~Usual disclaimers apply.~

~The first time I saw a list of planets in the ‘Verse, one just leapt out at me as Jayne’s homeworld. Then I read the shooting script for ‘The Message’, and his letter from home. So, I present to you - Jayne Cobb. The man. The myth. The mother. With apologies to the State of Georgia and the estate of Johnny Cash.~

Cold Comfort Mountain : Prologue

~“‘Verse holds a deal of planets. Some of ‘em’s dirt poor, and look it. Deadwood...well, it don’t look like much. Ain’t farmin’ country. But the dirt ain’t poor. It’s rich - enough iron in it to make the rivers run red as blood come the rains. So, folks came an’ dug the ground up, took it and burnt it and smacked it about some, hauled it into orbit and built ships with it.

Mines closed afore I was born. Some was worked out. Others started fallin’ in and taking towns with ‘em. Less’n they wanted the whole planet disappearing up it’s own pi gu, they hadta stop digging. But the Marietta shipyards kept on. Mostly, it’s refitting, now. Fancy-ass cruisers, past their best, gettin’ tricked out for colony ships. Towin’ junkers in from the scrap belt and stripping ‘em for parts.

Most everybody works for ‘em. Deadwood ain’t just a Company town, it’s a Company planet. There’s still work for a man ain’t afraid to get his hands dirty. But it don’t pay so well. An’ when you got kin as is sick and hungry, well, you go an’ do what you can for ‘em.

Ain’t got much in the way of schoolin’. Never saw the point past my letters and reckoning my pay. Weren’t gonna sit in a room while some uppity san ba told me I weren’t gonna amount to nothin’ if I din’t know my times table. Not when there was the woods and mountains a skiff-ride away. Where a man could breathe free. An’ catch himself some dinner. Most folks hunt to eat, an’ I got real good at it. Fifteen, an’ Pa took me to the Yards with him, taught me to weld. An’ that’s where I got my tattoo. ‘Arcies’ , welders and cutters, we all got the dragon.

Seventeen, I first got to hack the Black. Kinda weird, seein’ my own world spinnin’ under my feet. Got a place on one of the haulin’ crews out on the scrap belt. An’ I fell in with some folks there had a deal more money that I had ever seen.

Always did like fightin’. I was gettin’ a taste for liquor and cards. An’ women. Ma wanted me to stay home an’ marry my cousin Loretta. Pa wanted me to work my way up to shift leader some day. But I wanted to have me some fun.

Took me near twenty years to get my head outta my ass...” ~

0000

Third time the com beeps, Mal’s voice snaps irritably.

“Jayne, get your damn butt up on the bridge.”

“Can’t it wait, Captain? I’m washin’ my wife.”

There is a short, possibly horrified, pause.

“No, it can’t.” Another pause. “An’ ask the cook if we can have those red bean dumplings for supper.”

“Cheeky sod.” Ilargia Cobb looks at her husband through half-closed eyes, squeezes a last sponge of water at the base of her throat. “Dumplings, huh?”

Jayne gives a lecherous grin, and makes a grab. She slithers out of reach, grabs up her shirt.

“Best go see what the Captain wants.”

“He’s just cranky ‘cos he’s not gettin’ any.” Regretfully, he swings up the ladder. “You keep some of them dumplings warm for me, now.”

Makes a big play of adjusting his fly as he steps up, ‘cos it always gets Mal annoyed. Then, everything gets Mal annoyed these days. River turns over the back of her seat and gives him a grin. She’s braided her hair back like Larji’s today, an’ it makes her look a lot less nuts.

“Don’t tease the Captain. My job.”

“Thought we was takin’ turns.”

“Hello? The Captain is here.” Mal waves his hands for attention, and they both grin at him, which is all kinds of unsettling. “Got ourselves a wave from Bernoulli, askin’ if we can take a salvage job out from the far end of the quadrant, an’ it ain’t territory I’m familiar with. You know it?”

Jayne squints at the screen. There’s a short pause.

“I know it.” Looks across at Mal. “We’re gonna be hauling up by the scrap belt?”

“You got a problem with that?” Mal has visions of lynch mobs, or worse, fan clubs.

“Huh? Oh, no, ain‘t that, Mal.” Shifts his weight nervously. “It’s just...can we make a stop?”

“What? Where? Why?”

“Here.” Big finger points. Mal squints at the screen.

“Deadwood. What’n hell’s on that rock?”

“My folks.”