Big Damn Hero

11

For several minutes Wash fidgeted with his collection of model dinosaurs, too distracted to stage exciting claw and fang fights. It was hard to keep a lid on his freak-out. Once upon a time at Li Shen’s Space Bazaar he had cracked open a fortune cookie that read, “You will live in interesting times.” Enough with the interesting. Bring on the boredom.

“They back yet?” Kaylee asked, poking her head through the hatchway. She was wearing overalls decorated with happy teddy bear patches and a pink T-shirt splotched with engine grease.

“No,” Wash told her, depositing a T-Rex into the pocket of his vintage Hawaiian shirt for safekeeping.

“Niú fèn. And what’s this I’m hearing about the Alliance maybe boarding us? Inara mentioned it as she was getting into the Flying Mule just now. She said there wasn’t time to explain and I should ask you.”

Wash pulled up the latest Cortex-wide Alliance bulletin onscreen, which was undoubtedly the one Zoë had been referring to. It advised security personnel to be on the lookout for a Firefly-class transport suspected of an illegal smuggling operation.

“Has to be us,” he said.

“And has to be about River,” said Kaylee. “How come it doesn’t mention her by name, though? Or Simon?”

“Mal has a theory about Alliance bureaucracy. He reckons different departments create bulletins like this and fling them out at random like a drunk guy playing darts — one in the bullseye, one in the back of Joe Bob’s head. Some of the agencies know about the existence of the Tams and some don’t, and they don’t always talk to each other, at least not in the same language. Not that I much care. To a snail, a duck is a vengeful god.”

“What?”

“It’s a saying.”

“A saying said by who?”

“By, uh, me?” said Wash. “More and more, though, this situation with River and Simon is giving me the heebie-jeebies. It’s like we’re playing roulette every day, and every day there’s another zero on the wheel. There are times when you have to ask yourself if we mightn’t be better off ditching River—”

“Oh! Hey, sweetie,” Kaylee said, pointedly cutting Wash off.

Wash looked over to see River standing on the threshold of the bridge. Her eyes were enormous and streaked with tears. She was shivering as if she were freezing. Simon rushed up behind her, his gaze connecting with Wash’s.

“Let’s get you to your bunk, River,” Simon said, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment or consternation, or some of both.

River held out her hands and started waving them around as if brushing away spider webs. “They’re coming. They’re coming…”

Wash recoiled at the sight of the waving hands. Wŏ de tiān a, talk about the heebie-jeebies. The crew had already had a run-in with two men wearing powder-blue gloves who were after River. Alliance officers who had gotten in the gloved men’s way had wound up dead, blood gushing from all their orifices.

“River, do you think they’re after us?” he asked carefully. “The men with the hands of blue?” River seemed to have a way of sensing things. Or maybe it was simply that because she rambled all over the place, on occasion she made sense. It was so hard to tell.

She looked at Wash, then saluted. “Avast ye, matey. Hit the turbos and set sail for the horizon.”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll do that.” He buzzed Zoë. “Honey?”

“I haven’t located Jayne,” Zoë reported. “But… Wait a moment. That’s Inara in the Mule. She’s just spotted me. Is something wrong, Wash?”

“River’s singing about the blue hands,” he said.

By way of replying, Zoë let loose a long and complicated curse.

Wash said, “Please hurry.”