Firefly Page 3

  “So who was Golden?” Simon asked.

  “Huh?” Wash grunted.

  “If this place was his bane,” Simon continued, “who was he, and what went wrong for him?”

  “Erm… must admit, I don’t rightly know.”

  “Nothing to worry about here,” River interrupted, “as long as you stay away from the orange.”

  “The orange?” Mal asked. River stared down into the valley.

  With Serenity clicking and cooling behind them, the crew stood enjoying solid ground beneath their feet, and the gentle breeze on their skin. The air smelled dusty but fresh, with no signs of any heavy industries close by tainting it. There were a few smoking chimneys scattered among the random buildings, but there were also lots of trees and plenty of green further up the hillside.

  “Looks like whoever designed this place dropped the buildings from a height and anchored them where they fell,” Kaylee said.

  “It’s not too pleasing on the eye,” Zoë said, “but I smell cooking meat. Or is that just me?”

  “Not just you,” Mal said.

  “Smells like pork,” Jayne said, and started walking downhill.

  Kaylee closed her eyes and breathed in, and suddenly the idea of staying with Serenity didn’t seem so appealing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten fresh barbecue.

  When she opened her eyes again, Simon was standing right in front of her. He smiled.

  “Can I buy you dinner?”

  “If dinner is half a roast pig in a loaf of bread, you surely can!”

  Wash closed up the ship, and as the seven of them headed down the rocky slope toward town, Kaylee glanced back. It wasn’t often she saw Serenity from the outside, and she constantly surprised her with her beauty. Some thought she was an ugly ship, but Kaylee saw sweeping lines, delicate curves, and a restrained power that only she really knew how to let loose. Serenity’s grav drive was part of her own beating heart. See you soon, she thought.

  River walked ahead of her and Simon. The girl was on her own, looking around with interest at the trees and shrubs, the rocks, the familiar and unfamiliar birds and small animals scampering through the canopy and along lower branches.

  “What do you think she means about the orange?” Kaylee asked.

  “Often it only becomes clear after the event.” Simon shrugged.

  “Which is in itself useless. I wish she’d give us sense instead of riddles.”

  “I wish lots of things.”

  Unseen by the others, Simon took her hand.

  Kaylee squeezed back. “Maybe Golden’s Bane is where wishes come true.”

  Close to the edge of town they found the source of the mouthwatering smell. Two men and two women were tending several halved metal barrels filled with charcoal, turning slabs of meat laid over griddles and mesh. Coals sizzled and spat, and the jumping flames ignited dripping oil and fat.

  “We’ve landed in dust and found our way to heaven,” Jayne said. His mouth was watering, every sense set on fire. He already had his hand in his pocket, fingering the few coins he’d brought with him from the ship. He wasn’t as poor as he let on—back in his cabin he had several stashes of rare metals and stones stored away in various hidey-holes—but he had enough with him for a good meal, several bottles of whatever their poison was here, and a night with a couple of whores.

  Tomorrow could look after itself.

  “My ears are open to the sounds of cookin’ pork.” Jayne nodded to the barbecuers and pointed at several chunks of meat. “That one and that one between two bread loaves, and a chunk of that cheese too,” he said.

  “Just arrived?” the woman asked. She was maybe sixty, short and thin, wiry and strong. Her gray hair was cut close to her scalp, and several of her teeth were missing. She might have lived on any of the frontier planets or moons.

  “Within the hour,” Jayne said.

  “You’re from that ship we saw land up on the north barrens.”

  “That’s us,” Jayne said. “Traveled a while, walked downhill. Been hungry for a long time.”

  “Mighty sorry to hear that,” the woman said, smiling. She piled his food on a slab of slate and handed it over. “Try some of my nuclear sauce,” she said, tapping a bowl and spoon.

  “Nuclear?”

  She laughed. “It’ll burn your balls off, space cowboy.”

  Jayne liked being called a space cowboy. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. He’d already clocked that most people here carried weapons, and he was sporting one of his favorite guns, a six-shooter modeled on an original design from Earth-That-Was. Maybe if they pulled in some business here he’d buy himself another hat.

  He scooped a spoonful of sauce and dribbled it onto his meat. When he saw a couple of the other cooks watching, he took a second, slower spoonful.

  Mal chatted with the cooks while the rest of the crew ate. Jayne dug into his second bowl. The captain was a fighter, no doubt about it, but soft as hell. Gabbing away with the old folk when he could be listening to Jayne. It weren’t even like Mal was some bigwig general in the war, all full of fighting knowledge. He’d just been a sergeant. Ain’t nothing about being a Browncoat that helped anyone. Just took food out of their mouths, what with the xi niu Alliance always seeming on their tail. Jayne had stepped in more than once to fix the captain’s problems.

  “Find us anything?” he asked through a mouthful of succulent barbecued meat.

  Mal sat beside him with his own plate of food. “Maybe,” he said through his food. They were all enjoying the meal, even that loopy River. She stared at the water flowing by as she chewed, and Jayne chuckled to himself as he considered throwing River in.

  She still spooked the hell out of him, and it wasn’t anything to do with the scar across his chest. Her confused mumblings often coalesced into warnings, only some of them came too late.

  However long they spent in this place, he’d look out for anything that might be “the orange.”

  “So?” Jayne asked.

  “Oh, you’ll like it,” Mal said. “You’ll all like it.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve got us work before we even hit the town,” Zoë said.

  “We ain’t transportin’ cattle again,” Jayne said. “My boots ain’t smelled the same since.”

  River giggled. It was a sound that seemed to match the tinkling flow of the water.

  “I ain’t that quick,” Mal said. “But those fine cooks did tell me the best place in town to find the sort of work we might be lookin’ for.”

  “Smuggling,” Wash said. “Dodging the authorities. Occurrences with fists and guns.”

  “Not necessarily. They don’t know of Lassen Pride, but the place they described is the sorta place he’d frequent.”

  “Tell me it’s the saloon,” Jayne said.

  “It is indeed the saloon. Which is also the local brothel.”

  Jayne sighed in satisfaction and looked up to the sky. It was sunny, clear of clouds, and it was good to be breathing clean air again. “Then let’s not keep the whiskey and the ladies waiting,” he said.

  * * *

  “Well, that took longer than usual,” Zoë said.

  “You think he does it on purpose?” Wash asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Mal said. “I think it’s just his face.”

  “To be fair, I do on occasion want to punch it.” Zoë drained her glass, slammed it on the table, and picked up the bottle to pour them another shot.

  Jayne was across the other side of the saloon, arguing with a woman whose partner he’d just laid out with one slug to the jaw. Others in the large saloon watched the exchange, and Mal noticed several hands creeping closer to weapons.

  Zoë had noticed as well. Her casual drunkenness was a sham, and she was as ready for trouble as him. But Mal was pissed that Jayne had brought attention on them. They’d turned heads when they’d entered anyway, but conversation had soon risen to its previous levels, and the atmosphere in the saloon was calm, even
friendly. This was a place used to entertaining strangers, and probably thankful for their money. That should have made things easier for them.

  But not if Jayne started fighting.

  “Damn it,” Mal said. He stood and downed his drink, then walked slowly across the room, careful not to nudge into any tables or those seated around them.

  “He with you?” one man asked.

  “Yeah, he’s with me.”

  “Ornery fella, ain’t he?”

  “He is,” Mal said. “Rumor has it his mother loved him.”

  “I ain’t his mother.”

  Mal looked the man up and down. He was overweight, bald, with two teeth in his head and a milky, blind eye crossed with a knife scar.

  “That, you most certainly are not.”

  The man nodded at Jayne. “You better calm him down or there’ll be trouble.”

  Mal touched his brow and moved closer to the fray.

  The man Jayne had floored was back on his feet, holding his jaw and groaning. Jayne took a step back when the woman jabbed him in the chest, then he caught Mal’s eye.

  “Ain’t my fault,” he said, but Mal ignored him.

  “Please excuse my friend,” he said. “We had a bumpy landin’ and he took a blow to the head. He’s somewhat agitated.”

  “He ain’t goin’ with any of my girls after that,” the woman said.

  “Fair enough,” Mal said, and when Jayne went to protest he held up a hand. “Drink, Jayne. Eat. Make merry. Just stay away from the ladies.”

  Grumbling to himself, Jayne stalked off to the bar.

  “Meantime, while your friend’s keeping occupied, there’s a card game starting over in the corner,” the woman said. “You play switch and draw?”

  “I have done.”

  “Then let’s go. We need one more player, and I hear you and your crew are looking for a job.”

  “You heard that.” Mal frowned. They hadn’t yet approached anyone, partly because he wanted to suss the lay of the land and see if Lassen Pride was still here, but mostly because they all wanted to relax a little before turning to work.

  The woman grinned, and the creases around her eyes and lips were filled with laughter. Mal liked her instantly. That didn’t happen very often.

  “Mal Reynolds,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Gentle,” she said.

  “Your name or your manner?”

  “Depends on how much I like you. Shall we?” She nodded toward the far corner of the saloon and Mal followed her to the table. She glanced back at the man still nursing his bruised jaw. “Derrik, bring us a bottle of the good stuff.”

  “One thing, Gentle, if I may?” Mal asked before they reached the table.

  “You may.”

  “Do you know a gentleman by the name of Lassen Pride?”

  She paused, and he saw the coolness in her eyes, and something else. Fear? Surprise?

  “Did once know him,” Gentle said. “And I’d never’ve called him a gentleman. Don’t matter now, though, ’cause he’s in the ground.”

  “Pride’s dead?”

  “And the world’s a better place. You knew him?”

  “Long time ago,” Mal said, and he shrugged. “Ain’t surprised he got hisself killed.”

  “Did I say he was killed?” Gentle asked, arching an eyebrow.

  Mal smiled.

  “Guess I didn’t have to. Come on, Mal Reynolds. Let’s play cards.”

  Mal sighed, wondering whether Lassen’s death might mean that their chance of getting work on this rock was less than ever. But he didn’t wish to portray any outward lack of confidence. He nodded to Zoë and Wash, and they each raised a glass in return. With Jayne at the bar with a bottle and another bowl of food, Mal hoped it might just settle into the calm, easy evening they all desired.

  There were already two men and two women seated at the table, drinking and conversing. Mal thought at least three of them knew each other. The fourth, an old man with a kindly face and an open smile, listened instead of talking. He didn’t know the others. He’d be the last one Mal would scope out as a cheat.

  “This is Mal,” Gentle said, “he’s offered to complete our sextet.”

  “Excellent!” one of the women said. “So now we can start this gorramn game at last!”

  Mal nodded to the others and sat opposite the old man. The woman who’d spoken was a fellow traveler—he could tell from her attire, her attitude, and the paleness of her skin that she spent much time aboard a ship. The other man and woman appeared local. The old man he wasn’t sure about.

  “Pleased to meet you all,” Mal said. “And thanks for lettin’ me join your game.”

  “Thanks for agreeing to let me win all your money, and more,” the traveler said, and she laughed. She was shuffling both decks, one in each hand, expertly cutting and splicing the packs without even watching what she was doing. She wore a leather vest with no sleeves to hide wildcards. Her hair was long and tied back from her face, so she was obviously confident that she’d reveal no tells. If any of his opponents were going to cheat, it was her.

  “The game’s switch and draw, freeform rules,” Gentle said. “You can team up but then your winnings are split. Everyone happy with that?”

  “I never play in a team,” the card-shuffling woman said. “But maybe I’ll make an exception for you, Mal.”

  “You got me at a disadvantage,” he said, uncomfortable at her familiarity.

  “And that’s how I like it.” She slammed both packs down on the table. “So who wants to cut?”

  The old man cut both packs and the game began.

  It had been a while since Mal had played switch and draw. Over the first four divisions he lost twenty pieces of platinum, and the pile in front of the woman was already beginning to grow. She played with a willful abandon, taking risks where Mal wouldn’t even consider doing so and winning more often than not. He wondered whether she had her own ship, and if so what she used it for. She interested him, but she might also be competition for any potential work.

  “Feeling good,” the woman said, revealing her second hand and sweeping her winnings toward her.

  “Oh now, Holly, you’ll wipe us all out before dinner,” Gentle said.

  “Now you’ve given away my advantage,” Holly said.

  “Holly,” Mal said. “Holly.” He touched his chin, frowning as he looked at her. “Nope, I’ve never heard of you.”

  This time her flash of anger was real and it remained.

  “Mal was asking after Lassen Pride,” Gentle said.

  “Huh,” Holly said. “That piece of gǒu shǐ.” She lost the next hand to the old man. His expression didn’t change as he stacked his winnings.

  More drinks were brought, and Mal slowly got into the game’s rhythm. He used the next few divisions to feel his way around the players, throwing games to see how much they gambled and bluffed, and what turnarounds and sacrifices they were willing to make. The old man was the most consistent player, and Mal reckoned his age had given him an almost perfect game face. He couldn’t spot any tells in the old man’s expression or manner, other than the fact that he seemed to take a drink whenever he believed he had a winning hand. But that in itself could be manufactured as a bluff.

  After seven hands they paused for a break. Gentle called over more drinks and some food, and as she stretched in her chair, Mal sidled a little closer.

  “There’s no work here for the likes of you, Mal,” Gentle said.

  “Huh?” For a moment he thought he’d misheard her. He glanced around the table at the others. None of them seemed to be paying any particular attention, which meant that some of them most certainly were. Holly was counting her winnings, making a point of not looking at them.

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Lassen had a pretty cozy smugglin’ racket going on from here, so I understand,” Mal said.

  “And a year ago you’d have found work with him. But now, Golden’s Bane is hanging on by its finger
nails. Since Pride died, the smaller local gangs have been at each other’s throats, and any smugglin’ done is small-scale. People’re more mistrustful than ever of givin’ work to strangers.” She glanced across the saloon at Jayne. “Especially ones that bring trouble.”

  “An’ what about you?”

  She glared at him. “You think I’m wealthy? You think me or any of the girls would be here doing this if we had money?”

  “Doubt it.”

  He glanced across the table at Holly. She caught his eye and looked away again, counting her winnings a second time.

  “An’ you’ll only find trouble there,” Gentle whispered.

  “Story of my life.”

  “She’s a merc, with no problems workin’ for the Alliance.”

  That gave Mal pause. Any brush with the Alliance might have been a problem, especially with Simon and River in tow.

  “You’ll finish the game?” Gentle asked.

  Mal looked at Zoë and Wash. They both raised eyebrows at him and he shrugged slightly. “Never start somethin’ I don’t intend finishing,” he said.

  “Good. Second round is always the most fun. It’s when everyone plays on what they think they know about everyone else. I like a few surprises.”

  Gentle wasn’t wrong. The next hour was full of surprises. Holly lost most of her previous winnings in one fiercely contested hand, the balance passing across the table to Gentle. The other man and woman were wiped out and left the table grumbling, and Mal saw a couple of severe-looking women keeping an eye on them in case they caused trouble.

  He also saw his crew watching the game as they drank and ate, and they weren’t just keeping an eye out for trouble. They were watching him, waiting for him to find what they needed.

  Toward the end of the game, Mal was dealt two solid hands and he went to work. The tells he’d carefully nurtured fooled the old man and Holly, but Gentle read him like a book and all but cleaned him out.