Wish I Was Somebody Else, Ch. 24
I ended up splitting 25 into two chapters; the first one is now drafted, so here is chapter 24 for your reading pleasure. 1100 words. Zoe gets medieval.
24. The Highlight of This Little Adventure
You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?
Zoe had never lacked for cause against the Alliance. All her life, they had murdered and destroyed everyone and everything that was dear to her - her family, her home, her comrades-in-arms, her friends - in the name of imposing their vision of civilization on every living being in the ‘verse.
The police post grew larger in the shuttle’s front window, coming up fast. The hails from the station became increasingly frantic. No one in the shuttle spoke.
No, I -
She’d been shot plenty of times. Knifed, more than a few. Patched up, put back together, made almost as good as new; all the wounds in her body just a temporary thing - a lingering stiffness, a persistent ache, but those faded, over time.
Kaylee had rigged an explosive charge on the end of a strut, and bolted it to the nose of the shuttle. It put about two meters of clearance between them and the blast. Which was better than nothing.
Yes, you.
All Zoe’s life, it seemed sometimes, had been a matter of contenting herself with the fact that what she had was better than nothing.
Everyone in the shuttle moved to the back. They were about to hit.
I don’t like having this between us.
She and Wash had built something, out of nothing, out here in the black. Something worth having; something that really was better than nothing. It must have just galled the Alliance, just stuck in their craw, that somebody would dare to have something they hadn’t put their stamp of approval on; somebody would dare to be happy in a way not approved by parliament.
They had braced for impact; their weapons carefully stowed so that no one was injured as they were thrown together. Kaylee’s explosive blasted a hole in the station’s hull, and the shuttle rammed through and plugged it. Still, they had to move quickly. Mal activated the bomb Kaylee had built. It would destroy the shuttle and a chunk of the police post when its fifteen minute timer expired. Jayne threw open the shuttle’s hatch, and they spilled out into the station. River, then Jayne, then Zoe, then Mal slipped through the blast doors that sealed off this section of the station. Zoe closed them, and smashed the panel. They were sealed in now. No going back.
Neither do I.
Mal had built something, too, out here in the black, aboard Serenity. He’d built a life for himself, for her and Wash, for Kaylee, for Simon and River, even for Jayne that was safer, and happier, and better than they might have otherwise had.
Beyond the blast doors, they split up. Jayne and River went to secure the patrol cruiser, which would be their escape.
Mal and Zoe went hunting.
I need to know . . . that you know . . .
Wash had known, of course. It was something about him that not everyone saw: that knowing. The face he showed to anyone was the class clown, wry and wise-cracking, just like the face that Zoe showed to anyone was stoic, strong, unshakeable. But with Zoe, Wash could be serious, earnest, even angry; with Wash, Zoe could be feminine, vulnerable, even weak.
A woman and two men were ahead of them, with guns, but there was fear on their faces.
They wore Alliance uniforms.
Their shots were wild, unaimed, panicked.
Zoe’s long knife was soaked in blood.
So, see, if you’d known --
She felt the bullet tear through her skin. But it was only a flesh wound, she could tell that just from the feel of it.
The man with the gun didn’t get a second shot.
I would have shot him.
She had never fully appreciated how much easier the straight-up threats were. If Damien Van Soren had come to her as himself, armed, she would have killed him and that would have been the end of it. If he had come even with stealth, even a sneak attack, he might have gotten the first hit, but that would have been all. Instead, he had come in the guise of what she loved, and taken an unrestorable part of her soul.
No patch for that.
The blast doors were between them and the command center. But blast doors were proof against explosions, not against humans who could operate the controls. The woman at the broadwave had forgotten that. She turned as they entered. Screamed. Pulled her sidearm.
Sobbing, she turned her weapon on herself.
Too bad. The blood on the knife was drying.
Did I come in the guise of the thing you feared?
Such injustice.
This isn’t between you and me anymore. This is between us and them.
Miranda had been the ultimate embodiment of the Alliance’s philosophy; their attempt to create a perfect world, a world without sin.
Instead, they had created monsters.
Zoe was one.
I’ll be okay.
You better be.
**
Coles was still standing on the bridge of the decoy ship when his handheld communicator vibrated. He plucked it from his belt. “Coles here.”
“Commander, we’ve received an urgent distress call,” said Polyphemus’ captain.
Reynolds. “What sort of distress call?”
“It’s from the lawforce post in this sector. Lt. Yazvac reports they’re under attack by reavers, sir, and that their hull is breached.”
Reavers!
Two weeks ago, Coles would have scoffed. Children’s tales and poppycock. Bogeymen and gremlins.
The Miranda broadwave had changed that, for everyone.
Coles couldn’t leave an Alliance post to that horror.
Besides, his business here was complete.
He walked back to the cargo bay and exited the firefly, where he reopened the intercom. “Stand off to a safe distance, and destroy this ship before we go,” he said.
“Detaching and standing off,” the captain reported, and Coles heard the whir of the mechanism that retracted the docking collar, and the low huffing of Polyphemus’ thrusters. He watched through the bay windows as the firefly slowly receded to firing distance. One of her shuttles floated free as she did. Washburne? But the shuttle was not powered up, and Coles really did not care if the man escaped. After all, if he decided to pursue Reynolds, he’d find Washburne at the same time. And if he decided not to . . . well, it didn’t matter in that case, either.
Polyphemus fired on the firefly, which disintegrated into chunks of debris.
**
Zoe stepped over the woman’s body, and looked down at the broadwave screen. The face on the screen was an Alliance captain. Zoe had the satisfaction of seeing him blanch just before she cut the comm.
“Zoe,” Mal said. “Time’s up.”
Zoe turned, and followed Mal.
24. The Highlight of This Little Adventure
You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?
Zoe had never lacked for cause against the Alliance. All her life, they had murdered and destroyed everyone and everything that was dear to her - her family, her home, her comrades-in-arms, her friends - in the name of imposing their vision of civilization on every living being in the ‘verse.
The police post grew larger in the shuttle’s front window, coming up fast. The hails from the station became increasingly frantic. No one in the shuttle spoke.
No, I -
She’d been shot plenty of times. Knifed, more than a few. Patched up, put back together, made almost as good as new; all the wounds in her body just a temporary thing - a lingering stiffness, a persistent ache, but those faded, over time.
Kaylee had rigged an explosive charge on the end of a strut, and bolted it to the nose of the shuttle. It put about two meters of clearance between them and the blast. Which was better than nothing.
Yes, you.
All Zoe’s life, it seemed sometimes, had been a matter of contenting herself with the fact that what she had was better than nothing.
Everyone in the shuttle moved to the back. They were about to hit.
I don’t like having this between us.
She and Wash had built something, out of nothing, out here in the black. Something worth having; something that really was better than nothing. It must have just galled the Alliance, just stuck in their craw, that somebody would dare to have something they hadn’t put their stamp of approval on; somebody would dare to be happy in a way not approved by parliament.
They had braced for impact; their weapons carefully stowed so that no one was injured as they were thrown together. Kaylee’s explosive blasted a hole in the station’s hull, and the shuttle rammed through and plugged it. Still, they had to move quickly. Mal activated the bomb Kaylee had built. It would destroy the shuttle and a chunk of the police post when its fifteen minute timer expired. Jayne threw open the shuttle’s hatch, and they spilled out into the station. River, then Jayne, then Zoe, then Mal slipped through the blast doors that sealed off this section of the station. Zoe closed them, and smashed the panel. They were sealed in now. No going back.
Neither do I.
Mal had built something, too, out here in the black, aboard Serenity. He’d built a life for himself, for her and Wash, for Kaylee, for Simon and River, even for Jayne that was safer, and happier, and better than they might have otherwise had.
Beyond the blast doors, they split up. Jayne and River went to secure the patrol cruiser, which would be their escape.
Mal and Zoe went hunting.
I need to know . . . that you know . . .
Wash had known, of course. It was something about him that not everyone saw: that knowing. The face he showed to anyone was the class clown, wry and wise-cracking, just like the face that Zoe showed to anyone was stoic, strong, unshakeable. But with Zoe, Wash could be serious, earnest, even angry; with Wash, Zoe could be feminine, vulnerable, even weak.
A woman and two men were ahead of them, with guns, but there was fear on their faces.
They wore Alliance uniforms.
Their shots were wild, unaimed, panicked.
Zoe’s long knife was soaked in blood.
So, see, if you’d known --
She felt the bullet tear through her skin. But it was only a flesh wound, she could tell that just from the feel of it.
The man with the gun didn’t get a second shot.
I would have shot him.
She had never fully appreciated how much easier the straight-up threats were. If Damien Van Soren had come to her as himself, armed, she would have killed him and that would have been the end of it. If he had come even with stealth, even a sneak attack, he might have gotten the first hit, but that would have been all. Instead, he had come in the guise of what she loved, and taken an unrestorable part of her soul.
No patch for that.
The blast doors were between them and the command center. But blast doors were proof against explosions, not against humans who could operate the controls. The woman at the broadwave had forgotten that. She turned as they entered. Screamed. Pulled her sidearm.
Sobbing, she turned her weapon on herself.
Too bad. The blood on the knife was drying.
Did I come in the guise of the thing you feared?
Such injustice.
This isn’t between you and me anymore. This is between us and them.
Miranda had been the ultimate embodiment of the Alliance’s philosophy; their attempt to create a perfect world, a world without sin.
Instead, they had created monsters.
Zoe was one.
I’ll be okay.
You better be.
**
Coles was still standing on the bridge of the decoy ship when his handheld communicator vibrated. He plucked it from his belt. “Coles here.”
“Commander, we’ve received an urgent distress call,” said Polyphemus’ captain.
Reynolds. “What sort of distress call?”
“It’s from the lawforce post in this sector. Lt. Yazvac reports they’re under attack by reavers, sir, and that their hull is breached.”
Reavers!
Two weeks ago, Coles would have scoffed. Children’s tales and poppycock. Bogeymen and gremlins.
The Miranda broadwave had changed that, for everyone.
Coles couldn’t leave an Alliance post to that horror.
Besides, his business here was complete.
He walked back to the cargo bay and exited the firefly, where he reopened the intercom. “Stand off to a safe distance, and destroy this ship before we go,” he said.
“Detaching and standing off,” the captain reported, and Coles heard the whir of the mechanism that retracted the docking collar, and the low huffing of Polyphemus’ thrusters. He watched through the bay windows as the firefly slowly receded to firing distance. One of her shuttles floated free as she did. Washburne? But the shuttle was not powered up, and Coles really did not care if the man escaped. After all, if he decided to pursue Reynolds, he’d find Washburne at the same time. And if he decided not to . . . well, it didn’t matter in that case, either.
Polyphemus fired on the firefly, which disintegrated into chunks of debris.
**
Zoe stepped over the woman’s body, and looked down at the broadwave screen. The face on the screen was an Alliance captain. Zoe had the satisfaction of seeing him blanch just before she cut the comm.
“Zoe,” Mal said. “Time’s up.”
Zoe turned, and followed Mal.