Of course, that sawed-off carbine pointing straight at his chest might be part of the reason.
He said, “I don’t need to state the obvious, do I?”
The captain said, “You mean, the part about I shoot him, you shoot me, Zoë shoots you, and Jayne flies off into the sunset?”
“Something like that.”
“Works for me,” said the mercenary without turning his head.
“No, you don’t need to point that out.”
“So, tell me this: what do you think will do more good? Killing this guy, or making an example of him to everyone else on the border worlds who wants to try the same thing?”
“Couldn’t say,” said the captain. “I don’t conjure with more good and less good, just with what’s in front of me.”
“The Independents lost the war, Captain Reynolds.”
“Yeah, I read that somewhere.”
“Let’s suppose the cause was right. Then what?”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No, I don’t. But suppose I’m wrong. Then what?”
“Then it’s a damn shame we lost.”
“Just what I was thinking. Means some bad happened.”
“I don’t think you’re making your point real well, Agent Merlyn.”
“So, how about, if some bad happened, you let us do what good we can do, to sort of make up for some of it.”
Wash came through the door.
“Wash!” said Jayne. “I almost put one through your gorram head!”
Wash ignored him, and spoke to Kit. “I got it,” he said.
“Verify it.”
“How?”
The captain said, “Wash—”
“One second, Mal.”
Kit said, “Slide the little brown button on the back the other way, then hit start.”
Wash said, “Two green lights.”
Okay, here we go. It happens or it doesn’t.
Kit rotated his whole body until, weapon and all, he was facing Sakarya. He said, “Filo Bursa, alias Filo Sakarya, you are bound by law for violations of Alliance Labor Code section nineteen part three, forced indenture, and section seventeen part five, child labor, and additional charges to be determined by a duly authorized court.”
Then he waited.
He so badly wanted to pull the trigger; to watch Bursa fall to the ground twitching. To shoot him in the chest, so he’d just have enough to time to know he was dying.
But it wasn’t that gorram simple.
He’d never felt this way in a firefight.
Even as a young recruit, when he didn’t know how to handle himself, he’d done as well as could be expected: keeping his head down and shooting in the general direction of the enemy. But this was different. It wasn’t clear. It wasn’t obvious. There were too many answers, and all of them had some right and some wrong.
When the fed pointed his gun at Bursa, Zoë had immediately turned hers toward the door; now he heard the report of her carbine at the same time as Jayne’s pistol, and two more of Bursa’s security force fell in the doorway, next to their companions, one of whom was moaning and writhing, while the other wasn’t moving at all.
“Sir,” said Zoë, without turning her head, “whatever you’re going to do, I’d suggest doing it soon.”
“Real soon,” said Wash, from directly behind him. “Someone’s gotten past the jamming.
Song yiqie dao ta ma de diyu.
In a firefight, he either knew the right thing to do, or he knew something to do that, at least, wasn’t wrong. The only thing worse than having to make this sort of decision was having to make this sort of decision in a hurry.
He looked over at the fed. “I don’t owe you a gorram thing,” he said.
“I know.”
“And I owe your Alliance even less.”
“I know.”
Mal lowered his pistol and heard himself saying, “Take him, then. He’s yours.”
A tension she didn’t know she was feeling drained out of her when the Captain spoke. She held her position and kept her focus on the door while she heard a clanking sound that had to be cuffs going around Colonel Bursa’s wrists. She held her position, waiting for the order to embark.
“Wash, how’s the shuttle?”
“It’s going to be fun getting it turned around in here, but everything works.”
“You can fly us out?”
“Yes.”
“With six of us aboard?”
She heard the hesitation, then, “I don’t—”
“Five,” said the fed. “Take the prisoner. I’m staying here. I’ll come to collect him later.”
“You know they’ll kill you,” he heard the Captain saying.
“Oddly enough, they won’t. But I’d hurry if I were you. There are two Special Deputies on the way, and you’d much rather face down Sakarya’s security force than these two. Trust me on that.”
“All of you, move,” said the Captain. “Buttoned up and flying in thirty seconds.”
She took a position next to Bursa, grabbed his arm, jabbed her sawed-off into his back, and guided him toward the shuttle. He seemed reluctant to move. She dropped the barrel of the weapon, prodded him again, and said, “Colonel, if you even hesitate,” she said, “I’ll blow your balls off and we’ll drag you in. And you can’t know how much I want to blow your balls off.”
They moved toward the shuttle.
Rearguard again.
As he backed toward the shuttle, keeping his eye on the door, he saw the fed leaving, and felt a sudden temptation to put a round into him, just because he could. Then the fed was coming back through the door, faster then he’d left. After about five steps he stopped, turned, fired twice, then backed up and off to the side.
Crap.
Jayne moved forward and dropped to his belly, holding the Marauder with both hands.
“Jayne!” called Mal. “What are you doing?”
Now there was a good question. He’d just been thinking about plugging the gorram fed, just for fun, and now he was—
A whole bushelfull of them came through the door, several of them getting in each other’s way, a couple of them tripping. Not the best trained troops I’ve ever seen, he thought. Meanwhile, the little counter in the back of his head recorded that after firing six times, he had fourteen rounds left in the magazine. The captain was firing from behind him, and the agent from off to his right somewhere, though he wasn’t consciously aware of how he knew. Another voice joined the chorus; it had to be Zoë. He hoped that ruttin’ bastard in the shuttle was well secured, but it wasn’t his job to worry about that. He also made a mental note: I should really suggest to the Captain that we pick up some grenades.
He fired six more times, very fast, then the doorway was clear. Were they hanging back, waiting, or had they run? Only one way to find out. He stood up, then discovered he was on his stomach again.
What the—?
He tried to stand again, and failed.
Then hands grabbed him by the arms; Mal’s and Zoë’s, and dragged him toward the shuttle. The fed was looking at him, holding a smoking pistol, and then he was inside, and was being strapped into a chair.
“You can really get us out of here?” said Mal, which seemed very odd, because Jayne had never claimed to be a pilot, and he wasn’t even in the pilot’s chair.
“Watch me,” said Wash. “How is Jayne?”
“One in the shoulder that went straight down, one in the left calf. I’m not sure how bad. Zoë took a scratch in the hand. That’s all. Now get us out of here.”