Speculation
* * *
Dear Lord, I pray for our Captain, Malcolm Reynolds. I thank you for his good and generous heart, for his noble spirit and his righteous judgement. But, dear Lord, you know he has a troubled soul. I pray you can grant him some kind of peace. In your love shower him with your never ending mercy, that he might know he is forgiven of the sins he committed, and grant him your eternal grace, that he might learn to know you and see that you never abandoned him, not even in his darkest hour, and that you have great plans for his life. I praise you for the good he has done and the good he has yet to do. Walk with him, guide him, in wisdom and charity, that he might be a soldier for you, even if he dose so unawares.
* * *
Captain Reynolds had a second drink. The bar tender, a cute little vixen with curly blond hair, and thin pink lips winked at him. He couldn't quite bring himself to wink back at her. She sent him a poutty expression, made even sadder because she didn't have the lips to pout with. He ignored her pout and, with a sigh, she went back to her work. Soon she was winking at a group of young men who were laughing loudly on the other side of the bar. Mal didn't mind at all, he just wanted to sit with his drink. Sit and listen.
"All I'm sayin is how," one of the blue suited lackeys from the Betty-Lou said.
Mal didn't know this particular crewman, which wasn't surprising. Old Cash had long ago worked out a system where he'd pick up desperates and drifters from all sorts of planets and employ (or maybe a better word would have been enslave) them for years until they 'worked off their debt.' The way Mal heard it, a person's 'debt' was usually directly proportional to how useful they were. A kid who turned out to have a mind for the engine could have a 'debt' of fifteen years, while a dope who was only clever enough to clean floors usually worked off their 'debt' in a few months.
A guy like Simon Tam, young, naive, used to civilization; he'd be an easy snag for Old Cash, if Reynolds hadn't clearly marked the doctor as his own. And Old Cash was no kinda master for a kid with such a valuable sister. She'd be sold back to the Alliance in a heartbeat, and, for his freedom, Simon would have to payoff a 'debt' that would last the rest of the young boy's life. Malcolm Reynolds believed in freedom; he believed in it with more passion than he believed that he was a man who sometimes dreamed he was a butterfly, not the other way around. So, Mal couldn't let the Tams be trapped liked that, no matter how much trouble it would be to mix it up with the Betty-Lou.
"Old Cash's always protected by least three guards, you know that," the lackey continued. "I think one'a them must'a done it."
"No way," a second lackey said. "You know how you get that kinda job? You gotta risk your life to save one'a the Cash's. Them's boy's as loyal as they come."
"Somebody had to stab the man," the first lackey said. "Old Cash sure didn't stab himself."
"You're talkin' betrayal? Well who? We got Izard, who's dived infron'ta mor'in one bullet fer the old man. We got Vio, who couldn't be smart-nuff to get away with any kinda dark plot. An' we got Kurt, Li'll Cash's best bud. Why would any'a them wanna off Old Cash?"
"If I were you two," A third Lackey said, very quietly. "I wouldn't speculate about any of this stuff."
"Why not?" the first Lackey asked. "It's our ship, our captain. I wanna know what happened. And, hey, you think if Old Cash dies we're outa our debts."
"I doubt it," the Second lackey said. "You know how Li'll Cash is, wors'in his pa."
"I jus' don' think this a good thing ta be discussin'" the third lackey muttered. "You never know who's listenin' an' I wouldn't wanna be heard sayin' somethin' 'gainst someone 'portant. Tha's all I'm sayin'."
* * *
"Alright, Mr. Cash," Simon said, carefully examining the stab wound. It was in his right side, just under his rib cage, deep, very very deep. There was a thick layer of fat, and then mussel, which was bleeding profusely. The diaphragm had been injured, which accounted for the heaving breaths, and Simon couldn't be sure, but the heavy bleeding lead him to believe that there was at least some liver damage. The diaphragm was the most pressing problem, there was the question of fluid in the lungs at present and, eventually, a lung could collapse. The liver damage was serious too, you couldn't live without your liver. But Simon couldn't help but think that there was something else going on. The symptoms didn't quite fit the injures.
"How long ago did this happen?" Simon asked again.
"We found him like this this morin'" Izard said. "Some huai dan stabbed 'im while he was sleepin'."
"This morning," Simon breathed. His hands were shaking. Captain Reynolds might have told Simon he'd be murdered if he'd let Kaylee die, but at least Mal had been polite enough to keep his gun in it's holster while Simon had performed surgery. It was very hard to concentrate with a riffle pointed at his head right on the edges of his peripheral vision.
The doctor considered, for a moment, slipping his hand in his pocket and calling on Mal and Jayne to come save him, but he quickly dismissed the thought. The only complement Captain Reynolds had ever paid the young doctor was to say he wasn't weak. Simon didn't exactly cherish that sliver of praise, but on the other hand, he'd hate to see Mal retract it. He could deal with a gun pointed at his head, he'd just have to keep his wits about him was all.
"How long ago, exactly," Simon asked, glancing up at Li'll Cash. "Four hours, five?"
"'Bout,"
Simon sighed, "Do you have an infirmary?"
"We don't got a doctor," Li'll Cash said. "Why would we have an infirmary?"
Simon took a deep breath. "Alright, I'll work here. I'm going to need . . ." the doctor absentmindedly ran his bloody fingers through his hair, "everything," he muttered.
"What you sayin' doc?" Li'll Cash demanded.
Simon took a deep breath. "If you really want me to save your father this room is going to have to turn into an O.R. stat. That means more light, a lot more light. An instruments, I'd like a, ah, a protoscaner, a laser saw, at least two pinchers, Twenty CC's of dope, Indialmephazine if you can get it, some anti-biotics amoxiacillin should be fine, and the thinnest surgeons poly-themo thread you can get, 6 N.M. if at all possible, and a needle."
"An' wher we suppos' to get all this?" Li'll Cash asked gruffly.
"I don't care," Simon said. "If you want him to live through the night, you'll find them."
"You got that Izard, Vio?"
"Yes sir Mr. Cash," Izard said. "We'll fetch it right quick."
"Make sure he get's it," Li'll Cash said. For reasons that Simon could not vocalize, that order sent chills up his spine. He was longing for Serenity and the devil he knew.
To Be Continued . . .
(yes, I know they're short chapters, don't worry, it'll be continued soon. Don't forget to review)