The Deal
* * *
God, I pray also for our first mate, Zoe, and pilot Wash. I praise you for them individually and as a couple. I thank you for endowing Zoe with the greatest of all virtues, Loyalty, as well as courage and strength. And Wash, I thank you for giving him a sense of humor, a child-like outlook. They are a blessing to the ship, the backbone and the funnybone, the strength and the heart. Lord, please bless them, keep Zoe out of harms way, keep Wash's skills quick and sure. But most of all Lord, I pray, bless their marriage. Let it be an inspiration to all who look upon it in this time of trial and uncertainty. Love, no matter it's form, glorifies you, the Lord of Love, so I praise you for their love, and I pray their love may increase, as your love increases towards your bride, the church.
* * *
"She's not a racer, but she's dependable," Mal said. "An' she ain't never failed to do a job. Now, to Flagstone would take about two weeks, give or take a day."
"Why give or take?" Michele "Puffer" Newvack said, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. "Why not exactly?"
"I just ain't sure 'bout asteroids, other ships, that sort of thing. No reason to suspect we'd get there in any more'in Fourteen days." Mal said, realizing that he'd never seen a man with more yellowed teeth. "That a problem?"
"No," Newvack said, shaking his head. "Seems reasonable. Now, you know, tobacco is outlawed on Flagstone." He let out a long puff of curling white smoke. "Say it's bad for the health."
"Do they?" Mal said, forcing himself not to cough.
"Yeah, that won't be a problem, will it?"
"Why should it be?"
"Jus' if you were to get boarded by customs at Flagstone you might have a hard time explaining yourself."
"For starters," Mal said very clearly, "There ain't no call to insult my crew by insinuating we might get caught with our proverbial pants down by some customs officers. We've had valuable cargo before an' been boarded by an official Alliance raiding party in cold space. They looked everywhere for it, even under the gorramn placemats on the dining room table, but they didn't find the goods."
"You dump 'em?"
"Now what good would that'a done me? Serenity's got her tricks and so do I. If we get boarded, they won't find a thing an I can guarantee you your cargo'll be safe as houses."
"If you don't mind my asking," Newvack said. "What kind a cargo where you carrying?"
"You can ask all you want, I'm afraid I can't tell you. Suffice to say it was more dangerous and more valuable than a few smokes and a little chew," Mal said, his tone making it clear that the topic was closed.
"How much would you charge to run my cargo to Flagstone?"
Mal pretend to consider the variables, the distance, the risk, the wear and tear on the ship, the manpower required. "I'd say One ten."
"One ten?" Newvack laughed. "You're joking."
"What price were you thinking?"
"I couldn't see paying more than eighty."
"Eighty?" Mal asked, glancing around the room and letting out a loud laugh. "You could maybe, maybe find a ship to carry that Cargo for eighty. 'Course, It'll take a month to get there, with at least two stops at a fueling station along the way."
"Eighty Five."
"Couldn't do it for less than a hundred, not a chance."
"Ninety,"
"I said a hundred and I mean a hundred, I got a crew needs feedin'."
"Are you trying to tell me you're a family man, Captain?"
"I'm trying to tell you that a hundred's a steal. You won't get a better offer."
There was a pause as the yellow toothed tobacco trader examined the Captain. This was the most important part of the negotiations. Mal knew that if he blinked, if he flinched, if he demonstrated anything less than total control he would be haggled down to ninety at best. Granted, Serenity could do the trip for ninety, but Kaylee would have to make do without a power converter or Zoe and Wash would have to accept another IOU for their monthly wages. Not that they'd mind, but Mal just didn't feel right doing that to them. Mal starred at Puffs unflinchingly.
"Alright," Newvack finally said. "Hundred. Fifty now, fifty later."
"Sounds fair," Mal said, reaching over the table to shake the man's yellow tipped hands.
"How soon can we load it?"
* * *
"Will'e live?" Izard asked, his voice full of genuine concern.
They were standing outside of Old Cash's room waiting. Simon was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, praying that the pounding headache would eventually stop pounding. He had considered taking some dope, but thought better of it. He needed to be as alert as possible in case there was some sudden complication to the surgery or the psychopaths running the Betty-Lou decided to kill him; both of which seemed extremely likely. He considered pulling the transmitter out of his pocket and signaling the Captain, saying he was ready to go home. But Old Cash wasn't out of the woods yet, Simon felt duty bound to stay until he was, one way or the other.
"I don't know," Simon said, leaning against the wall and burying his face in his hands. "I, I stopped the hemorrhaging but . . . it just . . . he should be all right, but then, he shouldn't be as badly off as he is."
"Wha're you implying?" Kurt demanded.
Simon blinked a few times, looked at Kurt and then shook his head. "I wouldn't imply," he said, closing his eyes.
"Then," Kurt said, pulling a revolver out of a hip holster. "What were you sayin?"
"Mr. Cash's symptoms don't match his injuries," Simon said. "If they did I'd be willing to say that he'd pull through, the damage isn't that bad. But, since they don't, I can't say."
"Which way are you leanin'?" Izard asked.
"Honestly," Simon said, taking a deep breath. "Unless I can find the reason for these symptoms, I don't think . . ."
Kurt cocked his gun.
Simon's slower-than-par brain finally registered the firearm. He opened his eyes to find the barrel pointing directly at him. For a moment he looked at it, puzzled, and then glanced up at Kurt. "If you kill me he doesn't have a chance."
"If he don't have a chance, I sees no reason not ta kill ya."
"Are you insane?" Simon asked, more curious than upset. "Because that doesn't seem to make . . ."
"I don' take kindly to insults,"
"I feel like I just had this conversation," Simon muttered, resting his pulsing head in his hand.
"Kurt, put the gun away," Izard ordered. "Can't you see the doctor is already fei chang jin zang?"
"It sounds to me like he's got some damn insidious notions."
"It sounds to me like he's gotten hit on the head once too often by you."
"Could you argue more quietly?" Simon asked, pressing on his eyes in hopes of reliving the ever-worsening pounding in his head.
If either Izard or Kurt heard him, they didn't pay any attention. Vio, at least, had the decency to not say a word. Simon pulled his knees up to his chest, folded his arms over them, and buried his head, hoping against hope that the torrent around him would either die down or blow somewhere else. And, for a heartbeat, it seemed to. There was a bang, like a door opening, and suddenly the two bickering bodyguards were silent. Not even a second had elapsed and Simon found himself being luged viciously to his feet by Li'll Cash.
"My father's dead you liu man er bai wu meng gu dai fu!"
"Dead?" Simon asked breathlessly, terror quickly overpowering the pounding in his head.
"You said you'd save him," Li'll Cash spat.
"Let go," Simon muttered, struggling out of Li'll Cash's grip and pushing himself into Old Cash's bedroom. There, laid out on the bed, was Old Cash. Simon rushed to the body and took the pulse. There was nothing.
For a moment Simon toyed with the idea of trying to resuscitate him, but that was foolish. The stress on the chest would undoubtedly re-open the wound to the diaphragm and cause internal bleeding while whatever unknown agent was causing the high fever and the jaundice would not have left the body. Simon took a deep breath, glanced at a clock on the wall, and out of habit announced; "Time of death fifteen forty eight."
He reached up to close Old Cash's eyes when he noticed something. The old man's nose was broken. It wasn't very obvious because it had happened mere seconds before death, there was no bruising to speak of and no blood. But the crookedness was unmistakable.
Simon licked his lips and casually glanced around the room. There was a large pillow with a satin case lying conspicuously on the floor near the bed. Simon didn't know where it came from, but he was sure it hadn't been there before.
Suddenly the whole situation, the unexplainable symptoms, the inadequate supplies and the illogical abuse made perfect sense. "Dah Bien," he muttered.
To be continued . . .
(keep reviewing please!)