Firefly: Big Damn Hero

by James Lovegrove

  “You sound like you’ve half a mind to join up yourself.”

  “Half a mind is about half a mind more than most folk think I have,” Mal said, “but yes, I’m givin’ the idea headspace at least. For too long the Core’s been exploiting the rest of the ’verse, strip-mining planets like ours for resources, sometimes literally, and leaving us with precious little for ourselves. It’s way past time that ended, and if armed opposition’s what it takes to make the Union sit up and take notice, so be it.”

  Just then, Toby returned to the table with their beers.

  “Everyone looks very serious,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing, Toby,” Jinny said. “Nothing you need concern yourself about.” To Mal, it sounded like something a parent might say to quell a fretful child’s fears.

  “Well, this here’s a celebration,” Toby said, raising his glass. “In case it escaped your attention, Mal, Jinny and I—we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now. Ain’t that great?”

  “Just dandy,” Mal said, clinking his glass listlessly against Toby’s. “I’m happy for you both.”

  Toby might not have marked the stiffness with which he spoke, but Jinny certainly did.

  “Mal’s cool with it,” she said. “I’m sure he is. He’s taking a moment to adjust, is all.”

  When Jamie showed up, he, too, was taken aback when Toby told him he was now officially dating Jinny. He coped with the shock better than Mal had, though. “Of all the guys in this neck of the woods,” he said, “she could do a lot worse than you, Toby. And, given her track record, has.”

  “Hey!” Jinny slapped him playfully.

  “Some of the losers you’ve stepped out with in the past, sis,” Jamie said. “It beggars belief. What was the name of that one, looked like a pig?”

  “Marcus, and he did not look like a pig.”

  “If he didn’t, how come you knew who I was talking about? And then there was the fella with the overbite. Chipmunk guy. Not forgetting the one whose nose squeaked when he breathed. Gary? Glen? Gil? Something with a ‘G,’ anyway.”

  “Greg couldn’t help it with the nose thing.”

  “Like a gorramn pennywhistle it was,” said Jamie. “You don’t look like a pig, Toby, you don’t have an overbite, and your nostrils don’t make a noise, far as I’m aware. That puts you leagues ahead of the rest. Congratulations.”

  Later, Toby and Jinny danced together to the plinking honky-tonk of the player-piano while Jamie and Mal hatched plans.

  “Sheriff Bundy made an ass of himself today, as usual,” Jamie said. “Willard Krieger was saying stuff about the Union, badmouthing ’em. You know how that old coot is. Got an ornery streak in him a mile wide.”

  “Only reason Krieger moved to Shadow was to escape ‘Union meddling,’ as he calls it,” said Mal.

  “Right, and now he’s incensed ’cause that meddling’s spread as far out as here. He was saying his taxes have gone up threefold.”

  “Everyone’s taxes have gone up.” Hence Mal’s mother’s combine harvester restoration project. Anything to make a little extra cash on the side.

  “But Krieger’s now got to pay extra duties on the goods he imports for his hardware store. He’s putting his prices up, of course, but he ain’t best pleased, and neither are his customers. Anyways, he decided to go out into the town square and tub-thump for a spell. He stood on an actual soapbox and harangued passersby. Got himself a fair-sized audience, in fact. Then Bundy wanders along and arrests him on the spot.”

  “What for? Man has a right to free speech.”

  “Not if it’s what Bundy considers ‘seditious talk.’”

  “There a law against that?”

  “If there ain’t, it doesn’t bother Bundy none.”

  “So Krieger’s in jail now.”

  “He is. And you know what, Mal? The Four Amigos are going to bust him out.”

  Mal was in such a cranky, belligerent frame of mind just then that Jamie’s proposal didn’t sound at all wrongheaded to him. It sounded, instead, like a very fine suggestion indeed. Not least because it would peeve Sheriff Bundy, and Mal was still smarting from the way the lawman had backhanded him at the Hendrickson place a few months back.

  Jamie soon roped Jinny in on the jailbreak scheme, and naturally, where Jinny went, Toby was sure to follow.

  “If Jinny’s up for it,” he said, “I don’t need asking twice.”

  Jamie’s plan involved a small amount of plastique, some detonation cord, a wheeled motor vehicle, a towrope, and a whole heaping of chutzpah. The barred windows of the cells in the town lockup were in back of the building. Jamie affixed a pencil-thick length of the putty-like explosive around the outside of the window frame, inserted the det cord, and attached one end of the towrope to the bars and the other to the rear fender of a quad bike. It all happened in an instant. Jamie lit the fuse. The plastique blew, loosening the brickwork around the window. Jinny gunned the quad bike’s motor and torqued the throttle. The quad bike leapt away, hauling on the towrope and dragging the window-bar assembly loose. Before the dust even began to settle, Toby sprang into the hole, set to tell Willard Krieger he was free and should scramble out while he could.

  Only problem was, they had got the wrong cell. Toby’s face said it all. “Krieger ain’t here. No one’s here. Cell’s empty.”

  In that moment of frantic incredulity, as it dawned on the Four Amigos that all their efforts had been for naught, a familiar voice yelled at them.

  “Hold it right there!”

  Sheriff Bundy came huffing around the angle of the building, with his deputy, Orville Crump, close on his heels. Where Bundy was fat and aggressive, Crump was lanky and sly. They were the proverbial chalk and cheese, yet somehow they got along together and made a good team.

  Both had their government-issue sidearms out and leveled at the miscreants.

  “Oh, you’ve gone too far this time, my friends,” Bundy said. “You’ve really screwed the pooch. Destruction of public property? Attempting to aid and abet the escape of a felon? Unauthorized use of explosive materials? You are going down!”

  They didn’t, in the event, go down. Marla Finn, Toby’s lawyer mother, managed to get them off on a technicality. She and her husband, however, were furious with their boy and forbade him ever seeing the others again. Mal and Jamie, at least. They made an exception for Jinny, after Toby pleaded with them. He spoke about her so enthusiastically, with such evident ardor, that they couldn’t bring themselves to keep her from him. They were, frankly, just glad that Toby had got himself a girl. They had begun to worry he might never find love. And Jinny was, all said and done, something of a catch.

  It was, in effect, the end of the Four Amigos, although as far as Mal was concerned the end had already come, the moment he walked into the Silver Stirrup and the castle of hope he had been building for himself came crashing down around his ears. He consigned the gold locket with the fancy “J” on it to the back of a drawer and forgot about it—for a time, at least.

  * * *

  Seeing Toby Finn again after so long had brought back these memories of Mal’s youth on Shadow. They played in his head like mind movies as he lay in that subterranean cell, cold, trussed up, miserable. They swirled like stirred-up sediment in the riverbed of the past, muddying his thoughts.

  Toby. Jinny. Jamie. Himself. And how it had all ended in disaster and a fireball and a ton of recrimination.

  Mal was only dimly aware of the clunk of a bolt being drawn back, door hinges creaking open. Footsteps shuffled towards him. He braced himself for another beating. There wasn’t much he could do to prevent it, so he was better off just withstanding it, weathering it.

  “Reynolds?” someone whispered.

  Mal turned his head. He saw a vague silhouette in the semi-darkness of the cell, a man bending over him.

  “Here,” the visitor said. “Drink this.”

  Mal was being proffered an enamel mug. He struggled up to a sitting position.

 
“What’s in there?” he said. “Poison? Piss?”

  “Just water. Reckoned you’d be thirsty.”

  “You reckoned right.” But Mal remained wary.

  “Go on,” the visitor urged, casting a look over his shoulder. “I ain’t got long. Someone’s bound to come by. Drink.”

  Mal put his lips to the mug. The visitor tipped it and he sipped the water. It was stale, brackish, but welcome nonetheless.

  A glimpse of a busted-to-hell nose confirmed the man’s identity.

  “Stu?” he said.

  Stuart Deakins nodded.

  “Thought so. Why’re you being nice all of a sudden? Couple of hours ago, you belted me in the gut, then spat at my feet.”

  “Yeah, about that… I kinda had to.”

  “I figure hitting someone’s usually a matter of choice. As is spitting at them.”

  “But I had to show willing,” Deakins said. “Had to show I’m part of the gang. Didn’t want anyone to think I wasn’t loyal.”

  “Well, my aching belly muscles would certainly seem proof of that,” Mal said.

  “And here’s a protein block.” Deakins unwrapped the foodstuff and held it up for Mal to munch on. Barbecue spare ribs flavor. Not Mal’s favorite, but still he did his best not to guzzle the whole thing in one go. He was starving hungry. When had he last eaten? He could barely recall.

  Meanwhile Deakins said, “Whatever else they’re saying about you, Mal, I remember what you did for me on New Kasimir. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here today and still sucking air. That earns you some latitude, far as I’m concerned.”

  “Enough latitude,” Mal said around a mouthful of protein block, “that you’d untie these ropes and let me go?”

  “Nuh-uh.” Deakins shook his head regretfully. “Can’t do that.”

  “Can’t fault a man for askin’.”

  “They know I’ve come to see you. I asked for some time alone with you. They think I’m working you over. They find out I’d freed you, I’d be dead. That simple.”

  “Could always stage a fight. Maybe I freed myself, overpowered you, got away under my own steam.”

  “No, Mal. That ain’t how this is gonna play out. I’m showing you some compassion, but it has its limits. You’re still a traitor in these people’s eyes. In mine too, if what I’m told is true.”

  “And what have you been told?” Mal said. “It’s a mystery to me, that’s for damn sure. What is this huge betrayal I’m being accused of committing? Been rackin’ my brains and can’t think of none.”

  Deakins studied him skeptically. “I can’t tell if you’re being straight or scamming. You can’t surely be ignorant of your crime. I find that hard to believe.”

  “Trust me, if I knew what I’m supposed to be guilty of, I’d be the first to hold my hand up and admit to it.”

  “You really don’t remember? Too bad. I’m sure it’ll come back to you.”

  “You ain’t even going to jog my memory a little?”

  “Why? You’ll find out when the time comes to face judgment for it—and it’s coming soon. Might be best if you just acclimatize yourself to that reality.”

  Mal could see he wasn’t going to get far with Deakins. The man had mercy in his soul, but a finite quantity of it. He felt he owed Mal something, even if it was just the kindness of a little food and water.

  “Gotta go,” Deakins said. “I was told I could only give you a few licks. I’m gonna refrain from doin’ that, but if I stay any longer, people are bound to get suspicious.”

  “One thing,” Mal said. “I’m bursting for a pee.”

  “Bucket over there.”

  “Sure, but my hands are tied behind my back. Kind of makes it difficult for a fella to get the old pecker out, know what I mean?”

  “You want me to untie you? I ain’t falling for that. You’d cold-cock me for sure.”

  “Okay, but I’m gonna piss my pants if I don’t do something about it right soon. You want that on your conscience?”

  Deakins was in two minds, Mal could see.

  “Man to man,” he pressed. “If the roles were reversed, I’d do the same for you. Swear.”

  “Tell you what,” Deakins said. “I’ll unbutton your fly. But that’s as far as it goes. You’ll have to manage the rest by your ownsome.”

  He fumbled gingerly with the front of Mal’s pants, like someone fearful of touching a live wire. Mal then shuffled over to the bucket on his knees. He managed, through some awkward maneuvering and hip-gyrating, to liberate the part of him that needed liberating. What followed was a full minute of blessed, bladder-draining relief, after which, with a bit more wriggly dancing, he was able to stow everything away again back where it belonged.

  “Thanks, Stu,” he said, sincerely, as Deakins re-buttoned his fly.

  “Don’t mention it. Seriously. I mean it.”

  “I guess you couldn’t see your way to slipping me a knife now? A gun, even?”

  “Ha ha. No chance.”

  “Or you could just, you know, accidentally-on-purpose leave the door ajar.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Stu, you do realize this is real bad company you’re keeping, don’t you? These people, these Browncoats in name only, they ain’t playing fair. They’re crazy. Toby Finn especially. I know Toby from way back when.”

  “Yeah, he said as much. Said he used to run with you when he was a kid. Trusted you. Loved you like a brother. And that’s why you’ve been top of his list of turncoats for a long while. Backstabbing’s all the more painful when it comes from someone you were once close to.”

  “Toby used to be a good kid. Don’t know what turned him, but it’s clear he’s picked up some harum-scarum notions since then. That face of his? That’s the face of a madman. Toby ain’t someone I’d pledge my allegiance to, is what I’m saying. Someone as fēng le as that is liable to turn on the people around him at the drop of a hat. I don’t reckon any of you’s safe while you’re around him. If he’s calling me a traitor, I imagine he could do the same to anyone. All’s it’d take is him getting some twisted fancy about you into his head, and that’s it, you’re next for the chop.”

  Deakins appeared to take this on board. “So you say.”

  “Think about it, at least,” Mal said. “I mean, come on, you’re so scared of these people you’d thump a defenseless man just to keep in with them? What does that say about them? Or you?”

  Deakins did not reply. Instead, with a heavy tread, he left the cell, shutting and locking the door behind him.

  Alone once more, Mal contemplated his situation. It looked bleak. Trying to turn Stuart Deakins against the rest of the vengeful Browncoats had been a long shot. Mal might have planted a few seeds of doubt in the man’s mind but he doubted they would germinate into anything fruitful.

  His main hope, slender though it was, was the crew of Serenity. Somehow, against all the odds, they would find him. He had to believe that. The only alternative was utter despair.

  He sank back onto the floor and into reverie again.

  After a sumptuous dinner of fresh vegetables and real chicken, Book took leave of Mika Wong. He hadn’t wanted to stay for the meal. He had wanted to retrieve Elmira Atadema right away. But somehow it would have felt impolite to turn down Wong’s hospitality, the more so since Wong had placed so much trust in him. And when might he next have the chance to eat such good, wholesome food? The soul got its sustenance from the Lord, but the body needed nourishment too. Book knew from experience that even a humble bowl of soup could make all the difference to a person.

  He caught a rickshaw back from the town outskirts into Eavesdown proper. As the cart jolted along the neon-splashed streets, he fetched out his comm link and called Serenity.

  “Shepherd,” Wash said. “Where are you? Are you all right? Do you have Mal?”

  “I’m on Persephone still,” he said. “I have news. Nothing directly pertinent to Mal himself, but news that’s nonetheless encouraging.”

&
nbsp; He filled Wash in on all he had learned from Wong about Elmira and Covington.

  “That’s good to hear,” Wash said. “I can’t escape the feeling that we’re running short on time, though.”

  “Me either. How are things with you? Payload all safe?”

  “Yeah, we’ve been making good headway. At least, we were, only now we’re being overhauled by an Alliance patrol cruiser, the I.A.V. Stormfront.”

  “Not good.”

  “Definitely not. If it wasn’t for bad luck, we wouldn’t have any luck. They’re hailing us and I’ve been stalling them with the old communications interference trick. You know, ‘Oopsies, can’t skzzzz make out frzzzt trying skrrrtch say.’ That won’t hold them for long, and just makes them more irate anyway.”

  “Are they after certain crewmembers?”

  “Don’t know, but we can’t assume they’re not, so we’ve taken appropriate action. I’m not going to say too much just in case Stormfront’s listening in. This channel’s as secure as I can make it, but you never know. All I’ll say is we’ve relieved ourselves of excess personnel for now and we’re down to a shipboard complement of just four. Oh hey, Mrs. Washburne wants a word.”

  Zoë came on the line. “Shepherd? I caught what you told Wash. What are your plans?”

  “Seems like I can’t expect you to return to Persephone in order to assist me, not under current circumstances.”

  “No. If we were to make a run for it, the patrol cruiser would open up on us for sure, and we’d be just so much floating debris. Do you think you could go it alone?”

  “I could,” Book said with a trace of hesitancy. “I wouldn’t like to, though. I have no idea what kind of reception I might receive. I anticipate that Covington would not leave Elmira unguarded or his property undefended. One man could, I suppose, infiltrate the premises fairly successfully, if he had the right skills, but it’d be better if there were more of us, in case of unforeseen problems.”