“Nothing, Momma. Just had a little… mishap, is all. Got jumped by a couple guys.”
Not far from the truth, Jayne thought.
“They tried to take my money,” Allister continued, “only I didn’t have none, so that made ’em mad, and… Well, you can see the result. I’m fine,” he added. “Really. Just a few lumps and bumps. This man saved me. His name’s…”
Allister suddenly looked puzzled.
“Not sure I caught it, as a matter of fact,” he said.
“Cobb,” Jayne said. “Jayne Cobb. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He removed his hat. Mama Cobb had raised him to be polite when the circumstances demanded.
Allister’s mother eyed him up and down. “That was mighty kind of you, Jayne Cobb. I am much obliged. My name’s Barbara, by the way. Barbara—”
Then a coughing fit overtook her. Her body heaved, wracked with spasms. She covered her mouth, but Jayne saw blood and sputum spatter against the palm of her hand.
Allister hurried to her side, handing her a tissue. Then he fetched her a glass of water, which she sipped gratefully.
“I thought I should return Allister home safe and sound,” Jayne said. “He told me you might be able to fix him up. And now that I’ve done that…”
“Won’t you stay?” Barbara said. “We’ve food in the house. Coffee too. Ain’t much but we’re willing to share, ’specially with someone who’s helped us out.”
It was tempting. Jayne was hungry, and he was never less than a slave to his appetites. However, there was Mal to think about. He couldn’t hang around.
“Thanks, but I got some pressing matters need attendin’ to.”
“You mean partyin’ with all the other fools.”
“No. Yes. No.” Jayne was not proficient at lying, so he changed the subject. “Fools, you say? I’m guessing you’re no fan of Alliance Day, then.”
“Ha!” Barbara swung her legs over the side of the cot. The strain of moving herself even that much showed on her face. “Well, put it like this. There’s some as reckon the war was the best thing that could ever have happened to the ’verse, and there’s some, like me, as think it was the worst. Not to mention the pain and sufferin’ it caused.
“I used to be a nurse. Worked for the military a whiles. The Independents, only I don’t make a big noise about that owing to the fact that they were the losin’ side and folks round here don’t feel too kindly disposed towards them, as a rule. I was stationed at a number of forward operating bases—”
She broke off to cough again. It was painful just to watch her; Jayne could only imagine how painful it was to be her, undergoing this torture. He knew that Foster’s Wheeze was invariably fatal; but the condition could be managed for years, its worst symptoms reduced almost to zero, if you had access to the right drugs and the wherewithal to pay for them. Barbara had neither, which meant she was sentenced to a purgatory of chest pain, restricted breathing and these brutal coughing fits. The disease would gradually run its course, killing her by degrees, but it might be as much as another three or four years before it finally polished her off.
“They were just tent hospitals,” she continued. “Describing them as crude would be paying them a compliment. Sometimes it would come down to medical techniques like out of Earth-That-Was history. You know, sawing off ruined limbs without any anesthetic beyond a shot of bourbon, which we also used as disinfectant. That bad. But we made do, us doctors and nurses. Had to. It was an endless parade of misery, Mr. Cobb. Men, women — kids, even, scarcely older than my Allister — being brought in on stretchers, screaming, riddled with bullet wounds, guts mangled, maybe an arm hanging on by a shred of flesh, some of ’em pleading to be put out of their misery…” She shuddered at the recollection. “Alliance put those Browncoats through the mincing machine and didn’t even think twice about it. That’s what we were fighting against, that level of slaughter, that level of callousness. Shoulda won, deserved to, but I guess it was not to be.”
“Kind of an unpopular opinion to hold,” Jayne said, “place like this, on a day like this. I ain’t heard nothing but abuse against the Browncoats all evening.”
Barbara gave vent to a bitter laugh, which degenerated into yet another fit of coughing.
“Abuse?” she said. “That ain’t all. There’ve been rumors…”
“Mom, I think maybe you’ve said enough already,” said Allister. “You don’t need to go bothering Mr. Cobb with any of that other stuff.”
Jayne himself didn’t much want to be bothered with any of that other stuff either. He was chafing to get going. But the woman was desperately sick. Least he could do was fake interest. “Rumors?” he said.
“You tell him, Allister,” Barbara said. “You’re the one that overheard it.”
“Weren’t nothing,” Allister said after a moment’s hesitation. “Just some guys talking. I was fetching some groceries, you see, and—”
“No, you weren’t, Allister,” his mother snorted. “Fetching groceries! I know what you were up to. You were picking pockets.”
“Was not!” her son protested.
“Don’t think I don’t know how you help us make ends meet, boy. I see how you come home sometimes and you’ve got cash in your hand.”
“Which I earned, doing odd jobs.”
“For who?”
“For people. Just… people.”
“Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I’m blind,” Barbara said. “You’re only telling me that to protect me. That cash is ill-gotten gains. I see it in your face every time, that little furtive look. A mother can tell these things. I don’t condone it, but I don’t disapprove neither. You’re tryin’ to do your best, seeing as I can’t make a living outta nursing anymore.”
“Say,” said Jayne to Allister, “those two guys who attacked you at…” He almost said at Taggart’s. “In the street,” he amended. “Had you just tried to rob them?”
Allister looked sheepish.
“I knew it!” Barbara declared. “You weren’t mugged at all, Allister. You were pickpocketin’ and you got yourself caught.”
Allister looked even more sheepish. “Well, this ain’t relevant anyways,” he said, deflecting. “Jayne wanted to hear about the rumors.”
“This conversation is far from over, young man,” his mother said. “If you’re going to go around committing thievery, at least try not to get hurt doing it. Speaking of which… Mr. Cobb, there’s some antiseptic cream over there, and some cotton swabs. While I’m up, I may as well set to fixing Allister’s face.”
Jayne brought over the materials, and Allister submitted to his mother’s ministrations, which she halted every so often in order to turn aside and cough. Jayne was keener than ever to leave, but he felt he had to stay at least until Allister told him what the rumors about Browncoats were. Politeness again, coupled with a glimmer of curiosity. Could it be the Independents weren’t as noble-hearted and clean-handed as some folk, namely Mal and Zoë, liked to paint them? That’d be ammunition for Jayne, next time those two got on their high horses about the war.
What Allister said, however, was nothing like what Jayne had been anticipating.
“So this man I was shadowing…”
“With a mind to liftin’ his wallet, no doubt,” Barbara interjected.
“Shadowing,” Allister continued, still vainly maintaining the pretense that he was as pure as the driven snow. “This was about a week ago. He met up with another man in the street, and they talked awhile and I just kinda hung back, biding my time. Wasn’t eavesdropping, exactly, but I couldn’t help hearing what they were saying. Conversation turned to Alliance Day, ’cause it was coming up, and the first man said something about how the Browncoats won’t be celebrating, and the second man laughed and said the Browncoats have even less reason to celebrate this year because it seems there’s a whole bunch of people on Persephone who think they’re nothing better than war criminals and who are going around bringing them to justice. Kind of like a vigilante movement, or even a lynch mob. That’s why you need to be extra careful these days what you say about the war, Mom, and what you did in it.”