The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Sixty-Five

DELTA TEAM LEADER -29:18

The red blips on his screen cavorted and twisted like hallucinating fireflies as Wash’s face became locked in a permanent sneer. His laser capacitors had overheated twice now, forcing him to dump reactor coolant into their heat exchangers to keep them from exploding or melting a hole in the fuselage at an inopportune time. He hadn’t touched his missiles since the Bandits –four of them – had closed on him. They were just too close. So he had to slug it out with them in a classic dogfight, laser to laser, the aerospace equivalent of hand-to-hand combat. The pack of drones that whizzed by was running on combat algorithm – he could tell by the way they flew. It was a sophisticated algorithm, and one he had learned to respect early on, but it was a machine code every bit as inflexible and uncreative as the protein sequencer in Serenity’s galley. The up-side to that was he was free to exploit that inflexibility in his flying. The down-side was the fact that the drones did not make the inaccurate and imprecise errors a human pilot did. All in all, he was just as glad that they were flying by program – his extensive “combat” experience in the arcades and consoles of combat flight sims was almost exclusively against machines. The only difference here was that the machine could kill him, not just take his two bits. With four-to-one odds it took an impressive amount of attention to his flight path to avoid the coherent lances and occasional mines that the drones threw at him. Of course the advantage was that he didn’t have to worry about hitting a friend, whereas twice now he had set up a pattern that had his foes scoring minor hits on each other. It was gratifying, if not decisive. His own lasers had carved generous slices out of his opponents, but they were well-armored and sturdily built. It would be a battle of wits and skill that decided this contest. Bank, dive, climb, bank, roll, fire, juke, bank juke climb bank dive fire jukedivebankrollfirebankdiveclimbbankfirejukeroll . . . At some point realized that he hadn’t truly been conscious of his flying, as such, in the face of dangerous opposition. Normally he would have been focusing on the flight. Now he was focused on the fight, and his flying just came naturally. He didn’t consciously think “I wonder what would happen if I banked port . . .” -- he just did it in an effort to line up a shot. Effortlessly. He had found the Way in Flight, as Master Lei had told him. His ship and his body and his mind were parts of the same complex, deadly entity, a space-borne velociraptor eager to rend the metallic flesh of the mechanical mammals that dogged it. He was a gull on the breeze as he pulled a high-G turn, did a skew flip, and suddenly had two drones slide right into his crosshairs. Gleefully, he squeezed the trigger, his lasers firing, the thump of the capacitors vibrating the entire airframe. “Ha! Ni shi wo de biao zv, you crappy pieces of junk! You are my bitches!” he bellowed as his bolts found the central body of both machines. A very satisfying explosion ensued, and he would have lingered to properly appreciate it, but there were two more drones to contend with. Even though they couldn’t express rage or vengeance for their “comrades’ ” deaths, they altered their algorithms to take their destruction into account. They didn’t have to be quite so careful now, after all. Another furious five minutes of flying found Wash in another exhilarated state, his feet and hands working without conscious thought as he maneuvered and positioned, dodged and weaved. He had three near-misses, and one strike by the bad guys on his portside wing that, thankfully, hadn’t produced any serious damage. In response he had winged both drones, one seriously enough to start it smoking. It was a welcome tangible sign of success in a business that was starting to frustrate him. “Relax,” he muttered to himself as he strove to visually spot the drone that his sensors were insisting was there. “Gull on th’ breeze. Leaf on the wind. I am a gull on the breeze. I am a leaf on the wind,” he chanted as he narrowly avoided colliding with the drone he had been seeking. He saw a lucky break. His hands and feet moved of their own accord, and without understanding exactly how it happened the drone was suddenly in his cross hairs. Then it was gone. “Damn!” he said, proudly. “Put another point on the big board for Wildfire!” Just one left . . . The two planes skulked around each other in a multi-dimensioned circle, searching for weaknesses. With just one left, Wash was confident he could get a good shot off. He focused on that little red dot, picked it out of the starfield with his eye, and traced the faint trail of smoke he’d caused. It would be easy to track. It looked like it was even losing velocity. It still juked drunkenly as he tried to lock on with his lasers, but it was not nearly as lively as it had been when he had been distracted by the others. “Almost . . . there,” he said through clenched teeth. His targeting computer was having a very hard time locking on. Wash tried a few bolts on manual, but it was pointless at this speed. But he was wearing the little robot out . . . He almost didn’t see it until it was too late: a twenty-centimeter cylinder of shiny metal drifted lazily in front of his viewport. It would have exploded directly above his see-through canopy, had he not banked at the perfect moment. While the diamond-hard material may have stopped enough of the blast to allow him to survive, this was an old ship. As it was, he banked just in time to carry the bulk of the blast on the fighter’s underbelly. When he came out of the little fireball, he was anxious to see that his landing gear had been shredded very effectively. Since he was using a top-down docking cradle, it wasn’t a major issue, but still . . . “Gorram mines! Gorram pissant, retarded gorram machine!” he snarled. “Don’t mess with my humpin’ paint-job!” Before he could come back around to bear on the wounded drone, he felt the tell-tale vibration on the airframe when something struck his wing for the second time. Swearing profusely he picked up his visual scanning until he saw two new drones coming at him from directly above his canopy, firing their lasers and missiles like mad. He immediately cut port and dove, then rose and juked starboard, just in time to avoid a collision with a suicidal-minded drone. Even as smoke started to pour from his wing he knew that he had yet to be seriously damaged – apart from his landing gear. These Marauders were tough. The two new players had led him away from their wounded brethren, alternating attacks to try to catch him off guard. Somehow these two seemed to be flying better – perhaps they had a better algorithm – and it took plenty of fast thinking for Wash to elude them while he tried to pin them down. He turned the tables after another four minutes – the drones had successfully taken him out of good laser range of the wounded drone, but that merely put him in a position to target it with his missiles again. It took some maneuvering, but he had a good idea of what he wanted when he started to subconsciously organize their attack pattern. Once he set up the shot, it was easy. It was a hat-trick, just like street hockey in the vacant lot back in childhood. He rolled and juked at the same time, putting himself nose-to-nose with one of the drones. He shredded that one with a torrent of blazing coherent light. As he rolled the other direction and brought the other undamaged drone into his laser sights, he targeted the far drone just long enough get a lock and snap off a missile – no way it could avoid it at this range. And before that missile hit he found himself staring at the ass-end of the third machine, which he proceeded to blow away before his motion even stopped. Three kills in six seconds. An impossible feat. The Way, in Flight. “I’m a humpin’ leaf on the gorram wind!” he declared victoriously to the Black as the shards of his three kills expanded soundlessly into the void. “See how I humpin’ soar!” It took a few minutes for the elation he felt to wind down to the point where he could get a handle on the situation again. He had his minimum kills. He should stop while he was ahead. There was a hole in the departure orbits big enough to get Serenity out – twice as big as he needed, actually. He was down to a third of his fuel, not counting the miniscule reserve tank. Conventional wisdom said to cut and run back to the barn. He eyed the other four red dots on the screen with great deliberation. He could stop. He should stop. Zoe was waiting, no doubt furious and ready to fight. He had a job to get back to. He had responsibilities. But he was having far, far too much fun to quit. He eyed the blips and came to a conclusion, voiced with a sigh. “Bonus points!” he declared, setting a course and kicking in the main thrusters. Wildfire had just a little more work to do before the game was over.

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GAMMA TEAM REMNANT -25:14

That face held courage. And determination. Unswerving loyalty. Conviction that he was serving a cause greater than himself. And strength, oh so much strength coupled with the deadly knowledge of the warrior’s craft. Johnny studied the face while his bike cooled off in the still atmo. That was the face of a warrior, a man who would follow a beloved leader through Hell to achieve his master’s desires. Not because the master was necessarily worthy. But because the warrior was. He studied the ruddy complexion and saw the essence of the Chinese soldier. The way his shoulders were thrown back, the stoic expression of absolute dedication to duty, the deadly eyes, all advertised his worth and value. The artist had captured it perfectly. This man’s face held a warriors honor. Johnny wondered what the man had been like, six thousand years ago, the real man, the model for the terra-cotta copy. Did he have a wife? A family? Children? Was he educated? Or an illiterate peasant? Was he a man of humor, or was he as dour as the blade he once wielded? Was he well liked by his comrades, or was he merely tolerated? Did he fight because of obligation, or because of inclination? Johnny couldn’t know for sure. He did have some guesses. He had been raised in a tiny village in north-central China, no doubt, probably a remote ancestor of the Thousand Families that had become the backbone for Chinese military might over the centuries. Like the commandos that had fought so bravely the last three days. Only instead of soldiers of Xiao or purplebellies or White Tigers, he had fought the wild Mongols and Huns of Central Asia. Instead of an assault rifle or submachine gun, he had used spear and sword. And instead of mere money, he had fought for the glory of his Empire. That man was a warrior. That man had been everything that Johnny was not. What would he say, he wondered, if the warrior was here to offer advice? Would he reprove the young man for his apparent cowardice? Condemn him for not being captured like his comrades? Despise him for misplacing the honor he was supposed to keep dear? Even after six thousand years, buried, excavated, displayed, transported far from the soil of Earth-That-Was, and imprisoned in a gassy tomb within a doomed warship, the man’s face still held the pride in his profession that had likely graced the original’s face. Against that, what could Johnny say? He wasn’t a warrior. He had never tried to be, not until his Uncles intervened. A fighter, yes, when called upon. He had proven himself deadly. But to be a warrior, a leader of men in war, that was far beyond his purview. He was descended from Emperors, true, but he had none of their leadership abilities. He hadn’t even been able to control one tiny Tong on one insignificant planet. He just wasn’t a warrior. He was a criminal. He was a thief and a thug. He was a liar. And he was about to tell the biggest, most brazen lie of his short life. Whatever the old terra cotta warrior may have said, Johnny hoped he respected his courage, even if he despised his lack of honor. He put his hand on the smooth, cold glass case and bowed reverently. Then he picked up his radio. “Master Lei? This is Chin Yi. Come in.” He repeated it a few times before the old man came on, sounding tired but serene. “Chin Yi? What is it? Are you well, my boy?” “I’ve been better,” Johnny admitted. “We assaulted the Engine Room and encountered significant resistance. The bounty hunters had fortified the place. We developed a ruse that allowed Colonel Campbell and River to infiltrate, but from there things went . . . off. The White Tigers came in, in force, with stunners. I’m not positive, but I believe I was the only one that survived being captured.” Johnny could just imagine the grim look on his old Uncle’s face. “All is lost, then,” the old monk pronounced slowly. “We cannot mount a rescue mission. We are spread too thin as it is. Very well, retreat back to Serenity, and prepare to depart. We will recall all the others and try to escape. Mr. Washburn has very kindly poked a hole through their defenses, so we should be able to leave. I’m sorry, son. We tried. We can say that, at least.” “I’m not going,” Johnny declared. “I have an idea.” “Now is not the time for such foolishness, boy,” Master Lei said, tiredly. “The game is up. A gentleman knows when to leave the table.” “Despite your best efforts, Uncle, I’m not a gentleman,” Johnny replied. “I have an idea, and I need your help.” “Johnny . . .” the old man said warningly. “Hear me out! If this doesn’t work, it costs nothing. But I think it might. It’s the only answer I have, and we’re running out of options.” “If you think you can go charging into the camp of the White Tigers by yourself in some vainglorious excuse for an honorable death, well, you can think again!” “I’m not feeling suicidal, Uncle!” Johnny insisted. “Quite the contrary. My friends are in trouble. They’re being held by the Tyrant. I can’t leave them like that. And,” he added, looking back at the stoic face of the terra cotta warrior, “I won’t be alone. I’ll have help. I just need you to do one thing for me, I’ll handle the rest.” There was a long pause as the old man tried to decide what to do. No doubt he was reflecting on the impetuousness of youth, and the possible death of his line. Finally the speaker clicked. “Very well. I’m trusting you. What do you need?” Johnny swallowed, hard. “I just need you to open up a door. I’ll handle the rest.”

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AD HOC SEARCH & RESCUE TEAM -27:20

“Y’know,” Simon said philosophically as he drove the battered mule down the dimly-lit corridor, “usually when a doctor loses a patient, he doesn’t go looking for him.” Zoe smiled behind him. “Frontier medicine,” she pointed out. “Ain’t like that fancy Core-world type. Y’ask me, pretty careless of you to lose one whole Shepherd like that.” “Would it be better to have lost just half a Shepherd?” he countered. “I can’t believe the man could even get out of bed, much less do it without anyone noticing. He was a whisper away from a coma. Even with the painkillers wearing off, the sedative I gave him should have made it impossible for him to stand, much less walk away . . . undetected.” “May have escaped your notice, but the Shepherd is a man of surprising capacities,” Zoe offered. “Prayer and preachin’ ain’t the only items on his resume, I’d conjure.” “But . . . well, I suppose it is possible to overcome that kind of sedation, if you had enough willpower. I’m just amazed. It would take a monumental dedication, or . . .” “. . . or divine intervention?” Zoe finished. “I was going to say a heavy resistance to narcotics, but I’m willing to entertain any speculation at this point.” “That’s very open-minded of you, Doctor,” Zoe said approvingly. “My, how you’ve grown.” “Yes, it seems like it was only yesterday that I was devoting all my efforts to the hopeless impossibility of breaking my sister out of a maximum security facility.” He looked back at her. “Luckily I’ve learned to avoid such foolishness, now. The crew has that kind of effect on you, I suppose.” “Oh, yes,” agreed Zoe with blatant sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want to get involved in any hopeless quests now, would we?” “I think this is where we stopped, up here,” Simon said, focusing again on the corridor. “I recognize the gloomy character of the dust and grime.” “I think you’re right,” agreed Zoe, somewhat surprised. As Simon brought the mule to a halt, she hopped off, automatically bringing her rifle to port arms as she scanned for danger. Finding none, she cautiously squatted in the dust and looked for signs of Book’s escape. “Y’know, it’s usually a common courtesy, in situations like this,” she began casually, without looking up, “to draw your weapon and prepare to defend the lives of your teammates while they work. It’s just polite.” “Oh! Yes, of course! Where are my manners? Sorry, I was sick that day in cotillion,” the doctor wisecracked, picking up the submachine gun strapped to his side and holding it at a close approximation of readiness. “I am now prepared to defend you unto the death.” “Thank you kindly,” Zoe said, straightening. “He went that way,” she said, pointing down the darkest, most forbidding corridor at the intersection. “But . . . that leads back towards the rear of the ship,” Simon observed. “That doesn’t make much sense. That’s where the bad guys are.” “I know. But Book ain’t likely to make much sense, not after the way Shan Yu treated him,” Zoe said grimly. “If torture didn’t make him moony, then bein’ a preacher what got tortured might.” She looked off into the gloom. “Man’s gotta be either ‘specially tortured or ‘specially cunning to want to be a preacher.” “Aren’t you abandoning the possibility of legitimate divine calling?” Simon asked, surprised. “I ain’t gonna argue that there are real men of God out there,” she said. “Met a few, maybe. But most I met are either lazy con men workin’ the racket or folk so tore up about their past that they see takin’ orders as the only path to redemption.” She turned and shot him one of her patented Zoe Stares. “I count Book in the latter camp, for the record.” “I’m sure he appreciates that. And I think you’re right. Whatever Book’s ‘mysterious past’ may hold, it’s likely to color his judgment, even at a subconscious level. Add that to his apparent deep-rooted faith, throw in some painful and humiliating torture, and then give him a bunch of drugs . . . I think it might be too much to expect rationality from him.” “Does that leave us better off, or worse?” Zoe asked as she got back on the mule. “Sane man, I might could track him by figurin’ out where he’s headed. Crazy man, now, that might could be more of a challenge.” “Oh, I can handle the crazy,” Simon said, ruefully. “Book would have to be pretty far gone to even come close to some of the mad ravings River’s capable of.” “River’s craziness, it was forced on her. Book’s, well, that’s a pond he jumped into his ownself. Different kind of crazy altogether. When a man departs the tracks of reason out of conviction or a cause, he’s crazy in ways that clinical science has yet to fathom.” “And you hold this opinion based on your experience with our Captain, I take it?” Simon said jokingly. “Yes, that’s it exactly,” Zoe agreed, seriously. “Huh?” “You sure do grunt good for an educated man.” “You think Mal is crazy? I’m not inclined to argue the point, mind, but forgive me if I’m shocked at your perspective. I mean, if you think Captain Reynolds is insane, why would you every follow him?” “Look, Doc, there’s a lot in this ‘verse that you know, and a whole lot more you don’t, and I dare say that second pile dwarfs the first. Mal’s always been a little crazy. I mean, I joined up ‘cause . . . well, I had my reasons. Good, solid, sane reasons why I should take up arms against the Alliance. I was dedicated to the Cause, willin’ to lay down my life. But Mal . . . he was fanatical, like a Shepherd. He knew full well that God was on his side, and then Serenity Valley happened and then he knew full well God had done abandoned him and his cause. Man can obsess about a person, a thing, an event an’ we know what kind o’ crazy he is. Whatever kind it is, they make pills for that, or prison cells. But when the object of a man’s obsession is God, well, ain’t no pill ever made can fix that issue. To this day, Mal is just as crazy about God as Book is, by which I mean to say a whole lot. And by which I mean to say that even River-style crazy logic ain’t gonna help us much.” “And yet you still follow him,” Simon repeated. “Hell yes I do!” Zoe said with a grunt. “Man’s a survivor. Man’s crazy, no doubt in my mind – but it’s the kind o’ crazy that keeps his body temperature comfortably warm.” “I suppose I can’t argue with that,” Simon admitted with a sigh. “Although crawling through the bowls of a space ship in immediate danger of destruction isn’t high on my list of survival techniques.” “You could be in an Alliance prison,” she pointed out. “I dare say compared to the alternative, you ain’t so bad off.” “Still, there must be better survival strategies than following a crazy man.” “Guess it’s just my own private brand of insanity, then. Wait! Stop the mule!” Simon did so, confused. Zoe hopped out, gun in hand, and knelt to the deck for a moment. She stood a moment later, rubbing her fingers together. “Blood,” she explained. “Book’s, I’d wager. He came this way. We’d better keep our orbs peeled: that was a fresh drop.”

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SERENITY -24:55

“. . . and so that’s what you missed in the last hundred years,” Inara said, pouring another cup of tea for the younger – older – girl. They were in Inara’s shuttle, a comfortable respite from the cold-blooded combat taking place belowdecks. “It’s . . . it’s amazing,” confessed Nyan Nyan. “I mean, so much of what I know – knew – is completely irrelevant now. All that Imperial politics . . . just gone. Everyone in one big happy Alliance. It’s so strange . . .” “Think of it as a second chance,” Inara offered. “No more masters, no more obligations . . . no more being . . . bound.” “I never really felt like I ever had a first chance,” Nyan Nyan admitted. “It was always training, training, training, without regard to what I wanted. It will be nice to decide for myself what I want to do. Of course, now you have me worried that the Alliance is ready to tear itself apart . . .” Inara laughed despite herself. “Don’t take what I said too literally. Even the worst of the doommongers think we have twenty-five, thirty years of peace ahead. We’re still in the post-War period, lots of money flowing, lots of ships in the sky. No, my concerns are long-term. I daresay you could go back to T’ien or Yuan and live a long and peaceful life.” “I really don’t think I could,” Nyan Nyan said, shaking her head. “I mean, I remember those places for what they were like a hundred years ago. Now? I wouldn’t recognize them. And I wouldn’t know anyone. A baby born on the day I was frozen would be an old geezer, by now. I think it would just make me sad.” “Then where?” “A new world,” the young princess said with a contented sigh. “Someplace pleasant, uncrowded. Someplace where I could build a home.” “With Johnny?” “If he’s willing. I mean, we just met, but isn’t he dashing? And intelligent? I find it hard to believe he was raised in a family of gangsters.” “The Lei’s are good at whatever they do, even in exile,” pointed out Inara, one eyebrow raised. “Isn’t there a long tradition in Chinese history for political movements to go underground and become criminal endeavors?” “Oh, my, yes,” agreed Nyan Nyan. “And occasionally they’ll return to power. But usually they devolve after a few generations into a gang of thugs, nothing more.” “I think the House of Lei was teetering on that point,” agreed Inara. “I think this crazy venture may help them come out of it. Assuming there are any of us alive, that is.” “I think he’s terribly handsome. And a warrior, too – the way he looked when he came in and saw me laying there, all sweaty and intense . . . he’s the prince every little girl dreams of finding. I’d be stupid to pass him up.” “He is quite a catch,” admitted Inara, wryly. “But meet his family, first. Your potential in-laws can be pretty intense themselves.” “What about you and Captain Reynolds?” Nyan Nyan asked, cagily. “Why aren’t you lovers?” It took great effort and a lifetime of training for Inara not to spit tea all over the place. Instead she swallowed and gasped. “Whatever do you mean?” she said cautiously, when she had regained her calm. “Companion, remember?” the girl said. “I see how you change when you talk about him.” “I told you, I don’t service crew. That includes him. It would have . . . complications.” “That is a poor excuse behind which to hide your true feelings,” scolded Nyan Nyan playfully. “Or his, for that matter. He . . . cares for you a great deal.” “A relationship with Captain Reynolds,” Inara began uncomfortably, “regardless of the feelings involved, would ultimately be doomed. Why would I sell my heart for such a thing as certain disappointment?” “Go to sleep for a century,” Nyan Nyan said sagely, “and you may well find your perspective has altered.” “Spend a month with the man and you might find yours altered,” countered Inara, blushing. “Your business,” admitted Nyan Nyan. “I just see the way you look at him. And he at you.” Inara sighed, deeply. “Without getting into the particulars, it could never work out. We’re too different in too many ways. Little things. Like him calling me a whore all the time. Or,” she admitted, “me calling him a petty crook.” “Foreplay,” dismissed the girl. “All couples have such frictions. It’s amazing what a good hard tumble will do to straighten out all those petty annoyances!” “Nyan Nyan!” Inara demanded, blushing fiercely. The younger girl couldn’t help but double over laughing at her expression. In a moment Inara joined her, realizing that she had been taking herself too seriously again. “Heavens, I’m randy,” confessed Nyan Nyan. “Sorry about that. Really. I don’t mean to disrespect my gracious hostess. I guess part of the problem is my overwrought hormones. Shan Yu’s people had me . . . enhanced that way.” “Enhanced?” Inara asked, confused. “It used to be common practice with bound Companions – at least in Hanjing House. Two artificial glands are added into the abdominal cavity after puberty. They ensure a plentiful supply of sex hormones, keeping us in a near-constant state of arousal,” she explained. “It also magnifies the potency of orgasm . . . quite a bit. Helps to keep the girls enthusiastic. From what I heard about some of the men they were given to, every little bit helps.” Inara looked horrified. “You mean . . . you are forced to be aroused, without your conscious approval?” “I’ve grown used to it,” Nyan Nyan said with a sigh. “It used to annoy me somewhat – it made it hard to think sometimes, so powerful were the emotions. But you learn to cope, over time.” “I’m just appalled by the implication. It’s almost like rape by remote control.” “It’s hardly that bad,” Nyan Nyan said, rolling her eyes. “I suppose it’s a lot like . . . being a man. Only with more intelligence and less scratching and odor.” Both companions had a good hard laugh with that, Inara laughing so hard that tea came out of her nose in a most unladylike manner. “Oh, you will do well with Johnny,” Inara said, pleased. “He’s a very bright young man. He’ll go far. Perhaps if you can get a decent stake you can buy a nice ranch on Beaumonde, or maybe a plantation on Greenleaf.” “You don’t think he’ll return to his . . . thieving ways?” “Johnny was born into the Tong. If his father had been a tailor, he’d be sewing pants. I don’t think it’s something he really has an inclination for. Not like baseball . . . I daresay if you settle on a world that plays, you’ll be a sports widow in short order.” “I enjoy the game myself,” Nyan Nyan countered. “I’d love to watch him play.” “Listen to us! We’re giggling like a couple of schoolgirls while there are men out there fighting right now. I suppose I should feel properly ashamed.” “Why? We aren’t particularly well-suited to combat. And this is keeping me from going completely comatose from all the shock.” “I suppose you are right,” Inara said, sighing. “I just hate to feel useless, is all.” “You’re being quite useful,” Nyan Nyan countered. “I know little about this world, this time. You’ve brought me up to speed in a remarkably short period of time. I just wish there was some way I could repay you.” Inara looked at her carefully, softly, and thought back to her last client. “Well,” she began, a catch in her throat. “If you really are having . . . issues, then perhaps between the two of us . . .” Nyan Nyan caught on instantly and smiled radiantly. “. . . we could find . . . a solution to my dilemma?” “It seems a shame to turn you over to Johnny, so unpracticed. A whole century on ice, that has to be hard on a girl. Might be good to have . . . a kind of . . . check-up . . .” Inara swallowed nervously. “I mean, if you’re . . . ready . . . or . . .” “If you’re worried about taking advantage of my weakened emotional state and confused situation,” Nyan Nyan said softly, “don’t be. I think I’m ready to welcome the new century in an appropriate manner. And I’m a cat’s whisker from ripping all of your clothes off – Inara, you’re stunningly beautiful, and while I’m not usually drawn to girls, you’d make a man of a monk. I want you!” “Goddess, I was hoping you might say that,” Inara whispered intently, then stood decisively. “Let me just seal the hatch so we won't be disturbed . . .”