Easy Tickets: Part 3/9 (Chapters 7-9)
The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.
Chapter 7.
Ginger had picked her spot well. She had a good view of the whole thing, of Will disappearing through the hatch on top of the Firefly, of Ray and Hank stepping up to the base of the ramp, and of that idiot boy standing next to the ship's entrance with a pistol in his hand, looking like he thought he was the gorram cavalry.
But she focused her attention on the Browncoat, back in the shadows of the bay, picking something up from the deck. The crosshairs of her sniper rifle centered on his forehead when he looked over his shoulder, glancing at the two men entering his ship. Bèn de húndàn didn't look bothered a bit, just turned his back and finished whatever he was doing.
Will's right, she thought. Too easy.
Just the way she liked it.
.*. .*. .*.
Mal paused for barely a second to look at the two figures on the ramp, then he went about his business. If they were out to shoot him, they'd have done it already. He turned his back on them to set the wrench he'd just picked up in Kaylee's toolbox, and took his time about closing and latching the lid. He stood up, wiped his hands together to clear them of dust, then finally turned to face his visitors.
The two men were black silhouettes against the bright glare of the desert behind them. The one on Mal's right was tall and lanky, the other shorter and thicker, with wild hair making his head look big and round underneath his hat. Mal couldn't see them well enough to make out any details, but he could tell that their guns weren't drawn. Not yet.
"Somethin' I can help you two gents with?" Mal asked in a neutral voice. He didn't let his eyes shift upward, but he was aware of River and Simon on the catwalk. The men couldn't see the Tams from the bottom of the ramp, and mercifully River had fallen silent.
"Mayhap you can," the tall figure called out in a deep monotone. "I need your ship."
"Seems lots of folks hereabout do, but I'm afraid she's all booked up." Mal still didn't look up, but he could see River standing and pulling Simon along the catwalk toward the hatch.
"No call to be hasty," the tall man replied. His voice was slow and even, void of threat. "It's good manners to hear the details of a job fore you turn it down." The men took a few steps up the ramp, and Mal's eyes were adjusting to the bright light behind them; he could make out a few things now. The tall man had his coat tucked back on his right side, and his hand hovered near a heavy old six-shooter on his hip. Otherwise, he looked quite comfortable, walking onto someone else's ship like he had a right to.
Mal let a strong hint of I don't think I like you into his voice. "On my boat, I do the decidin' about what goes in the book of nice."
"Easy, stranger," the tall figure called out. "We ain't here for trouble."
"You ain't here by invite either." Don't look up, Mal told himself. River and Simon had reached the stairs that led up to the hatch.
"Just cause we ain't invited, don't mean we can't do business. Name's Ray." He raised his left hand to tip his hat, then nodded to his side. "This here's Hank."
Mal glanced at Hank. The men were now far enough into the ship for the light through the high windows to catch them, and Mal could see Hank's eyes, glaring out between thick brows and a wild beard, fixed on Mal with an intensity that was just a little too bright. Then Mal's gaze traveled lower, and the gun he saw on Hank's hip made his mouth dry up.
I'm in deep niú shĭ, Mal thought, and he changed his tactic.
.*. .*. .*.
Book shook his head slightly as he entered the dining room. He'd grown quite fond of River, and in the past month he'd gotten used to experiencing her as an intelligent and amusing, though eerily precocious, teenager. It was troubling to see her losing control of herself again. Troubling in a nonspecific way; he wasn't entirely sure whether to be frightened for her or of her.
I can shoot, she'd said. All I need is a target and a gun worthy of me. Yes, they were all well aware that she could shoot. It'd be nice if she didn't feel the need to remind them.
Dust of dead trees and bones, she'd also said. Book nodded to himself as he opened the cooler in the pantry. There was all of that on this world, and not much else. It was an unsettling place, and she wasn't the only one picking it up. The Captain felt it, and Book did too. This feel of Niflheim had changed since he'd been here six years back; it'd become something like a wild dog that might snap at you over nothing. He'd be relieved to leave it behind.
He took out the last of the grilled bear meat, and carried the platter to the table. He'd just set it down when he heard a small indistinct sound behind him.
He straightened and turned to find a man dressed in black standing in the hatchway from the bridge, a large modern pistol that didn't match his dusty cowboy outfit held steady and aimed at Book's chest. The man's face was shadowed by a black hat that sat low on his forehead, but Book saw enough of his eyes to understand that the man meant business. His challenging look made Book go icy inside.
He bit back the feeling, smiled and held his hands out to his sides. "Welcome, lái bīn. You've arrived just in time for lunch." Book nodded at the platter. "How do you feel about bear?"
The man ignored the question. "How many on board?"
Book lifted his brows in confusion. "How many bears?" he asked lightly.
"Don't get smart with me, old man. I have business to do and I don't like delays. How many on board?"
Book stayed cool, pausing to think, and his eyes caught the sunlight in the hall behind the man. The open hatch – he came down through it. If he knew it was open, he's been watching the ship.
"Most of the crew is out for a drive," Book said.
The man didn't blink – as if he knew that already. "Leaving how many?"
"There's myself…"
"And?"
Simon and River never went outside. "… the Captain."
"That's it?"
"It is."
The man nodded, accepting his answer. "Put your hands up, all the way," he said, "and turn around."
"This isn't necessary, son," Book said.
"Lăo hàn, I know my father well, and you aren't him. What isn't necessary is the hole I'll put in you if you don't turn around. Right now."
It was Book's turn to nod acceptance. The man looked like nothing would please him more than to make use of his gun. Book turned and waited, and wasn't surprised to feel a hard blow to the back of his head, followed by darkness.
.*. .*. .*.
Mal's face relaxed into a smile. "It's uh… real nice to meet you, Ray, Hank." He spoke slowly, but his mind was racing. River and Simon had stepped through the hatch and were hustling up the stairs behind it. They'd need about fifteen seconds to reach the Shepherd, call it a minute to get into Jayne's bunk for firearms, and a half minute to get back out here. Mal needed to stall.
"Now, what exactly you needin' a ship for?" he asked.
"Well," Ray replied in his own slow drawl, "that is a mite complicated." He glanced up around the catwalks as he stepped into the bay, then back at Mal.
"Try me out," Mal offered. "I'm real good at complicated. Got years of experience."
"I got an errand to run," the man said. "Some real valuable cargo to pick up."
The two men were fully in the bay now. Ray dropped his head and cut his eyes toward Hank, not trying especially hard to hide the signal that passed between them. They started spreading apart, Hank to Mal's left, Ray to his right. The longer Mal waited, the harder it'd be to hit them both.
Mal nodded, keeping his face easy and his voice light. "This is a cargo transport. I can see how you'd be interested in her for that."
"I'll want to do some travelin'," Ray said. "Got a long trip in mind."
"Could be negotiated."
"Could it?"
"I'm a reasonable man. Ask anyone that knows me." Mal flashed his most honest smile.
Ray's face twisted; he looked like he wanted to grin in return, but his dried-up skin would crack to pieces if he did. "All right, try this on for reasonable. What I need is full run of your ship, for as long as I like."
Mal exhaled heavily. "Well, now, that is a lot to ask."
"I ain't askin', cause I don't mean to be payin'." Ray's eyes narrowed.
Here we go, Mal thought. He glanced to his right. The hovercraft's roof, which Kaylee had pinned against the stairway, wasn't real solid, but it would provide some cover. He took a few slow steps back, so he'd have an open lane to get behind it and the stairs.
"Uh-huh," he said aloud. "That is a temptin' offer. Except I got a better one. How 'bout you go out the way you came." His voice finally turned serious. "By which I mean, still breathin'." Mal's eyes were fixed on Ray but his attention was all on the brooding Hank and the hand clenching near that shiny gun. Those morons upstairs better be gettin' a move on…
Ray sighed and shook his head. "This don't have to go bad for you and yours." He managed a small smirk as he tried out a name. "Smith."
Smith? Āi yā – that's what I told the guy in town… Will…
Mal realized he'd made his second mistake of the day, and it was as bad as his first. He wasn't the only one stalling here. Ray had looked up at the catwalks once, and that was it. He wasn't concerned about anyone getting the drop on him from above, and he had at least one partner who hadn't walked in the front door with him.
The gorram hatch, they're comin' in the hatch.
Mal drew his gun and fired as he dove to his right.
.*. .*. .*.
"No, Simon, it's not safe! Wēi dài!" River said in a fierce whisper as she followed Simon up the stairs from the cargo bay.
"We have to get to Book," Simon whispered back, pulling River around the corner. "We can help the Captain."
"They're twisted!" River insisted, her voice rising a little. "Bad! Really bad – coming down from the top just like the other bad one did!"
"Shhh – I know they're bad. That's why we have to help, all right?" Simon kept one hand on her wrist, pulling her along behind him. He reached the hatch to the dining room and saw the Shepherd down on the floor with his arms around the bolted down leg of the table, hands bound at the wrist. He wasn't moving, and there was blood on the back of his neck.
"Book!" Simon called aloud. He ignored River's whispered warnings as his instincts as a healer took over; he released her wrist and ran to Book's side. A nasty bump was already rising on the back of the preacher's head. Simon grabbed a towel from the counter to staunch the bleeding, then turned back toward the hatch he'd just come through. River hadn't followed him.
Simon never heard the man coming out of the galley; his doctor's senses weren't trained to listen for soft footsteps. But he turned around at the last second, and had just enough time to rue his lack of caution before the butt of a gun connected to the side of his head.
.*. .*. .*.
The only shot Mal got off before he hit the deck buried itself between Hank's eyes, knocking the man on his back with his fancy gun clenched in his hand.
Mal landed on his right shoulder and rolled behind the stairway and the metal sheet. A few shots pierced the battered steel, then the rest glanced off it. Ray kept shooting at the part of the sheet near the center of the bay, not realizing that Mal had kept rolling to the far end. Mal had the advantage for a few seconds, at least.
He stretched out on his side and caught a glimpse of Ray through a gap in the bottom of the hovercraft's roof. Mal started to take aim, but before he could line Ray up a bullet hit off the deck just a foot from his head. It hadn't come from Ray.
Mal looked toward the ramp – there was a new shadow there, a small figure moving forward hesitantly. Another bullet pinged off the deck as Mal swung his gun around. He squeezed off a quick shot and the shadowy figure went down.
When Mal checked the gap in the steel sheet again, Ray was gone. Mal had to choke down a curse; he'd lost his advantage. Ray had heard his shot and knew where he was, but now Mal didn't know a gorram thing.
A hush fell over the cargo bay as the echoes of the gunfire faded. Mal opened his mouth to silence his heavy breathing and glanced up to check the catwalks. There was no one up there yet, but most like it was only a matter of time. He had no option but to finish Ray off as quick as he could, then he could go hunting up top. He carefully rose to his knees, trying to catch any sound of movement over the rush of blood in his ears.
He heard one soft scrape of boot against metal on the far side of the bay, and that was enough. Mal bent his left leg in front of him, planting his foot and coiling himself to dive to the right and take his chances at getting a clean shot off, but just then a loud voice boomed out from high up and behind him.
"Look what I found!"
Mal spun onto his back to aim at the voice; it was Will, the urban cowboy all done up in black, and he was holding his pistol to Simon's head. The doctor looked dazed and blood dripped down the side of his face. They were almost directly above Mal; there was no way he'd get a bullet through the metal grating of the catwalk.
This time Mal did swear out loud, then he rolled back to his knees. He closed his eyes and dropped his head into his left hand; every muscle in his body was screaming at him to move, to take these men down, but he was humped and he knew it.
"Could'a moved a bit faster Will," he heard Ray reply. "Hank's dead."
"I found an unexpected guest here; I had to take the time to make sure he was the only one."
"The old man?" Ray asked.
"Down and out."
Ray directed his voice at Mal. "You still mean to make a stand of this, Smith?"
Mal dropped his hand from his face; it was shaking from adrenaline and the effort of restraint. He held his gun up first, letting it hang upside down from a thumb looped through the trigger guard. Slowly he stood up, still breathing heavily.
"Come on out where I can see ya," Ray said, his aim steady on Mal.
Mal stepped around the stairway. He dropped his gun to the deck before he could be told to do it; he did hate being ordered around. Especially on his own ship.
"You got anybody else on board?" Ray asked.
"Not a soul," Mal replied steadily.
Ray motioned for Mal to move away from the gun. Mal did, and he heard Simon being manhandled down the stairs beside him.
"Hey, Will," Mal called out. "How are ya?"
"I'm doing all right," Will replied.
"Price of hirin' my ship just came down."
Will's laugh was high pitched and loose. "I bet it did."
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Will pushed Simon to the deck. Simon landed awkwardly on his side; his hands were bound behind his back. Mal watched as Will holstered his pistol and hung his hat on the corner of the bullet-riddled hovercraft roof. Then he picked up Mal's gun, looking at it like it was a big dead cockroach.
"You actually hit anything with this?" Will asked.
Mal grinned and tipped his head toward the prone figure across the bay. "How 'bout you ask your friend Hank there."
Will walked to Mal, careful to stand to the side so Ray still had him covered.
"Yú bèn de Browncoat, still talking smart," Will said with an amazed shake of his head. "You fools never do seem to get it."
Mal saw the blow coming, but couldn't do much about it, not with a gun on him and Simon laying on the deck all trussed up and bleeding. Will struck him backhand across the face. The force of it surprised Mal; he was knocked to his hands and knees, his vision blurred. He held a hand up to the right side of his face, which was feeling oddly numb, and realized that he'd just gotten pistol-whipped with his own gorram gun.
"Mal!" Simon called out, sounding far away.
Stunned, Mal pulled his hand away from his face. His eyes came partly into focus on a drizzle of blood coming out of his mouth to pool in his palm.
"Ow," he said roughly, but he found himself smiling as he tried to look up at Will. "Thought the war was over."
"Yeah, it is. You lost. Again." Will replied. A hard kick caught Mal's side, knocking him onto his back.
"Stop it!" Simon was yelling. "There's no need for that!"
"Shut up," Ray snapped at Simon, but he caught Will's arm and pulled him back before he could land another kick. "I got no time for this. Just tie him up."
Mal was too addled to struggle when Will tied his wrists together, thankfully in front of his body. Behind is hard on the shoulders, he thought distantly, and you can't scratch your dāng. He chuckled a little at the thought.
Then he was being dragged across the deck and propped against a railing. As cords tightened around his body and arms, he began to suspect that this shouldn't be so funny. Could be, it wasn't really funny at all.
Then he remembered River – Will had said nothing about her.
If you're hearin' me girl, stay hid where you are. Don't be doin' nothin' stupid. Ain't play time out here.
.*. .*. .*.
River twisted a hand in her hair, trying to pull out the pain that throbbed in her head. Pain from Book, pain from Simon, pain from Mal. Too much hitting.
"Not moving. Staying hid. No playing," she whispered.
She was folded into a back corner of the engine room, high off the deck. One leg stuck out stiffly to brace herself against the bulkhead; the rest of her body was curled into a ball behind a diagonal support.
As painful as it was, she tried her best to stay with the people she knew. The minds of the others, the strangers, made a ruckus in her head that was worse than what her crew was feeling.
"Bad. Fēng. Hurts," she said quietly, both hands in her hair now. "Please don't show me, don't want to know."
She couldn't shut it off, couldn't get free. But Simon had given her a shot, back when she was on the catwalk, clutching the railing so he couldn't take her outside. It only she been able to sort it out then, to make them all stay in and keep the ship safe…
No energy to waste on being sorry. She had to hold together, wait. The medicine from the shot would quiet the noise. She could feel it already, just a little. Not nearly enough yet. The bad people were still trying to swallow her up, make her disappear.
She pulled her left hand out of her hair and punched the steel beam, and the pain pulled her away from those dark minds. She hit the beam again and again. Hard enough to hurt, not enough to damage – she'd need her hands.
Because, despite what the captain was telling her, she knew that once she got control she'd be doing more than staying hidden. She wasn't about to let anyone treat her family like that.
.*. .*. .*.
Translations
bèn de hún dàn: stupid bastard
niú shĭ: cow shit
lái bīn: visitor
lăo hàn: old man
āi yā: damn
wēi dài: grave danger
yú bèn de: stupid
dāng: crotch
fēng: insane
Chapter 8.
Mal's nerves had rubbed off on Zoë, and her husband's creative driving skills didn't serve to calm her any. They roared up the dry riverbed, following the directions that Kaylee's mysterious young acquaintance had supplied. After only five minutes they saw what looked to be a bunch of old wooden planks nailed together and leaning against a low cliff face off to the right.
Wash powered the mule over the river bank and across what might of have been a pleasant meadow if the world still had grass. They slid to a stop about ten meters from the cliff. Zoë drew her carbine and shushed everyone as she climbed out of the hovercraft. This sure as hell didn't look like a place to find tech, she thought. It looked more like a place for an ambush.
She left Jayne and Wash near the transport, Jayne holding Vera at the ready, and walked to the wooden wall on the cliff face with Kaylee a few paces behind. There was a rough door with a knocker on a metal plate in the middle of the wall; Zoë lifted the knocker and banged it three times, making a hollow booming sound.
It was at least a full minute before a little shutter in the door opened. It was just above Zoë's belly button, so she had to lean down to speak through it.
"We're looking for Xiaojun, heard there's tech for sale. We need a – "
A sharp voice cut her off. "Who send you? Who tell you I am here?"
Zoë looked to Kaylee, who answered hesitantly. "A boy, um… teenager. He didn't say his name. Chinese lookin'. Longish hair, green eyes – "
The flap dropped shut, then Kaylee and Zoë had to step back as the door swung open.
A petite Chinese woman stepped out. She was wearing a dark red jumpsuit covered in stains, and her hair frayed out of a loose bun, making a frizzy halo around her crinkly face. She had a big smile and her arms were extended wide, showing grease-stained hands.
"New people! Friends of Jase! Gĕ kuài lè de jìnzhăn! Good new people! Never lái bīn these days, no one come. All day I work, but no new people, no new toys, nothing at all since Zhenya die."
Kaylee threw a look of delighted surprise at Zoë when the old woman hugged her. Xiaojun wasn't at all bothered by the carbine in Zoë's hand; she turned and Zoë had to bend forward awkwardly to receive a hug that would not be refused. Wash and Jayne were next; the woman chattered all the way to the hovercraft.
"So good of you to come out to see me on such a day. Hàn! Not good day to drive so far in hovercraft. Hmm – old model Libra ten? Have not seen one of those in some time. Needs work, I see. No roof? Must be hot then – shŭ tiān. Not so good for skin. You should be careful, shèn zhòng! Won't always be nián qīng rén! Have skin like mine someday!"
She hugged a smiling Wash, who tried to get a word in and failed. "Huăn!" she said, pinching his cheek fondly before turning to Jayne. She didn't hesitate to reach up and squeeze his bicep, then looked over to Zoë and Kaylee to comment "Nán zĭ qì!" and Jayne straightened with pride. She turned back to him. "Too bad you not come here twenty years ago, when my girls home still. They would be zhōng qíng!" She exaggerated fanning herself before she leaned forward to hug his waist. When she did, her smile faded for just a second while her nose crinkled. "Hmm, chòu." She leaned back to look him up and down, then turned away. "No matter. Come inside, come inside. Time for tea, and guō tiē fresh cooked this morning, still many stores from Before. Nice and cool inside, liáng kuai, no hot sun."
She started back toward the doorway, muttering continuously. Jayne looked at the hovercraft, then at Zoë. She held a hand up, motioning for him to stay, and turned to follow Xiaojun.
The old lady stopped at the door and looked back at the men. "No need to guard craft. No one here. All alone. Qù. See? Kilometers around, no one at all. Come in, come in. No use keeping ladies waiting. Good boys come inside now."
Zoë managed to cut into the woman's stream of verbosity. "The big manly man Jayne is afraid of the dark. He'd be much happier waiting outside."
Xiaojun gave Jayne a look and waved a hand at him. "Okay! No matter. Cute one come inside, have tea with ladies." Jayne reclined in the hovercraft like he'd rather stay anyway, but at a nod from Zoë Wash trotted over to follow the three women through the dark doorway.
"Solar panels," Xiaojun explained proudly. They took a few uneven steps down into a cavern which had been converted to a smartly finished living space. Electric lamps covered in red tassels hung from a smooth ceiling of dry stone. "Up above, outside, lots of sun on panels, always lots of power. Jiāo yáng, all the time. No rain anymore. Not to worry – have well inside, way back in cave, goes deep, lots of water, chōu shuĭ jī work good. Use all you want. Powder room there. Cè suŏ. Need to go? No? No matter. Okay, sit here. I make tea. So good to have new people. Huì kè, been so long. I miss! Only toys, same old toys I tinker with, day in, day out. Almost as old as me, some of them! No one to talk to. Just lăo tào."
Ten minutes later, Zoë and Wash were settled on high-backed chairs at a teak table, sipping fragrant tea and snacking on dumplings, watching Xiaojun lead Kaylee through a large natural cavern that extended back into the hillside. The floor was leveled out and more than half full of densely packed shelves. The open half of the big cavern held what appeared to be Xiaojun's 'old toys,' although no one asked about them. They hoped to get back to Serenity before day's end, and the old lady did have a talent for talking.
Wash leaned over to Zoë. "Good thing Mal didn't come. This would be hell for him."
.*. .*. .*.
It completely caught Ginger by surprise when the Browncoat dove out of her sights. She tried to follow him and take him out, squeezing off two shots that did nothing but tear holes in whatever he was hiding behind.
She watched while Ray circled around to her right, shooting across the bay, but the Browncoat didn't come into view again. Jase did - the little idiot stepped up onto the ramp, partly blocking her view. He didn't last long, just went right down on his back and stayed there.
Shortly after, the shooting stopped.
Ginger decided she wasn't going to wait to be fetched. She gathered her jacket and bag and took a roundabout way down the hill, just in case the bullets starting flying again. It took her a few minutes to reach the ship, and when she did she paused at the side of the entrance until she heard Ray's voice.
"Will, when you're done with the browncoat, go out n'tell Ginger to get Jase. I want out'a here before them others return."
"Ray, it's me!" she called out; it never was wise to sneak up on a fella right after gunplay.
"Ginger? What the hell are you doin' here?" Ray called back. "I want you watchin' for that shuttle!"
"You looked to be bout done," she answered, unperturbed by his disapproval.
She crouched next to Jase. The men on the ship couldn't see the boy on account of the slope of the ramp, and clearly didn't even know he was there. He lay half in the dust, the left shoulder of his shirt soaked in blood. The wound was high enough on his chest to have missed anything important, but he was bleeding like he had a talent for it. A gunshot wound wasn't something likely to get fixed out here. Ginger snickered. Stupid kid, stepping in the way and getting himself killed. All hell was gonna break loose when Ray saw this.
Still, he wasn't dead yet and she couldn't leave him on the ramp, nor could she lift him and hold her gun at the same time. She grabbed his ankle and dragged him into the ship, leaving a wet red smear on the plating.
"Forget about our transport, Ray, let's just go," she said.
She dropped the boy's leg as soon as she had him past the inner airlock door, then looked around the hold, getting her bearings. Will was just about done tying the captain, bloody-faced and dazed, to the railing of a staircase across the way. Another man, young and clean cut with short black hair, was kneeling on the deck nearby with his hands bound behind him. Quite the pretty boy. He looked weak and completely outdone, his mouth hanging open in shock and blood dripping down his cheek.
Then she noticed Hank, lying on his back to her right, a single thin line of red coming out of a hole in his forehead, his gun clenched in his dead hand and an expression of utter surprise on his face.
Two down then; it'd gone sloppier than she figured.
In the few seconds she'd been taking in the scene, Ray had crossed the bay and knelt beside Jase. Ginger turned back to see Ray's face turn ashen as he pulled the boy's shirt back from the wound.
"Sorry, Ray," Jase muttered faintly. "`m just stupid."
Ginger saw the fury in Ray's eyes and thought he was about to finish the kid off right there, but it turned out it wasn't Jase he was mad at. He stood and stalked across the bay toward the captain.
"You shot him," Ray said, and his normally moderate voice shook with rage.
"He shot at me first!" the browncoat replied with a hint of a whine, clearly not getting that it wasn't the best time for backtalk. He managed to pull his head aside enough to avoid the brunt of Ray's first punch, but Ray hit him again, and kept on until the captain was slumped over, held up only by the cords around his chest.
"Ray!" Ginger called out in warning when she saw the other man getting to his feet. Ray stopped hitting, and turned to shove the young man back to the deck. Then he just stood there, panting and clenching his fists like he wasn't sure what to do.
Will paid no attention to Ray's outburst. He grabbed Hank and dragged him out the door, leaving him in the dust for the crows. When he came back in he went to the control panel, and the doors on the airlock started motoring shut.
Ginger had nothing else to do, so she crouched next to the boy. Couldn't hurt to try.
"I got him," Ray said, suddenly beside her and pushing her away. "Will," he asked, "this ship got anything for doctorin'?"
"The infirmary's back that way," Will replied, pointing to the hatch in the back of the bay.
Ray picked Jase up, easily and with more care than she'd ever have expected from the man. "Get us movin'," he called to Will as he walked toward the back hatch, though the order wasn't necessary. Will was already climbing the fore stairway.
"Ginger," Ray said over his shoulder, "tie this other fella up and then you go over every bit of this ship. Make sure there ain't no one else."
Ginger started toward the young man sprawled on the deck, but he climbed to his feet and spoke up before she could reach him.
"I'm a doctor," he said, suddenly all calm and cool as ice. "I can help."
Ray stopped. "A doctor?"
"Yes. A trauma surgeon. I've seen a lot of gunshot wounds."
"He does look like one, Ray," Ginger said, eying the man's fancy shoes and tailored clothes. "He sure don't belong out here."
"What's your name, boy?" Ray asked.
"Simon."
"Simon, if you're tryin' to play me you'll die in an ugly way, you understand?" Ray didn't wait for an answer; he just nodded his head toward the infirmary. "Go."
The doctor glanced once at the unconscious captain, then led Ray out. Ginger slung her rifle over her shoulder, drew her pistol, and started her search.
.*. .*. .*.
Simon flexed his fingers to get the feeling back, rubbing at the white and red marks on his wrists. The cords had been tight enough to cut off circulation. Unnecessarily tight. Simon didn't know the man well enough to say for sure, but he suspected that Will was a bit of a sadist. And he was out there, wandering the ship…
Mèi mei, don't come out. Don't try anything. Don't you dare.
He bent over the barely conscious boy on the exam table. The bullet had passed clean through without hitting his lungs; the wound shouldn't be difficult to fix. The blood loss was the real problem. And the boy - well, teen - was thin. It appeared that he hadn't been in the best of health to begin with.
Simon opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors, but he froze when he heard a gun charge up. He'd almost forgotten Ray. The man stood in the hatch watching, and was now pointing a pistol at him.
"I need to cut his shirt back," Simon explained, surprised at the coolness of his own voice. Ray nodded and lowered the gun, but his eyes still held an edge of the rage that had erupted in the cargo bay. It briefly occurred to Simon that his patient, though young, might be just as violent and unstable as the others. It would be so easy to move slowly, or to make a mistake. They'd never know…
But, even while he was thinking this, Simon was working with his usual careful urgency, wrapping gauze tightly around the boy's shoulder to staunch the bleeding. He had denied treatment to a patient once. Not for more than a minute, but a vital minute. It'd been a girl he'd barely known, one anonymous face among the hundreds he'd encountered in his struggle to free River. But that girl had turned out to be Kaylee.
Not for the first time, Simon felt a surge of gratitude that she'd lived, and guilt that he'd put her in such danger, going so far as to use her life as a bargaining chip. If she hadn't made it, he'd never even have known what was lost.
And now, it was suddenly possible that he'd never see Kaylee again. The thought made his stomach twist.
He tried to push his feelings aside and focus on placing an IV in the boy's arm. There was no time for regret or fear, or even for the pounding in the side of his head and the blood drying on his face. He was a doctor; he had his job to do.
Simon Tam fixes hurt people; raspberry bushes make raspberries; Zoë and Jayne come to the rescue; River stays hidden and quiet. That is how it is. Do you hear me?
.*. .*. .*.
"So much went wrong," River whispered to herself."Everything ruined."
She was only vaguely aware that she was speaking, and would have stopped herself if she could. But the things that were crawling around in her head had to be let out somehow. It was getting better; the injection Simon had given her was working. The voices were coming from a distance now, instead of shouting inside her skull.
She held herself still in the shadows of the engine room's ceiling, eyes closed as she tried to listen and separate the tangled voices. When River had worked with Kaylee on the hovercraft, she'd been getting it, controlling it, but these new minds were overwhelming. Hatred, bitterness, and despair masked reason, and she couldn't make sense of it. So many walls in their minds holding back ugly things, not enough walls of her own to keep them out.
Walls – build walls. Keep out the strangers. Let in the ones I know.
Not easy to separate. The good ones didn't feel like they usually did; they were all in pain, all afraid. The captain was the easiest to find; he often was. He was walking in dark places, places she'd visited with him before, but she couldn't help him now. She had to leave him to make his way on his own.
Simon was busy. The cool logic of his thoughts settled over her with soothing familiarity. She shut everything out but him, and felt herself relax. His pain and fear were there, but carefully held at bay. His worry about her kept trying to take over, and she wished she could let him know she was okay. Not about to do anything stupid.
But she couldn't go near Simon to tell him. One of the dark ones was with him, watching close. Ray. That was the man's name: Ray.
Simon's medicine was working. It was definitely calmer inside now, quieter. The noisy mess was far enough away for her to untangle it, thought by thought. Her brother had done his job, and now it was time to do hers. She had to let the bad minds in, had to be open to them if she wanted to learn. But only one at time. Carefully, River looked into Ray.
His thoughts were taut, like a rope holding too much weight. There was a constant hum in his background, made of countless tiny pings as little bits of himself gave way to an unending strain. He was still vibrating from the big piece that had snapped when he saw the boy covered in blood. Ray needed Simon to fix Jase; he didn't even know how much he needed that. Under Ray's violent anger was hurt. Hurt and guilt and failure and, way in deep, the bitterness of betrayal.
River shuddered and pulled herself away from him. The things inside Ray might break her if she looked too close. She didn't have the strength, not right now.
She was drawn to the feverish mind of the boy whom Mal had shot. He was in a place with a blue sky adorned with an arc of sparkling color, and bright autumn trees swayed in the breeze. River wanted to go there with him. There was a sweet voice singing, and a rich smell that made her mouth water.
She tore herself away. No time. Work to do.
Two other strange minds wandered the ship; instinctively she shied away from one of them, from the man. The other was a woman. She was checking the panels in the cargo bay, looking for finger holds, panels that moved. She'd already found Mal's favorite hidey nook by the stairs. Her mind was focused on her job, as it always was. Isolated. Closed off to her own feelings. For her, life was a series of tasks to be mastered. People in Ginger's world existed as target or ally or, in a few instances, toys to be used when needed. Ginger had no other use for human beings. She didn't see what lay deep inside herself, but River did. River saw the starvation for things Ginger had never had, how it eroded the woman inside. River hugged herself against the aching loneliness, trying to push away from it.
A steady chanting rose through the hunger, a deep voice like dark honey that she wanted to sink into until she disappeared.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon…
The calm voice blocked out the fear, hatred, and pain of the others, and she clung to it.
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope…
Her eyes snapped open when the thoughts grew stronger. He was coming closer – no, he was waking up. He was hurt, but he was coming back to himself without rage or bitterness to cloud him. Not even fear.
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.
This mind had shadows within, but they weren't held back by impenetrable walls. He knew of the darkness, and he'd made peace with it. He was able to see with eyes unobscured; he would help her figure out what to do.
She uncoiled herself, swung down from the beam, and landed lightly on the deck. Down the corridor, she could see the Book lying under the table, not moving yet. Silently, she jogged down the hall and crawled under the table next to him.
"Shepherd," she whispered, poking lightly at this shoulder. "Preacher man, wake up."
He stirred. She waited until he opened his eyes and pulled himself to sitting. It was awkward with his arms wrapped around the table leg and his hands bound. "River?" he said roughly.
"Sssh! They have the ship."
He focused on her, and answered in a whisper. "Who?"
River held up four fingers, and pointed to each in turn. "Ray, Jase, Ginger,… Will."
Book lifted his bound hands and leaned forward so he could rub his forehead, then he nodded and accepted what she told him, just as she knew he would.
"Where is the captain?" he asked.
"Beat up. Tied up. Cargo bay. Simon is fixing Jase."
"Jase?"
"Captain shot him."
Book started to reply, but River hushed him and ran to scurry up a pipe next to the fore hatch. A few seconds later, a woman with a rifle slung over her shoulder came through, passing right below River. She ignored Book, just held a pistol aimed at the floor while she glanced into the lounge, galley, and pantry. Her eyes lingered on the cabinets, but she seemed to dismiss them as too small to hold a person. After a moment, she continued on through the aft hatch, checked the engine room, then disappeared into the side corridor leading down to the passenger dorms.
River dropped to the deck and crouched next to the table again. "No one ever looks up," she told Book with a shake of her head.
"Do they know about you?" he asked.
"No. River stays hidden. That's how it is. Simon said so. The captain did too, before he got lost."
Book leaned aginst the table leg so he could rub his face again; he was struggling to think clearly. "That was Ginger?"
"Yes."
"Where are the others?"
River ticked off her fingers again. "Ray and Jase are in the infirmary with Simon. Will is on the bridge, looking, remembering…" She lost track of what she saying as the weight of an angry mind pulled her attention away. She looked down the corridor toward the bridge, her face slack and her hands stilled with her third finger pulled back.
She hadn't wanted to let Will in; his thoughts were freezing cold. But she had to. She needed to know.
A few words leaked out her mouth as she listened:
Not hard to fly – power, yaw, pitch… gorramn browncoats, should be done with them by now… warm up engines first should have killed him port stabilizers, starboard should have shot that worthless piece of shĭ in the head…
"River, River!" Book's harsh whisper pulled her back from the darkness.
She stared at Book wide-eyed, still listening. "Hates Mal. Wants to hurt him. Kill him."
"Why?" Book asked.
"Wants things his way," she replied. She felt Will's malice take over and express itself in her face and the force behind her whisper, but she let it go. It helped her hear. "Doesn't like people who don't do as he says. Likes to kill. Not against rules to kill browncoats. No reason not to kill them. Will likes to kill. Will. Kill. You see?"
She tilted her head as she stared at Book; her eyes were unfocused but she sensed him drawing back away from her.
"But he hasn't killed Mal?" Book asked.
"No. Might need the help. To fly. Need to fly." Suddenly, River knew she had her answer. She shook off the contact and smiled, relieved to have her mind and her face to herself again.
"That's it!" she whispered. "Have to make sure they need him. Xiè xie! Sorry – can't untie – not now."
She jumped to her feet and continued to mutter as she sped toward the engine room. "Can't just hide, Simon. Got work to do. My job. Only mine. Have to do it. No one else."
"River – " Book called in a loud whisper, but she didn't stop. She had business to take care of.
.*. .*. .*.
Translations
gĕ kuài lè de jìnzhăn: happy development
lái bīn: guest
hàn: hot
shŭ tiān: hot day
shèn zhòng: careful
nián qīng rén: young people
huăn: cute
nán zĭ qì: manly
zhōng qíng: madly in love
chòu: stench
guō tiē: fried dumpling
liáng kuai: pleasantly cool
qù: live alone; quiet
jiāo yáng: blazing sun
chōu shuĭ jī: water pump
cè suŏ: toilet
huì kè: receive a visitor
lăo tào: old things
mèi mei: little sister
shĭ: shit
xiè xie: thank you
Chapter 9.
Zoë took a big bite from a lumpy dumpling, washing it down with tea before she replied to Wash's comment. "Yeah, I xpect Mal'd be a mite annoyed if he were here. He never did like chatter." She glanced into the depths of the cavern, where Kaylee's head and shoulders followed the top of Xiaojun's bun through the gadget-covered shelves. The old woman's voice echoed off the stone walls; she hardly took a break to breathe.
"I think she's cute," Wash answered. "A little excess talk doesn't bother me." He stuffed the rest of his own dumpling into his mouth.
Zoë gave him a sidelong glance. "Except maybe as competition?"
"Not that's low," he replied with a hurt expression showing around his full cheeks. He took a gulp of tea to clear his mouth a little. "I just meant that the old lady's not so scary – and so much for Mal's butterflies."
"I guess," Zoë mumbled. She looked back into the cavern. Despite the unexpectedly pleasant situation she found herself in, she wasn't feeling quite at ease.
Wash went on speaking. "I'm telling you, the captain's been a little strange lately. Worrying too much. About everything. We need to get him a day at a spa or something. Hot stone massage. You'd think you could get one of those here – all they have is heat and stones."
"He ought'a fret less when he hears bout this." Zoë wiped her fingers on a red cloth napkin and pulled a comm from her pocket. "Captain. Captain, you there?"
She was surprised when Mal didn't answer immediately. He'd been so worried when they left that she expected him to be hovering right on top of a console. Before she could say anything else, Wash snatched the comm from her hand.
"Mal, you have to meet this lady," he said. "She's like my Aunt Zelda."
"Aunt Zelda?" Zoë asked. "You have an Aunt Zelda?"
"By marriage only, not a blood relation. No one in my family actually talks that much."
Zoe gave him a look of doubt as she made a grab for the comm. "You're adopted?"
Wash leaned away from her, holding the comm behind him. "Not at all – you just haven't met the clan. We're terse, you know. Especially in stressful situations – just ask Mal. It's called the Washburn Cool Factor. We keep our calm, and…"
Zoë found the right spot on the front of his shirt to grab between finger and thumb and tweak.
"Ow!" Wash squeaked, crossing his arms over his chest. "You fight dirty, zhēng níng woman! That's not fair!"
Zoë grabbed the comm back, giving her husband a look of victory before she spoke into it again. "Sir? You hear me?"
"The rock must be fouling up the signal," Wash said, still holding his chest with one arm and pointing at the ceiling with the other. "You should go outside – where you can't abuse me anymore."
"Don't underestimate me, dear," Zoë said with a smirk. She stood up, but paused to glance back into the cavern one more time. Xiaojun stood in a gap in the shelves, talking nonstop as she waved one hand around a complicated device that she held in the other. Kaylee listened with her mouth open in rapt fascination.
"When you're recovered, sweetie, see if you can get Kaylee to hurry it up." Zoë headed for the door.
.*. .*. .*.
Captain. Captain, you there?
Zoë's electronic voice echoed through the cargo bay. The words were accompanied by a buzz of static that cut off sharply.
Mal had set the comm to sound in the bay, not wanting to miss out on any word from Zoë or the others. He hadn't foreseen the turn of events which now had him bound to the railing of a stairway. He hadn't considered that he might be barely conscious when Zoë called.
He wasn't having a good day.
Mal, you have to meet this lady. The fuzzy voice was Wash's now. She's like my aunt Zelda.
Mal moved his head a little in the following silence.
Sir? You hear me?
"Zoë?" he whispered, but there was no answer. He groaned; his face was throbbing. He was vaguely aware that he couldn't move his arms. Things certainly weren't right. Trouble. He tried to remember the exact nature of the trouble.
A minute later, Zoë's voice came again, without static this time. Captain, you hear me?
He remembered something about Zoë. "Go away," he whispered.
Sir, do you read?
"I tol' em where you are. You and Wash and… and the li'l one. You gotta go. Alliance – " The little one? Were Zoë and Wash having a baby? He vaguely remembered something about that, but it didn't seem right…
There was longish pause, then Jayne spoke. Uh, Cap'n?
"Jayne," Mal replied softly. Hearing Jayne's voice gave him a sinking feeling, but he couldn't remember why.
What'cha doin', Mal? River got your tongue? A bit of Jayne's rough laugh came through before the comm cut off.
Jayne's laughin' at me, Mal thought, and then he remembered more: Jayne had done something bad. Real bad. He'd turned on Mal. Again. Gave him away to the Feds, when Kaylee needed help… And now that hún dàn was laughing at him.
Mal woke up enough to lift his head. "Say it to my face, Jayne. Say it…"
Zoë cut him off. Sir, you're makin' me worry.
"Zoë." Mal's eyes focused and he realized he was in the cargo bay. No one else was around, and he was bound. Tied up on his own gorram ship. And his head and face really hurt. "Zoë?" he said, louder.
But no one answered. His eyes drifted shut and his head hung limp again.
.*. .*. .*.
Jayne was reclining in the hovercraft when Zoë stepped out into the sun. His t-shirt was off and laying over his face; his arms were stretched wide to expose his bare chest to as many rays as possible.
"You done yet?" he asked without moving, his voice muffled by the fabric.
"I'm so glad I left you on watch," Zoë said dryly.
"You heard the old lady. Ain't no one out here."
Zoë ignored him, just spoke into her comm. "Captain, you hear me?" She waited a few seconds, then tried again. "Sir, do you read?"
After a pause, she gave up and turned to Jayne. "I think mine ain't workin'. Try yours."
Jayne heaved an impatient sigh, then pushed the shirt off his face and leaned to the side to grab his comm. "Uh, Cap'n?" he said into it. Then he grinned. "What'cha doin', Mal? River got your tongue?" He chuckled at that.
Zoë walked over to the craft and glared at him as she grabbed the comm out of his hand.
"Sir, you're makin' me worry."
She waited a bit, then shook her head and handed Jayne his comm back. "It ain't these," she said. "There's somethin' wrong. We're goin'. Now."
Jayne reluctantly put his shirt back on and waited in the hovercraft while Zoë disappeared into the cavern. She returned seconds later, dragging Kaylee by the arm. Wash was right behind them, and Xiaojun hustled out last, actively voicing her distress at their sudden departure. Zoë ignored her as they all loaded into the mule.
"Hang on!" Wash warned, then he put the hammer down. The engine of the craft surged as it flew down the slope, cleared the river bank, and swerved to head downstream.
"But what's goin' on?" Kaylee yelled over the engine and the wind that whistled by them. "I ain't got the servo yet! Cap'n'll be mad if – "
"Tāmā de húndàn!" Wash shouted, and he pulled to a stop so abrupt that Jayne had to grab Kaylee to keep her from flying over the nose of the mule.
Serenity was rising over the horizon directly in front of them. Jayne added a few choice swear words of his own, then Kaylee cried out when the ship suddenly lurched to the side and lost half her altitude.
"What the dìyù is he doing?" Wash asked. The ship recovered, and powered its unsteady way back up into the blue before falling again, this time tilting back and sliding away from them.
"Mal ain't at the helm," Zoë said with cool certainty.
"Then who?" Jayne demanded. "He ain't lettin' River fly, is he, cause that's just – "
"That ain't any of ours, Jayne," Zoë told him, never taking her eyes off the sky.
.*. .*. .*.
It had been a while since Will had flown one of these birds, but he didn't think it'd be hard. It wasn't complicated, and all he had to do was get out of atmo. The tricky stuff would come in orbit, but he was sure he'd have it down by then. He fired up the engine, then sat back to give her a little warm-up time; a ship this old needed it. He smiled smugly. He sure knew his stuff.
Which made him wonder why that gorram browncoat was still breathing. They didn't need him, and he was a danger. Will knew the type; that húnqiú would keep fighting long after he should curl up and die. You'd think losing a war would teach a man respect for his betters, but there were a few of those Independents who seemed to have learned nothing but the art of stubbornness. A man who'd still wear that damn coat seven years after the fact was a man who needed to be taught a few things. Will meant to see to it before this jaunt was over – the freedom to take such lessons into his own hands was one of his favorite things about working out in the Black.
He leaned over the controls again, flipped a few switches, and lifted her off the ground. Too easy, just too gorram easy, he thought with a satisfied smile. Easy the way it should be.
It was just then that things got a little more challenging.
.*. .*. .*.
Simon focused on his patient, ignoring the weighty stare of the gunslinger standing in the infirmary's hatch. He set an IV in the boy's right arm: saline, antibiotics, and a dose of painkillers. The last would ease the boy and, more importantly, keep him down. Three hijackers loose on the ship were enough.
He turned to a drawer of surgical tools; he had to get into the wound to clean it and stitch whatever needed it. But suddenly the ship lurched, the turbulence of her flight going beyond what the artificial grav could correct for. Simon stumbled back to the bed and raised metal rails on either side to hold his patient in place.
"What the hell is goin' on?" a gruff voice asked. Simon looked over at Ray, who was holding the handle on the open hatch with one hand and keeping the pistol in the other pointed in Simon's direction.
"I'd say whoever's flying the ship is not very good at it," Simon said calmly.
"Ray! Ray – are you there?" a voice crackled over the intercom. Ray looked at the console on the wall with alarm, then back at Simon.
"How you work this thing?" he demanded.
"The button on the top right. Push it and talk."
"Gorammit, Ray – " the stressed voice continued, but Ray interrupted.
"What is goin' on, Will?"
"Someone's messed with this ship hardcore. I don't know what – " the comm cut off as the ship dropped beneath their feet.
The boy groaned in pain and Simon turned to check on him, but a hard hand grabbed him and pushed him against the counter. "Can you can fly this thing?" Ray asked, his face right up in Simon's.
"I'm a doctor."
"Which one of y'all can fly it?"
"Oh," Simon replied. "I'm afraid you beat him unconscious."
Ray pushed Simon away. "Wake him up then."
"He's unconscious, not asleep."
They both stumbled to the side as the ship shifted again. Simon caught himself on the edge of the exam table, and when he looked up at Ray he suddenly felt forgotten. Not that he minded, but he was surprised to see Ray's hard stare focused on the boy, something like indecision on his face.
The moment didn't last long. Ray clenched his jaw and looked at Simon again.
"You got the bleedin' stopped?"
Simon glanced at the hastily applied bandage. "For the most part, but – "
"It'll have to do."
Ray was unprepared when the ship lurched again. He nearly fell before he caught the counter.
"Ray! A little help here!" Will's panicked voice sounded over the comm.
Ray pulled himself back over to the panel. "I'm comin', hang on. Make use of this speaker thing and get Ginger down here, I need her." He turned back to Simon. "You're gonna do what you need to wake your man up, or that damn fool will crash this ship with all of us on it."
"Niú fèn," Simon swore, and he looked around the infirmary, gathering his thoughts. He had to get Mal moving without damaging him any more than he already was.
He measured out a sizable dose of stimulant into a syringe, then grabbed a large plastic container from a cabinet and filled it with cold water. He glanced once at Jase, hoping the boy was stable enough to hold out, then headed toward the cargo bay. The ship continued its erratic movement, and he spilled half the water just trying to carry it; the rest he dumped over Mal, which shocked the captain into groaning and lifting his head, half awake but clearly not aware of what was happening. Simon emptied the syringe into Mal's shoulder and began untying him. When he pulled the last cord free, Mal tumbled sideways onto the deck.
Simon reached for the bindings on Mal's wrists, but they were tied too tight. He looked up at Ray, and saw that Ginger was standing behind him.
"I need something to cut these off," Simon said.
"Not till we get him up top. Ginger, give me your guns. You gotta help move him."
Simon was grateful for her help. Mal wasn't up to holding his own weight, and he wasn't a small man.
.*. .*. .*.
River scurried around the engine room frantically. All the voices in her head had been forced to the background as she focused on the difficult task of controlling the ship's flight. Destabilize without crashing; it was a fine edge to walk.
The waves of terror and frustration coming out of Will pleased her. Once she was sure she understood how to run things, she toyed with him. Briefly, she let him have control, just to give him a sense of security, and also so Simon could get the captain up the stairs. But then she put the ship into a steep banking turn and smiled at the rage in Will's mind. The man deserved to suffer. He'd hit Mal, hit him hard enough to hurt him badly, to knock things loose.
Ray had hit, too, but that was different. That was a vein of emotion so deep that even he couldn't see to the bottom of it. Ray wasn't good, but he wasn't evil. Will, on the other hand, was petty spite to the core. He might have beat Mal enough to kill him if Ray hadn't been there to stop him, and for no other reason than because he wanted to.
She chanted as she worked, as if Will could hear her: "You need the captain. Can't kill the captain. Has to be pilot or we'll crash."
Stay focused, she told herself. don't listen to the voices. Don't look at the pretty trees and listen to the singing. Not now. Not yet.
.*. .*. .*.
When Simon got to the bridge, Will was clutching the steering column desperately, his previous good cheer entirely lost as he fought to keep the ship in the air.
"I don't know what kind'a shă guā they got for a mechanic," the man yelled, "but the ship's not supposed to fly like this!" He took a deep breath and held it as he struggled to halt another dive.
Simon, with Ginger's help, settled a half-conscious Mal into the co-pilot's chair, then braced himself against the console so he could work on the cords binding the captain's hands. Ray stepped in, pushing Simon aside so he could cut the knots with a knife. Mal slouched awkwardly, and Simon had to stop him from falling to the deck.
"Captain?" Simon said. "Mal? Wake up."
Mal groaned as Simon pushed him back in the chair. "Reavers," he mumbled.
"What's he talking about?" Will asked, looking alarmed.
"Reavers got Inara," Mal said softly.
Simon grabbed Mal's collar and pulled him upright. "Captain," he said firmly. "You have to wake up or this bèn dāi zi will crash Serenity." Simon was aware of Will glaring at him, but there was no argument over his assessment.
Mal's eyes focused on the doctor. "Simon?"
"Yes, it's me. Are you awake?"
"Dunno." Mal shook his head slightly, squinting at the pain that movement caused. "You gonna stick stuff in my head?"
"Um… not today."
"That's good." Mal glanced down at the console, and he gave a grunt of recognition at what he saw. "Where's River?"
Simon's eyes widened slightly in alarm. "There's… no river here, captain." He glanced at Ray nervously. "Niflheim's a desert."
"Nifl… wha'?"
"You need to fly Serenity." Simon looked across at Will in the pilot's seat and Mal followed his gaze. Will's tension was obvious as he fought to hold the ship steady.
Mal stared at Will for a few seconds, then he rolled his head back over his shoulder to look at Ray and Ginger. "Oooh," he said in a half-groan, and he pushed Simon away. "Storm's back," he mumbled, but he pulled his chair up to the co-pilot's console.
"What storm?" Simon asked.
"In my head," Mal answered, tapping his temple before he grabbed the controls.
"I gave you a stimulant."
"And I am feelin' it." Mal looked over at Will. "Hey. Dumbass. Orange switch, down and to your left."
Will looked at Mal, his eyes wide and face covered in a sheen of sweat, then he glanced down at the console. The ship lurched again as the controls shook in his hands.
"Simon," Mal said. "Help this useless piece of lā jī out."
With Mal's direction, Simon located the switch that would transfer control to the co-pilot's station. He flipped it, and the flight immediately smoothed out.
Mal turned to Will. "So," he asked brightly, "where'd you learn to fly?"
Will didn't answer. He let the controls slip out of his shaking hands and sat back in the pilot's seat, breathing unevenly.
Mal continued, "Actually, what I'm wondering is what kind of idiot steals a ship he can't even pilot? Don't they have criminal school out in these parts?"
"You can still fly with a gag," Will said distantly.
Mal fixed him with a hard look. "You try puttin' a gag on me and I will put this ship in a nose dive you won't be gettin' her out of."
"Back off, Will," Ray said. "Captain, don't waste time. We got your ship and what crew are on board. Just do as we say and it'll work out fine."
"And we're saying that you better get us out of atmo as quick as you can," Will ordered. He seemed to be recovering his cool, though his sense of humor was still a far way off. He looked at Mal's hands on the controls, then leaned to the side so he could see better.
"That's a fine idea," Mal said. "Except for the 'quick' part. Ship's got a little problem with the grav drive. If it goes while we're burnin' hard, we're all dead." He looked at Will again. "If it had gone while you were flyin', now, that would'a been all kinds of not fun. You better let those of us with the know-how handle the tricky stuff."
Will glared. Mal returned a wink and a smile that looked ghastly on his bloody face.
Ginger exhaled impatiently from the hatch. "So, boys, we just stole us a ship that don't work?"
.*. .*. .*.
When Mal finally took over the helm, River gratefully relinquished control, then collapsed onto the deck. She held her head in her arms, wanting to rest but unable to let go of the walls she'd built in her mind. She couldn't risk letting the voices speak all at once.
She had to make herself focus on Will. He was the worst one, but if she wanted to survive, to bring her home and her adoptive family through this, she had to go inside him again.
She'd seen one thing about him right away – Will had a piece missing. He'd been born without his empathy; never had it, never would. He'd been gifted with a lot of other things: good-looking, smart, knew how to make people like him. Anyone who didn't like him, well, he knew how to make them afraid. Knew how to push and prod until they squirmed.
River tapped through the surface of his mind, saw the lofty image Will had of himself. Like a cortex comic strip adventure star, all dressed up in black with a big blazing gun, playing his games for the merriment of all. Will always won in the end, always smarter or quicker than anyone else. And if that didn't work, he knew how to cheat, how to hit hard and fast from behind. But no matter how he managed it, Will always won with a smile.
Hadn't quite won this time, not yet. But he knew he would. He was watching the captain fly the ship. He was angry. Very, very angry. Had it buried down deep now, in control, but River could work her way in far enough to see it simmering.
That's what I did that's how I flew why does it work for him? called me an idiot, thinks I can't fly it's not fair…
River whimpered at a bitterness so strong it brought a sour taste to her mouth.
I flew right, I did the same things why didn't it work? he set it up, must of planned it wants to make me look stupid don't need this húndàn, not doing anything I can't do, should've slit his throat watched his blood drain should do it now almost out of atmo I can do the flying in space in orbit shouldn't be hard to fly what is wrong with this ship I'll kill him anyway throw him out the airlock watch his eyes bulge out…
Will filled with glee as he pictured Mal clawing at the airlock window, his face coming apart under the force of his body's own internal pressure.
River pulled away, literally fell away from him, rolling onto the hard deck of the engine room. She felt like the inside of her head was coated with slime. It wasn't enough, they didn't need the captain enough yet. They needed Simon and weren't thinking about Book, but the captain was in danger. She had to save him. Her home couldn't exist without him.
But she knew what to do – she'd learned by watching Kaylee.
Nothing to write with, she thought. Need to write.
She snuck down the corridor to the galley and gave a distracted wave to Book. He watched her without speaking as she pulled a marker out of a drawer and dashed back to the engine room, her bare feet silent. Then she flung herself down in front of the open panel under Kaylee's hammock and reached inside, her hands moving with confidence and haste.
.*. .*. .*.
Simon moved toward the back of the bridge and watched the sky outside the windows turn darker as the ship climbed slowly out of atmo. Will was standing behind the pilot's seat now, arguing with Ray. The two men seemed to have forgotten about him, but Ginger was silently waiting in the hatch behind him, gun in hand.
Simon tried to figure Mal's condition; the captain didn't seem to be understanding the situation. He did have a habit of approaching a crisis with what Simon saw as a misplaced sense of humor, but there appeared to be more than that happening here.
"Come on, the grav's not broken," Will was saying to Ray in disgust. "He's just trying to pull one over on us."
"That girl told Jase she was lookin' for parts," Ray said. "Somethin' to do with grav."
Mal laughed softly. "Āi yā – you fellas took a ship you can't fly, even though you knew it ain't space-worthy. Priceless."
"Shut your gorram trap or I'll beat on it some more," Will snapped.
Mal didn't seem bothered by the threat; he continued to mutter. "I ain't even done nothin' that stupid. Y'all should get a prize or somethin'." He shook his head, then winced and raised a hand to his swollen cheek.
Will started reaching for a knife on his belt, but Ray grabbed his arm to stop him. "Easy, we need him."
"He doesn't need his tongue to fly a ship," Will replied. "You got that, Captain?"
Mal dropped his hand from his face and rolled his eyes. "I gotta be good or you'll start cuttin' off parts. Sure. Got it. Not real original, I have to say. Been done before by much scarier folks than you fools."
Will made a gasp of disbelief at Mal's words, and Simon wondered if the captain had gone insane. He was going to goad these men into killing him – but then the doctor had an idea.
"It's the stimulant," Simon said. "It makes him talkative. He can't help it."
Will turned back to Simon. "You gave him a smartass drug?"
Despite himself, Simon found a smile forming on his face. "The stimulant just makes him talk more than usual. He's always been a smartass."
"You're fired, doctor," Mal said.
"Right." Simon pointed his thumb over his shoulder and started to turn away. "I'll just pack up my things and be on my – "
"Stay put and shut your mouth, Doc," Ray ordered, then he added with a shake of his head, "You people are insane."
"You stole a broken ship full of lunatics and you can't fly it," Mal summed up. "Nice! This is good."
Ray had to push Will toward the back of the bridge to keep him away from Mal. "Enough. Will, you take the doc back down to see to Jase."
"I stay on the bridge!" Will insisted, pushing Ray's hands off. "I'm the gorram pilot here!"
"And I hope Willy is well paid for his skills." Mal turned around in his seat. "You mind if I call you Willy?"
Ray had to physically restrain Will. "Back off!" Ray told him harshly, "I can't have you killin' these people. We need em. Now you go and take care of – "
He was cut off by a loud clang that echoed through the ship. Mal felt the shift in his stomach and knew what it was immediately; he cut the engine and pulled the restraints on the copilot's chair over his shoulders. Everyone else on the bridge felt their knees buckle as, for an instant, the ship rose beneath them, but instead of falling to the deck, they all floated up away from it.
"And what ya'all are feelin' now…" Mal said with a joyful smile, "is no internal grav. Fun, huh?"
.*. .*. .*.
Translations
zhēng níng: mean and ferocious
hún dàn: bastard
tā mā de hún dàn: mother humping son of a bitch
hún qiú: no-good bastard
dì yù: hell
niú fèn: cow dung
shă guā: idiot
bèn dāi zi: stupid fool
lā jī: trash
āi yā: damn