What would she say? Nothing, because he wouldn’t have had that conversation with her. He’d have said, “I’m just pondering some things.”
And she’d have put most of it together, gorram her anyway. And she’d have said something snide, and he’d have gotten mad, but part of him would have listened, and—
And when had he assigned the role of conscience to a—
The word refused to quite form in his mind. He almost laughed, realizing it. He’d called her that to her face often enough, but now when she wasn’t even on the boat, he couldn’t.
Shipboard romances complicate things.
But they ought to stop complicating things when they were over.
He wondered what she was doing right now. Then he guessed, and started to smash his fist into the bulkhead. He stopped as he imagined trying to explain the injury to the doctor, and the damage to the bulkhead to Kaylee.
He turned abruptly and left the shuttle, making his way to the Engine room, where Kaylee was doing something incomprehensible involving the wetpull.
“The shuttle looks good, Kaylee,” he said.
“Thanks, Cap’n. If you can give me a couple of hours, I should have the I-grav smoothed out. Though it isn’t really important. I can always—”
“A couple of hours? We can do that.”
A couple of hours more to make up his mind; that was good. He could use the time to wrestle with his conscience. He chuckled.
“What did you say, Cap’n?”
“Hmmm? Oh, nothing, I was just muttering to myself.”
A whore for a conscience indeed!
He took himself to the bridge long enough to make sure the boat was securely buttoned up, then went back to his bunk to lie down, close his eyes, and try to think.
Chapter 8
My Own Kind of Lie
He gave Zoë a kiss on the cheek, got up, and dressed. She rolled over and sighed. He smiled, made his way to the bridge, and leaned back in the pilot’s chair. He partially woke up Serenity and did some checks: nothing on the perimeter, no transmissions had come in. Good.
He tapped the intercom. “How we doing, Kaylee?”
After about ten seconds, her voice came back. “Just about there. She should be smoother into and out of real grav now. If you can give me another ten minutes, she’ll be ready to fly.”
“Okay. So far as I know, we aren’t going anywhere right away.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“I wish I knew.”
He sat facing the front window.
There had been times he had wanted to smack Mal hard. There had been times he would probably have done so, if he hadn’t known that Mal could and would have pummeled him into the deck without breaking a sweat. But this was different; there was something wrong with Mal, and whatever it was, it was working its way through every aspect of life on Serenity. It was like trying to fly with controls that might do what you expected, or might do something entirely different. No one could fly like that.
He’d been scared before. Many times. He’d been scared the first time he’d soloed, on his first (and only) combat mission, and more times than he could count since joining this crew. But this was different; this was intangible, and therefore much worse; this was a fear he couldn’t look at it. Something was wrong, and therefore something bad was liable to happen, and there was no telling what.
He stared out through the window, wishing he had some sort of idea, until one of the small red lights below the nav started flashing.
The intercom crackled and Wash’s voice emerged from it. “Mal, we have a visitor.”
His eyes still closed, he found the button, pushed it. “I’ll be right up.”
He opened his eyes, heaved himself up and made his way to the bridge. Wash was staring at the console, fine tuning.
“Some sort of armored vehicle,” he said. “About half a click away, coming on slow. Should I deploy the guns?”
“We don’t have any guns.”
“Oh, right. I keep forgetting that. Why don’t we have any guns?”
“How long to warm up and go?”
“Uh… two minutes, if Kaylee is ready.”
If Kaylee is ready, thought Mal. Well, she’d said a couple of hours, and that usually meant ninety minutes. He checked the clock, then hit the intercom.
“Kaylee, we ready?”
“Any time, Cap’n.”
“Take us up as soon as you can, Wash?”
“Out of the world?” he asked, even as he was running through the warm up.
“No, we’re just going to scoot a bit.”
Wash didn’t answer. It looked like something was bothering him, but there was no time to worry about it now.
“Wash, give me sound.”
It took Mal a moment to identify the sound of trees rustling in the wind, followed by a low motorized hum.
“Is it in sight yet, Wash?”
“Uh… no. But it has to be close. I’m trying to bring it… there it is.”
“Yeah, all right. Armored car, single-mount squatter on it. Could be worse.”
“How?”
“Well, the squat could be pointed at us.”
“Isn’t it… ?
“Yeah, it’s turning. Are we warm?”
“We’re warm.”
“Go.”
Wash pushed the throttle and a roar filled the bridge.
“Mafan ni ba waitou de shengyin guandiao, Mal?” said Wash.
Mal reached forward clicked off the external, and the sound abruptly died.
“Thank you,” said Wash.
“Bring us up to five clicks.”
Zoë came in to the bridge. “So, we’re leaving?”
“We’re avoiding a squatter,” said Mal.
“A squatter, sir?” Zoë frowned, and Mal saw her mind working.
“Mounted on what looked like a frog, unmodified.”
Mal watched her mind work, reconstructing the frog, and when they’d last faced one, and putting things together, and then deciding not to ask any questions.
“Bring us to the other side of town, then set us down.”
“Mal, you think it was Sakarya?”
Count on Wash to ask the question Zoë chose not to.
“If it isn’t, I’m curious about who else has access to old military gear. If it is, I’m curious about why he bothered paying us first.”
“Oh. Good then,” said Wash. “And just why are we setting down again, seeing as how we’re paid and all?”
Count on Wash to ask the question Zoë had been choosing not to ask all day.
“The client,” he said at last. “Sakarya. There are things about him, what he’s doing. I want to find out a little more before we leave.”
“Oh, you mean, he might not be a real nice guy, like most of the people we work for?”
Mal glanced at him, but didn’t answer.
“Mal, when did this become our business?”
“When—”
He broke off. “Just set us down, Wash.”
“Yes, sir, Captain, sir.”
Mal clamped his mouth shut. He felt Zoë not looking at him. Serenity began her descent.
“Huh,” said Wash. “I don’t know what Kaylee did, but this is smoother. I hadn’t even noticed the jerkiness until it was gone.”