What happened next happened fast, faster than the eye could tell, but if Jayne had to guess on it, he'd say the boy went down first. There was the particular electronic whoosh and crack of a gun being fired, and the Doc went down on his knees, with his arms thrown up over his face, as if to shield himself from a light too bright to bear. Then, almost in the same moment, Zoe was moving, her rifle held over her head like a club. She brought the butt down, hard, onto the Captain's skull. Everything went still for a moment, like time was taking a sit-down. The Captain gazed into the distance, blank and puzzled-like, and Jayne wanted to, could not, wanted to, could not, draw his gun fast enough. Then he went down, and Jayne was standing over the two bodies, his pistol drawn against Zoe, whose rifle was drawn against him.
"Stand down," said Zoe, tight and hard.
"Like hell," said Jayne, trying his best to keep his manly demeanor intact. "How do I know you ain't gonna go for me next?"
"Nobody else is gonna die on this boat, Jayne," said Zoe. "Not while I'm standing."
And Jayne knew that she meant it.
"Doc," she called, "where you hit?"
Simon drew his arms away from his face, and ran them over his body, checking to see that he was still there. His hands were shaking.
"I'm not," he said, finally.
Zoe nodded.
"Just as well," she said. "You and Jayne take him to the infirmary. You'll see to him, Doc."
It was not a question. Still, the Doc seemed to consider a moment, weighing duty and threat against inclination. Then, in the same moment, Jayne and Simon moved to their Captain's side.
When Mal finally opened his eyes, the world was fogged up, full of hazy shadows that he couldn't name. He blinked, frantically, trying to clear his vision. When the landscape finally resolved, he saw Zoe, standing over him with tight lips and empty eyes.
"Who hit me?" he said.
Zoe stared him down, in the way that only she had ever been able to do, with the cool resolve that made her seem more a force of nature than a woman.
"You," he said. He couldn't quite conjure it; his voice cracked under the weight of doubt. "Aw, hell, Zoe, if I'd meant to hit the pisslicker, I'd have done it. You know that."
"Your intentions were a mite hazy at the time, sir." said Zoe. "But when a man fires his weapon at an unarmed civilian, his meaning generally ain't benevolent."
Mal rolled his eyes. The slight effort made him sick. His head still felt weak, like he had a weight in there, tumbling around.
"You got a bump on the head, sir," said Zoe. "It'll heal up on its own. Nothing to worry on."
"You hit me," Mal said. He sounded a bit more certain this time, as if the truth were a flower opening in his brain.
"I ain' t saying the boy made the right call, sir," said Zoe. "I'm saying you made the wrong one."
"The boy is still getting off this boat when we land at Angel," Mal said. "That's been resolved on. So I'm questioning myself as to why you're here."
Zoe turned away from him for a moment, passing her fingers over the glittering array of blades on the surgical tray. She swallowed, hard, as if the words she meant to say were choking her.
"Just this," she said. "When he does get off, I'm going with him."
END OF PART I