and her balance was steady. Quite unlike last time he'd seen her. "Show me," Brownlee demanded. The whole gaggle of them made their way to the shuttle, which took off and landed on the close outskirts of Dom. The fires had been put out weeks ago, now, and pedestrian traffic was picking up once more, so the group more or less dissolved into the crowd. Until the reached the burned section. Nobody had dared incroach the blackened timbers and metal skeletons that still reared against the afternoon sky. This part of the city was still as the grave. Ash crunched underfoot as they finally made their way to the center of the burn, to Veronica Brownlee's brothel. What was left of the brothel, at least. The woman fell to her knees as she saw her establishment, and the bodies reduced to ash and bones near it. Jacob placed his hand on Anne's shoulder, and Casher fidgeted a bit. He didn't like being around fires, although he couldn't exactly remember why. Tears streamed down Brownlee's face, but her expression was anything but sorrow. "Shang di," Brownlee swore, "fa ta mehn di hai ling hun dao diyu!" "I'm so sorry," Sylvia said, offering a hand, but Brownlee slapped it away. "Damn their eyes!" Brownlee stood. "They'll pay for this... I swear it." "Don't do this," Jacob said, carefully. "That war's long done." It was Sylvia who turned to Anne, shaking her head, and answered first. "You're wrong, Jacob," she said. "This war hasn't even started yet." <> "You're sure you'll be alright?" Jacob asked, but Brownlee already seemed lost in thought, her tears of wrath forgotten upon her cheeks. Right then, she looked every inch the soldier she once had been, and more. "I still have friends on Paquin," she replied testily. "Our plans are gonna have to move forward in a hell of a hurry, though." "I'm sorry," Jacob said. "Don't say that," Brownlee demanded. "Them's done this is dead, and a whole lot more a' them's gon' be joinin' them soon enough. Just let me do as I do, and you look to your own." Jacob looked back to the crew he had with him. To his wife. To Sylvia. There was a conversation he was not looking forward to having. In his lifetime, if he could manage it. Bless her heart, but Anne was a jealous type.To Casher, who was as much a part of his crew as any had been. He took a deep breath, tasting the soot still in the air. "I guess, then, that we ought be gettin' back." Anne fell in beside him as the crew began to weave their way out of the blackened hell, taking his hand in both of hers. He smiled down at her, the world brightening a bit, just for him. "Where do we go from here?" she asked quietly, in the near silence around them. The question brought a frown to Jacob's face. Fanty and Mingo were no good, since the Maidenhead got blasted into a largish crater. Badger was still around, but he'd moved his operation after the Reaver attack, so the Alliance didn't have a bead on him. The Capshaws were down one sibling, Horowitz's warehouse got burned down, and Patience... well, Patience shot him. "I guess there's only one place handy that we could hit on our tank of gas, then," Jacob said. "Jacob?" Sylvia said, and he turned to see she'd stopped dead, her eyes straight forward. "What is it?" he asked. Her face contorted a bit, as if she were searching for words to express the unexpressable. Finally, after a long moment, she managed to chew out a short sentence. "I feel them. They're here." Jacob's eyes grew wide. "Who? Reavers?" "Reavers?" Came an all too familiar, and extraordinarily unwelcome voice. The blonde woman smiled as she came into view, a wicked, mad smile. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult... Oh... you brought her with you," the Operative Jane ran her tongue along her lips. "How... convenient." Jacob's heart dropped when he saw the black armored forms of Alliance Federals spouting from the charred timbers and from under lighter piles of detritus to his right. John, now clad in a heavy armor vest, came into veiw last, drinking in the sight of them all. He had a look Jacob couldn't quite figure out when he stared at Anne. "It was a merry chase," Jane said, pulling her sword from the form-fitting armor which covered her like a glove. "But all chases end. There is no shame in this, Jacob. You did as well as any have before. Better, even." "Oh, God," Sylvia said, spinning around, dragging her shotgun up. She dropped it with a scream as she was thrown to the ground by some unseen force. From Jacob's left, a dark man in an immaculate suit, with shockingly blue eyes and gloves, advanced to about the distance that the Operatives now stood from Jacob and his crew. "Imagine my surprise that I would find you here," Agent Blue said, staring at the woman trying to regain her feet. He cast his hand out again, and the woman was pushed further down, flattening her to the ground. Blue offered a disengenuous smile, not to Jacob, but to the Operatives. From behind him, others, bereft of suits so their tight blue body-suits stood out starkly against the blackness around them, fanned out opposite the Federals. "What is your business here?" John asked, pulling his own sword out with a crack which split the sky. "Business and business and business," another voice came, with another man appearing from Jacob's rear. Jacob spun about, taking in a face he thought he'd never see again. The face was kindly, at first glance, but the smile was about as false as the notion that there were aliens in the 'Verse. True, he was younger by near thirty years to the last person he saw smiling at him like that, but Aleksandr Niska was every bit as twisted as his old man, and then some. His own personal fighters spread out, forming a three-quarters-circle around the Crew. "You and I have business, mister Greyson." "Who are you?" John asked, and Jane rolled her eyes. "I have very specific orders," Blue said, his eyes shining with possession as he held his hand out, toward Sylvia's still pinned body. "Orders which do not involve you in the slightest, unless you wish them to." "We have orders of our own," John countered, taking a step forward and adjacent to Jane. "They are all enemies of the state, and are to be executed." Blue's eyes flashed with irritation. "Sylvia is ours. You can do as you will with the others." "You will not kill them," Niska said. "My business is with Jacob Greyson. He has debt which is to be paid, in kind." John stared at him for a moment, and Niska's smile became cruel. "My father makes mistake in torturing you," he said, taking a step forward, equidistant with Blue and the Operatives. "You are strong. You will not break to your own pain... but hers?" he motioned toward Anne, who was shaking, clutching Jacob's hand so hard he almost felt the bones crunch against each other. "No!" John shouted, rage plain upon his features. Jane grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back. "She is mine!" he raged. "My prey. My hunt. My kill!" Jacob knew he could never reach his gun with his right hand. And with his good left tangled all up in Anne's... he glanced between the three groups which wanted him dead for various reasons. "Sir," Casher said flatly, rifle up and twisting between three distant targets. "You're capacity for accumulating enemies astounds me." "Subject Witherell is ours to collect," Blue said loudly. "Or have you become so rabid as to bite the hand which feeds you?" "She is an enemy of the state, she carries information classified as absolute top secret," John shouted, and Jane stared at him with a look of disgust as she held him back from the fray. "You cannot have him," Niska pressed, taking another step forward and raising the fine laser pistol his father had given to him when he came of age. "He is mine to do with. His secrets will die with him, after he is broken and shattered." "You are all coming dangerously close to true stupidity," Jane shouted, glaring between the slowly advancing parties. Her voice was ignored. "I won't let you hurt her. She is MINE!" John shouted. A flick of his wrist sent a flash of light spinning through the afternoon light, a dagger shining its way into Niska's shoulder. Niska let out a clipped roar of pain, and responded by firing a shot at John. The beam must have missed, because a soldier behind John collapsed with a smoldering hole straight through his armor. "Kill them all!" John shouted, and the Federals prepared to fire. Blue's gaze snapped up, a look of horror on his dark features. He flicked his fingers at the Federals, and the Blue-Hands moved forward as a wave, drawing their own weapons. Niska's soldiers were already aiming at just about everybody. It was about then that the air above Jacob's head began to burn and crack with lasers and bullets. He threw himself to the ground, dragging his wife with him. Casher must have gotten the drift, because he'd found his way to the ground as well, although he was holding his left shoulder, which was smoking slightly. Laser burns. Bastardly things. "What's the plan, sir?" Casher shouted over the hell which was unfirling around them. "Standard run an' hide scenario sounds about right," Jacob shouted back, already dragging Anne at a crouch toward the steadily closing gap between Blue's agents and the Operatives' Federals. The firefight had reached a new level of carnage as Jacob finally got clear of them, raising to his feet, and taking off at a sprint. He could still hear Jane berating everybody to stop shooting. And she was the crazy one, he pondered sardonically. His comm crackled to life, and he grabbed it. "Zane, this better ruttin' be good news," he shouted, pounding his way through the ash and soot. "Uh, well, I guess it is," he said. "Ship'll fly. Not too well an' not too fast. She's plenty tore up, but she'll fly true." "Best news I heard all day," Jacob said. "Uh... boss? Is that gunblasts I'm hearin'?" the mechanic asked. "Make sure Friday's in the infirmery," Jacob said. "Wuo deh ma, tyen ah," Zane muttered, and the comm went dead as the mechanic turned the thing off. "You gonna live?" he asked Casher, who was wincing in pain as he loped through the ruins. Jacob noticed that blood was leaking over his boots. He must have taken another bullet when Jacob wasn't looking. "Seems likely, sir," Casher responded. He was limping now, as they came back into the section of Dom which wasn't burned beyond recognition. He knew from experience that laser burns hurt like all mighty hell, and he cast a glance back to Sylvia. She shook her head, holding her own side. Gorram, did everybody get shot but him? "So much for laying low," Anne muttered. <> Niska's were the first to break, vanishing into the decay thoroughly and quickly, leaving just Blue and the Federals trading shots in the ruins. Finally sick of the situation, Jane stood up, raising her hands. "For the love of God, stop gorram firing!" she shrieked, a sound which seemed to tear through the impromptu battlefield and make everybody hesitate. Blue didn't, but since he'd never drawn a weapon during the entire fight, he simply stared her in the eye. After a tense moment, she put on her most winning smile. "That's better," she said, striding into the middle of the street-what-was. "We are at a cross-purposes," she admitted. "But that is no reason to shoot at each other like common criminals." She pointed at John, who was crouching against a beam, holding his chest where a bullet had snuck through. At least he knew what it felt like to get shot, now. It might do him some good to understand that kind of pain, again. "What is more, you allowed his momentary blindness to deprive us all of our respective targets." "Indeed it has," Blue said, giving her a cutting glare. "We should work together to..." "We will do no such thing," Blue cut her off. "Considering the sheer lack of foresight your superiors have shown in assigning him to this mission, I have no confidence in your ability to requisition my subject." Blue turned around, facing his own men. "I am recommending that the Blue Sun Corporation withdraw all financial and economic support from the Parliament. You reap what you sow." Jane scowled. This would have ramifications she didn't exactly want to comprehend. She helped John to his feet. Perhaps, though, the ends would justify the means. If the secret got out, even the Blue Sun's support wouldn't be able to quell the uproar. "Come on," she whispered. "Our prey is still afoot." <> "Clearing atmo in five, four...two and..." Anne said, as the last of the ice-clouds peeled back and the ship shot off into the black. His hand on her shoulder felt the tension run out of her like water out of a leaky bucket. She smiled up at him, and laid her hand onto his. She reached toward his suspenders, but he artfully dodged away with a grin. "Not right now," he said, and she affected a whipped-puppy look. When it became clear that it wasn't working, she smiled and rose from her chair, pulling him down for a quick kiss before making her langerous way into the mess. "I take it we ain't bein' followed?" She cast him a very clear 'you are a boob' look. He didn't question her instincts when it came to hiding a ship, and that little nowhere moon was about as far from the light of civilization as they could find in short order. And now they were flying... still flying... and that weren't nothing. "What's for dinner?" he said, taking his seat next to hers at the head of the table. "Refried beans, molded protein, and Monday's cooking," Zane said, eating the beans. "Take your pick." "In that case, never mind," Jacob said, drawing a sour look from the Companion. She wasn't a very good cook, but most of that was experience, unlike when Early had attempted to make... anything, now that he recalled. Despite his word, he tried some of Monday's stew. It wasn't half bad, he ammended himself. There was a long moment as Zane finished whatever it was he was saying, some story that he wasn't particularly paying attention to in any real fashion. When he'd finished, a moment of silence fell, and Jacob took in his crew. Casher and Sylvia in bandages still, Friday and her twin, the mechanic. Anne. "What's the plan now, sir?" Casher asked. Jacob frowned. He'd given this a lot of thought, but the answer still eluded him. Now, though, considering where they were, and how much fuel was left in the tanks, there was only one real answer. "Persephone," he responded. "We'll pay Badger a visit. See if he's got somethin' needs movin'." The crew began to mill and chatter again, about things they were looking forward to acquiring, now that they were headed to a place with a market of some description. Jacob cleared his plate in short order, and he felt Anne tuggin' on his sleeve. He got out of his chair with a grin on his face. Behind him, Monday started coughing hard. Just before he passed through the threshold, he turned back to the table. "You know," he said. "Really ought look to that cough."