“Don’t push it, buster,” Zoë said, giving him a whack on the arm that left him wincing and rubbing the affected area for a minute afterwards.
It took ten minutes for I.A.V. Stormfront to undock. By then, Wash was back up in the bridge. When Serenity was clear of the cruiser’s exhaust, he fired a single pulse of the engines and gentled her away, in the opposite direction Inara had flown.
“We’ve got to do something about those crates,” Kaylee said to Zoë. “It can’t wait.”
“If they’re overheating, there’s only one solution I can see. Jayne’s idea. We strap them down and blow the atmo. Hard vacuum will bring down their temperature in no time.”
“What if that doesn’t work?”
“We jettison them out into space,” Zoë said. She hated even thinking it, let alone voicing it. The crew were already so broke. But better broke than incinerated.
“If we lose our cargo,” Jayne said, “we might as well quit flying.”
Zoë rounded on him. “You care to rephrase that?”
He shrugged. “Choice mightn’t be ours, anyway. We won’t have the coin we need to keep this boat in the sky.”
She kept glaring at him, but he was only saying what she was thinking. She said, “Strap down the crates. Fast. And keep your mouth shut.”
“This is not our best day,” Jayne muttered under his breath.
Zoë thought of Mal. Wherever he had gotten to, she reckoned he was having an even worse day.
24
Inara had seen larger, grander houses in her time, but Hunter Covington’s mansion was impressive nonetheless. It was wedding-cake white and sprawled over two stories, with Doric columns rising to the roof all along its front elevation, creating a broad, shaded porch area. Twenty rooms in the main building at least, she thought, along with a barn-like stable block to one side and a wing adjoining the rear which, to judge by the comparative plainness of its exterior, most likely housed the servants’ quarters.
The grounds were impressive too, if for no other reason than the greenness of the neatly trimmed lawns and shrubbery. The surrounding landscape was arid and harshly brown, dotted here and there with vegetation but more or less desert. To use so much water in such a parched region to irrigate a garden was costly and profligate.
It was early, but in the cool of the morning a gardener was already outdoors, clipping a hedge. He paused from his labors to watch Inara go past. Not five minutes earlier her shuttle had put down in front of the property. The gardener had been curious about that, but not as curious as he was to see a woman who was clearly a Companion sashaying forth. He touched a finger to the brim of his sunhat. Inara rewarded him with one her best and brightest smiles.
She walked up a short flight of steps to the front door, which opened before she had even got a hand to the bellpush.
The person on the other side was not some valet or butler, she knew that at a glance. He was a slab-faced bodyguard type, with a gun on his hip and an insolent, seen-it-all look about him.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Inara Serra. I’m expected.”
“You sure as hell ain’t. Nobody’s expected.”
Her forehead puckered into the slightest of frowns. “To whom am I speaking?”
“Who I am ain’t none of your business, lady,” said the bodyguard.
“Well, is Mr. Covington home?”
“Mr. Covington ain’t home.”
She looked flustered. “There must be some misunderstanding. I have an appointment with him this morning. Eight a.m. sharp. My credentials.”
She showed him her Companion license and registration, etched with the insignia of House Madrassa.
The bodyguard had already figured out her occupation for himself and gave the documents only a cursory glance.
“He’s really not in?” she said.
“Off-planet on business. You sure you have an appointment? Only Mr. Covington, he don’t consort with Companions, best I know. He has himself… alternative outlets for his needs, if you get what I’m saying. Must be there’s been some kinda mix-up.”
Inara was now doing an impersonation of someone very confused and not a little indignant. “Mistakes like this simply don’t happen. I had a firm engagement with Mr. Covington at this hour. It was made over a month ago, and I’ve travelled a long way to be here. If he was going to cancel, he ought to have let me know in advance. I’ve a good mind to report him to the Guild over this. Wasting my time. He’ll be fined at the very least, and if I have my way he’ll be blackballed as well.”
“Yeah, well, sorry about that,” said the bodyguard unapologetically.
Inara insinuated herself into the doorway, so that he could not easily close the door on her. “May I make a small request?” He didn’t say no, so she continued, “I’ve been in my shuttle nearly three days straight. The water tanks are running low and, frankly, I could do with freshening up. Is there a bathroom nearby I could use? I promise I won’t be more than five minutes. You’d be doing me such a favor.”
No one was impervious to Inara Serra’s charm when she turned it on full blast. Age, gender, sexual inclination, professional obligation, none of it made any difference. A person’s inner barriers simply melted like ice under a blowtorch.
The bodyguard could have no more refused her request than he could have forbidden the tide from turning or the sun from setting.
“I dunno…”
“Please?”
Whatever last few misgivings he had evaporated. “Okay. It’s down this way. Follow me.”
“You’re too kind… Do you have a name?”
“Walter.”
“Walter, you’re too kind.”
Walter couldn’t help himself. A smile of appreciation plucked at the corners of his meaty mouth.
Inara entered a huge hallway with a curved, sweeping staircase and teak floorboards polished to such a gleam they dazzled the eyes. The downstairs bathroom had gold and marble fittings. Inara ran the faucets a while and made some minor adjustments to her elaborate, kabuki-inflected makeup in the mirror. She was steeling herself for what she had to do next.
Walter the bodyguard was waiting right outside as she re-emerged.
“I’ll be leaving now,” she said. “Do tell Mr. Covington that I was disappointed to have missed him. I’m still unhappy about the unannounced cancellation, but your courtesy, Walter, has gone a long way to allaying my feelings of offense. Oh. You appear to have something on your neck. A speck of lint, it looks like. May I?”
Not allowing him to grant permission, or even to try to remove the lint himself, Inara reached up and brushed the side of his thick neck.
Walter touched the spot where her fingers had just been. A small knot formed between his eyebrows.
“Feels odd,” he said. “Like my skin’s gone numb.”
“A Companion’s touch has been known to have all sorts of effects,” Inara said.
“Yeah, but this ain’t…” His eyes swam in their sockets. His body swayed. “What the hell’d you just do to me, you witch?” he said slurringly.
“It’s a fast-acting, skin-contact sedative, Walter. An hour from now you’ll wake up with a raging headache and a powerful thirst, but otherwise unharmed.”
He made to grab for her but the action was feeble and uncoordinated. His legs were buckling under him. He could barely stay standing.
“Companions have these little tricks,” Inara continued, “in case a client gets aggressive or otherwise fails to observe the rules. Now why don’t you just sit down over there?” She guided him towards a gilt chair. “More comfortable than simply collapsing to the floor.”
Walter sat heavily. His eyelids drooped. His head sagged.