Day Nine
Equinox
"Londinium," announced Andrews grandly as the gentle oval of the planet's halo filled the forward screen, the sun lighting the very edges of the planet's atmosphere until they burned. The dark side of the planet was laced with arteries of light, feeding the human presence on the surface as if it were a living organism. The Firefly was flying against the orbit of the planet, meaning that for them, unlike the inhabitants of the capital planet of the solar system they were directly above, the sun was rising on the horizon. "Shining beacon of hope and oppression for the rest of the civilised universe," completed Andrews.
His words, meant to be sarcastic, were an accurate reflection of the minds of the crew. On this planet rested all of their hopes and fears about the future, and each knew that somehow they would find some kind of peace here – or rather, that some of their questions would be answered. And oddly, that hope also sealed their doom, because finding them fulfilled would likely mean doing things they would rather not. It was fitting that their path had taken them to the heart of the Alliance in order to seek a resolution to the tangled web they had found themselves in.
Mal leaned forward, his hand wrapping around the shoulder of the co-pilot's chair meditatively. If he was wrong, then they would explode before he had a chance to think, however he was sticking by his gut feeling that they would not encounter trouble. At least, until they had found Roderick Myers, or what the name represented at the address they had unearthed. So far his gut was being proven correct. A standard communications protocol had been initiated by traffic control and they had entered the queue down to the planet using the falsified identity records provided by Major Graham, but otherwise they hadn't heard a peep from the surface.
The silence was, Mal thought, disquieting.
"You all know what we have to do?" he asked of the others. A humbled chorus of affirmatives responded, and he knew he didn't have to go over the plan for the hundredth time. He alone would walk right up to the address on the surface and knock on the front door while the others took up flanking positions. They didn't question his logic this time – they all seemed to know that this was their best and only option. If his gut feeling was correct, then whatever was driving him towards that address and that name would not allow anything to interfere. Once he was inside, then he was on his own.
He had left Zoe with the Operative, knowing that Jayne would probably fall for one of the man's mind games if left unattended. Zoe, he knew, was immune to such mental coercion.
The comms panel beeped again, and Andrews began their descent. As they sloped down towards the surface, Mal squeezed the chair again. There was nothing left to do but bite the bullet now. One way or the other, he would have his answers soon.
.:-:.:-:.:-:.
The new Firefly had come equipped with a number of useful items, however this did not stretch to include a mule, which meant that they were all walking across Mithras. Leaving Zoe with the Operative and Jayne keeping an eye on Oaty and Cullen, Mal was disembarking surrounded by Simon, Inara and Daniel Andrews. While ordinarily he would have taken his first mate the big ape with him on such a risky outing, there was an even greater danger leaving the Operative, the Hunter and the Package all but unguarded. And for another reason, too – if things went belly up for those who had left the ship, he knew he could rely on Zoe to take over the ship and the mission. In his absence, she would do the right thing. That, and he wasn't one hundred percent confident that Jayne hadn't been approached and was to some degree co-operating with the Alliance. If the Operative really had been outcast from the fold, then there shouldn't be any problem with Jayne being manipulated by him, but on the off chance that something went down, he trusted Zoe to put a bullet to Jayne, should he try and betray them. That, and he had taken some other precautions towards the mercenary.
All of which meant that he had to take Andrews with him – not an ideal scenario, but he couldn't leave with just the Doctor and the Companion. At least Andrews seemed semi-proficient in the art of war, even if he was not entirely trustworthy just yet. Though Mal still held reservations about what the man was hiding, the longer he had been around the New Independent, the more he found himself accepting him. He hated himself for it, but the simple fact of the matter was that he was shorthanded, and Andrews had a pair of hands to help out with. If he looked at it that way, then the outcome was inevitable.
The four walked down the ramp of the ship as it finalised its descent, and Mal was again struck by that odd mixed feeling of being home and finding himself somewhere completely alien. He tried to shake off the emotion, but as always it remained lurking at the back of his mind, waiting to pounce on his conscious train of thought when he least expected it.
They had been allocated a spot in one of the larger docking platforms, much to Mal's dismay. A larger port meant a larger security detachment to escape from, but it wasn't as if they could ask for another place. The sky above them swirled with ships of all classifications, all headed towards some unknown destination. Mal noted that most of the vessels here seemed to be planetary skimmers, incapable of breaking clear of Londinium's atmosphere. Below the gaggle of swirling activity rose the impressive landscape of a Core World – though in Mal's eyes, once you had seen one skyline of skyscrapers, you had seen them all.
"You been here before?" he asked of the assembled crowd, and all but Andrews nodded. It made sense – Mal himself had only visited Londinium once before, and that was only because he'd had no other choice. Much like this occasion.
"It's much like any other Core World," said Simon to Andrews. "Although obviously a lot busier. It has been heavily industrialised and the entire planet has been extensively terraformed to a climate almost identical to that of Earth. The seat of the government lies here in Mithras – it's located in that large tower on the left." He pointed to the building that, though it must be miles away, surpassed the height of the towers surrounding it to loom over them, as if by being taller it could dominate them more easily. Mal thought it suited the Alliance modus operandi well.
"We need to follow Thirty-Second to the junction of Forty-Third," said Inara, referring to their destination. "If we head east from there and then break north onto Fifty-Seventh, it should only be a short walk to the complex, and whatever is inside the address."
Upon further investigation carried out on the ship's database, the address in Myers' personnel file had been found to be in the centre of a residential complex in the core of Mithras. Mal didn't know what he had been expecting – an underground base; government offices; an abandoned factory; a storage locker at a spaceport – but a run-of-the-mill apartment definitely wasn't it. What it did do was increase the feeling of unease about him exponentially. The worst part about this plan was how aware he was that it was such a bad plan, but knew he had to do it anyway.
He turned away and started walking away from the ship, and with every step he felt sicker. Something very bad was about to happen, and here he was walking like a moron directly towards it. He tried to tell himself again that it was his only course of action, but even that knowledge couldn't erase the sentiment of Simon's words – this is a very bad idea.
"Y'all know what you're supposed to be doin'?" he asked again of the others, and he received muted nods in reply. Seeing that they weren't going to help him take his mind off the situation by engaging him in conversation, he turned to gaze at the cityscape.
He could see the skyline because the port, through necessity, was a wide, open area. Though some ports were placed high in the air even above some skyscrapers, the one they had landed on was one of the original landing platforms created on Londinium, and was therefore on ground level. The sun was reaching lower on the horizon, meaning they only had an hour or so of daylight left. It was winter here, though through terraforming the weather was never abysmal on Londinium; however, it did mean that the days were shorter, and so the sun was setting just after the heavy traffic rush that signified the end of the working day. They walked now towards one of the access points to the streets beyond the port past various vessels that had landed on the planet.
They approached the security checkpoint. After giving a cautionary glance back to the others, Mal produced his fake ID and handed it to the guard checking the cards, looking him straight in the eye as he did so. The man gave the card a cursory inspection, added the picture to his short-term memory, checked it against Mal's face, returned the card, waved him on and promptly forgot his existence. A few moments later and they had all made it through the checkpoint and were standing on the exit ramp down to the main streets. Mal recalled a time they dared not approach planets with even a mild Alliance presence in fear of attracting attention to the sibling fugitives they had picked up, and by all rights that feeling should be increased tenfold now, but it just wasn't there. Making it through the checkpoint intact reinforced his conviction that someone out there was lending them all a hand in their journey towards Myers; however, what that end was still eluded him.
It couldn't be death, because by now they could have been buried six feet under a dozen times or more. Could they all be being used for some other end? Something that required that they live this long and travel to Londinium? That opened such a vast multitude of potential paths that it didn't warrant thinking about. Although…the most likely option would be that it was something that the Alliance couldn't do themselves – something that required the presence of outsiders. Something that not even an Operative could do. Maybe even something that only Mal and his crew could accomplish…
He shook his head, dismissing the idea. No use wondering now – likely he would find out exactly why he was being driven to the planet before long, and then all of his pointless wondering would be rendered void.
He narrowed his eyes as they turned onto Thirty-Second. Was he being driven? As far as he was aware, there was no one pointing a gun to his head and forcing him along this street to his destination. There was no life or death decision to be made – just the opposite. If anything, he would classify his need almost as idle curiosity. Why, then, was he here on a Core World, risking his and the others' lives on nothing more than a gut feeling and a vague suspicion?
Because he had to know, he realised. All along he had been reaching the same conclusion – that since they had blasted away from that moon, things had been a little too easy; a little too quiet. He knew it was not his imagination. He had been on the run from the Alliance before, for much more trivial crimes than crossing an Operative and uncovering a vast conspiracy, and had encountered graver resistance. Simply hiding in the Black for a few days wasn't enough to evade the Alliance Navy, especially under such dire circumstances. When they had ventured back into normal space, they had encountered no Alliance ships whatsoever. Even here, on a Core World, they had not been stopped for any kind of search, and he had just walked through one of their security checkpoints.
All of that meant one thing – someone was allowing them easy passage through the system, steering him gently towards this final objective. So why indulge this shadowy entity? Because, he realised, he had no other choice. If he didn't play along with the game, then he ceased to be useful. The walls would close in on him, a dozen Alliance cruisers would appear on the screens, and it would be over for all of them. At least this way he might retain some element of control – even if it was entirely illusory – and just might find a way to break free of the situation, other than hiding out in the Black for eternity.
Of course, there was no concrete evidence to support any of this supposition, but the pieces fit, and if Mal trusted one thing, it was his gut instinct. After all, it had gotten him this far through life – he didn't see any reason to give up on it now.
.:-:.:-:.:-:.
"I'd say it was about time, don't you?" asked the Operative. Zoe glared darkly at him from across Jayne's cabin, reluctant to act now that the moment was upon her. The Operative sighed, his face still bloodied and bruised from their fake interrogation. "Zoe, this is what it boils down to. Do you want to see your husband again, or not?"
She scowled again, but deep down she knew the answer to the question, and that she was going to co-operate. She stood up slowly, and begrudgingly she started to unlock and peel away the layers of manacles holding the Operative captive.
He stood up and away from the bulkhead, rubbing his wrists to promote the flow of blood back into his hands. He addressed Zoe without even looking at her.
"Go and get Jayne."
Without warning, Zoe had grabbed the man by his shirt and slammed him back into the bulkhead, hard. She got right up into his face and hissed dangerously at him. "Don't think 'cause of our little arrangement you can order me around like a slave. I'll follow your lead as if this was an operation, but you can forget about the attitude. If you even look at me the wrong way again, I'll slit your throat."
The Operative was smiling sardonically. "Point taken, but you do realise that in order for this…operation…to succeed, we need Jayne, and I don't know where he is, and you do. So…go and get Jayne. Please."
Zoe glowered at him and released the man, walking towards the ladder at the other side of the small room. The Operative tagged along behind her, and they scaled the exit of the bunk, emerging in the corridor leading from the bridge to the mess hall.
Zoe could see that Jayne had followed her instruction and stayed in the mess hall, where he was currently stabbing an innocent piece of bread with a kitchen knife. He nodded tersely at the pair of them as they approached him – words did not seem to be necessary between the three of them. They each acknowledged that this was, at best, an arrangement of mutual benefit and no more. There was no need for small talk or chitchat. They were going to get the job done, and nothing more beyond that.
"Zoe?" came a voice from the doorway, and she looked up to see Cullen standing there, a distraught look upon his face. She moved towards him as he carried on speaking. "Shouldn't he be locked up?"
"It's okay," she said, pushing him gently away from the mess hall. "We need to go and take care of some business, but we'll be back shortly."
"But…" he said, his eyes finding the Operative. Zoe went to try and further mollify him, but their former captive began to speak instead.
"Cullen Sheridan?" he asked, and the young lad nodded. "Well, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. From your perspective, that is; we have met before."
Cullen's eyes widened. He had no memory of arriving on board the ship he woke up on, and was eager to discover the cause behind his missing time. He had no recollection of ever meeting this man before now, and as a result his curiosity was truly piqued. "We have?"
The Operative nodded. "Your condition at the time prevented us from engaging in any meaningful conversation, but we have certainly encountered each other. In fact," he said slyly, knowing exactly what to say to the youngster, "I am the one who caused you to end up with these people."
A thousand questions immediately bubbled up inside Cullen, and he simultaneously burned with curiosity and scoffed at the notion of this stranger – who he had gleaned was some kind of agent working for the Alliance – having anything to do with him.
Strangely, though, the question that emerged from his lips was, "What am I?" He puzzled himself with the phrase, and he could see that at least Zoe was affected by his choice of words. She looked away from him, refusing to meet his eyes, and it was then he started to fear that these people had kept something important from him; a vital piece of knowledge that would explain everything about his situation. He started speak again, but the Operative cut off any further questions.
"I pre-empted this. The computer node I brought with me isn't what Mal thinks it is. On it you will find the answers to all of your questions; most importantly, what you are. Now if you'll excuse us, we must be leaving."
He went to walk away, but Cullen placed himself in the Operative's path. "Wait a second. You could just tell me right now the answers to all of my questions, and…"
"The knowledge most rewarding is that which is earned," said the Operative. "I promise you, Cullen, that I am not lying to you. Unlock the computer node, and your true nature will be revealed to you."
He turned and nodded at Zoe and Jayne and they filed out of the mess hall, leaving a subdued Cullen behind. Jayne stepped closer to the Operative as they walked away.
"What was all that about?" he asked, and the Operative snorted.
"I knew he'd guzzle up all of that ambiguous nonsense. He was right, I could have just told him, but you and I know what he is and that is enough. We have an operation to complete." He turned to Zoe and forgot all about Cullen. "We need weapons. Where did you store the contents of my ship? I have a gift for Jayne."
Jayne's grin nearly split his cheeks, so wide it was. He was going to get Vera back.
.:-:.:-:.:-:.
Inara tapped Mal on the elbow and, snapping out of his reverie, he realised they had reached the junction they needed to turn on. She guided him and the others around the corner onto Forty-Third from the much quieter Thirty-Second, sweeping into the crowd of people swarming along the sidewalk. Beside them, ground vehicles ferried their drivers several feet at a time before having to stop again, the typical rush hour traffic of Mithras allowing nothing more than a stop-start-stop again motion. Although he knew it was rude to the others, he settled back into his silent brooding. That is, he would have, but someone walked into his shoulder hard, spinning him about in surprise.
"Watch where you're going," sneered a haughty Core World type. Mal, determined to reach his destination without incident, had even turned halfway to just moving along without responding, when the man added a further barb to his scathing comment. "…Browncoat."
Mal stopped in his tracks. He had almost forgotten about that – his customary long, brown coat would not be a welcome sight on a Core World, the centre of everything the Independents had opposed. He felt his blood start to boil, and before he could stop himself, he was smirking back at the aristocrat and picking at the coat draped across his back.
"Well…you know, would you look at that!" he said, in feigned surprise. "My coat appears to be brown! Inara, did you notice that? That my coat is brown?"
Inara stared uneasily back at him, willing him to stop with her eyes, and though he knew he should, Mal just couldn't help himself. He had suffered too much at the hands of the Alliance to just walk away from the insult.
The man was scowling at him. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," he reminded Mal, who nodded as if some sage advice had just been delivered to him.
"Uh huh. They do say that. They also say, shut the hell up and walk away. At least," he said, taking a step towards the Core Worlder, "Where I come from. Suppose you'll have a problem with that, too?"
"Your common form of address, or your place of birth?" sneered Mal's new nemesis, returning the challenge of Mal's step forward with his own. "No wait, don't answer. My ears might start to bleed with whatever poisonous barb you return. I am after all clearly no equal to your graceful wit."
"Might wanna start takin' that advice, friend," said Mal dangerously. "I'm in no mood to play this game. Just be on your way and we won't have no trouble."
"You are trouble," returned the citizen. "You and all the other low-life, pond scum Fringers like you."
Mal punched him, right in the jaw. The exchange didn't warrant it, but Mal knew a fight was coming and he was itching to vent his nervous energy on something, anything, or anyone. The citizen flew back at Mal and the exchange quickly degenerated, both of the men falling to the ground and rolling around on the permacrete sidewalk.
Within moments several police officers had materialised from nowhere and swarmed the fight, breaking the combatants apart. They hauled Mal and the offensive citizen to their feet. Mal felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he realised what he had done; effectively ruining their chances right at the final hurdle.
The officer holding the citizen shoved him roughly against the wall, and started to restrain his hands behind his back. His face filled with outrage immediately.
"What do you think you're doing?" he called, attracting the attention of the crowd buzzing around them. The officer did not respond, other than to read aloud the citizen's rights.
"You have the right to remain silent…"
"But I didn't do anything!" cried the man. "It was him! He attacked me! That Browncoat!"
The officer nearest Mal shot him a glance, and the Captain turned around, placing his hands behind his back, resigned to the fate he had brought upon himself.
"Let's do this the easy way, huh?" he asked of the law enforcement officer. "I bruise easy."
But the officer made no move towards Mal, watching coldly as his associate dragged the Core Worlder away from the scene kicking and screaming. His gaze returned to Mal as soon as the citizen had been withdrawn.
"Are you alright, sir?"
Mal turned back around, his hands returning to his sides, a small frown forming on his face. The officer repeated his question.
"Sir, are you alright?"
"Well I'm…just shiny," said Mal, confused. The officer nodded.
"Good. This matter will be dealt with in due time. You can move along."
The frown deepened slightly. "…Move along?"
"He attacked you, sir."
He could feel the others stirring uneasily beside him – they sensed something was wrong as much as he did. When Mal made no move to leave, the officer reiterated.
"You were the victim of an unprovoked assault. He attacked you," he said, taking a minute step forward. "Now move along," he said almost menacingly.
After a moment Mal finally responded.
"Right. Assault. Yeah. Movin' along. Goin' on our way."
He stepped slowly backwards, and as he started to leave, he realised what had happened. Not only was someone clearing a path for him through Londinium, that someone was also actively helping him towards his goal. He felt sick again and stopped walking. Suddenly he was scanning his surroundings furtively, trying to make out the shadowy figure that was stalking them. But he could see nothing through the organised chaos that was rush hour; no ground vehicles that were parked along the street could house anything more sophisticated than a pocket watch and none of the crowd seemed to be glancing over at him unduly. None of the windows of the buildings looked like they housed surveillance equipment, and no ships were circling directly above them. Inara nudged him, seeing his expression.
"What's wrong?" she asked with Simon and Andrews crowding behind her. They were beginning to attract irritated glances by the people around them for creating an obstruction. Mal shook out of it and started striding along the street towards their goal.
"Nothin'," he said. Simon was beside him, bursting with questions.
"What just happened back there, about that fight? Why could you just walk away? You attacked that man, not the other way around."
"I dunno. Short sighted officer, I suspect." Andrews' face screwed up with scepticism.
"Short sighted…? Are you being serious?"
"Shut up, Andrews," said Mal distractedly, turning onto Fifty-Seventh. "Just…shut up, will ya?"
Inara saved him, pointing further along down the street. "There it is."
The apartment complex loomed almost sinisterly up before them, and Mal instinctively knew that something terrible was about to happen. He stopped walking, frozen in place by the sight of their destination.
What was wrong with him? He never got last minute jitters, especially not like this, but a heavy feeling sat in his stomach, and his back was solid as steel with stress. He found himself biting his teeth together, and had to consciously prise them apart, not wanting to spook the others.
It was a housing complex, identical to dozens of others in this city and hundreds across the planet, but it was also unique. It was the thing that was going to hurt them, and Mal didn't know how, or even why, but he knew that it would nonetheless, and he was absolutely powerless against it.
With a great effort he started to walk again, taking the journey one step at a time. Inara was staring at him as though she thought he might collapse at any moment, so he fired a question at her to delay her commenting on his condition.
"What floor is it on?" he asked, and she didn't even have to think before she replied.
"Fourth floor, apartment seven. Mal…are you all right?"
He didn't respond to her question, because they had arrived at the main entrance to the complex. He turned to the others and tried to hide his nerves.
"You all know what to do, so let's do it."
A walk under a short arc that fed through from the street revealed a square with a garden in the middle, surrounded by small towers. The complex was constructed in such a way that the main grounds were accessible to anyone, but the small towers surrounding the square each had a secured entrance, meaning only residents could access their own building. Mal entered the appropriate building and was greeted by the locked entrance as Andrews stayed to loiter by the main entrance, and Simon and Inara peeled away to keep watch from the central garden.
Had the apartment block been of a higher class he would have had to get past a lobby guard – luckily all he had to do was catch the door as a woman left the building, laden with shopping bags. He did not attribute any worth to the woman, and therefore did not pay attention to the cascade of dark hair flowing down over her shoulders, or even consider his good fortune that someone happened to walk out of the door exactly as he arrived. He did not even recognise the woman, but then Mal had never seen the female Operative guiding his movements face to face. He nodded curtly at her as she kicked the door wider as she passed through, allowing him passage, and she smiled sweetly in return. Mal continued, oblivious to the orchestration, and promptly forgot the woman existed.
He mounted the stairs, and in parallel to his ascent his emotions started to reach a climax. As he arrived on the fourth floor, blood was pounding in his ears and an inspection of his hand revealed that he was even trembling slightly. He tried to tell himself to stop being so pathetic, but of course it didn't work. He tried to brush off the feeling, blaming it on something else, but that was a lie.
For the first time in a very long time, Mal was walking into something completely blind, and he had no idea what to expect. What was in apartment seven? A weapons cache? Incriminating evidence against the Alliance? A bomb? Was the apartment booby-trapped? Was he being framed for something?
Then the seventh door was looming in front of him, and he nearly walked away and left the whole sorry mess behind him. He realised that, rationally, that was what he should do, and perhaps that thought saved him from retreat. Mal wouldn't have gotten very far in life by acting rationally, and as if a broom had been swept across his mind, all of his doubt and fear left him and he knew that he was going to go into that apartment and find out exactly what was going on, and the consequences be damned.
.:-:.:-:.:-:.
As they left Mal to walk into the apartment complex, Inara felt a little surge of triumph blossom inside of her. Finally, she could talk to someone who wasn't Mal, alone and uninterrupted. She had been waiting for an opportunity like this to arrive – it meant that she could start to unravel whatever damage the female Operative was doing, or had done, to the crew – assuming what she had been told was true.
She and Simon walked to the edge of the central garden to take up watch on the apartment Mal was headed for from the ground, and as they did Inara began to speak.
"How is River doing?" she asked casually. If Simon was being manipulated by the Alliance, then undoubtedly they were doing so because of the mysterious coma River had lapsed into just prior to their escape from the moon. His expression revealed nothing, however, and he did not meet her eyes as they walked.
"As well as can be expected, under the circumstances."
"Do you have any idea what is wrong with her?"
"No. I can only assume it has something to do with the experiments the Alliance carried out on her during her time at the Academy."
"Some kind of code word, you mean?"
This time he did meet her gaze, his eyes narrowing. "Perhaps. What made you think of that?"
She shrugged. "Last time River did something out of the ordinary – for her – it was resolved by your using a code word. I was wondering if something similar might have happened again."
Simon started to look uncomfortable. "Maybe. I mean, it's possible. I suppose."
"Do you think something might have happened to her during our escape?" Inara probed, sensing she was starting to break through whatever mental barriers Simon had placed between his sanity and his manipulation. His eye twitched visibly, and he shook his head without saying anything. Inara continued with her subtle assault.
"Did something happen to River during our escape?"
Simon's mouth opened and closed, no noise escaping his larynx, and that was when Inara knew that what the Operative had been telling her the truth. She put her arm on Simon's shoulder, and they stopped walking. The words started to flow out of her like a dam had burst.
"I know, Simon. She approached me while we were on Home Base – don't ask me how she got there – but she told me that she was manipulating all of you and I knew that River would be the best way to coerce you. She said that she didn't have anything to hold against me, which is why she tried to bargain with me, but I turned her down. But the important thing now is that I know and we can work together against her. Just…tell me what she's doing to you, Simon. Tell me how I can help you."
Simon's face screwed up, all of the anguish and doubt he had been storing up over the past week boiling up to the surface all at once. Inara's heart almost broke in two to see him crumble so rapidly, to see the tears spring to his eyes, and she could almost feel the knot of emotion gather in his chest and overpower his consciousness with its intensity.
He started to talk, taking the first steps on the road to putting this mess behind them and solidifying their resolve as a unit against all comers. "Inara, I…"
But he trailed off, his eyes widening and focusing on something behind her, and before Inara knew what was happening there was a gag in her mouth, and a bag being wrenched down over her head, and a strong arm hoisting her off the ground and carrying her away. She tried to scream but the fabric stuffed into her mouth absorbed the sound. She heard an ominously familiar voice speak condescendingly as she was carried away.
"Hello again, Simon," said the female Operative's singsong voice. "I'm borrowing Inara here for a small time. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll see to it that your sister's brain rots away in her skull. Just stay here like a good little puppet and tell Captain Reynolds that thugs snatched his favourite Companion. Here, this will make your story more convincing." The sound of something hard and metal hitting flesh made Inara wince, and she heard what must be Simon crumpling to the ground. "So nice to catch up. Ta ta."
Footsteps followed Inara's path, and she was unceremoniously dumped onto something with padding. Moments later she was shoved aside and a presence sat down beside her, closing the door to the car she had been dropped into behind it. The Operative's voice sounded in her ear.
"We have a lot to talk about, Inara."
.:-:.:-:.:-:.
Mal raised his fist and rapped sharply three times on the door. When there was no reply, he began to consider other options. There was a small window situated next to the door, but it was nowhere near big enough for him to fit through. The rest of the front of the apartment appeared to be wall, so logically speaking, Mal had only one option left.
He raised his foot and drove it at the door just below the handle, wincing as his knee gave a twinge of pain for the first time in several days. The door held, but Mal heard something splinter in the cheap, mass produced entrance. After two more kicks the door noticeably buckled, and when he drove his shoulder at the threshold it finally gave and he staggered into the apartment.
He drew his pistol immediately, sweeping the interior of the room, and was almost disappointed.
Rather than complex banks of machinery or filing cabinets filled with classified secrets, an ordinary dwelling greeted him. A small living area gave way to an even smaller kitchen, and Mal guessed that the other two doors led to the bathroom and the bedroom. Once he was satisfied that the place wasn't going to explode, he holstered the pistol and closed the door over, hoping that no one heard his break in or that the door was not so badly damaged it would tip anyone off walking past it.
He started to rummage about the apartment, but if he was disappointed upon entry then a closer inspection made him feel positively stupid about getting so worked up about so little.
It was clear that someone lived here, and a swift inspection of the obvious hiding places revealed no secrets – there was no safe behind the tasteful modern art painting, no loose floorboards beneath the sofa and, as far as he could tell, nothing placed between the bed and the mattress that sat on top of it. He was just about to go and check if it was the right apartment when footsteps approached the door.
Mal's eyes shot about, trying to find a half-decent hiding place, but in such cramped conditions he was bound to be discovered almost immediately anyway, so he chose to simply remain in full view. The key card that unlocked the room was swept through the locking mechanism outside, the person obviously not realising that the room was already open, and then the door swung open slowly.
A young man in his mid-twenties and dressed in a business suit stood in the doorway, a small frown forming on his forehead as he realised too late that the door had been damaged. His eyes met Mal's, and the Captain smiled and waved at him. Before he could call out or run away, Mal had produced the pistol and trained it on the man.
"Nuh uh," he said, and gestured towards the sofa. Wordlessly, he swung the door closed behind him and moved slowly to the middle of the living area, an apprehensive expression dancing across his features, and he sank slowly onto the sofa.
"Roderick Myers?" asked Mal, and the man nodded slowly.
"That's me," he said cautiously, eying the weapon in Mal's hand. He waved it negligently, taking a seat in the armchair opposite the couch.
"I gotta few questions for you," he said. "First off – and I know it ain't the most important, but I'm a sucker for curiosity – why ain't you dead?"
The man's face flushed, and he looked away from Mal. He sat forward, intent now that he knew he was onto something.
"Do you work for the Alliance?"
Myers' head shot back around to face Mal. "I sell insurance," he said, and Mal noted that he had not answered his question. He tried again.
"Maybe in the Intelligence division? Nothin' like that ringin' any bells?"
"I sell insurance," said the man quietly and resolutely. Mal sat back in the armchair, the pistol resting against his knee.
"I see this is going to take a while," he said. "Maybe we shou…"
The door to the flat burst open, and the male Operative stood there, his weapon drawn and trained dead on Mal, who, entirely on reflex, managed to leap out of the chair and raise his own pistol at the intruder in time for it to be a viable defence. Shocked, he staggered back several steps before he regained his composure and squared off against the hostile presence.
Myers' face had turned deathly pale, and he stared at the Operative with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. Without taking his eyes off Mal, the Operative gestured towards the man on the sofa, beckoning him closer.
"Roddy," he said in a flat voice. "Come over here, quickly. We're leaving."
Roderick's mouth opened and closed a few times before any sound left his lips.
"…Dad?" he asked, sunken in shock. The Operative's face remained totally impassive, his gaze never leaving Mal's.
"Roddy, there's no time for that. Stand up and walk over here towards the door. We have to leave, right now."
"But…" spluttered Roderick. "But…you're dead." Tears started to well in his eyes. "You're dead!"
"Guess it runs in the family," muttered Mal.
"Roderick, stand up right now," snapped the Operative, and the younger man – his son – rose to his feet, the harsh command cutting through the haze of shock. He moved towards the door, and once he had reached the threshold the Operative started to move backwards, following his child. Mal's head was swimming. A son? And where were Simon and Inara? Where was Andrews? They should have seen him coming. Never mind that, how did he get off the ship? What had he done to Zoe and Jayne?
Roderick was out of the door, and the Operative paused for a moment, emotion flowing across his face for the first time upon his sudden entry. One of his trademark smirks eased across his features.
"I guess you're all alone now, Mal," he said. "Abandoned by your crew; left to die in some anonymous room in a housing complex. Is this how you saw your end? Are you happy that you're going to die like this?"
Mal's finger tensed on the trigger. "I don't plan on dyin' for a long time, Mr Myers. It is Myers, ain't it?"
Something dark flashed across the Operative's face. "It's pitiful; you really have no idea what's going on, do you? Grasping futilely for scraps of information, and having no clue about the big picture. I think I like it this way. Malcolm Reynolds – death in the dark, all alone."
"No more alone than you, Myers," said Mal, trying to push the only button the Operative might have, but he started laughing.
"Exactly right – except I know that I stand alone. Where are your crew, Mal? How did I escape your ship?"
"Zoe obviously ain't as good as I thought."
He smirked again. "Zoe was the one who let me out, Mal. And before this exchange goes on any longer, I feel I have to cut it short. Goodbye, Mal."
He raised the weapon in his hand, intent on the kill, but he was crucially distracted at the last moment by his child.
"Dad!" he cried from outside, and then there was a shadow in the doorway. Before the Operative could even turn around, there was a gun pressed into the back of his neck and Andrews was taking the pistol from the Operative's hand.
"Move and you die," he said, and then clubbed the butt of his gun into the back of the Operative's head. He sank to his knees, clutching the impact area. "But I'm gonna hurt you either way."
Mal had started forward immediately, but Roderick was faster. The Operative's supposed son erupted into the room, leaping onto Andrews' back and beating at him furiously.
"That's my dad!" he screamed, forcing Andrews into the wall. Stunned, the New Independent dropped both of the pistols, and the Operative's hand snatched out for one of the discarded weapons before Mal had a hope of stopping him. Completely by accident, Andrews stepped on the Operative's hand as it closed around the pistol, trapping the weapon on the ground.
Roderick continued to howl, and if they hadn't attracted the neighbours' attention by now, it would be a miracle if no one had missed their current exchange. Mal closed upon the Operative, but he had shoved Andrews away from him and rose with the weapon in his hand, his eyes set upon dealing death.
Mal slapped the Operative's hand away, sending the pistol clattering uselessly to the ground across the apartment, but the Operative returned the blow, straight into Mal's cheek. The Captain staggered sideways as Andrews rammed Roderick back into the corner of the wall, the sharp angle digging sharply into the younger man. Myers roared in pain and released his grip on Andrews, and the makeshift engineer of their new ship dived for the pistol that he had dropped. Roderick, knowing what he was planning, grappled him around the knees, and both men fell noisily to the floor, Andrews' hand falling just centimetres short of the gun.
The Operative was straight on Mal, not allowing him time to recover, and started to mercilessly rain blows down upon him. He grabbed Mal's arm and started to squeeze, twisting it so his elbow started to bend backwards against the joint. Mal grunted in pain and reflexively let go of the gun in his hand, which the Operative managed to catch in mid-air as it fell towards the ground. He twisted Mal around, holding the pistol to his head…
…Just as Andrews closed his grip around the other pistol, flipping himself over and grabbing Roderick by the hair, pressing the weapon home. There was a moment of silence, punctuated only by the heavy breathing of the four men as they recovered from the brief skirmish. Andrews and the Operative were glaring at each other, each trying to intimidate the other into backing down with his gaze alone.
"After you," said Andrews first. The Operative seemed to consider the offer.
"…No, I think you'll be tossing that weapon over here and releasing my son. Immediately."
"Guess that's where you'd be wrong," growled Andrews. "I'm still a little pissed about that whole torturing-me-for-hours thing we've got going on. And I doubt Mal means as much to me as Junior here does to you – in fact, I can guarantee it – which puts you at a disadvantage, don't it?"
The Operative pursed his lips. "I think you've forgotten who you're dealing with, Daniel. I would prefer to leave this room with my son, but if it means leaving him in here with both of your corpses, then so be it."
"Who says you're leaving?" hissed Andrews. "You and me got unfinished business."
"In which case, why would I let Captain Reynolds go? You're really not very good at this, are you?"
Mal stamped his foot down against the Operative's shin as hard and as fast as he could, bringing his head down. The Operative fired off a round into the wall, but due to Mal's quick action it erupted over his head. His elbow twisted and burned with pain, and he collapsed to the floor, dragging the former Alliance agent with him, meaning that Andrews' shots also missed their mark.
Roderick took advantage of the confusion to sink his teeth into Andrews' arm, and the man howled in pain, trying to force the supposed insurance salesman's head from its grip. Mal and the Operative started to roll around on the floor, each trying to find purchase on the other's neck.
Andrews finally succumbed to the pain and released Roderick, and the Operative seemed to sense that the moment was right when he sprang up and away from Mal, leaving the Captain scrambling on the ground with a well placed kick to the chest. He shoved Roderick towards the door, but Andrews looped his arms around the Operative's knees, bringing the agent crashing to the ground. Out of patience, the Operative reached back and drove his clenched fist directly into Andrews' nose, bringing tears to the New Independent's eyes, but still he clung onto his target.
Mal was clambering to his feet, reaching for the discarded pistol, and in a final act of desperation the Operative started to thrash about wildly, striking Andrews with his feet and his fists, and it was too much for him. With a great wrench the Operative pulled free of Andrews' grip and retreated to the door, just as Mal started towards him.
Mal produced a dazzling display of speed, but he reached the Operative a moment too late. The agent was out of the doorway just ahead of the Captain, pulling the door closed behind him, and then the threshold to the apartment had slammed shut, the damaged locking mechanism snapping closed with an audible click. Mal clutched at the handle, trying to pull the door open, but it had sealed behind the escapees.
He groaned and slumped against the barrier, frustrated that something as mundane as a locked door was barring his progress. Then Andrews was at his side, shoving him out of the way and starting to pry open the locking mechanism attached to the door.
"Where the hell in the good gorram ruttin' chou ma niao is everyone?" demanded Mal, swearing profusely to relieve his tension. It didn't help considerably. "What's the point in bringin' backup if they don't actually gorram back you up?"
Andrews shrugged as best he could while juggling a handful of small wires. "No idea. He slipped right past me. Thought I'd come on up to see how you were doin' when there was no word after a while. Good job I did, huh?"
Mal almost scowled at the man, but refrained from doing so at the last moment. He supposed Andrews had just saved his life, but he didn't have to be gushingly grateful about it. "Yeah, I guess. How long will you be?"
The door clicked as Andrews sparked two cables against each other. "In approximately now."
Mal swung the door open and tore out along the corridor leading to the stairs, Andrews right behind him. They bounded down the steps and Mal almost tripped straight over half a dozen dead bodies that littered the hallway – all of them wearing non-descript suits – and he was so distracted by the sight that as he continued he almost barrelled right into Simon, who was heading up towards them. Mal seized him about the shoulders.
"Which way did they go?" he barked, and Simon could only look dazedly back at him.
"What? Who?"
"That Operative and his son, Myers!"
"His son??"
Something leaked through Mal's impatience and he frowned. Simon's lower lip was pouring with blood, and there was an ugly welt on his cheek. "What happened to you? Where's Inara?"
"She's…she's been kidnapped!" said Simon quickly. Mal's eyes widened in surprise, but Andrews snarled and leaped on the doctor, forcing him to the ground and sitting on his back. Mal tried to shake Andrews off his captive, but he was shrugged away.
"He's lying!" roared Andrews. "He's been working against us ever since we were on board that troop transport!"
"What?" exclaimed Mal and Simon in chorus. Mal tried to pull Andrews aside, conscious of the fact that the Operative would be getting further and further away, but the New Independent wasn't budging.
"I heard him talking to another Operative – that woman – and she said that if he didn't co-operate, she'd let River die in that coma. Tell him!" he cried, twisting Simon's arm. "Tell him or I'll kill you!"
"Alright, that's enough!" exclaimed Mal, grappling Andrews with force and heaving him away from Simon. The doctor scrambled to his feet, backing away from the raging Andrews.
"You sold her out, didn't you!?" he spat, his finger punctuating nearly every word by stabbing the air. "She told you to give her Inara and you did, didn't you!? And then told you to feed us some tsway-niou story about thugs kidnapping her! Well I'm onto you, Tam!" He turned to Mal, only slightly calmer. "This whole thing has been a set-up. We've been drawn here by the Alliance to take out their errant soldier – look at these dead guys, they're obviously Alliance Intelligence! The whole plan has worked because they've all been working against you!"
Mal flared, squaring up to Andrews. "Watch what you say 'bout my crew, Daniel."
Andrews almost screamed with frustration. "Are you gorram blind? Or just plain stupid?"
Mal punched the New Independent in the face. Andrews went down hard, staggering into the wall and falling to the ground. But when he looked up his eyes were resolute, and his expression was frozen in a glare.
"Think about it for a second, Mal! How did that Operative get past Zoe and Jayne when he was tied up!? Why did he come to us in the first place!? Why are we here in this apartment building!? This is all one big mind-rut, orchestrated as soon as we got off that moon! We're rats in a maze, and don't tell me that you haven't realised it!"
Something in Andrews' words struck deep into Mal, and in retaliation Mal hit the other man again. Tears were springing to his eyes, and although he hated their observer for doing it to him, he had been thinking that he was being lined up hoops to jump through for some time. How had the Operative escaped from their ship? And…
He turned on Simon. "Where's Inara?" he asked in a dangerous voice. The doctor backed away, raising his hands in surrender.
"Look, Mal…" he started, and something in his voice told Mal that Andrews was right; that Simon was working against them, and that he knew something that might help them. Mal flew at Simon, grabbing him by the shirtfront and shaking the doctor aggressively.
"What do you know? Why are you doing this?" he roared. In the face of such rage, Simon could only crumble – the past week's psychological torment finally crushing his emotional barriers and he fell to his knees, shielding his face with his hands.
"They're going to kill River!" he shouted in a broken voice, and then a single sob escaped him as saying the words aloud finally made the situation unavoidably, irreparably real. "She said she'd let River die if I don't help her!"
Simon degenerated into a series of defeated sobs; the overwhelming pressure of what he had been forced to do finally taking its toll all at once. Mal stepped back, the sight of such crushing despair subduing the rage within him. Immediately he could see that the others had been acting out of character, the answers staring him right in the face all along; Zoe becoming even more withdrawn; River lapsing into her coma just as they escaped; and Jayne, strangely, being friendlier than his normal self. Had each of them tried to warn him in their own way? How had it come to this? How had he let this happen? How had it all fallen apart so completely right underneath his nose?
Irrational guilt almost overwhelmed him, but he resolved himself against it. Now was not the time to cast blame or take stock of people's mistakes. That could come later. Right now there was work to do – he had to round up his fractured crew, find the fleeing Operative and his son, and somehow escape from a Core World without being arrested or killed by the person who had created the maze for them to stumble through.
He kneeled next to Simon, who sniffed and gazed up at Mal. The Captain spoke gently to the doctor, making only a simple statement.
"Tell me everything," he said.
Simon began to talk.
A/N:
Thanks you MAndrews, rpitrof and Lecter for your reviews.