One Man's Trash, Part 1a

The eighth story in a series that begins with A Lion's Mouth. Follows Shadow.

A/N: Rating: All my stories are PG to PG-13 to occasional R. You will not find detailed descriptions of blood, gore, and sex, but you will find situations appropriate for mature readers, innuendo, implication, and (gasp) swear words. This story is PG-13, edging toward R.

Thanks to my sister for beta reading. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed my stories. It's a wonderful feeling to know that someone has enjoyed reading what I've written.

Kaylee wants to know: How many children do you want?

She was genuinely curious. In fact, she wanted to know the answer for everybody on the boat. "So, you ever thought about it? How many children you want, Ip?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know, the usual, I guess." Ip hadn't really thought about it. Not that he didn't want children, eventually, some day. It was just that, what with grad school, and his post doc at Blue Sun, and now living an itinerant life, with only temporary employment, he just wasn't really at a place in his life where thoughts of settling down and having a family entered his mind. "What about you?" he asked to be polite.

"Oh, lots and lots of them," Kaylee answered promptly. "Three, minimum. Four or five, easy. Six maybe." She caught Simon's expression and quickly realized that he was not prepared for the notion of six children. In fact, looking at his face, maybe not prepared for children at all. They hadn't really reached the point of discussing this, exactly, in their relationship. "But that's just 'cause I love kids," she said quickly, covering. "I love all kids. They're so cute an' cuddly an' sweet…"

"—An' dirty diapers, an' snotty noses, an' screechin' an' hollerin' an' fightin' over toys," Jayne interrupted Kaylee's idyll. "An' sneakin' out after their bedtimes an' skippin' school an' raisin' hell and usin' the mule without permission and crashin' it an' gettin' knocked up by their no-account 傻瓜 shǎguā boyfriends—"

"My goodness, what kind of childhood did you have, Jayne?" Inara asked with contained amusement.

"The kind with too gorram many sisters," Jayne grumbled.

"So how many children do you want, then?" Inara asked him.

"Not a one. Ain't gonna have any," Jayne said, folding his arms, as if that settled the matter.

"What about you, River?" Kaylee asked with a smile.

"None," River said, with a glittery smile that encompassed Ip.

"Aw, honey, you shouldn't say that—" Kaylee began.

"—for now," River continued. "Later, 2.54."

"2.54?" Ip inquired.

"The statistical average," River responded. "The usual." She grinned across the table at her brother, who was looking a bit appalled—equal parts floored by Kaylee's earlier statement and by the mere idea of his baby sister having…children. "Simon wants the usual, too."

Kaylee stared at Simon, who blushed crimson. "River! I…well, yes, two, I think. One boy and one girl. Maybe three. But this is all theoretical, isn't it? I mean, I'm not thinking of having any children now."

"I'd say you are," Jayne said with a leer. "Or at least you're practicing pretty damn—"

"Jayne," said Mal in a warning voice, but stopped when he saw that Kaylee wasn't in the least offended. Besides, it was kinda fun watching the Doc get all uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Simon and Kaylee's nocturnal exercises were notorious throughout the ship, being both loud and frequent. Everybody knew that if and when the couple decided to have children, they'd be in very good practice. Simon was sputtering, but Kaylee was grinning from ear to ear.

"What about you, Cap'n?" Kaylee asked, all smiles.

He couldn't help but grin back at her. "Oh, four. Maybe five," he said without thinking.

"You musta been an only child," Jayne returned with disgust.

"Yeah," Mal acknowledged.

"Ain't you heard what I said about all them sisters?"

"I grew up with four brothers, Jayne," Kaylee answered, "an' it was just shiny."

Wash had two brothers, Zoe thought to herself. Always wanted a girl. Herself, she was an only child, like Mal.

Mal caught the look on Inara's face. Oh, boy—he hadn't even been thinking when he opened his mouth. He couldn't make out quite what she was thinking, but he could tell that the notion of five children wasn't sittin' well with her. "'Course I ain't gonna have no four or five," Mal amended. "Count myself lucky to have even a one." He was relieved to see Inara relax ever so slightly.

Funnily enough, it was Inara herself who had got him thinking about children in the first place. It wasn't since before the war that he'd even considered the notion of having a family of his own. Back then, he was so young that all notions of marriage and family belonged to the distant future. But he realized that after the war, he'd pretty well given up on the notion of having a normal relationship, marriage, family. He was broken, damaged goods, an outlaw, and family life weren't for the likes of him. But then he'd found himself married to Saffron—or at least he thought he was for a time—and Inara had said, "I wish you hundreds of fat children." Immediately his mind was filled with the image of himself surrounded by roly-poly little critters, and strangely enough, the notion was pleasing. At first it was vague, non-specific children, fuzzy-haired critters that he chased and wrassled with and taught what he knew. Later on, his dreams about children had become a lot more specific. And he knew who he wanted their mother to be.

"What about you, Zoe?" Mal asked with a smile, in part to draw Inara's attention away from the hot potato between them. But it was also a deliberate effort to include Zoe in the group. No way she should sit excluded from this discussion.

Kaylee smothered a gasp. How could the Captain be so insensitive? Reminding Zoe of what she could never have, now Wash was—

"One," Zoe answered promptly, with a brilliant smile that astonished everyone. "Exactly one. Might as well let you all know. Due to arrive in about five months' time."

The table erupted with congratulations and good wishes. Zoe basked in smiles. She accepted the exclamations, answered the questions, and looked genuinely happy for one of the first times since Wash's death. Mal sat there grinning like a fool.

. . .

Ip Neumann went to take data readings from the grav anomaly unit situated in the cargo bay. The Captain was hard at work, cleaning up after the cows. Ip had been surprised earlier in the voyage to find that Serenity's Captain took a turn doing what he would have supposed to be the lowest of low manual labor, shoveling manure. But during the course of the voyage, he had come to understand the situation much better. Jayne did the work because he was the muscle of the crew, and it was his job. Zoe took an occasional turn, but spent more of her time piloting and doing whatever executive functions the first officer performed. (Ip still had only the vaguest notion of what those duties entailed.) River and Kaylee were excused cattle-tending because their jobs on Serenity were already more demanding. Simon and Inara seemed to get a bye on the job—he wasn't sure if that was a concession to their education, gentle Core-breeding, or simply because it was clear how inept they would be at it. In Inara's case he wondered if she even owned any suitable clothing. He chuckled to himself, picturing the Companion showing up for cow duty in a watered silk kimono and high heels.

Ip understood that for the Captain, tending the cattle was both nostalgic and therapeutic. Now that he knew that the man had grown up on a ranch on Shadow, he realized that every smooth, rhythmic motion the Captain made as he moved among the beasts brought him a kind of comfort, gently reminding him of the home he had lost. And after the incident on the bridge, Ip understood that the Captain also sought refuge in the physical labor. The man seemed to avoid sleep, and in truth, Ip thought he would, too, if nightmares like the Captain's awaited him.

Ip preferred to take his readings when the Captain was tending the cattle, because the Captain always cleared a path for him to the experimental unit, a courtesy that he appreciated. The Captain was also interested in his work, and would ask him how the data were shaping up, sometimes offering keen observations of his own. Today was no exception.

"How go the experiments, Dr Ip?" Mal asked, leaning against his shovel.

"Very well, Captain," Ip replied. It was a little hard to think here in the midst of a barnyard—well, alright, cargo bay-turned-barnyard—with all the mooing cattle in close proximity. Ip found it distracting. The Captain didn't seem bothered at all. Looked perfectly at home. "The crazy thing is, all that unexpected, uh, 'excitement' around Shadow was just the thing for the grav anomaly experiment." Ip still shuddered inwardly at their narrow escape—chased by a ship they couldn't see, the Reavers closing in, saved unexpectedly by the Reavers' collision with the stealth ship. "Especially the sudden burst of speed," when Kaylee got the fusion drive on line and the ship went to hard burn. "Professor Rao was immensely pleased with the preliminary data."

"You waved her, then?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, I hope you'll let her know, I ain't repeating that experiment, no matter how much she likes the data. Not in any mood to get hunted by Reavers again."

"Captain, there's something you should know."

Mal looked at Ip expectantly.

"When we were outside the boat, and spotted the transports, I re-directed some of the mass spectrometers toward the ships." Mal nodded. "Those spectrometers were designed to analyze the composition of the planet just below the surface layer. They penetrate several feet below the surface—for example through a sand dune, lake, or ash fall—to analyze the mineral content of the soil or rock beneath. So they're not exactly designed for what I used them for. Still, the spectra I obtained from the ships—after eliminating the artifacts created by the curved metal hulls—"

"Would you cut to the chase, Dr Ip?" Mal interjected, losing his patience somewhat.

"The ships appeared to be carrying mineral ore. Ore with a high content of the stable trans-actinide element linthicum."

Mal nodded. He immediately worked out the implications. Linthicum was an incredibly valuable substance, as certain isotopes of the element were a critical component of fuel cells. It was also relatively rare, not even found on many planets. "Linthicum reserves were discovered on Shadow about a decade before the war," he told Ip. "It's one of the reasons we fought for our independence."

Mal remembered the controversy quite well—it had been the talk of Shadow throughout his teenage years. Some Alliance corporation had made an offer almost as soon as the reserves were discovered, before the extent of them had been determined. Some folk on Shadow felt that the offer should be accepted—seemed generous to them, and Shadow didn't need—couldn't possibly use—all that linthicum for its own purposes. There'd been arguments. At last the Shadow World Council had authorized an independent survey of linthicum resources. The survey had never been completed, but preliminary findings suggested that the reserves were vaster, by far, than the original estimate. Suddenly the corporation's offer looked like robbery. Some argued that Shadow shouldn't sign over mineral rights at all, but license limited ore extraction operations. There were others, still, who felt that the extraction process would ruin the planet, ruin the Shadow way of life, and that no price was high enough to compensate for that. The corporation had renewed its offer, with a few more concessions to the people of Shadow and a lot more aggressive representatives, sent to Shadow to bombard the local leadership with carrots and sticks. The Alliance itself had shown an inclination to step in and claim the mineral resources for its own. The argument was still in full flow when the war broke out.

Mal had counted eighty-seven transports before he got distracted—seriously distracted—by the stealth ship and the Reavers. He estimated that there were about three times as many as what he counted. Based on his estimate of the tonnage of the ships he'd seen, he made a quick calculation of the quantity of linthicum ore those ships could carry, and the answer made him whistle. This wasn't some casual raider. This was a full-scale mining operation, with a rate of production high enough to warrant the presence of a transport fleet that size, and to warrant the maintenance of a stealth guard ship.

"Someone is raping Shadow."

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glossary

傻瓜 shǎguā [fool]

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