Not a soul to be seen. Nor a sound to be heard but the hum of the ERV ventilation system. It occurred to Simon that he could lift the Alliance woman's ident card and even steal her ill-fitting uniform, but she would still be conscious despite his jab to her pain point. He couldn't risk cracking the cryo box open in case she tried for a breakaway similar to his own.
At least he was wearing a white patient gown rather than his birthday suit.
Considering Serenity's most recent coordinates, Londinium seemed the most likely candidate for Simon's location, planetary home to the Alliance Parliament. The world's inhabitants lived and thought much like the Westerners of Earth-that-was, so he wouldn't be encountering any language or cultural barriers once he escaped this government complex. Okay, if.
Meanwhile, though, there wasn't much sunlight yet shining in his starvation-fogged brainpan (as Mal would have called it. Honestly, Simon preferred the term to "neurocranium"). It seemed likely, based on the scarcity of passersby, that there was a lunchbreak going on somewhere. If Simon could get ahold of a uniform or at least a visitor's card, he could replenish his blood glucose and start to chew over a proper plan. Then maybe try to sort out his memories.
Simon stepped out into the corridor and saw a pneumatic vacuum elevator at the far end. There was a map of the complex bolted on the wall next to it - spanning several feet, owing to the sheer size of the buildings.
The complex surrounded the Alliance Parliament and consisted of three separate buildings whose combined area filled hundreds of square blocks. The "You are Here" label on the map (hopefully superfluous for most employees) hovered above "Main Building No. 1," the largest of the three. A corresponding Cafeteria No. 1 appeared to be several floors below.
Simon entered the elevator cab with caution, but, seeing that it was vacant, breathed a shaky sigh of relief. The stainless steel walls seemed so odd - shiny, but not in a pleasing way - compared to Serenity's rusty old hull.
The descent was smoother than a luxury ship's, so much so Simon found it hard to believe he was moving at all. The cab stopped a floor down to admit another gray-suit, a man with a face nearly empty of expression and an aluminum attache to complete the cyborgian look.
Don't do it, just don't… Simon thought, suppressing the urge to look at the man, or worse, engage him in conversation. What if he's a blue-hand? He might recognize my face…. I can't.
"Do you work here?" he blurted out stupidly.
The most agonizing moment of his life passed without the other man making a comment. "Shouldn't you be in the sanitarium?" the cyborg-guy finally asked, inciting Simon to look down and remember the white garment he was still wearing. Luckily the man, based on his facial expression, seemed indifferent to life itself. But that might not last.
No...no...no…what the hell do I say? "M-me? I don't - I'm - I'm a special agent. This is the first time the doctors have let me walk around on my own in - in weeks. I sustained an injury in a spat with some smugglers."
The story was amazingly coherent.
A "you-don't-say" ripple of interest broke the man's flawless composure; he glanced at Simon before asking, his voice now murmurous, "You've heard about that Firefly-class transport ship?"
Was the Firefly crew so worthy of the Alliance rumor mill? Simon strove to look knowingly mysterious, nodding and pursing his lips - saying nothing. This had to be related to the ambush or Mr. Cyborg would not look so uncharacteristically intrigued.
"Are those fugitives, the Tams, finally in custody?" he asked. "I'm a bit out of the loop."
The man had just parted his lips when a look of uncomprehending surprise seemed to pop a stopper between them. "Are…" he started in disbelief, but the most he could do was stare at Simon as his frown intensified.
"Mr. Tam, is that you?!"
A/N: It's hard work, but I'll keep these chapters coming if you guys ask for it. Thanks to the reviewers!