Firefly--Big Damn Hero by James Lovegrove

Author:James Lovegrove
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

“Toby,” Mal said softly. “Toby Finn.”

Toby, his one-time Amigo, his another-time brother-in-arms. The man he would have gladly given his life for both before and during the war.

Now, here he was, up on the platform, and from what Mal could make out of his appearance, Toby was much changed. He was thin, positively emaciated, and was stooped over like a crookbacked octogenarian. His face was gaunt, and the mop of unruly ginger ringlets that Mal remembered was now a wispy cap, the few strands remaining atop his head coarse and kinked like copper wire. Toby used to catch holy hell in Independent bootcamp over those carroty curls of his. The other recruits called him Rusty and Little Orange. Seemed the postwar years, as for so many others, Mal himself included, had not been kind to Toby.

But he was alive, and here, and Mal was overjoyed. He cupped his hands and shouted, “Tobias! Tobias Finn! Toby!”

His voice ricocheted off the surround of rock walls and ceiling. From the cavern floor, heads twisted in his direction. On the dais, Toby Finn stared up, his expression blank, unreadable. Mal was taken aback. Did Toby not recognize him?

“Toby, it’s me,” he called. “Mal. You remember me, right?”

His words were met with boos and hisses. Shocked, as though the catcalling had a physical force, Mal took a step backwards. Someone, a hatchet-faced woman with a lazy eye, grabbed his arm and held him still. The chorus of ill will rose in volume, buffeting him like body blows.

This is insane, Mal thought. It’s like I’m public enemy number one. What in tarnation is going on?

Then Toby raised his hands for silence. Gradually the din died down.

“Ladies, gentlemen, comrades one and all,” he said to the crowd, “it’s been a long time coming, but I have done what you asked and what I promised.” He thrust out his arm, pointing at Mal. “I have brought to face justice the man who conspired with the Alliance and stole victory from our grasp. I have brought you the traitor Malcolm Reynolds.”

At the word traitor, which rolled off Toby’s tongue with great emphasis, a fresh barrage of boos and shouted curses flew in Mal’s direction.

“String him up!” someone yelled over the din. “String him up!”

It quickly became a new chant, not “Trai-tor! Trai-tor!” now but “String him up! String him up! String him up!”

Mal’s brain strove to process this turn of events. On either side of him, his captors grinned and nodded to each other, as if seeing him humiliated was a rare and memorable treat.

This can’t be right, he thought. It ain’t right. I must be asleep on the floor of my shuttle, still dopey from that gas Covington spritzed me with.

But he wasn’t. And now that his eyes had completely adjusted to the dim and shifting light, he picked out a couple of other faces below that he recognized. Other Browncoats whom he had fought alongside in Serenity Valley. Sonya Zuburi, her raven hair prematurely streaked with white, looked like she wanted to take a bite out of him.

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