Hello. Iverik here. Just a reminder: This story uses characters created by someone other than me.
Facing the Black
An elderly man turned as Mal entered. He smiled. "Ah, Captain Reynolds. I am so glad that you made it here..." he hesitated, seeing Mal's uniform. Mal's smile tightened.
"Only way to get into a gorram warzone. You picked a dandy location," he observed.
"Ah, well, I can't predict everything. You have a ship?"
"Two. An Alliance gunship to get us out of the warzone, and my firefly to get us over to Circe, and then..."
"And then I will turn my research over the Circe Protective Union, and they will be very grateful. You would even get a permit to work around Circe. Abundant work, mostly legal, with little Alliance presence and no reavers. Not to mention a finder's fee for you and your crew."
"Good. I've had to do things I'll have nightmares about to get here," Mal said, "sooner we're in the black the better." He tossed his dog tag on the floor.
"Let's get started. My research is mostly stored as computer files, but there are a few essential samples..."
Wash grimaced as he approached the landing zone. Zoe had thoughtfully put out a welcome mat, breaking the laboratory's cover. He touched down. Mal, Zoe, and Professor Bi'ence were more than ready to leave. As soon as he had landed, the door was open and the cargo was being loaded.
"Where's Jayne?" Mal demanded.
"He's not coming," Wash sighed.
"Not coming?" Zoe stared.
"He left a message..."
"Gorram it!" Mal roared.
"He only informed me after it was too late," Wash said defensively.
"He's made his choice," Zoe said.
None of this improved Mal's temper.
The professor nodded as he got in. "The samples are ready for space travel," he informed Mal. The door slid shut, and Wash revved up the engine for takeoff.
"Get your suit on," Mal warned, "we could lose atmo in a bit."
Lieutenant Philio gasped for breath. Smoke filled his small ship. The gunboats had been defeated, but their missiles had crippled the Alliance warship. In a few minutes, the atmosphere would be choked. Desperately, he clawed his way to the wave, trying to send a message. Instead, he blacked out.
The battlespace was quieter than it had been. Alliance reinforcements had arrived undetected, and the autodemarch cruisers had fallen back to regroup. There were, however, a lot of harassing gunships.
His face wiped of all emotion but concentration, Wash fired all of his missiles. A string of gunships erupted into flames. He keyed his radio. "This is Whiskey Charlie Six. Missile stock depleted. Heading back to the barn to reload."
"Whiskey Charlie Six, you are on multi-frequencies..."
"Egad!" Wash made the ridiculous word feel spontaneous, even though he'd been planning it for a week. "There's a gunship! It's on my tail!"
"Lose him, Whiskey Charlie Six. Yankee Zebra Five will be with you in less than two minutes."
"I don't have that long!" Wash sounded terrified; he looked bored.
"Whiskey Charlie..."
"Going to full burn!"
"No!"
Wash slammed his ship beyond the safety limits. His passengers held on. Behind him, a very real enemy gunship gave chase.