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Firefly: All the World's a Stage
Chapter 5: Recovery
Part II
Her parents were dead.
Sitting there, in Barracks 2J, Zoë Alleyne sat at the edge of her bunk, letting the missive dangle from her hands. Gina and Joseph Alleyne were dead, along with the other 62 souls aboard the Torres. Her nuclear family was dead. Her extended family was dead. Her friends and adversaries that she'd grown up alongside for 22 years were dead. She'd signed up to fight for the Independents. Everyone on the ship had in one way or another, and those who wanted to stay on the sidelines, or for whatever reason, supported the Alliance in its efforts to take control of the Border and Outer planets, had left the ship not long after she had. Difference was, she'd signed up as a soldier. The people of the Torres had signed up to be a supply vessel for the Independent cause. Same cause, different job.
And now they were dead. All of them. Weird thing was, she couldn't say how she felt about that.
"Hey."
She looked up from her bunk, seeing Private Reynolds walk in. He had a grin, and a black eye.
"Didn't see you at the Echo Chamber," he said, referring to the troopship's cantina that was frequented by troopers and sailors alike. "Not like you."
Zoë pocketed the missive. "Didn't feel like getting drunk now."
"Didn't say you had to get drunk."
"No, but the first time we went, you did say that if I didn't leave without trading punches with a naval-gazer once, we could never be friends."
Mal put a hand to the right of his chest. "I swear, I would never put our friendship on-"
"Left side."
"…excuse me?"
"Left side," said Zoë. "Your heart's on the left side, not the right. You want to swear anything, do it proper."
Mal shrugged, though nevertheless dropped his hand from his chest. "Semantics. Besides, doubt God cares."
Zoë doubted He cared either, mainly because she doubted He existed. With the cross around his neck ever clinking against his dog tags, he'd never hidden his faith from her. Still, he'd never forced it either, a trait for which she was grateful for.
Mal walked to the bunk opposite hers and began to take off his boots. "Still, shame you weren't there. Got some naval-gazers talking big about a hit they did on some Alliance frigate. Course, ain't gonna take that dà tán from them without putting in our own, so-"
"My parents are dead."
The words hung there in the barracks – in the space between the only two within them, and in the recycled air itself. It had been Zoë's intention to get Mal to stop talking, but without thinking, she'd let the news of her family's demise be the catalyst for that.
"Them, and everyone else on the Torres," she said. "They were doing a supply run from New Melbourne, but then an Alliance frigate came, launched its torpedoes, and poof." She made a motion with her hands to simulate the explosion. "No survivors."
"Zoë…"
"I mean, hey, deaths would have been quick," Zoë continued, her voice trembling, and her rate of speech increasing. "I mean, hey, least the naval-gazers took out another frigate. That's something and…what are you doing?"
Mal had taken a seat on the bunk as well.
"Mal?"
"Go on," he said.
"Mal, it's…I'm babbling okay? You don't need to listen."
"Then babble away. Take as much time as you need."
"Mal, we don't have time. The war's on. First shots have been fired, and we've got hundreds of dead on both sides already." She got to her feet. "Trust me, a lot more people are going to die before this is all over, and that's going to include family members."
Mal didn't say anything. He just sat there, looking at her. For the first time since she'd met him all those months ago, after they'd both been assigned to the 57th, Malcolm Reynolds was keeping his mouth shut.
"Come on Mal, say something," she said.
He just sat there.
"Like, anything. Like, 'I'm sure they're in a better place,' or 'they died for a good cause, or…fuck it, anything!"
"I do believe that, actually," Mal murmured. "But what about you?"
"Me?" Zoë shrugged. "Fine. Absolutely fine." She began pacing around the barracks, rubbing her hands together. "I mean, it's weird – I don't actually miss them. Like, there's an ache, and I'm not really feeling it, and…and I…" Her hands went to her mouth.
"Zoë…" Mal got to his feet.
"I'm fine, really," she said. She forced a smile. "Think I'm gonna have a cold one now, or something."
"You want company?"
"No, really," Zoë said. "Fine. Absolutely fine. Really." She headed for the barracks' exit. "I mean, I appreciate the effort, but…" She trailed off, as her hand reached the door's rung. She thought of her mother, how she'd taught her how to work the engines and hydroponics alike. She thought of her father, who'd taught her how to fly and shoot a rifle – the same one she had with her now, even after being issued a carbine by the Independents. She thought of everyone onboard the Torres, now just dust and ashes, forever consigned to a universe that, whatever the outcome of this war, would soon forget them. She thought of them all, as she turned back to look at Mal. He who was just standing there, waiting. Listening. Hands in his pockets, eyes low, attention present.
"Company might be nice actually," Zoë murmured, before sitting beside her friend. "Might be very nice."
Shadow had been terraformed in 2404. It had been bombed to Hell by the Alliance in 2506 at the start of the war, a show of strength that had only further galvanized the Independents into resistance. In 2511, the same year the war had ended, it had been deemed a blackrock – unfit for human habitation. Now, in the year 2519, all Zoë could say was that at least Shadow was living up to its namesake.
Not that she was going to say that. Because she, and all the crew of Serenity (minus Emma, but plus Miranda), were clustered into the ship's cockpit. It had taken them just short of a day to get from the Oort cloud of Georgia to get to the Murphy system – a brown dwarf that had been helioformed into a protostar. Now, within that star system, they were looking down on the planet of Shadow. Once a world of open prairies, now a world of charred rock, its surface unable to be seen from the clouds of dust that blanketed its atmosphere. No-one had come back to live on Shadow. No-one could.
And yet here they were, Zoë reflected. Though not so much for Shadow, but rather the ship that was in close proximity to it. Nevertheless, all eyes in the cockpit were on the dead world below, and none were staring as intently as Mal's. River was the one piloting the ship, but Mal's hand was piloting her chair, gripping onto it like a lifeline. She watched as Inara put a hand on the captain's shoulder, giving him a small kiss on his cheek. She watched as Inara and Kaylee held hands, and as Jayne looked at the planet with a scowl different from the one he normally wore. Everyone had heard of Shadow. And be it down to Mal's connection with the planet or not, everyone was feeling some of the pain endured by over 13,000 people over a decade ago. Miniscule casualties compared to the 100 million plus who had perished by the war's end, but no less worthy of remembrance.
"So that's Shadow," Miranda said. She looked at Mal. "Nice to be home?"
He gave her a look that mirrored that given by half the people in the cockpit.
"After we're done, you'll have all the time in the world to sightsee," Miranda continued. "In the meantime though, the Hades is waiting for us." She looked at River. "Bring us in, Miss Tam."
"The leaf obeys the wind, and the leaf flies," River whispered. She glanced back at Miranda. "Even if the wind is cold."
Zoë gave River a small smile. But it quickly faded as she pivoted Serenity a few degrees, so that it wasn't just Shadow that filled their view in the cockpit. Rather, it was the form of the Hades – a Pluto-class corvette that did indeed remind Zoë of the Victoria-class. But whatever similarities and differences existed was academic right now. What mattered was that it had clearly been damaged. It was orbiting the planet, but leaving a trail of debris behind it, adding to the debris already in orbit from the ship that had attacked the Alliance vessel. Even from here, she could see sections where the hull had given way, exposing the ship to the vacuum of space.
"So that's the Hades," Jayne said. "Don't look like much."
"It's a stealth ship, it's not supposed to be seen at all," Miranda said. She leant forward, adjusting settings on the console – Zoë glanced at Mal, wondering what she thought about an Operative fiddling with his ship, but he was barely paying attention; his eyes were still on Shadow. "Well, this is good news. The ship's irradiated. Core containment must have failed after the battle."
"Radiation," Simon murmured. "How is that good news?"
"Simple – means most of the crew are likely dead." Miranda looked back at the doctor. "I know, I know, do no harm and all that. Still, you won't be the one doing the killing."
Simon went to say something.
"And you won't be doing any saving either," Miranda said, cutting off his chance at moral indignation. "Because we're going to do this as a quick in, quick out, before the radiation gets to us." She began to walk out of the cockpit. "I'll need River with me for this, but the captain here can tag along if he wants. Just don't bring the doctor – we might need him back here if we end up puking."
Mal finally tore his gaze away from Shadow and turned it to Miranda. "The hell you-"
"Now, Captain," she said. "Yes, you are the captain, and yes, this is your ship. But this is my show, and it's my credits I'll be parting with once we get back to Argo. So hurry up. I want suits on in five, and the docking tube made ready in ten."
And with that, she walked off, heading down the main corridor that led from the cockpit as if she already owned the ship. Which, Zoë reflected, she might as well already.
"Can I shoot her?" Jayne asked.
"No," said Mal.
"Why not? Zoë shot the Operative on Theophrastus, why can't we do it here?"
Zoë scowled – "you want to broadcast that to the whole 'Verse Jayne?"
"Just saying – it's open season on Alliance goons."
"No, it isn't," Mal said. He looked at Jayne, then Zoë, then River. "Which is why Zoë and River are coming with me, and you're staying on the ship."
"That's-"
"My decision," he said. He looked at River. "Alright albatross, get us in close. Kaylee, prepare the docking tube. Rest of you…" He shrugged. "I dunno. Pray or something." He headed out of the cockpit as well.
"I should be there," Simon said. He looked at Inara. "Aren't we better than this?"
Inara bit her lip. "Simon-"
"Look at the planet Simon," Zoë said. The doctor looked at her instead. "Look at Shadow."
"Sorry?"
"Back in the war, people said they were better than this, after the Alliance used mass drivers to destroy an entire planet as a warning against further rebellion. They thought we, the human race, was better than this. When the body count reached the tens of millions, we all thought we were better than this. When entire cities were reduced to rubble, we thought we were better than this." She patted him on the shoulder. "Don't get your hopes up Simon – the human race can only get so much better before it runs against a wall."
She went to exit the cockpit.
"What about Emma?"
She looked back at him, glaring.
"What about Emma?" Simon asked. "Years from now, what do you tell her?"
Zoë, after a moment, murmured, "same thing I'm telling you now."
And with that, she departed the cockpit, seeking to join her captain.
If she'd left Serenity in the mood of a graveyard, then the Hades was a coffin. More one than any ship they'd done a recovery job on apart from the ones above Sturges years back.
She, Miranda, River, and Mal, made their way through the hallways of the ship, clad in suits protecting them against vacuum, and hopefully, against the radiation that was filling the ship. Mal carried a Geiger counter, and while she couldn't hear any sound, he'd so far assured them that they were in the green. The radiation here was well above safety limits, but not so much that just setting foot here would condemn them to a slow, agonizing death. A death that would be unlike those suffered by the Alliance personnel on the ship, most of whom had died from fire, debris, or asphyxiation.
She put a hand on River's shoulder, giving the girl a nod. River, normally unflappable, gave a small smile back. Bodies lined the halls of the Hades, and the quartet of the living had to avoid stepping on them. She glanced at Mal, and beyond his visor, and the gleam of the helmet lights, she could see him with a stoic look on his face. She doubted that Malcolm Reynolds was so far removed from empathy that he was completely unperturbed by the corpses around him, but having boarded derelicts before, including one decimated by the Reavers, she had no doubt that what he was seeing now was old news. That he was over a hundred miles above his homeworld, destroyed by the same body this ship had once served, might have had something to do with it. And Miranda? She just kept walking, her left hand holding a data pad that showed the layout of the ship, and in her right, a pistol. For good measure, her sword was attached to the back of her suit with a magnetic lock.
As if anyone here would present a threat, let alone fight us. Zoë glanced at another one of the bodies, the man's body lacerated by shards of metal. "Do you think they got a signal out?" she asked.
Miranda snorted. "How do you think we learnt of it?"
"Pardon?"
"The Hades sent a distress call to Argo, thinking we'd forward it onto Naval Command." She looked at one of the bodies and gave it a soft kick. "Poor bastards. They died here thinking that help was coming."
"And that makes you happy?" Mal murmured.
She glanced at him. "We're on an Alliance warship above a planet they destroyed. Your planet. If anyone should be happy, it's you."
Through the helmet, Zoë saw a scowl. "You've got a pretty low opinion of me."
"And that bothers you?" Miranda turned her gaze away from Mal and kept walking. "Neither of us are saints Malcolm Reynolds. But to answer your question, I'm happy that there's one less of these ships in operation, and that it's allowed me to access that master list. Now come on. We're nearly at the bridge."
Zoë pressed her rifle against her shoulder slightly tighter. Given the state of the ship, with the radiation and lack of oxygen, could she really expect there to be armed resistance at the bridge?
Possibly. She picked up the pace, so that before long, she, Mal, and River were walking in line, with Miranda taking the lead. She approached the door and looked at the panel beside it, inspecting the readout.
"Oxygen's on the other side," she said. She glanced at the Serenity crew. "Keep your suits on though – there may be air, but that's not going to save us from the radiation."
"Are we saved?" River whispered, looking at a body a few feet away; one covered in radiation burns.
"My dear, people like us are far from being saved." Miranda typed something on the panel, and the door swung open. "Come on."
Zoë could see and hear air rushing out from the bridge to the corridor that led to it. They hadn't been walking in complete vacuum, but the pressure difference meant that they were walking against a heavy flow of air. Zoë was the last to enter the room, and she watched as Miranda sealed the door behind her, returning the air pressure to normal. Before them was the bridge – there was a collection of bodies, all of them in Alliance naval uniforms, and all of them showing signs of having died terribly – debris, asphyxiation, and/or radiation sickness.
"Poor bastards," Mal whispered.
"They did not die well," said River.
Zoë said nothing. She turned away from the bridge and returned her gaze to the bridge's viewport. Space looked back at her, along with some of Shadow. Part of her was glad Jayne wasn't here – bastard would no doubt say something that would make this more uncomfortable than it already was. And standing among the ranks of the dead, on a ship named after a god of the underworld, in the presence of a long dead world…how the heck could this get any more uncomfortable?
"River." Zoë looked at Miranda, who was looking at the ship's resident psychic. "Time to work your magic."
"Magic?" River whispered, looking up at the Operative. She'd been looking at one of the bodies – a young boy dressed in black, scarce older than she was. Radiation burns covered his skin.
Miranda tapped her helmet. "That head of yours, I need it to open the psychic lock."
"But I think this one is-"
"Now, Miss Tam. We're on a timer here."
River moved up to Miranda. "Aren't we all?" she whispered.
Zoë and Mal glanced at each other, and for a moment, exchanged a smile. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether River was being crazy, deep, or both.
"Here," Miranda said, as she guided River to a console. Mal and Zoë came over, seeing that it looked like just any other, except for the handprint scanner. Or what Zoë assumed was a handprint scanner, because when Miranda put River's hand to it, she didn't remove the glove.
"This is the lock," Miranda said. "Luckily for us, it doesn't need to make a skin connection. Rather, an electric force will connect with the nerves in your hand, and through them, to your brain. Your cerebrum, to be exact."
"And then?" River whispered.
"And then, if all goes to plan, the lock will be removed, and I'll be able to access the files." Miranda took a data chip out. "Don't worry – I'll be able to fit it all on this."
"Worried?" Mal murmured. "Oh sure, not worried. I mean, sure, let's hook up River to some freaky-"
"You really want to argue about this now?" Miranda hissed.
"How can she even access it? Wouldn't there be safeguards?"
"Like I said on Argo, psychics are rare, which makes it easy for the Alliance to control practically every psychic within the human race." Miranda held up her hands in mock defence. "Not saying it's smart, but when you control nine out of every ten lives, the remaining ones slip under the radar pretty easily. Which means that as far as the master list goes, a psychic is a psychic. And right now, the only psychic we have is this little girl here."
"I'm not a girl," River whispered.
"You're nineteen, and the youngest person here. That makes you little."
Zoë walked over and put a hand on River's shoulder. "You don't have to do this," she said.
River looked at Zoë and smiled. A smile that could only be described as normal, and was all the more beautiful for it. "It's alright," she said. "Ship needs money." She looked back at Miranda. "And the murderer needs her list." She reached out to the scanner. "I know. I've murdered so many."
Zoë would have pointed out that she didn't consider slaughtering Reavers to be the equivalent of murder, especially since she'd done a fair bit of that herself, but she didn't have time to. Quick as a cat, River extended her hand to the scanner. Just as quickly, her eyelids began to flutter.
"River?" Mal asked.
River said nothing. She just stood there, as if in a trance. Her eyelids fluttering. Her arm twitching.
"River!" He reached out to her but Miranda took his arm.
"It's natural," she whispered. "All part of the process."
"Process…you call this a gāisǐ de process?!"
"Part of the process the files on Argo described, yes. What's happening to her is scarce different from REM sleep."
The look on Mal's face told Zoë that he wasn't sure what REM sleep was, and that he was concerned about River. The look became more pronounced when River let out a gasp and stumbled back.
"Easy girl, easy." Zoë moved forward to catch her.
River slowly turned her head and looked at Zoë. "How long…"
"Seconds," Mal said. "Why?"
"Because the real world is slower compared to dreams," Miranda said. She didn't look at any of the crew as she plugged in the data chip to the console. "But that doesn't matter now."
Zoë came over. "You got in?"
Miranda looked at Zoë and smiled. "Got in.
Zoë could tell that she was genuinely happy. What that meant for them though, she wasn't sure.
"Oh God."
She spun round and saw River rush over to corpse she'd been looking at earlier. Problem was, he wasn't a corpse. He was a very ill, coughing corpse, and ergo, still alive.
"Help me…" he whispered.
Zoë slung her rifle over her shoulder and came over. The boy (and he was a boy, scarce older than River from what she could tell) looked up at her. "You…rescuers?"
Zoë glanced at River. "River, we can't save him."
"What?" she whispered.
"River," Zoë put a hand on the girl's shoulder. "The amount of radiation he's been exposed to, he-"
"No," River whispered. "He's like me, don't you understand?" She looked back at him. The boy looked back at her, and if Zoë didn't know better, she could swear they were communicating.
"River-"
"He's the psychic!" she yelled. She got to her feet and looked at Zoë, and Mal, who'd come over as well. "Like Iris, like everyone else at the Academy. He's a psychic. He was taken."
"River, we can't-" Zoë trailed off. The boy was reaching out for them. His breathing was shallow, his skin burnt, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He wasn't a corpse, but he might as well have been the walking dead right now.
"He's got family," River said. She looked at Mal, then Zoë, tears in her eyes. "We have to save him. Like you saved me."
The boy coughed, and Zoë winced. She had little love for the Alliance, but if what River was saying was true (and she had no reason to doubt her), then the boy in front of them was just as much a victim as she was. Maybe not so much in the mind, but certainly in the body.
"Help me," he whispered, reaching out to her. "Please…"
Zoë winced, and closed her eyes. For a moment, it wasn't the boy he was seeing. It was Emma. The way she reached out to her. Looked up to her.
"Zoë."
She opened her eyes and looked at Mal.
"Zoë, you know we can't save him."
She shook her head. "No. No way."
"Zoë, I get it, really, but-"
A shot rang out through the bridge. Mal and Zoë raised their guns. River screamed and crouched down, hands to her head. Between them all was Miranda, a smoking pistol in her hand. And below her, the boy, the drafted psychic, slumped down, blood pouring out of his forehead.
"There," she said. "That's solved things."
Zoë walked towards her. "You fucking piece of-"
"Have you seen what radiation sickness does to you?" Miranda asked. She looked at Zoë, then Mal, then back to Zoë. "Either of you?"
Zoë said nothing. Mal nodded.
"Then you know he was beyond saving. Trust me, a bullet is far more merciful then puking your guts out as your body breaks down."
"You're a murderer," River whispered. Six eyes looked down at her, and behind her visor, Zoë could see that the girl's soul had been cloven in two. "You're a murder!" she wailed.
"As are you."
River sobbed, wailed, and hugged the boy's body. Zoë raised an eyebrow – she'd not expected to see such grief from River, especially since, as Miranda had pointed out, she had indeed killed people. Maybe it was because the boy was a psychic as well, and whatever connection they'd made had led to this surge in grief. Or maybe she'd managed to become that more human since Siren. Certainly more human than Miranda. Heck, even Mal, who was looking down at the scene with a cold, stony look on his features.
"Anyway, I got the list," Miranda said, holding up the data chip. "So on that note, I suggest we leave now, unless you want to end up like John Doe there." She walked between the two of them. Between Zoë, who was looking at River, and Mal, who was standing there like a sentinel.
"Something wrong?" Miranda asked, as she approached the bridge door.
Zoë glared at her, but she likewise shot Mal a glance. Whatever his thoughts on the Alliance, Miranda had killed a boy scarce older than River, right in front of them. Surely that had to count for something.
"Well?" Miranda snapped. "You've killed even more Alliance personnel than the psychic here, you're getting cold feet now?"
"I don't murder children," Mal murmured.
"Maybe not. But look behind you Malcolm Reynolds." He did so, as did Zoë, both seeing the darkness of space, and Shadow down below. "Children died on Shadow. The Alliance killed them. And dying in a firestorm is a much worse way to go than a bullet to the head."
River got to her feet, her eyes red, her cheeks stained with tears. She began to walk towards Miranda, but Zoë put an arm in front of her. No, she thought, as their eyes met. If River could read minds, she could read hers. And if she could read hers, then she might well feel the amount of unease she had towards Mal right now, for his own lack of unease.
"We're all murderers," Miranda said. "Least right now, our murdering can lead to the right people dying."
She began opening the hatch that led out from the bridge. Mal gave Zoë a glance, then River, then followed the Operative. River, her eyes still stained with tears, rested her head on Zoë's shoulder.
"He didn't have to die," she whispered. "No-one had to die."
Zoë glanced at Shadow one last time, before patting River on the shoulder. "No-one has to." she said. "But they do anyway." She led River towards the hatch. "There's always so many ways to die."
It had taken an age to get back to Argo Station and barely a word had been exchanged. Simon had checked all four of them, and confirmed that they were free of radiation poisoning. When they'd returned to the station, this time parking Serenity in the hanger itself, Miranda had walked off the ship to a pair of waiting guards. Both of them had rifles, one of them had a case of 30,000 credits. The transaction had been quick and quiet, with Miranda informing them that they could stay on the station for up to six hours before she wanted them gone – preferably on their ship, but if they wanted, they could help themselves to hydroponics. A little parting gift.
At the time, Zoë hadn't been sure what to make of it – she doubted that Miranda felt any guilt for her conduct aboard the Hades, but she didn't strike he as being the generous sort either. Now, an hour later, she was making her way through the corridors of the station, back to CIC. All of the crew had settled in, and she'd put Emma to bed. But chances were she'd never see Miranda again, and while that wasn't something that aggrieved her, Miranda did represent an opportunity. A chance of solving a riddle that had plagued her for months. Of course, she reflected, as she reached the entrance to CIC, she had to get past the guards first.
"Let me in," she said.
They just stood there.
"Please?" she asked.
One of them smirked.
"Tell your leader that-"
"Ain't got the hint by now that you should piss off?" one of them asked.
Zoë forced a smile. "Caliban," she said. "That's a nice name. Did she choose it, or did you?"
"She did. Now piss off."
Zoë sighed. "Just tell her that I'm here to see her. Least let her tell me to piss off rather than someone who does pissing with…well, something else."
The other guard smirked. The one who'd smirked originally before frowning, looked a mite intent on murder. Luckily it didn't' come to that as the door opened, Miranda standing revealed.
"Ms Alleyne," she murmured.
"Miranda."
"I thought our business was concluded."
Zoë frowned. "I recall you telling me that if we got you that list, you'd tell me what your stake in the game is." Miranda frowned, and she smiled in response. "But that aside, I was wondering if there was something else we could discuss."
Miranda gave her a look, one that Zoë couldn't pin down. But regardless, the Operative murmured, "fine," and turned around, walking back into CIC. Glancing at the guards, Zoë followed her. Walking in, she saw a list displayed on the room's screen – the same one Miranda had used to show the representation of the attack on the Hades. Scrolling down it was a list of names, ranks, service numbers, assignments, and attached sub-folders.
"The master list works then?" Zoë asked.
Miranda, who'd taken a seat, gave her a small smile. "Oh, it works."
"So you've become God then?"
And the smile faded. "I could have turned you away Ms Alleyne. I can still do so."
"Then why haven't you?"
Miranda gestured to the seat opposite her, and Zoë gently rested herself in it. She watched as Miranda tapped her fingers on the table.
"You can think of me how you want," Miranda said. "But we're on the same side. Me and your crew."
"I don't think Mal picks sides anymore. He stopped that after the war."
"He unleashed the Miranda Broadwave, and the 'Verse is still dealing with the consequences of that. The New Resistance, Caliban? They wouldn't exist without that either. Trust me Zoë, Captain Reynolds still has a 'side.'"
"Then maybe you should tell him that."
"Or you should." Miranda leant forward. "Or maybe you can get down to what you're here for."
Zoë glanced at the screen again, before returning her gaze to her hands. Both of them in front of her, clutched in a ball. "That master list," she murmured. "Does it have the records of past servicemen in it? Those not still in the Alliance's forces?"
Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. Why?"
"I was wondering if you had it, if you could…" She took a breath. "There's a name that's been on my mind for seven months, ever since the Alliance captured me. Captain John Calvert."
A shadow passed over Miranda's face upon hearing the name. "John Calvert?" she whispered.
"I was wondering if you could look him up," Zoë continued. "He went by the alias of Troy. Operated on Ithaca for a bit. If the master list has information on him, I figured that maybe I could-"
Miranda raised a hand, and Zoë stopped speaking. She leant forward, the shadow still over her face. "I can tell you about John Calvert," she said. "But I don't need a master list to do it."
The shadow that was on Miranda's face passed over Zoë's. "Why?"
"John Calvert is a name I know. That you don't know his name isn't surprising, but for people like myself, who've had access to Alliance files for years?" She glanced aside, tapping her fingers on the table. "Some names you don't forget."
"Then tell me," Zoë said.
Miranda looked back at her. "Why?"
"Because like I said, he went by the name of Troy. When I was captured, an Alliance officer told me that John Calvert was 'an odd choice of companions.' If Troy has-"
"No, why?" Miranda whispered. "I give you information, what's in it for me?"
Zoë scowled at her. "You that much of a mercenary Miranda?"
Miranda scowled in turn. "Do I look like a mercenary to you? You think I'm serving anyone by fighting against the Alliance?"
"I think you're serving yourself."
"…maybe," Miranda whispered.
"And you also said that if we got you the list, you'd tell me why you'd gone against the Alliance. So whatever answers you give, I think I'm owed some of them."
She leant back in her chair, drumming her fingers on the table and taking a sudden interest in an adjacent wall. Zoë just sat there and watched her – when she'd been pregnant with Emma, she'd spent a lot of time sitting around doing nothing. She was used to this. And luckily, as Miranda eventually looked back at her, it was apparent that she wasn't going to have to wait anything approaching eight months.
"Fine," Miranda said. "I'll tell you all about John Calvert. But on two conditions. One, is that if I tell you where he was, and what he did, you understand that your life will never be quite the same again. When your life changes, I can't be held responsible."
Zoë nodded. Her life had changed so many times, she could withstand another one.
"And the second condition is that I want some information for myself. Information that you might be able to give me."
Zoë scowled. "More information?" she asked. "Doesn't seem like a fair trade at this point."
"I'm not interested in fairness Zoë. I'm interested in a man named Dante Lodovico. A man who you and Malcolm Reynolds came into contact with just prior to the Miranda Broadwave." She paused. "An Operative."
A chill ran up Zoë's spine. "I don't know-"
"I have eyes and ears everywhere," Miranda said. She leant forward, and when she spoke, it was without the same sense of authority she usually carried. Instead, it reminded Zoë of desperation. "I know what happened. He was there. On Siren. He tried to kill you, like he killed everyone on Haven, but he helped you, and your captain let him live. Just like I let him live."
Zoë's eyes widened. "You were there? On Siren?"
"I arrived after you left – I found him wandering around in the rain like a broken man. I was sent there to kill him. I didn't. I let him go, and…" Miranda looked to the side, and Zoë could swear she was fighting back tears. "I let him go, because I wasn't ready to fight. But then I saw the broadwave. Again, and again, and again. I saw people fighting. Dying. I read the reports of how the Alliance let the New Resistance build up. And I…" She took a breath, and looked back at Zoë. "I know he helped you again. On Nirodha. And I know that he came to Theophrastus. And that you were one of the last people who saw him before he disappeared off the radar entirely. Again."
Zoë steadied her heart, remembering what had happened on that world. In the forest.
"You want to know why I fight?" Miranda asked. "That's why. For principle. And one person. And I need to know what happened to him."
"What does it matter to you?"
Miranda's eyes flashed. "That's not how this works Zoë. You tell me, I tell you. My birdies reported that Dante walked into the forest, and that two shots were heard. And that later, you came walking out of it."
Zoë's attempts to steady her heart were beginning to fail. "I don't think I-"
"Tell me Zoë. Just tell me." Miranda reached down and pulled out a pistol. Zoë's eyes widened, but instead of using it, Miranda slid it over the table to her. "Take it, if you need to feel safe."
Zoë didn't touch it. "You could kill me before I pointed it at you."
"True, but the offer still stands. As do my terms."
Zoë looked at the Operative, not sure what to make of things. She had a sense that she was looking at the 'true' Miranda, or at least as true as one could be as an Operative. But in her eyes, she saw something, and realized the truth. Miranda, whether that be her true name or not…she was in love. Love different from the love she'd had for Wash, the love she had for Emma, or even the love she had for her crew (even Jayne), but still, love, of a kind. How anyone could love the man who'd tried to kill them, who'd killed so many innocents, Zoë didn't know, but whatever the reasons, Miranda had loved him. And love, along with "principle," had turned her against the Alliance.
So she told her what happened in the forests of Theophrastus. Every detail of her last encounter with the Operative. The two times she'd pulled the trigger, and what happened afterwards. She talked, and Miranda said not a word, her face as impassive as a statue. Finally, Zoë finished, and leant back in her chair. She watched as Miranda looked away, glancing at the screen, resting her chin on her fist. Watched, before she murmured, "thank you."
Zoë didn't say 'you're welcome.' Instead, she waited in silence, before finally making an 'ahem' sound. Which in turn, got Miranda to look back at her, her face impassive, along with her voice.
"Alright," she said. "I'll tell you what I know about John Calvert. And you'll probably want to stay put in that seat Zoë, just like your captain when you tell him."
"Mal?" She raised an eyebrow. "What's Mal got to do with this?"
Miranda laughed darkly. "Even more than you."
Zoë found Mal in Serenity's dining room.
She almost wished that she hadn't. And she told herself that ten minutes after Miranda told her about John "Troy" Calvert, that she didn't need to tell Mal. After all, she'd kept secrets from him before, and she'd kept secrets from him ever since Theophrastus. Secrets that had been easy to keep, all things considered.
He looked up at her from the bowl of noodles her was eating. "Hey Zoë."
She just stood there, her mind racing. It wasn't too late, she told herself. She could walk away.
"Something wrong? You look a little down."
"Fine, sir," she murmured.
Another lie. Another tear in her heart.
"Oh. Okay." He finished off the last of the noodles – not just the bowel, but as in, all the noodles on the ship. He took the bowel over to the sink and began washing it out.
"Chicken flavoured?" Zoë murmured.
"Nah. Beef." He looked back at her and winked. "Still, with that forty-thousand… wǒmen fùchūle chénzhòng de dàijià, chéngwéile guówáng." He chuckled as he continued to wash it. "Last of the noodles Zoë. First day of the rest of our lives."
"Or the next few months," she said.
"Hey girl, don't you go ruinin' my…" He trailed off. He slowly turned the tap off, and just as slowly, looked at her. "Zoë? You okay?"
She looked round the room. "Just you here?"
"Yeah. Rest of the crew's taking a look at hydroponics – little gift from that Operative lady. Course, I figure Jayne's more interested in looking at guns, and Simon and Kaylee want to imagine their own Garden of Eden, nakedness included of course, but-"
"Sir, we need to talk."
Mal shut up. "Sure," he said. "Anything."
Zoë wished he'd be his usual self for awhile longer. Well, at least what had used to be his usual self. Back in the war, there was one Malcolm Reynolds – happy go lucky, committed to the cause, dedicated to life, liberty, and all of that. After the war, that self had become a persona – one of many. He could just as readily crack jokes as he could crack heads. There were times, she wondered, if Wash had never ended her life, if Mal had stayed the same as he was, then if maybe…if maybe Emma might have had a different father.
But that had never happened. And while she didn't love Mal, he was still her friend. Probably the closest one she had on this ship. But while it broke her heart as she began to talk, in the knowledge that she'd be breaking his, she knew that she couldn't keep this to herself. When Miranda had said that the knowledge she had would mean more to Mal than her, she'd been right.
"Sir…we need to talk about Troy."
"Troy? Don't know any planet named Troy."
"Sir, I mean Troy. Our contact."
Mal stared at her.
"The one on Ithaca."
"Huh?" He blinked a few times. "Oh that Troy. You mean that slimeball who we went to after Siren? What about him?"
"Sir, his name isn't Troy."
Mal snorted. "Hǎo ba, méiyǒu shǐ, Zoë, of course 'Troy' is an alias. What, you think he's going to use his real name? God's sake, he had his dog tags scratched out and would never tell us anything about himself" He chuckled, and went back to the bowel, as he started to dry it. "I mean, seriously, what does Troy even matter to us now that we've got-"
"His real name's John Calvert."
Mal, still drying, glanced at her with a smirk. "That meant to mean anything to me?"
"Not the name itself," Zoë whispered. "But…"
Mal put the bowel away and looked back at her. "Come on Zoë. So Troy's an alias and his first name is John of all things. What of it?"
"Sir…this is going to hurt," Zoë said. "I shut up now, you won't be hurt. So if you want-"
"Zoë, I saw my homeworld today. Whatever you tell me, it can't come close to-"
"Troy was the one who destroyed Shadow."
Mal turned very pale, very quickly. Nevertheless, he managed to meet Zoë's eyes and whisper, "bullshit."
"Mal…"
"Admiral Phillip Myrtaj commanded Alliance naval forces at Shadow. That bastard destroyed my homeworld, not some John Doe."
"John Calvert. And no. Myrtaj may have commanded the naval forces, but Calvert commanded the ship itself."
She watched Mal slowly sit down on one of the chairs around the dining room's table. His face was still white, just like the knuckles of his right hand which was clenched on the table.
"How do you know this?" Mal whispered.
"Miranda. The master list." Mal looked up at her, and looking at the sorrow in his eyes…she'd only seen that a few times before. Once at Serenity Valley. Once on Haven. And once on the Bradshaw, all those years ago…
"He was on IAV Hartvig," Zoë said. "Myrtaj's flagship, and the lead ship of the fleet that bombed shadow. Myrtaj may have pointed the gun at Shadow, but Calvert pulled the trigger."
"Why are you telling me this?" Mal whispered.
Zoë took a breath. "I thought you should know," she said. "Because if I kept this to myself, if I lied to you, then…" She trailed off. She wanted to say that it would have torn her apart, but it was clear that she was tearing her captain apart now instead.
"Troy knew," Mal whispered, his words and eyes like ashes.
"Sir?"
"Troy knew," he whispered. "He knew I was from Shadow. He worked with me for years, and he knew. After what he did…" He looked up at Zoë again, the ashes in his eyes like a fire. "He fucking knew."
"He did sir."
"So, what? Myrtaj got to retire on Londinium while Captain Calvert retired on Ithaca?"
"I don't know sir. But Miranda knew his name without having to look it up, and she wasn't the only one who did. Maybe he wanted to hide."
Mal said nothing. He just sat there, staring at the table. Clenching his fist.
"He's still in Spearow," Zoë said. "Least according to Miranda. I-"
"Go, Zoë."
"Sir?"
Mal looked up at her. "Go. Just, take Emma and…go. Join the others in the garden or something." He got to his feet and began to walk to the cockpit. "Just need some space now."
Zoë took a step to follow him, but held herself back. "Yes sir. Of course."
Mal gave no sign he'd even heard her. He just kept walking, the door behind him closing with a clang.
Did I do wrong?
She couldn't be sure. There was a strong chance that she'd made a terrible mistake. Ignorance was bliss, as the saying went, and having secured 40,000 credits, Mal had been nothing if not blissful. But if she'd kept it to herself?
Maybe I should have.
The thoughts rolled around in Zoë's mind as she went to her room to pick up Emma. She let out a "coo," but Zoë made no response. She just rested Emma against her shoulder and walked off the ship.
Emma began to whine, and stretched her arms back to the ship. Her home.
"Come on Emma," Zoë whispered. "Don't cry."
Emma began to wail and Zoë grimaced. Just get to the garden. With the flowers, and…well, probably not flowers, but…
Emma wailed even harder. But it was drowned out by the sound of the ship's engines.
The hell?
Zoë turned around. Serenity. It was starting to take off.
"Mal?" she whispered.
It was continuing to take off. Emma let out a cry and buried her head in Zoë's shoulder, as the ship began to rise.
"Mal, what the hell are you doing?"
"Get out Zoë."
It was unlikely he could hear her. But it didn't matter. He was using the ship's loudspeaker.
"Get out of the hanger."
An alarm began to blare. The hanger doors wouldn't open without authorization, presumably. But with Serenity's thrusters in a pure-oxygen environment, what would happen next was either venting, or an explosion.
"Mal!" Zoë held Emma (wailing) with one hand, while waving her hand at the cockpit with the other. "Mal, stop this!"
"I'll be back soon. Tell the others I have something to attend to."
"Mal, what…" Zoë staggered back as Serenity continued to lift up. She knew where he was going. He was going right where she'd pointed him to.
"Zoë, move!"
She barely had a choice. The alarm was blaring. A warm downdraft was buffeting her. A door behind her hissed open and Caliban troopers moved into the room.
"Lady, what the hell are you doing?"
She turned around. "Open the hanger doors."
"What?!"
"Open the damn doors! Move!"
Zoë ran. The troopers ran. One of them hit a button on the wall that began to open the hanger door. Zoë saw the air start to head out into the vacuum of space, along with a collection of assorted debris. While the shuttles and other supplies were locked down, items were still being sucked out into space. Not Zoë or the Caliban troopers though as they made their way into the hanger's adjacent corridor, breathing heavily.
What have I done?
Emma continued to cry, and Zoë held her tight. Tighter, as the guards glared at her.
"Lady," one of them whispered, "you are in some serious shit right now."
At this point in time, she couldn't see any way to dispute that.
Let us go in together, and still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
The time is out of joint - oh cursèd spite, that ever I was born to set it right!
Nay, come, let's go together.