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Firefly: All the World's a Stage
Chapter 5: Recovery
Part I
"Mmm." Zoë lowered the cup down onto the table. "That's good."
"Oh thank goodness. I was afraid that-"
"You'd done a poor job?"
"Rather that the dealer had given me a cheap knock-off." Inara smiled and took a sip of it herself. "Mmm. It is good. Corkle herb."
"Corkle?"
"It's synthetic." Inara took another sip. "Don't worry, nothing to be afraid of."
"Course not. All we've got to be afraid of is running out of fuel, food, or bullets. Or the Alliance. Or some combination." Zoë took another sip. "But the tea's still good."
The two women sat in silence for a moment inside Inara's shuttle. Still in the same clothes she'd worn for thirteen years, Zoë felt quite out of place in the dressings that befitted a Companion. She'd never had the distaste for Inara's profession that Mal had, but she knew that she and Inara came from two very different worlds, separated by hundreds of astronomical units, and completely different upbringings. She'd call Inara a companion (in the non-professional sense). Not exactly a friend though. Rather, someone she worked with by proxy of sharing the same boat. And yet here she was, sipping tea. One of those strange little changes in her life that she'd grown accustomed to over the last six months.
She felt a tug against her ankle and smiled – other changes had come again. Looking down, she saw her daughter, tugging her. Looking up at her with wide eyes.
"No Emma. You can't have tea yet."
"One day though," Inara chimed in. "Maybe four, five years."
Zoë looked at her. "That early?"
"It's when I started drinking it."
"Oh." Figures.
"Of course, I didn't start making tea until I was twelve," Inara continued. "Ladies on Sihnon...well, ladies in my position at least, we had people make tea for us."
And other things, Zoë reflected. "How did your parents feel about that?"
"Oh, fine," Inara said. "I...what?"
"What?"
"What?" Inara repeated.
"Um-"
"You're not going to say 'what' again are you?"
"No, it's just..." Zoë shrugged. "You don't talk about your parents much."
"Does anyone on this ship?"
Zoë knew that the answer was technically "no," but that wasn't to say she was in the dark. Everyone knew that despite any protestations to the contrary, Jayne was still close to his ma. Simon and River would never be able to see their parents again, and she didn't doubt that bothered them on some level. Kaylee still kept in touch with her folks. Mal and her...well, they were in the same boat, given the events of the Unification War. Wash's parents had died before they'd met. But as for Inara...
"To answer your question, I don't talk to them much," Inara said. She averted Zoë's gaze for a second. "Understand, they were proud of my path – being a Companion is a position of prestige in Sihnoni society. But given my current affiliation, and all that..." She sighed. "Best to leave them out of that, you understand?"
"I do." Zoë sipped her own tea.
"Besides, if they knew I'd become overly attached to one...client, well, that would be a source of even greater shame."
Zoë couldn't help but laugh. "I'll never understand your society Inara."
"Don't worry – I grew up in it and I couldn't explain everything to you either."
Inara took another sip. The only sound in the room was that of Emma making sounds with her mouth.
You trying to speak little one?
There wasn't anyone on Serenity who knew the first thing about raising a toddler. Inara, who was about as close there was an authority on the subject as possible, had told her that Emma not speaking yet was perfectly normal. In a few months' time, she could apparently expect to hear Emma forming single words, and a year after that, four-word sentences. Zoë figured she had no reason to disbelieve her. And yet she worried. Granted, that was what parents were supposed to do, but still, they were flying on naught but a breeze. Work was hard to come by. The jobs were even harder. And every time she went out, be it a supply run or a heist, Zoë knew that her daughter had the risk of never seeing her mother again. She'd at least had the advantage of being an adult when she lost her parents. Emma had decades to go before reaching the same benchmark she had.
"Anyway," Inara said. "How's your Shakespeare coming on?"
Zoë couldn't help but smirk. "Come on Inara, think we're past that."
"Really? Because six months ago you asked me to explain Hamlet's nunnery scene."
"Inara-"
"And a week ago, you told me that you'd just started Othello."
"I did?"
"Yes." Inara took another sip. "Of course, you may or may not have been drunk."
"The Russel Brothers let us keep some of the gāoduān pútáojiǔ as a present. Who was I to say no?"
"You have a daughter. Maybe you should have."
Zoë scowled, ready to say something she might regret. Luckily, Inara beat her to it.
"Of course, it's none of my business. But at House Madrassa, we studied everything, from the classics of Earth-That-Was, to works written on the generation ships, to the epics of the 'Verse itself. And as charming a gentleman that Mal is..."
"Turns out he doesn't know that many poems?"
Inara shrugged.
"I did start Othello actually," Zoë murmured.
"And?" Inara leant forward.
She shrugged. "Iago's a dick. Othello makes me glad I wasn't alive a millennium ago. And Desdemona..." She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "Strange as it is, Desdemona makes me miss Wash."
"I can imagine why," Inara said. She sighed.
"You can?"
"Why not? Your husband was a good man Zoë, who, like Desi, saw the best in everyone and wouldn't have let any kind of prejudice get in the way of caring for those around him." She paused. "I know it's nearly been two years, but..."
"I'm fine, Inara."
"I know," the Companion said, though it was clear she didn't fully believe her words. "But when you came to me, wanting help with the plays, you said you owed it to someone."
"Someone I met on Nirodha. Not Wash."
"I understand Zoë. But if Wash were alive, would you be spending time reading plays written a thousand years ago? Would you be reading them with me?"
Zoë said nothing. In one hand she held her tea cup, feeling its warmth enter her skin. In her other, she held her daughter's hand.
She missed Wash. Not as much as she'd done a year ago, but the pain was still there. This ache that rose up within her sometimes, without rhyme or reason. And Tom? she'd known him for about a week. She hadn't even known the man's real name. But still, Tom had given her the book. Tom had, in his strange way, been there for her when no-one else in that hellhole had been. Tom was now either dead, or still rotting away in that hellhole. As dangerous and empty as the Black was, she was at least free here, in the presence of friends and family. Could Tom say the same? Could anyone on that bloody moon?
"How are you and Mal?" Zoë asked.
She didn't want to think about Wash right now. So best course of action was to go for the gossip.
Inara smiled and took another sip, putting her empty tea cup on the table. "Oh, we're fine. Everything's fine."
Zoë couldn't help but smirk. "Sounds a lot better than 'fine.'"
Inara looked away, blushing.
"I guess it must complicate things, what with still doing Companion work."
Inara snorted.
"What?" Zoë asked.
"Things have been complicated with me and the captain since I first walked onto this ship."
"Really?"
She laughed. "Come on, don't act so surprised."
Zoë shrugged. "Just...I dunno...hindsight being twenty twenty or something?"
"Something like that."
"So, what's next?" Zoë asked.
Inara raised an eyebrow.
Shit.
She hadn't meant to ask that. Rule one in a relationship, never ask "what's next," she reflected. When Mal had kept asking Zoë what was next with her and Wash, the whole thing had only pushed the inevitable marriage faster, much to the captain's chagrin – he didn't like things being complicated.
"I don't know," Inara said eventually. "Why don't you tell me?"
Zoë didn't say anything. She knew it wasn't really her business. Still, Mal was her captain, her sergeant, and her friend. If that counted for anything-
Howdy folks.
Saved by the intercom.
Got a mite of an issue on the bridge here, came Mal's voice over the ship's broadcast system. Think you might want to get up here so we can have a nice, calm, and rational discussion about life, the universe, and everything. There was a pause. That includes you Jayne.
Inara smiled as she got to her feet. "Has a way with words doesn't he?"
Zoë smiled. "That he does."
Inara picked up the tea cups while Zoë picked up her daughter. "Come on," she said. "Captain's called us."
Emma tried reaching for the tea cup, her little mouth opening and closing as she tried to claim her prize.
In due time little one, Zoë thought as she exited the shuttle with her daughter in her arms. In due time.
"Due time," as far as reaching the bridge was concerned, was only a matter of minutes. Maybe less. Zoë wasn't in the business of timing herself in getting to the cockpit. Still, she and Inara arrived last, so if it was a race, she'd lost it. Maybe. Possibly. She'd stopped caring about that sort of thing decades ago.
"And you're late," Mal said, smirking.
Her captain possibly hadn't.
"Didn't know it was a race."
"Eh, retroactively a race," he said.
"Right." She looked around the cockpit – with all seven of the crew plus Emma, space was approaching a premium.
"So what's this about?" Simon asked.
"Yeah, about that," Mal said, the smirk fading. "Something interesting on the feed came in a few minutes ago. And this is a time when I think we should all have a say on what happens next."
"That's a change," Jayne grunted.
Mal ignored him and pressed a button on one of the cockpit's terminals. "Just shut up and watch."
All of the crew leant forward. After a bit of static, there appeared a figure.
"Hello Serenity."
Figure was the operative word, as what appeared on the screen was a black silhouette, speaking through a voice filter. Whoever had contacted the ship had wanted to remain anonymous.
"I suppose you're wondering how I got your number."
Zoë looked at Mal. "Can we track this sir?"
"Well, that's a question for another time."
Mal shook his head.
"I can't claim to know everything, but if you're like any of the other ships sailing the Black, chances are there's nothing keeping you afloat bar a breeze and prayer."
"That ain't true," Kaylee said. Everyone looked at her. "I mean, not really."
"But unlike the rest of the sorry souls that call the Black home, you've got a bit of history with matters other than cargo." The figure paused, and Zoë could imagine him/her smiling. "The Alliance. Reavers. The New Resistance. Miranda."
"Xiělínlín dì dìyù," Simon whispered.
"So when I say that I'm offering you a job that might help balance the scales of justice a bit, I'm imagining that a few of you are going to jump at the chance of that."
Zoë looked around. No-one was jumping.
"But since the few aren't the many, I'm also going to offer you payment of forty-thousand credits."
Zoë saw Jayne's face light up. Inara put a hand to her mouth. River just stared.
"Ten-thousand for giving me the pleasure of your company. Thirty-thousand for completion of the job."
Forty-thousand, Zoë reflected. That would keep us in the Black for months. A few years if we stretched ourselves.
"I can't offer you any further assurances," the figure continued. "Just know that I'm no friend of the Alliance. However, the enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend, so all I can do now is to give you the following coordinates." A set of numbers flashed on the screen that Zoë recognised as astro-geographic figures. "Be there at 0600 hours, Tauri Standard. Based on your current location, you'll be able to make it here in three hours. So that gives you one hour to decide. Provided of course that your grav drive doesn't explode."
Zoë glanced at Kaylee, who was looking a tad affronted at the suggestion that her baby could spontaneously detonate.
"Four hours," the figure said. "I'll be expecting you."
The screen flickered out. Silence returned to the cockpit bar the humming of Serenity. Humming that Zoë found herself listening to more acutely than normal in the hopes that no explosions were happening.
"Well," Mal said.
"Well," Jayne repeated. He looked at the crew. "Bunch of juéduì de fèihuà if I ever heard it."
Zoë blinked – she'd thought that Jayne would have been gnashing at the teeth for such a payday.
"Really?" Simon asked. "We get offered forty-thousand credits, and you want to walk away?"
Apparently she wasn't the only one.
"Forty-thousand credits?" Jayne asked. "Sure. Count me in." He gestured towards the screen. "Walking into a trap? Count me out."
"But we don't know it's a trap," Inara said.
"We don't?" Jayne asked. "Tall, dark, and sinister contacts us with no name or purpose?"
"They know where we are," Mal said. All eyes turned to face him. "That transmission was on a tight-beam, so whoever sent it knows our exact location."
"So?" Jayne asked. "Don't mean they can catch us." He looked at Kaylee. "Provided the ship doesn't, heh, blow up."
Kaylee took a step towards Jayne. Simon put a hand on her shoulder.
"I mean, think about it," Jayne continued. "They can't even give us a gorram moon or planet, just some random coordinates that we don't even know-"
"We do know," River whispered.
The crew looked at her. River didn't look back from the monitor – she'd rewound some of the transmission and was looking at the coordinates.
"Georgia," she whispered. "Oort cloud."
Mal blinked. "The Oort cloud," he repeated blankly.
River pressed some more buttons – the view on the screen shifted to a map of the 'Verse, conveniently highlighting Serenity's location. "We're here," she said. "Between White Sun and Georgia." She traced a finger to the rim of the latter system. "Based on our average speed, in order to reach these coordinates, it would take us roughly...three hours, forty-two minutes."
"Huh," Mal said. "That's pretty specific little albatross."
River shrugged. "Birds know their stuff."
"Yeah..." Jayne said. "Much as I miss the old crazy you, birds still have a tendency of shitting on those beneath them."
Simon looked ready to punch Jayne but Mal put a hand between the two of them. River just sat there.
"Come on," Mal said. "It's too cramped in here."
The dining room wasn't much better.
Zoë had taken a seat with Emma and was in the midst of giving her a bottle of milk. Jayne was tucking into some instant noodles, eyeing the room, as if daring anyone to take his food. Simon and Kaylee sat together. Inara and Mal did likewise. And River? River was leaning against one of the walls, eyeing the room like Jayne, but mostly focussing on the merc himself. Like some kind of alpha and beta wondering who would yell "omega" first and thus instigate the end of all things.
"Well," Jayne said eventually. "Since the good captain's put this to a vote, I say we tell our mystery man to shove it and keep on for Regina."
"How you know it's a man?" Kaylee asked.
"Intuition." He put more noodles into his mouth.
Simon sighed. "Much as I hate to agree with Jayne, he's right. We don't know this person. We've got a sure thing on Regina. Something sounds too good to be true, it probably is."
"But it isn't a sure thing," Inara said. She looked at Mal. "You know it isn't."
He sighed. "The Indigos want some of our contraband. They're good buyers, but..."
"But we don't know how much they're buying," Inara said. "And if we cleared out all our stores, we'd be looking at six-thousand credits at the most. Likely less if they manage to barter the captain down again."
"Hey, that was just the one time when..." Mal trailed off. "Okay. Fair point. But whatever – vote's two to one."
"Two to two," Kaylee said.
"What?" Simon and Jayne asked together.
"Yeah, I'm saying it." She got to her feet. "Someone thinks my baby's gonna explode (Emma made a "gah" noise at the mention of exploding babies), well, I'm gonna wanna meet 'em."
"Kaylee, this ain't some gorram-"
"Two to two," she said, glaring at Jayne. "My vote counts as much as yours."
"Sure, sure," he said. "And when the shit hits the fan like it always does, who's going to be pulling you out of it?"
She gestured around the room. "Plenty of options."
"And plenty of votes," River said, stepping forward. "I vote we go."
"River?" Simon asked.
"I think we should go," she repeated. "Inara's right about Regina. And...I just know, y'know? Like, a feeling?"
Jayne snorted. "Right. Feeling." He looked at Simon. "Thought your sister wasn't meant to be crazy no more."
Zoë saw Simon clench a fist – even now, he would do anything to protect his sister. On the other hand, he was in opposition to his sister, his significant other, and in agreement with the person he despised most in the universe. She felt sorry for him.
"Three to two," River said. "Crazy girl can still count."
"That she can," Mal said. "But unfortunately for our albatross...it's more three to three."
"What?" Jayne and Zoë blurted out. Their eyes met for a moment – a moment of shared bewilderment.
"Mal?" Inara asked. She took Mal's hand as he got to his feet, but lost her grip as he began pacing around, a hand to his chin.
"I get it," he said. "We're breathing fumes, we're leaking air, and, yeah, we're at the risk of, um, exploding."
"No we're not!" Kaylee protested.
"But we've got a thing on Regina," he said. "Sure, could be a small thing. Might be less than a breeze. But it'll keep us in the air. Keep us flying. I mean, we're all here to do that right? To keep going?"
"Going, running," Jayne grunted. Mal looked at him and he raised his hands in defence. "Hey Cap, trust me, world's gone crazy for me as well, but I ain't complaining."
"Says the person who left us because Mal ran," Inara said.
"And I apologise with all manner of profuseness," Jayne said between noodles. "Well, cap was right then – New Resistance is gone. And last I checked, walking into traps ain't a winning strategy, and listening to crazy girls who think they're birds ain't sound strategy neither."
Silence descended over the room again. Not even Emma broke it, who was staring out into the world with the eyes of a child. Kaylee looked ready to attack anyone who mentioned anything about exploding. Simon looked torn as enemies became friends, and sisters became enemies. Jayne was scowling. Inara was frowning. River just stood there, lost in her own world. And Mal...
Hell, Mal looked the same. Which bothered Zoë more than anything.
"Alright," the captain said eventually, looking at her. "Down to you."
"Sir?" she asked.
"Three to three," Mal said. "Math's still good enough for that."
"I bet it is." Zoë leant back in her chair, keeping Emma close. "Alright. I'll give my answer. But I'm gonna need the room with the captain. Alone."
"What?" Jayne blurted out. Everyone else was silent, but she could say they all wanted to ask the same thing.
"Zoë..." Inara began.
"River, how much time we got until deadline?"
"Thirty-seven minutes."
"Right, so? Plenty of time." She cleared her throat. "In time we hate that which we often fear."
"What?" Jayne blurted out again.
"Um...was that Shakespeare?" Simon asked.
"Well don't look so surprised," Zoë said. "I mean, I do read."
"Antony and Cleopatra, act one, scene three," River murmured. She looked at Zoë. "I read that when I was four."
"Okay, that's fascinating," Mal said. "But my XO needs the room, so..." He nodded towards the exit. "Beat it."
Slowly, the members of the crew filed out. Jayne took his noodles with him. Kaylee was muttering something about exploding. Simon, River and Inara didn't say anything, but it was Inara that gave Mal a look. A look that told Zoë that they were thinking along similar, but not identical lines.
"So," Mal said. He took a seat opposite Zoë. "What's your vote?"
"Nice question, but I'll raise you one," Zoë said. She glanced at the door before leaning over and whispering. "The heck you playing at?"
He blinked. "What?"
"This," she said, gesturing around the room with one arm while steadying Emma with the other. "Voting."
"What's wrong with voting? I mean, sure, it gets the same xuēzi tiǎn pìyǎn into parliament each time, but-"
"Sir, you're the captain."
"And?"
"And?" Zoë exclaimed. "Gorram act like it."
Ma leant back in his chair and folded his arms. "There something you want to say?"
"Yes," she said. "And that's that the old you would have never put it to a vote. Old you would have chosen then and there and charted a course."
"I'm giving you a vote, you complaining?"
"I am when it's at the expense of your balls."
"Charming," Mal murmured.
Zoë sighed. "What's with you sir? Inara can see it, Jayne can see it, I can see it."
"Nothing's happening. Nothing's changed."
"Sir, it..." She trailed off. Mal wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Emma. Emma was looking at her mother. And Zoë found herself looking at the truth.
"That's it?" she asked. "I become a mother and you start using kids' gloves?"
Mal got to his feet. "Zoë-"
"Sir, I'm not asking for special favours. You shouldn't-"
"Zoë, every adult is on this ship is here by their own choice. Emma isn't."
"Emma's here because I'm here," she said, getting to her feet as well. "Where she is is my choice."
He sighed. "How many people followed us Zoë? Back in the war? How many were left alive when it was all done?"
"More than there would be if they'd had a different sergeant," she said. "And I can say that from experience."
"As a corporal."
"Yes, as a corporal. You delegated when you had to. But you never let privates call the shots when a decision had to be made." She sighed. "Sir, I know what this is about."
Mal said nothing. He just lowered his gaze.
"It's not your fault. None of it."
He still said nothing.
"The New Resistance-"
"You think this is about them?" he whispered.
"Partly," she said. "But I think...Book. Wash. It isn't on you."
He looked up at her. "Wash was your husband Zoë."
"And the Reavers killed him. Not you. Like everyone else here, he chose to be on this ship. Book chose to leave it. Alliance killed them, not you."
"And you avenged them," Mal said.
Zoë paused, before whispering, "did what had to be done sir."
Mal said nothing – he didn't have to say anything more to remind her of Theophrastus. Of words spoken. Of triggers pulled. Of the way the Operative had looked at her before she'd pulled that trigger
"If Book was right about God and Heaven, someday I'll see Wash again," Zoë said. "But I'm alive right now. You're alive. Emma and everyone else on this ship is alive. And since our living depends on us continuing to fly...I vote we go."
"You do?"
"I do," she said. "It's a risk, but what isn't? If it's the Alliance, they still know where we are. If it isn't, then there's a chance of us getting enough cash to sail from here to Earth-That-Was."
"That a plan?" Mal asked.
"Retirement plan. I've got an off-planet account that I'm hiding from the rest of you."
Mal laughed and Zoë smiled. It had been a long time since she'd heard him laugh.
"Okay," he said. "Motion's carried. We're going." He headed back to the cockpit.
"Sir?"
He looked back at her.
"I'm okay sir. Just so you know...I'm okay. Road to recovery's long, but recovery's what we do. Broken ships, broken hearts."
After a moment of hesitation, Mal nodded and walked back to the cockpit. Not the vote of confidence Zoë was expecting, but it was something.
Emma began to squirm and Zoë looked down at her. Emma looked up, but didn't stop moving.
"He didn't give you a vote," Zoë whispered, poking Emma on the nose. "What kind of democracy is that?"
Emma let out a giggle. And Zoë wished she could join her.
Mal was changing.
And having known the captain for over a decade, she wasn't sure how she felt about that.
In her dreams, she was back aboard the Meredith.
With her father's rifle slung over her shoulder, she and a dozen other hopefuls stumbled onto the deck. The shuttle they'd ridden in had threatened to fall apart. Looking at the interior of the troop carrier, with flecking paint and creaking beams, it looked just as ready to do the same thing. It briefly occurred to Zoë Alleyne, former crew member of the Torres, that it was in a sense remarkable that the Independents had access to a troop carrier at all. Just as remarkable was that on the deck, she could see thousands of men and women marching through checkpoints. Much as the Cortex claimed that the "civil agitators" of the border worlds would amount to nothing, she knew the truth. Right now, she was seeing the truth. She-
"Stop lollygagging!"
Someone pushed her – likely the sergeant who'd escorted her and the other recruits from Saharanpur Station. Sergeant Williams, or Walliams, whatever his name – he was a person that she'd likely never see again. So with that in mind, she marched forward along the deck along with everyone else. Row after row, each hundreds long. On one side of the deck were the shuttles, on the other, those in uniform, wearing brown and red fatigues, and some of them having the Independent insignia – the black star above the green and yellow stripes. The sound of boots added to the echoes of the man-made cavern they were in, playing a song of shouts, whirs, and thuds.
Finally, she approached the desk jockey at the end of the line. Well, not so much a desk jockey, because he was at least standing at a pedestal. He reminded Zoë of a customs officer – one of hundreds she'd seen every time her ship had made port. Only difference being this one was barely older than she was, and looked like he gave a damn about his job.
"Name?" he asked.
"Zoë Alleyne."
"Date of birth?"
"February fifteenth, 2484."
The questions kept coming, after which a whir sounded, and out of the pedestal popped a newly formed set of dog tags, chain included. Without hesitation she put it on."
"I'm assigning you to the Fifty-Seventh Overlanders Brigade. Report to Master Sergeant Seligson on G deck."
"Where-"
"Section 20-N."
"You got a…" She trailed off. "Never mind."
The desk jockey didn't give her a second glance as she made her way through the checkpoint. At the far end of the deck were a set of elevators, that she assumed would take her to the upper decks of the ship. A big yellow letter on the wall indicated that this was A deck, so if she had to climb down, least it shouldn't take too long…in theory. She'd never been on any ship with more than three decks, all of which could be traversed between in less than a minute. Keeping her eye on the big A, she-
"Hey!"
Bumped into someone.
"Sorry," she murmured.
She wasn't too sorry – like Williams/Walliams, and Desk Jockey Guy, there was practically no chance of seeing this twat again. Sooner or later, at least one of them would be dead, and when history wrote the story of the war that was to come, it wasn't going to waste time on the likes of a pair of privates.
"S'all right," he said.
Least he wasn't making a scene out of it. Still, as she headed over towards the elevators on the deck, she found that he was walking alongside her. Which made sense she supposed – they both would have their assigned stations – but still, she wasn't in the mood for company.
"So," the man asked. "What unit did they assign you to?"
"Fifty-seventh Overlanders."
"Suǒyǒu qiǎohé de mǔqīn, really?" He grinned as only an idiot could.
"Yes. Why?"
He tapped his right shoulder. "Same."
She raised an eyebrow. "You know you don't have a unit insignia there yet, right?"
"I know, but still, soon…"
She kept walking. She might not have to get to know this guy – she wasn't too up to speed on military matters, but she figured a brigade might have a lot of people, right?
"So where you from?" he asked.
"Torres."
"Torres." She quickened her pace, but so did he. "Ain't heard of no planet or moon named Torres."
"It's not either of those. It's a ship."
"Oh. You mean…"
"Yep." She slowed down a bit. "Born vesselside. Deep space freighter."
"And now you're here," the man said.
"Now I'm here," she said. "And before you ask why-"
"Actually I wasn't," he said.
She slowed down a bit, looking at him.
"I mean, stands to reason don't it? Alliance wants control of our lives. We want to live them, we have to fight for them."
"More or less." There was a bit more to her motivations, but they could wait. "What about you? Where you from?"
"Shadow. Little world orbiting Murphy."
"I know it," she said. "From what I heard, there's been some talk of making Shadow the Independents' main base of operations, but they moved it to Hera."
He didn't say anything, but she could see the worry in his eyes. And in a move that went against her usual temperament, she gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"Sure it'll be fine," she said. "We all got worlds to fight for. Independents aren't going to let any of them fall."
"Yeah," he said. "Sure." He smiled, and stuck out a hand. "Malcolm Reynolds by the way."
For a moment, Zoë hesitated. Searching for any hint of ulterior motive lurking behind the man's shining eyes, messy hair, and goofy grin.
A moment after that, she shook his hand.
One nap, one dream, and three hours of travel later, Zoë and the crew were back on the bridge.
There were at the coordinates their contact had given them – on the outskirts of the Georgia system, within its Oort cloud. Tempting as it was for some to think of various balls of ice and rock tumbling around, the stark reality was that they were basically in a big old space of nothing. And by extension, that "nothing" extended to a lack of ships, signal buoys, or anything else.
"So…" Jayne began. "Should I say it, or should someone else say it?"
"Say what Jayne?" Mal murmured.
"That this was a waste of time? That there's nothing here? That we might have stumbled into a trap?"
"If it's a trap, it's a pretty poor one," Simon said. A number of heads turned to him. "Think about it. Alliance wants us, so they set up an ambush in deep space. There's nothing to mask their presence."
"Well that's just fine, but…" Jayne trailed off. The comms monitor was beeping.
"Speak of the devil," Mal said. He activated the feed. And while Lucifer didn't appear, the same blacked-out face did, speaking through the same voice filter.
"Ah, Serenity. Right on time."
"Bit early by my reckoning," Mal said.
The figure paused, as if checking the time. "Quite right," it said.
"So…" Mal said, after a pause. "What now? Your ship invisible or something?"
"Not quite, but close," the figure said. "I've activated my navigation beacon. Proceed to it and await further instructions."
"Hey, hold on," Jayne said. "How long this second trip gonna last?"
"At your ship's average speed? About five minutes," the figure said.
"But-"
"My home is a bit off the beaten track. Follow the beacon, and we'll be in touch."
The face disappeared, leaving a lot of concerned and confused faces in the cockpit. All except River, who popped herself into the pilot seat and looked at the navigation console.
"There's a beacon," she said. She looked at Mal, who gave her a nod. "Setting course."
For five minutes, all members of the crew remained in silence. River kept her hands on the throttle and her eyes up front. Simon and Kaylee linked their hands, while Inara put her hand on Mal's. Jayne just leant back against the wall, his face fixed in a scowl. Zoë, for her part, remained silent. Emma was asleep in her bunk, and her husband wasn't here. She had no-one to hold hands with or hold.
"Closing in on the signal," River whispered. "I think there's something ahead."
"Think?" Mal asked, taking a step forward. "Where?"
Zoë took a step forward as well. Up ahead, there was a faint red light, flashing on and off. A spacecraft?
"Hello Serenity."
The figure was on the comms monitor again. Still keeping its anonymity.
"I'm getting a mite tired of this," Mal said.
"Don't worry, you're at the front door," it said. "You got eyes on me?"
"Eyes on something."
"Well, keep watching."
Something else was shining in the gloom. A white light, like a door in space. Or, as Zoë quickly realized, an airlock.
"This is Argo Station," the figure said. "A piece of rock in Georgia's Oort cloud. It's been painted black, so it's practically impossible to see. But with the beacon and the airlock opened, you shouldn't have a hard time coming inside."
"Come inside?" Jayne asked. "Just, what? Walk into the lion's den?"
"Wolf's den. Lions didn't make it to the 'Verse. Wolves did. But either way, I'll be waiting for you. And so will your down payment."
The figure blipped out again, leaving only the sight of Argo Station, or rather, one of its airlocks. At this close range, Zoë could just make out the shape of the comet, but against the darkness of space, it was still an effort to do so.
"So…" Simon said.
"Argo. Jason and the Argonauts," River said. "Greek mythology."
"Fascinating," Jayne grunted, before looking at Mal. "So, cap – lion's den is open-"
"Wolf's den," piped up Kaylee.
"…and I'm guessing we're turning about?"
Mal didn't say anything. No-one did.
"Captain?"
Mal looked at Zoë. She didn't say anything either. Nor did Inara when the captain looked at her.
"Sir?" Simon asked. "What's the plan? We go in, or bug out?"
"Some of us…" Mal cleared his throat. "Some of us go in."
"What?" Jayne asked.
"Jayne, Zoë, River, you're with me. We suit up, lock and load, and take one of the shuttles. Kaylee, Inara, Simon, you stay here – I give the signal or you lose radio contact, you bug out."
A chorus of voices began rising in the cockpit.
"Juédìng shì zuìzhōng de!" Mal snapped. "We leave in ten." He began to walk out, but Simon stopped him.
"You're not taking my sister," he said.
"I can, I am," Mal said.
"You remember what happened on Lilac?"
"I do, that's why I'm taking her. I want a read on whoever we're meeting with. Besides, your sister helped us bust into the Academy. Asteroid crewed by Mister Anonymous isn't going to do no harm." He looked at River. "Come on albatross."
He walked out of the room, followed by River. After a moment's hesitation, and ignoring Simon's continued protests, Jayne and Zoë followed.
Into the wolf's den then, she reflected.
The hanger had looked sterile from the outside. Landing inside the comet, Zoë reflected that the airlock of Argo Station didn't just looksterile – it was sterile. More white and sterile than anything she'd ever seen. So when the shuttle touched down, no detritus was buffeted by its bulk or its engines. In the vacuum of the airlock, it was silent. Just as its interior was.
"Shuttle to Serenity," Mal said. "Eagle has landed."
Well, it was silent until Mal started getting all fancy with his words.
"Eagle has landed Captain?" Simon asked over the radio. "Really?"
"When you enter the wolf's den of your own free will, you get to choose what to say."
"I'd be in the wolf's den with my sister if you hadn't-"
Mal shut the good doctor off and looked back from the captain's seat, smirking at River. "You got a good brother albatross. Cares a bit too much, but then, ain't that a sin we all have?"
River didn't say anything. She just walked over and looked at one of the shuttle's terminals.
"Albatross?"
"Air and pressure are approaching optimum threshold. If they want to kill us, suffocation won't be the method."
"Yeah," Jayne grunted, sitting at the back of the shuttle stroking a rifle (Michonne, Zoë seemed to recall him calling it). "I mean, it's so nice to know that there's one less way we can die."
Mal got to his feet. "Want to stay on the shuttle Jayne, be my guest."
"Nah," the merc said, getting to his feet. "If this is my last hour, I want to be able to look you in the eye and say I told you so." He released the rifle's safety and looked at Zoë. "Ladies first."
Go to hell Jayne. She nonetheless obliged, existing the shuttle and carrying a semi-automatic rifle with her. Not her usual Winchester – if she was going among wolves, a lever-action rifle wasn't going to cut it.
The four fugitives walked out of the shuttle onto the hanger deck. Not only was it sterile, Zoë reflected, but surprisingly big as well – large enough to hold an Alliance corvette by her estimation. There weren't any corvettes, but a handful of sleek black craft the size of their shuttle that she didn't recognise. What she did recognise though was the flag painted on one of the hanger's walls – the red, white, yellow, and blue of the Anglo-Sino Alliance.
"Sir?" Zoë asked.
He nodded. "I see it."
"Oh, you see it?" Jayne sneered. "That's good. Great to know we're on an Alliance asteroid."
"Comet," River piped up.
Zoë looked at River – as someone who'd been subjected to horrors beyond what she could imagine, the psychic appeared quite at ease being on an Alliance bolide. But then, they were still alive. Maybe this was a trap, and the Alliance wanted them alive, but if so, it was a pretty pitiful attempt.
"Hey, heads up," Jayne said. "Asswipes at twelve o'clock."
A hatch had opened on the far end of the hanger – it was about fifty metres from where the shuttle was parked, which gave Zoë time to make up the trio walking towards them. Two of them were grunts – tall beefy men equipped with rifles and body armour. On each of their chest protectors was a sigil – an eagle carrying two planets in each of its claws, one mainly red, one mainly blue. It was gripping them tightly, and Zoë supposed that it wasn't really meant to be a protector of those worlds, but rather a predator. And the worlds themselves…
"Londinium," River whispered. She looked at Zoë. "Sihnon."
Zoë, hoping that River wasn't reading her mind and was just being ultra-intuitive, turned her focus to the woman between the two grunts. She was shorter than both of them, with dark skin, dark hair done in braids, and chocolate-brown eyes. As she came closer, Zoë squinted – the woman was smiling, but it wasn't a smile that came from malice or love – she'd seen both, and seen the smile this woman was using. This was the smile of regret. Of sadness. Of between making peace with the universe, and not yet accepting its conditions.
She doubted the others noticed, given the way Mal and Jayne clutched their weapons. Because even though the woman was carrying a briefcase (which Zoë hoped had their down payment), she was also wearing armour and carrying a sword. Both of which she'd seen before.
"An Operative," Jayne murmured as the trio came to a stop in front of the Serenity crew. "Yēsū jīdū zài tā mā de pogo gùnzi shàng, how many of you are there?"
"Right now? Less that there were a few years ago." The woman's smile shifted. "But there were never many to begin with." She turned to look at Mal. "Captain Reynolds."
Mal swallowed. "That's me."
"So nice to talk to you face to face. Using the voice and facial filter is a bore, but, well, one can't be too careful." Her eyes lingered on the crew's weapons. "A fact of the universe I see you're already aware of."
"And who are you?" Zoë asked. "What's your name?"
The woman's smile faded. "I've gone by many names over the years Mrs Alleyne. Right now, the one I use is Miranda."
"Miranda," Jayne scoffed. "What, that meant to be a statement?"
The Operative's eyes locked in with Jayne's, and for a moment, Zoë saw a flicker of fear in the merc's eyes. "I've used the name Miranda before, Jayne Cobb. I'm using it now because…" She sighed. "Because words have a power of their own. And I want to remind myself of what that word means. Because this is a brave new world, and mankind has yet to become beauteous."
"Shakespeare. The Tempest," River whispered.
Haven't got to that yet, Zoë thought.
A silence lingered between the two groups. Zoë could only guess what the others were thinking, but for herself, she was running the numbers – presumably, this was an Alliance base. Or had been. But that begged the question as to where the Alliance actually was – had Miranda taken the station? If so, how many men did she have?
"So…" Mal said. "Like, I hate to rush things, but I can't help but notice that you've got a suitcase there and-"
Miranda opened it up. "Ten-thousand credits, as promised."
Mal and Jayne stared at the notes inside, as if they'd never seen such a beautiful sight.
"But moving on," Miranda continued, "despite what I implied earlier, the only one of you I need is River."
Mal and Jayne's looks shifted. River took a knife out of her dress, her own look reminding Zoë of a wild animal.
"But of course, if I'd said that, I doubt you would have come. Better to make you think I need all of you." Miranda closed the case. "Still, I figure you won't mind tagging along to CIC so you hear what I have to say."
"And if we don't want that and just want to bug out?" Jayne asked, his fingers stroking his rifle.
The look in Miranda's eyes told Zoë she was doing her best to contain yourself. "Then that would be unfortunate, but…" She took a breath. "But that would be within the parameters of our deal." She looked at Mal. "Still, Captain Reynolds, you've dabbled with the New Resistance. You fought the Alliance in the war. I figure a man of your standing would be interested in poking them in the eye, if only to make it easier to evade their gaze."
"Those are some fancy words," Mal said. "You knew me at all, you know I don't do fancy."
"I know you're in a romantic liaison with a Companion of House Madrassa, and I know you're fancier then you let on." Miranda nodded to the door she'd entered the hanger from. "So. Coming or not?"
Zoë looked at Mal. Mal looked at Zoë. Jayne said nothing, and River kept her gaze fixed on Miranda. The grunts just stood there in silence, like guards outside the Alliance Parliament.
"Alright," Mal said eventually. "Jayne stays here. River, Zoë, you're with me."
"Wait, what?" Jayne asked.
"Excellent," Miranda said. "Shall we?"
"Whoa, hold on-"
"Jayne, if I die, you get to say I told him so to the crew," Mal said as he followed the Operative.
Jayne murmured something about wanting to say it to Mal's face, but nonetheless stayed put. And he looked a bit happier when Miranda walked over and put the suitcase of credits in his hands. So he kept silent. Even as Zoë and River followed their captain. Even as Zoë looked at River, trying to gauge her. If she was picking up anything from Miranda.
River just kept walking, the knife still in her hand.
As Miranda led them to the CIC, Zoë was only half listening to Miranda as she explained the history of Argo Station – she was using her eyes far more than her ears.
She got snippets – didn't officially exist…used by naval intelligence…four hangers…water system used broken down ice… She was far more engaged with the sights and sounds.
More of Miranda's forces were walking around, but not many – not nearly enough to properly maintain a deep-space base of this size. It was clear that not only had this been an Alliance outpost, but that it had been taken in a bloody manner. Through the hallways, she could see bullet holes in the walls, casings on the floor, even a few scorch marks from explosives, and in one case, a pool of blood. No body, but given the way the blood was spread out, it was clear that the body had been dragged away.
"Not going to stay here too long," Miranda said as she led them through the halls of the station. "But losing Argo will hurt the Alliance, and it's useful for us as a temporary base."
"And who's us?" Mal asked.
"Caliban. Perhaps you've heard of us?"
Mal shrugged. "Might've heard a whisper or two from the newsfeeds."
"The people here didn't whisper," River murmured. "They screamed."
Miranda glanced at the psychic.
"Caliban," River continued. "Son of Sycorax. The one who lusted after Miranda."
"And through I, Miranda, the Alliance will have an army of Calibans to deal with. Things of darkness all." She smiled darkly. "Though in this case, Prospero is the Alliance. And Caliban won't remain in chains."
River didn't say anything. No-one did.
"Also, Caliban's the moon of the planet Miranda. Little piece of trivia there." The Operative chuckled chuckled, and led them to a door marked "CIC." She opened the door with her hand – Zoë saw that a card reader beside it had been smashed.
"After you," the woman said, gesturing to her companions.
River went in first after Miranda. She looked around the room.
"Like it?" Miranda asked.
River looked at her. "You killed a lot of people here."
"We did."
"Not your men. You."
"Also true," Miranda said. She looked at Mal and Zoë, who'd also entered. "Given your records in the war and Siren, I wouldn't think you'd have a problem with it."
Mal shrugged, though his face betrayed his unease. "Got too beef with dead purple bellies. Long as it was a fair fight." He paused, fingering his revolver. "Long as they were given the chance to surrender."
Miranda said nothing. She just picked up a remote and used it to dim the lights. On the far wall, a screen lit up, showing a picture of a starship.
"Recognise this?" Miranda asked.
No-one spoke.
"Anyone?"
"It's like the Victoria class," River said. She walked up to the screen, tilting her head. "But…not."
Mal drew her away from the screen, murmuring something about eyes.
"Quite right," Miranda said. "Similar dimensions, but much smaller. Less focus on combat, much more on stealth." She pressed the button again and the image was taken apart, revealing the interior layout, along with schematics. "What you're looking at her is the newest and rarest ship in the Alliance Navy – the Pluto-class corvette."
"How rare is rare?" Mal asked.
"So rare that only nine of these things exist. And so new that they've only been deployed in the last few months." She paused, smiling faintly. "You can imagine why perhaps."
"Maybe," Zoë murmured. "I mean, the New Resistance is destroyed-"
"And ten newer resistances are popping up," Miranda said. "Don't sell yourself short Ms Alleyne, you've stirred the hornet's nest. The Alliance has been stung, and it's bleeding. Why else would they deploy advanced stealth ships like these intended for deep-space listening duties?"
Zoë could imagine why. But she remained silent as Miranda pressed the button again, showing another Pluto.
"This," said Miranda, gesturing back to the image "is specifically the IAV Hades. One of the nine ships I just mentioned." She clicked again, and the image shifted, showing a sphere near the vessel in question. "And this is the planet it's currently residing near."
River's eyes widened. Zoë looked at Mal. Mal himself looked like he'd seen a ghost.
"Sir?"
Mal said nothing. He just stood there, staring. Looking not at the Hades, but the planet it was near.
Shadow. The world that he'd been born on. The world he'd been raised on. The world that the Alliance had bombed to Hell and back during the war. A world that now lived up to its namesake in every sense of the word.
"Why…" Mal cleared his throat. "Why Shadow? What was it doing there?"
"Going to ground I expect," Miranda said. "No-one goes near Shadow anymore. It's the perfect place to hide."
"I thought these were stealth ships," Zoë said. "Why would they need to go to ground?"
"A good question, the answer to which I can only guess is that there was a malfunction in their cloaking field." Miranda paused, letting it sink in. "Yes, ladies and gentleman. Cloaking field. Actual stealth technology that's good enough to fool eyeball mark one in addition to everything from LIDAR to infra-red." She clicked again. "But whatever the case, this ship found the Hades."
Zoë watched the space battle unfold. A ship had come into range of Shadow, making a beeline towards the Hades. Both ships began firing at each other.
"I can't be sure about the second ship," Miranda said. "My guess is that it's former New Resistance. Or current, I suppose – hard to eradicate an insurgency completely. But you can see the results for yourselves."
Zoë could at least – the attacking ship took a hit and detonated. The Hades was luckier, only being disabled. Left to drift above Shadow.
"And there we have it," Miranda said. She clicked again, the screen turned off, and the lights came back on. "Our target."
"Our?" Mal asked.
"Our. As in, yours and mine."
"Yeah, I know what 'our' means. What I want to know is why you need us." He took a step forward. "What's so important about this gorram ship?"
"That's a lot of questions captain," Miranda said. "I'll start with the second first – what's so important is that every Pluto ship carries an Alliance Navy master list. Service records. Fleet movements. You get that list, you know what ship will be where, captained by whom. Get that list, and you become God."
"And that's it?" Zoë asked. "You, becoming God?"
"What this is about is my concern," Miranda said, her gaze becoming as dark as the room had been. "Am I God? No. But God once flooded Earth-That-Was and spared only a single family. I intend to be more thorough in my efforts."
"And for those efforts, you need River," Mal said. "Why?"
"Simple, Captain Reynolds." Miranda walked over, fixing her gaze on River. "River Tam here is a psychic."
"We know. And?"
"And that list I was talking about is protected by a psychic lock."
"A what?" Zoë asked.
"A psychic lock. Psychic insulation. No psychic, no access. And every Pluto ship has a psychic onboard."
"What, like me?" River whispered.
"A bit," Miranda said. "Psychics are rare; we're talking a percent of a percent within the human gene pool. But they exist, and I know that you've encountered them. I also know that sooner or later, the Alliance is going to come to the Hades, Argo, or both. So I need this done quickly. I need you to get to that ship, get me that list, and come back here."
"Come back here?" Mal asked.
"Yes. We use Serenity. We get to Shadow. We get the list, we come back, I ascertain it's genuine through Argo's mainframe, and you get thirty-thousand credits."
"That's-"
"That's the deal," Miranda said. "You don't want it, you walk back to the Neanderthal in the hanger and take off, no questions asked. You do want it, you play by my rules."
"Your rules," Mal murmured. "My ship."
"Your ship's expendable. My ships aren't."
Zoë couldn't help but smile, seeing Mal's face – the notion that his baby was "expendable."
"I'll do it," River whispered.
Zoë's smile faded.
"I'll do it," the young girl repeated.
"Excellent," Miranda said. She looked at Mal. "Unless, of course, the good captain has any objections?"
Zoë could imagine quite a few.
"No," Mal said. "No objections."
And could imagine what it took for him to lie like that. To put his faith in an Operative. To go back to Shadow.
"Very good." Miranda walked over to the door and opened it. "Tell your crew…well, whatever you need to tell them. I'll see you on the hanger in ten."
River and Mal said nothing. They both walked out, River taking the lead. Zoë saw Mal put a hand on her shoulder. Saw River sheathe her knife.
"What about you Zoë?" Miranda asked.
Zoë looked at her. "What?"
"What about you? Is there something I should know?"
Zoë folded her arms. "You think I haven't dealt with people like you before?"
"Considering you've faced Operatives before? Yes."
"Not like that," Zoë said. "People who'll do anything to get what they want. Which leads me to ask…why? You, an Operative, turning against the Alliance. Killing everyone on this station. Why?"
"The Operative you saw on Siren. The one let you live. Did he tell you why?" Miranda ended the question in a whisper.
Zoë blinked – Miranda was trying to hide it, but the question wasn't rhetorical, even if she was trying to make it sound like one/ She was…off. Bothered. Her guard was down only for a moment, but it was all the time she needed to see that there was something else to this.
"Get me that list Zoë," Miranda said. "Then I'll tell you why."
A/N
So there's a canon mistake in this chapter. Canonically, Zoë was career military, and met Mal a few years before the war's end, while here, neither of those things are true. In honesty, I stumbled on the nugget of info after completing the story, and by that point, after working on the damn thing for over two years, I just didn't have it in me for another revision. Granted, I doubt many people actually care, but in case you do, that's the reason why.