Chapter Two
"So, what did ya think?" Kaylee asked the others. She was curled up on a chair in the common area beside the galley.
"About what, dear?" asked Zoe, not looking up from the handgun that was lying in pieces on the table in front of her.
"Of Wade, o' course!" said Kaylee.
"She means Captain Hatton," Simon explained, eyes fixed on his book but his attention clearly elsewhere.
"He's a fine lookin' man," Zoe conceded.
"I know, isn't he swai?" said Kaylee enthusiastically, "Ah! Those thighs!"
"He has got a nice pair of legs on him," said Zoe, pausing for a moment of reflection.
"Why thank you. Glad you noticed," said Mal as he entered, heading towards the galley.
"Not you: Wade!" said Kaylee, grinning mischievously at him. Mal made a noncommittal grunt.
"Why ain't you wearin' your gun?" he asked her as he crossed over to the common area, a mug of imitation coffee steaming in his hand.
"It gets in the way," said Kaylee, pouting like a child being forced into uncomfortable formal wear.
"Deal with it," said Mal, "It's for your protection, mei-mei."
Kaylee made a face as she stood up and headed aft to retrieve her holster from the engine room. Mal had given one to every member of the crew, in case they were suddenly boarded. The only exception was River. It had been agreed that she was potentially more dangerous with one handgun than a whole ship full of Reavers.
This was not the only security measure that Mal had insisted on. Zoe and Jayne had stripped and reassembled every firearm aboard, from Vera down to the smallest handgun. The hold had been rearranged to clear a killing space between the airlock and a barricade of containers at the far end. Boxes of ammunition and hand grenades had been piled up there, ready for use.
Life aboard Serenity was often claustrophobic, especially on deep space flights, but now it reached new heights of tension. No one seemed able to settle to any one task. Sometimes they would lose whole hours just sitting; waiting in anticipation for something that never happened. Everyone avoided sitting near a window if they could help it. It was too easy to imagine that they could see the outline of a spaceship in the shifting clouds of the nebula.
The worst chore aboard was to act as lookout in the cockpit. The convoy of ships was flying among mountains of burnished gold, slashed through with rainbow colours. They wound through the deep valleys, always dwarfed by the encircling clouds. It should have been a pleasant experience, with little to do but sit and admire their beauty, but every corner turned threatened to reveal a Reaver ship bearing down on them.
They had not seen Hatton, or any of his crew, since the inspection three days ago. The only sign of their presence was their ugly, battle-scarred ship making its regular sweeps up and down the convoy. Its appearance gave little comfort. The whole nebula seemed to be a hostile presence, threatening to overwhelm the little Hunter ship at will.
"So… what do you think of Hatton?" Simon asked Mal.
"I don't like him," said Mal.
"There's a surprise," said Zoe wryly.
"Something about him bothers me, is all," Mal muttered.
"River didn't like him," said Simon pointedly, "And if she is a Reader…"
"Honey, much as we all love her, you've got to admit that she ain't the most stable in the brainpan," said Zoe, "I've seen her take a dislike to a light fitting before now."
Simon was about to offer a reply when Wash burst in, shouting:
"Mal, it's red!"
Mal and Zoe were on their feet in an instant.
"Alright people, you know the drill!" Mal barked as he turned to follow Wash into the cockpit.
The radiation unique to the Dark Woods nebula prevented conventional ship-to-ship communication, forcing the convoy to rely on more primitive methods. A light had been attached to the belly of the Hunters' ship. If it was blue it meant that there was no danger. Red meant that a Reaver had been spotted. Mal reached the bridge in time to see the Hunters' ship heading down the length of the convoy, a red light glimmering beneath her.
"Direction?" Mal asked, eyes already scanning the surrounding clouds.
"No idea," said Wash, taking the helm, "Could be coming at us from anywhere."
Throughout Serenity the rest of the crew rushed to take their places. Mal had insisted on them rehearsing the procedure three times a day, every day since entering the Woods, so there was little confusion. Zoe, Jayne and Book were emptying the armoury and carrying all the firearms down to the hold. Kaylee took her station in the engine room while Simon prepared the surgery for casualties. Inara was tasked with watching over River in the common area.
The convoy was reforming as agreed prior to leaving Nova Point. The long, exposed line of flight contracted into a ring, with each ship watching a different angle of approach. The Hunters flew free of the formation, circling the convoy like a defensive mother bird.
In Serenity's cockpit Mal was craning his neck round to try and see out of the corner of the front window. The golden clouds continued to shift but no ship materialised in the mist. The Hunters circled the convoy. If they had spotted a Reaver they were not moving to engage it.
Seconds later Mal had spotted it. It was coming down out of a patch of cloud that seconds ago he would have sworn was empty. It was high above the convoy, diving at them from behind on the port side. There was only one vessel: an old mining ship built to ferry ore from deep space asteroids back to smelting stations. It looked like a flying box with two stubby wings attached to the sides. Even from a distance Mal could see the jagged lumps of scrap bolted to the prow, torn from the carcasses of captured ships.
Mal and Wash shared a glance. They both knew how helpless they were. If the Hunters were destroyed then the convoy was lost. Even if the Hunters managed to stop that ship, more Reavers could lie in wait. They were three days into the Woods, with four days flight ahead. Turning back now was just as risky as pressing on. Everything depended on the Hunters.
With the Reaver ship now in plain view the Hunters at last changed course to intercept. They placed themselves directly in the Reavers' flight path. Mal was reminded of the games of 'chicken' the workers on his mother's ranch used to play. Two workers, each riding a quad bike, drove towards one another at top speed. The first one to swerve lost. Mal doubted that the Reavers would swerve.
"Why don't they fire?" Wash wondered as the gap between the two ships narrowed. Mal could not answer him. The Hunters were drawing closer and closer to the Reavers but their guns remained silent.
For a second Mal thought that the Hunters intended to ram the Reavers. He held his breath, bracing himself for the collision he would not feel. There was a confused moment when the two ships seemed to merge into one and then they were flying on, the Hunters now in the Reavers' wake.
"Shun-sheng duh gao-wahn, that's some pilot!" Wash gasped. Mal agreed; the Hunters must have rolled aside at the last possible moment to avoid a collision.
Mal saw little bursts of light sparkling at the stern of the Hunters' ship: they were at last firing, from concealed gun ports. Mal's fists were clenched at his side as he watched and waited, hoping that the Reavers would take the bait and turn to follow the Hunters away from the convoy.
The Reavers began to come about, albeit slowly; the mining ship was not being designed for dog fighting. The Hunters held back, sprinkling them with gunfire. Flames burst from the Reavers' stern as they fired their thrusters, bounding after the Hunters. The Hunters' speed increased in turn as they raced ahead, guns still firing. Suddenly they turned to starboard and vanished into the clouds. The Reavers followed. Mal craned forward, nose almost pressed against the window as he tried to follow the two dim shapes, hidden as if behind a golden gauze. There were flashes of bright light, perhaps from explosives but Mal could not tell.
The minutes dragged past. The shapes grew dimmer. Mal was aware of the blood pumping through his temples, bringing a hot flush to his forehead. A dark shape was coming into focus, a little way from where the two ships had entered the clouds.
The Hunters' ship reappeared. Mal waited, expecting the Reavers to follow, but the seconds passed and there was no sign of another ship. The Hunters had won.
All the breath seemed to rush out of Mal's body at once. Behind him, Wash was lying back in his chair, eyes closed, arms swinging loose beside him.
"I'll go let the others know," Mal murmured, heading aft. And then I'm going to have a stiff drink or three, he added silently.
Mal paused in the doorway. Images of the chase pursued each other through his mind's eye; details that he had missed in the heat of the moment were now thrown into focus.
"Did you…?" he said to Wash then paused, shaking his head.
"Captain?" said Wash as Mal crossed back over to the window. Mal stared up at the Hunters' ship. His suspicions grew stronger.
"Son of a bitch…" he snarled.
"Mal? What is it?" Wash asked.
"I don't know," Mal answered truthfully, "Just a hunch. I'm taking a shuttle."
"What? Where're you going?!"
"To talk to Hatton. Tell Zoe that she's not to come after me: she's to watch out for the others. And she's not to let any of the Hunters aboard under any circumstances, understand?"
"But…"
"I'll be back as soon as I can. I just goin' to have a friendly word is all."
The airlock doors hissed open and Mal stepped aboard the Hunters' ship. The interior matched the exterior: dark and unlovely. The walls and doors were unadorned, gunmetal grey. He had docked on an upper deck near the stern. Looking ahead he could see two of the ship's guns, surrounded by a clutter of spare parts and storage containers. Crewmen lounged nearby, glaring suspiciously at him. Two large Hunters barred his way, broad arms crossed across their even broader chests.
A door slid open and Hatton appeared, followed by another four Hunters.
"Captain Reynolds, what a pleasant surprise!" he said jovially but Mal did not miss the flicker of panic in his eyes.
"Just thought I'd stop by," Mal said, sidestepping the Hunters barring his way, "I had to congratulate you on the way you handled that Reaver."
"Why, captain, I'm flattered," replied Hatton, "but I'm afraid I must ask you to return at another time. We're still at action stations you see and…"
"Yes, I can see you're cleared for action," said Mal, prodding the jumble surrounding the nearby gun.
"You keep your equipment in excellent condition," he continued, examining the gun more closely. A thin film of dust lay over the controls.
"Captain Reynolds, I really must insist…" said Hatton raising his voice.
"There's one thing that puzzles me though," said Mal, turning sharply to face Hatton. He knew what he was doing was foolish but he could not resist the opportunity to watch the self-satisfied smile fall from Hatton's face.
"Y'see I know a thing or two about Reavers myself," he continued, "Like how they like to fit grapplers on their ships. I wondered how you managed to slip by them, seeing how you got so close and all?"
"This ship didn't have any," said Hatton, voice dropping dangerously low. Mal was aware of the other Hunters shifting uncomfortably around him.
"That's as may be," Mal continued blithely, "but I'm surprised that they chose to follow you after you got past them. Reavers are savage but they ain't stupid. No reason for them to follow you with the rest of us sitting there like ducks in a shootin' gallery."
"They were Reavers, captain," said Hatton with great deliberation, "Monsters. There's no rhyme or reason to 'em."
"But they do say there's method to madness."
It was evident to Mal that he was taking the conversation in a direction that Hatton was determined not to follow. Part of him felt elated at having come so near to the truth but this was tempered by the realisation of the true danger he had placed himself in. He was wearing his pistol but Hatton had a whole ship of men at his back.
"I think it's time that you were leaving, Captain Reynolds," said Hatton as his crewmen began to close in around Mal, hands held loose by their weapons.
"And then there're your guns," said Mal, continuing as if Hatton had not spoken, "I didn't see any burns on 'em after you came out of that cloud: looked like they hadn't been fired at all."
"You're an observant man, Captain Reynolds," said Hatton, "Unusually so; a credit to your trade. It would be a shame if you were to suffer an accident."
"My crew know everything I know," said Mal, bluffing easily.
"Accidents happen all the time in these Woods. Whole ships go missing."
"I bet they do."
Mal's hand had dropped to his pistol without his being conscious of it. The Hunters were now openly laying hands on their weapons. Mal's gaze swept the deck, wondering if he could reach the cover of the airlock door before he took a bullet.
The door behind Hatton slid open and a wild-eyed Hunter burst in.
"Sir, sir! It's them; they're here! Reavers!"
"What?" snapped Hatton, rounding on the man, "I don't have time for this…"
"No, sir, you don't understand. It really is them. A real chiang-bao hoe-tze duh Reaver ship!"
The colour drained from Hatton's face.
"We're all dead," he whispered.