“Hoban,” said Zoë, deliberately using his given name rather than his nickname, as a sister might, “Major Bernard doesn’t need to know any of that. Major Bernard is a busy man. Isn’t that so, Major?”
“Aubrey,” said Bernard.
“Huh?”
“I call you Zoë, you call me Aubrey.”
“Sure thing, Aubrey.” Zoë bit back a laugh. Aubrey? “So, Hoban, why don’t you just hurry on back to the bridge?” She made a waggling wave with her fingers. “Assuming Aubrey doesn’t need to discuss anything with you, that is.”
“I have just one question,” Bernard said to Wash. “What was your course prior to boarding?”
Wash told him the truth. He had no choice. It was all down in black and white on the manifest they got from Badger, which Bernard now held.
“That would be for delivery of five crates of mining chemicals?” Bernard scanned over the bill of lading. “On Aberdeen?”
Wash nodded.
“Very well,” said Bernard. “That’s all I need to know. You’re dismissed, Mr. Washburne.”
“Okay. Bye for now, uh, sis,” Wash said to Zoë. “See you later.”
He sauntered off, doing his best impersonation of Zoë’s confident, take-no-prisoners gait.
“Strange fellow,” Bernard remarked. “Hard to believe the two of you are related.”
“Well, we’re not, are we?” Zoë said. “Not by blood. My parents took him in after his own parents rejected him.”
“I can see why they might have. His parents, I mean. Yours, not so much.”
“Growing up, he was always a doofus. Hasn’t changed a great deal. But never mind him, Aubrey. You keep examining that paperwork. I think you’ll find it’s all in order, but it never hurts to have someone cast an expert eye over it.”
She braced both arms on the table, leaning close to the Alliance officer — so close that a stray strand of her hair brushed his cheek.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, in a not-sorry voice.
“No problem, Zoë.” Bernard gave every appearance of concentrating on the documents but she could tell his mind wasn’t fully on the task. Every once in a while he darted a quick sideways glance at her, taking in her arm, the curve of her bosom, the profile of her face. Finally, he pronounced himself satisfied. “Registration code numbers on the engine manifolds are correct. Documentation all checks out. Guess I’d better have a look at the labels and seals on those crates of chemicals, just to be completely sure.”
They left the dining room, Zoë leading the way. She was conscious of Bernard’s gaze on her backside and walked with a little extra wiggle for his benefit. Her injured leg accentuated the motion.
Jayne and Kaylee were still where she had left them, down in the cargo bay. Wash was there too. Jayne looked ill-tempered as always but was trying to rein in his disgruntlement. Kaylee, by contrast, was an open book. She wrung her hands and gnawed her lower lip. As for Wash, he could put on a poker face when he needed to.
“HTX-20,” Major Bernard said, walking around the crates but giving them a wide berth. “Satan’s Snowflakes, they call it. That’s some seriously hazardous cargo you’ve got there.”
“It’s what we do, Aubrey,” Zoë said. “There’s a premium on hazardous.”
Bernard waved his subordinates over. “See if you can’t shift them out of the way,” he said. “I want to know what’s under them.”
Zoë and Kaylee traded glances. Kaylee said, “Sir, these crates should not be moved. The contents are highly volatile.”
Bernard wheeled around, one eyebrow raised. “If they’re that dangerous, then why are they sitting in your hold without proper protection?”
“They didn’t used to be so volatile.”
“Move them,” Bernard ordered.
The Alliance officers tried, but they couldn’t lift the crates and they couldn’t slide them across the deck, either. They were just too heavy to budge. With every grunting abortive attempt, the four crewmembers flinched.
Bernard turned to Zoë. He pointed at a forklift parked along the wall. “Does that thing work?”
Kaylee made a little involuntary squeak.
“What do you think’s under there?” Jayne said, clearly on the verge of losing his couth and his cool. “How dumb do you think we are?”
“I don’t know how dumb you, personally, are,” Bernard said. “By the looks of it, pretty dumb.”
Jayne’s lips curled back from his teeth.
“Zoë, on the other hand,” Bernard continued, “strikes me as an intelligent and discerning woman, which is why I’m asking myself how she could just let these crates sit here if their contents are really so unstable. Which in turn leads me to wonder whether they mightn’t be hiding something, and someone’s hoping we won’t dare move them.”
“I’ll move them,” Wash said agreeably.
Zoë watched as Wash climbed onto the repaired forklift, started it up, and with a grinding crunch, jammed it in reverse. Showing off his exceptional driving skills, he nearly backed over Bernard’s foot. Would have done, if Zoë hadn’t nudged the Alliance officer out of the path of the rear wheel.
“Aargh. Sorry about that,” Wash said sheepishly as he squealed the brakes. “Accelerator sticks a bit.”
He surged forward, dropping the fork so low, it sent sparks flying off the deck. With a reckless nonchalance, he scraped under and scooped up the nearest crate. Zoë was holding her breath. Jayne turned away, a scowl on his face. Kaylee looked plain desperate.
“Where do you want it?” Wash asked as he raised the huge box, teetering, to eye level.
“Anywhere,” Bernard said.
As Wash reversed away with the crate, Major Bernard seemed disappointed to find no trap door hidden underneath. There was nothing but solid, bolted-down deck plate.
“Move the others,” he told Wash.
But it was the same story there. Bernard watched as his men tested the deck plates with their scanner wands, looking for voids that could hold contraband and stowaways. When they were done, they shook their heads.
“Ship is clean, sir,” one of them reported. Then he added, hopefully, “A bit too clean maybe?”
Zoë chortled merrily. “Oh, hush! Don’t you listen to him, Aubrey,” she said, resting a hand on Bernard’s forearm. “How can a ship be too clean? It’s ridiculous!”
Her hand lingered. Major Bernard made no effort to dislodge it. Weighing up the evidence of his own eyes, and factoring in the obvious allure he held for Zoë, he came a decision. He scribbled something on the bottom of the manifest, then stamped it with his official stamp.
“We appreciate your compliance and courtesy,” he said to Zoë. “You are good to go. We’ll be out of your way shortly.”
“Excellent work,” Wash said, beaming at Bernard. “Very efficient. Very thorough. A credit to the Alliance.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Zoë,” Bernard said, giving her a particularly snappy salute.
“Likewise, I’m sure, Aubrey.”
The boarding team left the crew’s weapons piled on the dining table and made a dignified, single-file exit.
As the ramp closed behind them, Wash sidled over to Zoë. “I’ve got to say, Zoë, seeing that performance of yours just now, I don’t know whether I’m turned on or should start filing for divorce. Did ‘Aubrey’ give you his wave address? You two planning on seeing each other again, or was this a one-time thing?”
“You know I only have eyes for you, husband.”
“I was thinking, maybe we could play at being brother and sister again sometime. To, y’know, spice things up in the bedroom.”