My Own Kind of Freedom

by Steven Brust

  Jayne cleared his throat. “I know Zoë carries a backup piece under her arm. If you could maybe—”

  “Jayne, I’m getting to you. In the meantime, your job is to create as large a field of silence around you as you can manage. Is the idea coming through?”

  Jayne scowled loudly.

  “So, what now, sir?”

  “I don’t know. My boat has a hole in it, and we’re stuck on the gorram world I hate the most, where we’ve just busted a fugitive out of jail after saving the life of an Alliance agent, and I’m trying to resist the temptation to put a hole in the fugitive we’ve just rescued.”

  “What did I—”

  “So I’m open to suggestions, Zoë.”

  “I suggest you answer Jayne’s question, sir.”

  “Answer his question?”

  “He was asking what he did.”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” said Mal.

  “Exactly,” said Zoë.

  “Oh. Right.” He turned to Jayne. “What did you do?”

  “Huh? I didn’t do a ruttin’ thing! I got a little drunk and clocked a loudmouth—”

  “No, Jayne. I’m not talking about last night.”

  “Then what are you…oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.”

  “You kicked me off your gorram ship! I wasn’t on your gorram crew!”

  “So you couldn’t wait to find out what you could get for River’s scalp.”

  “So?”

  Oddly, Mal realized he was not suddenly taken with the urge to kill Jayne. He was suddenly taken with the urge to shoot Jayne in both kneecaps, let him lie there for a while, then kill him.

  “All right,” he said, keeping his voice even—which required more effort than he’d used in several near-run skirmishes. “We’ll get into that later. Right now, I want to know what happened.”

  “Huh? You know what happened. I called the feds on that wangu de shagua gen ta shenjingbing de meimei. What else do you need to know?”

  “How did you call them?”

  “Huh? I got hold of a comm unit—”

  “What comm unit? Where?”

  “In that same gorram security hut you just busted me out of.”

  “They have a direct link?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “I thought they were a private security force.”

  “They are, and they’re also the Locals.”

  “That’s right, so they are. All right, what happened?”

  “How ’bout we talk about how I didn’t do nothing wrong, seeing I wasn’t on—”

  Jayne broke off as Mal drew his pistol and leveled it at Jayne’s face from a distance of around three inches. Mal heard the familiar sound of Zoë’s carbine coming from her hip, and knew he was covered.

  “There are a number of things going on right now, Jayne, and I need to learn what they are, and so I need you to answer questions. The only thing I want to do less than talk about anything else is explain to you why I need those answers. So you’re going to tell me what I want to know, or I am going to start putting holes in you, and I’m not too particular about where they are, or how many. Now do we have a meeting of minds on this subject?”

  Jayne glowered. Mal waited.

  “You keep saying what happened, and I keep telling you. So—”

  “So tell me how it played out.”

  “I walked in, said I wanted to get a message to the feds. They set up the link—”

  “Just like that?”

  “I had to do some convincing.”

  “How did you convince them?”

  “I asked them how it would go down with them if they didn’t let me.”

  “All right. Then what?”

  “They gave me the mic. I told the Feds about the crazy girl.”

  “Uh huh. And what did they say?”

  “We negotiated.”

  “They wanted the details?”

  “Yeah. I said I wanted money first.”

  “Did you tell them who she was?”

  Jayne barely hesitated. “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “They said they’d have someone there to meet me and we’d agree on a price.”

  “When?”

  “They said an hour.”

  “Right,” said Mal. Yeah, okay. No way there was a fed station that close. And if they wanted to send someone special, it might be days. So they’d grabbed up the nearest agent, knocked him off whatever assignment he was on, and—

  “And all this time, what were the security officers doing?”

  “Huh?”

  “While you were talking to the feds, where were the officers, or the Locals, who set you up with the connection?”

  “What do you mean? They were just sitting there.”

  “Just sitting there.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Listening.”

  “I suppose they might have been.”

  Mal sighed. “You know, Jayne, you’ve done some stupid things from time to time.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I think this time you pegged the meter.”

  “What the—”

  Zoë spoke for the first time. “Sir, could they have put it together, got word to Sakarya, and set it up that fast?”

  “In an hour? Why not? This isn’t the Alliance, this is just one guy running things himself. And he’s someone who believes in moving fast.”

  “Yes, sir. That he is.”

  Jayne said, “What in the—”

  “Shut up,” said Mal.

  “Now what, sir?”

  “I don’t know. Now we try to not get caught until we can figure a way out of here.”

  “What about him?” she gestured toward Jayne.

  “We could kill him.”

  “Hey!” said Jayne.

  “Yes, sir. Or just shoot him in the leg and let him get caught.”

  “Maybe there’s a reward.”

  “If that’s a joke,” said Jayne, “I ain’t laughing none.”

  “And what if it isn’t a joke? Then you gonna laugh?”

  Jayne stared at him. “You gonna do me, go ahead and do me. Quit yakking.”

  “I gotta figure some. You got any special reason why I ought to let you live, Jayne?”

  “I didn’t mention you or the boat.”

  “When?”

  “When they questioned me. They said they’d drop the charges and let me go if I told them everything.”

  Mal searched the big man’s face. As well as being stupid, Jayne was one of the worst liars he’d ever met. This time, oddly enough, he wasn’t lying.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I just didn’t.”

  Zoë said, “Sir, I’m hearing a buzzboat.”

  Mal glanced up. “Yeah, okay. Let’s find some cover.”

  Zoë said, “Sir, if they have infrared—“

  “Unlikely. Too much bounce from this topsoil during daylight.”

  “But if they do—”

  “Then we’re humped. Let’s go.”

  “What about him?”

  “He comes with us for now.”

  “I don’t think you can take the chance with him, sir.”

  “Sure I can. Let’s try this way.”

  Outside Yuva

  Jayne followed Mal, keenly aware of Zoë and her sawed-off behind him the whole time. He didn’t feel any special resentment for Zoë’s being so determined to kill him; he knew well enough it’s what he would have done. He wasn’t sure why the Captain hadn’t just done it, but he never did quite know what the Captain would or wouldn’t do, or why. He knew the Captain had some sort of code he kept to; but he had never been able to figure out what that code was. It made things gorram confusing. And it was impossible to figure out how to use that code against him.

  So he followed Mal toward cover, and tried to forget about the weapon behind him. If he had the chance, he’d turn on Zoë, take out Mal, and—

  No, in fact, he wouldn�
�t.

  He wasn’t sure why, but he wouldn’t. He’d go along with them, and try to get out of this with them, and if they killed him, that’s just how it came out.

  He wasn’t exactly sure why he made that decision, but neither did he spend much time trying to figure it out.

  They found a tree with a particularly thick covering of branches, and ducked under it.

  Chapter 11

  My Own Kind of Hate

  Outside Yuva

  THE BUZZBOAT was now clearly audible, moving slowly, just a little ways east and about two hundred meters off the ground.

  What was the Captain thinking this time?

  Letting Jayne live was just crazy. And if he believed that story about not having given them away to the Locals, then he was completely off his nut.

  Of course, it might be part of some larger plan; but if it was, she’d appreciate being let in on it.

  Jayne, as part of the crew, was like a barely controlled element, always just a bit more likely to save them than to get them killed. Jayne, not as part of the crew, was just dangerous; any little slip and he’d turn on them both without giving it a second thought.

  What was the Captain thinking?

  He had betrayed members of his crew—twice. He had proved, over and over again, that he cared nothing— nothing —for anyone except himself. He had endangered the Captain, and, by now, Wash, Kaylee, and Serenity herself.

  He was doing no good to anyone still walking; there was no possible reason for allowing it.

  She kept under the cover of the tree, holding her weapon on Jayne, and hoping the buzzboat didn’t have infrared scanners. It was so tempting to just pull the trigger.

  So very tempting.

  She put her trust in the Captain and waited.

  Outside Yuva

  The buzzing vanished off to the east, and he saw Mal breath a sigh of relief; Zoë didn’t seem to react.

  “Safe for a while,” said Mal.

  “You guys are safe,” said Jayne. “What are you—”

  “Haven’t decided yet, Jayne.”

  “Sun sets in a couple of hours,” said Zoë. “They’ll be back with infrared.”

  Mal nodded. “With any luck, by that time we’ll be….”

  “We’ll be what, sir?” asked Zoë when Mal didn’t finish the sentence.

  Mal flipped on his comm link. “Wash, how are we doing?”

  There was an agonizing delay—maybe two seconds—then Wash said, “Still flying, Mal.”

  “Going to be able to come fetch us?”

  Another pause, then, “No. Not soon. Maybe, if Kaylee…take a while.”

  Mal disconnected. “We’re on our own,” he said.

  Jayne thought about asking for a gun again, but decided it would be a waste of breath.

  Helpless. I’m ruttin’ helpless. Locals chasing me to make a ruttin’ miner for life of me, and a gorram carbine at my back, and all I can do is sit here and wait for what happens.

  “Okay,” said Mal, with the sort of finality in his voice that indicates he’d decided on a plan.

  Mal had a plan.

  Now I’m really humped.

  Yuva: Sakarya’s office

  Mister Sakarya’s office was full of open spaces, windows, natural woods, and padded chairs. His desk was wide and wrapped around in a gentle curve to the big window that looked out on a shallow hill leading down to a pond. A few trees flanked the pond, and a family of ducks floated in it. There was one chair facing the desk, and it was, at present, unoccupied; the heavy man in the gray uniform stood, sweating. Sakarya sat, glowering.

  His voice was barely controlled as he said, “How did they do it, Rennes?”

  “It was well-planned, and well-timed, Mister Sakarya. We were transferring the prisoner for transport, had just gotten him loaded, when they were there. They got the drop—”

  “Well-timed,” repeated Sakarya. “You say it was well-timed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who knew when you’d be doing the transfer?”

  “Sir?”

  Sakarya closed his eyes and counted to eight.

  “How many people knew the transfer schedule, and who were they?”

  “There was no transfer schedule, sir. We finished the paperwork, then moved him—”

  “Then how could it have been well-timed, you piece of ga-sa?”

  Rennes wilted, sputtered, and said, “I meant—”

  “You meant they got the drop on you because you weren’t expecting him to be rescued, and so you were all going through the motions without paying attention. Is that correct?”

  Rennes cringed and looked down.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sakarya nodded. “All right. What are we doing about it?”

  “Three buzz-boats, roadblocks, and we’ve put a detail on searching the woods east of town, since that’s…that is to say, we think they’re hiding—”

  “You think?”

  “We found the vehicle they hijacked, and it was empty. Backtracking along the—”

  “You’ve messed this up just about every way you could, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sakarya let out a long, slow breath.

  “All right,” he said at last. “Keep me informed, and try not to screw up any more.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Sakarya nodded and waved him out of the room. When he was gone, Sakarya hit a button on his desk. A voice came back at once: “Yes, Filo?”

  He grimaced. “Miss Wuhan, Officer Rennes is on the way out. Have someone get him, slap him with indentures, and send him to Site Four. I don’t want to see him again.”

  “All right.”

  “And we’ll need someone to take over his post. Promote whoever is his second in command.”

  “All right.”

  Silence fell like a curtain in his office.

  The whole thing had been bungled from the beginning. It wasn’t just the escape: that man, Cobb, should never have been processed anyway. And that ship should never have been permitted off the ground. Cobb should have been questioned, fined, and released. Didn’t those idiots realize that the gorram Alliance was here? And that this Cobb was, one way or another, connected with it? That everything he had could come tumbling down just because these idiots refused to think, refused to change tactics when the situation changed?

  The whole thing would have to be crushed, and fast. Cobb would have to be killed. His rescuers would have to be killed. And, above all, that bloody damned, snooping, sniveling little spy for the feds would have to be found and made to vanish. And once all that was done he was going to have to find a way to lie very, very low for a while; he’d have to change his whole operation, which would cost him, well, a lot.

  He turned and faced his window. He felt like ordering the ducks killed, but he knew he’d regret it later.

  Yuva: Warehouse

  Finally finishing a rutting exercise in rutting futility, he disconnected his rutting comlink, which held all the rutting information he’d gathered in eight rutting months.

  It was a fair question which bothered him more: the eight months wasted on the investigation; the fact that he was within a couple of weeks of having it sewn up when he was required to blow his cover; the stupid reason for blowing his cover; or the fact that if they didn’t show up to retrieve him soon, he’d probably die on this stupid rock.

  It was one thing to know, in the abstract, that field work was risky; it was another thing to know that he was being hunted like an animal and could be snuffed out at any moment. And all because some pissant bureaucrat decided some pissant fugitive was more important than eight months from his life, eight months from the life of his three-man support staff back home, at least a quarter of a million credits, and, above all, the job of seeing to it that this bastard didn’t get away with what he was doing.

  Not even taking into account what a successful prosecution might do to the—probably dozen
s, maybe scores of— bastards doing the same thing on their own little worlds.

  Being hunted didn’t frighten him only because he was too busy being pissed off.

  Whenever he could concentrate on the big picture, he liked what he was doing: he was making a difference, he was making lives better for people who couldn’t stand up for themselves, he was taking down the bad guys. But it was hard to keep his mind on the big picture when every detail ranged from bungling stupidity to outright evil.

  The cure was better than the disease, he told himself.

  But just barely.

  Outside Yuva

  Zoë said, “What’s the plan, sir?”

  “Well, seems the three of us can’t do much against the whole passel they’re throwing at us.”

  “True enough, sir.”

  “Especially as we’re not keen on giving Jayne a firearm.”

  Jayne said, “Can we reconsid—”

  “So I figure we need reinforcements.”

  “Good call, sir. Got a battalion in mind?”

  “Better than that. Major reinforcements.”

  “How many?”

  “One.”

  “Hooray, sir. We’re saved,” said Zoë.

  Jayne stared at him. “You’re going to bring the gorram fed in on this.”

  Mal cocked his head at the big man. “Damn, Jayne. When did you get higher order cerebral function?”

  “I don’t know that math stuff.”

  “Sir, you aren’t really—”

  “Yes.”

  “Do we have any way of reaching him?”

  “Sure. We walk back to Yuva and find him.”

  “Walk back to…I think it’s a bad idea, sir.”

  “Maybe, but we’re doing it. Let’s head to town.”

  “I think you ought to reconsider, sir.”

  “Zoë, I’m not used to having my orders questioned.”

  Zoë looked at him and waited.

  “All right,” he said. “I am used to having my orders questioned. But we’re heading back to town.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jayne said, “Why should I go back there, if you won’t even give me a gorram gun?”