The Hole in the 'verse
An alternative Firefly story
Rating: PG-13, for violence and mild cursing
Summary: AU fic. Wash is alive and almost well, Serenity's got more cargo, but there's something missing from the "Happily ever after" equation: Simon got left behind. What happens now?
Disclaimer: Could I possibly have ownership of these luckless souls the way I've been treating them? They belong to Joss Whedon and that's that.
Author's Notes: I haven't forgotten, just taken a very lax view on updating.
The Book of JAYNE
part
2
"We're humped."
If ever there were truer words spoken, Jayne couldn't think of them at the moment. However, he was the adamant sort when it came to pay off. It happened and he was happy, or it didn't and things got broken.
"Well, what now, wise leader?" he asked sarcastically. "Ain't got a plan ta get us outta this here mess a trouble we're in? Cause I remember thinkin', 'Gee, why don't we try us some 'vasive manouevers.' Now we're stuck here with Feds breathin' down our necks—"
"Jayne, go check the boxes. Read the numbers at me," Mal said finally.
"Huh?" Jayne grunted.
"Go check the boxes for numbers, Jayne. Dong ma?"
"Yer still gonna play nice with those hwoon dahns?"
"Jayne!" Mal snapped.
The mercenary didn't reply, having learned how to choose his battles a long time ago. He spun on his heel and stalked down to the cargo bay. Jayne would be obedient this time—if only so that he could live a little while longer—but if Mal got everyone killed, he would most certainly have something to answer for. Maybe Jayne would make him die a long and painful death. Maybe there'd be grenades involved. The possibility of carnage made Jayne giddy with excitement.
The initial inspection of the packaging on the box revealed nothing special. Jayne, on a spurt of cleverness, wedged a bit of scrap metal beneath it and heaved. The angle was awkward, but with some creative bending, Jayne was able to see the shadow of large, block numbering. He got a little more shoulder into it and manhandled the box into an even greater slant. The ident code read 034-FY23. The mercenary—after carefully letting the box resettle on the floor—wandered over to the com system installed in the corner of the bay. He pressed the button for the bridge.
"Mal, first box says oh-three-four dash eff-why-two-three."
There was a pause on the line. Jayne imagined Mal was having to beat back another barrage of Fed questions. When the captain finally did crackle over the system, he asked, "You sure about that, Jayne?"
"Sure as my own eyes that saw it; what the guay you askin' me that for?"
"Jayne!" Mal barked.
"Well, yeah, Mal, those is the numbers! I ain't gonna lie about shit like that!"
"Go check another box."
Jayne snarled angrily before turning around and ramming the makeshift lever under another damned heavy box. He gulped another breath of air before heaving with all his might and forcing the box into the air. Another breath and a small prayer later, he leaned over again to examine the next batch of numbers: 059-KZ78. Knowing that the captain was some sort of closet sadist, he checked the last box as well, because Mal would ask him to out of pure spite. Mal had probably set the boxes up that way, with all the numbers on the bottom of the crates. The last one said 065-MU09. He relayed both of the codes to Mal without too much fussing or groaning.
"Em-you-oh-nine?"
"Yeah, Mal! How many more times you wanna be askin' this? The answer ain't gonna be changing, no time soon, Mal!"
The muttered curse was barely audible over the intercom, but Jayne heard it. "Shun-SHENG duh gao-WAHN , I do not need to be havin' none of this. Jayne! Get back up on the bridge." The last bit had been shouted, meant for listening ears.
Jayne gave an aggravated sigh. In short, the Alliance had better not have been mucking up their job, and poking their asses in where it wasn't wanted. They had all had enough of the, and Jayne didn't know why in Mal didn't just try to outrun them. His best guess was that there was something that Mal was hiding. Jayne wouldn't have put it past the wily captain.
"Yes, yer 'ighness, I'm here at yer beck 'n call," Jayne grumbled, finally rejoining the gathering upstairs. The crew all looked exceedingly grim, as though someone had died. "What happened, we get tagged?"
"No, Jayne, we have a perfectly wonderful Alliance escort to Persephone," Mal answered stiffly.
"We're goin' ta jail?" Jayne snapped, metaphorical hackles immediately up in fighting position. He had known what would happen if they had gotten friendly with the Feds, warned them even! And yet, nobody ever listened to Jayne, cause Mal always knew what was best for everyone.
"No. Just an escort to make sure we get the cargo there safely," Zoë answered in lieu of Mal. The captain looked as though every breath was painful, and considering that he had probably just led them into a trap, Jayne wouldn't be at all surprised if it were true. "As far as we know, the Alliance doesn't plan on apprehending us. The codes you read were legit, probably saved us."
"So…we aint goin' ta jail?"
"Not yet."
"'N what's gonna happen when we land, again? I'm a little fuzzy on the details. We get ourselves caught 'n killed cause the Feds don't know why we got ourselves official Alliance goods?" he muttered.
As so often happened when one dealt with unnecessary stress, Zoë seemed to be developing a twitch in her left eye; Jayne suspected it had to do with the shoddy leadership. Luckily, Mal seemed to regain enough of his rationale to answer for her. "Our man on Osiris vouched for us. We're cleared to be takin' this cargo to Persephone, no harm to come to us. We deliver the cargo, we go back to Osiris for Simon and Kaylee, 'n then we are goin' somewhere else for a good long while. We don't need this kind of mess from nobody."
"Yeah, well, I don't trust 'em. Feds is been known ta lie before."
"Yeah, well, you ain't got much of a choice," Mal retorted.
Jayne scowled. "No need ta be rude."
The air had the same consistency as the protein they lived on. With the Alliance cruiser hovering menacingly out the port window, it wasn't hard to understand why. Even Wash found it hard to speak under the circumstances.
"Uh…sir? What isn't quite so valuable that the Alliance wouldn't just come over here and pick it up, but still requires an escort?"
"I really don't know, Wash, maybe a shipment of pompous hats. I don't know, and I don't care. We're getting the job done."
"Mal, I think the little man's got a point," Jayne remarked.
"Let's try not to give the Feds a reason to be truly pissed off with us, dong ma? We don't need to know what's in them fancy crates."
"I do," Jayne muttered quietly.
Mal turned towards Jayne, a frown darkening his gaze. "What'd you say?"
Jayne balked. The captain was never often truly incensed, but when he was, there was trouble. Luckily for Jayne, the perfect answer came to him. It had worked before, under different conditions; he didn't know why it wouldn't work now. He gulped.
"I'll be in my bunk."
Silence ensued, followed by a collective groan. It was as though the tension was flushed out of the room in a great wave. There were shaking heads and Mal even rubbed his forehead in a slow and methodical movement, but nobody had leapt up and started shooting.
"Okay. Jayne. Go play with your rain stick," the captain sighed.
Jayne didn't need to be told twice. He was loping down the hallway towards the catwalk over the bay when he heard Mal's voice chasing him over the intercom.
"And stay away from the boxes, Jayne. Cap'n's orders."
"Aw-! Mal, ruttin' hwoon dahn, you ain't tellin' me what's best fer me when it comes to the gorram Feds!" Jayne growled. He didn't slow down, and he didn't acknowledge the order. He nearly tripped down the stairs to the cavernous bay, but he caught himself in time. He didn't think he would have a lot of time for the operation, assuming that Mal was just finding out now what he planned to do.
The boxes were still where they'd been unceremoniously dropped; and the scrap metal that had formerly been a lever was still wedged beneath the last box he'd inspected. Jayne kicked it out from underneath the wooden crate, grabbed it up, and began to attack the cover.
"Jayne, get away from the box, now," Mal's voice came coldly from the catwalk above.
"I almost got it, Mal," Jayne hissed between his teeth. He gave a last, mighty heave, and the cover of the box popped off like a cork. Much like a nesting doll, the crate contained another box, though the second one looked much more advanced than the first. It had a control pad with a series of knobs and screens filled with Mandarin writing. There was only one button of substance, and it was glowing a malignant red. Jayne wanted to push it more than anything in his life.
"Jayne!" The sound of a gun cocking didn't quite sway the mercenary into listening, but it sure made him pause. He gave the captain a dirty look.
"Don't tell me you ain't innerested in findin' out what's so damn valu'ble."
"I got about all the curiosity I can stand at the moment, but step away from the gorram box before I shoot you somewhere painful." Mal's pistol didn't waver at all as he spoke.
"Gettin' shot's painful no matter where it is," Jayne snarled.
"My point exactly. Now move."
Jayne's jaw clenched. That glowing red button was aching to be punched. He knew that Mal wouldn't approve of its being pushed and violating the sacred trust that came with a smuggler's cargo, but Mal didn't approve of anything. The big question was whether the contents of the box were worth getting shot over. Thankfully, Jayne's answer was just as thought invoking as the question: Dahng rahn. Jayne rammed his palm against the button as Mal's gun fired. Jayne was vaguely aware as the bullet embedded itself into his left shoulder and tore through the meat before exiting out the other side. The shot did hurt, but it didn't matter. The light in the button had turned green and smoke was pouring forth out of the cracks that had opened under the cover of the inner box.
Jayne grinned triumphantly: he had beaten Mal and it felt damned good. Then the gun collided with his skull and he couldn't gloat about anything anymore.
The small, beetle-like shuttle was completely overshadowed by the Bumblebee and Hornet class ships beside her. It inspired a feeling of pity, but not embarrassment. Kaylee was never one to suffer from embarrassment; unless, of course, she realized that she had left her boyfriend alone on a strange planet without even realizing that he had left the ship. The emotion left her feeling hot, flushed and very disappointed in herself. Maybe she didn't deserve to love Simon if she couldn't even take care of him.
The disparaging thoughts didn't stop her from at least attempting to search for him. Kaylee wasn't entirely sure where or how to start, but she didn't think that walking around could hurt. Maybe she could even ask people that looked kind enough. Kaylee knew to draw the line at Feds though, and even running into one would be problematic. But she knew that she was on Osiris, and she had heard plenty of stories from Simon about his past; there had to be some places that she could remember from his stories. She would start there first. So she mentally kept a tab on where she'd landed the shuttle and started her tour of the dockyard.
Chinese:
Shun-SHENG duh gao-WAHN- Holy testicle Tuesday
Dahng ran- Of course
Honour Roll: Lynx Ryder: Well you see…this one's been written for a long time and Survivor's smashed headlong into a wall and is now kind of twitching and spasming on the pavement. –blush- That's how I update this one semi-regularly.
