MAL ADJUSTED

by

Claude Parish

You couldn't tell by looking at her, but Zoe was disturbed. The captain had just offered the job of pilot to one Hoban Washburne. "Wash," he had said. "Call me Wash."

He bothered her. His references checked out big time. Not only was the man an ace pilot with a lot of originality, but he had pulled many a ship out of scrapes that would have left scrapings of lesser men.

If Captain Tanaka was to be believed, the man could fly a square ship through a round hole without so much as a nick on the air inside said hole. She would hate to find out that the reputation was false while running in with the Alliance or the Reavers.

Zoe sat across the dinner table from Wash and the ever smiling Bester, the ship's 'genius mechanic'. The two of them would have to go. She couldn't possibly be expected to let them both live. Mal would understand if Zoe tripped and fell forward, accidentally snapping the pilot's neck on her way to the floor. Big universe. Lots of pilots. But any mechanic who could keep their flying death trap of a Firefly in the sky would be hard to replace.

It was decided. Zoe would kill the pilot as a warning to the mechanic. One dead, one warned. Not a bad deal. Core planet style efficiency. The captain would be proud.

"Is that ketchup?" asked a slightly whiny voice.

"Hello?" it whined again. "The red stuff in the red bottle?" He clapped his hands together and flagged them toward himself.

He actually called attention to himself. Not that the shirt of powder blue, fuscia and some other color Zoe had remembered seeing in a nightmare wasn't already handling the job.

Zoe stared directly at Wash, a little less than murder in her eyes. He bothered her.

"Never mind. I'll just...." he had taken the hint and helped himself. It meant reaching across the table, momentarily losing his balance, dropping his elbow on the table and looking up into the eyes of imminent doom. He smiled at death. That would serve him well. "Maybe I should cut down. Bad for t