Firefly--Carnival Page 5

  “Interesting planet,” remarked Book.

  “Jayne would say so,” said Mal.

  “You know, if we’d come fifty years ago, there’d be nothing here but desert. A few wooden shacks. You know the kind of place.”

  Mal knew the kind of place intimately. “I surely do.”

  “Now look at it,” went on Book. He rested his hand against the glass and they both stared out along the Platinum Mile. “Babylon the Great.”

  Mal did not always appreciate how the Shepherd’s mind turned inevitably Biblewards, but he had to admit that the comparison was apt. The Mile was a long boulevard that sliced through the heart of Neapolis, two long strips of grand and gaudy buildings: casinos, hotels, clubs, venues for all manner of entertainments, fine and not so fine. These buildings glittered in the morning sun; come the evening, the view from this spot would be of sparkling lights, the glitzy fronts and facades of the big casinos. On the main night of Carnival there was the parade, and on the last night, in Grand Green Park, at the far end of the Mile, there was a huge fireworks display. Yes, thought Mal, if you stood here in this office long enough, you might make the mistake of thinking you were king of the ’verse.

  “Come out of her, my people,” the Shepherd intoned, softly, “so that you will not share in her sins, so that you will not receive any of her plagues; for her sins are piled up to heaven, and God has remembered her crimes. Revelation 18,” he finished, in a cheerful voice. “One of my favorite verses.”

  “You’re a brave man, preacher,” said Zoë, “quoting from the Good Book in present company.”

  Book smiled. “An apt quotation, though, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Babylon fell in an hour, if I recall rightly,” said Mal. “I don’t see Neapolis and her people fallin’ anywhere but upwards.”

  “God’s plans,” said Book, “are not always clear to us.”

  “As long as he got nothin’ planned for me today other than smooth sailin’ toward a profit, God and I’ll rub along just fine.”

  Mal turned away, signaling in the firmest way possible that this particular line of conversation was now at an end. The door opened, and their employer, Jacob Roberts, entered. Behind him came another man in a sheriff’s uniform. Mal stiffened; so did Zoë.

  Gorram sheriffs! Is there a warrant out on me that I knew nothing about? Hard to keep track of the things, sometimes.

  “Captain Reynolds, yes?” said Roberts. He strode across the room as if he owned the place—which, Mal thought, was fair enough, on account of the fact that he did own the place—and came to a halt next to Zoë. He was a big man, had an inch or two at least on Mal, maybe even on Jayne, and he was broad too—not carryin’ weight so much as bulk. Mal would hesitate before throwin’ a punch on him—not that he thought it would come to that. Mal had his eye on the sheriff, who stayed over by the door, and did not proceed toward arrestin’ any person present.

  “Admiring the view?” said Roberts. “I do it all the time. When my grandfather came to Bethel as a boy, he had nothing. And he built this,” he waved his hand to encompass the Mile, “all this, out of nothing.”

  Well, thought Mal, sharing a look with the Shepherd, there would have been more to the whole business than that. Some shady dealing, certainly a great deal of violence, and no doubt a fair amount of other people’s labor, slave or otherwise. Mighty towers didn’t raise up in the desert all by themselves. Roberts turned his back to his inheritance and took his place in the big leather chair. “Take a seat. All of you.”

  The four of them did as instructed and Mal, sinking back into his seat, could see now how carefully the desk and chair had been positioned. Roberts was lined up so that the big boulevard, the whole empire, was stretching behind him. Looked fine, but Mal had something else preying on his mind.

  “Forgive me for statin’ the obvious,” he said, “but there’s a sheriff in this room and—hard-workin’ and law-abidin’ though I am—I’d still like to ask whether or not this is a prelude to some kind of unpleasant officialdom.”

  “Sheriff Zhao,” said Roberts, by way of introduction, and Mal, twisting his neck to try to take a good look, saw the sheriff touch the brim of his hat by way of greeting. “He wanted to meet you.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Mal.

  “Huh,” said Zhao.

  “Any particular reason you wanted to meet us?” Mal tried.

  “I wanted a good look at you,” said Zhao. “I don’t have the people to cover this job, not during Carnival, so I suppose you’ll have to do.”

  “Thank you for those kind words, Sheriff.”

  “I know your type, Reynolds,” Zhao said, with a sigh. “And if there’s even the slightest spot of trouble, I’ll lock you up, and I’ll take your ship. I’ve neither the time nor the inclination for anything out of the ordinary this weekend.”

  “Then you can sleep easy tonight knowing we are of the same mind, Sheriff,” said Mal, words as smooth as he could make them. “I’ve neither the time nor the inclination neither. Straightforward job, straight in and straight out. Might take a day or two after to enjoy what the world has to offer, but then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Happy now, Marcus?” said Roberts.

  “Guess I’ll have to be,” said Zhao. He nodded at Zoë and the Shepherd. “Miss,” he said. “Preacher.” He eyed Jayne, snorted, and then went on his way, closing the door behind him.

  Roberts, leaning back in his mighty fine big leather chair behind his mighty fine desk, looked at Mal and his crew like they were something he might not be pleased to find stuck on the heel of his boot. “I heard that you were a maverick, but is there any particular reason you’ve brought a Shepherd along with you?”

  “Always nice to have someone who can put in a word with the Almighty,” said Mal.

  “In the unlikely event I want a sermon, I’ll know who to ask,” said Roberts. “Let’s talk business.”

  Roberts pressed his hand against the console and the surface of the desk came suddenly to life: a map of the city of Neapolis. Mal leaned forward. Easy to spot the Platinum Mile, and the red dot to one corner marked their current location, seemingly.

  “In about two hours, the upcountry train from Nashton will arrive at Great Northern station,” said Roberts. “Comes in at that time twice weekly. And today, a very special shipment arrives. Ten crates’ worth.”

  “That’ll be the erbonium,” said Jayne, as if for all the world he knew what the hell he was talking about.

  “A man who knows his minerals,” said Roberts.

  “Lasers,” said Jayne. “I like ’em.”

  “Usually, this shipment comes through the week before Carnival,” said Roberts. “There have been some delays this year, for reasons with which you need not concern yourselves. Your concern is no more and no less than seeing that these ten crates are brought safely from the train depot to the space port and put on board the Millicent, which due to take them off world later today.”

  “Millicent, huh?” said Jayne, and snickered. “Sounds girly.”

  “Shut up, Jayne,” said Mal. “You were sayin’, Mr. Roberts?”

  “Yes, you’re to escort the shipment safely from here,” as he sketched the route, a red line lit the way on the map, “to here.”

  So, all they had to do was move these crates round the north-west edge of the city. “All the clearances?” Mal checked.

  “Automated. At the depot, you shouldn’t have to speak to another living soul. There’ll be folks at Roby Docks to help you load and move the shipment to the Millicent.”

  “Huh,” said Mal. “That’ll take—”

  “About two hours, yes,” said Roberts.

  “For which you’re payin’ us—”

  “Two hundred platinum, yes.”

  There was a pause while everyone did the sums. What they’d earned haulin’ those energy bars to Patience, Mal thought. A job which had come with all manner of trouble, not to mention many unkind words about his character
.

  “Two hundred?” said Jayne, incredulously. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch,” said Roberts. “It’s a straightforward job and it’s easy money.”

  “Ain’t no such thing,” said Jayne—fairly, Mal had to admit.

  “All I want is for this to be done quickly and quietly,” said Roberts. “I want no trouble—not at all, certainly none from you and your people. If trouble comes your way, I want you to do what’s necessary. Zhao won’t press charges if there’s any shooting.”

  “Shiny,” muttered Jayne.

  “Any unnecessary shooting,” clarified Roberts. “And I want no shooting at all, if that can be helped. I want this shipment off of Bethel before the party starts tonight. Now, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you—”

  Whatever it was, thought Mal, looked like he was about to tell ’em anyway…

  “—that I’m a powerful man on Bethel. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be holding you people fully accountable.”

  The Shepherd inserted himself back into the conversation. “No reason to think anything should go wrong,” said Book. “Unless there’s something we don’t know.”

  “Nothing to know you don’t know already,” said Roberts.

  Book, with a frown, said, “That’s not quite the same thing—”

  “Leave it, Shepherd,” cut in Mal. “Man’s said all he wants to say, and I don’t see us needin’ to know more about his business. Job’s clear to me—clear to you too, I’d say.”

  “Good,” said Roberts. “Then we’re done here, and you can be on your way. The train arrives at Great Northern in a couple of hours and you’re not being paid to sit around here. There are two trucks downstairs for your use throughout the job. Get yourself and your people and your preacher over to the depot, Captain, and see this business done. I want this off my mind before Carnival starts.”

  Roberts stood up. Mal, standing across from him at the desk, and for the hell of it, offered his hand. Roberts, caught unawares, shook it.

  “Always shake on a deal,” said Mal. “The gentlemanly thing to do, and we’re all gentlemen here, aren’t we?”

  “I know I am, sir,” said Zoë.

  They left the office. “Didn’t like him,” said Jayne, after a while.

  “I’m sure he’ll be heartbroken,” said Mal. “He only had good things to say about you.”

  “Did he?” Jayne looked baffled. “When?”

  “You didn’t like him either, do you, Shepherd?” said Zoë.

  “Oh, I had no particular strong feelings either way,” said Book. “One thing caught my eye though.”

  “What was that?” asked Mal, since the Shepherd’s opinion was always worth knowing.

  “Did you notice,” said Book, “that most of the leather in there was fake?”

  * * *

  Mal, having looked closely at the map of the city, now knew there were in fact two train stations in Neapolis. The passenger trains came into the station on the west side, a rather gaudy edifice that gave the tourists the kind of shiny entry to the city that they were expecting. Meanwhile, the huge cross-continental goods trains rattled into the north side station, and, here, mid-morning, Mal and his people found themselves, watching the vast machine slow down and slot into place at the station. There was something about machinery working well that was deeply satisfying, Mal thought. These big trains, spaceships, they all promised something. A way out. A better future.

  “Eight days this has taken to come down from Nashton,” Book said, a note of admiration in his voice too.

  “Good news for us,” said Zoë. “Anyone with a mite of sense intending to steal from it would surely try their luck out in the wild.”

  “So you’d think,” said Mal. “Which is why I’m hoping all we need to do today is stand around lookin’ pretty and gettin’ paid for the privilege.”

  Jayne spat on the floor.

  “Pretty isn’t necessarily our strong point,” said Book. “But all signs otherwise are positive that this should all go smoothly.”

  Mal himself wasn’t ready to say the job was done until the job was done, and he could see a few weak links along the way. Here at the train depot was one, with the cargo coming out into the open from the secured carriage in which it had been travelling. The unloading procedure was well routinized, which was a blessing and a curse. A blessing, since there should be few surprises; a curse, since anyone intending to rob the cargo would know the procedure. Each carriage on the train had its own distinct section for unloading separated from the others with force barriers. All Mal and his people needed to do was keep watch over their immediate section. They’d see and hear anyone coming long before they could do any mischief.

  When the train came to a full stop, Mal keyed in the security codes to unseal the big automatic doors on the side of the carriage. There were ten crates under their supervision, each one on its own hover-pallet which inched out to be loaded onto the two trucks they were using. When the crates were on board, Mal and Jayne took one truck, Zoë and Book the other. The trucks too were automated, driverless, the route to Roby docks already programmed in. There were upsides to this: no drivers meant fewer people around to watch for potential threats; all hands were on weapons rather than driving; and the remote monitoring meant that if the trucks were taken, they could be easily followed. But there were also downsides.

  “Don’t trust these things,” muttered Jayne. “You can hijack ’em at range. Muck about with the computer controllin’ ’em.”

  “Don’t look for trouble where there is none,” said Mal. “We can take manual control if we need to.”

  “This thing moves an inch off course and I start shootin’,” said Jayne.

  “No shootin’,” said Mal. “Not today. Today everythin’ is going to be smooth and sweatless.”

  And so far that seemed to be the case. Everything was moving forward on schedule. Mal gave the security codes to allow both two trucks to leave the depot and move out onto the road. Their route out to the space port was empty: Roberts had naturally ensured them access to the fast-track lanes. Most people were slogging into Neapolis on the main route. Mal checked in with Zoë and Book. Everything was fine there, and everything remained fine as they curved south and west around the perimeter of the city and headed down toward the docks. Mal even got a chance to look left and admire the shining towers of the Platinum Mile.

  “That’s where I’m headin’ later,” said Jayne. “Once we’re paid. Gonna have me the night of my life. Gonna find me a pretty girl and—”

  “Bi zui, Jayne!” cried Mal. “I don’t need to know the details!”

  Jayne sat and sulked. Mal, with nothing else happening right now, thought about what he might do later. Go to a bar. Have a drink. Thing was, places like this, all bright lights and partying, they didn’t much tickle his fancy. Open countryside, that was more his kind of thing. Maybe he’d hire himself a horse, take a ride out on the prairie… No, he thought, the black was best. He’d be glad when they left Bethel and all its glitz and pretense, and were safely back home, where they should be, on Serenity. The road swept by. How long now till payday? How long till they were back in flight?

  The trucks moved smoothly toward the docks. On the north side, they came to an automatic checkpoint, where their Roberts-granted credentials allowed them access to a section of the docks kept separate for ships requiring extra security. The barriers came up, and the two trucks went through into a bleak, empty area with none of the crush and color of the main part of the docks, where Serenity was parked. That could be seen about half-a-mile distant, low grubby buildings behind a high wire fence. Here, there was only a handful of ships, each one a good safe distance apart. Nobody to be seen, just the occasional loading van moving about.

  Asphalt roads cut across a field of flattened brown earth. The trucks rolled along one of these, drawing up alongside the Millicent. A solid little freighter, thought Mal, with none of Serenity’s charm. Still, if she got the job done, that was eno
ugh.

  Mal and Jayne got out of their truck; Zoë and Book emerged from theirs, a little way behind. Mal gave authorization for the trucks to open up, and the cargo began to emerge on the hover-pallets. As the crates came out, Jayne nudged Mal’s arm.

  “You expectin’ company?”

  Mal, looking up, saw a loading van heading their way, scuffing up clouds of dust as it came. His hand went instinctively to his pistol; Jayne’s did the same, and Mal would bet the platinum they were making from this job that Zoë and Book were on similar alert. The van pulled up about ten yards away. Dust billowed toward them. Mal shielded his eyes with his free hand, and saw two figures come out, wearing blue overalls. Dockers, presumably.

  “There a problem?” Mal called out.

  “Loading mechanism on the Millicent is on the fritz,” one called back. “We brought the van here to help get those crates on board.”

  “Kindly meant, I’m sure,” said Mal, “but I’ll need to see some authorization for that.”

  “We got authorization,” said the docker, reaching toward a pocket. Mal’s grip tightened on his pistol.

  “Mal,” muttered Jayne. “Why’re those dockers wearing masks?”

  “Huh?” The dust was settling, and Mal peered ahead. Jayne weren’t wrong…

  “Hey,” yelled Jayne. “Take off those gorram masks!”

  For a moment, nobody moved. Then one of the dockers made a move to reach for something—a weapon? Jayne’s pistol was out. From behind, Book’s voice rose up, giving a fierce command. “Don’t shoot!” Jayne, distracted, looked back over his shoulder, and, in that moment’s hesitation, Mal saw what the docker was doing.

  “Gas!” yelled Mal. “They’ve got a gorram gas grenade!”

  The air began to fill with a thick, foul brown haze. Mal, memories flashing back to unhappier times under Alliance fire, covered his mouth and nose with his free hand. He couldn’t see a damn thing, only hear and try to guess what was going on. He dived forward to where the docker had been standing and grabbed out, getting them by the jacket. Pulled them round. Caught a glimpse of dark angry eyes, and then felt a knee where a knee had no business going, and went down. The air was thick and tried not to gasp from the pain. He heard the whine of hover-pallets, running feet vehicles starting up, and Book, from a little way behind, shout, “Zoë! Back to the truck!” Shots—from Jayne’s gun—were being fired at random. “Jayne!” he yelled. “Stop that! You might hit one of us!”