Big Damn Hero

37

Everything was dark where Mal was. And warm. And weirdly cozy. A nice place. He wanted to stay there.

Then there was a stab of pain. Light flooded in. He heaved for breath.

There were a man’s lips on his.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Mal yelped, sitting bolt upright. “Stu? What the hell, pardner?”

Stuart Deakins sat back on his haunches. “You’re back, Mal. Thank God. Thought for a moment there we’d lost you.”

Mal’s throat felt as though it was lined with sandpaper. To speak, even just to breathe, hurt. His head seemed to be attached to the rest of him by a slender thread. Yet he was alive. Sweet Mary Mother of Jesus, he was alive!

He blinked around. There was David Zuburi. There was Hunter Covington. There was Yellow Duster. There were all the Browncoats, looking somewhat disgruntled. No sign of Toby Finn, though.

And Zoë. Jayne. They were there too?

“Sir,” Zoë said across the cavern. “Glad to have you back.”

“Me too. What kept you guys?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“Stu, you just resuscitate me?”

“I did.”

“That would explain the kissing. Leastways, I hope it does.”

“I owed you one for you saving my ass at New Kasimir,” Deakins said. “It was the least I could do.”

“Next time, maybe you can show your gratitude in a less intimate manner.”

Deakins smiled. “Sure will. Weren’t no picnic for me either. You ain’t shaved lately and you’re kinda bristly.”

“Snake!” someone yelled. “Defector! Gorramn Judas!”

Next thing Mal knew, Donovan Philips was rushing towards them. He had Mal’s Liberty Hammer out, leveled it at Stuart Deakins, and fired.

The top of Deakins’s head vanished in a crimson mist. Deakins slumped sideways, nothing on his face but a look of utter incomprehension.

Mal moved faster than a man just brought back from the brink of death might reasonably be expected to. He sprang at Philips, grabbing his gun hand. The pair of them grappled, each trying to gain mastery of the weapon. Philips was at that moment the stronger of the two. He hadn’t just been hanged. Mal, however, had blinding, all-consuming fury on his side. Stuart Deakins had proved himself to be a decent human being after all, and this scum-sucking son of a bitch had shot him from behind like the coward he was.

All at once the Liberty Hammer was in Mal’s hand. He didn’t hesitate. Philips’s scar-ridden face collapsed into terror. He held up his hands in surrender, but Mal was not in a merciful mood. He shot point-blank at the heart, and Donovan Philips was dead before he hit the ground.

After that, consternation reigned. The Browncoat vigilantes bellowed in shock and disapproval. They seemed to have forgotten all about Zoë and the detonator, until she reminded them by firing her Mare’s Leg twice at the ceiling. That brought a measure of calm to the proceedings.

“Just a little reminder there,” she said. “Now you are going to let the three of us leave. You are not going to get in our way. To reiterate: I am quite prepared to let go of this switch at any time. Don’t anyone give me a reason to— Sir?”

Mal was on his feet and moving away from the drilling rig, but not towards Zoë and Jayne.

Toby Finn was gone. He had lit out while Mal was unconscious. There was a second tunnel leading out from the cavern, not towards the entrance but in the opposite direction, presumably deeper underground. Toby could only have disappeared down there.

Mal was determined to catch up to him. He and Toby needed to have words.

“Sir!” Zoë hollered behind him, but Mal paid her no heed. He headed off down the tunnel, stumbling on its rugged, uneven rock floor.

“Toby!” he called out. “Toby, I just want to talk.”

Illumination from the cavern diminished the further he ventured in. Soon he was walking more or less blind, groping his way with one hand held out in front of him, the Liberty Hammer in his other hand.

“Toby? Hey, pal, stop runnin’. We can sort things out. We were two of the Four Amigos once. Don’t see why we can’t be that way again.” The gun Mal was carrying somewhat gave the lie to what he was saying. Truth was, he would just as happily shoot Toby dead as reconcile with him. Much depended on how Toby acted now. If he showed even the tiniest amount of remorse or contrition, Mal might — just might, mind — be able to find it in his heart to forgive him. “Come on, ol’ buddy. Why don’t you—?”

If his brain hadn’t still been fogged from the near-hanging, he might have seen the blow coming; might have been able to duck out of the way. As it was, something came out of nowhere and slammed into his face, knocking him flat. The Liberty Hammer flew from his grasp, skidding across the tunnel floor. His head reeled. He had been slugged with the butt of a pistol. He gasped for air.

“No, Mal,” said Toby, a black silhouette in the dimness. “We can’t be friends again. There can’t be any Four Amigos again because you ruined it.”

A gun barrel loomed in Mal’s vision. His own gun lay several yards away, well out of easy reach.

“By killing Jinny?” Mal said hoarsely. “But it wasn’t anything to do with me. You must know that. Those homing beacons were for me and her alone.”

“Yes! And I know why!” Toby was all but screaming. “I know about you and Jinny. I knew just what you were doing behind my back.”

Mal fumbled for words. “But… What? You knew? But why didn’t you…?”

“Say anything at the time? How could I, Mal? It was almost over between Jinny and me. I could feel it, but I didn’t want it to end. Dammit, I was going to marry that woman. I had it all planned out. But I was losing her, and I began to notice little things, little clues that suggested maybe her heart belonged to someone else. You. Like, she would pause whenever your name came up in conversation. Sometimes she would avoid talking about you, steerin’ around the subject like it was a boulder in the road. Before then, her face used to light up when you were mentioned, and suddenly it started darkening instead. I wasn’t sure about it. I couldn’t be certain she was cheating on me with you. But then, why wouldn’t she be? You were the dashing Mal Reynolds, and me? I was just lowly little Toby Finn, not fit to tie the bootlaces of a girl like Jinny Adare. I’d lucked into becoming her boyfriend, but it was clear you and she were a better fit.”

“Toby, I’m sorry,” Mal said. “Truly I am.”

“You can spare me the apologies. They don’t mean squat.”

“Maybe you could have said something at the time. Maybe we could have figured it out.”

“I didn’t know for certain,” Toby said, “and I was scared to raise the topic in case I was wrong. It wasn’t until Jinny died and I saw how you were about that, how cut up, that I realized I’d been right. Even then, I’d have forgiven you, in time. But the war came and we went our separate ways, until Hera, until that day I went to your tent and found the second beacon. That’s when everything clicked into place.”

“All of this,” Mal said, piecing things together, “kidnapping me, trying me, hanging me — this isn’t about me betraying the Independent cause. It never was. You know I didn’t. That stuff about the beacons, that was just for the Browncoats. A smokescreen. This is all about revenge, isn’t it?”

Toby seemed as though he was going to deny it, then shook his head ruefully. “Yeah. Not that I don’t believe in what me and these other Browncoats have been doing. Rounding up true traitors and bringing them to justice. It’s been a necessary evil. But you and me, Mal, this one’s personal. I’ve been waitin’ for this a long time. Only now did the stars align and everything come together.”

“You got the rest of them to go along with it, even though you know the case against me was as flimsy as rice paper.”

“Wasn’t difficult. They’re disgruntled, easily led. They’ve been at this so long, they’ve begun to lose sight of why. They just love the blaming and the accusing and the executing. Makes them feel good about themselves, and you’ve seen them. Do those look to you like people who’ve many reasons to feel good about themselves? Some of ’em needed more talking round than others, but we got there in the end. We paid Hunter Covington just about every piece of platinum we could scrape together in order to get a lead on you. Seemed a fair price. I even plundered my own savings, such as they were. Don’t have a single coin left to my name.”

“Yeah, but wasn’t what you were doing dangerous to you? Mightn’t it have backfired if the others had realized this thing was just a whole dog-and-pony show?”

“If so, what do I care?” Toby said with a hapless shrug. “My time’s running out anyway.”

Mal’s eyesight was adjusting to the gloom. Toby’s face looked pallid and haggard, a wreck of its old self.

“You ain’t well, are you?” Mal said. “You’re seriously sick. What is it? Damplung? Wilson’s palsy?”

“Cancer. The terminal kind. All over. The whole meal, soup to nuts.”

“Toby…”

“Got it ’cause of my spacesuit’s shielding failing at Sturges, most likely. Docs reckon I must’ve received a dose of cosmic radiation, not enough to fry me on the spot but enough to send a few internal organs gradually haywire. The war’s finally catching up with me, after all these years. I’m a dead man walking, but at least I finally got to see you paying the penalty for what you did to me.”

“Toby, maybe there’s a cure,” Mal said. “I have a doctor on board my ship, a really good one. He can try and fix you.”

“He can’t, Mal. Nobody can. You know what, though? I thought I’d be happier to see you on the end of the rope, I really did. But somehow it just made me sad.” Toby’s voice was thick, husky. He sounded close to crying. “Sad that it’s come to this, and sad for all that we lost. Not just Jamie and Jinny. Not the millions of men and women the war killed. The… innocence. The fun we used to have on Shadow. Foolin’ around. Getting chased by Bundy. They were good times, weren’t they, Mal?”

“The best, Toby. The best.”

Now Toby really was crying, deep sobs wracking his body. “Oh God, Mal. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should never…”

Toby’s gun had begun to droop in his grasp. Mal cast a quick, sidelong glance towards his own gun. If he could just keep this conversation going a few seconds longer, keep Toby distracted and off-beam, he might be able to make a bid for the Liberty Hammer.

He tensed, ready to bat Toby’s gun aside and lunge for his own weapon. “It’s okay, Toby. We’re good. Come on, help me up and let’s go see if we can’t—”

A shot rang out.

Toby’s body jolted. He fell against the tunnel wall, then slid down to the floor.

Mal, ears ringing from the detonation, turned to see Jayne standing some twenty feet away. Vera was in his hands, smoke coiling up from her muzzle.

“Got him,” Jayne said with cold satisfaction. “You okay, Mal?”

Mal looked back at Toby Finn, now just an inert heap, chin on sternum, blood on his breastbone glistening in the faint light. In a way he was glad Jayne had shot Toby. Even after everything, he mightn’t have been able to do it himself.

In fact, he reckoned Jayne had done Toby a favor. Toby had been dying anyway. Jayne had only hastened what was inevitable, ending his life quickly, unexpectedly, rather than leaving him to be eaten away, an inch at a time, by the slow horror of cancer.

“Come on,” Jayne said. “We gotta go. Don’t know how much longer Zoë’s going to be able to keep the vigilantes at bay with that detonator-switch con. They’re gettin’ all kinds of antsy.”

“Con?”

Jayne brought Mal up to speed on the plan involving the crate and the detonator.

“Not bad,” Mal said. “Kind of sneakiness I might have come up with.”

Wearily he got to his feet and retrieved his gun. He couldn’t remember when he had ever felt quite so tired, or so old. Jayne turned back down the tunnel, and Mal staggered after.