And if there is, He ain’t welcome on my boat, Mal thought.
Lawlessness on a planetary scale did have a plus side, though: it encouraged and facilitated the kind of work that came Mal’s way— primarily smuggling items the Alliance forbade or taxed beyond reason, that sort of thing — and loose, corrupt enforcement allowed quick escapes in case a deal went sideways.
Beyond the open cargo-bay door, Eavesdown Docks spread out in all its rusty, gritty glory. The yellow-tinged atmo stank so bad you could practically chew it — a chunky, inedible stew of rocket exhaust, carbonized garbage dump, spilled rocket fuel, unwashed humans and animals, and mountains of boiled protein blocks. As they set down and crawled back up into the Black, ships kicked up brittle tea-brown newspapers and foam plates slathered with plum sauce. On the verge of the field, brightly colored paper parasols twirled. Dogs of varied size and indefinable breed ran in packs through the potholed street. Horns honked rhythmically, or maybe it was someone’s donkey braying? Here and there, ship’s captains of ill repute casually bribed customs officials, and hordes of filthy folks crawled through and over the debris of civilization like ants — some looking for work, others looking for trouble. If he was being honest, Mal had to admit he currently had a foot in both camps.
Hoban Washburne, Serenity’s pilot and Zoë’s husband, had landed them at the docks at crack of dawn shipboard time. But it was five-thirty in the evening here on Persephone. Daylight, sickly sad as it was, had already begun to ebb away and a bruise-colored dusk was setting in. Only three quarters of an hour had passed on-planet, but for Mal, each minute spent with Badger felt like an age. He didn’t know which drove him the craziest about the man — his thuggish swagger, his blockheaded stupidity, or his chirpy attitude that masked a personality so crooked it made a zigzag look straight — but Mal could feel himself getting tetchier and tetchier. With an effort, he looked away from him.
“Sir,” Zoë prodded. “All the ‘danger’ decals, sir.”
“What danger decals? Don’t see none.”
“The ones you’ve been giving the evil eye since the moment the crates arrived.”
“Oh, those danger decals. Well, folks sometimes exaggerate. On account of the legal liability. Coverin’ their asses.” Mal tried to sound credible, but even he wasn’t buying it.
“Yes, sir,” Zoë said. “But regarding liquids, sir. If the contents of the crates come in contact with water, they’ll blow. Says so right there. And last week that toilet up by the rec area backed up…”
“Kaylee put it all to rights,” he reminded her. “And nothing got as far as the cargo bay.”
“That’s true, but even so—”
“And the crates look solid and watertight,” Mal cut in. Still not sounding entirely credible.
“Easy does it, now,” Badger cautioned as the forklift crept across the deck with its suspension-crushing load.
Everything was going according to plan, then suddenly, not so much.
Whether the temper of the right-hand fork’s steel had been damaged on a previous job or more recently compromised by the combined weight of the three other containers, it suddenly gave way, bending downward towards the deck with a hair-raising shriek. That end of the huge crate abruptly dropped, sliding off the edge of the intact fork. It smashed hard onto its nose, then toppled full length onto the hangar deck with a resounding crash that rattled Mal’s bones. As the operator leapt from the vehicle in panic, Badger dropped into a crouch, squeezed his eyes shut, and clapped his hands over his ears.
“Tā mā de!” Mal bellowed.
Seconds passed.
Then a few more.
Nothing happened.
“Oops, sorry about that,” Badger said breezily as he lowered his hands from his ears. “Why don’t we leave it there, then? Meanwhile I’ll just wait for my sphincter to unpucker.” He nodded sharply at the forklift, and the driver climbed back in, hit reverse, and quickly backed away. From under his coat, Badger pulled out what appeared to be a manifest and began pawing through it.
Zoë sighed.
“The HTX-20 isn’t supposed to explode unless it gets bumped around too much. Right, Badger?” Mal pressed.
“That’s right. Or gets wet or hot or all that other gubbins. We went over it, didn’t we? You need a refresher course?”
“No, it’s just, that crate got bumped. How do we know things are still all right?”
Badger looked at him as if Mal was the stupid one. “We’re not dead.”
Hard to argue with that.
At that moment, as if Mal didn’t have enough to contend with already, River Tam appeared on the catwalk overlooking the cargo bay.
“The box wants to dance,” she announced as she trotted down the stairs. She was holding a bamboo flute and wearing her pink sweater, ruffled skirt, and calf-high boots.
“Best go back up,” Mal said, careful not to address River by her given name in front of Badger and his employees. “Cargo bay’s going to be off-limits for a spell. Dŏng ma?”
River thrust out her lower lip in a pout. Mal supposed life on a spaceship had its dull moments for a teenaged girl. Or dull days, or even duller weeks. Still, she wasn’t just any teenaged girl. She was a kid who made her own fun, and her idea of fun wasn’t necessarily the safe, happy kind. More usually it was the “What the hot holy hell just happened?” kind.
Mal darted a glance towards Badger, who was observing the exchange with bemusement as he cleaned under his fingernails with a corner of a document.
“’Ere, I thought the little tart ’ad an accent like mine,” Badger said. “Bit of the old Dyton patois, know what I mean?”
“Oh, I does, guvnor, and no mistake,” River replied, switching to the aforesaid accent. “I ain’t seen you in ages, me old china. Mind the dirt,” she added, gesturing to Badger’s hand. “Don’t want no contamination, do we now?”
“Oi, bint, none of your lip,” Badger retorted, but truth was, he had a soft spot for River, cultivated last time they’d met, when he’d held the crew hostage. “I washed before I come ’ere today. Clean as a whistle.”
“No, luv, what I’m saying is that’s your DNA, innit?” River said. “If we’re investigated, it’s you what’ll show up, not us.”
“Well, that’s right thoughtful of you to take into account,” Badger said, with a chuckle. “But my side of this exchange is above board and legitimate.”
Mal said to Badger, “You know the drill. Half now and half on delivery.” He held out his hand. Badger plunked a leather bag full of jingling coin into his palm.
“Feels light,” Mal said as he hefted it. It actually felt just about right. Tricky customers like Badger expected you to put up a fight even when there was no call for one.
“It’s all there,” Badger said, puffing himself up indignantly.
“Maybe I should count it all out, just to be sure,” Mal said. “Anybody can make a mistake.” He didn’t dump out the coin. He just stared Badger straight in the eye. Although the crime boss didn’t blink, after fifteen seconds or so a muscle in his left cheek started to twitch.
Satisfied that he’d made his point, Mal slipped the pouch in his pocket, money uncounted.