Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Twenty-Five

“I want him dead,” Simon said, grimly, looking at Kaylee over his coffee. He didn’t look as though he had slept in a week. And he hadn’t – at least not the eight hours recommended by every doctor in the ‘verse for the last six thousand years. He had done his best to work around Jayne’s schedule, but there were times when it was unavoidable for them to be in the same room at the same time. “I mean it. Dead. But nothing clean, like a bullet. I want him to suffer. Agonizing pain. Lots of it.” “Aw, poor Simon,” Kaylee said, genuine concern in her voice. “I . . . I’m almost sorry that River and I are having so much fun. She can be a little hard to sleep next to, what with the violent night terrors an’ all, but when she’s awake she’s great!” “I’d spend a lifetime with my sister at her most violent, her most insane, rather than spend one more night alone with . . . him.” “It can’t be as bad as all that,” Kaylee said, hesitantly. Simon looked at her as if he was going to explode. “Would you care to bet?” he asked, an evil tone in his voice. “Let’s start with the snoring. It’s like being in a steel tank with a chainsaw in my ear. Or the teeth grinding, which makes me want to put a pillow over his face. Or the smell – any idea how often he bathes? Just guess. Whatever you guess, add three days to it. He sweats like a pig, he throws his dirty clothes pretty much anywhere he likes – I had socks on my pillow this morning. Used. Socks. On my pillow. Where I sleep,” he pronounced. Kaylee patted his hand, about to lend him comfort, when he continued. “If he’s changed his sheets since he’s been aboard it’s news to me. He . . . he cracks his toes. In his sleep. They go off like gunshots all night long. He’s more obnoxious asleep than most people are awake. I woke him up for his watch yesterday and he pointed a pistol at me, until he woke up enough to realize who I was. And then he didn’t put it down right away.” “Nobody ever said this was gonna be easy,” Kaylee soothed. “He . . . he waits until he thinks I’m asleep. Then he . . . he zi wei, starts moaning, and ends up talking to his gao wan like they were drinking buddies and his da diao like it was a long lost relative!” “I didn’t . . . really didn’t need to know that,” Kaylee said, biting her lip. Simon buried his head in his arms on the table, narrowly avoiding spilling his coffee. Kaylee sympathetically patted his head. “Simon, I know he can’t be the best person to bunk with – can’t rightly think on a worse at present – but it’s only for one more night. We reach Salisbury tomorrow, and then you an’ River can go back to your rooms and sleep in your own beds.” “Dear God in Heaven, I hope so. Otherwise . . . I’ve resigned myself to the fact that in this life I may have to shoot a man, in defense. It’s contrary to my nature and distasteful, but I could do it to protect myself, or River, or the crew. But this is the first time I’ve ever contemplated premeditate murder.” “Well, don’t think the Cap’n would thank you much for that,” Kaylee assured. “He’s an asshole, but he’s our asshole, and he’s been a useful asshole sometimes.” “It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t enjoying it so much,” Simon moaned. “But he is. He’s torturing me. And I can’t fight back. I can’t annoy him a tithe of what he can annoy me.” “Just one more day, sweetness,” Kaylee cooed. “Just one more. It’ll all be over soon.” “If I don’t get a good night’s sleep, soon, I’m going to . . .” “What if—” she interrupted. “No, that’s too evil.” Simon sat bolt upright. “No, it’s not! What is it?” “Well, I got this idea, but I’m not sure it’s really . . . fair.” “Hump ‘fair’ without lubrication! The ‘verse isn’t ‘fair’ to put me in the same ship as Jayne, much less the same gorram room!” Kaylee mocked a shocked look. “Language, Simon!” “Hump the language! These are desperate times. Come on, Kaylee, if you have something, anything . . . you may just save his life.” “Well, it ain’t exactly fair, ‘cause I’ve been livin’ ‘round him a lot longer’n you, more’n a year, now,” she said hesitantly. “I know a lot o’ Jayne’s weaknesses.” Simon got a maniacal gleam in his eye. “Tell me! I must know!” “Well, like I said, it’s kinda evil.” “Good!” “Might . . . hurt his feelin’s a might,” she said, already regretting her idea. “If I can’t do him physical violence, that’s the next best thing! Please, I beg you – spill it!” “It’ll mean you got to do somethin’ you might not like,” she warned. “I’ll walk on fire! I’ll, I’ll stick a hayseed in my teeth and say ‘ain’t’!” “Well . . . okay. But you owe me. I don’t know what, yet,” she said looking at him with obvious desire – obvious to everyone but Simon. “But the time comes, you’re mine!” “First born child, pound of flesh, anything. Spill it!” he repeated. “Well, all right. Tonight, when he comes off of watch, this is what you do . . .”

*

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*

Wash was reclining in the pilot’s chair, late in his watch, indulging in a little mental health time. It was a tense situation in the jungle. The open watering hole over the monitor lured many dinosaurs from the heat of the mid-day sun to enjoy a cool, refreshing drink of spring water while their young frolicked and played in the spacious meadow of the Port Thruster Gauge Console. Happy, friendly little brachiosaurs, a wise old diplodocus – “Back in my day, we had to go to the water hole up hills, both ways . . . in the snow!” – a family of stegosaurs, and a . . . a sexy lady triceratops. But just behind the trees lurked . . . a vicious pack of veloceraptors! Cruel, wiley predators, they peeked through the trees at the peaceful herbivores, who felt their beady little eyes on their backs and shuddered with the horror of sudden violence. Yes, it was tense in the jungle. Just the previous day the ‘raptors had come across a wounded apatosaur, and despite the desperate pleas for mercy, they devoured him in a lusty orgy of blood and flesh. The screams of his agonizing death had echoed through the jungle, frightening all who heard them. Still, that was a whole twenty-four hours before . . . the aching urge to feed was once again upon them. They knew if they just raced in, they would be easily tossed aside by the more militant – and well armed – plant eaters. No, they had to use tactics to secure the tasty target of their desire: the flesh of the baby brachiosaurs! Stealthily, they crept along the ridge of the Reactor Efficiency Sensor Mountains, until they reached the hidden place behind the Coffee Cup of the Ancient Gods, where they could spy with impunity. “Hey, is this an orange?” one of them called out, loudly. The Daddy Stegosaur loved oranges, and wandered into the jungle to see if there was one about. Instantly, the ‘raptors leapt upon him, devouring him before he could say a word. Then they called out, in a fruity, herbivorous voice, “Honey, look! Oranges! They’re organic!” and Mama Stegosaur, too, entered the jungle – where she was torn apart by the meat-eating incisors of the vicious beasts. Next was the wise old diplodocus, who said, “hey, what happened to the stegos?” and went off looking for them, for he was wise, but senile. The ‘raptors made quick work of him! Tearing and slashing, while he cries out “help me, help me, for the Love of God help me!”. But no one hears, and the tiny, happy babies are now protected only by the sexy lady triceratops. With such feeble protections, the ‘raptors closed in, ready for the final kill. It was a tense moment. Then the leader of the ‘raptors slunk out, and confronted her and her ferocious horns. “Step aside, sexy lady triceratops! Step aside and give unto us the tasty morsels within!” “Never!” the sexy lady triceratops shouts defiantly. “They are under my protection!” “Your protection? Ha ha ha ha! They are under your protection . . . but who is protecting YOU! Ha Ha Ha HA!” “How about . . . the Tyrannosaur I started dating recently!” and the trees parted to reveal the most feared of all the prehistoric beasts, the T. Rex, king of the dinosaurs! “Who dares disturb my lady friend?” he roars menacingly. “Uh, we . . . we just want a drink,” the ‘raptor leader says nervously. “We don’t want any trouble!” “Too late! For you have trouble! ARRRGH!” and he assaulted the ‘raptor herd, who screamed in terror and attacked in vain, trying to evade the teeth – CHOMP! – and the mighty tail – WHOOSH! – and they fight bravely, but none can withstand the onslaught of the King of the Dinosaurs! “Ahaha! I have triumphed!” he says as he comes back from the battle. “But . . . I’ve grown so . . . hungry!” he says, as his beloved runs up to him, “Oh, thank you, thank you!” she says putting her sexy lady triceratops . . . horns all over him, and backing up her big sexy . . . okay, I’ve crossed a line. But the Tyrannosaur was still hungry, and he looked down at the sexy lady triceratops. “These interspecies things never work out,” he says, sadly, suddenly attacking her, and stripping her soft nubile flesh from her bones— “Am I disturbing you?” came the voice of Heavenly Master Lei from behind him. Wash fumbled, and for a few brief seconds there were dinos everywhere. “No! No, not at all,” he said sheepishly. The other members of the crew were familiar with his fetish, but it felt strange to allow someone else to see him at play. The old man laughed. “Don’t worry, son, we all have our . . . eccentricities. It gets lonely up here, sometimes. I remember.” “Yeah, Book mentioned you were a pilot.” “Once upon a time,” Lei admitted. “A lifetime ago. Was part of the 21st Tactical Aerodefense Group, Imperial Fighter Command. Flew on Yuan, T’ien, with the Glorious Third Carrier Fleet.” “See any combat?” Wash asked, interested. “I did a little recon, patrols, and the odd tactical assault around ‘71. Things were touchy with Xiao, there for a while. And there were always pirates.” “What’d you fly?” asked Wash, eagerly, his toys momentarily forgotten. “Book said it was the Stargull – were they really as shiny as they’re supposed to be?” “Oh, more so. Best fun you can have with your clothes on: taking a Stargull to break atmo, skim over the top of the ionosphere, then leap in formation into orbit. Big engines, lots of legs. And maneuverable – you could think ‘bank right’ and the plane would do it for you, nearly.” “Wow,” Wash said in appreciation. “Always wanted to fly one of those old birds. A Stargull would be great. Or an Ostermark 71, the one with the fins.” “Skirmished against one of those, once. It drags when it banks. The fins don’t help.” “Or even better: a Tiyagi Thunderbolt – a hundred years later, still the best gorram designed piece of aviation . . . ever!” His eyes were dreamy. “I had a model of a Thunderbolt over my bed as a kid.” “I flew in a trainer based on one – or, more accurately, our knock-off, the A33 Tempest. Beautiful thing. Deadly in combat, from what the older pilots told me – half of the kills in the Yuan-Xiao war were from Tempests. And easy to fly. Not quite a Stargull, but a near ancestor. Beautiful planes.” “I’ve flown them all in . . . simulations,” admitted Wash. “You never were a fighter pilot?” “I could have been,” Wash said, just a little defensively, while he cleaned up his dinosaurs. “Recruiters haunted flight school – that was during the War, though, and the last thing I wanted to do was get shot down. So I got my commercial license, instead. ‘Cause with my luck, I’d of been flying supply shuttles anyway, because I’m not . . . aggressive enough to be a fighter pilot. Let’s just say I’ve got some philosophical differences with military life. I have . . . authority issues. Just ask my wife.” “Never knew a decent pilot who didn’t,” chuckled the monk. “Don’t let it fret you. Few are cut out to be fighter jocks. But shooting people down was never the fun part. The fun part was taking a ship to her absolute limits – and then getting just a little more out of her. It’s the Tao of flight that is so addicting. You don’t have to have guns to be a great pilot.” “I do pretty good, all things considered,” Wash said, with only a trace of defensiveness. “Second in my class. Should have been first but . . . long story. Now I fly Serenity. She ain’t a fighter, of course, but she’s a great little ship. From the moment I saw her, I had to fly her. A classic!” “Yes,” the monk agreed appreciatively. “Fireflys were outstanding vessels, for what they did. Beautiful design. Efficient, yet elegant. How does she fly?” he asked, just a bit of longing in his voice. Wash flashed him a sly smile. “Wanna try for a bit? Don’t stray too much off of course, you can take her for some spins.” “I’m honored,” Lei said, bowing. Wash vacated his seat, and then watched intently as the older pilot familiarized himself with the controls. In moments he had the wheel in hand and was putting the little ship gently through its paces. “Wonderful,” he remarked. “I haven’t been at the helm of a ship in . . . forty years.” “I can’t imagine going that long without flying,” Wash said softly, shaking his head. “Only thing I was ever good at. Why’d you quit?” “I got promoted,” Lei said glumly. “They tried to put me in the Fleet, gave me a command, then put me in the General Staff. Horrible work. Eventually my wife became ill, I had to resign and take a job as magistrate on Wuhan. But I never lost the love. I first found the Way, in flight. That’s the difference between a good pilot and a great pilot. A great pilot flies effortlessly, with the Tao under his wings. It’s a sacred thing. He and his ship become as one being.” “I feel that, sometimes,” Wash admitted. “We’ve had some . . . interesting times, when I had to fly my damnedest. And it was like everything just got all crystal. I stopped being me, for a few minutes.” “The secret is not to try so gorram hard,” Lei agreed. “I saw dozens of pilots crack up because they thought they could muscle their ships into line. It doesn’t work that way. You must relax to find the Tao. The best pilots, they see where the wind is and get ahead of it, not fight it. And if you find the Tao, you gain the Te, the Power. A pilot who finds the Tao in flight can make his ship do the impossible.” “I know just what you mean. Takes a gentle touch. How’s she flying?” “Perfect! You got the core rebuilt recently, didn’t you? I can feel it. She’s answering when I call – frisky, almost. Not exactly a Stargull, but nice, in its way.” “What was your callsign?” Wash asked, interestedly. “’Demon’, ironically enough,” Lei laughed. “Now I am a monk. I impressed my instructors with how close to a quick trip to Hell I would fly. Yours?” “I kinda got stuck with ‘Wash’. But I always wanted a cool callsign like, well ‘Demon’ or ‘Razor’ or ‘Lightning’. Something manly and strong . . . y’know, that would pull in the girls. I was always partial to ‘Wildfire’, myself,” he admitted sheepishly. That was the name he called himself when he played the flight-sim video games. “Hard thing for a commercial pilot to get away with, though.” “Or a Heavenly Master,” agreed Lei with a chuckle. There was a long silence as both men watched the stars of the ‘verse unfold through the viewport. They kept their peace for a long time. There really wasn’t anything more that needed to be said. *

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Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “You’re pretty good at this,” Johnny said, surprised. Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Elementary physics. ‘Force Equals Mass Times Acceleration.’” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “There’s more to it than that.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Fine muscle control, basic coordination, and adequate agility.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “I prefer a more metaphysical view.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Metaphysics is feh hua, using myth and superstition to stand for reason when faced with the unexplained.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “An interesting viewpoint.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Speculation on the unprovable is a pointless waste of time.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “You would have gotten along well with my father.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Do you miss him?” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Oh, yes, very much. It’s funny, six months ago I was the Prince of Meridian City.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Two months ago I was the ruthless leader of a gang of unabashed thugs.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Three weeks ago, I was alone in the ‘verse, an orphaned adventurer in search of my fortune.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Now I am the last scion of an a proud family, with a legacy and uncles to advise and . . . command me.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Life is funny. Dah bien-hwa.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Yeah. Dah bien-hwa,” River agreed. Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Do you miss your father?” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Sometimes. I’m disturbed that he didn’t try to rescue me from the people who were cutting holes in my head and indulging in casual mental torture.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “I can see where that might cause . . . issues.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “It does make me question his commitment to quality parenting.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “I mean, I was his little girl, and all.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Is it petty of me to expect more?” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “What about your mother?” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Who do you think sent me to the Academy? And why do you think I wanted to go so badly?” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Ouch. Not so hard.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Only Simon had the balls to come and get me.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “And the brains.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “He’s a good man. A little . . . formal, though. Reminds me of my Father.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Simon clings to social convention to mask his insecurities.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “He’s been like that since we were kids.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “It was my job to break him free of that.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Isn’t that a little presumptuous?” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Someone had to do it. Mom and Dad sure wouldn’t. They actually built him that way.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Huh! You should see my brother!” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “You have a brother?” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Half. An indiscretion of my Father’s. He should have been a wet spot.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “You don’t get along?” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “He tried to kill me, just before I left Epiphany.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Wow. And here I thought I had a rocky family life.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “So what do you think of this whole treasure business?” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Seems a little on the romantic side.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “That’s part of the draw.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Any idea what it is? Or where?” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “Could be anything. Or anywhere.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “I’m looking forward to it, I think. Another adventure. I didn’t have too many of those, growing up.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “I’m a little nervous about it, to be truthful,” admitted Johnny. Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “At least I got a couple of uncles out of it.” Whoosh. Clap! Whoosh. Clap! “You know, you’re pretty good at baseball!” Whoosh. Clap! “What’s baseball?” *

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“We got her!” Sinclair called out triumphantly. “Bearing 55 mark 83. Coming in at a trot. That’s the same transponder registered in Wuhan and Epiphany.” “Time to intercept?” asked Julian from the command chair. “We can catch them in three hours at full burn. If they don’t evade,” he cautioned. Julian guffawed. “Not bloody likely. They haven’t remained fugitives by laying down arms at the first sight of trouble.” “It would take us an hour or so to catch them. More, if the pilot’s any good.” “What about the drones?” “It might make scare them. But they could hit atmo before they caught up, in which case they would be useless. Not designed for aerospace. Just orbital and above.” “We really should try to catch them on the ground.” “Why? So we can split the reward with the locals?” “We don’t have to tell the locals anything. We’ve been specifically ordered not to inform any Alliance personnel of our bounty. But on the ground we can ensure a capture. Too many things can go wrong in the Black. And we need bodies – preferably live – to claim the reward. No, we let them land. We move in with an assault team. But we’ll leave the ship in orbit, in case they try to run.” “Won’t they be expecting an assault team?” “On this backwater piece of shit planet? They’re here to meet with a crime boss. Did you see Cory’s wave? General Lei was definitely ID’d on Wuhan – before he escaped, that is. A former General in a rebellious faction. With a substantial reward attached to his head. Plus, they kidnapped a monk. They wouldn’t come here unless they were convinced it was safe. Nearest Feds are more than a week away. Which means that they are probably not expecting a professional military tactical assault. Maybe a shoot-out with bandits, but there are subtle differences.” “Agreed. We do this on the ground. You want to lead the team, or shall I?” “I’ll do it. I haven’t done it in a few years. You slip behind the moon, and wait. If they rabbit, you pounce.” “Not a problem.” Julian clapped his hands together, just a little eager. “This is going to be fun!”

*

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* Simon feigned sleep when he heard the hiss and groan of the ladder-hatch, and the plodding bootsteps of Jayne Cobb returning to his bunk. He suppressed a smile. This wouldn’t work if he didn’t play it straight. He was laying on the make-shift mattress he had been provided, on the floor next to Jayne’s bunk. It wasn’t that uncomfortable, actually, and he would have been perfectly fine sleeping that way if it wasn’t for Jayne. No power on heaven or earth could have tempted him to actually sleep in Jayne’s bunk. The very thought made him shudder. Jayne stepped over him, narrowly missing his fingers with his boot. He smelled of cigar smoke and brandy and coffee and . . . other things. He sat heavily on his bed, mumbled something unintelligible to himself, and began unlacing his boots. Simon chose that time to act. Appearing to wake up, he yawned, sat up on one elbow, and blearily looked at his bunk-mate. “Tough watch?” he asked, conversationally. “Not bad,” Jayne conceded. “Four crappy hours of fun-filled boredom.” “Sorry to hear that,” Simon said, as close to sincere as he could reasonably come. “I . . . I almost waited up for you.” “Huh?” “I just . . . I want you to know how much I appreciate you letting me stay here.” “Uh . . .” “I mean, I know your space is important to you. I feel honored that you’ve agreed to let me share it.” “This was the Captain’s idea . . .” he said defensively. “I didn’t invite you.” “Yes, well, I know that. But you could have made things hard for me, and you haven’t. I just want to tell you how much I appreciate it.” “Uh . . . okay?” “I’ll have to find someway to make it up to you. For the inconvenience, you know.” “You don’t . . .” “I’m sure I’ll think of something appropriate.” “You feelin’ okay Doc?” Jayne asked, squinting in the gloom. “Right as rain!” Simon said happily. “You should get some rest. I know that watches are . . . exhausting.” “Uh . . . I will,” he said warily. “I suppose I should too.” “That might be best,” agreed Jayne. “Alright, good night, then!” Simon leaned up and suddenly kissed Jayne on the nose, then rolled over and settled back into his make-shift mattress for the night before the mercenary could react. And it was a good, quiet night’s sleep too. No snoring, toe-cracking or . . . other disturbances haunted him. Because Jayne didn’t close his eyes at all that night. Not once. Not until Simon got up and left for breakfast the next morning.