Kaylee tilted her head and said, “Hunh.”
“Yeah. I was about to ask him what he meant, but I got distracted by something. Landing, I think it was.”
He shrugged.
“So,” said Kaylee, “does that mean we should do what the Captain says and just wait up here?”
Wash nodded. “I’m pretty sure that’s what it means.”
“All right.”
“But I’m not going to.”
Kaylee smiled.
Wash sighed and headed back to the bridge.
It was evening on Hera when he nursed the shuttle to a standstill. He was glad Wash wasn’t there to see the landing; but he was down safe, and nothing was damaged.
He carefully went through the shutdown process, leaving the comm on. “Wash? Let Zoë know I’m down.”
“Will do, Mal.”
He reset the comm for the local office, and spoke once more.
“This is Captain Reynolds. Anyone there?”
After a moment, there was an answer. “Yeah. We have your payment here.”
“Going to be around for a while?”
“Another hour or so.”
“I’ll be there.”
Then he shut down the comm, as well.
He pulled his pistol, checked the load, re holstered it. “Okay,” he muttered. “Let’s do this thing.”
He left the shuttle, closed and locked it. Fifty feet away was the road; he took it.
Half an hour later he stood in the office, where the walls were white and clean and spacious, and everything blinked and hummed and flickered, and the few people who were working late were all dressed more or less like Kit had been. The place gave him the creeps.
A couple of questions led him to the right office, which turned out to be standing open. In it was a desk, and behind the desk a fat, pale man overflowed his chair, stubby hands typing at a keyboard. He looked up as Mal came in.
“Captain Reynolds?”
Mal nodded.
“Good. Sign here, please.”
The fat man passed him a clipboard and a lightpen. Mal signed it, passed it back, and received a narrow piece of paper.
“What’s this?”
“A check.”
“I was told—”
“Sign the back. I can cash it.”
He signed it, passed it back, and received a thick envelope. He opened it and counted, getting a look but no comment from the fat man.
“All here,” he said.
The other nodded. “I’m to convey Mr. Sakarya’s thanks.”
Mal nodded. “If he needs anything else, he knows how to reach us.”
“Indeed.”
Mal stuck the envelope into his coat and left the room, heading back out of the office. Okay, good. We’ve been paid. All is well, we can get out of here now.
There were a few pedestrians on the street, most of them looking like office workers, and many of them, it seemed, heading toward the canteen.
He dug into his a pocket, and found the map Wash had given him and studied it, relating it to the landmarks he knew. It wasn’t easy.
What’s the difference? I’m not going to go hunt him up. What’s the point? He’s a fed. Bad enough to have saved his life; there’s nothing to be gained by having anything more to do with him. Nothing at all.
He stared at the paper and tried to work it out.
Pointless, he told himself.
He frowned.
Oh, right. It’s about a hundred and fifty yards that way.
He went back to the main road and followed it most of the way out of town, turning to the right until he saw a low series of bungalows.
Yep, he said. Has to be that one.
His feet carried him that way, and right up to the door.
Chapter 5
My Own Kind of Questions
He was just about to knock on the door when he heard a crunch behind him. He turned quickly, reaching for his pistol, then stopped with it half out of the holster.
“Zoë!”
“Yes, sir?”
“What the xuexing de ta ma de diyu are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Had you expected me to wait on Serenity while you spoke to the fed by yourself?”
“Well, seeing as how I gave that order, I sort of figured on it, yes. What about the rest of them?”
“I took the other shuttle. They’re still up in close orbit, geostationary.”
“All right. Well, as long as we’re here—”
“Our friend isn’t.”
“Hmmm?”
“The fed—assuming that’s what he is—left half an hour ago.”
“Oh. You’ve been waiting here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t suppose you know where he went?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You do?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where?”
“Follow me, sir.”
It was fully dark by this time. They walked through the darkened back streets of Yuva for about fifteen minutes, until they stopped in front of what seemed, in the little ambient light there was, to be a large, black object of indeterminate shape. “Here, sir,” whispered Zoë.
Mal whispered back. “What is it?”
“In the light, it seemed to be a warehouse for the landing field.”
“How big?”
“Not terribly.”
“Okay.”
He dug around in his coat pocket for a minute, then whispered, “Got some light?”
Zoë kept the light dim, but they were able to spot the door. Mal positioned himself on the side with the latch, Zoë took the other. They both drew their weapons.
Mal found the latch with his left hand, turned it. The “click” seemed very loud. The door was also loud when it opened. He waited to see if anything would happen.
When the floodlights came on, he let himself fall backward, staying near the wall, then rolled, coming to rest on his stomach, pistol pointing toward the door. Zoë was clearly visible, on one knee, pistol and head swinging back and forth.
A voice emerged from the doorway.
“I’m not going to shoot at you. I’d appreciate it if you’d be equally reserved.”
“Who’s there?” called Mal.
“It’s me. Kit. I didn’t know who you were when I hit the lights.”
Mal lowered his pistol, pointing it at the ground next to his foot. Zoë pointed hers at a spot on the ground midway between her and the door.
He came out, showing empty hands, though there was a pistol tucked into his belt. “I take it you were looking for me?”
“That we were.”
“And I assume you didn’t save my life six hours ago in order to kill me now, so, would you like to come in?”
Mal glanced at Zoë, who stood up, holstered her gun, and shrugged. Mal stood up and holstered his own. “Well then,” he said.
They followed him inside, Zoë closing the door behind them. Kit flicked a heavy switch just inside the door, presumably turning off the floodlights. They followed him down a badly lit hall to a small office, with comm equipment, monitors, and keyboard set about here and there.
“Get comfortable,” he said.
Zoë rolled her eyes. “Is it all of Hera, or just Yuva where no one believes in chairs?”
“I get the chair,” said Kit, “because I got here first.”
Zoë leaned against the wall, Mal took a corner of the desk. “Is this a hideout you’ve used before, or was it spur of the moment?”
“I’ve had it in mind, just in case.”
Mal felt Zoë looking at him. “Best to have a bolt hole, in your line of work.”