Big Damn Hero

23

The main vid screen flickered, an Alliance logo appeared, and a faceless, nameless baritone voice told Serenity to prepare for immediate docking and boarding of an authorized government inspection crew.

Zoë could see Wash was not pleased at the prospect, but when he pushed his comm button to reply he sounded downright bubbly. “Great to see you guys. Sorry about all the trouble with transmissions earlier. We got circuits so old and cranky on this boat, they keep telling me to get off their lawn and turn my music down. But you’re here now, and that’s just super. Protecting our way of life. Go, Alliance!”

Serenity shuddered as the larger ship made contact. Once the airlocks had been lined up, the seals were secured.

Wash turned to his wife. “Okay, Zoë, it’s your play. What do you have in mind?”

“Question. How sexy am I?”

Wash blinked. His eyes darted around apprehensively. “Is this a trick?”

“Just answer. Scale of one to ten, how sexy am I?”

“Twenty. Easy. Except when you’re mad at someone. Then it’s a fifteen. Mad at me, a twelve. But mostly twenty.”

She leaned over and kissed him, a full-on smacker that, as soon as he had got over his bafflement, he reciprocated.

“Whoa,” he said. “What was that all about?”

“A woman doesn’t always need a reason to kiss her man.” Zoë then undid a couple of buttons on her shirt and opened it out to expose more cleavage than normal.

“You’re going to… seduce the feds?” Wash said.

“Not seduce, and not all of them. Just the senior officer. Bamboozle him. Throw him off his game if I can. Get him to drop his guard. That’s assuming he’s male and straight, which given the Alliance’s gender equality policy is a fair assumption.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Zoë, but that doesn’t really seem in your wheelhouse. Inara’s, yes, but yours?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way?” his wife said, stiffening. “How am I meant to take it? You’re saying Inara is more attractive than I am?”

“No! I’m not saying anything of the sort, don’t be mad, it came out wrong, I take it back.” Wash’s voice rose in pitch until it was virtually a bat squeak.

“I’m just messing with you.”

“Phew.”

“You’re right, I don’t have Inara’s skills. But never underestimate the power of a hair toss, a pair of big eyes and showing off a little skin.” Zoë pouted her lips and shimmied her shoulders. “Worked on you, after all, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I’m easy.”

“Oh, Wash.” She stroked his cheek. “All men are.”

As she exited the bridge, he called out after her, “Good luck! Or, er, not too much good luck. Maybe no luck. I don’t know. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, young lady. And be home by ten.”

Zoë chuckled. “Okay, Dad.”

Jayne joined her on the catwalk, descending into the cargo bay with her.

“You tidied up Simon’s and River’s bunks, like I asked?” Zoë said.

“Clean as a nun’s panties. Bedding and personal effects all stowed away. You wouldn’t know anyone’d been there.”

“Good.”

Kaylee met them at the foot of the stairs. “I just checked the crates,” she said, talking in low, urgent tones. “Something River said got me rattled. Ran a full-spectrum diagnostic — temperature, vibration, electromagnetic frequency, radiation, seal integrity. River was right, Lord knows how. Something’s changed in those boxes. The contents are heating up.” She made a face. “Kaboom.”

“What’s our solution?” Zoë asked briskly.

Kaylee had a quick answer for that. “Maybe we can cool down the cargo to slow down the reaction. Make it as cold as we can.”

“Seal off the hold and open the bay,” Jayne said with a gleam in his eye. “Don’t get much colder than space.”

“Great idea,” Zoë said.

“Yeah?” Jayne sounded a little surprised. Zoë could only assume this was because it wasn’t often his ideas were classified as great. Or even listened to.

“Yes. But it’s going to have to wait. We got company.”

She hit the switch to operate the cargo-bay ramp. It had barely opened before a dozen-strong Alliance team, in full body armor and helmets, marched into the cargo bay in lockstep. They fanned out, most with weapons drawn and aimed towards Zoë, Jayne and Kaylee. A few carried compact, ruggedized flight cases.

Zoë, Kaylee, and most reluctantly Jayne raised their hands in surrender.

“Do not touch your weapons,” the Alliance officer at the front of the pack said. “We will disarm you ourselves.”

As the other Alliance officers were seeing to that, their leader asked, “Who’s in charge here?”

“That’d be me,” Zoë said. “Zoë Washburne, acting captain of this here vessel.”

“And I’m Major Bernard of the I.A.V. Stormfront.” He looked all three of them up and down, then said, “Is this your entire crew?”

“No, sir,” Zoë said. “Our pilot is still up in the bridge.”

“Get him or her down here on the double.”

After Zoë relayed the order to Wash over the intercom, Major Bernard flashed his credentials at her so fast she couldn’t read them. Not that she needed to. The patrol cruiser parked alongside Serenity was credentials aplenty.

“By authority of the Union of Allied Planets,” Bernard said in a monotone, “I’ll need access to all crew documentation and bills of lading on cargo presently carried aboard this ship. Also vessel registration forms and tax licenses. Any attempt to conceal information or cargo will be punished to the fullest extent of the law. Are you carrying any passengers who are not crew?”

“No, sir,” Zoë said. “This is not a passenger ship.”

He looked around at the largely bare cargo bay. “Did you just offload a consignment or is this the state of your business?”

“It comes and goes, sir,” Zoë replied. Usually goes, she added inwardly.

“While I’m checking the paperwork, my team will run a routine search of the entire ship.”

“A search for what?” Kaylee said, all wide-eyed innocence.

“Contraband or undocumented individuals,” Bernard said. Then his eyes narrowed, and he addressed all three of them. “This can’t be your first rodeo. You know exactly what we do.”

“Don’t want anyone touching Vera with their dirty paws,” Jayne growled under his breath. “She don’t like it.”

“Vera?” said Bernard. “There’s a fifth person on board?”

“Nope. She’s a gun. Got the license for her and everything, before you ask.”

Major Bernard did a double take. “You name your—? Never mind.”

“All the paperwork you want is stowed in the galley,” Zoë said. Then, flicking a lock of her hair behind her ear and lowering her voice suggestively, she said, “You’d be most comfortable working in there, Major. You can spread everything out on the dining table. I can even make you some tea if you’d like.”

The change in her tone and attitude was not lost on Bernard. A small smile broke his blunt, coarse features. “That’s most accommodating of you, Acting Captain Washburne,” he said.

As he and Zoë made for the dining area, Bernard’s subordinates began opening their flight cases and taking out multiple-reading scanners. Whose infrared setting, Zoë knew, could pick up the body heat of a fruit fly through ten feet of vanadium steel.

Bernard sat himself down at the dining table and Zoë spread out the documents in front of him.

“Hmmm,” he said. “According to the registration this ship has two shuttles, but on approach we saw both bays are currently empty. Where are your shuttles, Acting Captain Washburne?”

“Please, call me Zoë.”

“Very well.” Again, that small smile, accompanied by a tiny, avid glint in the eye. Major Bernard was not a handsome man but he was, it seemed, vain enough to think that a woman like Zoë might be attracted to him. She noted the wedding band on his left hand. She noted, too, that he was making some effort to hide it from her. “I’ll repeat the question, Zoë. Where are you shuttles?”

“We’ve had bad luck with shuttles lately,” she told him. “Had to leave ’em both on Whitefall. They’re awaiting spare parts for necessary refitting.”

“Kind of risky going into the Black without one, don’t you think?”

“Risk is built into the price for our services,” she said.

Wash appeared in the dining-room doorway. His strawberry-blond hair was sticking up every which way like he had just rolled out of bed. But then it always looked like that. “I was told someone needed to see me,” he said. “Went down to the cargo bay but got sent up here.”

Major Bernard stared grimly at Wash’s eye-searingly colorful Hawaiian shirt and the toy dinosaur poking a toothy head out of his breast pocket.

“Who might you be?” Bernard said.

“Hoban Washburne, pilot, husband.” Then, remembering Zoë’s plan, Wash said, “But not husband to this lady. No, sir.”

Bernard frowned. “But you have the same surname.”

“Brother and sister,” Wash said.

Zoë shot him a scowl over Bernard’s head.

“Adopted brother and sister,” Wash amended. “It’s funny, though. People often tell us how much we look alike.”

“They do?” said Bernard, peering from Wash to Zoë and back again.

“Act alike, at any rate. Similar mannerisms. Similar gestures.” Wash attempted to mimic a typical Zoë-esque posture, cocking a hip and resting his thumbs in his belt. He also widened his eyes in emulation of her naturally large eyes, although whereas on her it looked captivating, on him it looked just plain demented. “Like twins, some say.”

“Hoban,” said Zoë, deliberately using his given name rather than his nickname, as a sister might, “Major Bernard doesn’t need to know any of that. Major Bernard is a busy man. Isn’t that so, Major?”

“Aubrey,” said Bernard.

“Huh?”

“I call you Zoë, you call me Aubrey.”

“Sure thing, Aubrey.” Zoë bit back a laugh. Aubrey? “So, Hoban, why don’t you just hurry on back to the bridge?” She made a waggling wave with her fingers. “Assuming Aubrey doesn’t need to discuss anything with you, that is.”

“I have just one question,” Bernard said to Wash. “What was your course prior to boarding?”

Wash told him the truth. He had no choice. It was all down in black and white on the manifest they got from Badger, which Bernard now held.

“That would be for delivery of five crates of mining chemicals?” Bernard scanned over the bill of lading. “On Aberdeen?”

Wash nodded.

“Very well,” said Bernard. “That’s all I need to know. You’re dismissed, Mr. Washburne.”

“Okay. Bye for now, uh, sis,” Wash said to Zoë. “See you later.”

He sauntered off, doing his best impersonation of Zoë’s confident, take-no-prisoners gait.

“Strange fellow,” Bernard remarked. “Hard to believe the two of you are related.”

“Well, we’re not, are we?” Zoë said. “Not by blood. My parents took him in after his own parents rejected him.”

“I can see why they might have. His parents, I mean. Yours, not so much.”

“Growing up, he was always a doofus. Hasn’t changed a great deal. But never mind him, Aubrey. You keep examining that paperwork. I think you’ll find it’s all in order, but it never hurts to have someone cast an expert eye over it.”

She braced both arms on the table, leaning close to the Alliance officer — so close that a stray strand of her hair brushed his cheek.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, in a not-sorry voice.

“No problem, Zoë.” Bernard gave every appearance of concentrating on the documents but she could tell his mind wasn’t fully on the task. Every once in a while he darted a quick sideways glance at her, taking in her arm, the curve of her bosom, the profile of her face. Finally, he pronounced himself satisfied. “Registration code numbers on the engine manifolds are correct. Documentation all checks out. Guess I’d better have a look at the labels and seals on those crates of chemicals, just to be completely sure.”

They left the dining room, Zoë leading the way. She was conscious of Bernard’s gaze on her backside and walked with a little extra wiggle for his benefit. Her injured leg accentuated the motion.

Jayne and Kaylee were still where she had left them, down in the cargo bay. Wash was there too. Jayne looked ill-tempered as always but was trying to rein in his disgruntlement. Kaylee, by contrast, was an open book. She wrung her hands and gnawed her lower lip. As for Wash, he could put on a poker face when he needed to.

“HTX-20,” Major Bernard said, walking around the crates but giving them a wide berth. “Satan’s Snowflakes, they call it. That’s some seriously hazardous cargo you’ve got there.”

“It’s what we do, Aubrey,” Zoë said. “There’s a premium on hazardous.”

Bernard waved his subordinates over. “See if you can’t shift them out of the way,” he said. “I want to know what’s under them.”

Zoë and Kaylee traded glances. Kaylee said, “Sir, these crates should not be moved. The contents are highly volatile.”

Bernard wheeled around, one eyebrow raised. “If they’re that dangerous, then why are they sitting in your hold without proper protection?”

“They didn’t used to be so volatile.”

“Move them,” Bernard ordered.

The Alliance officers tried, but they couldn’t lift the crates and they couldn’t slide them across the deck, either. They were just too heavy to budge. With every grunting abortive attempt, the four crewmembers flinched.

Bernard turned to Zoë. He pointed at a forklift parked along the wall. “Does that thing work?”

Kaylee made a little involuntary squeak.

“What do you think’s under there?” Jayne said, clearly on the verge of losing his couth and his cool. “How dumb do you think we are?”

“I don’t know how dumb you, personally, are,” Bernard said. “By the looks of it, pretty dumb.”

Jayne’s lips curled back from his teeth.

“Zoë, on the other hand,” Bernard continued, “strikes me as an intelligent and discerning woman, which is why I’m asking myself how she could just let these crates sit here if their contents are really so unstable. Which in turn leads me to wonder whether they mightn’t be hiding something, and someone’s hoping we won’t dare move them.”

“I’ll move them,” Wash said agreeably.

Zoë watched as Wash climbed onto the repaired forklift, started it up, and with a grinding crunch, jammed it in reverse. Showing off his exceptional driving skills, he nearly backed over Bernard’s foot. Would have done, if Zoë hadn’t nudged the Alliance officer out of the path of the rear wheel.

“Aargh. Sorry about that,” Wash said sheepishly as he squealed the brakes. “Accelerator sticks a bit.”

He surged forward, dropping the fork so low, it sent sparks flying off the deck. With a reckless nonchalance, he scraped under and scooped up the nearest crate. Zoë was holding her breath. Jayne turned away, a scowl on his face. Kaylee looked plain desperate.

“Where do you want it?” Wash asked as he raised the huge box, teetering, to eye level.

“Anywhere,” Bernard said.

As Wash reversed away with the crate, Major Bernard seemed disappointed to find no trap door hidden underneath. There was nothing but solid, bolted-down deck plate.

“Move the others,” he told Wash.

But it was the same story there. Bernard watched as his men tested the deck plates with their scanner wands, looking for voids that could hold contraband and stowaways. When they were done, they shook their heads.

“Ship is clean, sir,” one of them reported. Then he added, hopefully, “A bit too clean maybe?”

Zoë chortled merrily. “Oh, hush! Don’t you listen to him, Aubrey,” she said, resting a hand on Bernard’s forearm. “How can a ship be too clean? It’s ridiculous!”

Her hand lingered. Major Bernard made no effort to dislodge it. Weighing up the evidence of his own eyes, and factoring in the obvious allure he held for Zoë, he came a decision. He scribbled something on the bottom of the manifest, then stamped it with his official stamp.

“We appreciate your compliance and courtesy,” he said to Zoë. “You are good to go. We’ll be out of your way shortly.”

“Excellent work,” Wash said, beaming at Bernard. “Very efficient. Very thorough. A credit to the Alliance.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Zoë,” Bernard said, giving her a particularly snappy salute.

“Likewise, I’m sure, Aubrey.”

The boarding team left the crew’s weapons piled on the dining table and made a dignified, single-file exit.

As the ramp closed behind them, Wash sidled over to Zoë. “I’ve got to say, Zoë, seeing that performance of yours just now, I don’t know whether I’m turned on or should start filing for divorce. Did ‘Aubrey’ give you his wave address? You two planning on seeing each other again, or was this a one-time thing?”

“You know I only have eyes for you, husband.”

“I was thinking, maybe we could play at being brother and sister again sometime. To, y’know, spice things up in the bedroom.”

“Don’t push it, buster,” Zoë said, giving him a whack on the arm that left him wincing and rubbing the affected area for a minute afterwards.

It took ten minutes for I.A.V. Stormfront to undock. By then, Wash was back up in the bridge. When Serenity was clear of the cruiser’s exhaust, he fired a single pulse of the engines and gentled her away, in the opposite direction Inara had flown.

“We’ve got to do something about those crates,” Kaylee said to Zoë. “It can’t wait.”

“If they’re overheating, there’s only one solution I can see. Jayne’s idea. We strap them down and blow the atmo. Hard vacuum will bring down their temperature in no time.”

“What if that doesn’t work?”

“We jettison them out into space,” Zoë said. She hated even thinking it, let alone voicing it. The crew were already so broke. But better broke than incinerated.

“If we lose our cargo,” Jayne said, “we might as well quit flying.”

Zoë rounded on him. “You care to rephrase that?”

He shrugged. “Choice mightn’t be ours, anyway. We won’t have the coin we need to keep this boat in the sky.”

She kept glaring at him, but he was only saying what she was thinking. She said, “Strap down the crates. Fast. And keep your mouth shut.”

“This is not our best day,” Jayne muttered under his breath.

Zoë thought of Mal. Wherever he had gotten to, she reckoned he was having an even worse day.