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Chapter Four

“I came here to talk,” Nathan said to the large, snarling men surrounding him. “I got no weapon.” Fortunately what I do have is an insubordinate, headstrong crew who oughtta be jumping out to rescue me any second now, he thought. One great thing about Zoe and them; they always do the right thing, even when their ignorant, more-bullets-than-brains captain tells them otherwise. “We can do this reasonable-like, but you know if you make any wrong moves my heavily-armed people will—“

Without warning, the ship’s hatch rose up behind him to close with a ringing and final sounding clang, the engines firing right along with it. Nathan exchanged looks with the assortment of ugly in front of him and, as one, they all raced away to jump behind the nearest cover. Serenity’s engines spun around and pounded the ground with air, whipping stinging sand and debris everywhere as it rose gracefully into the sky. Nathan threw his arm over his eyes and dropped to the ground. “—will take off like their asses were on fire,” he finished mournfully.

He stood up. Crap. Larkin – whichever one it was – walked up beside him and put his arm around Nathan’s shoulder. They both watched Serenity disappear into the clouds. “Guessin’ this wasn’t how it was s’posed to go?” Larkin said.

“No, they were actually followin’ orders. Just didn’t expect them to choose this particular moment to start, is all.”

“Ha! Ain’t that always the way, sure as God made butterbeans squishy? You just can’t get good help these days, Mal. I blame the schools.”

Nathan continued to stare into the clear blue. Maybe Serenity would reappear, roaring up like vengeance to strike down these thugs, rescue him in a daring manner, and save the day in time for the credits to roll. Any minute now. Any minute... A small flock of what looked like starlings flew lazily across the sky.

The Larkin brother clapped him on the back. “That’s some hard cheese, Malcolm. Look, I’m sorry to have to rush ya like this, but we just got time to give you a savage beating before dragging you back to the homestead behind the horses. Mama’ll give us holy hell if we’re late, so we gotta shake a leg, here. You understand.”

Nathan sighed. “Oh, of course. Don’t want to keep Mama waiting. Where do you want me?”

“That’s what I like about you, Mal. You’re a professional.”

And the men crowded around, grinning. Some of them had sticks.

***

Only being able to see a slice of Larkin’s hideousness wasn’t nearly as much of an improvement as it should have been. A ragged slot had been hacked into the door of Nathan’s cell, presumably for viewing purposes, and right now Nathan was viewing some of the ugliest, brownest teeth he’d ever seen outside of a zombie movie.

“Here’s your grub,” Larkin said. The door opened just wide enough for a metal bowl of something vaguely organic to be dropped onto the floor before slamming shut again. “You’ll wanna get your strength up before tonight.”

“Why? What happens tonight? I have to fight your champion for my freedom, or maybe some vicious animals? You have some fiendishly difficult physical labors for me to attempt, or a suicidal quest where I can earn my freedom or a valiant death?”

The big man shook his head and whistled. “Damn your nips to Hades, you oughtta write for the Cortex! Nah, just not much point fixing you up when we’re gonna kill you. But soup’s cheap, so what the hell.”

“So no doctor?”

“Got some clean rags somewhere, you want ‘em.”

Nathan eased himself slowly and painfully back into a horizontal position. His hair hurt. “Forgive me if I’m outta line, but how come you didn’t just shoot me out there and leave me for the cats?”

The slice of Larkin looked offended. “Mal! We ain’t barbarians! There’ll be a trial, straight and on the level!” He grinned again. “That’s tonight, we’re setting up for it now. It’ll be somethin’, too, we got family coming in from all over, just for it. And the dance, afterwards.”

“I’ll bring a date. So a trial means I get a lawyer, right?”

“Yep! And sure as my name is Lost Lee Larkin I promise to do everything in my power to get you a swift and more or less painless execution.” He stuck three gnarly fingers through the slot. “You have my word on it.”

“Thank you, that eases my mind in my hour of woe.” Nathan pushed himself up carefully, with the unsteady movements of an old man, and took the fingers in a friendly shake. And then without warning he pulled back on them with all of his might. He didn’t get all of Larkin’s hand through the slot on the first try but that was only because one of the leftover fingers wouldn’t bend back far enough. Maybe if he put his weight on it...

“Agh! Lurn shwei jah jwohn! Gorrammit, Mal, leggo my ha—aaaagh! God!”

Nathan got both feet up on the door and pulled harder. “You’re gonna have to butcher me one-handed, Lost!” he bellowed. “This one’s coming with me so I can scratch my ass in hel--“

Pain shot through his hands as an echoing boom crashed through his head. He let go and fell to the floor, holding his fingers and trying not to scream. Through the now slightly wider slot he could hear Larkin in a similar situation, except without the not-screaming part. There was another set of eyes behind the door now, and the smoking barrel of a gun.

“Why’d you do it, Mal?” she asked sadly.

Either she had taken it into her head to crouch to fire her warning shot or Mama Larkin was a tiny woman, no higher than three feet -- or one meter; did they ever say if they used feet or meters? -- and she resembled, in expression, attitude, and general coloring, a pit bull. Nathan looked at her black, beady eyes and felt an overwhelming urge to offer her a biscuit. “Why’d you do such a crazy, cruel thing to this family what never did anything but do business with you fair and on the square?” She shook her head. “Don’t make no sense I can see.”

“Mama Larkin—“

“Don’t you ever call me that!” she roared, her voice thunderous in the small room, even louder than the gun shot. “You don’t get to cozen up to me after what you took from my family, and not a one o’ your slippery words is gonna change it!”

He dropped to his knees (painfully) and looked at her from about 4 inches away, suddenly grateful the door was locked. “Mrs. Larkin, I am truly sorry for any pain I have handed you, but I had no choice. I did what I had to do.” Whatever the hell that was. Dammit, Mal, what did you do?

“Don’t be so ignorant. Of course you had a choice. Everything you do is a choice, the good Lord tells us that. This lunk here,” and she kicked something at floor level that moaned. “Even he’s got the choice not to be stupid, although it’s more of a challenge for him, bless his heart. It’s up to each one of us to make the right choice and live in His glory. You coulda done the job the way you were supposed to, way you agreed to. You had that choice. Yeah, you probably woulda been horribly kilt. Instead, you went selfish on us and I cannot abide that.”

“Sorry I couldn’t oblige, ma’am.”

“Now you’re gonna get kilt anyway. See? You’ll still be a wormfeast but you coulda saved me and mine all that suffering and loss. That’s plain selfish in my book, Malcolm. I always thought better of you than that.” What Nathan could see of her teared up. “You were like one of my boys, Mal.”

“Mrs. Larkin, I –“

“No! Not another word! There’s so much honey in your mouth if you start talking I’ll have to slip fifty pancakes under it to catch it all! You stay right there and think about the final destination of your everlasting soul in your last hours breathing air. Oh, and one more thing to bounce around in your noggin.”

“Ma’am?”

“You’re in Jimmy’s room.”

“Jimmy lived in a prison cell?”

“We added the bars just for you, when we got your wave. This is the room he lived in and this is the room he finally died in, two days after you gutshot him.” She leaned closer, so her forehead was touching the door, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You know, we can hear him, some nights. A’wailin’ and a’weepin’, shriekin’ like a lost soul. I’m thinkin’ you and he ought to sit and talk for a spell. Straighten some things out.” She kicked something; there was another moan. “Get up, Lost, there’s work needs doin’. Goodbye, Mal. I’ll see you tonight.”

What a delightful woman, Nathan thought as he listened to them walking (and in Lost’s case, staggering) away. Maybe Jayne’s Larkin collection wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Still, he had to look on the bright side. At least he knew their names now.

As cells go this one wasn’t too bad, although Nathan sincerely hoped that most of the changes had been made after Jimmy died. He had a window (newly barred), a toilet (no lid, no water, no paper), a bunk (no pillow, no blankets), a cabinet (empty and rotting), and a closet (empty and water damaged). There were also some disturbing looking stains here and there he didn’t care to speculate about, and some hung-up pictures of naked women he might have speculated a little more about if he didn’t hurt quite so much. The boys had been thorough.

Nathan worked himself up into a sitting position on the floor and looked around. At the moment, the odds of him launching a successful escape attempt were minimal. At the moment, the odds of him launching a successful bowel movement were minimal.

Let’s see. A broken rib or two, bruises everywhere, some deep cuts on his face, one eye swollen shut and the other not too far behind, some dandy areas on his head that didn’t bear investigation if he ever wanted his eyes to stop watering, a brand new set of stinging fingers, and… wait, was that...? There seemed to be a small area behind his left armpit that didn’t hurt. They must have missed a... no, no, it had just gone numb. It did hurt, after all. Ow. Ow. Ow. This was supposed to be when the makeup people swooped in and touched him up while he reached over behind the set dressing to grab the cool drink he’d stashed. He looked, just to make sure. No drink.

However, if Jimmy’s marauding spirit was haunting the place he was being awful peaceable about it, and Nathan was grateful for any upside he could get right now.

Where had Serenity gone? Why did they leave him there to be killed, just because he told them to? How the hell was he going to get out of this? Unlike Malcolm Reynolds, Nathan had precious little experience in jail-breaking. Knew I shoulda tossed River out the airlock once we landed, yelled ‘Miranda,’ and closed the door, he thought. Then I could have just waited ‘til the screaming stopped and tranked her, problem solved.

From the position of the sun he had about three hours before dark, if that’s when the trial was. OK. How tough could this be? The bars were just added, he should be able to work something loose. After all, he was the hero.

Two and a half hours later he slumped against the side of the bunk and watched his cracked and oozing hands bleed. The hero was suffering a setback. The bars had been welded directly onto the rebar in the walls, and the door was solid oak and hard as a studio exec’s heart. Couldn’t I just fade to black again and we’ll pick it up at the trial and my exhilarating rescue? Depression was starting to set in, and while depression was where Malcolm Reynolds hung his hat and grabbed a coffee, Nathan didn’t know his way around at all. What was worse, that started a whole new round of despair, one he’d so far avoided.

Ooh, coffee. What I wouldn’t give for a almond latte right now. Or a piping hot pizza. Or Sun Chips. Or a frosty beer, with chunks of ice sliding down the side just like in the Superbowl commercials. He allowed himself a good twenty minutes of self-torture, thinking about all the niceties of twenty-first century American (and Canadian) life before heaving a deep sigh and dwelling on the one thing he’d been missing most.

Halo 2.

Well, yeah, of course he missed his girlfriend, that went without saying, but right up there with her he missed his clan. Just a text message away were his loyal buds BJ, Marisa, Corey, Patty and Alan, ready and willing to do some serious virtual violence. We're a well-oiled machine and I’m their well-oiled Overlord! We're kicking Covenant ass up and down that goddamn... With a shock Nathan realized this was the longest he’d gone without playing Halo 2 in nearly a year. His Xbox came with him to movie sets and long dinner dates, and even during conventions he could usually grab a console in a game room somewhere and blast a level or two. His hands started to twitch.

He had to get out of here.

I need to be Mal, and I need to be him quick. Think, Fillion! Couldn’t get out, so his only chance was going to be between here and the trial. Be Mal. Be Mal. Hell, be River.

When they came for him, he was sprawled on the concrete floor. He was proud of how pathetic and helpless he looked. Dried blood was still caked on his face. His limbs hung from his body like a rag doll. Nope, I’m not a threat, not me! La la la... From the sounds there were two guards, and from the smells they were big and didn’t hold with water much. They dragged him out of the room, his feet dangling behind. As soon as they got distracted and no one was looking, he was going to make his daring move and run away like a scared little girl.

OK, it wasn’t any kind of intricate, Batman kind of plan, but he was pressed for time.

He kept his head dropped between his shoulders but even the views of the floor revealed a successful business. Thick carpet, painted molding. This was a well-to-do family, or one that wanted to look like one. Down the hallway he started hearing the crowds. It was like being carried to a high school football game. They hustled him around a corner, up a flight of stone steps, and out through a rather pleasant living area into the huge back yard where everyone in the world was waiting. They gave a loud cheer, and it wasn’t a “hi, we’re glad to see you” cheer.

Nathan lifted his head wearily. Most backyards in Los Angeles tended towards either the size of a postage stamp (where the house’s inhabitants nevertheless spent a great deal of time weeding and planting) or a small country (where the house’s inhabitants spent a great deal of time bragging to guests about the great deal of time their landscapers spent weeding and planting. The yards in Edmonton were a bit more spread about, with most of them providing enough room to play a good game of touch football but not enough to get lost.

This was more like a plantation. Sprawling, filled with different buildings that looked like barracks and barns and silos, with a huge clearing in the middle that was currently filled with angry people.

They all had that indefinable ugliness that marked them as Larkins and they were all upset and shouting at him. Torches gave them all a demonic appearance, their eyes glowing in the flickering red light. None of them seemed interested in looking away for a few well-chosen minutes. Before him two lines of armed thugs were glaring at him like he’d been stomping puppies and hadn’t cleaned his boots yet, and at the end of that line was a man in a menacing, face-covering black robe. He was wearing a gun.

Guards filed out behind Nathan, blocking his escape back into the house. He was suddenly and efficiently blocked on three sides and his plan seemed to have a hitch in it somewhere. Gotta be a way. There’s always a way. Be Mal. Be Mal. How would Mal get past lines of armed honor guards to defeat a powerful...

Suddenly the world just clicked, everything looked strangely familiar, and Nathan’s head cleared completely. The roaring of the crowd faded to a dull murmur. He smiled. I shouldn’t be thinking like Mal. Mal couldn’t get past those grunts.

But the Master Chief could.

In his mind Nathan saw not the executioner, but the Prophet Regret on a floating throne, taunting him with crushing defeat and an embarrassing game restart. Let’s go, Marines, he thought wildly. Death to the Covenant!

Yanking himself away from the thugs Nathan dashed down between the lines, getting halfway through before they reacted. Dodging and ducking and spinning, he jumped over one guard’s swung rifle butt and rolled to avoid another punch, never stopping, never engaging. He had a goal, and in his mind he was thumbing his controller like a madman. Jump, jump, jump, crouch/grenade jump... With a mighty leap he hurdled two more guards and landed on the robed figure, pummeling it in the head and neck until they both went down in a heap. Melee attack, you son of a bitch! I 0wn this level!

After a few satisfying punches he grabbed the gun from the figure’s holster and held it to the cowled head, panting and feeling manly as all get out. “Y’all just back off now,” he yelled to the stunned crowd. “If there’s gonna be killing here tonight, I won’t be the first one! Let’s just be reasonable and settle this like nice, non-murderous folk!”

Angry muttering joined the sounds of weapons being cocked left and right. The mob didn’t seem terribly impressed. And, with a sinking feeling, he looked to his right to see what he couldn’t have seen before: a makeshift platform, upon which sat an old man in a red robe and a white wig surrounded by more armed guards. There was an empty lawn chair next to him. The fact that he was currently eating out of a greasy bag of popcorn just made him look scarier for some reason.

A few feet away another man in a black robe stepped forward. “You see?” he boomed, his deep voice carrying easily across the yard and possibly into the next life. “This man is so unforgivably savage he would brutally assault his own lawyer in full sight of this august body!”

Nathan looked down at the figure he’d been whaling on. “Lost? That you?”

Lost pulled his cowl back over his head, groaning. His hand was heavily bandaged. “You son of a—“

“So, you think I got a chance here?”

“Settle down! The court is now in session! The honorable Laramie Larkin presiding!” the judge called out. He rapped the butt of his revolver against the arm of his chair. “Let the prosecution begin!” Lost stood up and brushed himself off, glaring at his client as he grabbed his gun back.

The other robed figure began to pace back and forth. “If it please the court, the prosecution will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the accused, Malcolm Reynolds, is a no-account, back-stabbing, two-timing, lily-livered coward what’s lower than frog shit on a pond bed and dirtier than a whore’s last set o’ sheets.”

Nathan leaned over to whisper to Lost. “You gonna object?”

“Why,” Lost asked, still struggling to his feet. “He ain’t said nuthin’ yet I disagree with.”

The judge waggled his revolver in the prosecutor’s general direction. “Bring forward your first witness.”

“The prosecution calls... Mama Larkin!” The crowd gasped.

“Oh, good,” Nathan said. “And here I was afraid it wouldn’t be a circus.”

Mama strode forward with dignity and hopped onto the seat next to the judge. The crowd bowed their heads as she went by although not, Nathan noticed, enough to be useful to him. The prosecutor held up a bible. “Mama, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nuthin’ but the truth, so help you God?”

“Of course, Jake.” Ah, I was wondering when the last brother would show up, Nathan thought. Good to see a family working together.

“Where were you on the night of February 21, 2513?”

“Why, I was right out here on the porch, watching Malcolm commit all those horrible crimes.”

The prosecutor spun around to face the crowd, beaming. “Thank you, Mama, no further questions.”

“What?” Nathan yelled.

The judge motioned. “Lost, silence your client.” Lost punched Nathan hard in the kidney. Nathan went down. The front rows of the crowd surged forward with a happy growl. “Thank you, Lost. Your witness.”

“I have no further questions, pa. Um, your honor.”

Nathan wheezed from his position flat on his back in the dirt. “Anytime you feel like defending anything, you just sing out.”

“Gee, I would, Mal, but my throat’s kinda sore from where some sah gwa punched me in it. Maybe by tomorrow, some rest, a little lemon water, it’ll feel better. Oh, wait, you’ll be dead by then, won’t you?”

“You wouldn’t be such a wiseass if I’d had my Energy Sword—“

“Will the defense call its first witness before the leaves change, please?” the judge yelled.

“There’s a problem there, your honor,” Lost said, smirking and spreading his hands. “You see, we ain’t exactly got—“

“The defense calls Inara Serra to the stand!” came a loud, female voice from the back. Mal sat up. Lost spun around. Behind them the astonished crowd melted away to reveal Inara in shining robes of gold and silver, impossibly lovely in the firelight, looking regal and not a little dangerous. An intricate pearl and gold filigree tiara was woven through hair so black it completely disappeared in the night, combining with her golden skin to grant her the presence of a goddess. She swept forward with the majesty of queens to stop in front of Nathan’s goggling counsel.

Lost looked like he’d been hit in the forehead with a wooden woman. “The defense does?” he asked, confused. A tug at his britches dragged his attention down to where Nathan was aiming a punch directly at Lost’s inseam.

“The defense does,” Nathan said sincerely.

Inara kept her cool gaze leveled straight ahead. Lost accepted the inevitable. “The defense calls whats-her-name,” he yelled. Inara walked forward and, accepting a hand from the preening judge, sat down where she was quickly sworn in. The judge tossed the bag of popcorn away and quickly wiped his hands in his hair, greasing it down.

Lost quickstepped over and struck a legal pose he’d seen on an old movie, only slightly hampered by his lack of suspenders. “Would you please state your name for the court?”

“Inara Serra, Companion, formerly of the House of Sihnon.” Muttering and awed murmurs rose from around the audience. For the first time, Nathan began to have a good feeling about this.

“And how are you acquainted with the accused?”

“I rent a shuttle from him,” Inara said. She fixed Nathan with a haughty glare. “A purely... business... arrangement.” Her arched eyebrows expressed what the chances were of any other kind of arrangement happening, ever. A few of the younger women in the front rows laughed. Nathan blushed. “But I’ve rented from him for over a year and I think I know what sort of man he is.”

Nathan began to wonder if there was time to could throw himself on the mercy of the court.

“So, Miss Serra, knowing that, could you tell us what you were doing the night of...” Lost pulled a grubby piece of paper out of his pocket and read it slowly. “February 21, 2513?”

“I was here, on Tethys. Mal was here to do a job with you and your brother Jimmy and your brother Jake over there” -- she pointed at the prosecuting attorney, who waved; Nathan put his hand over his eyes -- “and I took the opportunity to arrange an appointment with a client in the city.”

“And what was your involvement in all this?”

“None, at the beginning.” She placed a delicate hand on the judge’s bony, butter-coated fingers and leaned towards him. His eyes popped. “I prefer honest work, your honor, and I steer clear of ship’s business.” She darted a glance at Nathan, obviously expecting him to snort or make some rude comment, and she seemed startled when he didn’t. By the time it occurred to him she had turned back to the judge. “I simply came back here to rendezvous with the ship.”

Jake Larkin stalked up and pushed his brother aside. “And then what?” he demanded.

“And then Malcolm Reynolds shot Jimmy Larkin in the stomach.”

The crowd went crazy, screaming and shooting their guns straight up. Nathan just looked at Inara, his mouth hanging open, his mind completely blank. She remained calm.

“Order! Order! I will have order and decency in my court so pipe down or I’ll shoot the lot o’ you!” the judge screamed. “Miss Serra, are you sure...”

“It was the only thing he could do,” Inara continued calmly, as if nothing had happened. “Jimmy Larkin had already punched me in the jaw and was straddling me, ripping my dress off.”

Instantly the yard went silent. Only the crackling of the flames and the whisper of the breeze filled the air along with Inara’s clear, reasonable voice. “He had been drinking but he wasn’t drunk. I’d seen him when we landed, staring at me, but a Companion often attracts attention and I didn’t think about it. When I came back to find the captain he saw me, walking around the back of the house, and he tried to...” She stopped, her calm briefly broken with the memory. Around him Nathan could feel the crowd getting angry again, this time at anyone who would hurt such a fair creature. Even though he was more than half sure she was playing them all, he felt like hitting someone his ownself. “He hit me over and over, swearing he’d find out ‘what the rich boys bought.’ Captain Reynolds came around the corner to meet up with him and found us that way.”

She took a deep breath, visibly fighting to compose herself. “I hadn’t been with the ship long, and I knew that Captain Reynolds didn’t approve of my livelihood, my clients, or, frankly, me, but even though this man was his partner and friend Mal didn’t hesitate. He leaped at Jimmy Larkin and knocked him off me. They rolled around, punching and elbowing each other while I looked around for any weapon I could use to defend myself. I couldn’t find one, and when I turned around Captain Reynolds was on the ground and Jimmy was coming towards me with blood and lust in his eyes. Now as a Companion I’ve been trained in combat. I know several forms of self-defense and I’m not afraid to kill to protect myself. But any woman here who has ever faced an angry man with rape on his mind knows exactly what I was feeling at that moment.”

This time the angry buzzing seemed to be mostly female. Inara, her face lit with equal amounts of dignity and despair, turned to face everyone in the crowd in turn. “I was dizzy from being hit. I was in an unfamiliar place. I was not in control of the situation. And a vicious, brutal man thought he had the right to take what he wanted from me, humiliate me, violate me, simply because I wasn’t strong enough to stop him. I can’t begin to tell you what a terrible feeling that is, and I hope in my heart that no one of you ever has to know what it’s like.”

It was plain that some of the women around were way ahead of her. More than a few of the men looked sheepish; the rest looked furious. Jake Larkin was weeping openly.

“Jimmy backhanded me to the ground again and started to unbutton his pants. Dazed I closed my eyes and tried to prepare myself, but before he could take another step I heard a loud blast and he fell across me, motionless.”

Not a person spoke. Flickering reflections could be seen in the shocked tears of more than one Larkin present.

“I know that Malcolm loved this family, loved this moon. You were good to him and you accepted him as one of your own, and that means more to him than you’ll probably ever know. He did kill your kin in your own home, and I know the guilt of that eats at him to this day. But he couldn’t stand by and watch a woman be abused, even by someone he loved like a brother, and because of that we left that night, not knowing what shape we’d left Jimmy in, knowing he could never return. But it ate at him, ate him alive for months, and he knew he had to come back to this place and make his peace with all of you. And now he has.”

She looked at them all, serene and certain. Nathan’s chest swelled with pride. Ah ha! I knew I had a good reason! That’s it, she gets free rent for three months. “You see, Mama,” he said. “I hated to do it. But I had no choice.”

Excited murmurs swelled up again. Guards looked at each other, confused. Mama Larkin stood up and made her way over to stand before Nathan, looking almost straight up to see him.

“Hell, I knew that, Mal. That wasn’t the point.”

Nathan’s mind shut down completely. “You knew what?”

“We knew why you shot poor Jimmy, that stupid little whoremonger. No offense, ma’am,” she called over her shoulder.

“None taken.”

“Can’t say I’m glad you did it, but I always figured someone’d put a bullet in his pants to keep ‘em closed, and at least it was someone who loved him.”

Nathan swung his head around, staring wild-eyed at the crowds. Inara looked just as startled. “Then why...?”

“What we want to know is where’s the $80,000 you stole from us, you son of a bitch.” She stepped back and called to Lost. “Your witness.”

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