Disclaimer: The Firefly 'verse is the property of Joss Whedon and the good people at Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, and now Paramount. Thanks, folks. Keep flying.
Paid in Full
By Bookworm
Chapter 1: No Payment Necessary
In the dead of ship's night, Malcolm Reynolds walked through Serenity. He trod silently past the crew's quarters, past the closed hatches and his sleeping charges, and through the dining area. There, he turned into the hatch to the stairs leading below. He wound his way down to the passenger lounge, past the doors where the Tams and the preacher slumbered, lightly touching each door with his fingertips as he passed.
In the cargo bay, he paused to look upwards at the shuttle where Inara lay. Then he turned away and followed the polluted stream that was the only source of water on this side of the valley. It led him past steaming husks of transport shuttles and gun nests, past bloated bodies covered with buzzing flies and squirming rats. His face was stern, his steps sure. The fetid wind blew ashes into his eyes.
To his right, a number of bodies had been laid out in a line. Thirty-three figures in brown coats: his platoon. He paused briefly to contemplate each face, each set of unseeing eyes, to recite their names silently. Bobby Remington. Mariah Johnson. Sylvie Dayton—she had had no face at the end, but on these visits she was restored enough to stare reproachfully at the reeking sky. Ben Rogers.
He worked his way down the entire line: thirty-three soldiers who had looked to him. Beyond them crows swooped over the heaped bodies of another eighteen hundred or more, most of them nameless, none of them forgotten. He had failed them all.
To the left, in a spot of honor, lay the fresher corpses. A young private stared at Mal with naïve incomprehension. Beside him, a dark-haired woman in a red and gold dress reposed gracefully, as if asleep, save for the crimson stain over her heart.
Beyond them lay another body in a tattered jumpsuit, brown hair fallen across its face. He crouched and rolled it onto its back, brushed the hair aside.
Kaylee. The suit was ripped open past her hips, the bruises on her breasts livid against the cold white flesh. Her belly oozed blood.
"She doesn't belong here," a voice beside him chided. "You're torturing yourself with might-have-beens."
"I need to remind myself about what almost happened, what could happen if I let my guard down." He let his gaze drift over the hellish landscape. "There are already enough dead in the valley."
"You torture yourself with the past, too."
He shrugged. "I remember. I owe them that much." He turned his head and looked at River. She was naked. "You don't belong here, either. Did you come for a reason, or are you just sightseeing?"
"There's a distress call."
"The alarm'll wake Wash."
"People could die."
Mal's eyes strayed back along the line of bodies. "That's what people do," he said.
"Kaylee could save them."
He continued to stare down at the corpses, at a fly crawling across an open eye.
"These are past saving, Captain," River whispered. She stepped up next to him and touched his cheek.
Her fingers were searing cold. He gasped raggedly and stumbled away from her. He was falling. He jerked in an effort to catch himself—and knocked his hand painfully against the wall beside his narrow bunk. With a groan, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, scrubbing at his face.
"Getting rutting hard to find any solitude on this ship," he muttered.
The climb up the ladder from his bunk shook off any remaining sleep: his right ankle was still painful from a mishap a couple of weeks earlier and the climb was particularly awkward. Cursing softly, he limped to the bridge.
Wash and Zoë were already there. Zoë stood back and watched her husband flip switches on the panel.
"Distress signal?" Mal asked as he entered.
"Yeah," the pilot replied without looking up. "I'm just playing it." His hand paused over the switch and he looked at Mal. "How'd you know? Mind reading isn't contagious, is it?"
Mal shrugged. "Just play it."
A female voice spoke. "This is Captain Rebecca Masters of Mantis Class Edinburgh requesting immediate assistance. Our engines and life support are down. Please respond. This is—"
Wash flicked it off. "Not much of a message. Should we respond?"
"It could be a trap, Captain," Zoë warned.
"And it could be the real thing," Mal sighed. "Let's check it out. Give the lady a call, Wash."
Wash spoke into the comm panel in his smooth radio voice. "Mantis Class Edinburgh, this is Firefly Class Serenity responding to your call. Do you read?" He paused, waiting for a reply. "Mantis Class Edinburgh, this is Firefly Class Serenity—"
"Serenity, this is Edinburgh. It's good to hear you! Can you assist?" A visual of a slender woman with graying red hair appeared on the vid panel.
Wash cleared out to let Mal in. "This is Captain Malcolm Reynolds. Might be we can. What do you need?"
"A competent engineer, mostly. Ours got his arm caught in the works—something of a mess."
"An engineer I've got, and a doctor if your man needs one."
"He's beyond one—just the engineer'll do."
"We'll dock with you and send a party aboard."
"We'll be waiting. Bless you, lad!"
Mal signed off. He looked at Zoë. "Wake Kaylee and Jayne. You, Jayne and I'll check it out first."
"What about the others, sir?"
"I'll go warn them all right now. No need for them to meet any more of our people than necessary."
Mal gave Kaylee a stern look as the airlock opened. She nodded, signaling that she would wait there until called for, as he had instructed. His right hand was near his gun as he strode through, flanked by Zoë and Jayne. He entered a cargo bay with several very large shipping containers. Before him stood Captain Masters—now revealed to be of medium height—flanked by a tall, gangly man with dark hair and a scar across his nose and a short, stubby fellow with a blond beard. The air was cold and decidedly rank. Mal and Zoë both stiffened and their eyes met briefly.
"Yēsū—what a stink," Jayne griped.
"Welcome aboard, Captain Reynolds," Masters greeted them. "Again, I'm grateful for the assistance."
Mal nodded curtly. "What's your cargo, captain?" he demanded.
Masters smiled and crossed her arms across her chest. "From your tone, I imagine you've already surmised it. We're carrying indentured workers bound for the mines on Midgard. Some people don't approve, but it's legal cargo."
Mal's nostrils flared. He walked around the corner of the nearest container and peered in through the grate on that side. He saw ten miserable souls huddled together for warmth. One boy looked up, his empty gray eyes meeting Mal's. The captain held the gaze for several long seconds before turning his head away.
"Show us your engine room," he ordered. "My engineer is just outside. We won't know if we can help you until she's had a look."
Masters grinned. "This way, lad."
The air in the engine room was heavy with the coppery tang of fresh blood. A half-hearted attempt had been made at cleaning the mess up off the walls and floor, but quite a lot of blood remained in the engine itself. Kaylee gulped and Mal swore long and hard.
"S'okay, Cap'n," Kaylee assured him bravely. "I'll just pretend it's yours, like after you replaced the catalyzer. That was a hell of a mess."
Mal hugged her to him with one arm and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "I . . . uh . . . I never really thought about that, little girl. Sorry you had to clean that up."
She shrugged his concern away and then turned a critical eye on the engine. She walked all around it, peering at each component from various angles. At one point she pulled a rag from her hip pocket and wiped blood away with as little concern as if it had been engine grease. Finally she stepped back and wiped her hands on her jumpsuit, smiling. "'Bout twenty minutes to get the life-support back, and a few hours to get the engines runnin'. Nothin's really broke—just kinda gummed up or disconnected."
Masters grinned. "That's a good girl you've got there, lad," she said.
Mal ignored her. "Kaylee, I'm gonna hold you to that schedule. You get this fixed as fast as you can. We'll be right here if you need anything."
Zoë broke in. "Sir—I think you should head back to Serenity. The others'll want to hear from you what's going on." Her tone was mild, but when Mal glanced at her face her gaze was steady, telling him not to push back.
He clenched his teeth. "Jayne—you stay here with her, dong ma?"
Jayne frowned and nodded. "I'll look after her, Mal."
Book sat patiently on the steps in Serenity's cargo bay as Inara paced. She was looking particularly beguiling in a clingy silk robe and he couldn't help reciting the "Song of Solomon" to himself. At times like this, his presence on this ship seemed cosmically ridiculous.
They heard the thrum of footsteps coming back through the gangway, the pounding beat of a captain in a temper. The companion cast a nervous glance at Book and prudently backed away from the entrance.
"Wúnéug de rén," Mal cursed as he burst in with Zoë right behind. "Zoë, go tell Wash to keep an eye on all monitors. We're easy pickings sitting so still out here. Then get back down here and stand guard on this hatch—I don't want any uninvited guests." Zoë nodded and headed for the bridge.
Inara touched Mal's hand lightly to get his attention. "What's so wrong over there?" she asked.
"It's a gorram slaver!" Mal spat. "I don't much like the idea of helping them out—but if we don't, all aboard will freeze or suffocate, and the slaves'll go first."
Inara clutched the captain's arm. "And you left Kaylee over there?"
He shook off her hold. "Jayne's with her, under strict orders to keep her safe and get her out of there as quick as he can."
"You should've stayed, too. You're the one she feels safe with."
"Meant to, but Zoë wouldn't let me. She figured there'd be an incident if I stayed—and she was likely right." He turned his back on her to go, but the shepherd stepped smoothly into his path.
"Captain, if you don't mind, I'd like to go to the other ship and tend to the slaves. They could probably use a little comfort and prayer right now."
Mal's lips pressed together in a grim line. "Right now they are likely praying for heat and air, and Kaylee is the answer to those prayers. Can't imagine any greater waste of time than talkin' of God to them that he's forsaken, but if you feel the need, you go right ahead."
"Thank you, Captain," Book murmured as Mal strode past him. He gazed after the retreating figure for a long moment, his look thoughtful.
Becca Masters leaned in the hatchway of the Edinburgh's engine room and watched Kaylee as she worked. Her calculating look was making Jayne edgy.
"You know," he coughed, "Kaylee'd work faster if you didn't stand there watchin' her."
Masters looked at Jayne from the corner of her eyes. "She's forgotten anybody's here but that engine. The girl surely knows her work." She turned and looked at him straight on. "Is everybody on your ship so competent?"
Jayne shrugged. "Pretty much. Mal always finds the best."
"He and the girl seem pretty close. They a couple?"
"Mal and Kaylee? Hell, no. She's more like a little sister to him, to all of us. Best way to get on Mal's bad side is to do anything that hurts Kaylee."
"Your captain's a bit of a self-righteous chǔnrén, isn't he?"
Jayne laughed uncomfortably and glanced uneasily at Kaylee. She was straining to get a part loose and seemed oblivious to their conversation. "Yeah, sometimes. But he's straight up. It's kinduva change to work for someone I can trust, you know?"
"I can imagine." She eyed Jayne speculatively. "So, can he trust you?"
Jayne met her eyes briefly and then looked away. "He and I are working on that part."
Mal tapped twice on Simon's door and then walked in. Simon and River were sitting on the bed, a deck of cards dealt between them. "We should be heading out again in a few hours," he informed them.
"Do any of them need medical attention?" Simon asked.
Mal shook his head. "Not badly, and I'd just as soon you kept out of sight. The ship's carrying slaves, and any captain who'd do that is somebody I want to keep at arm's length. I've got Zoë keeping anybody from boarding, though—it should be safe enough for you to move about, as long as you stay clear of the cargo bay."
Simon stood up and yawned. "Excellent. I could use coffee. Want anything, River?"
She shook her head. "In the cold weather, a hand needs a glove."
"That's a no, then," Simon remarked with a shake of his head. He walked past Mal on his way up to the mess.
Mal hung back a moment and leaned close to River. "Why naked?" he asked in a low voice.
She favored him with a sly smile. "It was your dream, Captain."
The confounded look he gave her made her burst out laughing.
Almost three hours had passed when Wash summoned Mal to the bridge to answer a call from Masters.
"Your Kaylee is nearly finished, lad. I'd like to come aboard briefly and pay you for your trouble in helping us," Masters offered.
Mal smiled. "We didn't do this for pay, Captain. Just send Jayne and Kaylee back when they're done and we'll call it quits."
"That doesn't seem right. Please, let me show my gratitude and give you something, at least."
"Really, just send my people back," Mal repeated in a friendly tone.
Masters narrowed her eyes. "Hold on. I've seen enough of your ship, boy, to know that you could use any money you can get. Problem is, you don't think my money is good enough for you—isn't it?"
Mal dropped his friendly façade and became stern. "No offense meant, but I don't want any part of any money that comes from slavin'. I've got no problem with helping you get on your way, but that's where it ends."
"Don't be a fool. Out here in the Black, you take money where it's offered if you want to survive."
Mal flicked the vid unit off. A stony silence filled the bridge while Wash blinked at the captain.
"Well, I can see why Zoë has followed you for so long. Your ability to handle any situation with tact and foresight is awe-inspiring," Wash finally ventured. "C'mon, Mal, she has a point. We take money from Badger, and we know he deals in slaves. What's the difference?"
Mal turned cold eyes on him. "Badger pays us out of what he expects to get for what we bring him. The money comes from our own work, not from the slaving. We haven't given Masters anything that she'll make profit from—that's the difference."
"That's a fine line, Mal."
"'Course it is. All the more reason not to cross it. And I don't ever mean to."
Ten minutes later, Wash watched as the Edinburgh cast off Serenity's airlock and departed without a word. He didn't give it much thought until Mal's frantic voice came over the intercom.
"Wash? Did they just leave?"
"Yeah, Mal."
"Tāmāde. Kaylee and Jayne are still aboard."
Kaylee picked up her tool bag and followed Jayne out of the engine room. They had made it almost halfway down to Edinburgh's cargo bay when she felt a shiver run through the ship. She grabbed hold of Jayne's arm.
He stopped short and looked over his shoulder at her. " Gòu zāo de. We're movin', ain't we?"
She nodded.
He pulled out his gun and turned back the way they had come. "Stay behind me. We're headin' back to the engine room and you're gonna stop this gorram ship."
At the hatchway emptying into the engine room corridor, Jayne stole a quick look out and saw two armed crewmembers between him and their goal. He ducked back and looked at the girl. "We're humped. They've got the room covered."
"What're we gonna do?" she hissed. "You can't fight the whole crew."
"There's no need to fight at all," Becca Masters called to them.
Jayne looked back down the hallway they had just come back through, but couldn't see her. "You wanna tell us what kinda gorram game you're playin'?" he called.
"It's called Get the Captain's Goat," she replied with a laugh. "Young Malcolm is just a little too sanctimonious and I mean to teach him some manners. I promise you, we don't mean any harm to either of you. You're our guests until we reach Midgard."
"Fèi huà," Jayne spat. He pushed Kaylee into the corner behind him and raised his gun.
She clutched his gun arm and pulled it down with all her strength. "Jayne," she pleaded. "This can't work. If we have a shootout, you'll just wind up dead and I'll be stuck here without you. How does that help?"
He turned his head and looked at her with wild eyes.
"Don't leave me here alone, Jayne," she whispered.
Slowly, she felt the fight go out of him. He put his gun arm around her and hugged her against his side. "How the ruttin' hell am I going to explain this to Mal?" he asked. "I promised him I'd take care of you."
"Can't do it if you're dead," she observed with a whimsical smile. "'Sides, sounds like the Captain is the one got us into this mess."
He laughed hoarsely. "For somebody who's always givin' me lessons in manners, he sure has a gift for pissin' people off."
"That's our Cap'n," she agreed. Then she grinned. "Don't worry—I'll handle him."
Jayne's lip stretched in an answering smile: the girl had the captain wrapped around her finger. "Okay," he said, "I don't trust Becca—leastwise not like I do Mal—but she don't seem like a cold-blooded killer. I think we're safe enough for now." He holstered his gun and took Kaylee's hand in his. She squeezed his back.
Mal burst into Simon's quarters, grabbed River by an arm and pulled her around to face him. He looked into vacant eyes.
And then he saw stars and bounced off the wall before slumping to the floor. He shook his head and looked up to see Simon glaring down at him. The doctor's fist was clenched and ready for another blow should the captain dare to stand up.
Mal put his hands up in surrender. "Stand down, Doctor. I was too rough, an' I apologize. I'm feelin' a mite frantic right now."
The sincerity in the captain's tone was unmistakable. Simon lowered his fist. "What's wrong?"
"Kaylee musta worked her magic. The other ship took off, but Kaylee and Jayne are still aboard."
Simon wrestled with the implications. "And . . . you blame River?"
Mal rubbed his jaw. "No. 'Course not. But she, she listens. I woulda thought she'd know this was gonna happen."
"That's crazy," Simon objected.
"Well, that's your sister," Mal retorted. "Look, I just need to talk to her. Can I get up now, or are you feeling a need to create demand for your surgical prowess?"
"Uh . . . of course. Just, you know, don't get grabby."
Mal pushed himself up off the floor and knelt by River. Her gaze was unfocused. "How long she been like this?" he asked.
"Just a few minutes, I think. I didn't really notice when she drifted off—we were playing cards and I was waiting for her to discard, and finally I got tired of waiting and looked up, and she was . . . gone."
Mal cupped her face in his hands. "River, darlin', can you hear Kaylee?"
"Lonesome nights in a cowboy bed," she announced.
Mal flicked a nervous glance towards Simon. The doctor's eyes were on his sister. The captain tried again. "C'mon, River. I know you're ranging for Kaylee. Whaddya hear, sweetheart?"
Simon rummaged in his medical bag for a vial and prepared a shot. He stepped up to River and started to push her sleeve up.
Mal realized what he was up to and shoved him aside with his shoulder. The doctor fell across the foot of the bed, rolled and landed on the floor. He bounced up mad.
"Damn it, Mal! She's having an episode and I need to medicate her."
Mal placed himself between the doctor and River and shook his head once side to side. "An episode? This ain't a random episode, Doctor. She's reaching to Kaylee, and I need to know what she's learned. We're following, but that don't help Kaylee a whole lot right now. Seein' as how you and Kaylee've gotten snuggly in the past, I'd've thought you'd give a rat's ass."
Simon stood there for a moment with his mouth open and the syringe poised in his hand. Finally he managed to get words out. "Of course I care. But I can't do anything for Kaylee right now—that's your job. My responsibility is to look after River, and I can't stand to see her like this."
"So you'll just shoot her full of drugs so she goes to sleep and you can feel better?" Mal asked bitterly.
"No. So she feels better."
"Does she? Is unconscious 'better'?"
"Who are you to judge, Mal? I'm her brother and her doctor. I think I know what's best for her." He stepped forward to get to his sister and Mal pushed him back again forcefully.
"Doctor." Mal took a slow breath. "Simon. Don't most doctors avoid treating family?"
Simon glared at the captain for a moment before nodding his head.
"Why is that?"
"Because . . . because doctors have to remain objective about their patients in order to treat them effectively," he muttered.
Mal didn't say a word; he just set his jaw and gazed at the doctor, forcing him to come to terms with it.
Simon blinked tears away. "I'm doing the best I can," he said quietly.
"I don't doubt that," Mal offered. "Listen—I don't want to hurt River any more than you do. Maybe I've got a different take on what's happenin' with her, and seeing as how I'm riskin' a lot keeping you both on board, I think you owe me the benefit of the doubt on this."
Mal felt a sudden cold sensation at the back of his neck and jumped spasmodically in the air. He spun around to find River grinning at him, her cold fingers outstretched. "Gāisi. Don't do that!"
She giggled and placed her hand against his heart. "He deals the cards to find the answers."
Mal pushed the hair off her face with a finger. "Hey. We had a talk about this nonsense."
She looked him right in the eye. "Kaylee's fine. A little nervous, but fine. She's with Jayne."
Mal grabbed her gently by the shoulders. "Shouldn't you have known something like this was up?"
She shook her head. "Captain Masters bears no malice. There's no dread."
"Darlin', you better be right about this."
dong ma? understand?
fèi huà bullshit
gāisi damn
gòu zāo de This can't get any worse.
tāmāde damn, fuck
wúnéug de rén trash (despicable person)
Yēsū Jesus