My Own Kind of Freedom

by Steven Brust

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Of course, what are the chances of anything going wrong?”

  “That’s the other thing I’m thinking.”

  “Dead certain?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So,” he said, “what do we do? I could wait until the shuttle is launched, then land. I mean, once he’s gone, you’re in charge.”

  “I know.”

  “Mal won’t like that much.”

  “I know.”

  They didn’t speak for a moment, while Wash made the calculations for a geosynchronous orbit, and tapped it in. Then Zoë felt his eyes on her.

  “Zoë, what are you thinking?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You’re planning to go after him, aren’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “I know.”

  “But you’re going to anyway.”

  She nodded.

  Her husband sighed and turned his attention back to guiding Serenity.

  Yuva: Canteen

  He was careful not to drink too much, confining himself to beer that he nursed carefully, and making certain to eat. There was something going on, and he was in the middle of it, and if he made a misstep, it could cost him his freedom, or worse.

  The feds knew he was here, but hadn’t made contact with him. That was dangerous—it meant they might be planning to turn on him. They had once before, and he scowled at the memory. And Mal and Zoë were around, probably pissed as hell at him, and that was dangerous. And there was something strange going on, what with Mal and Zoë having saved the ass of someone he didn’t recognize, and that was dangerous. It had obviously been a trap, but for who? For him?

  He could cut and run.

  He still had the ginseng sitting in a rented locker; he could sell that for enough to buy passage off world. Go back and call the feds again, try for another meeting? But if he’d just missed a trap, then he’d be committing suicide by walking into the security office again.

  How did this get so gorram complicated?

  He muttered and drank some more beer.

  The money for the crazy girl would be good, so good. But what good was money if you ended up dead or in an Alliance lockdown?

  He should play it safe. He should sell that ginseng and get passage out, right now. Tonight.

  He went up to the bar to get another beer, brought it back to his table, drank some, and looked around the canteen, slowly filling up with well-dressed citizens—just the sort who could afford what he was selling, and would probably love to have a rare, fine tea. He could do it. He could be away from this gorram world by tomorrow morning.

  He drank some more beer.

  “Naw,” he decided.

  Serenity: Dining room

  He looked from the doctor, to Kaylee, to River. “Okay,” he said. “Here’s the situation: Mal went back down in the shuttle to get our payment, and Zoë followed him in the other shuttle to keep him out of trouble.”

  He bit his lip, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “So, the question is, do we do what Mal wanted, or do we go down there?”

  “We go after them,” said Kaylee. “That’s what the Cap’n would do if it were one of us.”

  “I know,” said Wash. “Only there are two problems with that. The first is, it’s really Simon and River who are running the risk. Second, what can we do if they’re in trouble?”

  Simon shifted uncomfortably. “As to the first,” he said, “I should point out that, uh, you are all harboring known fugitives, so it isn’t just us running the risk.”

  “You have a point there,” said Wash.

  “As to the second,” said Simon, “I’m not sure. The thing is, I’m not sure what they’ll run into, if they do run into anything.”

  “It just don’t seem right to sit up here and do nothin’,” said Kaylee.

  “I know,” said Wash.

  “I’d feel better about disobeying the Captain if we had a reason. Are they in touch with us? Will we know if something goes wrong?”

  “They’re both talking to Serenity, but not to each other. Mal doesn’t know that Zoë followed him yet.”

  “They won’t be here for two days,” said River.

  “Mal and Zoë?” asked Simon.

  “They want their thing,” said River. “They’re a long way off, but the dead travel fast.”

  “River?” said Simon.

  “Two by two,” she said.

  River stood up and left the dining room, heading toward her cabin. Simon started to follow her, stopped, turned back to Wash, looked at Kaylee, and spread his hands. “Do whatever you think is right,” he said, and hurried after his sister.

  “Well, that makes it easier,” said Wash. He sighed. A memory tugged at his sleeve, then, and he said, “You know, Kaylee, just a few days before we dropped off the Shepherd, we were sitting around reminiscing—”

  “I miss him,” said Kaylee wistfully.

  “Me too. We were reminiscing, and he said something about how a lot of things would have been a lot easier if we had listened to River and just believed what she said.”

  Kaylee tilted her head and said, “Hunh.”

  “Yeah. I was about to ask him what he meant, but I got distracted by something. Landing, I think it was.”

  He shrugged.

  “So,” said Kaylee, “does that mean we should do what the Captain says and just wait up here?”

  Wash nodded. “I’m pretty sure that’s what it means.”

  “All right.”

  “But I’m not going to.”

  Kaylee smiled.

  Wash sighed and headed back to the bridge.

  Outside Yuva

  It was evening on Hera when he nursed the shuttle to a standstill. He was glad Wash wasn’t there to see the landing; but he was down safe, and nothing was damaged.

  He carefully went through the shutdown process, leaving the comm on. “Wash? Let Zoë know I’m down.”

  “Will do, Mal.”

  He reset the comm for the local office, and spoke once more.

  “This is Captain Reynolds. Anyone there?”

  After a moment, there was an answer. “Yeah. We have your payment here.”

  “Going to be around for a while?”

  “Another hour or so.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Then he shut down the comm, as well.

  He pulled his pistol, checked the load, re holstered it. “Okay,” he muttered. “Let’s do this thing.”

  He left the shuttle, closed and locked it. Fifty feet away was the road; he took it.

  Half an hour later he stood in the office, where the walls were white and clean and spacious, and everything blinked and hummed and flickered, and the few people who were working late were all dressed more or less like Kit had been. The place gave him the creeps.

  A couple of questions led him to the right office, which turned out to be standing open. In it was a desk, and behind the desk a fat, pale man overflowed his chair, stubby hands typing at a keyboard. He looked up as Mal came in.

  “Captain Reynolds?”

  Mal nodded.

  “Good. Sign here, please.”

  The fat man passed him a clipboard and a lightpen. Mal signed it, passed it back, and received a narrow piece of paper.

  “What’s this?”

  “A check.”

  “I was told—”

  “Sign the back. I can cash it.”

  He signed it, passed it back, and received a thick envelope. He opened it and counted, getting a look but no comment from the fat man.

  “All here,” he said.

  The other nodded. “I’m to convey Mr. Sakarya’s thanks.”

  Mal nodded. “If he needs anything else, he knows how to reach us.”

  “Indeed.”

  Mal stuck the envelope into his coat and left the room, heading back out of the office. Okay, good. We’ve been paid. All is well, we ca
n get out of here now.

  There were a few pedestrians on the street, most of them looking like office workers, and many of them, it seemed, heading toward the canteen.

  He dug into his a pocket, and found the map Wash had given him and studied it, relating it to the landmarks he knew. It wasn’t easy.

  What’s the difference? I’m not going to go hunt him up. What’s the point? He’s a fed. Bad enough to have saved his life; there’s nothing to be gained by having anything more to do with him. Nothing at all.

  He stared at the paper and tried to work it out.

  Pointless, he told himself.

  He frowned.

  Oh, right. It’s about a hundred and fifty yards that way.

  He went back to the main road and followed it most of the way out of town, turning to the right until he saw a low series of bungalows.

  Yep, he said. Has to be that one.

  His feet carried him that way, and right up to the door.

  Chapter 5

  My Own Kind of Questions

  Yuva

  HE WAS just about to knock on the door when he heard a crunch behind him. He turned quickly, reaching for his pistol, then stopped with it half out of the holster.

  “Zoë!”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “What the xuexing de ta ma de diyu are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Had you expected me to wait on Serenity while you spoke to the fed by yourself?”

  “Well, seeing as how I gave that order, I sort of figured on it, yes. What about the rest of them?”

  “I took the other shuttle. They’re still up in close orbit, geostationary.”

  “All right. Well, as long as we’re here—”

  “Our friend isn’t.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “The fed—assuming that’s what he is—left half an hour ago.”

  “Oh. You’ve been waiting here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t suppose you know where he went?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where?”

  “Follow me, sir.”

  It was fully dark by this time. They walked through the darkened back streets of Yuva for about fifteen minutes, until they stopped in front of what seemed, in the little ambient light there was, to be a large, black object of indeterminate shape. “Here, sir,” whispered Zoë.

  Mal whispered back. “What is it?”

  “In the light, it seemed to be a warehouse for the landing field.”

  “How big?”

  “Not terribly.”

  “Okay.”

  He dug around in his coat pocket for a minute, then whispered, “Got some light?”

  Zoë kept the light dim, but they were able to spot the door. Mal positioned himself on the side with the latch, Zoë took the other. They both drew their weapons.

  Mal found the latch with his left hand, turned it. The “click” seemed very loud. The door was also loud when it opened. He waited to see if anything would happen.

  When the floodlights came on, he let himself fall backward, staying near the wall, then rolled, coming to rest on his stomach, pistol pointing toward the door. Zoë was clearly visible, on one knee, pistol and head swinging back and forth.

  A voice emerged from the doorway.

  “I’m not going to shoot at you. I’d appreciate it if you’d be equally reserved.”

  “Who’s there?” called Mal.

  “It’s me. Kit. I didn’t know who you were when I hit the lights.”

  Mal lowered his pistol, pointing it at the ground next to his foot. Zoë pointed hers at a spot on the ground midway between her and the door.

  He came out, showing empty hands, though there was a pistol tucked into his belt. “I take it you were looking for me?”

  “That we were.”

  “And I assume you didn’t save my life six hours ago in order to kill me now, so, would you like to come in?”

  Mal glanced at Zoë, who stood up, holstered her gun, and shrugged. Mal stood up and holstered his own. “Well then,” he said.

  They followed him inside, Zoë closing the door behind them. Kit flicked a heavy switch just inside the door, presumably turning off the floodlights. They followed him down a badly lit hall to a small office, with comm equipment, monitors, and keyboard set about here and there.

  “Get comfortable,” he said.

  Zoë rolled her eyes. “Is it all of Hera, or just Yuva where no one believes in chairs?”

  “I get the chair,” said Kit, “because I got here first.”

  Zoë leaned against the wall, Mal took a corner of the desk. “Is this a hideout you’ve used before, or was it spur of the moment?”

  “I’ve had it in mind, just in case.”

  Mal felt Zoë looking at him. “Best to have a bolt hole, in your line of work.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Just what is your line of work?”

  Now it was Kit studying him. “I’m a dentist,” he said at last.

  Mal shrugged. “Look, you don’t have a cover any more; all you can do is wait to be retrieved, and hope that happens before they find you and take another shot. What harm is there in telling us?”

  “I’m wondering if you’re the ones who blew my cover.”

  “And then saved your life?”

  Kit shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know what your angle is. Feel like telling me?”

  “You’d never believe it,” said Zoë, staring at a spot over Kit’s shoulder.

  “You don’t have to tell us anything,” said Mal. “We’re not going to threaten an Alliance officer. And we are surely not going to try to beat it out of you. But we came into the middle of this. We want the rest of the story. If you feel like telling us.”

  Kit leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “What brought you to Yuva, anyway? I’ve learned who you are, but that only starts the questions. You aren’t miners, and I haven’t seen you around the office. I’d say security, but you aren’t wearing—”

  “I captain a transport ship. We were hired to pick up some lumber for Mister Sakarya.”

  “Yeah, that matches what I learned. But is it true?”

  “Sure,” said the captain. “Why not?”

  “Okay. You picked up some lumber. And then?”

  Mal shrugged. “We were waiting to get paid, saw those two in the canteen, decided to interfere with their fun.”

  “Mister Sakarya,” repeated Kit.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you know of Mister Sakarya?”

  “Well, I gather he’s not burdened by excessive kindness toward his employees.”

  “You could say that.”

  “He seems like a thousand others I’ve seen. Big king in a little kingdom. Probably enjoys it too much.”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “Well what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing you can tell us about him?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Or about what you’re doing?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Aren’t you curious about how we blew your cover?”

  “Did you?”

  “Not on purpose.”

  Kit shrugged.

  Mal said, “But then, someone tries to knock you on the head the day we show up here, and it hasn’t happened before, or you’d have been armed and expecting it. Bit hard to call it coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “That you might be curious about how it happened.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “And if you tell us what you know, and we tell you what we know, we might both learn something.”

  “Sorry. Can’t do it.”

  “I suppose you couldn’t justify revealing anything to anyone without clearance for it.”

  “Close enough.”

  “A shame about that.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “Do you have to
tell them?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you are curious, aren’t you, Kit?”

  “I’ll admit to that. But I’m afraid, well, you know. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, Captain Reynolds.”

  Mal pushed himself away from the wall, nodded to Kit, and headed out. Zoë fell into step next to him.

  “I have a question, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “Did we learn anything?”

  “Well, we have a lot more questions than we did before, but, yeah, we learned some things. We confirmed that he’s a fed. And he was on sort of mission here that had something to do with Sakarya, and something about our arrival here messed up his mission and almost got him killed.”

  “I see. Something about our arrival.”

  “Right.”

  “Then I have another question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Any objection if I hunt down Jayne and blow his head off?”

  “He’s off the crew.”

  “So?”

  “Can’t blame a snake for slithering, Zoë.”

  “No, sir. But if you blow its head off, you’ll slow it down some.”

  Yuva: Canteen

  He sat in the canteen, nursing his beer, and tried to work it out. Having decided to stick around and go for the gold, he really had to know what was going on.

  Okay, what exactly were the events, in order?

  First, he’d made contact with the Alliance, and been told that an agent would be meeting him in the Canteen. This was the only canteen in town. The other place, down the hill, was just called, “The bar.” So, he was in the right place.

  Second, he’d come here, and waited about half an hour in a place that was completely empty except for the bartender. If the bartender was a fed, which didn’t seem likely to begin with, why hadn’t he said something?

  Third, two guys had come in. They could have been feds—they were armed, and certainly looked like they were there for business. But why two of them? He hadn’t been told there would be two of them. That’s why he’d put his hand on his pistol the second they’d come in. But they’d ignored him completely, instead watching the door.