My Own Kind of Freedom, page 109 by Steven Brust
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o much better when she was busy.
When her mind and body were both occupied, the voices didn't have time to get inside her. Everything was quiet, and she could do and she could think and she could be.
People spoke about "freedom" but they didn't know what it was. Freedom was being able to do what you were meant to do. Just that; no more.
And most of them didn't appreciate it, because most of them had never been without it.
Simon didn't understand that. Wash didn't understand that, though he'd been held captive. Even Zoë didn't understand.
Mal, though. Mal understood.
Sometimes, when she could spare the attention, she cried for him.
She made the last adjustment and the shuttle slid home with a "click" and the voices came back.
Serenity: Near shuttle bay
The Captain told Jayne to stay in his quarters when they got there.
"Can I get some food?"
"Yeah. Get it, bring it back to your bunk and stay there till I come get you."
As the shuttle door opened, Zoë was running through the locations of the firearms on the ship, and how many of them would be between the airlock and Jayne's bunk. At least one, she decided, which was way too many.
Simon was waiting when they stepped out of the shuttle.
"River! What did you do? "
Though River's back was to her, Zoë could imagine the frown. "Is that a trick question?"
The doctor took his sister's arm, and the two of them went off toward the med bay, Simon's voice gradually climbing in both pitch and volume. Zoë shrugged and tuned them out.
She made her way directly up the stairs, past the bunks and up to the bridge, heavier by two pistols, which she set down in the co-pilot's chair.
"Wash!"
He didn't turn around. "Hey, baby. Come look upon the empty shell that was once your big, powerful love machine. It's been pretty ugly up here."
"You're all right?"
"Depends what you m