Disclaimer: See chapter one.
A/N: Ruddy freakin' Queen song's stuck in my head now. Twenty points if you can correctly guess which one I'm talking about.
Brompton Cocktail
Chapter Seven
She hung back, listening to a band of buskers playing for tips while she observed the people that called Serenity home. Ship isn't much to look at, but I know better than most that looks are mostly deceiving. She bought a cone of chestnuts from a passing vendor and tossed her change in the busker's till, calling a request for Caitlyn – a rather popular and fast-paced song that had dull and uninspired lyrics, but had a great rhythm going for it.
I'd imagine that the clean-cut one's the doctor. Seems mighty young to be an actual doctor, though. Rumors do like to grow, however. He's probably just a common medic with delusions of adequacy. Heaven knows, adequacy alone is rare enough on some of the outer planets. The young man in question wore grey slacks, a matching vest, and a stark white button-down. The only concession he made for the labor in which he was participating – the schlepping of crates from a trailer pulled by a four-wheeler – was that his shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbow.
Of the two women, Hardly more than girls, either of them, it was patiently obvious that the taller one wearing the coveralls with a teddy bear patch on one knee was the mechanic. Not too sure what role the shorter one has. The other man present, wearing a faded red shirt, brown trousers, and suspenders, overlaid with a worn-looking gun belt, finished unloading the trailer and motioned for the mechanic to pull it into the ship. He'd held back a small wooden box, however, and before long, the mechanic was back outside and peeking on tiptoe over his shoulders. Laughing, he handed the box over, and both girls swarmed it. Strawberries. The thought made her mouth water. Haven't had fresh fruit in what feels like forever.
Almost unnoticed, the afternoon sunlight took on a slightly golden hue that indicated evening was just about upon them. I'll make my offer. They seem like reasonable people. No ship that sails with two little girls like them would take slime on board. She finished her chestnuts and was just about to head over to introduce herself when two more members of the crew showed up, coming from slightly different directions. Now who would these folk be? The big one has the look of a mercenary. The woman, too, for that matter, though I haven't met a merc yet that actually liked that sort of gun. Might be ex-military; they tend to get issued a Mare's Leg and then never let go of it.
Crumpling the wax-paper cone her snack had come in, she tossed it casually aside and strolled up. "Howdy, folks. Right fine day, isn't it?"
Mal's laughter at Kaylee's antics to keep River away from her newly-acquired box of strawberry goodness evaporated, but the smile remained. He turned around and spotted a woman that was roughly about the same age as he was, with short, spiky blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and wearing a shiny black, skin-tight jumpsuit that showed off more than just a little cleavage. She stood about two inches shorter than Zoë and had a slightly apprehensive smile on her face. "That it is," Mal agreed. "I'm Captain Malcolm Reynolds, and this here is Serenity. What can I do for you?"
The woman's smile relaxed a little. Talking to my face and not my tits. Good sign. "Might be I can do something for you, captain. I heard-tell you were looking for a licensed pilot. Any truth to that rumor?"
His crew congealed behind him, with the dark-skinned maybe-ex-soldier standing next to him. "Could be," Mal said. "Depends on where you heard this rumor."
The woman shrugged. "Say something in public, it'll come back as a rumor. Just wanted to know if it had managed to get blown all out of proportion before I heard it. If it has," she sighed. "Well, if it has, then I suppose I'll need to keep looking." She could tell from body-language that most of the crew hadn't been made aware of the captain's desire for a new pilot, though there were two exceptions: The maybe-ex-soldier was stoic, but still displayed no shred of surprise. The big mercenary was frowning at something behind and to the left of where she was standing, his hands fidgeting with a small canvas satchel. Definitely hope Casey was right about this. Not even the hired muscle is ogling. Got to be good people.
"Let's say I was thinkin' maybehaps we do need a pilot." Mal held up his hand, "Not sayin' as we do or don't just yet, just that might be we could use someone with shiny Alliance-acceptable credentials. What makes you think we need you?"
The woman smirked. "Well, my family's been pilots since Earth-that-Was. Going on thirty generations now. I can handle anything from a simple two-man skiff right up to a Devon-class cruiser if needs be. Ran Blue Sun's Ariel to Osiris cruise line for a year, right out of school, but got sick of the back-and-forth runs. After, I took up with their freighter transport, until that go se company left us stranded out near Hera a few years back. Since then, I've been flitting from transport to transport, trying to find a good fit."
Mal and Zoë exchanged a look. A nearly-indecipherable nod from Zoë and Mal looked back at the newcomer. "Ever fly a Firefly?"
"Can't say that I have," she said. "But I've heard nothing but good things about them. I've ridden in one, though, back when I was a kid. My mom piloted one for Greyson Industries until they decided to upgrade to the Atlas."
The mechanic scowled, but the medic caught it and laid a hand on her shoulder. Mal exchanged another look with Zoë, followed by another nod. "Could be we might be needin' a pilot at that," Mal allowed. "Kaylee!" He didn't look away from the blonde. "That thingamajig you aim to fix while we're here, will it do us for a test loop?"
The mechanic nodded enthusiastically. "Surely so, cap'n. Just won't get us nowhere else is all."
Mal stepped to one side and made an 'after you' gesture with his arm. "Button up, people, we're goin' for a test-run." The majority of the crew scattered once inside, though the merc simply found a crate to sit on in the cargo bay. The dark-skinned woman lead the way to the bridge. The captain followed close on the newcomer's heels.
On reaching the bridge, the blonde stopped short at the sight of the plastic dinosaurs ringing the pilot's station. One of her eyebrows crept a little higher than the other. "You have a problem with the dinos?" the dark-skinned woman asked, a threatening edge in her voice.
The newcomer smiled at her and shook her head. "Not at all. Just wondering why there isn't a quetzalcoatlus. I mean, it doesn't make sense for there to be a t-rex and a stegosaur, but none of the flying dinosaurs, not at the pilot's chair." Her honest reply managed to startle a laugh from Mal, which was cut off just as quickly by Zoë's dirty look.
The test flight ran smoothly and before an hour had passed, Serenity was parked dirtside once more. One last look was traded between Mal and Zoë, then Mal hit the loudspeaker. "Would everyone kindly join me in the galley?"
The captain lead the way to a cheerfully yellow kitchen and waited until everyone was present before speaking. "Guys, you all know we been 'thout a licensed pilot for a while now, meanin' we ain't been takin' as many jobs as we coulda. That ends now," he gestured to the blonde. "Meet our new pilot."
The woman waved at them. "Oriole Cambry, at your service," she said. The mechanic returned her wave with an overly-cheerful one of her own.
"This is Zoë Washburne, my first mate," Mal indicated the dark-skinned woman. "That's Dr. Simon Tam, ship's medic," he pointed to the kid in the vest. "Next to him is Kaylee Frye, our mechanic. On her other side is River Tam, Simon's little sister and a heck of a fine pilot in her own right, but too young yet ta satisfy the 'Liance." He hooked his thumb over his shoulder to point out the mercenary. "And that one's Jayne Cobb."
Hearing his name jerked the merc out of whatever was occupying his mind. "What?"
"Just an introduction, sweetie," Oriole said, leaning a little to speak around the captain. "Nothing important."
Mal glanced over his shoulder at his hired gun and noticed that the big guy seemed preoccupied with something. So long as he keeps to the rules. Hands off the female crew, 'less they invite it, an' even then, it stays outta my sight. He returned his attention to Oriole. "We're stayin' dirtside until Tuesday. I expect to see your papers before we lift, dong ma?"
"Wu dong," Oriole replied.
"You're welcome to stay aboard, if you want, else meet back here at 0700 to hash out the details."
"Thank you," the blonde said. "I look forward to getting to know all of you. I'll return tomorrow morning."
After Oriole departed, Kaylee and Simon set to unpacking their groceries. Zoë headed to the bridge to see if she could track down a job for them that wasn't in any way, shape, or form associated with Badger. Jayne headed to his bunk. Mal sidled up next to River, a little apprehensive as to what her reaction might be. "I like her," River said, squashing his fears that she might be angry. "Her mind's quiet."
Mal wrinkled his forehead. Does that mean she's stupid? River pierced him with the look she usually reserved for when her brother was being particularly obtuse. "Don't be an idiot. Quiet, still, like a lake on a calm day. Discipline, not a lack of depth. Even thrown pebbles don't make many waves, and most simply skip across the surface."
"I ain't even gonna try to suss all that out, 'tross. She ain't anything I need to worry over none, is she?"
River shook her head. "She is not Alliance. Everything she told you is truth. Closest she's ever come to serving the Alliance was when she worked for Blue Sun, and that was simply because Blue Sun will ship to anyone who pays for the service."
Like most of the mega-corporations, Mal knew that Blue Sun had stayed out of the politics of the war. More than one shipment to his own troops had been handled by the conglomerate. "Good to know," he said, then headed off to see where they stood on resupply.
Sequestered in his bunk, Jayne finally quit fidgeting with the pack that Dr. Baker had given him. He opened it and went through its contents, one-by-one. There was a reusable injection-gun. A rainbow of vials. A less-complicated version of the little medical gadget that Baker'd used to diagnose him. And a small box containing a single-use syringe, pre-loaded with a clear liquid that was some strange shade between purple and blue. Almost looks like watered-down ink. He snapped the box closed and returned it to its place in the satchel.
After tucking the satchel into the drawer on his desk that contained a collection of letters from home, his few tattered photographs, and a couple of drawings Morley had made a lifetime ago, Jayne stood in front of the mirror that hung above where his sink pulled out of the wall. He inspected his eye for any evidence of the doc's work, only to find that the doc had been his usual, efficient self. The only evidence was when the eye was viewed from the inside – a small patch of his field-of-vision, shaped somewhat like a serpent or a piece of string or maybe a squiggle of crayon on cheap drawing paper, floated at just about the ten o'clock position, slightly less than halfway down. Jayne thought it seemed most like the aftereffect of looking at a bright light, but knew this spot wouldn't fade with time.
The blind-spot was there to stay.
A/N2: Just in case y'all were wondering, I was going to be a paleontologist until I was 13 and figured out that I was crap at math, but liked telling stories. Quetzalcoatlus is a kick-ass dino. It had a 36-foot wingspan and weighed in at about 300 pounds. Definitely not something I would want to see in the flesh! Condors are bad enough *shiver*.
If anyone reading this actually read my NCIS fic Sand, Sun, and Sotol, you might recognize the name Cambry. This was not an accident. Just so ya, y'know, know an' all.
Please remember to lemme know how I'm doin'. Danke muchly.