Disclaimer: See chapter one.
A/N: Some might be offended by what Jayne does at the end of this chapter, so if duplicity and backstabbing aren't your cup of tea… Why are you reading this?
Brompton Cocktail
Chapter Fourteen
Unlike many others across the 'verse, the Alliance prison on Jiangyin had actually started its life as a prison, and not as an old warehouse or factory, or – as was the case for the biggest one on Londinium – a school. It showed in its distinct lack of architecture, rising up out of a desolate patch of desert like a giant cinderblock, surrounded by guard towers, fences, and more anti-aircraft weapons than Jayne could count. The innermost fence was a simple rock wall, rising to a height of approximately two stories; the fence that was furthest from the building itself, nearly two miles out, was made of electrified wire that angled sharply towards the prison, rather than rising at a neat, vertical angle from the ground.
"There it is," Zoë said, rather unnecessarily.
Jayne ignored the pointing out of the obvious. He did it enough himself that he knew most of the time someone said something that was apparent, it was simply because of a lack of anything else to say. He nodded. "An' that contact o' yourn – he knows we're comin'?"
"Waved him soon as we landed," Zoë confirmed.
The small, rickety shuttle they'd rented in Jiangyin City wasn't much to look at, but it was certainly faster than taking public transit. Had they needed to wait for the train, they would have needed to convince Mal to stick around for a full day – the train out to the prison only ran twice, once going there at about seven in the morning, and once coming back twelve hours later. The shuttle's comm-unit beeped, and a young-looking fed appeared at the screen. "Registered shuttle Bumblebee, you are required to land at checkpoint A. Please surrender control to docking AI on my mark."
"Acknowledged," Zoë replied and held her hand over the appropriate switch.
The guard waited a long heartbeat, then said, "Mark."
Zoë flipped the switch. The shuttle immediately slowed and began to descend towards the desert floor. After only a little less than a minute, it was parked, and authoritarian knocking started on the hatch. Jayne opened the shuttle door and had to ruthlessly squash his instinctive reaction to seeing a group of four feds standing just outside. The face that had appeared on their communications screen wasn't present, but the oldest of the guards took a single step forwards. "Number of visitors?"
"Two," Jayne replied as Zoë stepped next to him, then preceded him out of the shuttle. Jayne followed her example.
The speaker looked them over. "Follow me." He lead them into a small building next to the landing-pad. The young one from the comm-screen waited inside, surrounded by numerous computer controls.
"Thanks, Jase," the younger one said, and the one who'd lead them into the building returned to his post outside. Turning his attention to Zoë, the kid – he couldn't have been more than twenty-two or -three at the most – looked her over and asked, "You Zoë Alleyne?" Zoë didn't correct him, but nodded instead. "Warden's expecting you. He was nonspecific as to why…?"
"That's between me and the warden, now isn't it?" Jayne could see Zoë become rather more tense than she'd been so far.
The kid smiled a little. "Can't blame a guy for trying. Isn't all that often someone pretty as yourself visits these parts." He quickly typed something into one of the computers, then shouted, "Parquin!"
One of the guards from outside double-timed it into the building. "Sir?"
"Escort these two to admin. Warden's expecting them."
Parquin nodded and gestured for Zoë and Jayne to follow him. They took an elevator down to an egg-shaped mag-lev. The 'train' took them directly to the prison's basement. A second elevator brought them up to a receptionist's desk and waiting area that would have been at home in any business office on any of the core planets. A pretty redhead greeted them with a smile. "Thank you, guard. Please return to your duties." Once Parquin left, she gestured to the open doors behind her desk. "Jeff's expecting you. Please go on in."
The office was also something that would have fit more on Sihnon or Osiris, with thick carpet and comfortable furniture. The man waiting for them was younger than Jayne had been expecting, closer to Zoë's age than the bordering-on-elderly man his imagination conjured up at the word 'warden'. On seeing the man, though, Zoë seemed to relax a little. "Harper," she greeted the man with a nod.
The man grinned. "Hey, Corporal Alleyne. Who's your friend?" He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat. Want anything to drink?"
"When they'd make you the warden?" Zoë asked, ignoring both offers.
"A year ago," Jeff replied, standing and heading over to a wet-bar in the corner. He opened a miniscule refrigerator and came up with three bottles of ginger ale. He handed one to each of his guests before opening the last for himself.
"And that was something you simply couldn't pass along before I got here?" Jayne smirked a little at the irritation in Zoë's voice. "Near had a heart-attack when they said the warden was expecting me!"
Jeff laughed. "And this right here?" he indicated her expression. "So worth it!"
Zoë let out a weird growling noise, then started smacking the guy. "Ni shi shenme dongxi! Si bu yao lian!"
Jeff threw up an arm to ward off her half-hearted attacks. "Hey! Quit it!" He backed away. "Ow!" One smack landed on the back of his hand. "Damn it, Zoë! Was just a joke! Quit hittin' me!"
Zoë suddenly stopped and backed away from the man. Catching Jayne's silent guffawing out of the corner of her eye, she glared at him. Jayne shoved his own laughter into a box to come back to later. "What am I missin' here?" he asked. Sure, he was all for any contact of Zoë's that could help him with his mission, but he was more than just a little confused as to how – and why – she seemed to be on friendly terms with an Alliance fed.
Jeff and Zoë exchanged a look that Jayne had only ever really seen between her and Mal. Jeff nodded and poked his head out of his office. "Liss? Hold all my calls, please." He then shut the door. "Zoë and I grew up together," he stated. "We were the two youngest aboard, so we spent most of our time together."
"Then the war happened," Zoë took over the explanation, knowing that if she didn't, Jeff would wind up spilling far too many embarrassing details. "He spied for us, Jayne."
Jeff nodded, not denying it in the slightest. "But since we lost – and no one ever figured out what I was doing – I figured why not keep on with the role? It's a good job and pays pretty well. And now I can actually manage to do some good with it. In the last year alone, sixteen people who'd been imprisoned here for various Alliance-crimes that shouldn't really be crimes have been paroled." He took a swig of his ginger ale. "Woulda liked to simply free 'em, but I plain don't have the clearance to delete their records. So, I do what I can."
Jayne blinked at them. "Huh," was all he said, though his brain agreed that it made a heap of sense.
"Anyway," Zoë interrupted, setting her bottle of soda down on Jeff's desk. He knows I can't stand that crap. "We're a little short on time."
Jeff drained his own bottle and tossed the empty in a trash chute next to the door. "So I understand." He looked at Jayne. "Zoë didn't explain a whole lot, only that you wanted to see Grant Pikerton."
Jayne nodded. "Need him to answer me a few questions, 's all."
A little chill brushed through the warden at seeing the murderous expression on Zoë's friend's face. "Now why don't I believe that?"
"Jayne," Zoë said his name quietly, but her tone told him that he was going to need to let Jeff know more.
Jayne sighed and twisted the cap off the bottle Jeff had given him. He drained half of it, then explained what he was after. The story he wove wasn't quite as detailed as the version he'd told Zoë, but for all that it was somewhat condensed, it was still true. By the end of it, Jeff was visibly agitated. He smiled a bloodthirsty little grin at Zoë and Jayne. "Well, now, let's see what we can find out." He sat at his desk and pulled up the interior communication screen. "Liss? Get me Gunther." He waited while his call was routed. The man who appeared on the screen next was a stereotypical fed prison guard – older, slightly chubby, and with an ego bigger than most planets. Before the man could speak, however, Jeff scowled at him. "Take prisoner Grant Pikerton," he glanced at the screen that lay flat on his desk, "number 7824-CX-95, to holding room six." The guard barely had time to say 'yes, sir' before Jeff switched him off. With his smile back in place, he stood. "Come on, then. Daylight's wasting."
Harper lead them through the prison, ignoring the respect given him in passing by his underlings. Eventually, they stopped. A pair of guards were standing to either side of a plain door, decorated with a large numeral '6'. One of the guards was recognizably Gunther from the call earlier. "Prisoner is secure, sir," the guard reported.
"Now, that won't do at all," Jeff replied. "Keys," he commanded, holding his hand out.
Understanding flashed through Gunther's eyes as he handed over the cuff keys. "Another wannabe-escapee?"
"Likely," the warden replied. "Don't know for sure yet. Need to ask a few questions first."
Gunther grinned. It was not a nice look on the man. Even knowing Jeff hadn't started off as a fed, Jayne couldn't help but like the guy. And damned if he wasn't starting to like a few of his underlings, too.
The 'holding' room was scarcely bigger than a cell, and slightly smaller, though more square, than Jayne's bunk. Pikerton was seated at a small table, his hands locked into cuffs that had the chain running through a metal ring on the table's surface. Jayne locked eyes with the prisoner and recognized him immediately; he'd been the one whose shotgun blast at close range had caused his brother's fiancé's head to explode into red mist.
In a move too fast for anyone to track, Jayne crossed the brief distance between him and Pikerton and slammed his antler-handled bowie knife tip-first into the composite surface of the table. Pikerton's eyes grew wide at the sight of it vibrating just millimeters from his left hand. "Where'd ya get that knife?" he asked.
The pain from earlier made a reappearance, though not quite as strong. Jayne channeled it into anger. He loomed over the skinny, scarred nianye. "Oh, I think ya already know that." Pikerton paled. "But," Jayne continued, "just in case it's been too long, I s'pose it won't hurt nothin' ta tell ya. That there blade got left behind by some erbaiwu hundan that ain't learned ya don't leave an enemy breathin'. But it weren't yourn." Pikerton seemed to relax a little. "Guy what threw it inta me was taller. Red hair. Ya know 'im?"
Pikerton nodded frantically. "Yeah! His name's Lionel… Um, Derrik Lionel. Last I heard, he was out on Three Hills, anchorin' the slaver trade twixt there an' Santos."
Jayne filed the information away. "Was one other guy there that day what ain't been counted. Bald, rangey, li'l taller 'an me. Carried a grenade launcher, a homemade one. Got a name?"
"Jonsey," Pikerton babbled. "That's all we knowed him by. Got blowed up about a year after Silverhold. Dunno what happened 'at caused it, but we was twixt Athens an' Boros. Had ta 'bandon ship. Dumbass hundan blew out half the gorram hull on the starboard side. Was nine of us, but only me an' two others made it off."
"What was the name of the ship?" Though it didn't show, Jayne was both relieved that he only had one more to track down and disappointed that he didn't figure in on this 'Jonsey's death. He shelved the inner debate to deal with later.
"The Xiao San," Pikerton replied.
Jayne smiled at the prisoner and held a hand behind him for the handcuff keys. Jeff might not have known Jayne well enough to realize what the silent gesture meant, but Zoë did. She took the keys from the warden and sat them in Jayne's palm while the merc started talking. "Well, now. Ya been right helpful, there, Pikerton." He brought the keys around and unchained the prisoner from the table. Once the cuffs fell away, Pikerton rubbed his wrists. "Ya can go," Jayne said, yanking his knife out of the table.
Pikerton looked at the warden, standing next to the door. Jeff smiled vaguely at him. "You heard the man." He opened the door. "Go on."
The prisoner got to his feet and scrambled around Jayne. He could feel the intimidating man's gaze boring holes in his back as he exited the room and had to force himself to walk past the guards. He started to turn to go back to his cell when the older guard, Gunther, tapped him on the shoulder and shook his head. "Thataway, scrub," he pointed in the direction that would take him to the elevators. Confused, but too acclimatized to life within the prison, Pikerton simply followed orders.
Jayne, Zoë, and the warden joined the pair of guards. Jayne handed the guard the keys. The group silently watched until Pikerton was halfway to the elevator. Then Jayne adjusted his grip on the bowie knife with a theatric little toss. With what seemed to be a simple twitch, a slight shifting of stance, the blade was no longer in Jayne's hand. Instead, it was two hundred feet away, buried to the hilt between Pikerton's shoulders.
Pikerton continued walking for nearly three full steps before slowly collapsing.
"Five down, one to go," Jayne murmured.
A/N2: I don't know what it says about me, but I really really really liked this chapter. I hope y'all did, too.
Reviews make me squee. Squeeing drives my family nuts. Help me make my family as crazy as I am and send your reviews today! *Grin*