Apocalyptothon Fic--part 10
Now, of course, Mal’s in a fair fix. He can’t go through the library (Simon and Kaylee, reconciled and on their own-there might be kissing), so he’s got to go back they way he came. He looks hesitantly out at the garden-it’s a jungle, ridiculously lush and so overgrown that Mal has a moment’s pause about entering. But Wash had an unseemly fondness for movies where plants came alive and devoured folk foolish enough to get too close, and it’s the idea of Wash taunting him that finally persuades Mal to kick out the remaining glass and hoist himself through one of the conservatory windows. It’s not until he sees a gleam of metal that he realizes…the shuttle. He’s come all this way and nearly forgotten about it.
River had set the shuttle down in the middle of the garden, nesting it into the grass that nearly reaches his waist, not a scratch on her. Mal’s not sure even Wash could have done that. He stands sheltered under her wing for a moment, just admiring the way she gleams in the evening sun, and realizes he can’t even see his feet for the grass and the undergrowth. How long it will take for the whole planet to look like this, now that even the looters are gone? He imagines all the folks abandoning their fine houses here, crowding into the cities. It would be like the relocation camps after the war, only worse, if that panicked woman back on Athena was to be believed (and Mal suspected she hadn’t been lying). He ducks under the shuttle wing. Good that River and Simon hadn’t been here-with their pale skin and dark hair, with those fine-schooled accents, they’d have been targeted immediately, either by folks looking to get back at Alliance supporters, or by those with no particular side who were just out for what they could get. Good…maybe even lucky, though he’s never thought to apply that adjective to the siblings Tam.
He’s running his hand along the sun-warm metal, musing, when he notices a cleared patch in the garden. Because he’s not afraid, he sets out for a closer look (no snakes, he reminds himself, there ain’t no snakes in this grass. And no tentacle plants outside of Revenge of the Deathless Orchid-Wash surely did watch some nonsense in his day).
Someone’s carved a little clearing around a small Japanese maple: the grass clipped, the weeds pulled, a little fence set up to keep the ivy at bay. Considering the state of the house, it might be the only spot around here that’s been tended since the Alliance fell, and Mall’s wondering over the fence-is that a knitting needle over there, next to a chopstick?-when he hears rustling in the grass behind him. He spins around, nearly pitching into the tree when he catches his boot on a vine. The garden is still in the gloaming, and then there’s more rustling. Closer. No snakes…ain’t no snakes-suddenly, River pops up from behind a wildly overgrown topiary.
“Ta ma de, girl,” he yelps. “First we can’t find you nowhere…”
“Gabriel Oliver Tam, Esquire,” River says, staring moonily at her hand as she fingers one of the maple leaves. “Lawmaster of this region, departed this life in the fifty-second year of his age. Also, Regan, his wife, deceased in the forty-ninth year of her age. Beloved parents. Good and faithful servants. Sacred to the memory of.” She blinks at him and holds out a chipped cup. “Want some berries?”
“Uh…”
“Inara’s asleep,” River says as though he’d asked, dropping down onto the grass and tossing a few berries into her mouth. “I think she’ll be better someday soon.”
“You seen Jayne about?” Mal joins her, after checking to make sure that the soil around the maple tree hasn’t been disturbed lately (as, perchance, by someone digging a grave…).
“He’s stealing the silverware,” River says calmly.
“Oh. Are you… sure you want him doing that?”
River shrugs, equably. “You never know when you’ll need extra spoons.”
Mal ponders that for a moment and decides it’s probably a true statement. “Kaylee and your brother were in the library, last I checked,” he offers.
“Still are,” River replies, and Mal chokes on the berry he’s chewing. He knows he’s imagining the sly little smile on her face.
“Certainly is a warm evening,” he says, once he’s recovered his breath.
“It’s getting hotter.”
“You know, it is. Thought it might cool down when the sun sets. Maybe later.”
“No, I mean it’s getting hotter. The whole planet. We’re too close to the sun, here, always have been. ‘Swhat makes us special…central, core. And now it’s going to burn us up.”
“Now?!”
River investigates the bottom of her cup, like there might be more berries hidden somewhere. “Soon enough. There were satellites, but now there aren’t anymore so,” she doesn’t seem upset in the slightest, “world burns up. Like Miranda, but backwards.”
She stands up suddenly, brushes off her skirt. Behind her, the first stars have just begun to appear. “There are no landmarks in space,” River recites. “One portion of space is exactly like every other portion, so we cannot tell where we are.” She looks up, tipping her head back so far that Mal thinks for a moment she’s going to overbalance. “We are, as it were, on an unruffled sea without compass, soundings, wind or tide, and we cannot tell in what direction we are going.”
“Huh,” Mal says.
“James Clerk Maxwell,” explains River, like she’s frequently given to bouts of poetizing. “Cited in Accounts and Legends, page 476, in the chapter on the Quantum Revolution.”
“Can’t say as we’ve met.”
“Nevertheless, he exists.” She puts out her hand to help him up. “Come on. I’ve been waiting for you so long, and now you’re here. We should go.”
“Where are we going?” Mal looks at her, silhouetted against the darkening sky in a garden that looks like…what was that place Shepherd Book was always talking about? Eden?
“Home,” River says, “Zoe’s waiting.”
River had set the shuttle down in the middle of the garden, nesting it into the grass that nearly reaches his waist, not a scratch on her. Mal’s not sure even Wash could have done that. He stands sheltered under her wing for a moment, just admiring the way she gleams in the evening sun, and realizes he can’t even see his feet for the grass and the undergrowth. How long it will take for the whole planet to look like this, now that even the looters are gone? He imagines all the folks abandoning their fine houses here, crowding into the cities. It would be like the relocation camps after the war, only worse, if that panicked woman back on Athena was to be believed (and Mal suspected she hadn’t been lying). He ducks under the shuttle wing. Good that River and Simon hadn’t been here-with their pale skin and dark hair, with those fine-schooled accents, they’d have been targeted immediately, either by folks looking to get back at Alliance supporters, or by those with no particular side who were just out for what they could get. Good…maybe even lucky, though he’s never thought to apply that adjective to the siblings Tam.
He’s running his hand along the sun-warm metal, musing, when he notices a cleared patch in the garden. Because he’s not afraid, he sets out for a closer look (no snakes, he reminds himself, there ain’t no snakes in this grass. And no tentacle plants outside of Revenge of the Deathless Orchid-Wash surely did watch some nonsense in his day).
Someone’s carved a little clearing around a small Japanese maple: the grass clipped, the weeds pulled, a little fence set up to keep the ivy at bay. Considering the state of the house, it might be the only spot around here that’s been tended since the Alliance fell, and Mall’s wondering over the fence-is that a knitting needle over there, next to a chopstick?-when he hears rustling in the grass behind him. He spins around, nearly pitching into the tree when he catches his boot on a vine. The garden is still in the gloaming, and then there’s more rustling. Closer. No snakes…ain’t no snakes-suddenly, River pops up from behind a wildly overgrown topiary.
“Ta ma de, girl,” he yelps. “First we can’t find you nowhere…”
“Gabriel Oliver Tam, Esquire,” River says, staring moonily at her hand as she fingers one of the maple leaves. “Lawmaster of this region, departed this life in the fifty-second year of his age. Also, Regan, his wife, deceased in the forty-ninth year of her age. Beloved parents. Good and faithful servants. Sacred to the memory of.” She blinks at him and holds out a chipped cup. “Want some berries?”
“Uh…”
“Inara’s asleep,” River says as though he’d asked, dropping down onto the grass and tossing a few berries into her mouth. “I think she’ll be better someday soon.”
“You seen Jayne about?” Mal joins her, after checking to make sure that the soil around the maple tree hasn’t been disturbed lately (as, perchance, by someone digging a grave…).
“He’s stealing the silverware,” River says calmly.
“Oh. Are you… sure you want him doing that?”
River shrugs, equably. “You never know when you’ll need extra spoons.”
Mal ponders that for a moment and decides it’s probably a true statement. “Kaylee and your brother were in the library, last I checked,” he offers.
“Still are,” River replies, and Mal chokes on the berry he’s chewing. He knows he’s imagining the sly little smile on her face.
“Certainly is a warm evening,” he says, once he’s recovered his breath.
“It’s getting hotter.”
“You know, it is. Thought it might cool down when the sun sets. Maybe later.”
“No, I mean it’s getting hotter. The whole planet. We’re too close to the sun, here, always have been. ‘Swhat makes us special…central, core. And now it’s going to burn us up.”
“Now?!”
River investigates the bottom of her cup, like there might be more berries hidden somewhere. “Soon enough. There were satellites, but now there aren’t anymore so,” she doesn’t seem upset in the slightest, “world burns up. Like Miranda, but backwards.”
She stands up suddenly, brushes off her skirt. Behind her, the first stars have just begun to appear. “There are no landmarks in space,” River recites. “One portion of space is exactly like every other portion, so we cannot tell where we are.” She looks up, tipping her head back so far that Mal thinks for a moment she’s going to overbalance. “We are, as it were, on an unruffled sea without compass, soundings, wind or tide, and we cannot tell in what direction we are going.”
“Huh,” Mal says.
“James Clerk Maxwell,” explains River, like she’s frequently given to bouts of poetizing. “Cited in Accounts and Legends, page 476, in the chapter on the Quantum Revolution.”
“Can’t say as we’ve met.”
“Nevertheless, he exists.” She puts out her hand to help him up. “Come on. I’ve been waiting for you so long, and now you’re here. We should go.”
“Where are we going?” Mal looks at her, silhouetted against the darkening sky in a garden that looks like…what was that place Shepherd Book was always talking about? Eden?
“Home,” River says, “Zoe’s waiting.”