My Own Kind of Freedom

Chapter 2 My Own Kind of Sickness

Three hours later they left the office.

“Well,” said Mal, “that was the most fun I’ve ever had.”

“Yes, sir,” said Zoë. “I especially enjoyed where they didn’t have any chairs to sit in while we were waiting.”

“I liked the way they ignored us.”

“I still say it would have sped things up if you’d let me shoot one or two of the clerks,” said Jayne.

“I’m sure something would have happened fast,” said Mal. “Anyway, we have a few hours before they show up to unload us. Go get a drink if you want, Jayne.”

Jayne grunted, but continued walking with them. Mal felt Zoë looking at him.

What the hell was going on with his gorram crew? Kaylee was acting like every time she spoke to him she was afraid of what he’d say, Zoë and Wash were having whispered conversations and exchanging looks, and Jayne…

They went up the ramp into Serenity’s bowels. Kaylee was leaning on the rail above, with a “tell me how it went” look. Next to her was an empty space.

“Zoë, let me know when they get here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jayne headed up the stairs toward his quarters. Mal followed him, then continued up toward the bridge.

“Hey, Mal,” said Wash. “How did it go?”

“Long and boring. Anything here?”

“An invasion by seven-foot tall clones with americium in their veins, but I fought them off with the laser cannon. We going to unload?”

“No, the client is sending his people.”

“You going to supervise?”

“I expect I will.”

“Good. During the loading, I just ended up standing there looking like an idiot.”

Mal stared at him. “You supervised the loading?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought Jayne was going to do it.”

“He asked me to. Said he wanted to run an errand.”

An errand? What sort of errand could you run on Paquin? All they have there is…

Without another word he stood up and left the bridge, heading toward Jayne’s quarters. Halfway there, he started running. By the time he reached it, he was cursing as well.

He pushed open the door and climbed down the ladder. The big man was looking over his shoulder at the door, facing his cupboard, and holding a canvas sack.

“Yeah, Mal?”

“What’s in the sack, Jayne?”

“Huh? Nothing. Just some stuff.”

“Let’s see what stuff.”

“Mal, there’s no need—”

He crossed the three steps and grabbed the sack. Jayne didn’t let go of it, but there was no need to; it was open.

“Well now,” said Mal. “Those’ll bring a good price.”

“Just a little private enterprise oper—”

“Just a little matter of stealing from a client.”

“Hell, Mal. We steal all the time. What’s the mei you shenma liaobuqi?”

“And what’s going to happen next time we want a job there?”

“One gorram spot on one gorram moon—”

“That we’ll be going back to after this job to return the ginseng.”

“I’ll return the stuff when houzi cong wo gangmen feichulai.”

“We’re returning it as soon as we’ve finished our business here.”

“There’s no ruttin’ way I’m giving this stuff up.”

“Why are we still talking about this—”

Jayne pushed past him, climbed the ladder, and started down the hall, still holding his sack.

Mal climbed after him. “Jayne!”

There were times when he could deal with Jayne, and just accept it as part of the job. And then there were other times.

Jayne stopped and faced Mal. Mal kept his voice even. “You leave this boat with those goods, you won’t be coming back on.”

Jayne stared at him, jaw clenched. Mal met his eyes and waited.

“Captain, do you have a minute?”

“Until they show up for the cargo, I have nothing but time.”

Simon nodded, opened his mouth, closed it again. “I—”

“Spit it out, doctor. What’s on your mind?”

It was so difficult talking to the Captain; one never knew how he’d react. In a way, his worldview was as skewed as River’s, which made it as big a challenge to find the right words as when speaking with Kaylee.

He said, “I don’t know if this is any of my business, but I—”

“Just say it, doctor.”

Simon took a breath. “I saw Jayne walking out, looking like… well, carrying a couple of duffel bags. Big, full bags, like, maybe, everything he—”

“Jayne has left the crew.”

“Oh,” said Simon.

“Anything else?”

“I… yes. I’m wondering if his leaving will… that is, I’m afraid—”

“You think he might sell you out to the Alliance?”

“Well, we’ve never been exactly best friends. And his ideas of loyalty are, let’s say, idiosyncratic. So, yes, I’m worried he might inform the Alliance about us.”

“So am I. In fact, I think it’s pretty near a sure thing.”

“Oh. Well, then.”

“Anything else on your mind?”

“Uh, no, that about covers it.”

“Good, then.”

Simon hesitated for a moment, then went back to check on his sister.

After stowing his gear at the local depot, he spent an hour wandering around Yuva. In that time, while he failed to spot a police station, he did find a small shack that said, “Security” at the west end of North Street. Well, that was going to be easier than walking into an actual police station, anyway.

He made sure his pistol was concealed by his shirt, took a deep breath, and went in.

Two bored-looking security guards sat behind two tiny desks, one over-crowded with smart paper, the other with comm gear. They both looked up at him as he entered; neither seemed especially interested.

I could take them both, he thought.

One of them, wearing a hat and a pot-belly, said, “Yeah?”

“I need to use your comm to reach a fed.”

They stared at him for a moment. “This a joke?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m the guy looking to reach the feds. You the guys gonna tell them why you wouldn’t let me?”

He saw that shot hit. They looked at each other. “What’s your name?”

“None of your ruttin’ business. Are you going to hook me up with the feds, or not?”

They looked at each other again, then pot-belly nodded at the other, who played with the comm setup for a minute, put on the headphones, then spoke into the mic. “This is Station HE nine three six six one, requesting code seven authorization… no, a civilian… He won’t give it…I don’t know…all right.”

He held out the mic and the headphones to Jayne. “Okay, it’s all yours.”

He put the headset on and spoke into the mic. “You there?” He waited. “Hello?”

The man behind the console cleared his throat. “You have to push that button down to talk.”

“Yeah,” said Jayne. Then, “Anyone there?”

A voice crackled from the headset. “Identify yourself.”

“No ruttin’ way. I got the location of a fugitive you want bad. Her name is River Tam. Now, if you don’t want her, just say so, and I’ll be about my business.”

The pause was very satisfying; it lasted most of a minute. Then there was a new voice. “Where is River Tam?”

“Where is my money?”

“Tell us where she is, and you’ll get your money.”

“You guys tried that with me once before. I got humped, and you still don’t have the girl. I see the money before you get wo zuo gaowan de suozai.”

There was another pause, then: “All right, what do you propose?”

“You know what town I’m in; how soon can you get someone here?”

“Wait a moment.”

“Take your time. I have all day.”

This time, the pause was a good five minutes, which Jayne spent leaning on the desk and giving the two security guards the eye. Then, “All right, we have someone there.”

“Already?”

“He can meet you at the canteen in an hour. If you prefer some other place, we’ll accommodate you.”

“No, that’s fine.”

“You’ll negotiate a price with him, and the payment arrangements.”

“Someone you trust, eh? All right, be there in an hour.”

Jayne took off the headphones and the mic, and tossed them back to the security guard. The one in the hat said, “What, the Alliance has an agent here? Is that what they said?”

“Guess so,” said Jayne. “Burn on you guys, eh?”

He chuckled and headed out the door and toward the canteen.

“What a perfect, magnificent ass.”

Zoë looked around and spoke over her shoulder. “I hope you’re talking about me, and not one of them.”

Wash came up next to her and looked down at the cargo area. “I don’t know. That one by the ramp is kinda cute, in a big, hairy, bearded guy sort of way.”

“I was just thinking that.”

“Can I borrow that big, hairy, ugly gun of yours for just a minute? I’ll give it right back.”

“Now dear, you know we’re not supposed to murder the help.”

“Speaking of murder, what’s up with Jayne?”

She shrugged. “I asked the Captain. He grunted. But it looks like Jayne’s gone.”

“Gone. What kind of gone?”

“Gone gone.”

“Oh.”

She looked at her man. “You seem disappointed. I didn’t think you were that fond of him.”

“Sweetie, I’m fond of people who help keep you alive and with all of your moving parts intact. Not to mention the motionless parts, which have their own charm. Any idea what happened?”

“No. I imagine we’ll hear about it eventually.”

“It’ll make great dinner conversation. Sweetie—”

“Hmm?”

“What’s wrong with Mal?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?”

“No, honey. The question is, why won’t you talk to me about it.”

Zoë reached over and squeezed his arm, then stepped to the intercom. “Sir, they’re here to unload the ship.”

“I’ll be right down.”

Wash said, “Honey—”

She just shook her head, and he fell silent.

He was both at “work” and at work when his belt buckle started vibrating. He liked it when he could do both at once; it made him feel that the ’verse was behaving the way it was supposed to.

The “work” part he could do with only a portion of his brain: download tonnage of dirt moved, download percentage of pay dirt, download content of pay dirt, download produce futures, download bauxite futures, run the projections, break them down, generate the report. Tedious, but, once you’ve learned the system (and Kit learned systems quickly and easily), there was nothing to it.

The work part was more entertaining, more important, and just the least little bit scary: monitor everyone else in the office without ever being caught doing so, wait for someone to be sloppy with a keycode, sniff around in places he wasn’t supposed to have access to, look for the fact, the hard number, that would add another layer of sealant to the case he was building. And, if he were very lucky, maybe he’d be able to get to Miss Wuhan’s system, and then he could just walk out the door and be done with it.

What he did not want was anything to break him away from both activities at once, and that’s just what it meant when his belt buckle started vibrating.

Gorram them anyway; this better be important.

He got up from his desk, stretched, put on his jacket, and made his leisurely way to the men’s room. That was just the sort of thing he would notice if someone else did it: Why is that man putting on his coat to use the men’s room? But it wasn’t likely any of his co-workers would twig to it; they didn’t have his training.

He closed the stall door, and removed his C-box from the coat pocket. He fired it up, selected a reasonable mask, and made the connection.

After his identity was established and confirmed, they didn’t waste any time.

New instructions. Top priority, abort current operation if necessary. There is a man you have to meet…

Five minutes later, he was out the door, leaving everything undone behind him and trying not to think about the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Only the smell of fresh-cut wood was left in the empty hold.

“Still going smooth, sir,” said Zoë.

“We haven’t been paid yet.”

“I noticed that.”

“So let’s go do it now.” He looked up. Wash was there, leaning on the rail. “You’re in charge,” he called up. “Supervise.”

Wash nodded, but didn’t make any remarks.

Kaylee’s voice came through the intercom. “Can I go out, Cap’n? I want to see if there’s a junkyard here with a monolock for the gravboot.”

“Okay. Don’t take too long. If we manage to get paid, I want to be off the world in a couple of hours.”

Zoë fell into step beside him as they made their way out of the boat and onto the road into Yuva.

“Sir, any idea just what he wants all the wood for?”

“Couldn’t say. There’s enough for a good-sized house, but not for a whole new mansion.”

They made it to the office, and looked at the sign on the door.

He clicked on his comm link. “Wash, can you find out what local time is?”

The voice came back in his ear, “Just a second, Mal… it’s about thirteen hundred.”

“Okay, Zoë. We have an hour to kill.”

“I could stand a beer, sir. There’s a place on North street, just a step from their office.”

“Good plan.”

It was a low building, made out of the same sort of crumbling brick as most everything else in Yuva, and distinguished only by a neatly stenciled sign that said, “Canteen.”

It was dark inside, surprisingly clean, and mostly empty.

Mostly.

Mal looked at Jayne, sitting in the back corner, then looked away. He led Zoë to a table on the far side.

The bartender called, “If you want something, you’ll have to get it from me. No table service ’till evening.”

“I’ll get it,” said Mal.

“Thank you, sir.”

As he approached, the bartender said, “Welcome to Yuva. You with chatty over there?”

“No,” said Mal, not turning around. “What sort of beer do you drink, when you drink beer?”

“My own. I make it in back. We have a winter ale that came out pretty good.”

“Two.”

The bartender was of medium height, had a shaved head, and seemed to be about Simon’s age. Young. Too young to have fought in the war. Mal still pegged people that way: could they have fought? And if the answer was yes, which side? “Two it is.”

Mal took the bottles. “They’re cold. I’m impressed.”

The bartender smiled. “We serve the staff here, so nothing but the best.”

“Staff?”

“Office workers, and such.”

“That all that comes here?”

“Both offices, and the security people.”

“Both offices?”

“General office, and the ones who work in Mister Sakarya’s house. The important ones work there. They sit on that side of the room.”

“There are rules for what side of the room you sit on?”

“No rules. It just works itself out that way.”

“What does everyone else do?”

“Everyone else?”

“In town. The ones who aren’t security, or one office or t’other.”

“I work in a bar. This bar, in fact. See, this is me, working. In the bar.”

“Good job. Own it, too?”

The other laughed a little. “In effect. Not technically. Only one man owns things. I’m just grateful not to be digging bauxite.”

“One man. That would be Sakarya.”

He nodded. “Mister Sakarya owns pretty much everything on the subcontinent, and quite a bit on the rest of the world.”

“I’m sure he finds that very fulfilling.”

“Uh huh.”

“And not so good for the rest of you?”

The bartender made a non-committal grunt. “I do okay. Call me Mark, by the way.”

“Mal. That’s Zoë.”

“Pleasure.”

Mal nodded, paid, and brought the beers back to the table.

“What was that about, sir?”

“Beer, and the after-affects of being on the losing side.”

“Oh?”

“I sort of asked him what things were like here.”

“And?”

“He gave me the kind of answer you give when you don’t want to give an answer.”

“It’d be a familiar story, sir.”

“Seems I might’ve heard it once or twice before.”

She cleared her throat. “I see that Jayne—”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“Yes, sir. What do you think of those two?”

Other than Jayne, the only other customers were two large, rather shabbily dressed men at a table against the wall.

“The thugs? The red haired one has a piece strapped to his right ankle.”

“And something behind his back; look how he’s sitting.”

“I’m guessing a knife. The other one—”

“With the pistol under his right arm.”

“—Yes. He’s trying not to look like he’s waiting for someone.”

“Good catch, sir; I hadn’t noticed.

“I was the first one in the door. He twitched, then relaxed when he saw it wasn’t whoever he was waiting for.”

“Nice they aren’t waiting for us, anyway.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

“The curly-haired one is more experienced; he isn’t nervous. He’s done this before.”

“So has Red, but not as often. He’s either scared, or having a few qualms of conscience.”

Zoë nodded. “Well, if they aren’t waiting for us, then it isn’t any of our business.”

“That’s my conclusion.”

“So, when some poor slob comes in here to be robbed, or beaten up, or murdered—”

“Murdered, I think, looking at those two. They’ll probably pick a fight with him.”

“Yes. So, when that happens, we just ignore it.”

“Right.”

“Not our problem.”

“Exactly. We keep right on drinking.”

“In fact, sir, I think that when he comes in, we should leave.”

“Good then. That’s what we’ll do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You take the redhead.”

“Right. Tell me again why we’re doing this, sir?”

“We like being heroes.”

“What if we’re about to save the bad guy, sir?”

“Look at those two and tell me they’re the good guys.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jayne went to the bar and got another drink, carefully not looking at them.

About five minutes later the door opened.

“That’s him.”

“Yes, sir. He certainly looks harmless.”

He was of average height, with something of a belly, and appeared fairly young in spite of streaks of gray running through his hair and his beard.

“Now,” said Mal, “is when Red gets up and walks to the bar, accidentally bumping into him.”

“Uh huh.”

Red stood up and did a credible imitation of a drunk by swaying a bit and using the chair to steady himself. It would have been more believable if there had been a few empties on his table. He bumped into the newcomer on his way to the bar, and proceeded to start cussing him out.

Mal and Zoë stood up at the same time.

Mal gave the curly-haired one at the table a big smile, walked over, and sat down. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Just a friendly stranger with a gun in your ribs.”

The other stared at him. There was a voice raised with insults, most of them in Chinese, but that was Zoë’s end of things, so Mal continued watching Curly, who said, “You have no idea what you’re getting involved in.”

“I generally don’t. But here we are, so let’s just stay friendly.”

Mal didn’t turn his head when he heard the thump; the other did, then turned back to Mal. “You’re an idiot.”

“Probably true.”

Zoë called, “Secured, sir,” which meant that Mark wasn’t doing anything either.

Mal stood up, and permitted himself a quick glance. Zoë’s weapon was out, and Red was prone on the floor. The well-dressed stranger was looking back at Mal. Mark was standing very still, both of his hands on the bar. There was a comm unit on the wall next to the cash box, and the bartender was staying well away from it. The stranger hadn’t moved.

“Escort him out, Zoë.”

“Yes, sir.”

When he heard the door, he nodded once to Curly, gave him a friendly smile, and backed away from the table. He felt the door behind him, opened it, and stepped through, holstering his sidearm.

“Well,” he said. “That was almost too easy to be any fun.”

“I was just thinking the same thing, sir.”

They started walking back to the boat, the stranger between them, Zoë mostly walking backwards, keeping an eye on the canteen.

“Who sent you?” asked the stranger.

“No one sent us,” said Mal. “We just happened to be in there having a drink.”

“Uh huh.” He smiled as if sharing a joke with them. “Pretty remarkable timing, then.”

“Timing is one of our specialties. I’m Malcolm Reynolds, and this is Zoë Washburne.”

“A pleasure. And of course, you know my name.”

“Uh, not so much.”

“We’re clear, sir,” said Zoë. “No one following us.”

“Good to hear.”

“You don’t know my name? What did they tell you?”

“Who?”

He stopped. Mal and Zoë continued a couple of steps, then they stopped too, and turned to look at him.

“Uh, I thank you both for your help, but I need to get back to work.”

“Right. What was your name again?”

“Kit. Kit Merlyn.”

Mal nodded. “Well, see you around, then.”

“Probably,” said Kit.

He turned and started walking back to town.

“Well,” said Zoë. “For the victim of a murder attempt, he took it awfully calm.”

“I was thinking the same thing my own self.”

“On the other hand, he wasn’t armed.”

“No.”

“Think we’ll find out what his story is?”

“I’m afraid we might.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s get back to the boat. We’ll see about getting paid in a couple of hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kaylee was drinking tea when Mal and Zoë came in.

Mal punched the intercom button. “Wash?”

“Yes, Mal?” came the crackly voice.

“Keep an ear on the emergency channels for a while.”

“What am I listening for?”

“Alliance.”

“How long a while?”

“Till we leave.” He released the button. He looked tired.

“How did it go?” asked Kaylee.

“Hard to say.”

“Did we get paid?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh.”

Mal frowned at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I just want to get off this world. I don’t like it.”

“That’s three of us,” said Zoë, taking a chair opposite her. The Captain went into the kitchen and started poking around. “What’s your problem with it?” he asked. “No junkyard?”

“The whole place is a junkyard.”

“Hmmm. Looked clean enough to me.”

“That’s the area for the office workers. The miners live on the other side of the hill.”

“Oh. Ugly?”

Kaylee nodded.

“It’s an ugly ’verse,” said Mal. “Especially on Independent worlds. You’ve seen it before.”

“Not like this.”

“We’ll be gone soon,” said Zoë. “We just need to get paid—”

“And they’re all afraid of him. That’s what really got to me.”

“Afraid of who?” said Mal.

“Sakarya. He has everyone afraid. They were afraid to talk to me. There was one little girl, she looked right at me and… ” She shook her head. “It was creepy,” she finished.

“I expect it was,” said Mal. “So, you didn’t get that part?”

“No.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it just means we’ll twitch a little and our ears will pop when the gravity normalizes.”

“All right, we can live with that. Kaylee…”

“Yes, Cap’n?”

“We’ll be out of here soon. Don’t let it prey on you.”

She nodded, stood up, and took her tea back to the engine room, where everything was simpler.

Wonderful. “Until we leave,” he’d said. Like he had nothing to do except sit here and listen to a dead comm channel in case something came on.

Well, in fact, he didn’t have anything else to do. He could always do shadow puppets, but it wasn’t as much fun without Zoë to entertain.

“Until we leave.”

Why weren’t we leaving? What was there to stay here for? Obviously, they hadn’t managed to get the money yet. Probably gotten into trouble, gone off and rescued someone the Alliance wanted, and now they were all going to be humped. And he was stuck sitting here listening to a dead channel like a quanmian ta ma de baichi.

There came the sound of his favorite combat boots.

“Hi, honey,” she said. “How’s it going?”

“Well, other than being stuck here listening to a dead channel in case something happens, I’m just fine. What did you do down there?”

“Nothing. Well, something. But I think he wants you to listen because of Jayne. I can take it for a while, if you want.”

“Sweetie, having you here instead of me sort of defeats the purpose of—wait. What did Jayne do?”

“Nothing as far as I know. But I think the Captain is afraid Jayne is going to tell the feds about Simon and River.”

“Oh. I see. So, if we’re lucky, we’ll hear about it soon enough to get off this planet without getting paid.”

Zoë exhaled. “Wash, what do you want?”

“Well, a vacation would be nice.”

“Wash…”

“And it would be even nicer not to have this feeling that everything is about to fall apart on us.”

“Wash.”

He sighed. “All right.”

“Want something to eat?”

“That would be—Hey!”

“What?”

As the chatter came from his headphones, he adjusted the gain and dropped the filtering. With his other hand he slapped the “record” button, then switched on the intercom. “Mal, I’m getting something.”