Firefly--Big Damn Hero Read online

  “If you believe that,” Mal said, “then you have sorely underestimated my crew. They ain’t easily fooled. They’re coming for me. I know it in my bones. And woe betide you when they get here, darling, because they’ll be pissed and they will seriously mess up your day.”

  “Sure, sure,” said Hatchet Face. “Even if that’s the case, they’re bound to be too late. How long do you think you’ve got? We’re just waiting on a couple more folks to show. Soon as they arrive—and it’ll be any moment now—the trial will begin. And rest assured, it won’t be a long trial. Your life can be measured in hours, Reynolds. Savor what time you have left, because it ain’t much at all.”

  The room was large, with an artificial rock waterfall that towered at least fifteen feet high. The water spilled into a tiled pond. Golden koi fish swam lazily beneath lily pads, now and then mouthing the surface.

  Opposite lay a big, rectangular picture window bordered by gleaming swords and battleaxes. The view was of a particularly beautiful section of Persephone, where large swathes of cultivated gardens hung between the silvery sky-rises. A wealthy district. If the docks were hell, this was heaven.

  Mika Wong, having ushered Book into the room and allowed him a moment or two to admire his surroundings, gestured for him to take a seat in an ornate overstuffed chair. He picked up a remote off a small table and clicked on a holographic fireplace next to the chair. Then he instructed a servant, a man dressed in a butler’s brass-buttoned livery, to fetch drinks. The butler filled two gold-hued cups from a matching decanter and handed one to Book and the other to Wong before gliding back over to a corner and stationing himself there, fixing his gaze in a dispassionate middle-distance stare.

  Book lowered himself into the chair and sniffed the liquid. He had anticipated wine, which he would have had to decline, but to his delight found that he was drinking clean, fresh water. Cooled to a perfect chilliness, it was nectar on his tongue and went a long way to dispelling the ache in his head from the blows he had received at the hands of Charlie Dunwoody and company.

  Wong sat opposite. The years had been kind to the former commander of the Alliance Anti-Terrorism Division. Taller than Book, his spine was ramrod straight. He was tanned and fit, his once-black hair now a sleek silvery gray instead of plain white like Book’s. He was wearing black trousers and a slate-colored shirt, appearing almost militaristic.

  “So,” he said, “Derrial Book got rolled. Who would have thought? You, of all people.”

  Book smiled sheepishly. “Maybe I’m losing my edge.”

  “I doubt it. What happened?”

  “I offered charity to a man who decided I was being too stingy.” Book shrugged. “As they say, no good deed goes unpunished.”

  “Well, you were certainly punished.”

  “I’d like to say I had the situation under control…”

  “But clearly you did not.”

  “And you, equally clearly, have not lost your edge,” Book said. “That was some fancy footwork, for an old man.”

  “I keep in shape,” Wong said. “I have a dojo on the premises and spar practically every day with my trainer. Just because I’m retired doesn’t mean I have to atrophy. Also, I had the element of surprise. Those fellows didn’t see me coming until it was too late to do them any good.”

  “A dojo. A room like this. A house this size. Staff.” Book motioned at the butler, who acted oblivious, as though he was not even present in the room. “You’re doing pretty well for yourself, Mika.” Especially, he didn’t say, for a man living on a military pension. For sure, the commander of an entire department would receive a decent annuity and plenty of perks, but enough to afford this kind of lifestyle? Not likely.

  “I get by,” Wong said. “How about you? Still sequestered away at Southdown?”

  “I left the abbey a few months back. Thought I’d walk in the world a while.”

  “Why?” Wong crossed his legs and sipped from his glass. “I avoid it as much as possible.”

  “I find I still have things to do. A life of contemplation and prayer provides one with a peace that passeth all understanding, but our universe is far from peaceful. It seems self-indulgent to live apart, when so many are in need of help.”

  “You always were a bit of a radical.”

  “Or a pragmatist. We raise ourselves up by lifting others.”

  “You’re full of pithy quotes.” Wong smiled, but his gaze was sharp, brittle. Assessing. “It’s been a long time,” he added. “You’ll have to catch me up.”

  “Quid pro quo,” Book returned. “I never dreamed you’d retire.”

  “Forced out.” Wong’s tone was rueful and not a little resentful. “New guidelines for mandatory retirement. They thought I was past it.”

  “That’s a shame,” Book said. “Shepherds don’t retire. We just… redefine our vocations.”

  As Book took another swallow of water, he studied Wong. When he had known him before, the commander had been all spit-and-polish, a minimalist who traveled light. The Mika Wong of the past would have scoffed at the luxury in which the two of them now sat, and would have questioned the method by which such obvious wealth had been acquired if he were investigating someone else. He might well have accused a retired Alliance officer who lived like this of illegal practices. And Book recalled the waitress in the Sea Wolf saying as much about him. Forcing businesses to pay for protection? Could such a thing be true?

  “At any rate,” he said, “I’m glad you happened along when you did. Otherwise I’d be a whole lot poorer than I already am, and a whole lot more damaged, too.”

  “Yes, how are you feeling? Recovering from your ordeal?”

  “More or less. I’m going to have a few lumps and bumps to show for it, but that’s nothing new. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but was it sheer chance you showed up?”

  “You ask the question in a manner which suggests you don’t think it was.”

  “Let’s just say I’m wary of sudden turns of good fortune.”

  “Even when they might all be part of God’s divine plan?” Wong laughed teasingly. “It was sheer happenstance, Derrial, genuinely. I was in the area, just passing through. Although, that being said, I was keeping half an eye out for a preacher, because I’d lately got word that one such had been asking around about Hunter Covington and Elmira Atadema.”

  The remark was a probing stiletto. Book parried. “Was it by any chance a waitress at the Sea Wolf told you that?”

  “Saskia?”

  “If that’s her name. A bountiful woman in every regard.”

  Wong shook his head. “No, not her, although she has been known to send the odd piece of useful information my way now and then.”

  “No, come to think of it, I was set upon almost as soon as I left the Sea Wolf. You must have heard about me earlier than that. I know. The clerk at the quartermaster’s office. Smotrich.”

  Now Wong nodded. “Smotrich earns a very modest salary. If he spies an opportunity to supplement it with a little extra cash, he seizes it with both hands. He’s aware that I have an interest in Covington and Elmira. The funny thing is, as soon as he mentioned a Shepherd, you were the person I immediately thought of. What does that say about me, I wonder?”

  “Says to me you don’t know that many Shepherds.”

  “You know, in some ways it came as a surprise when I learned that Derrial Book had gone into the church. Back in the day, when you and I were both in uniform, I’d never have pegged you as a candidate for the clergy.”

  “At the risk of you accusing me again of being full of pithy quotes, the Bible has something to say about there being more joy in heaven over one sinner that repents than over ninety-nine just persons who need no repentance.”

  “You were a sinner?”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “I suppose you might consider yourself that, in light of what you did—or rather what you were accused of doing. Me, I always considered you a just person. There was a fundamen
tal integrity about you which, I can see now in retrospect, makes you well fitted for the religious life. Tell me, was it hard making the switch?”

  “Exchanging one institution for another? The Alliance for the Order? Not really. It’s all just structure and hierarchy, at least on the surface.” Book was choosing his words with care. His past— before Southdown Abbey—was a minefield. He didn’t much enjoy revisiting it, and he always trod warily when he did. There were so many things that could explode in his face, and Wong knew more than a few of them. “Listen, Mika, much as it’s pleasant to catch up, and much as I appreciate you interceding when I needed it, I’m currently conducting some business that’s, to put it mildly, urgent. I have some associates I’d like to check in with.”

  Wong made a be-my-guest gesture.

  Book pulled out his comm link. “In private, if I may.”

  “As you wish.” Wong turned to dismiss the butler.

  “I mean complete privacy. Some other room, perhaps? Where I can be on my ownsome?”

  “How about I show you to my office?

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs,” Book said amiably, “and to be honest, I’d like to see the rest of your home.”

  “Not what you expected, eh?” Wong said with some pride. “I came into an inheritance shortly after I retired.”

  “What luck,” Book said. He didn’t believe a word of it.

  Wong stood and Book followed him out of the room, moving a little stiffly from his injuries. They walked together down a corridor sided by rainbow-hued glass behind which exotic ferns and flowers bloomed. Insects fluttered and crawled among the brilliant foliage. Book had never seen anything so opulent in a private home. Members of domestic staff trotted silently by. It was gone midnight, but still they were on duty, ready to respond to Wong’s every beck and call.

  Withholding comment, Book followed Wong into an austere office consisting of a metal desk, several metal upright chairs, and dozens of framed commendations, medals, and pictures with various departments and divisions. This was more like the Mika Wong he had known before.

  “Here you go,” Wong said. “I’ll leave you to it. I imagine you might be hungry; I’ll have the cook prepare something to eat.”

  “Thank you,” Book said, waiting until Wong left.

  That, he thought, could not have gone much better. If Wong hadn’t himself suggested going to his office, Book would have dropped hints to that effect; or else, as soon as he was alone, he would have snuck through the house looking for just such a room.

  The truth was, he had very little that was new to report to Zoë and the others. What he did have was the near certainty that Mika Wong was dirty—running some sort of protection racket in Eavesdown, a gamekeeper turned poacher—and that Wong was connected with Elmira Atadema and therefore, by inference, Covington. It was strange that Wong had not inquired why Book was so interested in those two people, at least not yet. His lack of curiosity was in itself curious. Perhaps, over a meal, he might broach the topic. Well, Book would deal with that eventuality as and when it arose. Until then, he was going to make the most of the window of opportunity he had wangled for himself.

  Wong must have information about Elmira and Covington, most likely in this very office. Book scanned the room for security cameras, to see if his search would be detected. Just because he saw none did not mean there were none, but it seemed unlikely that Wong would monitor his own workspace in the heart of his own home. Acting as fast as possible, Book opened and closed drawers and folders both in the man’s actual desk and onscreen. Strange codes and addresses of businesses on Persephone—Wong’s protection racket? He kept looking, freezing when he came upon a hard-copy folder in the lower desk drawer labeled ATADEMA, ELMIRA.

  He opened the folder and began to skim an official-looking document.

  SUBJECT: Missing; unable to locate.

  So Wong had been keeping tabs on Elmira Atadema at the very least. The date the subject had gone missing was marked as the day before Alliance Day. Clearly “missing” meant something different to Wong than it did on her wanted poster. She had escaped from her bondholder months before and been recaptured, but Wong had lost track of her within the last twenty-four hours.

  Book was so engrossed in the document that he lost situational awareness. He should have heard the footfalls in the corridor outside sooner, but by the time he did they had stopped at the door and the door itself was opening.

  He froze, the document in his hands. If it was a member of Wong’s staff, he would bluff his way out of trouble, playing the role of hapless, innocent Shepherd.

  But it was Wong himself standing in the doorway.

  “Derrial,” he said, scowling unhappily. “What the hell?”

  Book decided he had nothing to lose.

  “You know that I’m looking for Elmira Atadema, Mika,” he said. “I’ve been asking around on Persephone for information on her, and everything points to you having some kind of professional interest in her.” He raised the folder. “I’ve just confirmed that for myself.”

  “Then why not just ask me outright what I know about the woman?” Wong said, grabbing the folder from him. “Why all the cloak and dagger?”

  “We haven’t seen each other in a long time,” Book said. “I’ve only recently started looking for her and I’m learning the lay of the land.” And you’re living rich, and a certain waitress accused you of some very nefarious dealings.

  Wong frowned. “But Book, it’s me. We go back a ways. We were both officers. We served on the Cortez together. I was there when you got shafted over the Alexander disaster and took the fall.”

  Book bowed his head, acknowledging perhaps the darkest, most ignominious episode from his former life.

  “I thought… I thought you were someone I could always trust,” Wong went on. “I respected you. I was your superior officer but still I looked up to you. Why in hell else would I have helped you out with those muggers? Soon as I saw who it was they were beating up— Derrial Book!—I weighed in. Didn’t think twice about it. And this is how you reward me?” He sounded genuinely upset. “So I suppose the only reason you agreed to accompany me back to my place was so that you could snoop around?”

  “In part, yes.”

  “Huh. Guess you’re not the ‘just person’ I thought you were after all.”

  “I don’t pretend to be perfect, Mika,” said Book. “I try my best to be virtuous, but oftentimes the circumstances demand a touch of deceit. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  Wong seemed in two minds whether to accept the apology.

  “You have every right to throw me out on my ear,” Book continued. “Wouldn’t blame you at all if you did. But I beg you, in the name of the respect you once had for me and indeed I once had for you, help me out here. I’m floundering, and there’s a great deal riding on anything you can tell me about Elmira and Covington.”

  Wong deliberated, conflicting emotions chasing one another across his face.

  Finally, with an audible sigh, he relented.

  “What do you need to know?” he said, lowering his defenses but not putting the folder down.

  Book used much the same story he had told Saskia the waitress. “One of my erstwhile brethren at the abbey is a cousin of Elmira’s. He contacted me, worried about her. I came to Eavesdown, and what do I find but a missing person poster for her? The more I’ve learned, the more it seems she’s gotten herself into a dire situation and may well be dead. As a matter of fact”—he nerved himself to deliver a deeper lie—“I was considering approaching you if I drew a blank everywhere else. You used to head up the Anti-Terrorism Division, and your remit included dealing with vigilantes.” He paused, but Wong remained poker-faced. “And one of my respondents connected Elmira to a group of vigilantes.”

  “Who was it?” Wong pressed.

  Book could have admitted that it was Saskia, but she had only verified what Jayne had discovered earlier. He didn’t want Wong to think the waitress had g
iven away too much. It might scupper any further dealings she had with him, and might even earn her a reprisal. “Somebody who prefers to remain anonymous.”

  “Okay, so what kind of connection did your anonymous source tell you there is between Elmira and these vigilantes?”

  Book sat back in the chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “It seems to me that it’s your turn to share some information, Mika. I’ve been forthcoming, but I’ve gotten nothing in return.”

  “This isn’t a trade,” Wong said.

  Book remained patient. “Most things are. Don’t see why this should be any different.”

  Finally Wong said, “You’re still a Shepherd, yes?”

  Book nodded. “I am. I’ve left the abbey for the time being, but I haven’t left the Order.”

  Wong tapped the folder again. “Then here’s how we do this. What I’m about to tell you falls within the purview of benefit of clergy. In other words, if you tell anyone what I’m about to discuss, in my opinion you will be violating the holy orders you took.”

  Confession didn’t exactly work that way, but Book wasn’t about to raise any objections. “Yes. Provided, of course, that withholding such information wouldn’t make me complicit in the commission of a crime. If that’s the case, then I’m under an obligation to reveal it.”

  Wong thought a moment, as if mentally reviewing what he planned to say and checking it twice. Book refrained from adding that there was nothing in his vows that would prevent him from acting on the information, as long as he didn’t disclose who had shared it with him.

  “This goes against the grain,” Wong said. “I’ve been conducting this operation on a strictly need-to-know, and so far I’ve been the only one who needed to know.”

  Book remained placid. Then Wong said, “But your inferences are on the money. There are vigilantes active on Persephone— Browncoat vigilantes—and they have been committing atrocities on this planet and others. The Alliance is unhappy about it. They want all citizens to be safe. So I’ve been reactivated by my old division to stop them.”