I nearly gave up on this.
Actually, I nearly gave upon writing.
It's not something I can easily put into words; but, in short, the best way to describe it is that I got disillusioned because I felt that I wasn't communicating my ideas effectively and writing is all about communication. The thing is that it wasn't negative reviews that got to me it was reviews where the reader had clearly missed the point of what I was doing. Obviously, the problem with fanfiction – and playing in another's backyard is that others have legitimate ideas as to what constitutes 'good' or 'okay' – I had to remind myself that my ideas were just as valid and just as worthy.
Thus, I persevere.
To those who continue to read and review – good or bad – I thank you. Don't stop, tell me what you think…but expect me to want to discuss it, or use your thoughts - after all, all writers are magpies...
and you're sinking in
the headlights
and your words all come apart
and you're falling
down forever
in the wasteland of your heart
I don't need to
touch your future
I don't need to hold your fear
I don't need
your fucking sympathy when
I'm a thousand miles away from here
Ashengrace – Coldlight
Several hours had passed since Serenity had landed, time enough for the searing heat of the day to pass and the local approximation of sunset to begin its sluggish approach; as such, the captain decided it was time for himself, Zoë and Jayne – in his obligatory role as hulking menace - to head into town in order to meet with Sir Warrick's ostensible business partner; although, as had been established on the journey from Persephone, the term 'business partner' was, at best, a courtesy, and in all probability a euphemism for the seedier side of commerce, albeit one granted a subtle degree of legitimacy through the noblesse oblige granted by Sir Warrick's title and its associated burden of moral and legal rectitude.
As Zoë and Jayne finished prepping the Mule neither of them paid too much attention to the slowly attenuating glare from outside. On landing, the crew had taken a few moments to familiarise themselves with their immediate area before the suffocating heat and blinding glare from the sun as it beat down on the glassy silica sands drove them, en masse, back inside.
"Damn glad to be seein' that sun go down," noted Jayne, his attention firmly fixed on a particularly obstreperous piece of binding that wouldn't sit right.
"As well you might, considering as how the captain was all fired up on sending you out for groceries earlier on."
The mercenary grinned, albeit somewhat mirthlessly "You keep tellin' me things like that and I'll get to thinking that Mal don't love me no more."
"Well I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings," lied Zoë blandly, her attention, like Jayne's, fixed more on what she was doing than the person with whom she was conversing.
"Of course you wouldn't, heaven forefend that such an event should come to pass," finally the binding snapped into place, "you done?"
"I am," she answered gravely, I'll go grab the captain and we can head off into the sunset."
"How romantic, I won't tell Wash if you won't."
"You're too kind," murmured Zoë as she strode away.
On consideration, the term 'sunset' wasn't a term that could be considered strictly accurate in consideration of the fact that Bellerophon had three suns and a supremely erratic orbit; as such, the closest the planet came to 'true' darkness was a rather unsettled, murky twilight in-between the various risings, settings and general intransigence of the various solar entities that the planet claimed as its own. From the perspective of those who lived on Bellerophon, and whose bloodlines didn't run to salamander genetics, most days of the year had, mercifully, only two suns malevolently blazing overhead at a given moment with the third, either occluded by the planet or, off visiting relatives or whatever it was that suns did when they weren't busy making desert. Generally speaking, however, two suns on active duty were usually more than enough to produce conditions that could be considered somewhat uncomfortable; on those special occasions when the suns' and the planet's orbit maliciously colluded, and all three stars were in evidence, conditions went from somewhat uncomfortable to downright unpleasant and it was only the mentally disenfranchised who voluntarily ventured outside…
…And visiting Alliance officers who saw fit to make one too many imperial proclamations pertaining to Bellerophon's correct placement in the natural order of planetary hierarchies: although the correct use of the verb in those particular instances was usually 'staked' not ventured.
Jayne took a moment to relax, leaning against the mule while he waited for Zoë to collect the captain from whatever he was doing. Of course it was entirely possible that the 'what' could have been 'who' seeing as how he and Inara had been keeping particularly close company of late. Student of human nature he may have been, as was any mercenary worth their salt, but even Jayne was prepared to admit that when it came to attempting to decipher the internal machinations that comprised the web of human relationships – especially those on Serenity - he was completely in the dark. In fact, it was that palpable, and admittedly, wilful, ignorance that had caused him to remain, much to the distress of him mother who wanted more grandkids (dammit), a confirmed bachelor for as long as he had.
Sex was fine. Jayne understood sex. Sex was about the mutually consenting exchange of bodily fluids. Emotions and feelings weren't bodily fluids, and unlike bodily fluids they didn't obey the laws of physics; in fact, the only thing about feelings and emotions that seemed to bear some relation to physical laws was that when the shit hit the fan at four times normal speed there was sixteen times the amount of collateral damage. Jayne wasn't a fan of collateral damage, be it through proximity, association or, god forbid, intent. It was bad enough, he'd decided - amidst the ongoing soap opera that was Serenity - being in close proximity to the continual emotional ructions, dramas and bad-hair days that passed for normal, social interaction; he'd be damned if he'd voluntarily submit to such things in a greater capacity.
Deciding that his current line of thought was neither, particularly interesting, productive or, for that matter, edifying, the mercenary turned his thoughts to the trip into the city centre to make contact with Sir Warrick's business acquaintance. Personally, he couldn't see why he was being dragged along. While he understood the necessity of retaining some sort of armed presence – be it offensive, defensive or pre-emptive -, Zoë was already going and, to his way of thinking, this negated the necessity of having him along to play the hulking brute; especially, if one believed the sketchy information the Persephonean noble had given Mal, as there wasn't expected to be any trouble.
He snorted in amused self-recrimination at that last thought; since when, especially once he'd taken up with Serenity, had an expectation of anything turned out to bear even the slightest resemblance to reality; especially trouble.
If nothing else, however, Jayne was a professional, and once he'd learnt of their destination he'd done some surreptitious research on the planet and its inhabitants in order to compile as accurate a threat assessment as he could for, as innocuous as the mission presented itself to be, Jayne was no fan of being unexpectedly shot, knifed or otherwise endangered and he therefore prepared for any, even the most unlikely, eventuality. What little information he'd been able to discover on Bellerophon with the limited time and resources he'd had available, indicated that the planet was about as dangerous as an episode of the Teletubbies (including the weird one with the handbag) although, like all seemingly innocuous things, Bellerophon had a sting in its soft, fluffy tail.
Bellerophon had started out, as a lot of non-core worlds had, as a traders' outpost used to support the expansion of civilisation rim-ward; unlike many such worlds, however, Bellerophon hadn't required any terraforming, at least not to make it habitable to humans; terraforming would certainly have helped make it infinitely more bearable, but it was (technically) habitable. As there had been no requirement for massive infrastructural investment from the Core, the population, such as it was at the time, had never developed a mentality of dependence – especially financial - on Core generosity and, as the planet was fortuitously situated at what would eventually become one of the major trading nexuses, it meant that it didn't fall victim, as many other worlds did, to paying exorbitant fees, tariffs and taxes to the various trading consortia in order to survive.
All in all, Bellerophon liked its independence.
Not, however, that much independence, for when the Independents came calling, Bellerophon's governing council, with all due acknowledgement to diplomatic language, told them to fuck off. They weren't much more polite to the Alliance either. Although the failure to engage diplomatically didn't stop the powers-that-be on Bellerophon from allowing both sides use of the planet's facilities for restocking and refuelling; after all, business was business and, as the planet's population judged things, turmoil was bad for business, an attitude, which was best summed up by the planet's poet laureate who famously noted that: 'They can take that shit somewhere else.'
Thus Bellerophon had become a trader's haven where anything, and everything, was for sale for, of course, a price. However, unlike other trader worlds, which were little better than wretched hives of scum and villainy, Bellerophon took a path that was the epitome of a spirit level in its even handed rigidity and complete lack of tolerance for anything that even resembled criminal activity. Certainly, there was a degree of discrete customer fleecing and mild price gouging, but that, at least according to the Bellerophon Chamber of Commerce, was standard business practise, anything, however, that even hinted at the illicit, the injurious or the down-right illegal was frowned upon for while the short term profits may have shown potential the overriding effect on planetary reputation was bad for business.
The poet laureate had something to say about that too; "Here's a rule I recommend: Never practice two vices at once."
Considering Serenity's unfortunate predilection – despite the best intentions in the 'verse - for falling into situations that could be considered less than completely virtuous, Jayne also decided to review the local judicial code…just in case. What he found was disturbing, for the closest analogy he could draw, in his understanding of crime and punishment on Bellerophon, was with equine medicine where the (almost) universal solution was to 'shoot the horse', although in the case of Bellerophon, 'stake naked in the sun' replaced the more humane option of simply shooting the transgressor.
This left Jayne in the unusual position of deciding that it was best if he did indeed go along, if only to keep the captain out of trouble; although, he was prepared to admit, that Bellerophon's strictly non-partisan approach to business meant that even the most ardent partisan was likely to be extremely well behaved. Nonetheless, he made a mental note to mention his findings to Zoë, who could bring it up with Mal; he couldn't quite see Mal swallowing the notion of Jayne going along to keep him out of trouble. Jayne mentally shrugged, it was entirely possible that his concern wasn't necessary, and that the captain had discovered this information himself, Mal might have made stubbornness a performance art but he was relatively competent - all things considered.
The sound of approaching boots splintered the delicate framework of his reverie and turning, he spied Zoë and the captain making their way across the gantry from the crew quarters. The captain's appearance was one of dishabille and Jayne rolled his eyes, yep, definitely a case of who, not what.
"Ready to go, Jayne?"
"No, I just thought I'd stand here."
"Well, I guess it's good that you're able to master basic concepts and physical principles, but I don't remember paying you to imitate a mannequin, irrespective of how good you might be at it."
"Mannequin's more attractive, Sir," added Zoë, helpfully; her eye's betraying a malicious twinkle.
"That little man of yours not satisfyin' you Zoë? It's a sad thing to be resorting to admiring shop dummies."
"At least my shop dummy is breathing, which is more than can be said for those pictures taped to your wall. Tell me Jayne, does Vera come with another set of attachments we don't know about?"
"Why? Do you want to borrow her sometime?"
By this point, Mal was starting to look slightly sick. Not disgusted as, for all that he had a wide streak of vanilla running through him, he was not of a judgemental character, but there were certain things about his crew he'd really rather not be party to; girlish infatuations with doctors he could handle, the interoperability and potential attachments to Jayne's weapon, was something he would really rather not consider.
He paused for a moment and mentally confirmed that he had indeed asked himself whether he had really thought about the handling of Jayne's weapon and shuddered; some things really didn't bear thinking about. Ever. Fortunately, for Mal's continued sanity, Zoë chose that moment to fire up mule and the roar of the transport coming to life shook loose the last vestiges of the unwanted images from his conscious mind.
"Hey Mal? You comin'?" Jayne was lazing insouciantly on the back seat of the mule the only thing missing from his air of repose being an oversized cigar and a multi-coloured drink with a novelty umbrella.
"Yeah, sorry, I got distracted…"
"…And who could blame you, Sir?" came the sotto voce comment from his right as his second-in-command dropped the clutch and moved the mule out of the loading bay.
"Shut up Zoë, or I'll tie you to the mule and make you run. Jayne?"
"Uh?"
"Did you bring some grenades?"
"I thought you didn't like grenades?"
"I've grown fond of them in my old age, now answer the question, did you bring some grenades?"
The mercenary looked somewhat evasive, "Maybe."
"Yes or no."
"Maybe."
"Are you not hearin' me rightly?"
"Oh I'm hearing you rightly, Captain, I'm just not entirely sure what I'm hearin'. Last time I wanted to bring grenades along on a trip I got chapter and verse on how it was unnecessary and then these Reavers turned up…"
"Jayne!" came the exasperated mutter, "Do you have any hand grenades? Yes or no, and if you don't answer me I'll toss you off the back of the mule and you can join Zoë."
"Best of luck with that, Sir," added Zoë, not taking her eyes from the terrain in front of the mule, which, for all it's ostensible smoothness, was proving to be a series of undulating mesas, dunes and ravines.
Jayne sighed, "Fine, I have one or two grenades with me, but what are you expecting me to do with them, as I don't imagine this is a favoured holiday spot for the local Reaver community."
"I think he's getting paranoid in his old age."
"Who're you calling old, Zoë?"
The woman merely smiled and kept her eyes on the 'road'. "Sorry, Sir, you're not old…"
"…For all that he complains like a Jewish grandmother. You'd better be careful Zoë, or he'll start asking why you couldn't marry a nice Doctor instead of a meshuge pilot with no future; come to think of it, we have a nice doctor. Actually, no, we have Simon the yente, but close enough to make the point."
Mal ignored the pair of them.
Somewhat surprisingly, the rest of the relatively brief journey into town passed in something that could be said to approximate companionable silence, certainly, there wasn't much in the way of scenery to promote discussion unless, that is, you were a major fan of sand.
The primary population centres of Bellerophon had, almost universally, been constructed about one of the massive oases that littered the planet, virtually everything else was desert with the odd smattering of brush, scrub and stunted goblin forest to break the panoramic vastness of the dunes. While it was true that they had parked – as it were – Serenity just outside of town, just outside was a relative concept defined in part by how great the likelihood of them having to run away was; while they didn't anticipate any problems on Bellerophon, that didn't mean that they were prepared to land on the local equivalent of the town hall and expect a universally warm welcome.
Eventually, the sand and scrub gave way to scatterings of adobe-style dwellings, small single-room buildings, apparently home to sprawling families who were obviously without recourse to the manifest benefits of contraception or the knowledge therein. More than likely, Jayne mused, the local population in such areas were kept poor, ignorant and eternally and somewhat inevitably, pregnant; it didn't matter where you went in the 'verse, there was always an underclass and they provided an economically sustainable workforce. There but for the Grace of God, go I, he thought, conveniently ignoring the fact that Cobb DNA was far too ornery to ever accept such a position on life's wheel; in fact, back at the dawn of time, when most protozoa were happily swimming around in their pool of primordial ooze, the Cobb protozoa was relentlessly looking for a way to clamber out of it's current pool of ooze in order to launch a pre-emptive strike at, and thereby exert dominance over, it's neighbours.
It was a trait that had bred true over the millennia through both time and space.
The shantytown slowly merged into more concentrated areas of housing and where there was a greater proliferation of housing, there were children who, in the manner of children everywhere when presented with something new, swarmed after the mule like a particularly rabid swarm of locusts.
"Careful now Zoë, don't want to run over any of the kids."
"Under control, Sir"
"Don't worry so much Mal, they're small enough to get spat right back out the intake with nary a problem."
Reynolds regarded the mercenary with a levelling glare, "That wasn't quite what I meant, Jayne?"
"How about I use one of those grenades you asked me to bring along; wouldn't be but a smear left and the noise would scare the rest of them away."
"How about we stick a pole up your arse and see if that gets rid of them?"
"That'd be stupid, Mal, they're children, not birds. Anyway, scarecrows don't work that well, even the really noisy ones are only effective for a bit afore the birds get all curious-like and come back to dismember it; I could string Simon up to demonstrate."
"What with all the yokelising, Jayne?" inquired Zoë. "You've spent the last month or so rubbing our noses in the fact that you're not a complete idiot and now your talking like you've married your sister."
Jayne cast an arch eye at Zoë, his expression bemused, "Would you believe that passing through the outskirts of town caused me to reminisce about my upbringing?"
"No."
"How about I'm bored out of my skull and needed some measure of entertainment?"
"Infinitely more probable."
"Now who's showing off their education? Didn't think you knew big words like 'probable'"
"You keep that up, Jayne and I'll probably shoot you."
Jayne sighed dramatically, "Promises, promises."
"No, really, I'll shoot you."
"If you do," noted Mal, "make sure you stop the mule and park it safely, wouldn't do to take your eyes off the road and run over one of the children."
"Yes Sir," Zoë acquiesced.
Jayne rolled his eyes and returned his attention to sandy streets and the omnipresent pack of chasing children. Amongst the press of small bodies there was one, a girl no more than ten or eleven, that stood out, for all that she remained somewhat apart from the others, watching the mule pass with calm, pale blue eyes instead of giving chase in a frenzy of youthful exuberance. There was something in her eyes that Jayne had seen before on many frontier worlds – and in the poorer sections of ostensibly civilised worlds - the look of prematurely assumed responsibility brought on by hardship and a lack of even the most basic luxuries that allowed one to have either a childhood or, in affected adults, some measure of surcease from the daily grind. At least, Jayne thought, no one went hungry any more, modern terraforming and propagation techniques had seen to that; unfortunately, such techniques did nothing about the woeful levels of education, welfare and pretty much anything else that had anything to do with the human condition above a subsistence level that existed on even the most prosperous worlds not directly linked to the core.
Of course endemic greed played a major role in ensuring that such conditions were perpetuated; especially on a neutral, trader world like Bellerophon, although this was not to suggest that the Alliance gave a tinker's damn for the plight of the poor, no matter what their propaganda holos said.
Deciding that musing on the state of the verse's social welfare system was counter-productive and ultimately depressing, Jayne decided to turn his attention to other things.
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Will we be there soon?"
"Yes."
"How soon?"
"Very soon."
"…Are we there yet?"
"Zoë? You know how you offered to shoot Jayne?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"Now would be a good time."
"Can't do that, Sir, gotta keep my eyes on the road, 'specially seeing as how you don't want me to run over any children."
"I'll make an exception."
"C'mon now Mal, just 'cos you're ticked an' all with me don't mean you get run a bunch of kids over. Imagine what the town council would say."
"Jayne, shut up. Zoë?" and Mal winced as he realised what he was going to ask, "Are we there yet?"
The sound of Jayne's muffled chuckle was in perfect synchronisation with the audible rolling of Zoë's eyes and a quiet muttering about how she should have stayed in bed with the dinosaurs.
Inevitably, the mule moved through, and away from, the press of children and eased into the town proper, a Spanish hacienda-style affair with a preponderance of white-stuccoed walls that created an effect ever more blinding than the sands of the desert.
"Ain't these people ever heard of contrast?" murmured Jayne, distinctly unimpressed by the uniform tones of the surrounding architecture, "Hell, I'd even settle for a surrealist's impression of a Hawaiian shirt over this blandness, this" he gestured broadly to encompass all and sundry "is worse than Kaylee's attempts at prettifyin' that reconstituted protein we had for dinner last…"
Zoë looked dubious, "I wouldn't go that far, Jayne, Kaylee's recipes come straight out of the Gourmet Torturers Handbook."
The mercenary grimaced humourlessly, "Yes, I remember: 'The hearty man ate a condemned breakfast'. Well, to give the girl her due, if she' trying to poison us she's doing a good job of hiding it; either that, or she's as inept a poisoner as she is a cook, which, when you think about it is almost oxymoronic enough to constitute a superpower in its own right."
"Leave Kaylee alone," growled Mal, "she does her best, which is more than can be said for the pair of you when it's your turn to cook. Now Kaylee's cookin' might be somewhat haphazard, but I've never seen the Shepherd pray for mercy instead of grace at something she's put in front of him, Jayne; and as for you, Zoë, I thought you'd almost scared River sane last time you 'cooked', and I use that word only with the broadest possible interpretation of your having subjected some innocent protein by-product to a heat source of some description."
"You're a fine one to talk, I've never seen you cook at all."
"Rank or, more properly, ownership of the ship hath its privileges."
"I think we're here, Sir." Zoë interrupted.
It appeared the woman was correct, for the mule, under her careful guidance, was pulling into what could easily have been the town square; at least it looked that way as a large square space was surrounded by multi-story buildings each, like every other damn building on the planet, blindingly stuccoed in white. What really imparted the idea that this area was the town square, however, was the disgustingly ornate statue-cum-fountain placed – or more correctly dumped, and probably from a great height - in the middle of things. Jayne wasn't sure what he disapproved of more, the fact that a desert planet lent itself to a gratuitous waste of precious water or, that the alleged artist, who'd been commissioned to design the whole affair, was obviously related to the head of the commissioning committee if the complete lack of talent on display was anything to go by. In fact, Jayne thought, as he considered the monstrosity with healthy disdain, he hadn't seen anything so graceless since the time Wash had thumped Simon at chess and the over-bred doctor spluttered and stuttered with excuses and rationalisations for his loss.
The mercenary took a moment to castigate himself for the pettiness of his feelings towards the doctor; irrespective of whether of not the man was an in-bred, over-dressed prig, he was a very good doctor, even if he couldn't find his arse with both hands, a map and a flashlight. That he was able to find other people's various veins, arteries and other physiological accoutrements without encountering similar problems was a constant source of wonder for Jayne. Jayne also paused to give consideration to the teachings of the Tao, which said to accept not judge. He sighed. Sometimes he wished the Tao taught that shooting anyone who disturbed your inner equilibrium was an acceptable substitute for meditation and acceptance; however, such a position, would have made interpersonal relationships, especially on as confined a space as Serenity, somewhat difficult. It would also have, inevitably, resulted in having no one left to fly the ship, fix the ship or, generally perform any of the functions required to get the Firefly class entity from Point A to Point B. He did wonder though, albeit very privately and somewhat churlishly, precisely how screwing your way across the 'verse worked to the ship's advantage, maybe, he opined, Kaylee had wired Inara's bed to the fuel cells, to act as a manual, back-up generator. Finally, he shrugged, he knew that Inara's Companion contacts oft-times allowed the ship to acquire port in places that would normally not have touched such a ramshackle affair, he wasn't, however, feeling particularly charitable seeing how his inner equilibrium had been seriously disturbed by the abomination in the town square; maybe, he thought, he could track down the sculptor and kill them as a form of religious penance for his uncharitable thoughts towards his colleagues.
"Architecture's not too excitin', Sir", commented Zoë, as she climbed down from the mule.
"Don't much remember you havin' an interest in architecture, Zoë," noted the captain.
"She does when it involves counting how many potential sniper positions and sight-lines happen to be convergin' on where you happen to be," Jayne turned his attention to the black woman who was, under the surreptitious cover of ostensibly unloading the mule, was carefully surveying their position, "what'd'ya make it Zoë? I've got at least fifteen."
"At least," she replied, as her eyes flickered from position to position with a professional's precision, "the whole place was designed to be a killin' ground and the space between my shoulder blades is getting' more than a mite itchy just standing here."
"Ain't you been just a bit paranoid, people here got no reason to be shootin' at us."
"Wasn't aware people had any reason to be shootin' at us before, Sir, didn't stop it happenin' though."
"Don't forget Unification Day, Zoë." Jayne noted.
"Right, sorry. Wasn't aware people had any reason to be shootin' at us before, except on Unification Day…"
"…And then there were those cattle…"
"…I thought that was a sword…"
"…No, those rustlers, when we got to the other end…"
"…I thought they were tryin' to shoot up them lawmen…"
"…I don't think they were of a particular mind to be carin' who they were shootin' at, as long as it wasn't them…"
"Point. I'll rephrase. We're not going to get shot at this time are we, Sir? On purpose, I mean. Accidental, I can take; but I'm getting' a whole lot tired of people shootin' at me for no other reason than the fact I happen to be working with you."
Mal managed to look slightly shamefaced. "Not everybody shoots at us."
"He's got a point Zoë," Jayne affirmed, "there was the time," he opened a hand a moved to count occasions off on his fingers "when Mal's wife tried to steer us into a wreckers yard…"
"…Saffron wasn't my wife," Mal groused, however, Jayne continued serenely on as if the captain hadn't spoken.
"…And I don't think Niska had any intention of shooting Mal, or Wash for that matter; in fact, I think shooting was the last thing on his mind, I think he was preparing to start with flaying. You know, Mal, in hindsight, it might have been a bad thing you did pushing Niska's representative into one of the engines."
"He had it coming."
"Maybe so, but you didn't have to listen to Kaylee whining about pickin' bone chips out of the intakes."
Mal shrugged, he couldn't argue with that particular fact. Then again, Kaylee was liable to spend a week bitching and complaining if someone simply looked at Serenity's engines with anything less that divinely inspired awe, so having to pick the fragmentary remains of the wholly unsavoury, Niska's henchman out of the intakes was liable to give her enough ammunition to complain to all in sundry about how unloved her baby was for at least a month.
"Okay, maybe you have a point," Mal conceded, "But not every job we've taken has resulted in someone attempting to shoot us."
"Well I guess that's true," admitted Jayne. "If we discount those jobs where someone was trying to shoot at us that leaves those jobs where someone was trying to rob us, rape us…"
"I don't remember anyone trying to rape me Jayne," noted Zoë, "I think I'd remember something like that."
"Sorry, I meant rape and then eat, or would that be eat then rape? You can never be too sure with those Reavers."
"I wouldn't get too cocky there, Jayne, I don't remember too many of our clients trying to sell members of our crew to the Alliance."
The big man shrugged, "I'm a mercenary, not Mother Theresa. Anyway, I needed the money. Now, I don't need the money and River's grown on me somewhat?"
'Mother who?' the captain silently mouthed at his second-in-command but she simply shrugged in ignorance, something that was become a fairly common occurrence when Jayne got to talking; in fact between Jayne and River, Serenity pretty much had the incomprehensibility stakes for that part of the 'verse sewn up.
"I hope you're not admittin' to developing feelings for that girl, Jayne"; although watching Simon become the first doctor to launch himself into orbit when he found out would be fairly amusing.
Jayne rolled his eyes, "Don't be an idiot Mal; I like River because she's like Vera, a dangerous weapon if not handled properly, and even more dangerous when she is. Combine that with the fact that she's smarter than the rest of us put together makes her an interesting person to talk to, albeit I need my secret decoder ring to figure out what she's on about sometimes."
"Jayne," Zoë noted, "sometimes you're just plain strange; mind you, the rest of the time you're extremely strange so that don't amount to one of the captain's hills of beans. Now, Sir, are we planning on attendin' this meeting or are we going to stand around here making targets of ourselves?"
"Targets? I thought you were just counting sight lines."
"Generally yes, Sir. But when there's a person at the end of a particular sightline that changes your designation from potential target to definite target, at present, I'm countin' three weapons trained on you, Jayne? She looked to the mercenary for confirmation.
Without changing expression, Jayne asked, "You get the one on the water tower behind the turbine?"
Zoë winced, "Make that four weapons trained on you."
Reynolds shrugged, "They makin' any sort of threatening move?"
"Depends if'n you consider havin' a weapon pointed at you threatenin' an' all." Jayne noted.
"Jayne, if you're going to say you think I'm an idiot, just say it, you don't have to descend into yokel-speak to make your point."
The large man smirked, "Now Mal, I wasn't calling you stupid; let's just say you're a mite braver than I thought, though. Admittedly, my definition of a hero is someone who was too stupid to run away, so bravery isn't exactly a compliment in my lexicon."
"…And what, pray, great warrior, is your preferred option to bravery."
"Personally, I'm fond of strategy and tactics, but if I have to shoot somebody in the back," he shrugged, "then so be it." Suddenly, he grinned, "I'm also quite fond of running away when the occasion demands it."
Eyeing his colleague with a mixture of speculation and annoyance, the captain turned to Zoë, "You any idea where we're supposed to be?"
"You're kidding. Right? This is your mission, Sir. All we know is what you told us on Serenity."
The captain waved his hand irritably in his second-in-command's direction. "I know that; but it's not like Sir Warrick gave me a street map and Bellerophon isn't exactly my home town. Pointing someone in the direction of a planet and saying meet someone there doesn't constitute, nor grant intimate knowledge of the place."
"Then how're we supposed to find where we're supposed to be?" Zoë gestured towards the square, which, other than its uniform whiteness, was distinguished by its complete lack of signage indicating either direction or proprietorship."
"I guess that's the bit where we utilise our vast professional experience…"
Jayne looked dubious.
"…Or" continued the captain, catching the mercenary's look, "we could ask someone."
"Excellent idea, Sir, who did you plan to ask?" Zoë remarked.
"There has to be someone around here."
"There is," noted Jayne, "they just happen to be pointing guns at us; I doubt very much that they'd be particularly obligin'."
Mal shrugged, "Well then, I guess we just pick a place at random and get some directions; I imagine someone around here knows this Li-Han person." This, of course, completely disregarded the possibility that Sir Warrick had also instructed his associate to meet with Serenity on Bellerophon thereby assuring that not one single soul would have even the slightest knowledge of the other party concerned.
Obviously, this wasn't something the captain had taken time to consider, or if her had, it didn't show as, with apparent – and indubitably - random determination, he strode off across the square towards the only building in sight that had a double door.
Jayne sighed, and cocked his head quizzically at the woman; "It took him how long to decide to move in a random direction? With weapons trained on us no less. Whatever happened to your famed military discipline?"
Zoë chose not to dignify the comments with a response, instead turning on her heel and following the captain. It was times like these that the mercenary began to doubt his own sanity in signing on with Serenity for, on occasion, it appeared that Malcolm Reynolds not only failed to consider the potential for the results of his actions to go horribly pear-shaped but his innate belief in his own indestructibility – if not immortality – led him to take risks that no sane person would contemplate. What compounded this insanity, at least in Jayne's opinion, was that people willingly – and indeed blindly – followed these actions; himself included, he admitted with some small measure of disgust.
He waited for a long ten minutes and when, after that time had passed and there was no sign of the captain and Zoë being forcibly ejected from the building – or emerging with guns blazing – he decided to relax; of course Zoë chose that particular moment to re-emerge from the building and call Jayne over.
