Firefly--Life Signs Read online

  “I got there before any real harm was done, didn’t I?”

  “True, aside from some missing buttons.” Mal looked ruefully at the front of his shirt. “Guess I can’t complain.”

  “Pity of it is, I just went and bought myself this.” Jayne patted his latest customization for Vera, a brand new night scope. “Was hopin’ I’d have the chance to test it out, but there was enough light to see by that I didn’t need it.”

  “Maybe next time someone’s holding a knife on me you’ll get your wish.”

  “Yeah. Fingers crossed.”

  Mal side-eyed the big man. Either he was joshing or he was being crass. With Jayne Cobb, it wasn’t always easy to tell.

  “Question is,” said Zoë, “what are we going to do now? Haymer sent one paid killer after you. Chances are, when he finds out this one’s failed, he’ll send another.”

  “Chances are he won’t.” Mal gestured towards an aluminum-sided crate. “Not once we’ve dropped that off on his front doorstep.”

  The crate, which had more or less the dimensions of a coffin, held the mortal remains of Desmond Rouleau.

  “Haymer’s a Bellerophon blueblood,” he went on. “Doesn’t have the sand to pull a trigger himself, but he’s happy to pay someone else to do it on his behalf. Man like that needs to be shown the consequences of his actions, needs to know what killin’ really looks like—and opening up that crate and gettin’ an eyeful of Rouleau’s perforated carcass will surely do the trick.”

  “And if it don’t?”

  “Then the same thing’ll happen with every other hired gun he sends, over and over. He’ll get the message in the end.”

  “Works for me,” Jayne opined.

  “Kind of a risk,” said Zoë.

  “A calculated one.”

  “Still a risk.”

  Mal sighed. “That’s our lives now, Zoë. Ain’t nothin’ but risk, calculated or otherwise.”

  Simon appeared on the catwalk, in time to catch Mal’s last remark. “What’s this about risk?” he asked River.

  River craned her neck to look up at her older brother. “Mal was just saying he doesn’t mind if people try to kill him.” She had been listening in after all, in her own distracted fashion.

  “Ain’t what I said at all, River,” Mal corrected. “Somebody pulls a gun on me, a knife, any kinda weapon, with a view to doin’ me a mischief, I very much mind. Seems that’s becomin’ a more and more common occurrence these days, and I mightn’t like it but it’s something I just have to accept.”

  “So where are we headed now?” Simon asked him.

  “Bellerophon,” said River. “Mal has a present for Durran Haymer. One corpse, fresh off the production line.”

  “Corpse?”

  “In that box.”

  “Seriously?”

  “A point needs to be made,” Mal said.

  “He was a hero, you know,” River said.

  “Flatterin’ of you to say so, River,” said Mal. “I wouldn’t exactly describe what I did as heroic, my own self. Brave, maybe, but not heroic.”

  “Bellerophon,” said River. “Demigod from Greek myth. Son of Poseidon. Rode the winged horse Pegasus. Slew the Chimera, a fire-breathing monster with the head of a lion, the body of a goat and the tail of a serpent.”

  “Oh. That guy.”

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “No, but he sounds like a hero all right. Slayin’ monsters and such.”

  “Bellerophon went too far, though. Heroes often do,” said River. “He became arrogant. Because he killed the Chimera, he thought he deserved a place on Mount Olympus with the gods.”

  Jayne shook his head despairingly. “What is this, some kinda ancient fairytales lecture?”

  Ignoring him, River continued. “Zeus sent a gadfly to sting Pegasus mid-flight. Pegasus threw Bellerophon off, and he fell to Earth, landed in a thorn bush and was blinded. He spent the rest of his days alone, humbled and miserable. It’s called hubris. When mortals set themselves up as the gods’ equals, the gods don’t like it. They make them suffer for it.”

  “Your point being…?” said Mal.

  She blinked at him. “Does there need to be a point?”

  “You seem to be suggestin’ I’m guilty of this hubris thing.”

  “No. Not a bit. But when we arrive on Bellerophon, I think you need to be prepared to fall to Earth with a bump.”

  “What?”

  River gazed down at Mal from the catwalk, and looking into those big, soulful eyes of hers he had the sense that she knew something the rest of them didn’t. The feeling was familiar to him from past experience, but no less eerie for that. Alliance scientists had meddled with River Tam’s brain, gifting her with abilities some might call superhuman. These abilities—telepathy, precognition, extraordinary combat prowess—were gradually making themselves known, and it was unclear what their full extent might be. They came at a price, however. River was now damaged goods, mentally unsound. Sometimes that amazing mind of hers could resolve seemingly intractable problems; just as often, it caused them.

  “What?” she repeated back.

  “No, I said ‘What?’ first,” Mal said. “You don’t get to say it after I do. You get to answer me. How am I gonna fall to Earth with a bump?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Here we go,” Jayne groused. “Little Miss Creepybritches confounds us all. Again.” He strode out of the cargo bay with Vera, muttering to himself.

  “River,” said Simon gently, “if you know about something that’s going to happen, you’d best tell us.”

  His sister gave a puzzled frown. “Do I know what’s going to happen?”

  “On Bellerophon.”

  “Bellerophon. Demigod from Greek myth. Son of Poseidon. Rode the winged horse Pegasus. Slew the Chimera…”

  “You’ve told us that already. Is there something else we should know?”

  River seemed genuinely nonplussed. “I don’t think so, Simon.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.” It was as if she had no memory of the comment she’d made just half a minute ago. Indeed, she probably didn’t. Abruptly she sprang to her feet. Tapping Simon on the arm, she cried, “Tag! You’re it!” and ran out of the cargo bay.

  Simon, with a shrug, set off after her. “I’ll get you, River.”

  “No, you won’t,” came the singsong, laughing reply. “You never do.”

  Mal and Zoë exchanged looks.

  “What do you reckon, Zoë?” Mal said. “Our own private crystal ball has given us a warning.”

  “I reckon we should be ready for trouble on Bellerophon, sir. Just in case River’s on the money.”

  “I reckon that too. Mind you, it’d be worth taking precautions anyway, even if we didn’t have Madam Nostradamus on board.”

  “Why’s that?” said Zoë.

  “’Cause, the way our luck runs, there’s always gorramn trouble.”

  3

  In the event, somehow they bucked the odds and there wasn’t trouble.

  Durran Haymer owned one of the floating estates that hovered in clusters over the sea on Bellerophon, each kept aloft by an array of conical antigrav generators projecting downward. Disc-shaped and pretty much identical to one another, the estates resembled giant lily pads suspended in midair at varying altitudes.

  Mal and Zoë touched down on the landing platform at Haymer’s in one of Serenity’s two shuttles and hurriedly offloaded the crate, which Mal had labeled “Special Delivery for Mr. Haymer—To Be Opened By Him Only.” They were airborne again within moments. There was no point in hanging around. If they dallied, there was a chance someone might call the authorities on them.

  Looking out from the cockpit window, Mal saw a man emerge from the main house. The guy shaded his eyes against the sun as he watched the shuttle depart. It wasn’t Haymer but some flunky dressed in a servant’s uniform, with a tailcoat and fancy vest. He peered down at the crate, read the label on the lid, and went ba
ck into the house, presumably to summon his master.

  Mal half smiled. Durran Haymer was in for a hell of a shock when he opened the crate. He’d have no trouble figuring out who it was from and what it meant, and hopefully he would learn his lesson. He was basically a law-abiding-citizen type, after all. Out of frustration, or perhaps desperation, he had dipped a toe in unfamiliar water—the water Mal swam in on a daily basis. Mal was showing him how deadly dangerous that water could be.

  They were halfway back to the rendezvous point with Serenity when Wash got in touch over the comms.

  “Mal?” said Serenity’s pilot. “Incoming wave for you. One Stanislaw L’Amour. Want me to patch it through?”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  A moment later, a screen on the shuttle’s control console lit up. The exceptionally handsome face of Stanislaw L’Amour flickered into view.

  “Captain Reynolds. Miz Alleyne Washburne.”

  “Mr. L’Amour,” said Mal.

  “Hi,” said Zoë.

  “Been a while,” said Mal.

  Their sole previous encounter with L’Amour had taken place several months ago on a remote, arid world called Thetis. He had helped the crew out of a jam, summoning a private army of security contractors who’d ridden to the rescue like the proverbial cavalry. He had done this to discharge a debt to Inara Serra, with whom he was old friends. L’Amour was that rare thing, an enormously wealthy businessman with honor and scruples.

  “It has indeed been a while,” said L’Amour. “You look well, Captain.”

  “You too.”

  This was not entirely true. Even though Mal could not claim close acquaintance with L’Amour, there was something off about him now. He recalled the genial, urbane fellow he had met on Thetis, someone who seemed to find life infinitely enjoyable. This Stanislaw L’Amour was a markedly different proposition. He looked and sounded somber.

  “What can I do for you?” Mal said. “If you’re after Inara, you obviously ain’t heard that she’s not with us anymore. She’s left and gone back to House Madrassa.”

  There was a tiny hitch in his voice as he said these words. Inara had quit Serenity not long after the events on Thetis, for reasons which were still not quite clear to Mal but which, he thought, had a lot to do with him and his stubborn, damn-fool insistence that there was nothing going on between the two of them. Just at the point where he’d been about to admit he had feelings for her, Inara had told him she was leaving. Talk about bad timing—or rather, talk about putting things off until it was too late.

  “Or could it be you’ve got a business proposal for us?” he added hopefully.

  “No, this is about Inara, as you first surmised,” L’Amour said, “but not in the way you think. Captain Reynolds…”

  “You can call me Mal.”

  “Mal, then. Tell me, what do you know about Inara’s condition?”

  Mal felt a stirring of unease in his belly. “I’m sorry, condition?”

  “Ah.” The grave look on L’Amour’s face deepened. “You had no idea.”

  “No, I had no idea about any condition, and I’d be more’n grateful if you could enlighten me.”

  “Mal, I must apologize. I assumed she had told you.”

  “Told. Me. What.” Mal fired the words at the screen like bullets.

  L’Amour hesitated, evidently plucking up courage.

  “Inara is dying, Mal,” he said. “Cancer. The doctors say she has, at most, a month to live.”

  4

  Stanislaw L’Amour had homes all across the ’verse, including one on Bellerophon—and that was where, as chance would have it, he happened to be staying right now. The property lay in the northeastern region of the largest of the planet’s three main continents: an imposing two-story country mansion set in grounds which ran to fifty acres and which were landscaped to perfection.

  Wash set Serenity down on a landing pad a half-mile from the house. An automated maglev transfer pod was waiting, and no sooner had Mal climbed in than it set off on its track, whirring along a series of sinuous curves through thickly wooded terrain.

  On any other occasion he might have enjoyed the ride. The trees were in their autumnal prime, their foliage all russet, tawny and gold, the leaves clinging on, still glossy, not yet ready to drop. A gentle zephyr made the branches stir languorously. Of all the seasons, Mal loved fall the best. He loved the colors and the way it made him feel pleasantly wistful.

  Not today, however. Today, all he saw around him was slow, inexorable decline.

  Shortly the transfer pod pulled up outside the mansion’s front door. A solemn majordomo ushered Mal through into an enormous vestibule, where L’Amour was waiting for him.

  “Mal.” L’Amour extended a hand. “Good to see you again in person. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Mal did not take the proffered hand. “Where is she?”

  L’Amour nodded understandingly. “Upstairs in the guest quarters. She’s being well looked after. I have oncologists on call, the best that money can afford, and there’s nursing care round the clock. Everything is being done to make her as comfortable as possible during her final—”

  “Take me to her.”

  “Of course, of course. This way.”

  Up a sweeping staircase, along a galleried landing, to a suite of rooms more spacious than most city apartments. The décor in the suite was sumptuous, from the swagged drapes to the flock wallpaper to the parquet tiles, which made the newtech medical bed in the center of the main room all the more incongruous-looking.

  The bed, which floated a couple of feet above the floor, bristled with monitoring equipment and readouts. Intravenous drip bags containing various clear fluids hung from stands attached to the frame. It was angled to face a large picture window which looked over a lawn, a lake and a knot garden filled with topiary and statuary. Its contoured mattress was adjusted to prop up the occupant so that she could take in the view.

  A nurse was bent over the bed, tending to the patient. She straightened up and stepped discreetly aside as Mal and L’Amour entered.

  Mal walked to the bed, not hurrying now. He wanted to look at Inara. He didn’t want to look at Inara.

  She was dressed in a silk kimono with a hand-painted cherry blossom motif. Her face was gaunt and sallow-skinned, and her lips were dry and cracked. Her cheekbones stood out, skeletal, while her hair had lost its luster and was now as dull and brittle as tumbleweed.

  But still beautiful. She was still beautiful.

  She rolled her head on the pillow, turning to look at him, and it seemed an effort for her to focus her gaze.

  “Mal?” A reedy croak, scarcely more than a whisper.

  Mal couldn’t speak.

  “You came,” she said. She braved a smile.

  Mal continued to have trouble finding his voice. There was a lump stopping up his throat.

  “It’s good to see you,” Inara said.

  Finally the power of speech returned to him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” He meant it to sound plaintive. Somehow it came out accusatory.

  “I tried to. Several times. Just couldn’t quite bring myself to.”

  “But you knew. Right from the start, when you first joined Serenity. You knew even then. L’Amour told me.”

  He glanced round, looking for L’Amour, but both the billionaire and the nurse had withdrawn from the room to give them privacy.

  “And Simon says you hinted to him about it,” Mal went on. “That time when Serenity’s compression coil blew out and we were adrift and runnin’ out of air. He said something about not wanting to ‘die on this ship’ and you said something about not wanting to die at all. He didn’t think much about it at the time. Could’ve been you were just commenting in general on how death ain’t such a fun idea. But he says you sounded kinda sad when you said it, and now that he knows you were sick, in hindsight…”

  “In hindsight, he realizes I was subtly referring to the fact that I’d contracted
a terminal disease.”

  “Yeah. But that was the only time you ever even came close to talking about it to anyone.”

  “How is Simon, by the way?” Inara asked. “Have he and Kaylee finally managed to, you know…?”

  “Get together? Nope.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Tiān xiăo de! Those two. Can’t see what’s staring them in the face. How about the others? How are they? Zoë, Wash, River… I’ve missed them. Even Jayne.”

  “I ain’t here to talk about them.” Everything Mal said was sounding angrier than he intended. Maybe he was angry. “You want to know how they’re doing, ask ’em yourself. Only, you ain’t going to. You’ve refused to let them come here. Said you’d only see me.”

  “Mal.” Inara laid a hand on his. It felt as light as a sparrow. “Take a breath. Please. I didn’t want the others to come because I don’t want them seeing me like this. I want their last memories of me to be the person I was when I was fit and healthy. I didn’t especially want you seeing me like this either, but Stanislaw convinced me I should. The way you’re acting, I’m beginning to wonder if he was right.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Mal tried to calm himself. Whatever emotions he was feeling, this meeting wasn’t about him. It was about Inara. “I just… If I’d known, it might’ve changed things.”

  “How?” she said.

  “I’d’ve asked you to stay on Serenity, for starters. Insisted on it.”

  “Which is just why I didn’t say anything. You would have been doing it for all the wrong reasons.”

  “We’d have looked after you. We’d have done everything we could for you. Those are the wrong reasons?”

  “Sure, you’d have shown me compassion. You’d also have shown me pity, and pity’s something I can’t abide. Not from anyone, most of all not from you.”

  “So instead you lied and said you were going back to Sihnon and House Madrassa. You had us all thinking we weren’t good enough for you; you were ashamed of us.”

  “You mean ‘me,’ not ‘us,’ don’t you?” Inara said. “Because I’m fairly certain none of the others would have felt that way. And besides, it wasn’t a lie. I did go back to House Madrassa, for a while. Thing is, the type of cancer I have—Kiehl’s myeloma—the symptoms can be held in check, at least to begin with. There’s medication, a cocktail of proteasome inhibitors and immune response adjustors that can retard the progression of the disease. So while I was on Serenity I was injecting myself with it on a regular basis, and for a time it worked.”