Firefly--Life Signs

by James Lovegrove

  “You don’t think anyone’ll try and, y’know, make a move on you?” said Annie. “Seeing as you won’t have us to protect you?”

  “It’s good of you to show concern, Annie, and no, I don’t. My body may be lettin’ me down but I still rule the roost, and everybody knows that.”

  “Okay. If you say so.”

  “I gorramn do.”

  “So you want the Slugger back, boss,” said Pale Horse. “What about the four ringers? You want them back too?”

  “Them and whoever it is has had the cods to go with ’em.”

  “Alive?”

  “Don’t all have to be,” said Mr. O’Bannon. “Annie?”

  “Boss?”

  “You’re in charge of this here little expedition.”

  “Got it.”

  “Everyone else, what Annie says goes. You answer to her as though she’s me. Are we clear on that?”

  Nods all round.

  “Then get to it.”

  * * *

  As the Regulators filed out of the cell, Mr. O’Bannon said, “Annie, a word, if I may.”

  When the two of them were alone, he beckoned her close to his bedside.

  “Is everything okay with you?”

  “Sure, boss,” Annie said. “What makes you think it wouldn’t be?”

  “Only, you seem a mite antsy. Have you done something wrong, Annie?”

  “I haven’t, sir.”

  “Sure about that?”

  “Sure as I can be.”

  Mr. O’Bannon looked her up and down. “You’re a good woman. You look out for me. You’ve got my best interests at heart.”

  “I definitely do.”

  “That’s why I put you in charge of the search party. Because you’re smart and you’re sharp and I trust you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. O’Bannon.”

  “And also because I’m thinking that that Zoë woman may have played you in order to get to see me. She was trying to get the inside track, finagle her way into my confidence, learn about Weng. Didn’t work, but it was a nice try all the same. And you were the patsy.”

  “I don’t think that’s what—”

  “If she did, I ain’t holding you accountable,” Mr. O’Bannon said. “Don’t fuss about that none. But it just might make you feel like you owe her something. A little payback, maybe. Might give you a personal stake in this.”

  Ornery Annie clenched her jaw. “You mightn’t be wrong on that score, sir.”

  “What it also means is that I’m holding you responsible for how things turn out. Fully and solely. You do it right, it’ll be no more than I expect from you. Do it wrong, and…”

  He did not spell out the consequences. That was not Mr. O’Bannon’s way.

  “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” he said. “Sending you Regulators off to catch that Zoë woman and her friends. A dying man, clutching at straws.”

  “Ain’t my place to make that judgment, sir. I think it’s unwise leaving yourself unguarded, but you’re right, you do still rule the roost here.”

  “Well, could be it is desperation on my part. Could be they haven’t a hope in hell of finding Weng, even if he is still alive. But that ain’t the only bronco in this rodeo.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Those people came for Weng, to get him off-planet. That means a ship dropped ’em off and it’s waiting somewhere to pick ’em back up. Yes? Make sense to you?”

  “Now that you mention it,” Annie said, “it does.”

  “So, maybe they find Weng, maybe they don’t. Either way they’re gonna call in that ship at some point and haul ass off of Atata.”

  Annie saw what he was driving at. “And you could be on that ship with them.”

  “If they were presented with the right incentive to take me aboard,” said Mr. O’Bannon. “A little hostage-taking, perhaps. A threat or two. Making an example of one of them. That might just be the persuasion they need.”

  “And if you can get to another world, you could find treatment.”

  “Exactly, Annie. Exactly. On the outside, I can find a place to hole up and doctors to fix me. Everything could be jake.”

  “So that’s why you want us to bring them back alive.”

  “Some of them. The rest you can do with as you please. We only need one or two of them to secure us passage aboard that ship.”

  “Us?” said Annie.

  “You don’t think I’d leave without my most trusted lieutenant?”

  “Boss… I don’t know what to say, boss.” Annie was genuinely choked up.

  “We find a way off this crap-hole of a planet, I’m taking you with me,” Mr. O’Bannon said. “The other Regulators, them I don’t care about so much. But I’d need someone I can trust by my side. Someone to watch over this enfeebled old body of mine, until I’m better again. A protector.”

  “That would be me, sir.”

  “Of course it would, Annie. Of course it would. And now…”

  Mr. O’Bannon sagged back down to a supine position. Plainly, all this talking had left him exhausted. Pain was etched into his emaciated features, giving them a taut, almost mummified appearance.

  “Now I gotta rest,” he said in a dry-leaf whisper of a voice. “Go get ’em, Ornery Annie. Go get those bastards and drag them back. Weng too, if they happen to find him. For my sake. And,” he added, “for yours.”

  42

  It wasn’t as if Mal Reynolds believed in God anymore.

  He had been of a religious inclination in the past. More than once during the Unification War, in the thick of combat, he had drawn strength from the little gold crucifix that hung around his neck. Sometimes he had even kissed it for luck. He’d been convinced that the Good Lord was watching over him, keeping him safe. This sense of assurance had carried him through some dire predicaments, right up until the Battle of Serenity Valley.

  That was when everything had changed. A just God would not have allowed the Alliance to triumph or the Independents to suffer such a decisive and humiliating defeat. God did not side with tyrants and oppressors, did He?

  Evidently, however, He did. And if the Alliance’s total victory was all part of the Lord’s great plan for the ’verse, well, then it was a lousy plan, and He was a lousy deity.

  In the aftermath of Serenity Valley, Mal’s faith had swiftly eroded until now hardly a vestige remained. He and Shepherd Book had had many an argument about religion during Book’s time aboard Serenity. Book would insist that God’s will was unknowable and that we, his children, simply had to take it on trust that He wanted what was best for us. Nor, the Shepherd maintained, was God cruel or vindictive, whatever Mal might claim.

  “The Lord,” Book had said on one occasion, “sees to it that we are given no burden we cannot carry. It may be heavy but He has built us to bear it.”

  To which Mal had responded, “Sure would be nice, though, if He pitched in from time to time. Being as He’s all-powerful and such, is it too much to ask Him to lend a divine hand?”

  “What if He is doing so already?” Book had replied with a damnably enigmatic smile. “Ever think of that, Mal? What if the burden would crush you under it, if God weren’t already taking much of the weight?”

  Right now, as Mal drove the Slugger through the seemingly endless tract of forest, he wished God was taking some or even all of the weight of this quest they were on. Furthermore, he wished the Lord might give them a sign that they were on the right path, that they were definitely going to find Dr. Weng.

  Mal knew that, in seeking Weng amid all this snow-blanketed emptiness, he was asking for a lot. In fact, he was asking for a miracle.

  He knew, too, that he was dragging his three crewmembers along against their will and, indeed, their better judgment. He was forcing them to aid and abet him even though they all of them understood how pointless the whole exercise was.

  Then again, how could God let a woman as noble and compassionate and all-round beautiful as Inara Serra die such a horrible, linge
ring death? Was that in any way right or fair?

  Maybe God just wanted her for Himself; that was why He was busy gathering her up into heaven. Maybe He was greedy, as well as a ruthless bastard.

  Mal wondered what Book would have made of him thinking of God in those terms. No doubt the Shepherd would have just shaken his head, sighed, and said something like, “I’m certain He’s been called worse and shrugged it off. Might be He feels the same way about you, Mal, but forgives you all the same.”

  Mal was of the view that God, if He did exist, was less about the forgiving and more about the persecuting. Certainly He was that way when it came to one Malcolm Reynolds.

  It was at that moment, while Mal was in the midst of these ruminations, that the Slugger’s engine faltered. The vehicle slowed. Mal nudged the throttle sticks forward, thinking the caterpillar tracks had merely hit an unusually deep patch of snow and needed a little power boost.

  The Slugger continued to slow, until it became positively sluggish.

  Mal checked the fuel gauge. Still a quarter of a tank. He tapped the glass, in case the gauge was faulty. The needle pointed steadfastly at a quarter.

  The Slugger ground to a halt, its engine stuttering into silence.

  “What’s going on, Mal?” said Jayne behind him. “Why’re we stopping?”

  “God!” Mal hissed.

  Not an imprecation.

  More an accusation.

  43

  Meadowlark made several attempts to restart the Slugger.

  Nothing doing.

  Mal popped the engine cowl and had a look beneath the hood. He waggled a few leads, tugged at a few pipes, and asked Meadowlark to try again.

  Still no use.

  He pulled out the sparkplugs to examine them.

  There was the problem. The sparkplugs were so old and corroded, Mal was astonished they’d kept working as long as they had. One of them even crumbled to bits in his hand.

  He looked round at his companions.

  “Hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but unless one of you’s got a spare set of sparkplugs on you, this rusty heap of junk ain’t going any further.”

  Their reactions ranged from aggrieved to relieved. Mostly the latter.

  “Well, that’s that,” said Jayne. “Game over. Let’s call up Wash and get our asses off this gorramn snowball.”

  “Not so fast,” Mal said. “By my estimation we’ve covered twenty-some miles. The ground’s been on an upward gradient this past hour. We’ve got to be in the foothills of the Great White Mountains, and if not, then gettin’ near.”

  “Wait,” said Simon. “You’re proposing we walk from here on?”

  “Put it this way. I’m proposin’ we don’t give up.”

  “Sir,” said Zoë, “the Slugger is shot. Between us we can carry maybe four days’ worth of food, max. We have no protection from the elements apart from our thermal gear. We don’t even have tents to shelter in at night. Then there’s the fact that Mr. O’Bannon is likely going to send a search party after us from Hellfreeze. He’ll want his food and Slugger back. Now, we could’ve kept ahead of them if the Slugger hadn’t’ve broken down. But since it has…”

  “Your point being, Zoë?”

  “It’s madness to go on. Jayne’s right, we should call Wash. There’s got to be something else we can try, something other than this. What if we tracked down where Weng lived on Greenleaf, like we discussed before? Got ahold of his research notes, on the off chance he kept a copy at home. Might be Simon could rustle up some of those viruses quicker than he thought he could. Ain’t that right, Simon?”

  “Perhaps. Yes.”

  “No,” said Mal, “you told us it’d take weeks, Doc. Months, even.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Do I need to remind you all that Inara hasn’t got weeks? She’s hangin’ on by a thread.”

  “Who is this Inara person?” Meadowlark asked.

  “She’s the reason we’re here,” Simon said. “The reason we need Dr. Weng.”

  “Okay. And am I right in thinking she’s dying and Weng could save her, if you can find him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s none of my business, but I’m with Mal.”

  “It is none of your business,” Mal said, “but thank you.”

  “It’s obvious Inara is someone you guys are close to,” said Meadowlark. “Real close to. Else you wouldn’t be doing all of this for her. It’s rare to see people care about a person so much that they’re willing to put their lives on the line to help them. It’s a wonderful thing, and I say we should see it through as far as we can. Four days’ worth of food you said, Zoë? Why don’t we give it those four days?”

  “Because it’s got nothin’ to do with you, girl,” Jayne growled, “and it ain’t gonna make a damn bit of difference anyway. Inara is going to die of cancer. Hate to be the one who has to lay it out like that, but it’s the truth. It’s inevitable. Just like it’s inevitable we ain’t gonna find Weng. We can tramp around this godforsaken nowheresville for four days or forty, and all we’ll have to show for it is frostbite.”

  Mal strode up to Jayne, thrusting his face into the bigger man’s. “It ain’t inevitable Inara’s going to die of cancer. Nothing is inevitable. There’s no fate the ’verse lays out for us that we can’t change. All’s we have to do is try.”

  With that, Mal went to the trailer and started grabbing cans off it until he had an armful. Then he about-turned and made off with his load in a roughly northerly direction.

  The others watched him walk away, exchanging looks, each expecting someone else to say something.

  Eventually Zoë spoke up. “Mal. Mal! Wait up!”

  Mal did not stop.

  “Gorramn bái chī,” Zoë muttered. “Mal, you’re just going to head on out on your own?”

  “Sure am,” Mal replied over his shoulder.

  “Carrying stuff?”

  “Why not?”

  “Won’t your arms get tired?”

  “Nope.”

  “Don’t you need a can opener?” Simon said, holding up the one he’d acquired from the kitchen at Hellfreeze.

  Mal halted. “Damn it.” He turned round and trudged back sheepishly. “Give me that,” he said to Simon.

  That was when Zoë made her move.

  44

  Mal had his arms full. Zoë knew there wouldn’t be a better moment to try to get the transceiver off him.

  She lunged, tackling Mal from behind, knocking him to the ground. The cans flew from his grasp.

  Mal was on his front, Zoë on top. She yanked one arm behind him, twisting it towards his spine. At the same time she dug a knee in between his shoulderblades, to pin him in place.

  He bucked beneath her, trying to throw her off. Zoë twisted his arm further round, grinding his face deeper into the snow.

  “Submit,” she said, “or I’ll dislocate your shoulder.”

  “Zoë? You gone nuts?” said Mal, craning his head back to look at her.

  “I just want the transceiver, Mal. This has gone far enough. You know I’d follow you to the gates of Hell if I had to.”

  “Then why not now?”

  “Because there ain’t a good reason to. You’re not thinking clearly anymore. You’re letting your feelings about Inara cloud your judgment. Now, pull that transceiver out and give it to me.”

  “No.”

  Zoë wrenched.

  Mal howled.

  His shoulder was not dislocated, not quite. But the arm was in danger of coming free from its socket. Tendons were being stretched to their limit.

  “Last time,” Zoë said. “Please don’t make me do this.”

  “All right, all right,” Mal said. “‘Uncle’. Let go, and you can have the gorramn transceiver.”

  Zoë eased up on his arm. She clambered off him.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” she warned.

  Mal got to his knees. He worked his arm around in a slow circle, wincing. Then he unzipped
his parka and delved inside the waistband of his thermal pants. After a brief rummage he produced the transceiver.

  He held it out to Zoë. “Here.”

  As she reached for it, Mal dived away from her. In the same motion, he slammed the transceiver down onto one of the cans he had dropped.

  The small device broke into pieces.

  Zoë was aghast. “Yē sū, tā mā de…”

  “Seriously, Mal?” said a no less appalled Jayne. “Seriously?”

  Mal got shakily to his feet, brushing snow off himself. The swelling around his left eye was starting to go down, and between the puffed-up lids the eye itself glittered defiantly, as did its uninjured counterpart on the right.

  “Seriously,” he said.

  Simon picked up a few of the pieces of transceiver, looked them over, then tossed them aside. The thing was a jumble of broken circuitry and casing, smashed beyond repair.

  “That’s just perfect,” he said. “We’re stranded.”

  “We’re committed,” Mal said.

  “But how are we gonna contact Serenity?” Jayne wanted to know.

  “They don’t hear from us, they’ll come lookin’.”

  “That’s a mighty big assumption.”

  “Zoë? Think Wash’d just abandon us?”

  A pause. Then, “No,” said Zoë.

  “What about River, Simon? Think she would leave you here without trying to find you? Or, for that matter, Kaylee?”

  Simon shook his head.

  “There you are. May take ’em a few days before they decide it’s been too long and they return for us, but they will return. Meantime, what else have we got to do but keep on going?”

  Mal grinned. It was not his charming grin. It was his screw-you grin. Zoë, Jayne and Simon had all seen it before, but aimed at other people, not at them. The usual context for it was when Mal was getting his own back on some business associate who’d stiffed him, or dealing with practically anyone in an Alliance uniform. It seemed all the more insulting when the recipients were his own crew.

  “You know I’m right,” he said.

  “I know you’re an asshole,” said Jayne.