Steven Brust - My Own Kind of Freedom

Simon stared at his sister for just a moment. She smiled back and led the way toward the shuttle.

Kaylee was already there. He said, “What are we—”

Kaylee started to answer, but River said, “Not now, Simon. There isn’t any time.”

“All right,” said Simon, wishing he had at least some vague idea of what was happening.

River at once sat down in the pilot’s seat. “Strap yourselves in,” she said, as she went through the warm up sequence. “We’re off in five.”

“Is that five minutes, or five seconds?” asked Simon.

“Boob,” said River, and Simon felt like he’d been kicked as the shuttle leaped from its berth.

It was 13:36.

Analee patched security through without announcing it. “Sir, this is Unit One, and we’re at the site. Scan complete, no sign of life. Both shuttles have been launched.”

“Hold your fire and check the area. Any sign of either shuttle?”

“Vapor signs consistent with short-range shuttles.”

“Can you fix direction?”

“That’s affirmative, sir. Opposite directions, one directly toward town, the other directly away.”

“Follow the one heading toward town. Overtake and destroy it.”

“Yes—there’s a problem, sir.”

Something inside him twisted and sank; he’d had that feeling before, and the memory came back strong. “There’s a problem,” he’d been told, followed by word that the artillery support wasn’t coming through. “What is the problem, Unit One?”

“We’re being ordered to ground and be boarded.”

Old habits came back, and heard himself sounding completely calm as he said, “Ordered by whom?”

“They identify themselves as Special Deputies of the Anglo Sino Alliance, sir. We’ve been given one minute to comply.”

“What is the situation?”

“They’re in some sort of short-range vehicle.”

“Do you see any armament?”

“No, sir. Nothing visible.”

“Anything else in the vicinity?”

There was a brief pause, then, “No, sir. Clear sky, no sign of anything on the ground.”

“Unit One, attack. Blow them out of the sky.”

“Yes, sir. Engaging.”

He counted to ten, then said, “Report.” A moment later, he said, “Unit One?”

He muttered a curse and said, “Security, are you still there? What are you picking up?”

Nothing.

“Security, report on the status of unit one.”

After five seconds he let out a slow breath. “Okay,” he said aloud. “This can’t be good.”

The clock on his desk said 13:41.

River set the shuttle down, gently as a feather. As far as Simon could guess, they were a mile or two from Serenity.

“What’s happening?” he said.

River said, “They blew up the security ship that was sent to bomb us.”

“They…” He looked at Kaylee, and discovered that he was holding her hand. He wasn’t sure when or how that had happened, but her hand felt cool and good in his. She was looking at him.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m scared.”

She needn’t have told him that last; he could see it. He tried to think of something to say to reassure her, but couldn’t think of anything that didn’t just sound stupid. He squeezed her hand.

“River,” said Simon. “Who blew up what security ship?”

“Two by two, hands of blue.”

“River—”

“But they aren’t coming for us. They’re flying away. We can go back to the ship now.”

“Are you sure?”

River sent him a withering glance over her shoulder.

“I wish,” said Simon, “that I had some idea—”

“It was his idea,” said Kaylee, as she unstrapped herself, released his hand, and stood up. “The Alliance agent. And Wash’s. They worked it out together.”

“Worked what out?”

Kaylee leaned over River and pressed a button on the console.

“What was that?” Simon heard an edge of panic in his voice.

“The recall,” said Kaylee. “Now we can return to the ship.”

“But—”

“Strap in,” said River.

It was 13:42.

It was easier than it ought to have been.

The wind was pretty mild, and, as he began the final approach, almost directly in his teeth; and no one was shooting at him; and all the landmarks were clear and easy to follow. It was an awfully straightforward piece of flying for how scary it was.

He swung the shuttle around, nice and easy, holding at about three hundred feet, and got a visual on the house.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said to no one in particular.

“What surprises me is that it was your idea,” said Mal.

“Rub it in,” muttered Wash.

The house, and then the spot on the wall; in his mind, he superimposed a big X on it, and aimed right for that spot. It was coming up on them fast.

“What’s that indicator mean?” said Mal suddenly.

“What indic—”

“The one’s that flashing.”

“Oh, that?” said Wash. “Nothing. The recall. It means that Kaylee, River, and Simon are returning to Serenity.”

“Returning?” said Mal. “I don’t—what the gorram hell is going on?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Wash. The house rushed up at him. “You know, this is mind-numbingly stupid,” he remarked.

He killed the thrust, hit the airbreaks, and gave her a bit of the retros, then a lot more just as they hit the wall.

He had maybe two seconds of warning that something was going to happen, and none whatsoever of what it was.

Old, old reflexes were still operating, however, and he was out of his chair and rolling on the ground almost before the sound reached him, and well before he had time to figure out just what had happened.

A few splinters cut him here and there, but he didn’t notice.

When the noise stopped, he raised his head, and his first thought was that someone had fired a missile at him, and it hadn’t exploded. By the time he realized what it actually was, the door of the vessel was opening. He had, by this time, slipped so far into his old battle reflexes that he found his hand was reaching for a sidearm he hadn’t carried in seven years.

With some detached part of his mind, he realized that what he was experiencing was a lot like trying to stay on a badly spooked horse. With another small part, he put aside whatever it was that Wash had cooked up without telling him; there was just no time to worry about it now.

With the more important and less conscious part of his mind, he unsnapped his restraints and hit the button to open the door, and as the door swung open he saw that the fed was already past him and was out the door.

Guy moves fast.

He drew his weapon and followed the fed out into the shambles that had been—he hoped—Sakarya’s office, feeling Zoë and Jayne behind him. “Jayne,” he said, “cover the door.”

One thing he hadn’t anticipated was that it would be hard to see; but there was dust—sawdust, most likely—everywhere. It stung his eyes and nose. Goggles, dammit; I should have brought goggles.

After what seemed like a horribly long time, he focused on the tall man, just coming to his feet against the wall to his left. The man said, “Good afternoon, Sergeant Reynolds. You make quite an entry.”

Mal swung his pistol to cover him. “Good afternoon, Colonel Bursa. You’re about to make quite an exit.”

“Could be,” said the ex-colonel, “but I’m not sure your team is in complete agreement about that.”

Mal took a quick glance around the room. Jayne had his pistol pointing at the door. Zoë had her carbine pointing at the fed. The fed had his pistol pointing at Mal.