Easy Tickets

by mal4prez

Serenity has a few guests come aboard, but they're not the welcome kind.

4. Part 4 of 9

Easy Tickets: Part 4/9 (Chapters 10-12)

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

Little warning: Chapter 11 is a little overabundant with the OC. Doesn't fit
everyone's taste, I know, but worry not! I get back to the crew in Chapter 12.

---

Chapter 10.

The four of them sat in the hovercraft, unmoving and unspeaking, as Serenity veered across the sky. Overall, the ship managed to rise, but it took a while before she shrank enough to disappear into the blue.

Jayne grunted. "So how 'bout we take up rock farmin'?"

"Bì zuĭ," Zoë snapped. She looked at the comm in her hand, then scowled and tucked it back in her pocket. "Wash, keep goin'. Maybe there's somethin' to see."

She was right, there was. It took only a few minutes to reach the valley where the ship had been sitting; they found a small flock of crows gathering around a body laying in the dust. Kaylee and Wash stayed by the mule while Jayne looked for tracks. Zoë shooed away the birds and checked the dead man. She crouched over him, looking closely at his forehead.

"Mal put up a fight," she said. "Got one fore he lost." She stood and walked back to the hovercraft. "But at least we know they're all still alive, or at least they were when she took off."

"Not that I'm complainin', but how d'ya know?" Kaylee asked.

Jayne answered. "If they'd dump their own dead, they'd sure dump ours."

"Jayne, stay here with Kaylee," Zoë ordered as she got back in the mule. "See what you can work out. Wash and I are gonna have a look round."

Jayne waited until the hovercraft cleared out, then he turned to Kaylee. "You just stay put there, li'l Kaylee. Don't be confusin' the tracks."

Kaylee didn't question him, just sat in the dust with her back to the corpse, absently twisting her hands together while she tried not to completely give in to worry. Jayne slowly walked around the floor of the valley, stepping carefully, his eyes on the ground. A few times he wondered up into the rocks on the hillside. When he was satisfied that he'd seen all there was to see, he went back to the dead man and dug through his pockets. He made a short exclamation of joy, and Kaylee turned to see him prying a gun out of the man's clenched right hand. She quickly turned away from the sight, but Jayne was still holding the firearm tenderly in both hands when he came to sit next to her, a look of reverence on his face.

Zoë and Wash returned about ten minutes later. "We found their transport," Zoë called as soon as Wash shut the mule's engine down. "Couldn't have been more than half a dozen of em."

"They was five," Jayne said, getting to his feet to point out tracks in the dirt. "We got one come in back that way, three from the side here, and one from the front. That last one was a sniper, sittin' behind a rock a ways up yonder. Woman, most like. One of the others, last of the three to come in from the side, was small-like. A kid or a woman."

Wash gave Jayne a look of begrudging respect, then turned to Zoë. "That was actually somewhat impressive."

"Other thing is," Jayne continued, "someone sides the bearded fella here got shot."

"How d'you figure?" Zoë asked.

Jayne led her over near the body, to a straight line in the dust – the imprint of the cargo bay door where it had rested against the ground. He hunkered down and pointed out the marks.

"See here, lots a' blood just at the edge of the door. Shoulders here, and an arm here. It was the small one." He lifted something out of the dust: a faded green bandanna. "This came off their head when they got dragged up the ramp."

Zoë stood up. "So, five to start with," she said thoughtfully. "And one got killed and one got hurt." She started back toward Wash and Kaylee. "Most like, the ship's bein' held by only three. We can fight that, if we can catch up and get on without them knowin' it."

"Sounds like a great plan," Wash called out from where he leaned against the hovercraft. "Except for the catching up part and the getting on part. This is a very nice mule, but it won't be breaking atmo any time soon."

"I'm workin' on it," Zoë said with a hint of impatience. "Let's head back to Xiaojun's. She might have something that can break atmo, or at least know where we can get one. We've got money, could be we'll find somethin' in town. As to sneakin' onto Serenity - it's been done before, it can be done again."

.*. .*. .*.

River had learned about the green lever from 'watching' Kaylee work, picking up stray thoughts from the mechanic's mind. It deactivated the grav system, disengaging it from the rest of the engine so it could be repaired without a full power-down. Kaylee had never used it, so it was heavy and hard to move. River adjusted a few settings which would effect how the grav came back on, then she twisted uncomfortably to get her body into the panel. She had to hang her full weight on the lever to make it slide down.

There was a loud clang as the machinery it connected to shifted, then River felt the deck press up against her for just a second before Mal cut the engine. She smiled proudly: clever captain had caught on quickly, just like she'd known he would.

Her body floated away from the deck, but it didn't bother her. She'd done some training with weightlessness at the Academy and she'd never had a problem with it. It was like flying. How could anyone feel sick about something as lovely as flying? She'd never understood her classmates, throwing up in their suits when they could be enjoying the ride.

A few seconds later the main lights flickered and went out, and the low power emergency lights came up with a dark blue glow. Just an automatic precaution, she knew. Standard practice during major engine shutdowns. She could fix it, but she liked the color. Made it more fun to fly.

She paused for a second in the semi-darkness, listening with her ears and mind. Waves of nausea and confusion radiated from the bridge, most notably from Simon. River shook her head – poor Simon, no zero G training at MedAcad.

They'd be awhile, the three bad ones, figuring out what to do. And most importantly, there was no way they'd kill the captain now. They'd make him try to fix the ship. There wasn't much for her to do but stay out of the way, which wouldn't be difficult. They'd be busy on the upper level for some time.

She pushed herself through the hatch and down the corridor; the freedom of the movement was thrilling. The exercises at the Academy had been in small spaces that approximated weightlessness for a short time; they hadn't come anywhere close to this. She let herself spin as she passed down the hall. The familiar space became something completely different when she wasn't limited to walking on the deck. Any surface could be up, any could be down. It didn't matter.

Smoothly, she angled around the corner, and she grinned as she threw in a few somersaults before reaching the stairway that led toward the cargo bay.

.*. .*. .*.

Ray felt the ship jolt beneath his feet and prepared himself to hit the floor, taking his finger off the trigger of his gun but gripping it tightly so he wouldn't lose it. It took a few seconds for him to realize that he hadn't hit the deck yet; in fact, he didn't seem to be touching anything at all. To make matters worse, the room suddenly went dark, then dim blue lights came up that weren't much help.

He caught a glimpse of the captain, strapped to the co-pilot's chair, watching with a wide grin. Ray might have had a word or two to say about that grin, but then he realized that the captain was looking up at him, and that didn't make sense. Then Ray's head hit the ceiling.

He tried to catch hold of anything he could, but couldn't get a solid grip. With nothing to make him stay put, he found himself spinning slowly and heading toward the floor again. On his way down he noticed Will, floating with his feet off the ground, holding some cables that ran out of the top of a row of lockers, also watching with a look of amusement. Ray definitely had a few words to say about that, but his shoulder touched the deck before he could speak.

He finally found purchase in the grating of the deck, gripping tight with his left hand. He let out a sigh of relief that he was finally staying put, but then he noticed the captain, leaning forward in the chair and looking down at him.

"Well done," the captain said with a crooked smile. "I think you'll get this. Just don't look down." He tilted his head sideways and continued with a confused look. "Or is it up?"

Ray looked up (or down?) at his feet and the ceiling beyond them, and his stomach did a long slow lurch.

"Ahh, this just gets better and better," the captain muttered, then he bent over Ray again, "Best not puke, it'll float about and make a big stinky mess. You'll be runnin' into it, getting it all over ya."

Ray swallowed hard and had to let go of the grating to put his hand over his mouth, which delighted the captain to no end.

"Enough, Captain Smith," Ray heard Will's voice behind him, and gorramn if that man didn't sound like he was laughing too. "Doc, do you have anything that'll help Ray here keep his lunch?"

There was no answer. Ray looked behind him and noticed that the fancy doctor wasn't faring much better. The man – Simon – had one hand hooked between two large pipes running along the bulkhead and was staying put, but his face was a color that was all wrong, made even worse by the blue light. Simon had the additional excuse of a rather nasty blow to the head, but his condition made Ray feel a little better.

Ginger was wedged tight in the hatch in back. At first Ray thought she had her gun on him, but then he realized he was just in the way of the captain. She'd been keeping the man covered, which was fortunate considering how long it was taking Ray to pull himself together.

If there was one thing Ray had, that nothing life threw at him could take away, it was willpower. He swallowed down bile and took his hand away from his face to catch the deck grating again, then pushed himself toward the pipes the doctor was holding. He managed to grab them on the first try and held himself somewhere close to upright. He wasn't going to let this situation get out of his control; it was his job, and he meant to be the one running it. The nausea gradually faded.

"Captain Mal whatever-your-name-is," he said. "What the hell is this?"

"I told you, grav drive. Broken. Wŏ men wán le." He finished with a snicker, looking real broke up about the situation.

"You better hope you can fix it," Will said, apparently finished with his laughing-at-Ray time. "We can't maneuver without internal grav, and if your ship's useless you and yours are too. We'll throw you out the airlock and take the shuttle back down to look for other options." This idea seemed to restore even more of Will's cheer.

The captain rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll have a look at it." He released the seat's restraints and kicked off the front edge of the console, shooting across the bridge and neatly catching the hatch next to Ginger. Ray heard the man mutter as he passed by: "Stranger things have happened."

"Will, you stay here," Ray said. He pushed himself toward the hatch and managed to reach there hands first, though there was a scary moment before he got purchase.

"You think you can make it across the whole ship?" Will asked with half a grin.

"Just keep an eye on the doc," Ray replied as he followed Mal out into the corridor. "Ginger, make sure he ain't gonna kill anyone."

.*. .*. .*.

Mal pulled himself past the crew quarters. Funny that with all the years he'd had this ship, he'd never been weightless on her. Zero G made one reconsider all manner of things, direction being the most obvious, the placement of handholds being a close second. But there were wires running high on the bulkhead that he could use to steer himself along, and it wasn't too tricky. He'd been weightless plenty of times during the war; the rules of it kicked in like it'd been yesterday.

He glanced back and saw that Ray wasn't doing so well, he kept over-correcting, turning sideways and losing his grip. Mal considered leaving the man behind, but there didn't seem to be much point to it. Or to any of the other stuff he'd normally be doing in this situation: plotting, finding weapons, looking for his opponents' weaknesses...

Thing of it was, Mal was having a hard time focusing. The headache didn't help, nor did the perky-making drug Simon had shot him up with. But those weren't the real problem; it was more about a familiar feeling of unreality, kind of like he was dreaming. And if that was the case, there was no way he was going to fall for it again.

He paused at the hatch into the dining room and saw Book hovering under the table. The man looked fairly at ease, though he was trapped there, his arms wrapped around the bolted-down table leg and wrists bound together.

Huh, we got us a preacher floatin' under a table, Mal thought. Sounded like the first line of a joke. He'd have to remember to tell Book about this later, when he woke up.

"Hey! You havin' fun, Shepherd?"

"Like a barrel of space monkeys, Captain," Book replied with a tired smile.

Mal aimed himself toward the opposite hatch and kicked off. He didn't look back to see how Ray was getting on; he found he was caring less and less. That lovely disconnected feeling was growing, and flying toward the dining room table fit right into his state of mind.

So, one time a preacher was floatin' under a table…

He wasn't sure where to go with that. There needed to be a rabbi involved. And maybe a whore.

So, one time a preacher and a rabbi were floatin' under a table when a whore happened by…

Even better…

So, one time a preacher and a rabbi were floatin' under a table when a whore happened by holdin' a banana…

Mal chuckled, but he lost his train of thought when he came upon a cloud of floating bear steaks, and he had to slap them away to clear a path. After passing that obstacle, he encountered a chair drifting at the far end of the table. He considered swinging it toward Ray, but there was one little corner of his mind that insisted that this might really be happening. That might actually be Book under the table, and the gun-toting wáng bā dàn behind (below?) him might indeed shoot the Shepherd with genuine bullets if offered an excuse. So Mal just pushed the chair aside gently, and continued on through the aft hatch.

Forgot where I was. Oh yeah – but maybe it should be a poem?
The table sat over the preacher,
Who looked like the silliest creature…

Hmm, dead end with that. Maybe, instead of poetry, he ought to be working on some Kaylee-style tech talk. Something just sensible enough to convince Ray that he could fix the grav drive if they'd give him time to work. It was a bad day when the best Mal could do was delay, but who knows, maybe River would appear out of thin air and show him how to wake up.

Poetry was a helluva lot more fun, though.

Float, ye Shepherd, float
Upon this gravfree boat…

He passed down the corridor and pulled himself into the engine room, then down to the open panel under Kaylee's hammock. There was a flashlight taped to the deck in front of the panel. Clever Kaylee, he thought. He pulled it up and shone it around inside. To his left, behind the next panel over, there was neat writing on the floor, just deep enough into the space to not be visible from the outside. Mal gave up his literary efforts so he could read River's.

Captain – lift the green lever to activate the grav

An arrow pointed to the side and up, and Mal followed it with the flashlight. The lever in question had a big star next to it, and the note:

yes this one

Mal looked back at the writing on the floor.

Don't tell them how you did it.
Tell them it might break again,
and they won't kill you.
And quit being silly. This is real

Huh, Mal thought. Clever River.

He heard Ray finally arrive behind him. "Just need some time to work things out here," Mal said over his shoulder.

Ray held himself still in the hatchway. "You can fix it?"

"I can patch it together enough to last a little while." Mal's head was inside the panel, so Ray couldn't see the grin on his face.

.*. .*. .*.

Simon huddled in a ball next to the port bulkhead of the bridge, one hand gripping the steel brace around a pipe. His other arm was clenched across his stomach as he fought down nausea. It was his first experience with weightlessness, and he'd quickly decided that he could do without it. His head was still throbbing as well; he most definitely had a concussion. Not a bad one, but enough to be… not fun.

There was voices in the background. Gradually, he tuned in to what Ginger was saying.

"We'll be a little delayed, it's the ship we took, got a little problem… No ma'am, the crew was no problem, didn't even have to kill any. Lost one of ours, though."

"No," she continued after a pause. "He weren't important. Nobody we need."

Simon kept his head down: he didn't think this was something he was supposed to be hearing. But he managed a quick peek. Will was hanging onto the lockers and Ginger was in the hatch talking into a small electronic device.

"Yes, ma'am, I'll let you know as soon as we get there." Ginger shut the thing off and put it in her pocket.

"Does she sound mad?" Will asked

"The old lady never sounds mad. Ain't nothing we can do bout it, anyhow. She'll just have to wait."

"And so will we." Will looked quite comfortable with being weightless, turning himself sideways with barely a touch on the locker.

"You know," Ginger said, "there's a better way to handle this than waitin' for that méi yòng de captain to break things even worse."

"What's that?"

"That girl that talked to Jase in the shop – she was the mechanic, right? And she went to out to the desert to get whatever they needed to fix this boat. Let's get her up here."

Simon dropped all pretense of not paying attention; he straightened and stared at Ginger. She glanced at him when he moved, but didn't seem to think he posed much of a threat.

"You know where to find her?" Will asked.

"I'll wager the folks that left got comms with em."

Will grinned and kicked off the lockers, floating across the room to catch hold of the pilot's chair. "I knew there was more than one reason why I brought you along," he said.

"More n' two," she countered.

He grinned again, and got busy with the comm controls. "Odd – it's set to play out in the cargo bay. Let me switch it…"

Simon had managed to curl his legs under him, his nausea and dizziness forgotten as a wave of rage took over his mind. There was no excuse for bringing Kaylee into this. He wouldn't allow it.

Will was just starting to speak into the comm when Simon hurtled himself across the bridge, catching Will around the waist. The two men tumbled past the console into the small space in the nose of the ship. Simon braced a foot against the console for leverage while he drove his fist into Will's face, and he heard a satisfying crunch.

But Simon's heroics were short-lived. Will had years of experience with moving in zero G, and he recovered quickly. He got his feet hooked through the railing of a ladder top and pulled Simon away from the console. Simon had no purchase, no way to counter the blows that rained down on his abdomen. He soon found himself floating in the small space, curled up and retching. He vaguely remembered what Mal had said about vomiting in a weightless environment, but there wasn't much to be done about it.

As he tried to get his breath back, he heard Will speaking into the comm, "Whoever's listening: I have myself a Firefly complete with captain, doctor, and old man. How much do you care if I start killing?" Will waited a few seconds, then added. "It'll be real slow and painful, and, to be frank, none of them are in the best of shape at the moment anyway…"

.*. .*. .*.

Mal still hovered low over the deck, hands inside the panel, trying to seem like he was busy working on something complicated. But really he was finally making an effort to think straight. If this might actually be happening, he should maybe try catching up a bit.

He looked once at Ray, then took his time going over the events he could remember since he'd first seen the two shadows in the cargo bay entrance. One thing in particular came to mind.

"He yours?" Mal asked.

He glanced over his shoulder to see if he had Ray's attention. The man had his long legs folded across the hatch, wedging himself in. His arms were crossed in front of him, gun floating loosely in his fingers, and he didn't look interested in anything Mal had to say.

"That boy I shot," Mal said. "He yours?"

That got through. Ray looked at Mal, but his face was expressionless when he answered. "He look like he's mine?"

"Oh, he's got Chinese blood all right, but only bout half."

Ray didn't answer, didn't make any sign that he'd heard. Mal turned to look inside the panel again while he spoke. "You weren't so happy about me shootin' him."

There was another long silence. Ray certainly wasn't chatty.

Mal fiddled with a wire, then decided it'd be better not to touch anything mechanical – wouldn't do much good if he broke the ship for real. He made himself look busy by tracing his fingers over River's writing on the deck.

"Boy saved your life," he said casually.

Mal glanced up again, and saw that Ray was watching him close. He couldn't tell if the man wanted to hear more or was thinking of shooting him to make him shut up. Walk soft, Mal reminded himself. This is really happening.

Oh, to hell with it.

He abandoned all pretense of working so he could watch Ray's reaction, and explained. "Right when the shootin' started - you didn't know where I went. I was down on the deck, could see you from underneath the screen." Mal tilted his head to the side and held up his right hand, miming a gun as he recreated the shot in his mind. "Just bout had you lined up." He dropped his hand and shrugged. "But the kid shot at me from the ramp. Got close, too. I had to take him out first, and by then you'd moved on."

Ray didn't answer. He stared blankly at the bulkhead above Mal's head, his tight face unreadable.

Mal took a deep breath, and let it out. "You know, I'm thinkin' it didn't matter much that I was all tied down when you saw he was shot. I could'a had a loaded gun in each hand and a pile of land mines tween us. You'd a' come at me anyway."

There was another long silence, and Mal thought he wouldn't get an answer, but then Ray grumped in a deep voice, "He ain't mine."

That hung in the air for a while before Mal asked, "So, Ray, I'm just wonderin', but why do you care so much about that boy goin' down?"

Ray held Mal's eye for a frozen moment. Then he unfolded his arms, not pointing the gun at Mal, but making sure the threat was visible.

"There's somethin' you need to understand, Mal," he said the name like it tasted bad. "You ain't captain of this here ship no more. You keep your mouth shut and do as I tell ya. You got that?"

The dueling stare lasted just a few seconds before Mal tipped his head to the side with an indifferent shug.

"Whatever you say, boss."

.*. .*. .*.

Translations
bì zuĭ: shut your mouth
wŏ men wán le: we're in big trouble
wáng bā dàn: SOB
méi yòng de: useless

---

Chapter 11.

River drifted down the stairway, occasionally touching a step or bulkhead to straighten out the path her body followed. As she neared the cargo bay, she folded up her knees so she could get a good hard push off the bottom step.

She entered the cargo bay like a story book heroine in full flight, diving over the catwalk into the wide open space. Her heart was in her throat, in the most enjoyable way. It was called freefall, but it didn't feel like falling. It felt like hovering, and she thrilled over looking down at the deck from an angle that shouldn't have been possible. Eventually, she reached the fore catwalk and grabbed the railing on the far side of it. Her momentum carried her around until she let go at just the right instant, landing with a deep plié on the bulkhead above the main doors. A push toward the deck, a cartwheel and a second push, and she was gliding through the space again, a big smile on her face.

With only the emergency lights on, the bay had a blue and white glow that caught on the few objects which had been left unsecured. River swam through them, imagining herself underwater, but that wasn't quite right. She had been underwater, and it wasn't like this. Underwater had resistance and weight, and the constant ache of breath being held. This was light and airy and free. No, not free – that wasn't right either. She was a slave to her momentum. Linear, rotational. Transferring between herself and the floating objects in her path, changed by impulse equals force times time on whatever surface she touched. Vectors of velocity, changed by force equals mass times acceleration. Torque, center of mass, air drag on fabric and hair…

Equations she'd understood since she was a little girl, but she'd never seen them applied as clearly, or as enjoyably, as this. She could draw herself in and spin rapidly, then open her arms and legs in an arabesque and rotate slowly ten meters over the deck.

The joy was so overpowering that the bad voices had no sway over her. She kept just enough of them in her head to know where they were, and she was confident that they wouldn't be bothering her play time for a while. She'd given them plenty to stay busy with upstairs.

She felt the captain passing through the dining room directly above her. He'd had a few things knocked loose in his head; but, confused as he was, it wasn't his way to be careless. He'd do it right. She didn't need to worry about him for a while – she'd done her job and now she just needed to stay out of the way.

Her body continued the game, but moved slower as her attention went elsewhere. She finally opened her mind to the boy laying unconscious in the infirmary; she wanted to see the patterns in the sky above the brightly colored trees, and to meet the woman with the long black hair and brown eyes who sang in a warm, soft voice.

.*. .*. .*.

A boy is sitting at a homemade wooden table, on a little wooden stool.

It is difficult to bring him into focus. River sits down across the table from him, studying his wavering form. Mostly, he looks like a six year old half-Chinese boy, his short black hair freshly washed, his face glowing a healthy pink, and his smiling eyes a startling jade green.

But other images flicker around the little boy. River focuses on them, and realizes that they are older versions of the same person. His hair gets longer as he grows, and his face turns glum. Some of the older boys have bruised cheeks and swollen lips. One that appears only briefly has blood all over his chest and dirty hair hanging over his down-turned face, like a curtain hiding his features.

What is this place? River wonders. And why are you so many people?

The youngest boy, the one with joyful eyes, is looking right through her. He doesn't see her; but, at some level, he must know she's there. His thoughts flow to her and through her. The voice doesn't belong to a six year old, it's a teenager, and he answers her in a rambling, indirect way.

Autumn - Before. The trees're still alive. Gold and yellow and red and orange. The wind makes them swirl. I used to look at em for hours.

River turns around; a door is propped open to let in the soft air. Outside, the trees swirl, just as he said. She walks to the door to look at the sky; it glows deep blue and there are colorful arcs in it: planetary rings, she realizes. It is all very pretty; it makes her happy, too.

She turns back. A Chinese woman has taken the seat across from the boy. She is braiding her silky black hair into one long plait that she wraps around her head and fastens with a silver pin. Then she stands up, kisses the boy's forehead, and goes to the griddle. River walks toward the table, studying the woman. She is pretty, but when she smiles she is beautiful. There is so much love in that smile.

The boy is explaining again.

Dumplings packed full a' apples. No one else's Ma makes the sweet dough like this, just mine. Says she learned it from her own Ma. And today I get bacon. Uncle Bucky sent it from town. He lives there, and sends presents a lot.

Uncle Bucky liked me. He always liked me a lot.

I get all my favorites today cause the harvest is in. Best harvest Ma and Pa ever seen, that's what they say. I know what that means: everythin' else'll be good now too. Ma and Pa'll be happy.

That's what I thought back then, anyhow.

Two shadows wonder into the kitchen. River understands: it is a memory within his memory. The shadows are his Ma and Pa, and they exchange smiles of relief. It happened just minutes ago, before Pa went out the open door into the sunshine.

The boy's Pa is solidly built from hours of labor in the fields, his thick hair lightened and smooth skin darkened by the sun. He is tall and River thinks that if she were older, she would think him handsome.

River feels how the boy worships his Pa. She also understands that Pa's distant manner, the way he doesn't talk very much, just makes him look like more of a hero in the boy's eyes. Pa gives approval only when it's earned; he can do that because he is wise.

Harvest is done, but Pa's goin' out to clear up the fields more. He says never leave the future to the fates. A man has to earn his way, and hardship always finds the lazy ones – but he ain't lazy, not my Pa. He works dawn till dusk, comes home tired and dirty. But he says toil is a blessin', cause the lean-to and the cellar are stuffed full, and we'll be eatin' good this winter.

The shadows of his parents linger in the kitchen. Ma kisses Pa on the cheek and Pa looks startled by it, but he smiles and whistles as he sets out. It is unusual, River realizes, this sharing of happiness between Ma and Pa. Even the six year old boy sees how unnatural it is, and it has stayed in the teenager's memory that way. His parents don't kiss often.

Seeing them smile at each other has made him happier than any tasty breakfast ever could – but the dumplings don't hurt. The shadows fade out and Ma sets a plate in front of the boy. River smiles to see him dig in with unselfconscious gusto. He knows he deserves the treat; he's worked very hard this summer. It's the first time he's been a help rather than a burden to his Pa.

He brags to River:

Everyday, I carried lunch out to Pa and the hands in the fields. When the sun was at her hottest I took water out. Ma let it cool in the cellar and sweetened Pa's bottle with just a little sugar so it'd taste good. Other times, I helped Ma with the garden. Planted the seeds, sang to em while we tended, then picked it all to store away. Plump red tomatoes and shiny green peppers, onions and carrots and taters.

And now it's all done, and this morning of his memory has dawned warm and bright like winter might not ever come.

The boy at the table doesn't waver anymore; the youngest version of him is solid, with none of those pained shadows cutting in. He is working on his second fritter, saving the biggest bits of apple for last.

He has something else to show River, another memory in this memory. It is outside the open door.

Ma's favorite thing – after me, she always said – the apple tree out back. Half again as tall as Pa it is, though Ma says it'd been barely longer than her arm when she first put it in the ground.

Leaves blow off the apple tree, but then it wavers as many younger versions of it show through. Ma sits in the grass underneath it, with her son in her arms. Baby, toddler, six year old boy – all overlap. She points to wavering blossoms/small green apples/big red apples above, and tells her boy the tree's story over and over, as he tells it to River.

Ma held the baby tree in her lap on the crowded ship that brung her through the Black. The other pioneers looked at her all funny when she sang to the twig stickin' out of a wrapped up ball of dirt. They got mad when she gave it her water, but that's cause they didn't understand. Ma brought this tree through the stars, carin' for it until it could reach here, take root, and grow strong. She figured I'd be comin' along, and she wanted to share it with me.

The wind stirs the branches of the tree, and all the different memories of Ma and Jase sing against the murmuring of the leaves.

River turns away from the open door. Ma is sitting across the table from Jase again; she starts singing, and Jase sings along in a clear child's voice. River takes a stool between them and stares at the boy. She wants him to look back at her.

"Hiding here, aren't you?" she asks.

He doesn't respond, just keeps singing.

"It's okay, I won't make you leave. I like it here too."

River feels a warmth like a light shining on her – the equivalent of a gaze, a suspicious stare. When the voice speaks again, it sounds older, and addresses her directly.

You don't belong here.

She feels a push. It makes him uncomfortable that she talked to him, he wasn't expecting that. He wants her to leave.

"I want to be your friend," she says.

I ain't got friends.

"Have me now. I like you."

The older versions of the boy begin to flicker in again, the youngest growing faint inside them.

You don't know who I am.

She makes her voice cheerful. "Show me. I want to know."

No.

"It's okay – "

NO!

He is trying to force her out. But River has some power here, she learned it from the time she'd spent in the captain's dreams. She grips the table, though it isn't real and there is nothing to hold. But it is an analog to resistance, and it helps her fight.

Her fingers make claws, nails digging into the wood, and she stays. She looks at the flickering images of the boy across the table, picking the one that must be the oldest, the teenager with the bloody shoulder and unwashed hair hanging down to his chin. She concentrates, fighting his attempts to slip away, and she makes the oldest him turn solid. He is weakening, and she can let go of the table to reach out and push his dirty, matted hair aside.

The face behind it looks barely human: bruises and cuts and blood, his nose bent sideways from being broken and lips and eyes swollen. River's stomach twists at the sight; she lets go of his hair, and of his image. The happy young boy instantly returns, picking up another dumpling and stuffing it his mouth like nothing happened.

"I'm sorry," she tries to say, but he is pushing her away again, and she can't fight it this time. He hadn't really been trying before, she realizes. He is very strong in his mind, and when he really wants her out, she has no choice but to go.

.*. .*. .*.

River opened her eyes. She had an arm folded around a railing of the catwalk, and wasn't moving. She was grateful to find herself here; if she'd been out in the middle of the bay with very little velocity, she'd be in trouble. The gravity was going to come back on at some point, whenever the captain got around to switching the lever in the engine room, and she'd better be holding something when it did or she'd be one of Kaylee's greasy spots on the deck far below.

She listened for the captain – he wasn't ready to turn on the grav yet; he was still talking to Ray. She could play more if she wanted, but she'd lost heart for her game. She regretted being pushy with Jase. It wasn't right to pry, not with him. He wasn't out to hurt anyone; she shouldn't have dug around in his private thoughts like that.

But now she wanted to know more about him, to understand why he saw himself like he did. She reached out carefully, and could tell that he'd woken up. She couldn't get into his thoughts; his mind was a fortress, and she'd never get back in by force.

Maybe there were other ways – Jase had been hurt lots; River knew about hurt. But she knew about other things too, things that didn't hurt. She could offer those to him.

"Playtime now," she muttered. "I say so."

She made herself return to the game, casting hurt aside and trying to get lost in the fun of flying. She had a feeling that Jase would come play.

.*. .*. .*.

At first, he'd a hard time. He had mixed-up memories of gunfire inside a big dark space, a giant room made of cold, hard metal. A man had been about to kill Ray – Jase had tried to help, but then there was pain, sharp burning pain in his shoulder, and he was down on his back in the dust, staring up at the neck of a spaceship that blocked out the sky.

He had tried to go away inside his mind, but Ginger was there, moving him, making it hurt worse so he couldn't think. Then Ray was mad and hitting someone. Jase's shoulder throbbed and he realized Ray had picked him up.

Then he was in a little room, laying on a narrow bed. A strange man was talking all square. Jase felt a sting in his arm and the pain faded away…. Finally, it got real easy to get away, to visit Ma.

After a bit, he felt that something was different. Something was pushing at him, not letting him run things how he liked. It wanted to know stuff, so he explained. He was happy to at first; he hadn't had a chance to talk about Ma in a long, long time. He explained the things that were good.

But then the Something was talking back to him. It asked about the things that weren't so good, made it hard for him to pretend nothing outside was real. Then it started saying that It was his friend, that It liked him. He should have known better, should have known those were just lies, meant to trick him. But he wanted to believe, so he let the Something get closer.

Suddenly there were two brown eyes, staring right into him, and he couldn't hide anything. He was scared and he shoved the Thing away, as hard as he could. But he couldn't feel safe in his dream anymore, knowing that Something could come find him like that.

Jase opened his eyes, then decided that he had to be dreaming still. He was floating, not touching anything. Well – almost.

There was a sting on the inside of his right elbow that felt real as could be. It took him a bit to focus his eyes in the darkness, but he finally worked out what it was – a needle, attached to a tube, stuck into his skin. He peeled back a strip of white tape and pried the needle out, though using his left arm made his shoulder hurt. The ache was different from before – distant, like it wasn't happening to him, like it was some other person's body telling his how to feel.

Once his elbow was free of the needle, he really wasn't touching anything, which was weird. It wasn't his usual dream, but his head felt funny and light and the ache in his shoulder faded away completely. He liked it, being floaty like this. In his body and on the inside of his head. Floaty and smooth. His thoughts were going around in big floaty smooth circles, circles that wobbled and sometimes veered in crazy directions. He let them go. Wasn't anyone around to yell at him for thinking wrong.

Of course he thought about Ma, but she just passed by again and again without doing much. He thought about Ray, even though he didn't want to. He thought about big brown eyes peeking at him from behind leafy green branches full of apples. He thought about what his own eyes were really seeing, and it didn't make a lick of sense.

There was a big white squarish thing sticking out of a dark background. Jase couldn't guess as to what it was, so he finally stretched his right arm out and found he could touch it. It was soft and padded. It was a bed, a narrow bed with rails on the side, and there were dark stains on one corner of it. It was sitting in the center of a room lined with counters, and he was floating above it, and that was just crazy. Ray would yell at him for thinking something fanciful like that.

Jase's light touch on the bed didn't last long; he found himself moving away from it, drifting up and spinning real slow, so his feet sank toward the bed. And then he was looking at a wall lit with a faint greenish blue glow, and there was a dark window in it. And just then, something went by outside the window, something that glowed like a ghost.

It startled him and he straightened his body, driving the back of his head into the hard ceiling, and then he spiraled down. He tried to grab the foot of the bed, but only managed to push himself away from it and he was lost.

After a time, he bumped into something solid and he clung there until he worked things out. He was holding the hinges of an open door, the only way out of the small room. He found the dark window in the far wall – within a few seconds, the ghost went by again. But it wasn't a ghost, he saw; it was an angel. An angel like Ma used to sing about, graceful and pretty, looking all soft and blue-white.

He turned away from the small room so he could go find her, pushed off the doorway and caught the railing of a few stairs going up to his right. There was another round doorway, and behind it was a big dark space, so dark he couldn't really see anything but the angel. She was far away, going head first toward the floor. Maybe it wasn't the floor; maybe he had it wrong. He let himself rotate so the nearest big flat surface was above his head. That must be the ceiling, he decided. Weird to have a doorway so near the ceiling.

.*. .*. .*.

It wasn't hard to get happy again. River kept her mind to herself, and almost got lost in the bliss of spinning and drifting. But she kept checking with her eyes, glancing over to the hatch until she saw him appear there, and as dove toward the deck she furtively watched him turn upside down so he was oriented the same way she was.

She peeked again a minute later, and he'd come out into the bay, hovering under the platform connecting the aft stairways. It was like he was laying on his belly against the underside of it.

Having an audience made River playful; she shot herself back through the bay, did a flip on the deck, then planted her feet right on the edge of the platform, not half a meter from where Jase's hands held his body in place. She let herself touch his thoughts for just a second, finding that the walls weren't as strong as they'd been and she could get a little way in. He was staring at her face, liking how happy she looked, thinking he'd felt like that once, a long time ago.

River pushed away from the platform, her elation crushed by pity for this person who hadn't known joy in years – but then she had to think about something else, and be quick about it. She hadn't been paying attention to the captain. She was only halfway up to the ceiling when a distant clang from the lever on the artificial gravity system echoed into the bay.

.*. .*. .*.

A sudden harsh, blaring noise splintered the peace and made Jase flinch. A woman's voice began speaking really loud, but he couldn't understand all of it. He just knew it was a warning, and he looked to his angel for help. He could see her through the metal grating he held himself against; she seemed far, far away, just coming in contact with a flat, shadowed surface. She crouched into a deep knee-bend, her face intent, not happy like before. She launched herself powerfully through the air like a dart, her arms stretched in front of her.

She had just grabbed on to a metal rail when Jase felt a giant hand press the front of his body and shove him away from the platform. He flew straight up and crashed onto his back against what he'd thought was the ceiling, then he stuck there, still pressed by the invisible force.

The impact knocked his air out and made his shoulder burn, but he had a long second of clarity, looking through the metal platform to a railing where the angel was hanging with her feet toward him. He saw her swing herself onto a walkway, then his lungs were burning with returning air and sharp pains racked his shoulder as he coughed.

When he was able to see again, she was coming down a stairway from the platform, looking right at him. Then she was standing next to him.

If I ain't dead already, he thought, gotta be my time now. Sorry, Ray.

But he wasn't really sorry. He wanted to go. He wanted to see Ma again.

Bright lights came on, and the angel in the blue gown turned into an ordinary girl with a dirty face, messy dark brown hair, and a light gray tattered dress that hung loose on her bony frame. But her eyes were bright, and he thought that maybe the angel was still there, hiding somewhere inside.

"You've got it all wrong," she said. He winced; she didn't sound like an angel, not at all. Her voice was loud and firm like she was out to lecture him.

"Oh – sorry," she said, not so loud this time, and dropped to her knees beside him. "It's just the way you look. Not at all like what you think." She was touching his face, and her hand felt cool and dry. Her fingers ran lightly over the bruise on the corner of his mouth.

"Simon can give you something to make your lip feel better," she said. "Look better too, no more swelling."

Too many words, he couldn't work out what the dìyù she was talking about. It'd be nice if she'd say something useful, something he could understand.

"Ma here?" he asked.

She looked sad. Her eyes were brown, and he recognized them.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Can't take you to see her." Her hand shifted to his chest, laying lightly over his heart. "But she's in here. Never left."

She said that so nice that he wondered how her eyes had ever scared him. He watched her lift her hand off his chest to look at the blood on her fingers. Then she leaned over him, and suddenly she looked mad. Yeah, he corrected himself, she could be scary.

But she wasn't mad at him. "Simon can do better than that," she said, and she pressed her lips together angrily.

"Simon?"

Her eyes narrowed as she wiped her hand on her dress, leaving streaks of his blood there. "He's supposed to be a doctor. I'll have a talk with him."

"Don't matter," he whispered.

She touched his forehead again, and her voice got softer. "Don't worry. I didn't mean it. He's really the best doctor there is; he'll fix you."

She was nice to say that, even if she was wrong. He liked how she smiled. It was like Ma's smile; it was like she really cared. Made him feel better about dying.

"You're not going to die," she said.

"How do'ya know?

She straightened a little, lifting her chin. "I'm very smart."

He smiled. "Yeah, I bet ya are."

She was pushing his hair back from his face now, from where it stuck in the sweat on his forehead and cheeks. His hair must be really dirty, and he was ashamed to have her touch him, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Stay with me?" he asked. "Just till…" He didn't want to say the rest.

"You don't believe me, do you? That you won't die?"

"Sorry."

"I don't mind. You'll believe me eventually, because I'm right." She was kind'a bratty when she said that, but she took his hand and held it, so he forgave her. "I'll stay," she said. "The trees are nice, and your Ma is very pretty. Will you tell me about her some more? And your Pa?"

Definitely, those were the eyes that had seen into him. But now he knew who they belonged to, and he didn't need to be afraid. He nodded, and she held his hand and stroked his hair until he dreamed again.

.*. .*. .*.

As Jase faded, River heard something above her. She froze, breath held as she looked up into the darkness. It was the woman – Ginger. The clang of her boots on the metal catwalk echoed in the empty space, but she didn't look down, just went directly to Shuttle Two.

River exhaled in relief as soon as the hatch closed. Once over her fright, she listened: the woman was thinking about a mechanic… Kaylee. Going to get Kaylee. That was no good. Playtime was almost over then; it would be time to get back to work soon. River checked with the captain; he was just leaving the engine room, with Ray following him. They were going to the bridge. River let her mind wander ahead of them –

Simon was hurt! She gasped and almost jumped to her feet. Simon was in pain, and the really bad one was with him! She focused and made herself calm down – it wasn't that bad, Simon would be okay. And the captain would be there soon to make sure he didn't get hurt again.

She hesitated a little longer, not sure what to do. She was only one girl, one small, broken girl. She couldn't do anything about armed criminals, except look at the ugliness they had on the inside. She vaguely remembered using a gun once, but she had no idea how she'd done it. It had just… happened.

It'd be best to stay put, she decided. Someone would be coming down before long to check on Jase. But she had a few minutes, at least, and might learn something useful from him.

Deep down, she knew that wasn't why she wanted to stay, not really. But it was a good enough excuse. So she closed her eyes and went looking for his dreams. She'd stay further back this time, so she wouldn't scare him, and not ask any questions.

When she found him, he let her in, showing her things without explaining in words. He didn't need to because his mind was fully open to her. River understood what she saw like they were her own memories, being revealed in short scenes that flashed quickly by.

.*. .*. .*.

It is the afternoon; young Jase finished his apple dumplings hours ago. He and Ma are playing cāi quán. Suddenly, the little house shakes in a blast of wind, and Jase and Ma go running around closing windows and doors against the abrupt arrival of winter. A few minutes later, Pa comes stumbling through the door in a blur of big, fluffy snowflakes. They all laugh at the strange weather, and it makes River smile from the corner where she stands watching. The family feels safe together, in their snug house with all they need stored away.

They have visitors for the holiday dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Meyers and their three nearly grown children are here. The little house seems smaller and warmer with so many people in it, and River likes it. The children aren't playmates for six year old Jase; they call him a baby. But Uncle Bucky is here too, bringing gifts from the city like he always does. He'll be staying for almost two weeks, though he sleeps at the Meyer's. There's room at Jase's house, but Pa and Bucky don't get along. They never fight, but Jase sees how they talk in short, tense words, and never look directly at each other.

It's spring and River lets her toes sink into the rich dirt of the furrowed field. The thaw has come early, warm and bright. Jase is just arriving from the barn; he struggles with his thin arms to get the wheelbarrow full of seed out to Pa. He doesn't spill any, and Pa proudly claps him on the shoulder like he's a full grown man, instead of patting his head like he used to. Jase beams.

The sun is hot; it is midsummer and Jase, just turned seven, is bringing a full water bottle to Pa. Pa grabs it and drinks, then drops it on the ground. He never says thank you. He is mumbling about the crops: How can they be so gorramn sickly?

Jase knows Pa isn't talking to him, so he just takes the empty bottle back to the house.

River climbs the apple tree and watches Ma and Jase gathering ripe apples from the lower branches. Ma is explaining why Pa is grumpy. The crops haven't done well this summer, and with all they have to pay the hired hands there is nothing extra to lay by. But they have enough to get through the winter and do the next spring's planting. Next year everything will be better again.

River shares Jase's relief that the long, quiet winter has finally passed, and spring is here with its warm sun. She crouches in the garden and watches him plant seeds, then looks out to Pa in the fields with the ox and the plow. When she turns back to Jase it is midsummer already, and he is pulling weeds around the little plants. He is turning eight today, and Ma is smiling and singing to the garden, even though it doesn't seem to hear anymore. Nothing is growing like it should.

Jase follows quietly behind Pa, going to the fields. They can't hire any hands this autumn, but he's old enough to work and that helps. He doesn't talk, because Pa gets mad easy these days. Pa yells when Jase says stupid things, which seems to happen a lot. Ma says Pa is just worried about how they'll get through the winter, worried that they won't have enough. But Ma says not to worry, she's sure they'll be fine.

River sits by the house one evening a week later, waiting for Pa and Jase to come back from the fields. The harvest is almost finished. Bucky has just arrived from the city; he comes out the door when he sees Jase approach and picks him up in a big hug. Ma is eager to tell Pa the good news: even in this lean year Bucky has brought them a full side of pork. Pa doesn't look happy, he just asks where his supper is.

It is full dark later that night; Bucky has left. River follows Jase outside. They climb the bare apple tree because the look on Pa's face is scary, and they hide there while Pa shouts at Ma, telling her not to be so damned friendly to his brother. He calls her names, bad words that Jase doesn't understand, but River does: yāo jing, biăo zi. Pa also yells about Jase, calls him húndàn, and he says Bucky will never visit again.

The snow is deep but Pa goes out to visit Mr. Meyer anyway. Ma and Jase stay home as they always do this winter, huddling around the small fire, eating the coarse brown bread that is all they have left. Ma is coughing. She doesn't sing anymore.

The air is warm again but the apple tree is barely blooming. Ma hasn't planted the garden; she says she's too tired. Jase is out before sunrise putting in all the seeds he can before Pa calls him to the fields.

Jase stops by the garden an hour before sunset. It's been three months since he planted, but nothing ever came up. Only a few trees have leaves; the apple tree is bare, the blooms it had in the spring have withered and died. Jase goes inside to make supper. He always does now, since Ma stays in bed. It's midsummer and he is turning nine today, but no one remembers.

Pa doesn't go out harvesting this morning. The autumn fields look bare to Jase, and it doesn't seem that there's much harvesting to do anyway. He figures that Pa's been going out to the fields because he doesn't want to be in the house. But this morning Pa is home, digging a hole under the apple tree to lay Ma in. He isn't letting Jase help.

Jase is making supper. Ma's been in the ground for eight days, and Jase hasn't spoken since. Pa doesn't want to talk anyway; he sits at the table like he has every day since Ma died, staring at nothing.

Jase starts to sing. It's a sad song that Ma used to sing sometimes. Jase thinks it's about Ma's home planet and her family, about how she misses them. He thinks that now it'll be about how he misses her. River knows the song, knows that it's really about a woman pining over her lover. She sits down at the table, right next to Pa, and listens.

Fŏng chuī laí di shā
Chuān guò suŏ yoŭ de jì yì
Sheí doū zhī daò wŏ zaì xiăng nĭ.

Pa never says a word, but he stands up and takes two steps across the room and punches Jase. Then he picks the boy up and punches him again. When Jase hits the floor the second time, he tries to scramble away, to crawl under the table. Pa pulls him out, flips him onto his back and kneels beside him, fist raised. River tries to grab Pa's arm to stop him, but her hands pass right through. She's forgotten that she isn't really here, she can't help.

But the third punch doesn't fall. Pa opens his fist and drops it, then stands up and backs away. He turns, grabs his coat and slams the front door on his way out.

What'd I do wrong? Jase is thinking, over and over, as he sits against the wall and feels blood drip over his chin. He touches his nose – it really hurts, and it's bent a little. River tries to comfort him, but he has forgotten she's there. She understands: he's reliving things he'd done his best to forget, and gotten so deeply buried in his own story that he can't see her anymore.

But now River knows who Pa is; she recognized his rage.

The door slams open and Pa comes back in. It's been three days since he left. For three days Jase has tried to keep house and cook and live like normal; he doesn't know what else to do. Pa pulls his boots off, builds the fire higher and sits down at the table. He doesn't look up at Jase, doesn't look at the black eyes and swollen nose. He just sits where he was before it happened.

After a while, he says that supper should be on the table soon, and he goes to wash up.

River doesn't recognize the yard behind the house. It's spring, but there's no green. The shape of the land looks different now that the grass is gone. Jase is standing by Ma's grave, the dead apple tree beside him. He has a pack on his back because Pa says it's time to leave. Jase is thin; the winter was hard. They had to kill the ox and eat it or they'd have starved.

Jase has learned not to sing when Pa is around, and not to speak in Ma's language. He's learned it's best not to talk at all, unless he has to.

He doesn't cry to be leaving home; his home is dead and gone already. Besides, Pa says that Jase is almost ten, and in times like these a ten year old has to be a man. He has to hold his own or he'll dry up and die just like the trees and the grass. Just like Ma.

Pa comes out of the house. He stands beside Jase, and he says that he isn't Jase's Pa anymore, that now Jase should call him Ray. They are two men doing whatever they need to stay alive in the hard times that have come. But Ray is the boss and Jase better be smart and do as he's told. Jase nods.

River stays behind, standing by Ma's grave and watching the two of them start across the barren field. Ray is still talking, saying that they're lucky to be less than a week's walk from the city. They can make it with what little food they have left, and they'll be able to get work there. Ray says a man can always get by in the city, if he's willing to try hard and live frugal and take the jobs as they come. But it won't be easy.

River sees the set of young Jase's shoulders. She knows that he doesn't mean to let Ray down.

.*. .*. .*.

Jase's eyes opened, and he looked up at River. She touched his forehead again, then ran a finger along the bridge of his nose.

"You're wrong about how you look," she said.

He didn't talk, but she felt his question.

"It's only a tiny bit crooked where it broke. Makes you looked rugged. Very handsome."

He smiled faintly, and his hand tightened a little in hers.

River heard footsteps and voices in the distance, behind the infirmary and getting closer. Gently, she set his hand down before she stood and turned to dash up the stairs.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations
dì yù: hell
cāi quán: a finger-guessing game
yāo jing: alluring woman
biăo zi: whore
húndàn: bastard

Fŏng chuī laí di shā
Chuān guò suŏ yoŭ de jì yì
Sheí doū zhī daò wŏ zaì xiăng nĭ.

The sand that is blown by the wind
Covers happy memories.
Everyone knows that I am missing you.

- from Kū shā (Crying Sand) by Tracy Huang

---

Chapter 12.

Xiaojun set a capture screen on the table in front of Kaylee. It showed a much younger version of the Chinese woman, standing on a wooden deck. Young Xiaojun smiled and waved hello, then proudly gestured at the landscape behind her. It was a green hillside, sloping down to a scattering of trees along a sparkling river. The capture zoomed in on a large, well-ordered garden just beyond the deck, and young Xiaojun's arm entered the image, pointing at various groupings of plants. Her recorded voice described the garden's layout.

Old Xiaojun turned down the volume so it wouldn't interfere. "Should have seen my home Before," she told Kaylee. "So pretty! See here, my garden. Féi wò! Grew all we need for all year. Look, blueberries! Buckets and buckets. This is patio out front of cave home, when we just finish making it. Fēng guāng, hmm? Very pretty land. Little river pass through valley, with many shù mù, tall and make cool shade, bright colors in fall. Field here so green and many wildflowers, chà zĭ yān hóng. Zhenya, my husband that was – see him there? Very handsome! – he cut grass near home, let far field grow wild. He love outside. Die along with all the green. Not meant to live without green. Me, I have toys to fix. Keep me living way too long! Ha! More tea? No? Okay. It was something, Before. Too bad you not see. All different now, biàn. Had to take down patio. Need to hide now. Should not catch eye of strangers. Not all as nice as you…"

Kaylee tried to look like she was interested. She wanted to be polite, at least to make up for Jayne, who was sitting across from them, rolling his eyes, sighing loudly, and fidgeting. But Kaylee's mind kept going elsewhere. She was thinking about the captain, and about Simon and River and Book. She wondered if Zoë and Wash had made any progress; after talking to Ziaojun, they'd gone back outside, saying they needed to discuss their options. Or maybe Wash was just trying to get Zoë to cool down.

"…seem like all nice people go away. A few still here, but not visit so often. Not safe you know, to travel around. No law. No zhì ān. Alliance would bring law, zhí fă, would not let dăi Cartel kill world. Alliance should come fix world."

"You want the Alliance here?" Kaylee asked, startled out of her reverie by words she didn't hear often.

Xiaojun sat up straight, her voice growing louder. "Better than tān lán Cartel. They want money, do not care about any other thing. You wonder why terraform fail here? Hmm? And don't fail where Alliance in control? I know. I figure out. Is because it cost too much to keep going. Cartel decide it is cheaper to let everything die, huài shì. You don't believe me, you should!

"I know Alliance do bad things, but they have laws. And some laws are for good."

.*. .*. .*.

Wash leaned against the hovercraft, trying to stay quiet and not interfere with Zoë's pace-like-a-caged-lioness-and-think time. He could see the rage she barely held in check; he saw it in the way her shoulders were pulled up and forward, her face frozen, her steps measured out. He knew it grated on her to have to hold it back, to keep herself calm so she could think.

There was a decent amount of light for him to watch her by, since the sun still shone on a large portion of the rings. Wash looked up at the sky, suddenly realizing that there never would be total darkness here. The planet's shadow would cover the center part of the rings at midnight, but there would still be the bright sections rising like impossibly tall curved skyscrapers from the eastern and western horizons.

He looked at his wife again. She was still pacing, her eyes on the ground, her mind too busy to waste time on the pretty sky view. That made him feel guilty. There had to be a way he could help. Maybe just talking it out…

"Okay," he said. "Xiaojun has nothing. But we can head back to the city."

"And that helps how?" Zoë snapped. Wash reminded himself that she wasn't snapping at him. Not really. He kept his voice calm.

"Maybe there's a ship we can hire."

"If it were that easy, I'm thinkin' people wouldn't be takin' a bullet to the head tryin' to get at ours."

"So…" Wash pushed away from the mule, scratching his forehead as he thought. "We need to reach Inara."

"You know the comms ain't set to talk to the shuttle."

"Then we contact the Cartel where she's staying."

Zoë stopped pacing and looked at him pointedly. "I never talked to her before she left."

Wash's stomach suddenly felt heavy. "Oh."

Zoë crossed her arms in front of her. "You didn't ask?"

"She always goes her own way. It didn't occur to me… "

Wash stopped when Zoë took a deep breath, but there was no explosion. Maybe she just needed a moment for the oh shit feeling to settle down. He sure did.

Finally, she joined him by the hovercraft, leaning against it. Her shoulders slumped like she was admitting defeat.

"So what do we do?" she asked. "Sit round and drink tea till Inara comes to find us? Hope Serenity left us a trail of breadcrumbs to follow?"

Her questions were answered by an electronic voice.

Whoever's listening: I've got myself a Firefly complete with captain, doctor, and old man. How much do you care if I start killing?

Zoë and Wash shared a frozen look, then Zoë dug into her pocket.

It'll be real slow and painful, and, to be frank, none of them are in the best of shape right now anyway…

Zoë finally got the comm in her hand. "They alive?" she asked.

For now. Would this be the dark-skinned Amazon?

"You ought'a try askin' that to my face."

I mean it as a compliment; I'm all admiration. The man let his chuckle carry over the comm.

"Let me speak to my people."

I don't think you understand the situation, princess. I want your cute little mechanic, with the parts she went to buy, the ones to fix the grav drive. Have her at the site where your ship was parked, thirty minutes.

"Pardon, but I don't think I'll be handin' her over."

Fine. I'll start with the old man, I have no use for a preacher. Have her there in thirty minutes, ready to fix this wú yòng ship, or I'll throw him out the airlock. One piece at a time.

Zoë didn't respond, and the man didn't speak again.

.*. .*. .*.

When she heard Zoë burst into the cavern, Kaylee sat up eagerly, hoping for good news. But Zoë's face didn't look like anything she had to say would be cheery. She pulled out a chair, sat down, and looked at the mechanic glumly. Her manner was enough to startle Xiaojun into silence.

"What?" Kaylee asked hesitantly.

"Someone just called down from the ship."

"That's good, right?" Kaylee glanced over around at Jayne, who was tight-lipped. Not good, then. "Who?" Kaylee asked.

"I don't know." Zoë sighed, then looked Kaylee in the eye. "He wants you up there to fix the grav drive."

"Me? But… how'd they know bout me?"

Zoë glanced at Wash. "We wondered that too. Whoever these people are, they knew we were comin' out here, lookin' for a part for the grav drive. It had to be the kid in the shop this mornin'. Your little buddy set us up."

Kaylee's mouth dropped open, then closed again. "Oh. But… he seemed so nice."

"Nice or not, they want you up there to fix the ship, or they'll start killin'."

"Killin'?"

"They'll start with Book." Zoë's eyes flicked over Jayne when he shifted in his seat. He looked like he was ready to skin someone.

"Shepherd Book?" Kaylee asked. "But he's a preacher!"

"The man said they don't need him."

"But… but Book's okay now? Simon and the cap'n and River, too?"

"The man could'a been lyin', but he said they're alive. Cept he didn't mention River at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jayne asked.

"They may not have found her. The girl has a way of disappearin' when she wants to."

Kaylee took a deep breath, trying to force herself to be calm. "Okay, so I gotta go fix the ship. I can do that. Do it all the time." Her face set in determination and she looked at Zoë. "Tell em I'm comin'. Got the servo right here, see?" Kaylee picked up a small part from the table. "I can go. Right now."

Kaylee started to stand up, but Zoë stopped her. "Hang on, we need to sort some things out. I need to know everything you remember bout that kid."

Kaylee sat back down, holding the servo in her hand while she thought. "Well… but… " She turned to Xiaojun, who was looking at the capture screen with a wistful smile. "Xiaojun, lăo dà mā, you know the boy who told us bout you, right?"

"Boy? Oh, you mean Jase!" Xiaojun's face lit up. "Ahh - such a nice boy. Loves my tea. Used to come visit, sit for hours, so polite. Hé qi tóng. Ask about my toys and help fix. Talk in Chinese too, not a lot do here anymore, you know. Ask about the old days, about Before, when Zhenya still alive and we have shù mù and garden and – "

"Please, lady," Zoë interrupted. "We need to know more about him, bout this Jase."

Kaylee straightened suddenly. "He said somethin' about a 'Ray.' Do you know Ray?"

"Oh. Ray. Oh - mmm." The woman hooked her hands over one knee and rocked back, looking away and continuing to make mm-mmm sounds in the back of her throat.

"You know him?" Kaylee prompted hopefully.

Xiaojun nodded once, then shook her head. "Bad man. Very, very bad man."

"Why… why d'ya say that?"

The woman sat forward again. "This Ray – Ray Whittaker his name, he come get boy once, slam door open and yell and make fuss, like boy not allowed to come here." Xiaojun leaned toward Kaylee and spoke low. "And then – I go by door, listen after he take Jase outside – Ray say how he hate Chinese. Can you believe? Do not want to hear boy speak own language! And hit him, too. Hit him! Chuí!" She took a deep breath and held it for a second with her lips pursed, then she let it out and shook her head sadly. "Jase come back after that, but not so much, not for long. Always nervous, tí xīn diào dăn. Such a nice boy."

Kaylee bit her lip. With a shock she remembered the man she'd seen talking to Jase in the dockyard, the good looking one, wearing all black. He'd smiled all pretty when she greeted him, even though he must have been busy plotting to steal Serenity. He probably sent the boy in to talk to her, to use her to set them all up.

"This Ray," Kaylee asked, "was he kinda tan in the face, dark brown hair, strong lookin'?"

"No, no. You think of someone else. Ray is skin and bones, look all faded, like bad spirits live inside, eat up all the flesh and leave nothing."

Zoë leaned toward Xiaojun. "Do you know anything else about these folks?"

The woman began rocking again, making humming noises as she thought. Then she suddenly sat up straight and looked at Zoë sharply. "Why you want to know? You out to get Jase?"

Kaylee answered before Zoë could. "No! Not at all! They just... they took our ship. Probably this Ray, and… and other folks we don't know. They have our captain and our friends."

Xiaojun swept her doubtful look back and forth between Kaylee and Zoë.

"Really, we ain't lyin'!" Kaylee insisted. "I hafta go fix the grav drive or they'll kill the Shepherd! They'll kill a preacher!"

The old woman relaxed, then leaned over to pat Kaylee's knee. "Need minute to think. Not so quick to remember as I was long time ago." She tapped her own head with a fingertip and smiled. "Hūn ăo."

Xiaojun gathered the tea cups and set them in her little kitchen, then wondered off into her mammoth workshop, humming tunelessly.

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë pulled her timepiece out of her pocket and checked it, squinting in the dim light of the cavern.

"I'm givin' her one more minute, then we gotta go," she told Kaylee. "I ain't riskin' that the man's clock runs fast. The Shepherd ain't gonna die on account of us bein' a little late."

"Don't see why we're waitin' at all," Jayne said. "Ain't nothin' else to be had here but a lotta hot air."

"He does have a point," Wash said.

Zoë looked to Xiaojun, who was sorting through a box in her workshop. "All right," Zoë decided, "let's go."

They all stood up, but Xiaojun came running out and caught up with them at the door. "Wait wait! I help, bāng zhù, see?" The old woman held up a small metal disk.

"This for you," she told Kaylee. "Put inside shoe, no one see you have it. When you need, get out and flip switch on edge here. Need one minute for charge up. Then hold in hand like this, touch blue strip to bad person, and Zap! Out like light. Dŏng ma?"

Zoë gave an impressed tilt of her head and Kaylee started reaching for the disk, but Xiaojun pulled it back.

"You use on dăi man, on Ray, not Jase, okay?"

"Okay," Kaylee replied with a nod, and Xiaojun handed the disk over. Then the woman turned to Zoë.

"Big strong woman, they will not let you go to ship, will they?"

"No, they won't."

"Here's what you do. Go to town, I draw map here, see? Is Cartel compound. Guard at gate, but all are lazy and greedy these days. Give a little money, măi tōng, you will get by. Go see man inside – he will help get ship back. His name Bucky. Can you remember? Bucky."

Zoë studied the map, then looked at the woman doubtfully. "Bucky? Are you serious?"

"Is his name! Tell all about Ray and Jase, okay? You tell him that, tell him I send you. Bucky will help. You must do this. You must go."

Zoë took the map and thanked the woman, though she didn't agree or disagree with the 'must' part. Kaylee gave Xiaojun a hug and a warmer thank you before they left.

"You be careful! Zĭ xì!" Xiaojun called after them. "Bad, bad people on this world! Very sneaky!"

.*. .*. .*.

The night air had a chill when they returned to the valley. Zoë checked her pocket watch again, then there was nothing to be done but wait.

A few minutes later a shuttle settled out of the sky, landing a good fifty meters from them. The hatch opened, though no one was visible inside and no one came out. Kaylee reluctantly left the hovercraft. She looked small against the dark, empty landscape as she crossed the space alone.

"I ain't likin' this," Jayne said in a growl, gripping his gun tight and glowering at the shuttle.

"No one is, Jayne," Zoë replied. "We got no choice." She glanced at Wash, who put a comforting hand on her arm.

Kaylee looked back at them one more time before she stepped through the hatch. It closed behind her, and the remaining three watched silently as the shuttle powered off the ground and disappeared into the night.

"All right," Zoe said with a heavy sigh. "Let's go see bout this Bucky fella."

.*. .*. .*.

When Mal finally activated the ship's internal gravity, he was watching Ray out of the corner of his eye. He had hoped to catch the húndàn unaware and give him a few bruises. Unfortunately for that plan, an automatic delay had been programmed into the system. An alarm sounded and a recorded voice warned about the imminent return of verticality. Ray was able to get his feet under him in time.

The grav kicked in, and crashes echoed throughout the ship as the few things not tied down returned to the deck.

"Guess I just know my girl!" Mal said as he climbed to his feet. "You'll want to be careful, though – could go out again anytime."

Ray appeared to take that as a threat. He tensed. "Then you'll just have to fix it again."

"Only if you ask real nice." Mal smiled sweetly.

For a few seconds, Mal thought he had gone too far and was about to get shot, but then Ray shook his head and leaned back against the side of the hatch. He looked hard at the captain.

"What?" Mal asked, all innocence.

"I'm just wonderin' how you can be so sure I won't start breakin' bones. Startin' with the ones you don't need so much, and movin' on from there."

Mal outdid Ray's casual pose, leaning against the end of the engine with his elbow set on the lever that protruded from it. He knew his attitude had passed out-of-hand long ago, but despite River's message and the continuing ache of his beat-up face, he just couldn't make himself take this whole thing seriously. Āi yā, he'd been jumping at his own gorram shadow for more than a week, and now that he finally had himself some real mortal danger, he couldn't seem to care.

"Ray, I guess I seen enough that I can't worry over it anymore," he said. "You do whatever you need to do. I won't cower in front of you. You ain't worth it."

Ray's response wasn't what Mal expected. The man gave Mal a look like he understood, like he maybe agreed, then he took a step back and motioned with the gun for Mal to proceed him down the corridor.

The only person on the bridge when Mal and Ray returned was Will, sitting in the pilot's seat, hands sliding over the controls as if he were reviewing what he knew. He heard them enter and turned around, and Mal saw his swollen nose, blood on his upper lip and chin, and bruises forming under both eyes.

"I like it, Willy," Mal said, waving a finger toward his own nose to make his meaning clear. "It's a good look for you."

Will glowered but didn't take the bait.

"Where's Ginger and the doc?" Ray asked from behind Mal.

"Ginger's running a little errand. Doc, well, he got stupid."

Ray pushed Mal to the front of the bridge so he could keep an eye on him while he swore at Will, "Gorammit, if you killed him, you won't be breathin' long yourself."

"Relax, he's fine. He just took a bit of a fall when the grav came on." He motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. Mal realized there was labored breathing coming from the far side of the console. He cast a dark look at Will, then slipped into the narrow space in the nose of the ship.

Simon was laying on the deck, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around his middle. Mal knelt beside him

"Simon, you all right?" he asked softly.

"Just bruises… possibly a cracked rib or two," Simon replied in a forced voice. "I managed to throw up that way, though," he waved toward the front of the small space. "I don't think I got it all over me."

Mal smiled. "Knowin' how to puke properly is one of the first lessons of zero G, Doc. Congrats, you're a natural."

Simon started to laugh at that, then clutched his torso tighter at the pain.

"If it's any comfort, you broke his nose."

"Did I?"

"Yeah, he looks almost as good as me."

Simon lifted his head and focused on Mal's bruised face. "Oh. I'm sorry… I should have done something about that, could have helped the bruising – "

"Come on, Doc, stay with me. You ain't had much chance of that, remember?"

Simon dropped his head, then nodded. "Right."

"Can ya move?"

"There's only one way to find out."

Mal helped Simon up and led him to the co-pilot's chair. Ray was watching them, and not looking pleased with the doctor's condition.

"Will, can I leave you alone with anyone without you makin' em useless to me?" Ray asked.

"Do you see my face?" Will snapped. "He attacked me. It was self-defense."

"Mal," Simon said softly, "she went to get Kaylee."

Mal felt his stomach drop. "What are you talkin' about?"

"That woman, Ginger. They talked to Zoë about Kaylee fixing the ship, and Ginger took the shuttle down to get her."

Mal turned on Will, who was now standing next to Ray behind the pilot's seat. "You don't need a mechanic. I fixed it!"

Will grinned, happy to confirm Simon's news. Or maybe happy about Mal's response to it. "Too late now, she's on her way. And once we have her, I'm thinking that we won't have much use for you anymore." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Although – it is possible I'll find more than one use for her."

Without a thought as to whether it was a good idea, Mal took a long step across the bridge and tackled Will, slamming him into the lockers before they both tumbled to the deck. Mal kept Will pinned down and repeatedly drove his right fist into the man's side, not stopping until a hand slid under his chin to pull his head back, and the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

Mal wasn't so far gone as to miss the message. He held his hands out to the side, palms forward, to show that he was in control. But it took a few deep breaths before he recalled the details of the situation. It wasn't exactly funny, but he laughed at it anyway.

"Go on and have a seat," Ray ordered, giving Mal a hard shove toward the pilot's seat.

Mal laughed again as he pulled himself into the chair, short and forced and with a edge of not right to it that even he could hear. No, there was definitely nothing funny about this.

He heard Ray telling Simon, "Find somethin' to tie him up with, fore I lose my temper and shoot him."

Simon stammered in reply, "I… I don't know…"

"Just do what I say!" Ray snapped. "Gorramit, why does everythin' on this ship gotta be so damn complicated!"

Mal nearly doubled over in the chair; he couldn't make the laughing stop. "I feel for you, Ray," he managed to say. "Really, I know exactly how you feel."

Apparently, that was all Ray could take. He took a step toward Mal and put the gun right up to his head again, then he looked at Simon. "If he ain't tied up in one minute, I will blow his brains all over this crappy ship and let the job be damned."

The force of the gun made Mal's head tilt to the side, and suddenly he didn't feel like laughing anymore. Suddenly he wanted to crawl into his bunk and sleep. Sleep for a very long time. He watched Simon push himself to his feet and look around the bridge in confusion.

"Third locker, Doc," Mal said in a quiet voice. "There's some cargo rope in there."

Simon looked at Mal and nodded. He had to step over Will to get into the lockers; the man was still laying in front of them in a pose similar to the one Mal had found Simon in.

Mal took a deep breath, but it wasn't enough. Reality was catching up, and it was a bitch. These bastards had walked onto his ship and started beating his people. Started beating him. If River hadn't kept herself clear of it and worked her distractions, he'd most like be dead by now. And they were bringing Kaylee into it. It was real, and he couldn't stop it. Here on the bridge of his own gorram ship, he couldn't do a thing.

But there was something in Ray, something he might be able to reach. Mal looked up the gun barrel, found the man watching him.

"Ray," he said, "you need to know that if any hurt is done to my mechanic, I'll be feelin' a lot like you did bout that boy." He paused until he saw understanding in Ray's eyes. "None a' yours better lay a hand on her less you mean to kill me, or die yourself. Dŏng ma?"

Mal waited for a reaction that didn't come, but he held Ray's stare while Simon bound him to the chair.

.*. .*. .*.

Ray pulled Will through the hatch just outside the bridge. Will was holding his left side, not recovered enough to be properly mad, but it was coming on quick. Ray saw it, and he pushed Will back against the bulkhead.

Will winced in pain. "Ow! What the dì yù– "

"Shut up and listen," Ray snapped, keeping his voice low enough not to carry into the bridge. "You have got to get it in control."

"I'll be in control, right after I rip his damn head off!"

Ray shoved him against the wall again, this time grabbing his shirt to hold him there. "Do I have to beat sense into you? You ain't here to kill, and you sure as hell ain't here to mess with some girl. You're here to fly this thing. That's the only reason I brought you into this, and you screwed it up. Now, I need that captain or we'll be stuck on this world, with no transport to the Core and no payday. You so much as touch him, or any of them, and we will have a problem tween us. You got it?"

Will was opening his mouth to answer when Ginger's voice sounded over the comm.

Will, you there? I got the girl, comin' in to dock.

Ray didn't look into the bridge; he wanted to sort this out before moving on.

"You're gonna stay up here," he told Will. "Sit tight – watch over the captain but do not touch him, while the girl fixes the engine and the doc fixes Jase. You're gonna stay cool, you hear me?"

Will's face screwed up in a grimace, but somehow it shifted into a smile.

"Not a problem, Ray. Cool as can be. Don't you worry about a thing. Just take care of your boy."

Ray let Will go. He looked at the man's smile with distrust, but there wasn't anything else he could do. It briefly occurred to him that he could send Will with the doc and stay on the bridge himself, but he dismissed that idea without further thought.

"Boy ain't mine," he muttered as he turned back to the bridge.

The captain was tied up now, facing out the front of the ship. The doctor stood nearby, still looking pained. Ray stubbornly found the comm himself, instead of asking the doc for instruction. He replied to Ginger in a tired voice.

"Come on in, and get the girl straight to the engine room. I want this thing fixed so we can get on with it."

Ray took Simon's arm and gave him a push toward the hatch. "You got a job to finish, Doc." He didn't say a word to Will on the way out.

.*. .*. .*.

Mal ignored the discussion going on behind him, and didn't look up when Ray stood beside him to use the comm. He just stared out at the half-shadowed planetary rings and the Black beyond until the echoes of Simon and Ray's departure faded.

He was trying to make himself breathe deep and slow, but his lungs didn't seem to be holding enough air. It wasn't the ropes; Simon hadn't tied them tight. Mal could have easily worked himself free if he was alone, but he wasn't. He could hear the small sounds of Will standing in the hatch behind him. Probably watching. Definitely planning.

No, it sure as hell wasn't the ropes. The pressure was coming from inside his chest, pouring up out of some deep place like a ruttin' O2 tank that sprung a leak. Worry, ill-ease, the feeling of a hard blow about to land any second now – it was back, and worse than it'd been before all this crap went down. Something was bad, everything was bad, and he couldn't do a thing about it. Couldn't control what was happening on his ship, couldn't make his breathing slow down, couldn't get away from this fear that gnawed at him from the inside.

Zhòu mà, he wished that feeling of distance would come back. Now was the time for a healthy bout of denial, not a fēng zi panic attack.

He almost smiled at that, but then he heard a few quiet steps behind him, approaching. The ropes begin to tighten. Will passed around the front of the chair, checking the knots, and he looked at Mal with his mouth stretched in an eager toothy smile, like he knew a secret that he couldn't wait to tell.

Mal didn't ask. He thought he might be sidling up to some kind of edge inside himself, and trading smart-ass insults with this sadistic bastard was like to push him over. He returned to staring out at the Black.

Will finished with the bindings. He stood still behind the chair for a moment, quietly busy at something. Mal caught just a glimpse of a rolled up bandana as it came down in front of his face, then it was pulled hard between his teeth and knotted behind his head. It tasted like dust and sweat, then it started tasting like the bile that was rising in his throat.

Will sat down in the co-pilot's seat, and Mal didn't need to look to know that the man was still grinning, enjoying his game. The silence stretched, and the pressure inside Mal slowly increased. He had to struggle to pull short, shallow breaths around the gag; the lack of oxygen was making his head spin, and the colorful rings outside the windows began to blur.

Finally, Will stood up and walked over to half-sit on the console in front of Mal, smiling like it was his damn birthday. After a bit, he leaned forward and spoke in a whisper.

"Hey, Mal. I have an idea…"

He paused a bit, letting Mal imagine what the idea might be. Mal clenched his fists at his sides to control his response. He was beginning to see dark spots, blotches in his vision. The gag had sucked all of the moisture out of his mouth and he couldn't swallow. He was barely hanging on, and Will had to know it. The man didn't wait much longer before he drew a knife out of his belt and thumbed the edge of the blade. He glanced up to make sure that Mal was looking at the knife.

"No," he said with a smile. "This isn't my idea. But I like how you think."

He leaned to his side, and through a cloud of black blooms Mal saw him set the blade against a cord running to a lamp on the console, then he yanked up on the cord to slice it loose.

Will jumped to his feet with a cry of pain and dropped both knife and cord. The live current had carried through the blade and handle into his hand.

"Nĭ tā mā de tiānxià suŏyoŭ de rén doū!" he swore in a tight voice, shaking his stung hand briskly.

Mal should have thought that was funny.

He didn't.

When Will turned back and saw Mal watching him, the grimace on his face turned into a gleeful smile.

"Whoo-ie," he hooted, playing the cowboy for his audience. "That smarts! I tell ya – this is gonna be a bucket a'fun!"

Okay, so that's what it is, Mal thought. It should have calmed him to know. He'd been through this before, and he'd gotten by with a smile on his face. Well, something like a smile. So how come if he wasn't tied to this chair he'd be on the floor right now, curled up and wailing like a baby with a lost binky? What the hell had happened to his nerve?

Will, still cackling, bent down to pick up the cut cord. Mal closed his eyes, trying to get away from this suffocating dread. Then something came into Mal's darkness that had no business being there. Not in the place this bridge had become. Inara's voice.

At first, all Mal could hear was the comfort in it, the warmth and light of Inara Serra. As much as the gorram woman could vex him, hearing her now was like seeing a lifeline hanging at his fingertips, and he wanted like hell to grab hold. But her voice was gone quickly. He realized that it'd come from outside his head, and that she had spoken words. He had to replay it in his mind to work it out.

Serenity, this is Shuttle One.

Mal's breath caught and his eyes flew open. Her voice – she sounded tired, shaken. Then she was speaking again and he could listen more carefully.

Serenity? Do you read? My appointment was… cut short. I'm on my way in to dock.

The words were ordinary, but she sounded done in, near tears. There was a long pause, and when she spoke again, there was a hint of accusation in her voice.

Mal? Is that you?

Mal remembered that Will was watching and looked up. The húndàn's smile was bigger than ever, and Mal knew that his fear was showing in his face. He couldn't put it away. He couldn't put this kĕ pà feeling away.

Will sat back on the console again. "Mal?" he asked brightly. "First name? No 'Captain, Sir?'"

Of course it's you. It's the middle of the night – you took over the helm for Wash.

Her voice was turning angry, but the words ended with a faint sniff. Mal heard it clearly now: Inara Serra was crying into a silent comm, like she was unhinged. Like she was carrying the same kind of weight that was crushing him. What the hell had happened…

"Why, this must be your woman!" Will said cheerfully. "She sure sounds nice."

You're sitting there, listening, aren't you? I know the comm is live. I know you're there.

She thought that he'd really do this to her, ignore her when she was so upset. Hell, she wasn't far wrong. There'd been plenty of times he'd been just such a bastard to her.

Damnit Mal! I… I'm very tired. I'm not going to play these games with you. Just let me know you're there.

"I do believe I have a new idea," Will said.

Mal couldn't hold his head up, and began to hunch over himself. He saw the severed cord fall to the deck at his feet.

You must be loving this. Fine. It didn't work out, all right? I'm not leaving. You were right.

Mal could barely breathe. He knew Will was watching him wither; he knew the man liked it.

"Not leaving?" Will snickered. "That's sweet. Is she sweet, Mal?"

Gods, are you there?

Will leaned forward to stick his swollen, bloody nose in Mal's face. His voice lowered to a whisper again. "Is she hot? Fun to play with?"

Could you just acknowledge me?

Inara's voice broke; it was a plea, not an order.

Will leaned closer, his cheek almost touching Mal's, and he whispered in Mal's ear so softly that it was barely audible. "Do you think she'll scream?"

Fine.

Her voice was firm again, but harsh. Forced.

I'll be docking in ten minutes. Don't bother me. Ever.

Will picked up his knife from the console and put it back in the leather sheath on his belt. "I'll let you know how it goes," he said, and he patted Mal's shoulder on the way out.

A few seconds later, Will came back and picked up the cut electrical cord.

"Aw, hell," he said, "I have ten minutes."

.*. .*. .*.

Translations
féi wò: fertile
fēng guāng: natural scenic view
shù mù: trees
chà zĭ yān hóng: brilliant purples and reds
biàn: to change
zhì ān: public security
zhí fă: law enforcement
dăi: evil
tān lán: greedy
huài shì: to ruin something; to spoil
wú yòng: worthless
lăo dà mā: Madam (affectionate term for an elderly woman)
hé qi tóng: polite, friendly boy
chuí: beat with the fist
tí xīn diào dăn: to be very scared and on edge
hūn ăo: forgetful old woman
bāng zhù: assistance
dŏng ma: understand?
măi tōng: to bribe
zĭ xì: careful; cautious
hún dàn: bastard
āi yā: damn
dì yù: hell
zhòu mà: damn
fēng zi: lunatic
nĭ tā mā de tiānxià suŏyoŭ de rén doū: Fuck everyone in the universe to death
kĕ pà: horrible