WYTCHCROFT'S BLOG
the christmas run pt 2
Monday, December 31, 2007 2:01 PM
The swearing from the Serenity crew was not as hushed as it perhaps should have been. A burly figured detached itself from the squad and addressed Mal. “Unregistered firefly class transport.” He made it sound like a fatal illness. “Why didn’t you answer our hales?”
Reynolds moved forward quickly. “Comm trouble sergeant. Can’t respond to anything right now… yeah… been meaning to get that fixed.” Riverrr!!! He yelled mentally – well, he would never learn where that girl was concerned it surely seemed… a smaller voice recalled him saying ‘and we don’t wanna be advertising you any out here, OK – so just, whatever – stay off the Comm’. He ignored that voice.
“And you are?” The Sergeant’s gun hand was noticeably poised.
“I’m Captain Duncan – this is my crew, and my ship the, uh, Idaho.”
The Sergeant pointed a fist at the wall. “That Sigil says Serenity.”
Reynolds in turn looked at the Chinese glyph painted onto the bulkhead.
“Sure does. Cool huh? Pretty deep my crew – Budhist some of em. Take this man fr’instance…” he indicated Jayne’s glowering figure. “Training for a monk – y’belive that? Taken a vow of silence and everything.”
Cobb’s glower turned a deep steam driven red – but the Captain was in full cry. “Not myself y’understand? I just respect people’s beliefs – the Alliance taught me that – we got a Shepherd too somewhere around.”
The Sergeant had lost interest in the Captain - he turned to one of his men. “Relby? You get back to the ship and run a trace on the ‘Idaho’, keep the guns trained ‘case this punch of cow pokes figure on lammin’ outta here.” The man hurried off. At a nod, two more moved off to search the ships interior.
The Alliance Sergeant regarded each of the Serenity crew in turn. “Anyone wanna tell me your business here? You got nuthin better to do than hang around this go-se trailer park?”
Reynolds had braced himself. “Well, uh, Sir – a less tactful man than myself might ask you the same thing… I don’t recall hearing the Alliance had resources to waste on trash.”
The Sergeant rocked back but his reply was cut off – Simon Tam was rushing down the main stairwell. Mal noticed the ease with which he did it. The Boy was nearly a sailor alright – no more slipping and scrabbling about like when he was new to the ship, must be longer ago than it seemed.
Simon noticed the Captain’s look but couldn’t figure the meaning. Instead he addressed the Alliance unit as a whole. “This is a medical mission and I am the Chief medical officer here. Which one of you is in charge?” His voice carried the full weight of his upper class Osirian heritage.
Instinctively the Alliance man stiffened. “I am Sergeant Louis,” he grabbed a palm top from a colleague. “And you would be?”
“I am Doctor Collins – I work at the St Theresa research facility. There’s sickness here, Sergeant. We’re here to help.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really. Now we can waste time – and lives sergeant – standing here arguing – or you can send some of your men with me while I get out to work.”
…………………………………..
Arguing – seemed there’d been a deal of that just lately. And the Doctor was good at that too – credit to him. Yet again this trip had been his idea. Simon had received a wave – or more accurately intercepted one and got into something with the women here. Seemed they needed a Doctor and swift – and payment would be due. Poor trailer place – need for medicine would be pressing most times – and women like Erren and such – checkups meant a lively-hood. An earning.
Still it was a wing and a prayer when you looked at it – and Reynolds had needed persuading, which was… and back to the skills of argument. Not that he hadn’t tried to steer a course around that. He’d been perfectly equitable point of fact…
“And I’m supposed to what? Go all intervention here? Polish up my hero badge? People got a find a way to live in the verse – survival makes criminals of the best of us Doctor.”
Simon, however, was not letting it go so easily. “Why do you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, Capta
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