"So here's the deal," Mal said firmly. He was standing in front of the infirmary, addressing his passengers, who were sitting in the common room, his crew stood behind him, listening nervously. "Somethin' happened. I got my suspicions as to what, but seein' as the whole incident happened between an official registered Companion and an upstanding Alliance Prefect, my suspicions amount to about a hill a beans. I'm lockin' ya both up fer the remainder a the trip."
"That is offensive!" Mr. Kubat said, practically jumping up from the armchair he was sitting in. "I am a government official."
"Which don't guarantee you're the victim," Mal said icily. "Like I said, yer both bein' locked up fer the next day an' a half till we reach New Dallas. Then we'll let the proper authorities sort it out. 'Till then is my responsibility ta keep both you, Prefect, and Inara safe. You'll be confined ta the infirmary and she's safe in my quarters. I'll be sleepin' in one a the extra guest rooms ta make sure that nothin' else happens this trip."
"That's unacceptable Captain," Mr. Kubat said. "That the biao zi should have the captain's quarters while I . . ."
"This ain't a luxury ship, sir," Zoë said sharply. "The infirmary is larger, better lit and generally cleaner than the captain's quarters."
"Hey," Mal said, a little offended.
"Plus you'll be able to be close to your family, see them and they'll be able to see you," Book offered helpfully. "The Captain's quarters are on the other side of the ship. This situation just makes sense."
"Now, Doc's told me little Evangeline's well enough to move to one a the regular passenger quarters, so you'll have the room to yerself. Naturally, we don't want you messin' with the medical equipment. But I honestly believe that ain't gonna be a problem."
"This is very unwise, Captain," Mrs. Kubat said, her voice sending chills down Mal's spine. "This decision will undoubtedly lead to more problems than you can even imagine."
"I'm gonna ignore the fact that sounded like a threat on account a it's late an' we've all had a stressful night. Myself, I only got the patience to deal with one problem at a time. I just wanna keep everyone outta each other's hair for 'nother day and a half till we reach New Dallas."
* * *
"What I mean, Simon," Kaylee said very nervously. "Is that I'm sorry. Ain't fair fer me ta get mad at you fer what River said. And it ain't right fer me ta be ignorin' ya like I was. So I'm sorry. It's jus', well, I want ta be yer friend so much. Partly 'cause ya need a friend so much. I mean, ya look sad even when you smile. But also cause . . ." words failed her. "Chi dai, Kaylee," she muttered to herself. "Can't even 'pologise ta thin air."
She wrapped the blanket she'd been toting since her episode on the bridge more tightly around her shoulders and kicked the kitchen cupboards despondently with her toes, making a sort of hollow thumping noise that perfectly reflected her mood. The rest of the crew had gone to bed hours ago, exhausted after such an eventful night. And Kaylee was exhausted too, but not in the same way. She was weary, but not really tired. She knew herself well enough to know that, if she tried to sleep, she'd just be plagued by nightmares. That's what always happened when she felt edgy and broody. She honestly didn't think she could take a nightmare; a dream where Serenity was swarming with giant ants that ate the crew in front of her, or where Mal decides having her as a mechanic was a mistake so he drops her at some foreign port and picks up Bester again. She'd much rather work herself into a state of walking sleep and then collapsing on her bed, too tired to do anything beyond fall into dark oblivion.
But the more she worked the more she thought about the night and the more she thought about it the less truly tired she was and the more weary she became. Mostly she was ashamed. She was ashamed of how chi dai frightened she'd been. No one else had been worried. Everyone else was sure Inara was perfectly fine, not even the preacher had been concerned. But there she was, worrying herself sick. And she was ashamed of the way Simon had treated her, because she didn't think she deserve it. She'd been miffed at him, unfairly, for days, and he turned around and treated her with all the compassion in the 'verse. She felt weak and guilty and part of her wanted to go dream those nightmares because part of her believed she deserved them after being as pathetic as she had been.
Instead she decided to work out her penance by cleaning the engine, wiping away all the dirt and grime that stuck it self to the oil that kept the engine running smooth. If you didn't clean out you're engine every now and then, well, then some of that dirt and grime would find its way into something important and gum up the works. It was an important job, sort of. I was always low priority, but it always had to be done. And it was easily the least intellectually stimulating, the most physically trying, and the dirtiest job anyone on Serenity ever had to do: far, far worse then a septic flush or garbage. It was good punishment, Kaylee thought. If menial tasks built character, than one good cleaning of Serenity's engine should take care of one of her character flaws, either her cowardice or, perhaps, her selfishness. Although, as she stood in the kitchen during her short water break and tried to apologize to an imaginary Doctor Tam, she had to come to the conclusion that she just hadn't cleaned enough of the engine
She turned around to get back to work when ghostly from suddenly appeared directly in front of her.
"Oh!" Kaylee screeched, one greasy hand flying to her mouth and the other to her stomach as she held back a scream. Mrs. Kubat was standing in the doorway, looking about as pail as death, with a somewhat vicious glair in his eyes.
Apparently cleaning the engines had built up some moral fortitude, because as soon as she got over the initial shock of seeing the specter-like woman she was able to push forward bravely. "I didn't 'spect ta see ya, Mrs. Kubat," She said forcing a somewhat weak smile. "Thought I was the only one up."
"So did I," Mrs. Kubat said very softly.
There was an uncomfortable pause as Kaylee tried to ignore Mrs. Kubat's icy eyes boring into her.
"Ya want some tea?" Kaylee offered cheerily, trying to shatter the creepy mood that had entered the kitchen with the older woman. "I been workin' so's I don' really wan' any. But I'd be happy ta make some for you."
Mrs. Kubat just stared at her.
"Or," Kaylee offered, the creepy mood starting to creep into her. "If ya like I could always, ya know, make yer own."
Mrs. Kubat continued to stare.
"Mrs. Kubat, M'ame?" Kaylee said taking a nervous step forward. "Y'all right?"
"You should be asleep," the woman said softly. "Away in your quarters. Far away."
"Maybe I should fetch the doctor," Kaylee said, taking another step towards the woman. "Why don' you just have a seat and . . ."
"No!" Mrs. Kubat ordered sharply. Kaylee froze and started to feel a little afraid. "You shouldn't have been up here," the old woman continued. She took a step towards the Kaylee, Kaylee took a step back. "All good little girls are asleep at this hour. So, that makes you bad."
"Calm down," Kaylee said, holding her hands in front of her, retreating slowly back towards the hall were the crew quarters were. Mrs. Kubat followed her step for slow step.
"Ya had a long day, maybe some . . ."
"You can't help me," the woman said, her voice was low and threatening, Kaylee had to fight the urge to runaway. "You just have to be silent. That's the only thing for it. The bad, dirty, girl needs to be silent."
Then, suddenly, with a graceful and deadly quick movement, Mrs. Kubat pulled something long and narrow that reflected the dim light of the kitchen out of the flowing sleeves of her black robe. The older woman charged the girl with a cool silence that made Kaylee's shriek of surprise and fear seem all the more piercing. The mechanic instinctively threw her hands in front of her and turned her head, a weak and easily overpowered defensive position. For a fraction of a second she felt pain on her left forearm, but that was quickly overshadowed by the sharp burning consuming pain that exploded at the top of her chest. Kaylee gasped and screamed and sobbed without realizing it as she sunk to the floor.
She didn't hear the noise downstairs, the rustling of people woken by her scream. She didn't notice the black robe glide out of the kitchen. Her mind was filled with bewildering questions; why had she been attacked, what had she been hit with, why couldn't she get her eyes to focus, why did it hurt to breath, why couldn't she move her arm, and more. But each question entered her mind and left unanswered, driven out by the throbbing pain.
* * *
"It sounded like it came from the kitchen," Book said as Mal and Simon caught up to him bounding up the stairs. "I think it might have been Kaylee."
"I know," Simon said. He had his medkit in hand and his serious-doctor face on.
"I'm almost getting used to be woken up by screams," Mal said. "There's no end ta how happy I'll be when this trip's over."
"Can't argue with you there, Captain," Simon muttered.
They reached the top of the stairs, rounded the corner into the kitchen and didn't see anything. The room looked empty. The only sign that there was anything wrong was a soft whimpering, a combination of gasps and sobs.
"Kaylee?" Simon said, pushing his way past the Captain and heading towards the weak sounds on the other side of the room. He found her hunched, leaning against the wall between the kitchen counter next to the uneven stairs. She was pale and pain was etched in her deep brown eyes. A large, sharp, kitchen knife was sticking out of her left shoulder and a very dark red stain was spreading across her greasy coveralls.
"Kaylee," he said dropping to the floor. "Are you all right?"
The doctor's voice seemed to draw the girl out of her shock a little, "M' shoulder hurts," She said, staring up at him.
"Nothing else," Simon asked. "Can you move you're feet?"
"Feet feel fine," Kaylee said, her boots shifting. "Told ya, my shoulder hurts."
Mal and Book reached them as Simon put his hand behind her head and was easing her to a reclining position on the floor. The Shepard quickly went around through the kitchen so he could help the doctor from the other side. Mal stood over them, watching with foreboding.
"Kaylee, can you move you're fingers," Simon asked, glancing up towards Book, "Take her hand," he ordered. The Shepard did as he was told. "Kaylee, Kaylee," Simon said forcefully, keeping the girl's attention through sheer force of will. "Squeeze the preacher's hand. Can you do that?"
"Squeeze the preacher's hand," Kaylee muttered.
"She's squeezing," Book said. "But not with much strength."
"Good job," Simon said, very carefully touching the area around the wound, as he tried to figure out just how deep the knife was and what it'd hit. "You're going to be just fine Kaylee. Just try and be calm."
"You gonna pull it out?" Mal asked. His voice was thin and tense.
"No," Simon said. "Not yet."
"I tried ta take it out," Kaylee slurred. "But it hurt."
"I bet," Simon muttered softly before looking up at Mal. "Whoever attacked her was obviously aiming for her heart. But I'm guessing she was able to deflect the stab somewhat, that's probably how she got the cut on her arm there. Right now the knife is embedded in her muscles, but it's keeping her bleeding down, still I'm going to have to move her to the infirmary."
"Not an option," The captain said. "Got a rapist in there. Can you do it here?"
"Ahh," Simon glanced around the room. The procedure was not a complicated one; the knife had ripped through some muscle, all he really had to do was stitch her up. "Yes, but I'll need a few things."
"Right," Mal said. "Shepard, stay here, keep 'er calm and keep 'er awake."
"I can do that," Book said.
Mal hit Simon on the arm, "Kay son, lets go fetch the band-aids."
"Right," Simon nodded as he pushed himself onto his feet.
"Don' leave," Kaylee begged, reaching out to the retreating Simon with her right hand.
"I'll bring 'im right back ta ya," Mal said as Simon hesitantly walked through the door. "No worries, Little Kaylee, You'll be just fine."
Once they were both running down the stairs Mal managed to ask "I didn' just lie ta that girl, did I?"
"What sir?" Simon asked. He was clearly lost in thought; Mal hoped it was thoughts about the procedure he'd have to perform in a few minuets.
"Kaylee will be fine, won' she?"
"Of course," Simon said. "You know as well as I do that the main danger of wounds like that is infection and blood loss. The wound shouldn't be hard to clean. True, she's already lost blood and will undoubtedly lose some more as a result of the procedure, but not too much. She'll be fine."
Mal nodded as the hit the bottom of the stairs and entered the common area. "I know it, still, nice all the same ta hear a bona fied doctor say so."
"Kaylee will be fine," Simon reiterated.
"Did something happen to Miss Kaylee?" Evangeline asked.
Both Mal and Simon froze for a second, shocked by the presence of all five of the Kubat children sitting on the couches and the chairs, looking at the men expectantly.
"Ahhh," Simon stuttered, before Mal gave him a push on the back.
"Go get what you need, Doc," the Captain said, looking at the children. Simon nodded turned and stepped toward the dark, locked, infirmary while Mal took a step closer to the kids. "Nothin' much," he answered. "Why you all up?"
"The ghost woke us up," Robert informed him. "Did you hear the screaming?"
"Yeah, I did," Mal said. "Ya know, I'm starting to think the Ghost don't much like Kaylee. Every time the dead girl screams our poor little livin' girl gets hurt."
"Did Miss Kaylee ever . . ." Evangeline started. Before the doctor's terrified voice cut her off.
"Huo keng," Simon gasped as he flipped on the lights to the infirmary.
"Stay there," Mal ordered the children so sternly that not even Jayne would think of disobeying, before he turned and walked to the door of the infirmary. "Doc, what is . . . ?"
Simon was standing near the light switch, stunned. Mal felt the shock run through him for a second, then blinked a few times and forced himself to look away from the corpse of Prefect Kubat. The man had been stabbed, more times than Mal cared to count. The infirmary was drenched in the prefect's blood.
"Doc," Mal choked out. "We gotta help Kaylee."
"He was brutally murdered," Simon said, blinking a few times and forcing himself to look away, look towards his Captain. "While we were sleeping, someone was killing him."
"The same someone who stabbed Kaylee," Mal said, his mind started racing as he thought of the only real suspect. There was so much to do, he had to tackle it one task at a time. "Tell me what ya need. You gotta help . . ."
"Kaylee," Simon said, coming to himself. He nodded and walked past the corpse to a drawer. "I need to prepare the dope. Will you grab the IV holder and an IV bag of pseudo-plasma? They're over there, furthest draw to the right."
"To the right," Mal said as he walked past the corpse as if it wasn't there. He considered trying to close the eyes or, maybe, covering it with some sort of sheet. But that would be a mistake. The Alliance would want to see this; they would have to see this as it was. Technically they were already tampering with a crime scene; Mal didn't want to make it any worse.
"And if you could grab a clean sheet, to put on the table, do you . . .?"
"Got it," Mal said. "You ready?"
"Yes," The doctor answered. In one hand he had a loaded dope gun, In the other a pile of bandages and a spool of surgeon's thread with a needle poked into it. He'd put on his apron and his gloves and looked professional and confident, not at all like he'd discovered a mutilated corpse a few seconds ago after a fistful of hours of troubled sleep.
"Than let's go," Mal said.
Simon nodded and exited, not even bothering to glance at the children as he hurried back to the kitchen. Mal turned off the lights to the infirmary, and then locked the door.
"What happened?" Robby asked, still obediently perched on the couch. "Is everything alright? You're lucky you didn't wake Dad."
Mal starred at the kids and wondered how in the world he could possibly ever tell them that their mother murdered their father.
"Captain?" Evangeline asked nervously.
"Go to bed, the lot a ya," Mal ordered. "In the mornin' Shepard an' I'll sit down with ya, 'splain some things. But talkin' ain't gonna do a thing but upset you tonight. So just, go ta bed."
"Yes sir," Robby said, standing up and looking sharply at his brothers and sisters. "You heard the Captain."
The boys filed into their quarters silently under Robby's sharp eye. Evangeline, with almost graceful weakness, followed them.
"Have a good night Captain Reynolds," she said, before slipping into her room.
"Good night," Mal replied, forcing a sort of a smile. Then, once all the doors had slid shut and all the lights were off Mal turned and started heading to the kitchen, to drop of the supplies. After that, for the second time that night, he was going to have to rows the crew and order a search of the ship in hopes of finding the woman who'd assaulted Prefect Kubat.
"A good night," Mal muttered again to himself. "This sure as hell ain't."
* * *
Mrs. Kubat had the rather unusual talent of being able to pick locks. As an aristocrat, a politician's wife, it had been an unused talent. But as she lied in her bed and contemplated what her husband had done, not only solicited a companion, but assaulted one, she realized that the only thing keeping her and her rage from him was a locked door. A locked door she could easily unlock.
And as she tried to figure out how to make good her escape she realized that the only thing that there was a shuttle the Companion used to do her business in, a luxurious shuttle that would, no doubt, be the most comfortable place on the ship was a lock; a lock she could easily pick.
She threw the door open to shuttle-one and discovered the plush interior of a Companion's studio. The woman smiled, a little, and then hurried in. Finally, something tolerable on le se boat. She'd chosen it because she'd needed to be able to control the ship the way she could control the household. A large ship would have a strong captain, she'd assumed, so a small ship would logically have a weak captain. But that's not the way it had been. A large ship would need a competent doctor, a small ship would, logically, have an incompetent medic. But that's not the way it had been either. She'd miscalculated. Had she thought through it clearly she would have realized that people who chose to live on a scrapper like Serenity would be the kind of people who were too strong-willed and insolent to get a job on a decent ship.
Still, it had turned out all right. This would be her shuttle. She could go anywhere in this. She could be free of her corrupt husband and her whiny boys and her seditious daughter. She could truly be free. She closed the door behind her, locked it again and headed towards the cockpit with a giddiness she hadn't felt for years, since before she'd been promised to her husband, since she was a little girl.
But as soon as she saw the many complex controls her giddiness faded. She'd never had to do anything like fly a shuttle, she had no idea what buttons did what, which dials to turn and what would alert the whole ship to her attempted theft.
"Klytemnestra killed Agamemnon," a very soft voice said from behind her.
Mrs. Kubat nearly screamed. She pivoted and saw, lost somewhat in the folds of the curtain separating the cockpit from the rest of the shuttle, the almost angelic figure of River. Of course, if River was an angel, she'd have been an angel of judgment, because her brown eyes seemed to see right through Mrs. Kubat.
"Who are you?" Mrs. Kubat demanded, she couldn't keep her terror out of her voice.
"I'm Cassandra," River said, taking a step out of the folds of the curtains. "But I'm not you're husbands lover. Things aren't adding up, things don't make sense. It seemed so clear but the words and world aren't the same."
The young girl's confusion gave Mrs. Kubat a new confidence. She was no angel, she was hardly sane and she seemed easy to manipulate. "Can you fly this?" Mrs. Kubat asked.
"Standard configuration, retro-fitted for Firefly docking, short range, dent in the starboard fin inclines the shuttle to the right."
"You know, don't you," Mrs. Kubat said. "You could fly this."
"I'm just a slave," River muttered. "A prisoner of war. I used to be a princess. But that was a long time ago . . ."
Mrs. Kubat grabbed the girls arm as violently as she could and threw the girl at the shuttle's controls. River whimpered, but offered no resistance. "Get us out of here, now, or I'll kill you." The older woman said viciously.
"You kill me no matter what," River said as she slipped into the plush pilot's chair.
"Do as I say and you'll live," Mrs. Kubat said.
"You don't believe me," River mused, there was an incredulous tone in her voice as she started to work the controls, overriding Serenity's locks and pushing the shuttle gently away from the ship. "You know what you plan and you still don't believe me."
To Be Continued . . . .