File Reconstruction 27% Complete
Pro$ect (erb5154: Cer^Ebg - Enh#0c^len()*!m^%1 !+*^%$*n S%$t&m
Psy$%!*&) b$3o*e
T?st Ju65ec!- $n!ub#r 000-91^ - WaNA, 49#$ry!
Chapter Three: Starlight
The chapel had been built to hold a congregation of at most forty people, and thus the whole village had been crowded a bit inside. However, once the apparent danger had passed, the survivors seemed reluctant to leave, so Father MacCauliffie led Serenity's crew and the three senior men in the village outside to the courtyard where they could talk.
"We need to know what's happened, if we're gonna be helping you folks," Mal asked the village "elders." They'd gathered in a sitting area with stone benches, and most of the crew were sitting or standing, save for Jayne, who was slouching against a pillar for the nearest breezeway, Vera slung across his chest.
"You'll have to forgive my reluctance here," said the village "elder", Pherson. He was a middle-aged man, muscled and hardened by decades of tough Border living. Mal noted grimly that the other two "seniors" were about the same age, and there were no real elderly people among the survivors. "We were holding out for . . . other help."
"From the Alliance?" barked one of the other leaders, a tough, bearded man who looked like he had an intimate relationship with alcohol, judging by his gut. "They're not for helping us folks."
"Normally, I'd agree," Mal said quickly. "'Cepting it was Alliance who told us what happened."
That did not get Mal the look he was expecting, which was at least interest or thoughtfulness. Instead, the expressions on all three "elders'" faces became openly hostile.
"The animals that attacked us worked for the Alliance," hissed Pherson.
"You don't know that they were working under Alliance orders," MacCauliffie said, arms firmly crossed.
"Like hell we don't!" snarled the third "elder" a whipcord-thin man with no hair and the ruddy, soot-stained face of a workman who dealt with machinery.
"Whoa now, hold on a second," Mal said, raising a hand to cut off an argument. "Go back to them folks attacked you. Who were they?"
"Mercenaries," snarled Pherson. "Murdering animals working under the Alliance."
"One of the private security companies the Alliance contracted to police the Border," Book mused. The elders nodded grimly.
"Looks like they're doing work on the side," Zoë said.
"Ya'll know which one?" Jayne asked, pushing off the pillar.
"No," Pherson replied. "Their symbol was a wing and a claw, both red. We saw it on their ships when they flew by overhead."
"They wearing black and gray armor?" Jayne asked, frowning.
"Yes," nodded the skinny little man. "Black armor, some aircraft. Huge guns, tore the rooftops off our houses."
"Skyhawk Intervention," Jayne said, nodding. His tone made it clear he knew without question. "Talon Company."
"Jayne, you know these hun dans?" Mal asked.
"Ran into 'em once or twice," he muttered, and his fingers tapped Vera a couple of times, making it clear when. "Those folks are bad news."
"Go on, Jayne," Mal said, curious.
"Skyhawk's a big merc outfit," Jayne said. "Mostly they just coordinate. There's a bunch of different companies under them. Each company does it's own thing, Skyhawk just keeps 'em sorted out and gets contracts. The Talons are bad folks, though, even among mercs." He nodded grimly toward the elders. "This ain't the worst they done. Ain't as bad as Reavers, but you can mention 'em in the same breath."
"How many?" Zoë asked, to which Jayne glanced toward the elders.
"We counted at least a hundred men," Pherson said. "Maybe more."
"Definitely more'n that," Jayne said. "Leave some men back at the camp to protect it."
Mal ran a hand over his mouth, considering this bit of news.
"Okay, I need to think on this for a bit," Mal said. "Come up with some ideas."
"Why are we listening to them?" demanded the bearded elder. "He could be working for these murderers! Hell, he said the Alliance sent them here!"
A wave of anger welled up inside Mal, strong and fierce, and he took a step toward the bearded idiot.
"I am not a gorram Fed!" Mal snarled, glaring at the man, but the fellow was made of stern stuff, because even the second best Captain's Glare didn't faze him.
"I agree," Pherson added. "I don't trust any of you. I say we throw them out."
"This sanctuary is under my jurisdiction, Pherson," MacCauliffie said. "I say who-"
"Are you gonna let the mercs come back and-"
"Bi zui!" Inara snapped.
It wasn't loud, and it wasn't forceful, but there was some way in which she pitched her voice that cut through the argument and drew everyone's attention to her. The Companion rose and stepped forward, pointedly moving between Mal and the village elders. She regarded both of them with an even glare that seemed both reasonable and admonishing.
"Elders," she said, offering them a smile and s light inclination of her head. "I must apologize for any misconceptions we may have brought about. I assure you, we have come here in good faith to investigate this crime and to bring those responsible to justice. Barring that, we want to help you. I can understand your mistrust, but I believe it is being misdirected."
Elder Pherson frowned, rubbing his face, and glanced to his comrades. After a couple of seconds of thinking, he nodded, his face shifting from distrust to wariness.
"Alright," he said. "Ya'll do seem on the level. What are ya'll suggesting we do?"
"Well," Mal said, having to switch gears at the unexpected shift in appreciation. He knew Inara was good at shifting people's opinions, but wow. "We need to know what happened. If these Talon boys are as bad as Jayne says they are, and are as well-armed as we're suspecting, I don't want to go in blind."
The elders nodded in grudging agreement. Mal was still confused on that; they'd shifted far too quickly from combative disagreement to wary acceptance.
"We'll tell you everything we know," remarked the whipcord fellow. "Anything that can help."
"Meantime," Mal said, and glanced to Simon, "Doc, if you'd do your thing?"
"A doctor?" said the bearded man, his face lighting up a bit. "Oh, thank the Lord. Some of our folks are hurt bad from the raid."
"If you'll show me, please," Simon said, hefting his bag, and followed the bearded fellow as he went back to the chapel.
"I'll go with 'em," Zoë said, rising. "Doctor might need an assistant." As she followed after them, Mal turned to Pherson.
"Alright, then," he said. "Tell me what happened."
Pherson explained it in as best detail he could, still wary and untrusting, but forthcoming enough. Unfortunately, Mal had encountered the fog of war firsthand, and he knew that disciplined soldiers got the details muddied in the chaos of combat; panicking civilians were lucky to get something vaguely resembling the truth.
From what Pherson said, Talon aircraft had come out of nowhere one day, surrounding the village and opening up with machineguns and smoke grenades. Mal made a note of that. After the initial assault, the Talons had withdrawn, then come back a few hours later. This time, the villagers were ready and fought back. Talon soldiers had dismounted, exchanged gunfire with the villagers, and withdrawn.
Then, they'd come back with full force, destroying a couple of houses and driving the villagers back. They'd moved into the village on foot, killing any adults they encountered and grabbing the children. Several dozen villagers had managed to escape in the confusion, gathered outside the village, and fled to the abbey to seek sanctuary. Shepherd MacCauliffie had given them his protection when they arrived.
"Sounds like slavers," Book said, voice tinged with distaste. He, Mal, and Inara had remained to speak with the elders, while Jayne and River had moved off to check their surroundings.
"If they were slavers, they wouldn't be killing everyone," Mal said. "They're just targeting kids."
"They hit the Blue Sun building too," Pherson added. "Killed everyone there. But that was after they hit the village."
"This doesn't add up," Inara mused, and Mal nodded.
"Give me and mine a bit to think on this," he said, standing up. "We'll figure out what to do."
The injuries were mixed, and hit all the myriad traumas Zoë had seen in the war. She saw broken bones, shrapnel lacerations, a couple of bullet wounds, and more than one laser burn mark. Mixed in with that were a number of illnesses, and plentiful scrapes, bruises, and cuts that ran the risk of infection. Zoë and Simon moved among the survivors, with the Doctor focusing on the most serious wounds, while Zoë handled the less severe cases.
As they moved through the chapel, Zoë saw other injuries that were just as bad, but not physical. There was fear, weariness, and that shell-shocked look she'd encountered often enough from civilians whose homes were ruined by war. These villagers had their entire lives shattered without warning by a gang of profiteering mercenaries, and that fact sent a cold, quiet anger trickling through her.
The children were the worst. There were so few of them, but they all had been hurt badly, even if it wasn't physical, and most of them had lost parents. With each child she saw, her anger grew harder and colder. She knew that this wasn't just outrage at what these Talon soldiers had done, but also due to her maternal instincts. Children had been hurt, and every part of her was telling her to stop the pain and to help them.
That cold understanding did nothing to alleviate the quiet hatred she was feeling. It was the same frigid rage she'd felt when Wash had been hurt by the Reavers' spear, or when she'd seen him in Niska's clutches.
At the back of the chapel was a little girl, maybe eight or nine years old, with limp, blood-matted black hair a bandage wrapped around her upper arm. Zoë was changing it for a clean one and applying some antiseptic to the gash, but the girl was barely responding, and instead staring off past her. Zoë wasn't certain whether it was PTSD, grief, both, or worse that had affected the girl.
"What's your name?" she asked as she changed the bandage, just as she'd asked the other children. The girl blinked, and her eyes fixed on Zoë.
"Katie," the girl whispered. Her voice was raspy, as if her throat was dry, and Zoë found herself reaching for her canteen. She held it up for the girl, who took it and opened it up, sipping from the plastic bottle. "Thank you."
"I'm Zoë," she said. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" Katie shook her head, and looked away to the rest of the chapel. A sinking feeling settled into Zoë as she noted the way the girl was looking, and how she was sitting alone. Most of the parents were sitting close to or holding their children.
"Where's your mother and father?" she asked. Katie looked back to Zoë, and the girl shivered a little bit.
"Daddy worked at the Blue Sun building," she said. "I haven't seen him since . . . since we got here."
Zoë debated whether to give the girl false hope by suggesting he was alive, but the look on Katie's face told her that the girl knew her father was dead. More importantly, Zoë wasn't going to give her false hope and dash it later. Instead, she simply reached up and stroked the girl's head comfortingly, like she'd often done for Wash.
In fact, there was something in the way the girl looked around at her surroundings, and at Zoë, that reminded her of her husband in the darker moments.
"Are you here to help us?" Katie asked quietly, and there was a hint of something else in there: a twinge of hope.
"Yeah," Zoë said, nodding, the cold anger inside of her mixing with determination to protect these children. "We're here to help."
"You're brown."
Jayne grunted. He stood on the vaulting rooftop of the abbey's walls, the singles coming together at a point, forcing him to stand at an angle as he walked along the rooftop. They were scoping out the landscape around the building from a good vantage point.
Or, that was the plan. In reality, he had River calling him colors.
"What kind of brown?" Jayne asked. In the past he'd just ignore her or give her a properly rude response, but nowadays he tried guessing at her meanings when she didn't speak clearly.
"Uncertain," she said, walking by him. She had a sash around her waist that the sword sheath was tied to. He tried to ignore the fact that it helped emphasize her hips as she walked. "Unclear. Muddy." She frowned, shielding her eyes with her hand. "I'm not sure if that's because what you're actually thinking, or just because of association."
Jayne grunted. Again. It was his best response to her jabbering while he tried to make sense of it.
Truth was, the real reason he'd come up here wasn't to just check things out. He'd also come up here to get away from the villagers. The folks in the abbey brought back bad memories.
He didn't want to remember Higgin's Moon. He didn't want to remember Stitch. And he damn well didn't want to remember those mudders.
River stared at him for a moment while he tried pushing those memories back, and then her face screwed up in a grimace before she turned away. He guessed she meant it as an apology.
They continued along the rooftop, River leading, and Jayne following behind, both surveying the landscape and Jayne doing his damndest to keep from watching River's hips. Sure, the gorram girl was old enough and clear-headed enough, but she'd get him killed if he-
She looked back at him, and gave him a knowing smile.
"Whaddya think we're gonna do?" Jayne asked, changing the subject. Normally when he thought dirty about her – or any woman – she got flushed and embarrassed.
"Don't know," she replied, peering back over the terraformed landscape. "Not enough concrete data to formulate a plan."
"Well, what can you tell about them folks from the town?" Jayne asked. She frowned, mulling over it a bit, and then shrugged and remained silent.
Jayne glanced at her, puzzled. River wasn't excessively talkative, but she still had plenty to babble about when someone asked her a question about folks. He'd never seen her shrug before.
"We have work to do," she said, and started walking along the roof again, this time balancing on the peak, arms spread out and wavering as she moved.
"Them Talons come here, it's gonna be rough," Jayne muttered.
"Worse have crashed against our walls," she said. "We have endured."
"Yeah, but just by a hair," Jayne muttered. "Mal's right. We cut it close too much sometimes."
She was silent for a few moments, instead continuing to balance along the spine of the roof. Finally, she stopped and spun to face him.
"We survive together," she said. "You and me and the rest of the crew. We carry each other when we can't crawl."
The girl was getting annoyingly optimistic. Or maybe Jayne just wanted to bitch some more, but he shrugged and agreed to end that line of unpleasant thought. River turned away and kept up the balancing act. A few meters later, she wobbled for a bit, arms pinwheeling, but she recovered herself before she fell over.
"You don't do that," Jayne grumbled.
"Why not?"
"You fall down and die, I'll have to clean it up," Jayne said.
She giggled, and kept balancing her way across the rooftop, with Jayne following.
Serenity was silent, save for the cacophony of battle and the screams of the dying.
"You will suffer for your betrayal!"
"I have never suffered before, and your scaly vengeance will not make me . . . suffer at all! Yes!"
"This land is ours! I will fight you until-"
"Wash?"
"Gah!"
Wash jerked in surprise. He was crouching beside the table in the dining room, several pots and pans flipped over to provide makeshift hills. His dinosaurs were positioned strategically across the table.
The pilot had been halfway beneath the table, peering at his panorama of battling dinosaurs atop cookware, when Kaylee walked into the dining room.
"Ah, Kaylee. Um. Hi."
"Bored?" she asked.
"Epically."
"Mm-hmm," she replied, nodding and walking by on the way to the engine. "Someone needs to keep an eye on the sensors."
"I've got 'em set to ding if anything weird happens," he replied. She mumbled something and kept walking. Once she was out of the room, Wash crouched again, peering intently at his dinosaurs, and then shot a hand out, grabbing a pterodactyl.
"You will feel the wrath of the traitors!" he hissed. "Suffer my power! Falcon kick!"
"But you're not even a bird!"
"Semantics! Semantics in your face! Graaaaah!"
The abbey had a modest kitchen and dining area, which was built to handle maybe twenty people at most, and usually only held half that many. Between Serenity's crew, the village elders and a couple of other folks from the town, and MacCauliffie and his priests, the dining area was crowded enough to make Jayne ornery and both the Tams uncomfortable. It didn't help that there were several of the children eating in the room.
Mal stood in the middle of the dining area, preparing to address the gathered people.
"I'm not the sort to exactly mince words, and I do a bad job when I try, so I'm gonna be straight," Mal said. "From what my crew's been telling me and the stories ya'll have told on the attack, these folks we're dealing with aren't too friendly. We got every reason to think they're still looking for you folks."
"We don't know that," Zoë pointed out. She was sitting across from Mal with one of the few children, a dark-haired girl whose name Mal missed, sitting on the floor below her. He nodded at her assessment.
"Right, could be they got finished when they hit the last time, and are moving on, but we've got to assume they're still looking for the rest of ya'll," Mal continued. "Just to be on the safe side."
"What about the children they took?" asked Pherson. "We need to get our babies back!" Murmurs and yells of assent came from the villagers, but Mal found himself disagreeing internally.
"We're considering that. Jayne, how many mercs in these Talons?" Mal asked.
"Hundred at least, what the folks said," he grumbled. "Most like a hundred and sixty, last I heard."
"And they've got military grade firepower," Book added. "Bit much for us to handle, with only a few rifles and a grenade launcher."
"Agreed," Mal said. "Jayne, you and River took a look around. How well-fortified is this place?"
"Stone is solid, can hold up to most weapons," Jayne said, and nodded to father MacCaullifie. "Built strong and well. They'll need tanks to bust through here, and Talons didn't have tanks last I checked. Got some clear lines of sight, but those trees to the north and east can provide cover."
"If they attack, they'll likely go for infantry through the trees," Zoë added. "Maybe an airborne assault on the courtyard."
"We'll see that coming clear as day," Jayne said. "Put a watch on the roof, they'll see anyone coming in."
"Good idea," Mal said. "But we still don't know much about the Talons or why they're attacking."
"We know exactly why," Pherson snarled. "They're slavers!"
"If they wanted to do a slave run, they wouldn't be killing the adults," Zoë said. "They'd round up everyone instead of just the children."
"We need to get a better accounting of what we're up against," Mal agreed. "I'm thinking when daytime comes, we go to the village and have a look around, see what we can find."
"Not tonight?" MacCaullifie asked. "You'll be harder to see."
"Talons have night vision gear," Jayne replied. "We don't."
"Trust me, we know a thing or two about fighting people with higher tech," Mal said. "I'll take the recon team, one or two people out there. We'll leave the rest of the crew here to keep everyone safe."
"Captain," Book said, "I'll go with you to the village, if you don't mind."
"Alright," Mal said with a nod. "Zoë and Jayne will stay here." He wanted the big guns protecting the village, and while he'd usually take Zoë with him on a recon run, her obvious and growing pregnancy was getting him concerned.
He paused, debating whether to take River with him. She might be able to pick something up, but the prospect of bringing her to a place where so many people died might not do her any good. Plus, he figured that River's reader abilities would be more useful on defense than investigation.
"Albatross, Doc, and 'Nara will stay here too," he decided. "Take care of the wounded and keep 'em safe." They nodded.
"Alright," Mal said, looking outside. "Let's get settled in and get the mule unpacked. If we're going to defend this place, I want to be ready."
"We've already been preparing defenses for some time," MacCauliffie said. "I can show you what we've got."
"That's mighty kind of you, preacher. Lead the way."
The night came on. Dinner was prepared and served, and the crew ate well, while going over the defense plans, which were limited until they knew more about the enemy's intentions and even if they were going to pursue. Jayne had set up a post in a room overlooking the main approach, setting one of his box-fed machineguns in the window.
The accommodations were fairly Spartan, as expected for an abbey, but the priests had spare cells for the crew. Shepherd Book found his way to one of the small rooms and shut the door. He fished out his datapad and checked the current decryption process, to find the file twenty-seven percent finished. He pulled up another recording, and started listening to it, making notes in his book.
" . . . Clef attributes the Doctor's increasingly erratic behavior to the mental stresses of our work, but I disagree. I believe that the Inducers got to him, and when you get twenty insane children in your head, it affects you.
"Since the last incident, we have kept all of the Inducers in properly separated cells, and all of them are sedated. We are especially worried about their impact on the Empaths. Blank security personnel and drones are being kept on twenty-four hour security detail in the inducer section of the facility in case of further erratic behaviors. Doctor Kondraki has been transferred to the Kinetics sector in hopes that this will help him recover from exposure . . . . "
Book sighed and turned the recording off an hour into it. He opened his eyes, and started briefly.
Zoë was standing in the doorway, the door cracked open a little bit.
"Preacher," she said, straight and blunt.
"Zoë, he replied, and considered what to say. She beat him to the punch.
"How much has it told you?" she asked. Book glanced down to the datapad, and the precious, tiny needle of memory crystal.
How much did she know? How long had she been listening? He'd tried keeping it secret, but River had found out pretty easily. Maybe she'd let it slip? Or perhaps Zoë just overheard?
"A great deal," he whispered. "Some of it deeply disturbing."
She nodded, considering what to say next.
"I figured out some of why you were involved in that mess back on Persephone," she said. "As far as I know, just me and River know about that data."
"You haven't told the Captain?" Book asked, to which she shook her head.
"If he finds out, I'm not sure how Mal would react," she said. "Is that why you left?"
Book was silent for a moment.
"Have I been that transparent?" he asked. She shook her head.
"Just put my brainpan to work," she replied. "Guessed you were former Alliance, by your card and how you knew so much about them."
"Makes sense," he said. "And yes and no. It wasn't this that made me leave, but I knew of the type of men in command. I knew what they wanted, and I refused to countenance that. And I was getting old. Very, very old."
He settled back on the spare, simple bed, and felt the weight of all of those years for a few moments. He pushed that away just as quickly, and gave Zoë a smile of his own as he changed subjects.
"I've noticed you've been caring for the children," Book mused, to which Zoë gave him a wan smile.
"Figured I'd try the mothering thing," she said, rubbing her swelling stomach. "Get some practice in before the real thing." She paused, frowning. "And some of these kids lost all their parents in the attack. They need someone."
"Good to know someone is looking out for them," Book said, smiling tiredly. A few moments' silence passed before Zoë spoke again.
"I'm not telling Mal," she said. "Way I figure, if you haven't told him, and neither has River, you've got your reasons. You'll tell him and everyone else on your own time."
"Thank you," Book said gratefully, nodding.
"Sleep well, Preacher," she said. "Gonna be a long day tomorrow, I reckon."
Nighttime descended upon the abbey, and all went quiet, save for a couple of sentries standing guard on the rooftops. The stars were clear and bright in the dead night sky, and the gas giant of Zeus trundled past, the moon Victoria orbiting serenely around it, ignoring the civil war that was brewing on its surface.
Simon found his sister in the courtyard, lying on one of the benches, going through her nightly routine of staring at the stars. He wasn't surprised, as she rarely got a chance to do that planetside, where the starry vista was far wider and more beautiful than what she got to see through the ship's windows.
"Are you going to sleep?" he asked her as he walked toward her. The white light from Zeus made her skin seem an almost pallid gray. "That bench can't be comfortable."
"No," River said, eyes locking on him. She sat up suddenly, and grinned, and then held up her sheathed sword. "Say it."
Simon blinked.
"Say what?"
"The code."
His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Why?"
"Laertes wants to dance," she said, and he saw mischief in her eyes. "I want to dance too."
"You want me to let you take the sword out now?" he asked, and she nodded.
"Say it," she said. "Promise I'll be good."
Simon mulled over it for a moment, before nodding. He trusted River, and she seemed lucid tonight.
"Independents had dinosaurs," he said, and braced himself.
The hilt lock clicked and swung open. River stood up, holding the sheathed blade carefully, and stepped into the cleared center of the courtyard. He moved back and watched as she slowly drew the blade out of its sheath, and peered into the reflective, polished metal of the jian.
The sword rose up into an experimental guard, and she space her legs apart, and then, she . . . danced. She stepped and turned, sweeping the sword around her, moving through multiple guards and defensive motions. She pivoted, the blade flashing with the white light of Zeus, her hair almost pitch black in the cold glare. He heard the sword hum as it whistled through the air, changing directions as she moved through the routine – if he could call it a routine, for there seemed no direct purpose to the dance beyond moving, striking, and defending.
Several years ago, on a trip to a medical conference on Sihnon, one of his colleagues had taken him to a sword exhibition, where he had watched professional performers go through sword-dances of exhilarating grace and beauty.
River wasn't a professional, and she'd never danced with a sword before. He knew that she understood how to use them all too brutally well, but not in a formal, graceful dance of expression. She wasn't as well-trained, she didn't have as much experience, and she certainly had been out of practice over the last four years.
All of that showed. River's dance flowed, but it wasn't as smooth as the best dancers he'd seen. She didn't step as lightly, and her cuts and guards were not as precise or sequential. Some of them were even jerky and halting, or sudden, vicious strikes that moved with a brutality and aggression that made him wince. She wasn't a professional, and this dance wasn't one that would be welcomed at a Sihnon sword exhibition. The judges would snub it and the crowd would be unimpressed.
But all of that was irrelevant.
River was smiling.
She floated across the stone of the courtyard, blade whistling and striking, and Simon imagined enemies approaching her from all sides, and he saw the point behind how she was moving. She wasn't just dancing, she was practicing. And more importantly, she was enjoying it. The last time he'd seen her fall into a dance this intently and enjoyed it this much was when she'd been at the pavilion on Xiangjing, or maybe the dance at the party on Corinth.
He wasn't going to disturb her. Instead, he simply sat down and watched his sister float under the stars and enjoy herself.
It was getting late, and Jayne had finished preparing the defenses as best he could. He'd snuck into the kitchen and snatched an apple from the refrigerator they had there. It may have been a monastery, but they had some comforts.
He walked down the breezeway, crunching on his apple, and going over in his mind how they'd set up the defenses. He rounded a corner, and glanced out into the courtyard, and stopped dead cold.
He saw white light from Zeus illuminating the courtyard, and in the middle of it, he saw River Tam, with a sword in hand, and she was dancing. The reflected planetlight made her skin look pure white, while her long, unkempt hair seemed to be pure black. She danced with a speed and an economy of movement that the practical killer of his brain appreciated, and yet with a feminine grace that made his animal brain very interested.
Her head turned toward him as she moved, and for a moment, she met Jayne's eyes. And the girl was smiling. He knew she could see him, even in the dark shadows of the breezeway. It was an awful disconcerting notion, but not entirely unpleasant.
" . . .huh."
With that bit of provoking commentary, Jayne leaned against a wall under the shadows of the breezeway, and enjoyed the sight of a young girl dancing under the stars.
The chapel was lit by a few electric lamps. Most of the villagers were bunking in there, for the feeling of safety that it offered. A couple of priests stood watch over them, armed and ready, and Zoë appreciated their practicality. She walked through the chapel, noting that most of the families and survivors were asleep by now. She paid special attention to the children, making sure they were all sleeping soundly.
She didn't encounter children very often, with what she did, and dealing with them was making her feel different now. A bit warmer inside. Part of her warned her not to get attached, and that she had enough with Wash and their coming child, but part of her liked it.
Only one of the children was still awake. Katie was standing at one of the chapel's windows and looking outside at the courtyard. Zoë stepped up to join her, and saw what she was watching. River was practicing with her sword.
Zoë appreciated River's skills at combat, and she'd saved their lives plenty of times, but watching her move and strike and defend like that was disconcerting. A kid like that shouldn't know how to fight so well, especially one so disturbed. She trusted River, but still . . . .
"She's pretty," Katie said, and looked up to Zoë. "I didn't know she could fight too."
"We all can," she assured the girl, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, you need to sleep." Zoë noticed Katie's eyes were tired, and she had dark marks under them, as if she hadn't had much sleep in a while.
"I don't want to," she quietly protested, but Zoë led her to an unoccupied cot, and she laid down in the bed.
"Sleep well," Zoë said handing her the blanket.
"But it's not safe," Katie mumbled pulling the blanket up to her chin.
"It is now," Zoë said. "Me, Captain Reynolds, River, Jayne, and everyone are gonna keep ya'll safe. Trust me."
The little girl managed a smile, and closed her eyes. Zoë sat down in a pew next to the girl's cot, and pulled her shotgun out and set it across her knees.
Zoë settled in for the long vigil, and old herself that she wouldn't betray that promise to the tired, scared child.
The landscape was quiet and cool under the light of Zeus, the white planetlight giving fields and orchards a washed-out look. The breeze drifted past, tousling Mal's hair as he sat on the rooftop, a long rifle balanced across his knees.
He heard footsteps behind him, and glanced up, to see Inara approaching across the roof and holding a couple of canteens. He torque bow was strapped across her back, making her both a beautiful sight and a practical one, both of which Mal welcomed.
"Need a drink?" she offered, and took a step that put her a little bit off-balance. Mal shot to his feet to catch her if she fell, purely on instinct, but she caught her balance before he got halfway up. He remained there, crouching for a moment, and they both shared a quiet laugh. He gestured for her to sit beside him
"Care for some company?" Inara asked.
"Be honored," Mal replied, and she settled down beside him, handing him a canteen. He opened it and sniffed. Coffee.
"'Nara, you're an angel," he said with a grin.
They sat together under the night sky, and kept watch together for a long while.
They both knew, deep down, that this was going to be their last chance at peace for a long time, and enjoyed it while they could.
-
Author's Notes: As I've said before, things are a bit slow for the first few chapters in this arc as we build up to the real action. Things will start to swing up in the next chapter or two, and from there, well, you know how these things work out.
And yes, there are strong....hints...in this chapter. Of what, I'm not saying, but I will advise you that it's not as obvious as it might be at first glance.
Until next chapter . . . .
