14. Something Other Than Killin' You To Think About

Balch walked back down the path from the landing pad to his office, with Toupin trailing behind him. At his desk, he did something he’d never done before: he went into his prisoner records and looked up Prisoner 8366B27.

The Professor’s face appeared on the screen. Hoban Washburne. Pilot. A few minor run ins with the law, but no actual criminal record. A few flags; wanted for questioning in some unresolved bits of mayhem. Married; the photo provided was of the wicked woman who had held Balch at the end of her gun. Her name, Balch noted uncomfortably, was Zoe. He had expected something a little . . . scarier. Killer-woman. Angry-Tiger. Dangerous Lady With The Big Scary Gun. But no; the caption just said “Zoe Alleyne Washburne.”

Well. So there was the face, the name, the brief history of the man who was going to cost him his job, and possibly more, once the Alliance found out Balch didn’t have a body to show them anymore. Balch dug a Fruity Oaty Bar out of his desk drawer and peeled its wrapper off.

At the corner of the record was a blinking alert, and Balch opened it with a touch. Zoe’s face, along with the faces of the rest of the people who’d walked off that ship and snatched the Professor, filled his screen – wanted fugitives. Balch read the posters – armed and dangerous, they said. Well, surely enough! Balch allowed.

There in the first position, top left, was the man they’d called Captain. “Malcolm Reynolds,” Balch said.

Toupin, lounging against the wall next to the door, said “Who?”

“That Browncoat fellah who just run off with the Professor,” Balch said. “His name is Malcolm Reynolds.”

“What about it?” Toupin asked.

Balch took a bite of his Oaty Bar. “Well, since Malcolm Reynolds has made my life difficult by taking the Professor off with him, I say it’s only fair that he should make it right for us, don’t you think?”

“Sure, boss.”

Balch keyed in the broadwave code for Polyphemus