Reaversong: Rising Crescendo
Disclaimer: Firefly is copyright by Fox entertainment and Mutant Enemy Productions. Characters and peoples here are used without consent, although no copyright infringement is intended or implied. All non-Reaver characters belong to Fox and Mutant Enemy as well as the concept of the Reavers themselves.
Author's Notes: Due to the support for my first fic, Reaversong, I've decided to continue this look into the Reavers' society a bit more as well as their interactions with the 'prey'. This is rated PG-13 for violence and mentions of and allusions to rape, but if I continue this in later chapters, I may have to raise the rating for violence. Timeline-wise, this occurs shortly after the final episode, where Enara has left Serenity. Feedback is always appreciated - except for any comments that make mention of flying monkeys.
* * * * *
Her skin is cold.
She murmurs softly, pressing against me, seeking warmth. She won't find it. I sit up, the movement waking her, her eyes flitting about the twilight room for an instant. She gazes sleepily at me, questioning. When the unspoken answer is no, she loses interest and drops back to the bed, curling tightly into a ball.
I'm sure her dreams are of screams and blood; she's smiling after all.
A few pack members scatter out my way as I stalk through the vessel's corridors. They're nervous and agitated, though with good reason. Another of my kind meets me on the command deck, pointing silently to a tactical map. The prey gabber endlessly, the packs scream and holler and cavort. We don't see the need for it as often as the others do. Don't have the need for it.
The map is of this local orbital, in the inner worlds. The prey have a name for this star system. We don't. Two pack ships are in formation with us now. We await four more. The other, my second, is a shapely female, bloody runes tattooed onto the smooth skin of her forearms. She hands me a datascroll.
We're not exactly known for our healing arts, which is unfair. To be sure, the packs don't deserve nor receive much in the way of treatment, but we do. A tale has reached our ears of a notable prey in this region, the petty lord of a hive of vermin. Supposedly, he can resurrect his victims up to three times, just to kill them over and over. Amateur.
Ours die but once, but only when we are finished with them. Only when they are praying to whatever deities they hold, only when they beg us for release. We can keep them alive oh so very long indeed.
It screams as the doors hiss open, one arm flailing about blindly as it huddles in the room's corner. The air is thick with the scent of blood, of fear, of death. Even to one of the ruling caste, it is distracting, almost intoxicating.
The prey babbles. "Please! No more, no more! Don't. don't touch me!"
She thinks I'm one of the pack, one of the ones that enjoyed her over the night. She's wrong. A single curt gesture and two of them step forward. The prey screams again. Their eyes narrow, their pulse increases. I feel the rise in them, but they won't dare contradict one of us. They hoist the sobbing, screaming prey up to her feet, holding her head up to meet my eyes. She screams again. I wonder why. The prey often scream or shudder when they meet our eyes. None of the packs do, nor do the hybrids.
The prey is sobbing incoherently now, limp in the arms of the two other Reavers. Heh. We like that name. She doesn't even have the strength to flinch as I touch her, raising her chin. My fingers trace along her skin, settling on the emblem on the remnants of her clothes. She's almost broken.
"Tell me," the first words I've spoken today and they are to prey.
That breaks through the catatonia; she's used to gibbering howls, savage streams of nonsensical gibberish and terse, violent commands. Her eyes begin to focus as she sees me for the first time, not as normal Reaver of the packs, but for what I am. She shrinks back in horror, but the two beside her keep her in place.
"Tell me," I order again. Prey would say my voice is devoid of all emotion, a dead, cold tone. But then, prey are stupid and pathetic.
"T-tell you what?"
"Icarus."
Dawning comprehension forms, followed closely by horror. I'm disappointed. I thought she was closer to breaking then this. The two low caste know I'm displeased. They have no fear but us. "Icarus," I repeat, as if talking to a child.
She draws on whatever reserves she has left and spits at me. It's bloody and lands on my cheek. I make no move to wipe it away. I don't even need to give the command and the low caste drop the prey to the stained deck. They know what my order will be.
The door closes behind me. I take a moment to wipe away the sputum, take a moment to listen to the screams coming from inside. She still has hope, still draws on bravado. How sickening.
The low caste scatter even quicker as they sense my irritation.
Let her cling to whatever scraps she has. They'll be burned up soon enough.
* * * * *
It was as much of a dusty speck of a world as Mal had ever seen, but then again that was common for a moon that orbited a brown dwarf as closely as Icarus did to be unpleasantly warm. The captain of Serenity licked his dry lips and tapped his fingers against the hitching post beside him.
Icarus was an odd world; too far out to be of much use to the Alliance, but too close to the Core systems to be completely ignored. It was also an important hub for trade, as freighter convoys would take up supplies here for runs between the outer worlds and systems and the Alliance. Not to mention that there was somewhat of a lucrative asteroid mining business going on around Daedalus' ring, nor the gas-harvesting that occurred in the gas giant's cloud tops. Close enough to Alliance to have a decent tech base, yet far enough away that the Feds weren't poking their noses into every little bit and bob that occurred here. Just the way he liked it.
Except for the heat.
Jayne rubbed sweat out of his eyes, grumbling. "Gorram heat'll be the end of me, Mal. I don't see why we gotta be out here in the heat for no good cause."
"As I told you the past seven times, our contact said he'd meet us here and here is where we'll be meetin' him."
"Yeah, but why can't I-"
"Because this fellow's a bit of an unsavory fellow and it makes sense to have an unsavory fellow of our own around, now don't it?"
"Hell, if'n you wanted to intimidate anyone, all you had to do was bring out the crazy girl. Five minutes with her'll terrify anyone good an' proper."
Mal shook his head, squinting against the heat. NGC-7477, the system's primary, was setting now. This was Icarus' hot season, when the moon was sunward of Daedalus, bathed in heat from both the star and the giant. In a few months, Icarus would be behind Daedalus' bulk, in the dark season. Hidden from the sun's light, but given no respite from the heat the giant radiated. Cold was a subjective term here.
The captain still planned to be long gone from planet before it even reached the apex of its orbit.
"Keptin Reynolds?"
Mal turned, caught sight of a figure silhouetted by the sun's glare. It was slender, and female as the voice had already suggested. "That'll depend on who's askin'."
The figure resolved itself into a woman as she walked towards Mal and Jayne. "I am Sophia Ternshaka, your liaison vith my employer."
"My understanding was that we'd be meeting your employer ourselves."
"He is busy man. You still vish to deal, yes? Then you talk to me, I talk to him. Deal is good, I say good. Deal is bad, I say do not trade vith these men. You have reputation, keptin. Prudence is suggested, da?"
"I s'pose so."
"Good. Ve vill talk then. But first, let us get out of this sun."
"This is much cooler, da?"
Jayne took off his hat, wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Gorram right it is. Mal, why don't Serenity have any air conditioning like this place?"
"You want it colder? Open the airlock. Ships run hot, that tends to make it into the living quarters now and again."
Sophia seated herself at the room's single, small table. "Now you understand name of Icarus. Flies too close to sun. Daedalus is dying giant, drawn in by gravity. We go along for the ride."
Mal sat opposite his liaison, while Jayne dropped down on the room's bed. "Got a contact who said your boss was aiming to ship some cargo, something that the guilders might not take kindly to." Large trade guilds controlled Icarus and they tended to look unfavourably on others moving cargo, any sort of cargo.
"Vhat is the name of your contact?"
"If'n I told you that, he wouldn't be my contact anymore."
"You vish to do business vith my employer, you show trust. Vhat is your contact's name?"
Mal narrowed his eyes. "I'm not in the business of betrayin' my actual business partners to potential ones."
Sophia held his gaze for a long moment, then shrugged. "Loyalty is good. Your contact was Darren Mishwitz, ve know this. Maybe ve can do business after all, da?"
* * * * *
At last, she's broken. Sweat drips off her form, onto the deck below. Sweat and blood. I do believe her mind is gone, but as long as she can still talk, I'm not bothered.
She trills beside me, kneading my arm like a cat. Her hunger is so obvious that even a low caste could feel it. A simple backhand and she staggers, yelping more in surprise then pain. She cups her nose and hisses, actually hisses, at me. I haven't broken or bruised anything. She's just a contrary little thing.
The prey no doubt wishes that a single reprimanding gesture was the worst she'd received. There are toothmarks on her body. The packs are not mindless savages, although they do a good enough impersonation of that. They're smart enough to know when a line has been crossed. Those present quaver like rabbits, stepping away from the doomed one among them.
He doesn't run. Where would he go?
She feels my command and growls, a low staccato noise filled with aggression. Light flashes in the dim room as she draws her blades, looking to me for permission.
I give it.
The prey say we have no beauty to us, no art. The packs don't. We do. She dances for me, only for me, the knives rising and falling, the veils around her body rippling with her movements. Each stroke opens a red seam. Each languid movement and a crimson streak darts into the air. Each liquid spin, each carefully timed flick of her hands and a little more life is taken.
Finally, the dance is over and she stands there, her chest rising and falling with each breath. The Reaver she disciplined is not standing. There isn't enough of him left to.
Soaked in blood, she smiles at me like a young girl awaiting praise.
I give it and she smiles even wider.
And the prey say that we have no art.
I turn my attention back to the prey here. Even what she has just witnessed does not faze her; she's broken beyond repair. "Tell me,"
Unfocused eyes waver over me. "Tell you. what?"
"Icarus. The defences."
Her head lolls back and forth for a moment, then she speaks. A trail of blood dribbles out of the corner of her mouth. "G-geared towards repelling small raiding forces. Ground-based missile and l-laser batteries around the major ports. F-four Hekate-class in-inter-interceptors," she stumbles over the word, "f-for long-range defence and c-convoy escort." Her head sags; she's finished.
Again, I turn my back on the prey, summoning her to follow me. She tags along eagerly, leaving the low caste behind. They're hungry, but ruling caste and hybrids are above that. act. It's not barbarity to us, merely one fact of life.
The prey doesn't even have enough strength left to scream, but she is still alive when they begin to feed.
* * * * *
"Well, cap'n. Do we got a job?"
Mal smiled, clapping Zoe on the shoulder. "We surely do. Cargo pickup in eight hours, so let's get this place ready. Load'll be big."
"How big, sir?"
"And what's the reason for the delay?' asked Wash from the catwalk. He jerked his head back towards the cockpit "Some freighters are getting mighty antsy about us takin' up real estate while they're in parking orbits."
"They know the drill here. Just 'cause Serenity ain't a multi- thousand tonne hauler, don't mean we have to run whenever a guilder says so."
"You know, the law says ships that big get to carry guns on 'em."
"Well, I surely did not know that, Wash. Changes everything, don't it? We better take right off before some guilder charges his guns and Control puts a hole through his hull for it. Get down here and start moving some crates, you want to make yourself useful." Mal turned to Zoe next. "Three tonnes."
"That's a lot, sir."
"Right you are. Added mass'll make the engines burn extra hard and give Kayley fits, but the profit is worth it."
Book stepped out into the cargo deck. "And did you think to ask what we might be hauling three tones of?"
Mal shrugged, grabbing a crate of spare parts and hauling it to a far corner of the bay. "Surely did. Small packages are one thing, but ferrying contraband in bulk is an act of piracy. Not smuggling; piracy." Piracy in the Alliance was punishable by immediate execution, usually by the simple expedient of spacing the captives. "So yes, I did ask. Foodstuffs. We're hauling fresh fruit and vegetables across the system to a buyer."
Wash piled a few boxes onto the 4-wheeler's platform. "Doesn't seem like the kind of thing that someone'd go to the trouble of smuggling."
"Little - uh! - problem between the guilds and our client though." Mal stood away from a particular heavy box. "What the hell's in that thing?"
Zoe knelt by one end as Mal moved to the other. They each grabbed a corner and lifted. "This problem going to cause us troubles on this flight, sir?"
"Long as we don't get caught, don't see why."
"Speaking of getting caught," Simon stood in the upper doorway, looking down at the assembled group. "Where's Jayne?"
"Last I saw, he was engaged in a philosophical discussion over the value of a credit." The large heavy box clanged down as Mal and Zoe stepped away from it.
"Uh?"
Book helped Wash add a few more boxes to the trailer. "I believe the good captain means that Jayne was busy negotiating price. perhaps from a lady of evening."
"Exactly right, shepherd. I expect he'll be a little too occupied to be betrayin' us tonight." Mal wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "You just goin' to stay up there and watch us work, or are you going to come down and lend a hand, doc?"
"Huh? Sorry." Simon rolled up his sleeves and clambered down the stairs. River drifted out, grabbed the railing of the catwalk and watched the others work.
"Ants. Running to and fro, they don't see the shadow until it's too late. The boot comes down and the hive gets squashed. Built back up sometimes, sometimes."
Mal sighed and plunked himself down on top of a crate. "We need fewer boxes around here."
Wash nodded. "I say we move them into your quarters."
"Why mine?"
"'cause it was your idea to rearrange the bay!"
Zoe sat down besides Wash, put her arm around him. "Now, now. You're always complaining that you need more exercise around here. Now, you're just bulging with muscles." She kissed him on the cheek.
Wash looked over at the captain. "Can we rearrange the boxes tomorrow, too?"
"I think we'll hold off on that - ah! - for a while." Mal rubbed his back. "Forgot to lift with my legs there, a time or two."
"An eclipse."
Everyone present looked over at River. She was on the edge of the catwalk, looking up at the ceiling, her arms held down by her sides. Simon climbed to his feet. "Be careful, River."
"Careful doesn't matter," she favoured her brother with one of her odd little smiles. "When an eclipse comes it blocks out the sun's light until the path of the blocking object carries it away. Lets the sun come back."
As Simon climbed up the stairs and wrapped his arms around River, pulling her back from the edge, Mal nodded. "But the eclipse season ain't coming for another few months here."
"That's wrong. The eclipse is coming today." She giggled, tapping her brother's chest. "They think it's pretty. Falls all over the land, clears the light away. Lumberjacks in a forest, like reavers, cutting down all the pretty trees. Saplings aren't strong enough."
Mal nodded, looking up at the doctor. "This'd be one of her bad days then?"
"Everyone's bad day. Eclipse." River beamed at the captain. "Put on a good suit, something festive. Comes but once a year, clears out the forest. Fires are good, set back the life cycle."
"Come on, River," Simon said, gently walking her out of the cargobay.
Zoe looked over at Mal. "You want I should hide all the soup, sir?"
He shrugged. "I don't think that'll be necessary, Zoe. 'Sides, as I recall, you were the last one to get the treatment."
Zoe pointed a finger at her husband. "You say 'wacky fun' and I'll kill you."
"Madcap Amusement? Ow!"
Mal frowned. "What was it that she said just now? Something about lumberjacks?"
Zoe frowned. "Didn't quite catch it."
Mal looked at Wash and the pilot shrugged. "Sorry, sir."
Book frowned, taking a step forwards. "Lumberjacks in a forest, like reavers, cutting down all the pretty trees." He frowned as he got it. "You don't think.?"
"I hope not. Hopin' it's just another one of her bad days. Wash, Zoe, get to the cockpit and make sure we can lift off at a moment's notice. Make sure nobody gets off the ship, don't matter for what reason. I'll get Jayne."
"Sir, it's just River.!" Zoe protested.
"I'm not feeling in the mood to take that chance right now. How about you?"
"Guess not, sir. But it doesn't make any kind of sense."
"Doesn't have to. Now get to the cockpit."
Mal patted his hip, made sure he still had his gun. Open carry was legal on Icarus. He hoped he was wrong, hoped that it had just been another more of River's nonsensical talk. Like Zoe said, it didn't make no sense; they'd never hit a target this big before.
Sometimes, even an atheist has to pray. And right now, he was praying to be wrong.
* * * * *
They've arrived.
The final ship falls into formation, away from us. Its reactor is unshielded and while the low caste lives may not matter, ours do. My second looks up, a simple nod from her confirming it; the course is plotted, the target unawares. They await only my command.
I give it.
End Part 1.
Disclaimer: Firefly is copyright by Fox entertainment and Mutant Enemy Productions. Characters and peoples here are used without consent, although no copyright infringement is intended or implied. All non-Reaver characters belong to Fox and Mutant Enemy as well as the concept of the Reavers themselves.
Author's Notes: Due to the support for my first fic, Reaversong, I've decided to continue this look into the Reavers' society a bit more as well as their interactions with the 'prey'. This is rated PG-13 for violence and mentions of and allusions to rape, but if I continue this in later chapters, I may have to raise the rating for violence. Timeline-wise, this occurs shortly after the final episode, where Enara has left Serenity. Feedback is always appreciated - except for any comments that make mention of flying monkeys.
* * * * *
Her skin is cold.
She murmurs softly, pressing against me, seeking warmth. She won't find it. I sit up, the movement waking her, her eyes flitting about the twilight room for an instant. She gazes sleepily at me, questioning. When the unspoken answer is no, she loses interest and drops back to the bed, curling tightly into a ball.
I'm sure her dreams are of screams and blood; she's smiling after all.
A few pack members scatter out my way as I stalk through the vessel's corridors. They're nervous and agitated, though with good reason. Another of my kind meets me on the command deck, pointing silently to a tactical map. The prey gabber endlessly, the packs scream and holler and cavort. We don't see the need for it as often as the others do. Don't have the need for it.
The map is of this local orbital, in the inner worlds. The prey have a name for this star system. We don't. Two pack ships are in formation with us now. We await four more. The other, my second, is a shapely female, bloody runes tattooed onto the smooth skin of her forearms. She hands me a datascroll.
We're not exactly known for our healing arts, which is unfair. To be sure, the packs don't deserve nor receive much in the way of treatment, but we do. A tale has reached our ears of a notable prey in this region, the petty lord of a hive of vermin. Supposedly, he can resurrect his victims up to three times, just to kill them over and over. Amateur.
Ours die but once, but only when we are finished with them. Only when they are praying to whatever deities they hold, only when they beg us for release. We can keep them alive oh so very long indeed.
It screams as the doors hiss open, one arm flailing about blindly as it huddles in the room's corner. The air is thick with the scent of blood, of fear, of death. Even to one of the ruling caste, it is distracting, almost intoxicating.
The prey babbles. "Please! No more, no more! Don't. don't touch me!"
She thinks I'm one of the pack, one of the ones that enjoyed her over the night. She's wrong. A single curt gesture and two of them step forward. The prey screams again. Their eyes narrow, their pulse increases. I feel the rise in them, but they won't dare contradict one of us. They hoist the sobbing, screaming prey up to her feet, holding her head up to meet my eyes. She screams again. I wonder why. The prey often scream or shudder when they meet our eyes. None of the packs do, nor do the hybrids.
The prey is sobbing incoherently now, limp in the arms of the two other Reavers. Heh. We like that name. She doesn't even have the strength to flinch as I touch her, raising her chin. My fingers trace along her skin, settling on the emblem on the remnants of her clothes. She's almost broken.
"Tell me," the first words I've spoken today and they are to prey.
That breaks through the catatonia; she's used to gibbering howls, savage streams of nonsensical gibberish and terse, violent commands. Her eyes begin to focus as she sees me for the first time, not as normal Reaver of the packs, but for what I am. She shrinks back in horror, but the two beside her keep her in place.
"Tell me," I order again. Prey would say my voice is devoid of all emotion, a dead, cold tone. But then, prey are stupid and pathetic.
"T-tell you what?"
"Icarus."
Dawning comprehension forms, followed closely by horror. I'm disappointed. I thought she was closer to breaking then this. The two low caste know I'm displeased. They have no fear but us. "Icarus," I repeat, as if talking to a child.
She draws on whatever reserves she has left and spits at me. It's bloody and lands on my cheek. I make no move to wipe it away. I don't even need to give the command and the low caste drop the prey to the stained deck. They know what my order will be.
The door closes behind me. I take a moment to wipe away the sputum, take a moment to listen to the screams coming from inside. She still has hope, still draws on bravado. How sickening.
The low caste scatter even quicker as they sense my irritation.
Let her cling to whatever scraps she has. They'll be burned up soon enough.
* * * * *
It was as much of a dusty speck of a world as Mal had ever seen, but then again that was common for a moon that orbited a brown dwarf as closely as Icarus did to be unpleasantly warm. The captain of Serenity licked his dry lips and tapped his fingers against the hitching post beside him.
Icarus was an odd world; too far out to be of much use to the Alliance, but too close to the Core systems to be completely ignored. It was also an important hub for trade, as freighter convoys would take up supplies here for runs between the outer worlds and systems and the Alliance. Not to mention that there was somewhat of a lucrative asteroid mining business going on around Daedalus' ring, nor the gas-harvesting that occurred in the gas giant's cloud tops. Close enough to Alliance to have a decent tech base, yet far enough away that the Feds weren't poking their noses into every little bit and bob that occurred here. Just the way he liked it.
Except for the heat.
Jayne rubbed sweat out of his eyes, grumbling. "Gorram heat'll be the end of me, Mal. I don't see why we gotta be out here in the heat for no good cause."
"As I told you the past seven times, our contact said he'd meet us here and here is where we'll be meetin' him."
"Yeah, but why can't I-"
"Because this fellow's a bit of an unsavory fellow and it makes sense to have an unsavory fellow of our own around, now don't it?"
"Hell, if'n you wanted to intimidate anyone, all you had to do was bring out the crazy girl. Five minutes with her'll terrify anyone good an' proper."
Mal shook his head, squinting against the heat. NGC-7477, the system's primary, was setting now. This was Icarus' hot season, when the moon was sunward of Daedalus, bathed in heat from both the star and the giant. In a few months, Icarus would be behind Daedalus' bulk, in the dark season. Hidden from the sun's light, but given no respite from the heat the giant radiated. Cold was a subjective term here.
The captain still planned to be long gone from planet before it even reached the apex of its orbit.
"Keptin Reynolds?"
Mal turned, caught sight of a figure silhouetted by the sun's glare. It was slender, and female as the voice had already suggested. "That'll depend on who's askin'."
The figure resolved itself into a woman as she walked towards Mal and Jayne. "I am Sophia Ternshaka, your liaison vith my employer."
"My understanding was that we'd be meeting your employer ourselves."
"He is busy man. You still vish to deal, yes? Then you talk to me, I talk to him. Deal is good, I say good. Deal is bad, I say do not trade vith these men. You have reputation, keptin. Prudence is suggested, da?"
"I s'pose so."
"Good. Ve vill talk then. But first, let us get out of this sun."
"This is much cooler, da?"
Jayne took off his hat, wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Gorram right it is. Mal, why don't Serenity have any air conditioning like this place?"
"You want it colder? Open the airlock. Ships run hot, that tends to make it into the living quarters now and again."
Sophia seated herself at the room's single, small table. "Now you understand name of Icarus. Flies too close to sun. Daedalus is dying giant, drawn in by gravity. We go along for the ride."
Mal sat opposite his liaison, while Jayne dropped down on the room's bed. "Got a contact who said your boss was aiming to ship some cargo, something that the guilders might not take kindly to." Large trade guilds controlled Icarus and they tended to look unfavourably on others moving cargo, any sort of cargo.
"Vhat is the name of your contact?"
"If'n I told you that, he wouldn't be my contact anymore."
"You vish to do business vith my employer, you show trust. Vhat is your contact's name?"
Mal narrowed his eyes. "I'm not in the business of betrayin' my actual business partners to potential ones."
Sophia held his gaze for a long moment, then shrugged. "Loyalty is good. Your contact was Darren Mishwitz, ve know this. Maybe ve can do business after all, da?"
* * * * *
At last, she's broken. Sweat drips off her form, onto the deck below. Sweat and blood. I do believe her mind is gone, but as long as she can still talk, I'm not bothered.
She trills beside me, kneading my arm like a cat. Her hunger is so obvious that even a low caste could feel it. A simple backhand and she staggers, yelping more in surprise then pain. She cups her nose and hisses, actually hisses, at me. I haven't broken or bruised anything. She's just a contrary little thing.
The prey no doubt wishes that a single reprimanding gesture was the worst she'd received. There are toothmarks on her body. The packs are not mindless savages, although they do a good enough impersonation of that. They're smart enough to know when a line has been crossed. Those present quaver like rabbits, stepping away from the doomed one among them.
He doesn't run. Where would he go?
She feels my command and growls, a low staccato noise filled with aggression. Light flashes in the dim room as she draws her blades, looking to me for permission.
I give it.
The prey say we have no beauty to us, no art. The packs don't. We do. She dances for me, only for me, the knives rising and falling, the veils around her body rippling with her movements. Each stroke opens a red seam. Each languid movement and a crimson streak darts into the air. Each liquid spin, each carefully timed flick of her hands and a little more life is taken.
Finally, the dance is over and she stands there, her chest rising and falling with each breath. The Reaver she disciplined is not standing. There isn't enough of him left to.
Soaked in blood, she smiles at me like a young girl awaiting praise.
I give it and she smiles even wider.
And the prey say that we have no art.
I turn my attention back to the prey here. Even what she has just witnessed does not faze her; she's broken beyond repair. "Tell me,"
Unfocused eyes waver over me. "Tell you. what?"
"Icarus. The defences."
Her head lolls back and forth for a moment, then she speaks. A trail of blood dribbles out of the corner of her mouth. "G-geared towards repelling small raiding forces. Ground-based missile and l-laser batteries around the major ports. F-four Hekate-class in-inter-interceptors," she stumbles over the word, "f-for long-range defence and c-convoy escort." Her head sags; she's finished.
Again, I turn my back on the prey, summoning her to follow me. She tags along eagerly, leaving the low caste behind. They're hungry, but ruling caste and hybrids are above that. act. It's not barbarity to us, merely one fact of life.
The prey doesn't even have enough strength left to scream, but she is still alive when they begin to feed.
* * * * *
"Well, cap'n. Do we got a job?"
Mal smiled, clapping Zoe on the shoulder. "We surely do. Cargo pickup in eight hours, so let's get this place ready. Load'll be big."
"How big, sir?"
"And what's the reason for the delay?' asked Wash from the catwalk. He jerked his head back towards the cockpit "Some freighters are getting mighty antsy about us takin' up real estate while they're in parking orbits."
"They know the drill here. Just 'cause Serenity ain't a multi- thousand tonne hauler, don't mean we have to run whenever a guilder says so."
"You know, the law says ships that big get to carry guns on 'em."
"Well, I surely did not know that, Wash. Changes everything, don't it? We better take right off before some guilder charges his guns and Control puts a hole through his hull for it. Get down here and start moving some crates, you want to make yourself useful." Mal turned to Zoe next. "Three tonnes."
"That's a lot, sir."
"Right you are. Added mass'll make the engines burn extra hard and give Kayley fits, but the profit is worth it."
Book stepped out into the cargo deck. "And did you think to ask what we might be hauling three tones of?"
Mal shrugged, grabbing a crate of spare parts and hauling it to a far corner of the bay. "Surely did. Small packages are one thing, but ferrying contraband in bulk is an act of piracy. Not smuggling; piracy." Piracy in the Alliance was punishable by immediate execution, usually by the simple expedient of spacing the captives. "So yes, I did ask. Foodstuffs. We're hauling fresh fruit and vegetables across the system to a buyer."
Wash piled a few boxes onto the 4-wheeler's platform. "Doesn't seem like the kind of thing that someone'd go to the trouble of smuggling."
"Little - uh! - problem between the guilds and our client though." Mal stood away from a particular heavy box. "What the hell's in that thing?"
Zoe knelt by one end as Mal moved to the other. They each grabbed a corner and lifted. "This problem going to cause us troubles on this flight, sir?"
"Long as we don't get caught, don't see why."
"Speaking of getting caught," Simon stood in the upper doorway, looking down at the assembled group. "Where's Jayne?"
"Last I saw, he was engaged in a philosophical discussion over the value of a credit." The large heavy box clanged down as Mal and Zoe stepped away from it.
"Uh?"
Book helped Wash add a few more boxes to the trailer. "I believe the good captain means that Jayne was busy negotiating price. perhaps from a lady of evening."
"Exactly right, shepherd. I expect he'll be a little too occupied to be betrayin' us tonight." Mal wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "You just goin' to stay up there and watch us work, or are you going to come down and lend a hand, doc?"
"Huh? Sorry." Simon rolled up his sleeves and clambered down the stairs. River drifted out, grabbed the railing of the catwalk and watched the others work.
"Ants. Running to and fro, they don't see the shadow until it's too late. The boot comes down and the hive gets squashed. Built back up sometimes, sometimes."
Mal sighed and plunked himself down on top of a crate. "We need fewer boxes around here."
Wash nodded. "I say we move them into your quarters."
"Why mine?"
"'cause it was your idea to rearrange the bay!"
Zoe sat down besides Wash, put her arm around him. "Now, now. You're always complaining that you need more exercise around here. Now, you're just bulging with muscles." She kissed him on the cheek.
Wash looked over at the captain. "Can we rearrange the boxes tomorrow, too?"
"I think we'll hold off on that - ah! - for a while." Mal rubbed his back. "Forgot to lift with my legs there, a time or two."
"An eclipse."
Everyone present looked over at River. She was on the edge of the catwalk, looking up at the ceiling, her arms held down by her sides. Simon climbed to his feet. "Be careful, River."
"Careful doesn't matter," she favoured her brother with one of her odd little smiles. "When an eclipse comes it blocks out the sun's light until the path of the blocking object carries it away. Lets the sun come back."
As Simon climbed up the stairs and wrapped his arms around River, pulling her back from the edge, Mal nodded. "But the eclipse season ain't coming for another few months here."
"That's wrong. The eclipse is coming today." She giggled, tapping her brother's chest. "They think it's pretty. Falls all over the land, clears the light away. Lumberjacks in a forest, like reavers, cutting down all the pretty trees. Saplings aren't strong enough."
Mal nodded, looking up at the doctor. "This'd be one of her bad days then?"
"Everyone's bad day. Eclipse." River beamed at the captain. "Put on a good suit, something festive. Comes but once a year, clears out the forest. Fires are good, set back the life cycle."
"Come on, River," Simon said, gently walking her out of the cargobay.
Zoe looked over at Mal. "You want I should hide all the soup, sir?"
He shrugged. "I don't think that'll be necessary, Zoe. 'Sides, as I recall, you were the last one to get the treatment."
Zoe pointed a finger at her husband. "You say 'wacky fun' and I'll kill you."
"Madcap Amusement? Ow!"
Mal frowned. "What was it that she said just now? Something about lumberjacks?"
Zoe frowned. "Didn't quite catch it."
Mal looked at Wash and the pilot shrugged. "Sorry, sir."
Book frowned, taking a step forwards. "Lumberjacks in a forest, like reavers, cutting down all the pretty trees." He frowned as he got it. "You don't think.?"
"I hope not. Hopin' it's just another one of her bad days. Wash, Zoe, get to the cockpit and make sure we can lift off at a moment's notice. Make sure nobody gets off the ship, don't matter for what reason. I'll get Jayne."
"Sir, it's just River.!" Zoe protested.
"I'm not feeling in the mood to take that chance right now. How about you?"
"Guess not, sir. But it doesn't make any kind of sense."
"Doesn't have to. Now get to the cockpit."
Mal patted his hip, made sure he still had his gun. Open carry was legal on Icarus. He hoped he was wrong, hoped that it had just been another more of River's nonsensical talk. Like Zoe said, it didn't make no sense; they'd never hit a target this big before.
Sometimes, even an atheist has to pray. And right now, he was praying to be wrong.
* * * * *
They've arrived.
The final ship falls into formation, away from us. Its reactor is unshielded and while the low caste lives may not matter, ours do. My second looks up, a simple nod from her confirming it; the course is plotted, the target unawares. They await only my command.
I give it.
End Part 1.