Disclaimer: Not mine, no coin changed hands. This story has not been beta-ed. Please accept my apologies for any errors or correct me.

Dedication: To all the folk who endure traumatic events and somehow find the courage to rebuild their lives.

Rating: NC17, For adult content, violence in some sections

Remarks: The next section in my long story arc exploring the challenges faced by Jayne and Kaylee as they struggle to define and strengthen their relationship. Takes place between the series and the BDM, three weeks after my previous story “Leaps of Faith”. Click on my name to read the backstories.

Yeah – I know this one’s short – more to come.

Feedback: Sincerely appreciated when civilly offered; that’s what it’s all about. Some of you have expressed distress over this story’s title. Please consider the following:

Definitions: Source: The Random House Dictionary of the English Language Raping – (3) The act of seizing and carrying off by force (7) Plundering. Serenity – (1)The state or quality of being serene, calm, or tranquil.

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RAPING SERENITY

Chapter Two – Overheard

Early the next morning, Wash’s voice blares over the comm in the Captain’s bunk. “Hey Mal, we got a wave comin’ in from Newhall for you. I’ll patch it through.”

Mal lurches up out of his bunk. “Ump… uh… can ya gimme a minute?” He realizes he fell asleep in his clothes the night before – that helps. Splashing cold water onto his face and quickly toweling off, he runs his hand through his hair to smooth it and hits the rheostat to dial up the light level in his bunk.

“Okay, Wash, put the call through.” He’s still fussin’ with his hair and straighten’ his shirt when the screen lights up, showing a stout and clearly prosperous fella, well dressed in a rich tweed coat and deep red cravat.

“Captain Reynolds?”

“Yep, that’d be me. What can I do for you, sir?” Mal asks.

The gentleman smiles a subtle smile, “I understand you fly a transport ship and don’t ask a lot of questions about your cargo.”

“I’ve been know to handle business that requires discretion on occasion, if the pay is right. You wanna tell me more about what you got in mind?” Mal looks friendly, but non-committal.

Walk that narrow line between being pleasant and bein’ cautious, Malcolm Reynolds, he thinks.

“Don’t know how much you know bout Newhall, but, apart from ranching, we have only one industry here and that’s mining and processing tantalum ore. Every fusion drive catalyzer-based engine in the Black requires it. This little moon's one of the few places in the known ‘Verse where the stuff occurs. We take it out of deep mines and open pits both, crush the ore, extract the tantalum and process it into concentrated pellets. Heavy as hell and worth a fortune.”

Mal stuffs his hands in his pockets and raises an eyebrow. “An’ you wanna be tellin’ me what that’s got to do with you an’ me, besides education?”

The man on the screen chuckles. “I don’t blame you for your caution, Captain Reynolds. I’m Chester Benning, and I manage the Newhall Refinery. Normally, the tantalum pellets are packed in freight containers and shipped off-moon via Alliance freighters on a monthly schedule, making a rather remarkable profit for the folks in charge.”

Benning glances off screen, then lowers his voice. “Seems that for some time now, a percentage of the ore pellets seem to have been making their way into an auxiliary storage facility, waiting on a private buyer. Just can’t imagine how that’s happened.” He shakes his head and smiles smugly.

“I need someone like yourself capable of getting them off-moon and to my buyer on Boros. Do it clean and I’ll cut you in for a fat 15% once you’ve made delivery.”

Mal’s playin’ it 'poker faced'. “Well, Mr. Benning, I must say your proposal certainly sounds interesting and it’s something I think we can handle. You wanna transmit more details over a more secure channel, I’ll talk it over with my people and let you know somethin’ shortly.”

“Fair enough, Captain Reynolds. I think it’ll be a pleasure doing business with you.”

The screen goes dark and Mal wonders, 15% of what? “Guess that comes with doin’ business hungover and half awake. Man can’t remember what to ask,” he muses aloud, shaking his head.

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Two rough, dirty men sit at a rickety table, a half-empty bottle of cheap whisky between them.

“Portman says he picked up on an incoming wave today from a Firefly, probably running ore for Benning. Says it looks like they’ve upgraded their electronics recently. Might be well worth strippin’ ‘er. Get a helluva lot of sellable gear off a ship like that.” The speaker is stocky and grizzled, his hard, thin mouth framed by a long, unkempt mustache. He pours them both another shot. “Whaddaya say, Lasley?”

“Boss, we ain’t scarped a decent ship in months. Somethin’ that size’d sure be worth tacklin’. You know Andersen’s been hollerin’ for anything we can give ‘im.”

“I know.” Kurtz’s eyes narrow. “Tell Portman to monitor that ship’s waves real close, ‘cause we just might be payin’ ‘em a visit once they hit dirt.” Jed Kurtz tosses back the remaining liquor in his glass and wipes him maw. “Far as I’m concerned, it’s been entirely too quiet of late on this go se moon and I’m about ready to cut loose.”

(To be continued…)