Mal searched the big man’s face. As well as being stupid, Jayne was one of the worst liars he’d ever met. This time, oddly enough, he wasn’t lying.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I just didn’t.”
Zoë said, “Sir, I’m hearing a buzzboat.”
Mal glanced up. “Yeah, okay. Let’s find some cover.”
Zoë said, “Sir, if they have infrared—”
“Unlikely. Too much bounce from this topsoil during daylight.”
“But if they do—”
“Then we’re humped. Let’s go.”
“What about him?”
“He comes with us for now.”
“I don’t think you can take the chance with him, sir.”
“Sure I can. Let’s try this way.”
Jayne followed Mal, keenly aware of Zoë and her sawed-off behind him the whole time. He didn’t feel any special resentment for Zoë’s being so determined to kill him; he knew well enough it’s what he would have done. He wasn’t sure why the Captain hadn’t just done it, but he never did quite know what the Captain would or wouldn’t do, or why. He knew the Captain had some sort of code he kept to; but he had never been able to figure out what that code was. It made things gorram confusing. And it was impossible to figure out how to use that code against him.
So he followed Mal toward cover, and tried to forget about the weapon behind him. If he had the chance, he’d turn on Zoë, take out Mal, and—
No, in fact, he wouldn’t.
He wasn’t sure why, but he wouldn’t. He’d go along with them, and try to get out of this with them, and if they killed him, that’s just how it came out.
He wasn’t exactly sure why he made that decision, but neither did he spend much time trying to figure it out.
They found a tree with a particularly thick covering of branches, and ducked under it.
Chapter 11
My Own Kind of Hate
The buzzboat was now clearly audible, moving slowly, just a little ways east and about two hundred meters off the ground.
What was the Captain thinking this time?
Letting Jayne live was just crazy. And if he believed that story about not having given them away to the Locals, then he was completely off his nut.
Of course, it might be part of some larger plan; but if it was, she’d appreciate being let in on it.
Jayne, as part of the crew, was like a barely controlled element, always just a bit more likely to save them than to get them killed. Jayne, not as part of the crew, was just dangerous; any little slip and he’d turn on them both without giving it a second thought.
What was the Captain thinking?
He had betrayed members of his crew—twice. He had proved, over and over again, that he cared nothing— nothing —for anyone except himself. He had endangered the Captain, and, by now, Wash, Kaylee, and Serenity herself.
He was doing no good to anyone still walking; there was no possible reason for allowing it.
She kept under the cover of the tree, holding her weapon on Jayne, and hoping the buzzboat didn’t have infrared scanners. It was so tempting to just pull the trigger.
So very tempting.
She put her trust in the Captain and waited.
The buzzing vanished off to the east, and he saw Mal breathe a sigh of relief; Zoë didn’t seem to react.
“Safe for a while,” said Mal.
“You guys are safe,” said Jayne. “What are you—”
“Haven’t decided yet, Jayne.”
“Sun sets in a couple of hours,” said Zoë. “They’ll be back with infrared.”
Mal nodded. “With any luck, by that time we’ll be…”
“We’ll be what, sir?” asked Zoë when Mal didn’t finish the sentence.
Mal flipped on his comm link. “Wash, how are we doing?”
There was an agonizing delay—maybe two seconds—then Wash said, “Still flying, Mal.”
“Going to be able to come fetch us?”
Another pause, then, “No. Not soon. Maybe, if Kaylee… take a while.”
Mal disconnected. “We’re on our own,” he said.
Jayne thought about asking for a gun again, but decided it would be a waste of breath.
Helpless. I’m ruttin’ helpless. Locals chasing me to make a ruttin’ miner for life of me, and a gorram carbine at my back, and all I can do is sit here and wait for what happens.
“Okay,” said Mal, with the sort of finality in his voice that indicates he’d decided on a plan.
Mal had a plan.
Now I’m really humped.
Mister Sakarya’s office was full of open spaces, windows, natural woods, and padded chairs. His desk was wide and wrapped around in a gentle curve to the big window that looked out on a shallow hill leading down to a pond. A few trees flanked the pond, and a family of ducks floated in it. There was one chair facing the desk, and it was, at present, unoccupied; the heavy man in the gray uniform stood, sweating. Sakarya sat, glowering.
His voice was barely controlled as he said, “How did they do it, Rennes?”
“It was well-planned, and well-timed, Mister Sakarya. We were transferring the prisoner for transport, had just gotten him loaded, when they were there. They got the drop—”
“Well-timed,” repeated Sakarya. “You say it was well-timed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who knew when you’d be doing the transfer?”
“Sir?”
Sakarya closed his eyes and counted to eight.
“How many people knew the transfer schedule, and who were they?”
“There was no transfer schedule, sir. We finished the paperwork, then moved him—”
“Then how could it have been well-timed, you piece of ga-sa?”
Rennes wilted, sputtered, and said, “I meant—”
“You meant they got the drop on you because you weren’t expecting him to be rescued, and so you were all going through the motions without paying attention. Is that correct?”
Rennes cringed and looked down.
“Is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sakarya nodded. “All right. What are we doing about it?”
“Three buzz-boats, roadblocks, and we’ve put a detail on searching the woods east of town, since that’s… that is to say, we think they’re hiding—”
“You think?”
“We found the vehicle they hijacked, and it was empty. Backtracking along the—”
“You’ve messed this up just about every way you could, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sakarya let out a long, slow breath.
“All right,” he said at last. “Keep me informed, and try not to screw up any more.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Sakarya nodded and waved him out of the room. When he was gone, Sakarya hit a button on his desk. A voice came back at once: “Yes, Filo?”
He grimaced. “Miss Wuhan, Officer Rennes is on the way out. Have someone get him, slap him with indentures, and send him to Site Four. I don’t want to see him again.”
“All right.”
“And we’ll need someone to take over his post. Promote whoever is his second in command.”
“All right.”
Silence fell like a curtain in his office.
The whole thing had been bungled from the beginning. It wasn’t just the escape: that man, Cobb, should never have been processed anyway. And that ship should never have been permitted off the ground. Cobb should have been questioned, fined, and released. Didn’t those idiots realize that the gorram Alliance was here? And that this Cobb was, one way or another, connected with it? That everything he had could come tumbling down just because these idiots refused to think, refused to change tactics when the situation changed?