Steven Brust - My Own Kind of Freedom

He looked up at the captain, and thought for a bit about how honest an answer to give. What the hell, he decided. “About why Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds, or Captain Malcolm Reynolds, who spends his time steering clear of the Alliance, and most of his energy keeping two badly wanted fugitives out of Alliance hands, went out of his way to save the life of a federal agent.”

“Oh, that,” said the captain.

“Yes.”

“Was an accident. Didn’t know what you were.”

“I figured out that part. It still doesn’t answer the question.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Then who did you think you were rescuing?”

“Didn’t know; I just didn’t like the look of those two guys who were sitting around waiting to do someone.”

“But it wasn’t any of your—”

“They irritated me.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Okay,” said Kit. “Maybe because you walked in there and figured what they were doing, and you couldn’t stand not to let them know how bad they were at it?”

The captain didn’t answer, which, Kit decided, almost certainly counted as an affirmative. He returned his attention to the next and last cross-load he needed.

“Okay, got it,” he said a minute later.

“Oh, good,” said the Captain. “Then our problems are solved.”

Kit didn’t reply; he was thinking over what he’d learned, and trying to come up with a way to use it.

He was pretty sure there was one, and he didn’t much care for it.

Annalee Wuhan had been his personal secretary for five years, which was more than three times longer than anyone else had survived on his staff. She was efficient, loyal, unambitious, keenly observant, and had no sense of humor. She also had a long list of irritating traits, headed by a refusal to call him anything but Filo, which was how she had first been to introduced him, in a small schoolhouse where she had taught not twenty miles from this spot.

She walked into the room, and sat down without being asked; which was another of the irritating traits.

“Good morning, Filo,” she said.

“Good morning, Miss Wuhan. What do we know?”

“There is strong reason to believe the agent es—”

“The traitor, Miss Wuhan. Let’s call things by their right name, shall we?”

“Certainly, Filo. The agent escaped with the fugitive from Serenity in—”

“What?”

“Serenity. The ship. The agent and the fugitive escaped in a short range shuttle last night, and it is all but certain that they are now back on Serenity.”

“Serenity.”

“Yes.”

“And is—Serenity—gone?”

“As yet, we have been unable to confirm that. There has been no sign of a major thrust from that region escaping Hera, but they could, for one reason or another, have used low thrust, and we wouldn’t know.”

“Or they could still be there.”

“They could indeed.”

“And the ship is certainly injured.”

“A clean shot, but she was able to break atmo.”

Sakarya sighed. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t Filo?”

“We know about the traitor, and he knows we know. That removes his usefulness. Why would he stay? And why link up with—”

“We don’t know that they’re still here.”

Interrupting him was another of her annoying traits.

“No, but we’re going to assume they are until we have proof they’ve left. And we do know that they’re all together. What could bring them together?”

“You could, Filo.”

“Me?”

“They’d come together because they both hate you.”

“They?”

“I looked up the ship, Serenity.”

“How did you learn the name?”

“Sir, you hired that ship.”

“I hired it?”

“I hired it, in your name. To get the lumber for your son’s new Canteen.”

“I see. Serenity. Interesting name.”

“Filo, the name isn’t a coincidence.”

“What—?”

“Here’s the file.”

He took the e-paper from her hand, automatically reached up to forward tab to skip to the second page, where the guts of the information usually started, but he stopped himself. It was right there, on the title page. “Serenity,” it said. “Firefly-class transport. Captain Malcolm Reynolds.”

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

“Well,” he said.

“Yes, Filo.”

“Well, well, well.”

“Yes, Filo.”

“Bring me my new head of Security.”

“I saw Jayne walking by with a gun—”

“He’s back on the crew,” said the captain.

“Uh… okay.”

“We’re going in. Stay with the ship, watch your sister, and be ready to patch us up when we get back.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“You are at that.”

“What’s the caper this time?”

“Caper?”

“Is that the wrong word?”

“Come to the dining room.”

“Should I get River?”

“She’s already there.”

Simon nodded and followed the captain up the stairs and then forward. Everyone else was there, including Jayne, and including someone he hadn’t seen before: a stocky man with a neatly trimmed beard and mild eyes; he reminded Simon of a biology professor he’d liked quite a bit. He was speaking to River, who was looking at him as if he were a laboratory specimen of something completely new in the ’verse. He started toward her, but she looked up and caught his eye; she appeared to be all right.

There is such a thing as being over-protective, he reminded himself, and took a seat next to Kaylee, who gave him a smile that made his heart skip a beat. He looked at the captain, who was standing at the head of the table, looking like—

God! He reminds me of my father! No wonder I don’t trust him!

He missed the first few words the captain spoke; when he came back to the present, he heard, “…just to be clear, there’s no money involved. It’s something I gotta do.”

Wash said, “Mal, is this—” then he broke off. Simon noticed Zoë’s hand on his arm. Wash and Zoë looked at each other, but Simon couldn’t read whatever might have passed between them.

Simon said, “Do we get to know anything about this, other than you might get us killed?”

“Sure, Doctor. Might get us caught by the Alliance, too.”

As he said that, his eyes shifted to the stranger.

“Uh, not to be rude,” said Simon, “but can you tell me—”

“Kit,” said the captain. “His name is Kit.”

“He’s a fed,” said Zoë.

“But he’s on our side,” said Jayne.

Simon’s mind reeled. “He’s a what ?”

River said, “Technically speaking, it isn’t treason if there are no violations of the law or explicit orders, or actions clearly contrary to the interest of the body to whom one owes loyalty.”

“Thank you for that,” said the captain.

“She’s right,” said the one who’d just been identified as a fed.

“She often is,” said Simon.

“Let’s focus on the job,” said the captain.

“Good idea,” said Simon. “Let’s just ignore that there is an Alliance agent sitting—”

“Yes,” said the captain. “Let’s ignore that.”

Simon said, “I don’t think—”

“Good. That’s how I like you best.”

“Sir,” said Zoë, “I think he deserves an explanation. It’s his sister—”

“It’s his sister,” said the fed, “who I am pretending does not exist, as part of a bargain I made with the captain, and if any of you ever tell anyone I said so, I’ll make it my life’s work to hunt you down and make you regret being born.”

Simon’s biology teacher had never sounded like that.