But none of that was why he made his entries as close to perfect as humanly possible: he did it because it was what he loved doing. The challenges to a pilot in the black were rare, and usually involved some form of terror. But the first touch of atmo on a new planet, setting up the slide, the deceleration, balancing skin heat with fuel cost, inert-damp with gravity—feeling part of the boat in a way even Kaylee, bless her heart, could never know—those were the moments of living. That was the best.
He was aware of the first hint of rudder to port, and nose up, and then the thrust control was under his right hand; and after that for a while he could no longer follow the details, because he was no longer using controls—it wasn’t cause and effect, it was just one long effect as distinctions blurred. Pilot to control, control to boat, boat to atmo, atmo to gravity, gravity to pilot: they were all the same thing as Serenity sang the song only Wash could hear. After an interminable twenty seconds that was over so quickly it may never have existed, the decisions were made, the hard part past, and everything was, alas, easy again. It was morning on this part of Hera.
From the co-pilot’s chair, Mal said, “How’s the entry?”
“It’s an entry. They’re all the same.”
“How long are we looking at?”
“Twenty minutes, give or take. Unless I accidentally flip us over and lose control and send us smashing into the ground to a fiery demise. That would be quicker.”
“Okay. Well, don’t do that.”
“All right.”
Wash smiled as Serenity slid fully into atmo.
He saw his pilot smiling at his own joke, was tempted to make a remark, but just looked away instead. What’s wrong with me?
In his mind, he played back the last several days of the trip. He’d been short with Kaylee, patient with Jayne, all but ignored Zoë, and, just now, he had asked his pilot a meaningless question, just to break the silence—a silence that he normally didn’t mind; a silence he normally liked.
It had to be the job. That was the only explanation. There had to be something about the job that was bothering him.
He reviewed all the pieces, starting with the initial contact with the client (seemed all right; a public posting, nothing to make it appear aimed at his crew), the contact with the client’s rep (over a vid; should he have insisted on meeting in person?), the plan for the dropoff (good flat area; easy to spot a potential ambush), and the guarantee for the payment (Flush said he’d known the client, Sakarya, for years; he’d never heard of him twisting on a deal).
So, what was his gorram problem?
If he was getting to the point where he was smelling trouble just because everything was going right, he’d have to give it up and hao xianshi de gongzuo ba.
When he felt the slight, brief weight fluctuation and heard the de-press cycle kick in, he got up, left the bridge, and made his way to the cargo bay. He threaded his way past the stacks of lumber.
Predictably, Jayne was there ahead of him. “Are they going to have people to do the unloading? I’m not that keen on carrying—”
“They’ll have people,” he said.
The big man glanced him. “You all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You been acting funny.”
Mal shrugged. “Nope. Everything’s shiny,” he said. “Not a care in the world.”
His weight increased a little as Serenity made her way toward the ground.
She pouted and loosened the starboard eq valve half a degree. She swapped the wrench for the I-tester, applied it, and looked. Then she turned to Zoë, who was leaning against a bulkhead next to the hammock.
“That might do it.”
“Do what?”
“You didn’t feel that lurch when the a-grav cycled?”
“I didn’t notice.”
Kaylee frowned. “Well, okay. Hey, Zoë?”
“Mmmm?”
“Has the Cap’n been acting funny?”
“You mean, more than he has since Inara left?”
“Oh.”
“Hmmm?”
“That’s what it is. Inara left.”
“Honey,” said Zoë, “I love you, but sometimes you’re a bit slow.”
“Well why didn’t he…” her voice trailed off.
“You know the Captain.” said Zoë.
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, neither do I, for that matter.”
Kaylee put the I-tester back in its case and the case into the cabinet. “We’re almost down. Should we go explore?”
“I’ve been here before,” said Zoë.
Zoë got up and made her way toward the cargo bay. Kaylee followed, just for the company. “I love new worlds,” she said. “They’re so full of possib—”
“So you’ve said.”
Kaylee looked at her sharply.
“I’m sorry,” said Zoë.
“Is this the first time you’ve been back to Hera, since then?”
“The second.”
They didn’t talk any more as they made their way down the passageway, until they reached the stair to the cargo bay, when Zoë said, “It must be hard on you, staying cheerful all the time in a boat full of us morose types.”
“Not a bit,” said Kaylee. “It just comes natural. Ain’t nothing ever gets me down.”
Mal and Jayne were already there, and the cargo door was just opening.
He had learned that there were times not to argue with his sister, so when she said, “There are ghosts here, Simon,” he just said, “We’ll be staying on Serenity.”
“They’re already here.”
“Ghosts can’t hurt us, River.”
“They’re hurting Zoë.”
“Zoë can take care of herself.”
“Sometimes they ask questions I can’t answer. Sometimes they ask questions I don’t want to answer. They want to know if they were right, Simon. How can I know if they were right?”
Simon wrapped his arms around his sister.
“They’re going out now,” she said. “And they’re going to leave footprints where they walk. Tell them he isn’t who they think he used to be.”
“Who isn’t, River?”
“The ghost. The one who’s still alive.”
Simon, from long experience, didn’t try to work out how a ghost could be alive; there were too many things his sister said that didn’t make sense. The trouble was, there were far, far too many things that did.
“You know what I think?” said River.
“What do you think?”
“I think you should kiss Kaylee.”
He stared at her. “Why should… why… what are you talking about?”
“Well? Haven’t you thought about it?”
“Of course not.”
River frowned, thinking deeply for a moment. “Well,” she said, “I’m not going to do it for you.”
Hera crunched beneath his boots.
Jayne’s boots were much like what the mudders of Canton wore: coming to mid-calf, held on by three buckled straps; but they also had steel toes for protection from anything dropped on them and for additional emphasis in any argument that involved kicking.
“Mal, we going to have any time here?”
“Time for what, Jayne?”
“For getting a drink, and maybe getting sexed. It’s been so long—”
“Depends how smooth things go. If everything is right, we can take a day or so.”