My Own Kind of Freedom

Chapter 15 My Own Kind of present

He ran through the preliminary checklist a second time before he started warming up the shuttle. He thought about running through it a third, but there was an old saying to the effect that you shouldn’t start getting paranoid when time was running out.

Actually, there wasn’t any such saying, but there should be. Wash decided that if he lived through this, he’d have to come up with one. Meanwhile, he started the warmup process, again checking each step carefully.

It wasn’t like this would be the trickiest flying he’d ever done. Quite. No reason to be nervous.

He felt an obscure disappointment when the warmup sequence was completed, because now he had nothing to do except wait until it was time to move.

Oh, right: one thing that was always necessary when you were unlucky enough to be going into mortal danger, but lucky enough to have advance warning.

He got back from the toilet and sat down again. This pilot’s chair was fine, but it didn’t feel the same as his. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Now, what? Was he really out of ways to kill time?

No, he could look over the plans again, and re-check the route, especially the final approach. He’d only been over it four times so far, and only once cross-checking it with the weather report.

He checked the time, and found that it was less than five minutes until launch. His palms were suddenly moist, and his mouth dry. That was all right, though; he’d be fine when it was time to launch.

The pilot was already in place, but no one else was, so he could choose his seat.

“Welcome aboard, welcome aboard,” said the one called Wash, turning in his chair. “Passengers are advised to strap down for their own safety, and, as always, we remind you that Washburn Passenger Service is not responsible for lost luggage, air-sickness, or suddenly exploding into fiery ruin.”

The first mate was in next; she kissed the pilot, squeezed his shoulder, and sat down next to him. The captain and the mercenary came in last; the captain took a position near the door.

“Is it time?” he asked.

“About a minute,” said the pilot. “And, not to be painfully obvious, but you should all make sure you’re strapped in good.” Then he stabbed a button. “Kaylee, open us up.”

“Copy,” came her voice.

A moment later, the pilot spoke again. “Kaylee?”

“Still here.”

“Open us up, Kaylee.”

“But… oh. That was the other one. There you go.”

“Thank you, Kaylee.”

“Good luck, all of you.”

“Disengaging in three… two… one… free.”

There was a mild jolt, a drop, and Kit was shoved back into his chair.

Okay, Kit, my boy. You’re in it now.

There was a faint whirring sound as the wings deployed, and they settled into the flight. He wiped his hands on his pants. The flight was scheduled to last just over twenty-six minutes. And end very abruptly.

He put his hand on the buckle that would release his restraints.

I’ll bet I’d have made a really good school teacher.

Serenity gave a little sigh and expressed a desire to list to starboard when the shuttle separated, but her gyros whirred, and she settled in. Kaylee sat in the pilot’s chair and watched the clock, as well as the screen that Wash had set up. It was seventeen minutes after thirteen hundred.

The screen was clear.

She tried to relax. It wasn’t easy up here on the bridge, in this chair, but she tried.

It was still seventeen minutes after.

The screen was still clear.

She noticed that her eyes hurt, and realized that it was because she hadn’t been letting herself blink. She blinked several times, rapidly, then, in sudden panic, looked at the screen. It was still clear.

And it was still seventeen minutes after.

A long, long time later it was eighteen minutes after.

And the screen was still clear.

She heard herself make a little mewing sound.

And the screen was still clear.

And then the screen wasn’t clear any more.

She heard a sound, midway between a sigh and a squeak, and realized it came from her.

Her hand was shaking as she reached for the green switch marked with the bright orange tape.

The “click” as she flipped it seemed very loud.

So was the next click as she started the timer for the jamming signal Wash had set up; a counter appeared in the upper right corner of the front screen. It started at nineteen minutes and began counting down.

Two lights far to the right turned green. In a moment, they were joined by a third one, flashing. Information began to fill the upper-most monitor, and then the blip on the screen she’d been watching moved across the top, stopped, and began to approach the center. Slowly, but still much too fast.

She remained in the pilot’s chair, shaking and waiting and trying to watch three screens at once, because a new blip was going to appear on one of them, and then she’d have to move quickly.

Miss Wuhan’s voice came over the intercom. “Filo.”

He tore himself away from the projections he was trying to run. The worst thing that backstabbing fed had done, he’d been thinking, was deprive him of someone who knew how to do those. He’d have to hire someone soon; and this time do a thorough background check on the gorram bastard.

“What is it?”

“Serenity has been found, landed, about twenty miles out of town.”

“Get me security.”

“They’re waiting, Filo. I’ll switch you over now.”

“Security here. This is—”

“You have a lock on Serenity?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good work. Send a Catfish. No messing around. Leave a crater there.”

“Yes, sir. We’re on it.”

He started to switch off, but suddenly, for no reason he was conscious of, he said, “Wait. How’d the break happen?”

“Sir?”

“How did you find her?”

“She started transmitting an ident beacon.”

He looked out at his duck pond. An ident beacon? Suddenly started transmitting an ident beacon? Why in the gorram hell would they do that? “Hold a moment,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

His mind worked quickly. “Okay, dispatch the Catfish, but scan them first. If there is no one aboard, then hold off on attacking and get hold of me. Repeat your orders.”

The other did so, without flaw.

“Okay, move,” said Sakarya.

He didn’t know what was happening, but he was pretty sure that whatever it was would happen soon.

He glanced at the clock: it was 13:28.

She felt the shuttle level out, and from what she could tell, they were about eighty or ninety meters off the deck. She wasn’t worried about it; if something was going to go wrong (and something was almost sure to go wrong) it wouldn’t be with the flying. She had seen the route they planned to take, curving around a twisting terrain to stay off radar, and she never for a moment doubted that, just about ten minutes from now, they’d arrive amid crashing and splintering of wood, and they’d arrive intact.

It was the part after that she worried about, and she worried about it on several levels. The Captain had something in mind. The fed had something in mind. And she had the uncomfortable feeling that her husband had something in mind, or, at least, that there was something he knew that he wasn’t talking about.

Yes, she was worried. But she was also very much aware that, at this moment, there was nothing she could do about that worry; nothing at all until the next stage of the operation began.

And when that happened, in addition to everything else, she intended to keep a close eye on that fed.

The shuttle made a soft, gentle turn and a smooth rise.

No, she didn’t know what was going on with her man, but he could certainly fly. Yes, indeed, he could fly.

She leaned over a little so she could read the clock around his left arm. It was 13:32.

He sat with his sister in the dining room, trying to be patient. It became harder after she suddenly said, “They’re here.”

“Who?” he asked, not entirely sure he wanted an answer. Instead of answer, however, River stood up.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Where?”

Kaylee’s voice came over the intercom. “Simon! River! Into shuttle one, now!”

Simon stared at his sister for just a moment. She smiled back and led the way toward the shuttle.

Kaylee was already there. He said, “What are we—”

Kaylee started to answer, but River said, “Not now, Simon. There isn’t any time.”

“All right,” said Simon, wishing he had at least some vague idea of what was happening.

River at once sat down in the pilot’s seat. “Strap yourselves in,” she said, as she went through the warm up sequence. “We’re off in five.”

“Is that five minutes, or five seconds?” asked Simon.

“Boob,” said River, and Simon felt like he’d been kicked as the shuttle leaped from its berth.

It was 13:36.

Analee patched security through without announcing it. “Sir, this is Unit One, and we’re at the site. Scan complete, no sign of life. Both shuttles have been launched.”

“Hold your fire and check the area. Any sign of either shuttle?”

“Vapor signs consistent with short-range shuttles.”

“Can you fix direction?”

“That’s affirmative, sir. Opposite directions, one directly toward town, the other directly away.”

“Follow the one heading toward town. Overtake and destroy it.”

“Yes—there’s a problem, sir.”

Something inside him twisted and sank; he’d had that feeling before, and the memory came back strong. “There’s a problem,” he’d been told, followed by word that the artillery support wasn’t coming through. “What is the problem, Unit One?”

“We’re being ordered to ground and be boarded.”

Old habits came back, and heard himself sounding completely calm as he said, “Ordered by whom?”

“They identify themselves as Special Deputies of the Anglo Sino Alliance, sir. We’ve been given one minute to comply.”

“What is the situation?”

“They’re in some sort of short-range vehicle.”

“Do you see any armament?”

“No, sir. Nothing visible.”

“Anything else in the vicinity?”

There was a brief pause, then, “No, sir. Clear sky, no sign of anything on the ground.”

“Unit One, attack. Blow them out of the sky.”

“Yes, sir. Engaging.”

He counted to ten, then said, “Report.” A moment later, he said, “Unit One?”

He muttered a curse and said, “Security, are you still there? What are you picking up?”

Nothing.

“Security, report on the status of unit one.”

After five seconds he let out a slow breath. “Okay,” he said aloud. “This can’t be good.”

The clock on his desk said 13:41.

River set the shuttle down, gently as a feather. As far as Simon could guess, they were a mile or two from Serenity.

“What’s happening?” he said.

River said, “They blew up the security ship that was sent to bomb us.”

“They…” He looked at Kaylee, and discovered that he was holding her hand. He wasn’t sure when or how that had happened, but her hand felt cool and good in his. She was looking at him.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m scared.”

She needn’t have told him that last; he could see it. He tried to think of something to say to reassure her, but couldn’t think of anything that didn’t just sound stupid. He squeezed her hand.

“River,” said Simon. “Who blew up what security ship?”

“Two by two, hands of blue.”

“River—”

“But they aren’t coming for us. They’re flying away. We can go back to the ship now.”

“Are you sure?”

River sent him a withering glance over her shoulder.

“I wish,” said Simon, “that I had some idea—”

“It was his idea,” said Kaylee, as she unstrapped herself, released his hand, and stood up. “The Alliance agent. And Wash’s. They worked it out together.”

“Worked what out?”

Kaylee leaned over River and pressed a button on the console.

“What was that?” Simon heard an edge of panic in his voice.

“The recall,” said Kaylee. “Now we can return to the ship.”

“But—”

“Strap in,” said River.

It was 13:42.

It was easier than it ought to have been.

The wind was pretty mild, and, as he began the final approach, almost directly in his teeth; and no one was shooting at him; and all the landmarks were clear and easy to follow. It was an awfully straightforward piece of flying for how scary it was.

He swung the shuttle around, nice and easy, holding at about three hundred feet, and got a visual on the house.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said to no one in particular.

“What surprises me is that it was your idea,” said Mal.

“Rub it in,” muttered Wash.

The house, and then the spot on the wall; in his mind, he superimposed a big X on it, and aimed right for that spot. It was coming up on them fast.

“What’s that indicator mean?” said Mal suddenly.

“What indic—”

“The one’s that flashing.”

“Oh, that?” said Wash. “Nothing. The recall. It means that Kaylee, River, and Simon are returning to Serenity.”

“Returning?” said Mal. “I don’t—what the gorram hell is going on?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Wash. The house rushed up at him. “You know, this is mind-numbingly stupid,” he remarked.

He killed the thrust, hit the airbreaks, and gave her a bit of the retros, then a lot more just as they hit the wall.

He had maybe two seconds of warning that something was going to happen, and none whatsoever of what it was.

Old, old reflexes were still operating, however, and he was out of his chair and rolling on the ground almost before the sound reached him, and well before he had time to figure out just what had happened.

A few splinters cut him here and there, but he didn’t notice.

When the noise stopped, he raised his head, and his first thought was that someone had fired a missile at him, and it hadn’t exploded. By the time he realized what it actually was, the door of the vessel was opening. He had, by this time, slipped so far into his old battle reflexes that he found his hand was reaching for a sidearm he hadn’t carried in seven years.

With some detached part of his mind, he realized that what he was experiencing was a lot like trying to stay on a badly spooked horse. With another small part, he put aside whatever it was that Wash had cooked up without telling him; there was just no time to worry about it now.

With the more important and less conscious part of his mind, he unsnapped his restraints and hit the button to open the door, and as the door swung open he saw that the fed was already past him and was out the door.

Guy moves fast.

He drew his weapon and followed the fed out into the shambles that had been—he hoped—Sakarya’s office, feeling Zoë and Jayne behind him. “Jayne,” he said, “cover the door.”

One thing he hadn’t anticipated was that it would be hard to see; but there was dust—sawdust, most likely—everywhere. It stung his eyes and nose. Goggles, dammit; I should have brought goggles.

After what seemed like a horribly long time, he focused on the tall man, just coming to his feet against the wall to his left. The man said, “Good afternoon, Sergeant Reynolds. You make quite an entry.”

Mal swung his pistol to cover him. “Good afternoon, Colonel Bursa. You’re about to make quite an exit.”

“Could be,” said the ex-colonel, “but I’m not sure your team is in complete agreement about that.”

Mal took a quick glance around the room. Jayne had his pistol pointing at the door. Zoë had her carbine pointing at the fed. The fed had his pistol pointing at Mal.

Oops, he thought.