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Firefly: Seven Deadly Sins
Chapter 7: Acceptance
Part I
Sho-Je Downs was the first planet of the Kalidasa system. Terraformed in 2410, it had a population of over 114,000. 110 years later, it was, like so many other planets in the Rim, largely barren, sparsely populated, and among the last places people actually wanted to go to. Which, in the case of the crew of Serenity, made it an ideal location for a meeting. Or at least, a meeting with those who wanted to escape the ever watchful eyes of the Alliance. Which of course, meant people like the crew of the Serenity. Plus their contacts.
Zoë stood in the loading bay of the Firefly-class transport, watching as the crew loaded the Mule. Jayne stocking guns, in case they needed them. Simon loading the supplies they'd salvaged from the Hernu. Kaylee was making sure the speeder was good to go, and Mal was walking round the vehicle in a circle, being all captainy. Or wolfy. Not that Zoë had ever seen a wolf, and she was pretty sure that "wolfy" wasn't a word, but then again, "captainy" wasn't a word either. And even if the Unification War had ended nine years ago, the principles of the Independents remained. Which included the ability to use the English language however they damn well pleased.
"Gāisǐ, wǒmen xiànzài kěyǐ zǒule ma? Wǒ kěwàng pāishè yīxiē dōngxī," Jayne said.
As well as Mandarin.
"Whole point of this road trip is to ensure that we don't have to shoot something," Mal murmured.
"Yeah?" Jayne tapped his latest acquisition – a laser-sighted battle rifle that he'd named Ivanka. "Tell that to my little friend."
Simon snorted. "Well, got one little friend on you Jayne."
The merc glared at the doctor. "The heck would you know?"
Simon glanced at Kaylee. Kaylee blushed. Jayne at least had the decency to look embarrassed, and Mal smiled, glancing at Zoë. She smiled as well, and not just to join in.
Over two years had passed since the events at the planet of Miranda, and thirteen months had passed since they'd seen the Operative who'd borne the planet's namesake. One year, mainly living off the credits she'd given them. Drifting through the Black, taking what jobs they could, watching as the 'Verse settled down. The fury of the Miranda Broadwave had passed, though had not been forgotten. On numerous worlds, on countless moons, and no short amount of waystations, Zoë had heard the word "Miranda" on the lips of those who didn't much care for the bigwigs who ran things from Londinium. She ran her fingers down her Winchester, the gun feeling as much at home in her arms as her daughter did. She wasn't itching for a fight. But…She slung the rifle over her shoulder. Needs must as the devil drove. Or Kaylee, she supposed, since she'd be the one driving the Mule.
She walked over to Mal. "We really need to take the full family?"
His smile became a smirk. "What, you never gone on a fancy trip in the country?"
"Fraid not. My trips were usually one down from the Torres to the other."
"Then congratulations, you get to enjoy the experience with everyone."
"Not everyone," she murmured.
"See? Not the full family then."
"Yeah, but Inara's on Beaumonde with a client, and River is-"
"Best pilot, and best fighter, so she gets to guard the ship." The smirk became a smile again, as he nodded his head to the side. "Also, she's guarding the most precious cargo we got."
"Prewicious!" came a voice.
All heads turned to the cry's source, though some turned back sooner than others. Not Zoë though, as she walked over to River, carrying Emma in her arms. Her baby girl, nineteen months old, now not only talking, but getting bigger as well. As powerful as River's mind was, Zoë could see that the girl was making a physical effort to keep Emma upright.
"That's right, prewicious," Zoë said, as she took her daughter from River's arms. "Pre-wicious!"
"Wicious!"
She rubbed Emma's nose against hers and looked at River. "You know you don't have to play babysitter, right?"
"I know. But I enjoy it. Birds can look after chicks, even after they've hatched."
Zoë raised an eyebrow – three years after River had ended up on the ship, she now seemed mostly normal (well, as normal as a telepathic girl could be), but even now, she'd come out with a phrase that harkened back to her less lucid days. Only Zoë couldn't tell if she was uttering them to remind the crew of those days, or because her mind still wasn't quite there.
"Besides," River added. "Captain wants you on the run."
Mal walked over and looked at Zoë. "Given your history with our contact, thought it might be better if you were there."
"That an order?" Zoë asked.
Mal shrugged. "I can make it one."
"Two!" Emma exclaimed.
"That's right, two," Zoë said, taking her daughter's hand in hers. "And after two is…?"
"Fwee!"
"Fwee, correct." She kissed Emma on the forehead and handed her back to River. "Make sure she gets to bed on time."
"Of course. The mockingbird will sing, and the baby will go to sleep." River paused, before adding, "I never really liked that song. The baby falls out of a tree in it."
"That's Rock-a-bye Baby. You're thinking of Hush," Zoë said.
"Oh. Yes, of course." River shrugged. "My own birds weren't big on the nursery rhymes."
Simon, still loading supplies, laughed. "You never liked those stories, did you? Too many contrivances."
River laughed, and Zoë smiled at the girl. Only…no, she reminded herself. Not a girl. River Tam was twenty years old now. "Woman" was the far better word to use now, especially since that was what she'd become. A woman sixteen years her junior, but a woman all the same. And, intended Alliance assassin or not, a woman who'd proven that she could babysit Emma.
"So," Jayne said. Ivanka was slung over his back, he had two pistols in his belt, and he was wearing his lucky orange beanie to deal with the chill outside. "Can we go? Or do I need to say goodbye to the little brat as well?"
"Bwat!" Emma yelled.
He glanced at the infant. "Sure kid, whatever."
Zoë gave Jayne a playful shove. "Careful Jayne, I can give you babysitting duties next time."
Jayne turned very pale, very fast. And only slightly less so when Mal gave him a playful nudge.
"Be kind to the poor guy," Mal said. "Jayne's got children of his own."
"He does?" Kaylee asked.
"Probably." He got into the Mule. "Time to hit the road. Contact ain't gonna wait."
"After what we hauled? I thought she would," Simon said.
Mal helped him into the Mule. "Good point. Though there ain't we there, doctor. You weren't on the Hernu."
"And good thing I wasn't, since I had to treat bullet wounds afterwards."
Mal didn't contest the point. No-one did, as Zoë, Jayne, and Kaylee piled in. Though as Zoë glanced at Mal, she did wonder…River was a psychic. A reader. If their contact tried anything, River being there would allow them to know ahead of time. Had he not accounted for that? Or, was he willing to let River stay behind to guard Emma? The most valuable asset they had? The person who called Mal uncle?
The Mule activated and she gave Emma a wave. Emma didn't return it, as her head was buried in River's breast. River, however, gave one back. Standing there, as the Mule headed out into the chill of the night, under the light of Sho-Je Downs's moons. Light that reflected off the ship's hull – shining, almost like the insect of its namesake. Standing there, out on the plains, alone.
Not unlike how it was when she and Mal had first seen it, all those years ago.
The ship had looked like a piece of junk from the outside. Walking inside its cargo bay, Zoë reflected that sometimes, beauty was indeed skin deep, and it was actually appropriate to judge a book by its cover. Problem was, looking at the goofy grin on Mal's face as he led her into the interior of his acquisition, she could already tell that this was an opinion that her former sergeant didn't share.
And to think I travelled millions of miles for this.
In truth, it wasn't too much of a thought at all. She'd joined the Dust Devils after the war. One year of constant attacks against the Alliance, of being labelled terrorists, of launching an insurrection that was going to accomplish nothing except more death, she needed an out. Mal calling her to the Wallace Boneyard on Hera was the excuse she needed. But for this piece of junk?
"Well?" Mal asked.
She didn't even bother hiding her dismay. "You paid money for this sir? On purpose?"
The grin faded. "Wha…Come on, seriously Zoë, what do you think?"
"Honestly sir, I think you got robbed."
"Robbed? What do you mean?"
"It's a piece of fèi wù."
"Fèi wù?"
Zoë didn't answer. Fèi wù. Garbage. Trash. Rubbish. If she knew any language other than English or Mandarin, she could have no doubt found synonyms in those languages as well. She might have also been able to comment how after a year of absence, Mal was either completely different from when she'd last seen him after the war, or the same. Last she'd seen him, he'd been broken. Here, meeting him on the same planet where that war came to an end, he was a goofball, which meant he'd either transitioned to that side of himself permanently, or he was just in that phase. So seeing the look of disappointment in those puppy dog eyes, it hurt her a bit to speak her mind. Not as much as her right arm was hurting, courtesy of a bullet last month, but still, hurt.
"Okay, so she won't be winning any beauty contests anytime soon," Mal said, walking further into the cargo bay, "but she is solid. Ship like this, be with you till the day you die."
"Because it's a death trap."
"That's not…" Mal trailed off, collecting his thoughts. "You are very much lacking in imagination."
"I imagine that's so, sir."
"Come on, you haven't even seen most of it."
As far as Zoë was concerned however, she had. The cargo bay reminded her of a rotten stump – it looked sturdy. It had everything in place. But give it a kick, and the stump would keel over and reveal the termites inside, or in this case, disintegrate on re-entry, or suffer a leak in space. She'd been born on a ship. She'd lived on a ship. And she had no intention of dying on a ship. Well, not this ship at least.
"Let me show you the rest," Mal said, "and try to see past what she is, and on to what she can be."
"What's that sir?"
For Mal, Zoë was willing to at least try…okay, try to try and entertain that notion. But seeing the fecal matter further up in the bay…
"Freedom is what," said Mal proudly.
"I meant what's that?"
"Oh." Mal stopped walking and looked down at the third passenger this flying rustbucket had. "Yeah, just step around that. I think something must have been living in here."
And now you want to live in here, Zoë reflected. And you want me riding shotgun.
Maybe Mal really was broken, she reflected. War ended, new galactic order, soldiers going back to a new world and doing their best to adjust to it…maybe this was Mal's way of doing that. Maybe she could find the bēibǐ de tuīxiāo yuan who'd sold this piece of junk to him and get a refund. But assuming that was unlikely, the question then became how long was she going to entertain the notion that there might actually be a chance of getting this ship airborne? After all, when you were sent to a boneyard, you rarely came out of it.
"I tell you Zoë, we get a mechanic, get her up and running again, hire a good pilot, maybe a cook…Live like real people."
She looked at him, able to tell that he was speaking as much to himself as her.
"A small crew," Mal whispered, staring at the open hatch that led from the bay into the ship proper. "They must feel the need to be free, take jobs as they come…" He looked at her. "They never have to be under the heel of nobody ever again."
Zoë couldn't help but smile.
"No matter how long the arm of the Alliance might get, we'll just get ourselves a little further."
A silence lingered between the two of them. A silence that lingered in the bay, if not in Zoë's mind. Running away from the Alliance. People had tried that before the war, and then that aforementioned arm had reached out, slapped them over the head, and pushed their face down into the dirt. And people could run now, but there were few places in the 'Verse where the Alliance hadn't made its mark, and those places were decreasing in number by the day. How far could they run until that hand had a grip as tight on Londinium as it did on Hera? On Aberdeen? Heck, even far-off Deadwood? Travelling throughout the 'Verse was difficult, but at least doable. Wanted to go out any further, people would need to start making generation ships again. How long, she wanted to ask, until "a little further" was no longer an option?
She didn't ask though. Because this was Malcolm Reynolds. "As long as possible" would be the answer. And for now, at least…that was an answer she could live with. Certainly a better answer than fighting a war that had ended a year ago. So instead, she asked a different question.
"Get her running again?" she asked, folding her arms and smiling.
"Yeah."
She sighed. "So not running now?"
"Not so much."
"Ah."
"But she will." Mal headed to the hatch that led out of the bay. And giving one last look at the boat that might become her home, and might just as likely become her coffin, Zoë sighed and followed him. Appreciating that fecal matter, rust, and antiquated design aside, maybe it wasn't a complete piece of fèi wù.
"I already know what I'm gonna call her," Mal said. "Got a name all picked out."
"Yeah sir? And what's that?"
Mal looked at her and smiled. "Serenity."
"She's late," Jayne said.
No-one answered.
"You hear me? I said she's late."
"We heard you Jayne, we're just not answering," Zoë murmured.
He glared at her. "Think I'm asking you? I'm asking him." He pointed a finger at Mal. "Hey. Cap. Where's the girl at?"
Mal, keeping his eyes on the horizon, sighed. "Lower your finger Jayne. It's cold out here."
"What?"
"Frostbite." Mal looked at the merc. "Not a nice thing to have."
"Yeah, I know. And you know what else I know? Ain't nearly cold enough to get frostbite."
"Got you there captain," Kaylee whispered.
Mal didn't dispute the point. No-one did.
They'd been hanging out at the RV point for an hour, and that was 49 minutes longer than the RV time had accounted for. That said, Kaylee and Simon were the closest to "hanging out," and even if they were sitting in the Mule, holding hands and talking about the birds and the bees, Simon's other hand was on the crates, and Kaylee's other hand was on the joystick. The Mule's, to be precise, not the one that was between Simon's legs. Meanwhile, the three elder members of the team had their guns out and their eyes open. Looking for their contact, and in Zoë's case, birds and bees.
Fifty minutes late, she thought, as she looked up from her watch. And still no birds or bees.
"She's late," Jayne repeated.
And no contacts.
"Listen, cap?" Jayne said. "Much as I hate to say it-"
"Then don't," Mal murmured.
"…but we might start thinking that something went wrong along the line," he said. "And hey, frostbite."
Mal sighed. "Those credits Miranda gave us? They ain't gonna last."
"Yeah, I know. I counted."
"So we need them now," Mal said, looking at Jayne. "We got stuff. Our contact's got stuff. We exchange stuff, and the stuff we get is credits. We get credits, we buy more stuff. Stuff that keeps our bellies full. Stuff that keeps our engines going."
"Yeah, about that," Kaylee whispered. "If we've out enough, the grav-drive really needs a-"
"So," Mal said, ignoring his mechanic and focusing on his merc, "we wait. We make the trade. We go our separate ways. And the economic cycle of stuff continues."
Simon chuckled. "Economics one-oh-one."
Mal looked at him.
"Yeah, I took a course on economics back on Osiris. Back before I became a doctor, I…" He trailed off, and Zoë couldn't blame him.
"Okay, sure," Jayne said. "Economics. Capitalism. Some lèsè on CounterShot."
"You read CounterShot?" Simon asked.
"But what happens if no-one comes to trade?" Jayne concluded.
Mal looked aside. He didn't say anything. He stood there, like a wolf on the prairie of Earth-That-Was, rather than this degraded wasteland. But prairie or no prairie, the wolf metaphor remained. Mal and Jayne, ever at odds, vying to be the alpha male, even if the sniffing order was clear for the rest of the crew to see.
So where does that leave me then?
She sat down on a rock and looked up at the night sky. Of the two moons, Miyazaki was full, and given that it was closer to the planet, much larger to the human eye. Its silver light shone down on them, giving them more than enough illumination to get a good look at the Badlands. Its companion, Kuan Lo, was actually larger, but its orbit was further out, so appeared smaller. It was in its crescent phase, shining a golden light that Zoë could see, but received no real illumination from. And beyond both of them, stars. More than she could possibly count. Some much brighter than others, and closer to home. Others, light years away. But all there. Shining in the sky. Reminding her of the scale of the universe, and how small she, and indeed, all of humanity, was within it. One star was even…
Wait.
She got to her feet. A star was moving. Which meant that it wasn't a star at all, but a…
"Mal?" Zoë asked.
"Yeah Jayne, sure. When we get the cash, you can-"
"Mal!" she called out.
The captain fell silent. Everyone did. And as she pointed up at the night sky, they stayed silent as well. A star was coming down, shining brightly due to the heat of re-entry. Revealing itself not as a star, but as a ship. A small, shuttle-sized ship, but a ship nonetheless. And one that was heading straight for them.
"So," Jayne murmured. "Is this where I say 'about time,' or 'holy shit, they're going to land on us?"
"They're not going to land on us," Simon said, as he and Kaylee got out of the Mule. He looked at Mal. "They're not going to actually land on us, are they?"
"Course not," Mal said. "Mean, hope not. Mean, they land on us, they might torch the loot, so…" He pulled the lock on his revolver. "Alright, everyone to the Mule."
He didn't say whether it was to make a getaway if they needed it, or if being at the Mule might make the craft less inclined to fire on them. Nor did he say what a Liberty Hammer was actually going to do against a shuttle. Still, getting to their vehicle? Zoë could deal with that. And as the Dao-class shuttle touched down on the barren ground, a nice, safe, twenty feet away, she readied her rifle as well. Just in case.
Been over a year since I saw one of those things.
A revolver and two rifles were trained on the shuttle's hatch, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Simon and Kaylee clutch their pistols as well. None of their weapons would harm the shuttle. But, as it touched down, she reflected that they could harm the people inside.
When did you get so cutthroat?
She brushed some hair aside from her eyes. When had the 'Verse not been cutthroat? Granted, their contact was a lot less cutthroat than many of the people they'd worked with, but if the rumours she'd heard were true, a lot more bloodthirsty. And seeing the hatch open, seeing the trio of Caliban soldiers walk out…she tightened the grip on her rifle. Not lowering it as their contacts walked over to the Mule. Not lowering it, even as she saw two of the soldiers stop, and the third walk on ahead, smiling as only the Devil could.
"You can lower those guns," Miranda said.
Simon and Kaylee did so. Zoë, Mal, and Jayne didn't.
"Bit twitchy are we?" Miranda asked. "When did you lot become so suspicious?"
Zoë, not lowering her rifle, murmured, "let's just say I have trouble trusting shady types."
Miranda smirked. "But we go so far back."
Zoë lowered her rifle. "Never said I couldn't trust some people." She glanced over her shoulder, back to where the ship was, her mind and memory drifting. "Eventually…"