Prolog “And the frog jumps and they get him and they grind him up and the bird sings and you can’t hear it because all you can see is the blood, the bloody frog and the sunny day is ruined!” River said passionately. “It’s all right, River,” Simon tried to calm her. “It’s ok.” “It’s not OK!” the girl practically screamed. “The frog!” “Just take a deep breath,” Simon said, reaching out to her gently. “We’ll get you a nice cup of tea and . . .” “You’re not listening to me!” River said, batting his hands away. “He gets hacked up, chopped to little bloody frog-bits. You have to listen!” Simon sighed and closed his eyes. He loved her so much. How come taking care of her was so hard? It didn’t make sense. “River,” he finally said, opening his eyes and looking at her. “I know what you’re saying means something very important to you,” he said. “But I don’t understand it.” “The bird sang,” River began very slowly, enunciating each word precisely so that Simon would have no trouble understanding. “No,” he sighed, “No, I just . . . to me your thoughts seem random.” “Neuro-electric reactions often seem random because the average human mind is too simple to recognize its own thought patterns.” “Patterns,” Simon muttered as what seemed like a brilliant idea blossomed in his head. “River, could you make what you’re telling me a pattern?” he asked, his voice hedged with excitement. “Could you put it into a drawing, or an equation, or a poem or . . . or anything with some structure?” “You want me to think in poems?” “If you can,” Simon said, trying to smile at his sister and not notice how her gaze kept darting across the room. “A formal structure could help me dissect what you’re saying. I’ll be able to tell what’s important.” “You want me to think important things in poems?” She didn’t seem daunted by the request, just confused. “I want to understand you when you tell me things, mei mei,” Simon said, reaching out for her again. This time she didn’t bat him away. “Do you think you could . . .?” The girl nodded, and then started muttering, “Cold water down the hill will run, Over fine rocks and lumpy log On this one here, basking in the sun, Sits a fat green and gorgeous frog Resting, he hopped there for the fun With his friends in the mire and bog They couldn’t know, though, what’d be done. The horrid act to which his hop was a prolog ‘Cause the morning bird sang, rutting Fool, and at his call the frog did jump Into the bag, was marked for the gutting There was nothing left but a red green lump Once a noble frog, before the cutting Killed him, so quick he never knew he’d left the stump.” For a moment, Simon started at his sister, utterly dumbfounded. “Dose that help?” the girl asked. Simon searched his mind for something to say. “It’s a pome, Simon,” River said. “Do you understand now?” Simon still had nothing to say. * * *

Chapter 1 “I just feel weird, ya know?” Zoë tried to explain. “Like somethin’s not quite right. Wouldn’t of come in ‘cept . . .” “Mal ordered you,” Simon said knowingly as he put his stethoscope around his ears. “Said we had a doc, might as well use him,” “It’s good to be useful,” Simon muttered as he took he pressed the head of the instrument against her back. “Take a deep breath.” She did. “That sounds fine,” he said, taking off his stethoscope and taking her wrist to check her pulse. “Do you think you’re sick?” “I donno,” the woman said, shifting nervously in the examination chair. “Could they make this thing any more uncomfortable?” “Yes,” Simon answered her dryly, putting down her wrist. “Your pulse is fine. What exactly are your symptoms?” “Don’t know that I got symptoms, exactly, I just feel, ya know, like somethin’s off.” “Something’s off,” Simon said. “And could you identify that something at all?” “Well,” Zoë said. “I guess I been getting’ a little light-headed sometimes.” “Light-headed?” Simon asked, “As in dizzy?” “Just for a moment,” Zoë amended. “Then it passes.” “How often has this happened?” “Every now and then.” “Does that mean a few times in the last month, or in the last week or day?” “Probably three or so times in as many days.” “So this has been going on for three days?” “Somethin’ like that.” “Ok,” Simon said. “Have you hit your head at all recently?” “Don’t think so,” Zoë said. “My head don’t really hurt so much.” “Do other things hurt?” “Well, I’ve been feelin’ a little nauseous, ya know. Not so bad, but my stomach don’t seem to want food in meals. I’d rather munch all day. And when I do eat a meal, get heartburn something awful.” “How long has this been going on?” “I don’t know, week or more.” “Anything else?” “I’ve been really tired,” Zoë said. “I can’t wait ta get ta bed and I don’t wanna get out in the mornin’. Drives Wash nuts.” “Uh-huh,” Simon said. “So, nausea, heartburn, exhaustion, and dizziness. Anything else?” “Don’t think so.” Zoë said nervously, she didn’t like the way Simon was looking at her. She was sure he knew, or at least had a good guess, what was wrong with her. But he didn’t seem like he wanted to tell her until he was absolutely sure. “Am I gonna make it, Doc?” Simon smiled at her little joke, “I’m fairly sure you’ll pull through,” he said. “But I am going to have to take a sample of your blood to run some tests.” “Sure,” Zoë said, as the doctor walked away from her to collect his medical equipment. “What you figure I got?” “I really don’t want to say, not yet. Your symptoms could be congruent with several different conditions.” Simon said, as he put on a pair of sanitary gloves. “Also, a combination of multiple unrelated conditions could produce these symptoms, stress, a mild stomach virus, a sinus infection, lots of things.” “‘Kay,” Zoë said, taking a deep breath. She did not like how non-committal he was being. Simon walked back to her carrying a particularly small needle and what looked like a small, white square slip of paper. “I want to do a quick blood scan.” “That’ll tell what’s wrong with me?” “It will defiantly narrow it down,” he said, setting the needle and the slip down on the table next to the examination chair and picking up a disinfectant wipe. “I’ll have to prick one of your fingers” “I got ten,” Zoë said, offering the doctor both her hands, fingers spread. “Prick any you like.” “All right,” Simon said, taking her left hand and sanitizing the tip of the ring finger. “This should hurt for just a second,” he said, still holding her left hand firmly with one hand as he brought the needle up. He poked her disinfected finger, and a drop of blood eked out. He put down the needle and started rubbing her finger, turning the small drop into a larger drop. After a second he picked up the wisp of paper and soaked up the drop of blood. He let go of her hand and offered her a small clip of bandage. “It’ll stop bleeding any moment, but here, put that on the prick.” “Right,” Zoë said, putting the small square of cloth over her not-really-bleeding fingertip. “What you testing me for anyways?” “Ah, just wondering what I’ll find,” Simon said distractedly as he inserted the slip of paper in a small, flat rectangular, unassuming diagnostic computer. He pushed a selection on its screen before setting it back down on the counter. “What’d it say?” Zoë asked nervously. “This is going to take a few minutes,” Simon said. “Ah, I don’t mean to be impertinent but when did you have you’re last menstrual cycle?” “My period?” Zoë asked. “‘Bout a week ago, why?” “Was it unusually light?” “Ah, yeah,” Zoë said, a little unnerved, she was a very private person, she didn’t like to talk to Wash about this kind of stuff, let alone the young doctor. “Crazy light. You know what’s wrong, don’t you?” Simon opened his mouth to answer her but before he could a word out his diagnostic pad chirped. “Hold that thought,” he told her as he hurried over to the counter and took an almost intolerably long time reading over whatever information about her blood the little computer had spit out. When he finally put the thing down he had a very odd expression on his face, like he was trying hard not to smile. “Congratulations, Zoë. You’re going to be a mother.” * * * “Hey Cap’n,” Kaylee said, poking her head into the cockpit. “How’s it goin’?” “If you want ta know if I know what Simon found wrong with Zoë, I ain’t been told,” Mal said, looking at the young mechanic over his shoulder. “Don’ you got work ta do?” Kaylee’s bright eyes drifted to the floor as she nodded. She almost looked like she was going to cry. “Well,” Mal said, clearing his throat as he glanced away from her. “Best to it then.” “Yes sir,” the girl said softly. Mal thought his heart would break, hearing his young mechanic’s usually bubbly voice dragged down as it was. He almost, almost, lost his resolve and spilled his secret. But in his past, Malcolm Reynolds had been a Sargent on the losing side of the bloodiest battle in recent memory and he’d kept his sanity through sheer force of will. In his present, he keep his small crew together, and safe, and in work, with little more than sheer force of will. He had a lot of will and he was convinced that the pleasure of Kaylee’s joy-to-come was well worth any small sorrows she felt now. He heard and saw in the dim reflection off the windows, Kaylee turn and start heading back to the engine room. But before she even left the cockpit she turned again. “Cap, you mad at me?” She asked, her voice trembled a little. She was going to cry. Mal wouldn’t be able to keep his secret if Kaylee started crying. That would bee too much. “No,” he said casually. “I ain’t mad. Jus’ as I understand it, there’s a goodly amount a stuff ta do.” “Not so much,” Kaylee said meekly. “You lookin’ for a job, little Kaylee?” Mal asked, swiveling the chair so he could look at her. His intent had been to put her at her ease. She’d be suspicious of something if he didn’t look at her, but now he had to see how weepy she really was. It made him feel a little weepy, but, thankfully, weepyness was a feeling he could ignore. “Ya got me workin’ all the time,” Kaylee said. Big fat tears were starting to roll down her dirty face, creating streaks that looked almost clean. “Can’t help but think I’m bein’ punished for somethin’.” “Ya ain’t,” Mal started. In his mind he was chanting ‘don’t tell, don’t tell, don’t tell.’ His mechanic’s feelings of alienation were quickly turning to feelings of anger, which was good for Mal, he could handle that better. She took a step towards him. “Ain’t fair!” she said forcefully. “Ta suddenly treat someone all ke bo with out tellin’ them why.” “Kaylee,” Mal said, standing up. “I didn’t mean ta treat ya meanly.” “Well ya sure ain’t doin’ it on accident. Been four whole days, since the job on Paxton and ya ain’t said a thing ta me except for ‘get ta work, Kaylee’,” she said, impersonating him comically. “Or ‘Kaylee, there’s work needs doin’’.” “Didn’t mean ta work ya so hard,” Mal said, holding his hands in front of him as a symbol of surrender. “If ya like take the rest of the day off. Fact, ya don’t have ta come anywhere near anything mechanical for the rest of the trip. Well, barring life threatenin’ brokeness a the ship.” “Rest of the trip?” Kaylee asked. “Where we goin’ Cap’n?” “No reason to worry your pretty little head over that,” Mal said. “You look sleepy.” “I could use a nap,” she mused. “Was up all night tryin’ ta re-aline the converters, but still . . .” “Then it’s settled,” Mal said, grabbing her kindly by the shoulders and swinging her around. “Time fer all good little mechanics to go ta bed.” “Can’t help but think this is jus’ you givin’ me another unfair order,” Kaylee said, not resisting his guidance for a second. “You can think that all ya want,” Mal said. “So long as you go to bed.” “Don’t order anyone else ta bed,” Kaylee grumbled. “Ya never ordered Zoë ta bed.” “I have, matter a fact, on her weddin’ night, but that was a slightly different situation.” “There’s somethin’ you want me too busy to think ‘bout,” Kaylee said, displaying more keenness than her exhausted state should have produced. “And here we are,” Mal said, a little louder and more eagerly than was necessary, as they reached Kaylee’s room. He pushed the door open for her. “Time for bed.” “Ya know, ya can’t just send me off ta bed like I’m a kid or somethin’,” Kaylee said. “Kaylee, ta bed or back to the engine room,” Mal said, clearly not joking. “That’s a directive from your captain.” The girl sighed and looked at him spitefully. “Night Cap’n,” She said, grabbing the top rail of her hatch and swinging onto the ladder with the most defiant a pose she could maintain considering she was following orders. “Night, Little Kaylee,” Mal said, leaning over her hatch, which snapped firmly shut in his face. It wasn’t quite like she slammed the door, but it wasn’t far off. Mal sighed and started heading back to the cockpit, “Hope you wake up in a better mood.” * * * “No,” Wash said, almost frantically. “You’re wrong. Do the test again.” “I’ve done it three times,” Simon said defensively. “I don’t think her blood chemistry is going to change.” “But she . . .” Wash stuttered, “she takes the pills--the little pills in the circle thing that make it so she doesn’t have a baby.” “A baby,” Zoë muttered to herself. She was still sitting in the examination chair, and it didn’t look like she was going to be moving out of it for quite some time. The news had been unexpected, and, after he convinced her that his diagnosis was accurate, she’d slipped into a mild state of shock. She was staring into nothing, trying to come to grips with the fact that, in less than nine months, she’d be a mother. She’d done little more than grunt when Simon asked if she wanted Wash, and she’d not protested when the doctor told her he was going to share the joyous news with her husband because she didn’t look up to it. “Where did you get the pills?” Simon asked. “I don’t know,” Wash said, his voice squeaking a little. “At a place where they have pills.” “I take it they weren’t prescribed to you by a doctor.” “I don’t know,” Wash said again. “That was Zoë’s job. They were Zoë’s pills.” “Most medications on the border worlds are, for lack of a better expression, watered down somehow,” Simon sighed. “I suppose birth control is no exception. It just never occurred to me that you could . . . I’m sorry.” “Sorry?” Wash asked. “Why are you sorry?” “Well,” Simon said, taking a deep breath. “You don’t want to have a baby and now you do. I suppose I could perform an abortion, but, considering how ineffective the birth control pills you were given were, I’d hesitate to trust any shot we could procure on a border planet, and I don’t know when --” “No!” Zoë said sharply, sitting up. “No.” “Hon,” Wash said, walking quickly over to her and slipping his hand in hers. “Are you all right?” “You’re not going to abort my baby,” Zoë said firmly. Then, as what she just said sunk in, she smiled. “My baby.” “I thought we didn’t want a baby,” Wash said. “I thought we agreed that a ship like this was no place for kids.” Zoë nodded and looked at her husband, her expression glowing. “Don’t matter what we said before. You’re gonna be a daddy.” She laughed, “You’ll be such a good daddy.” “Well, then,” Simon said as he backed out of the infirmary. “If you’re all right Zoë, I think I’ll leave you two alone.” “We’ll be just fine, Doc,” Zoë assured him. “Zo, are you sure you don’t need . . .” Wash started. “The three of us are gonna be just fine,” Zoë asserted. “Well, then,” Wash said, pushing a smile through his worry. “I guess then we’ll be just fine.” * * * “The Companion’s Guild of Newhope welcomes you,” a very polite recording told Inara. The companion sighed and waited. “If you could please enter your Guild identification number.” Inara punched the number in quickly. “Welcome Ms. Inara Serra,” the recording said disjointedly. “Please enter the working nights you will be on Newhope.” Inara entered that number in quickly as well. “Processing.” The recording said. “Processing,” River’s soft voice said from the doorway. She sounded amused. “They process food, they process people. It’s a process, it goes and goes and goes.” “River, dear,” Inara said as sweetly as she could. “Do you need something?” “You’re being processed,” River laughed softly, and then, the joke had suddenly ceased to be funny. “Everybody gets processed,” she said very seriously. “They line us up, and they stamp us, and they throw away the bad, the very bad ones, and they lie about the ones that are only a little bad so no one will notice, and they keep the good ones for themselves, they don’t sell those. No, they keep the good ones.” “River,” Inara said tentatively. “Do you want me to find Simon for you?" The girl looked up at the companion and laughed, the joke was funny again. “You’re in the middle of the process. You have to finish. He’s done with his process, but now Zoë and Wash have to process some things,” she looked at Inara candidly. “If you don’t process things correctly it’s unhealthy,” the girl asserted, before turning around and slipping out of the door. “I suppose so,” Inara said softly, turning back to her screen, which was flashing ‘processing complete.’ There were several faces on her screen. Inara stared at the pictures for a moment and tried to see the emotions behind these men’s eyes. There was a fairly handsome man, no more than thirty years old, who looked like a thrill-seeker. There was a boy, hardly over eighteen, who looked very eager. There was a comfortably plump man in his early fifties who looked like he wanted a solution to some mid-life crises. There was a creepy man, in his late twenties, who looked like he wanted to do something he felt he had to pay for, and a distinguished man in his mid-forties who gave the impression of a sort of connoisseur. But the photo that most captured Inara’s interest was that of an older man, in his late sixties, who looked very kindly and, at the same time, very sad. For reasons that she couldn’t vocalize, she selected to hear his application first. “I realize that most engage a companion to enjoy sexual pleasures,” the man said very frankly. “But that is not my purpose. I have a seventeen-year-old granddaughter who is planing to go to the core upon her eighteenth birthday to be introduced into polite society. Her mother and father died when she was still a babe, and her grandmother, my sweet wife, when she was very young, so I have raised her by myself. I feel that, before she goes into such a demanding social world I would like her to have some sort of guidance from a lady. She is young, nieve, and quite desperately needs to see a bit of true femininity. Unusual as this request is, Madam Inara, I beg you to see it as a challenge to your true skills, not as a request of a nanny or babysitter. I eagerly await you’re reply, Reginald Comworth.” “Reginald Comworth,” Inara said softly. “What an intriguing offer.” Ten minutes later, when she walked out of her shuttle, having been engaged for five of the seven days they would be on Newhope to coach Mr. Comworth’s grand daughter in social graces, River was standing outside of her door, smiling in a disturbingly knowing way. “Processing spoils the freshness.” “River,” Inara said kindly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Well, then,” the girl said. “You’re gonna have a long process.” * * * “So,” Mal asked as he set a plate down on the table. “What’s wrong with her?” “Zoë?” Simon said, from the other side of the table where he was folding the napkins. “Nothing.” “So she ain’t sick?” Mal said, steeping to the right to put down another plate, as Simon stepped to the right to put down another napkin. The captain had told himself very firmly that he wasn’t going worry about it, because it would have been wasted energy. Still, he was shocked by how utterly relieved he was to hear Simon’s simple, confident, diagnosis. “No,” he said, “she’s in perfect health.” “Then what caused her symptoms?” Book said as he brought the large bowl of rice that was going to make up the majority of the night’s meal to the table. “I can’t believe that Zoë would have any hypochondriac tendencies.” “She’s not,” Simon said. “I mean, she doesn’t. But, I, ah, I really shouldn’t be talking about this.” “’Bout what, Zoë’s health?” Simon nodded, as if the answer had been painfully obvious. “Why not?” Mal asked. Simon sighed, “Doctor-patient confidentiality is not only necessary for a trusting rela--.” “Ah, shut the text book, Doc. I’m Zoë’s captain and Book here’s her preacher. If we ain’t got a right ta know ‘bout her health . . .” “You don’t,” Simon insisted. “And I’m not going to tell you anything.” “You told us she was all right,” Mal pointed out. “My mistake,” Simon said, putting down the last napkin. “And I’ve leaned my lesson. Next time I’ll be more discreet.” Mal looked like going to set into the young doctor and explain some things about a captain’s authority but, fortunately for Simon, at that moment a yawning Kaylee entered the kitchen. “Hello, Kaylee,” Simon said quickly to draw Mal’s attention from him to her. “Hey-ya, Simon,” Kaylee said, a thick slur of drowsiness in her voice. “What’s cookin’? Smell’s good.” “Good morning, sweetheart,” Book said, turning to the young mechanic. “How was your nap?” “All right, I guess,” Kaylee yawned. “Think I’m more tired now than I was ‘fore. Can ya hand me a glass, preacher?” “Don’t suppose ya feel more cheerful,” Mal said hopefully. “Less grumpy?” “With or without a nap,” Kaylee snapped, glaring over her shoulder at Mal, “you were still mean.” “You were mean?” Simon said, turning to the captain. He looked absolutely horrified. “What did you do?” “Nothin’!” Mal said defensively. “Thoughtless, maybe, ok, but mean . . .?” “You were mean,” Kaylee said solidly as she poured herself a glass of water. Mal looked around, hoping to find support with the men in the room. The looks on the shepherd and the doctor’s faces convinced him very quickly that he was in the wrong room for that. “Fine,” Mal said. “If I ‘pologize can we make some peace?” “Oh, there’s plenty of peace, Cap’n,” Kaylee said. “I ain’t gonna make a ruckus.” “What are you gonna do?” Mal said warily. The girl shrugged innocently. “Kaylee,” Mal said. “I’m really, really sorry. I got my reason’s fer bein’ mean. An’ your right, I was mean.” “I’d like to hear those reasons,” Book said. “You’ll all hear ‘em,” Mal said. “Jus’ not right away.” Kaylee sighed and looked away. Mal could feel Simon and Book’s judgmental stares. “Look,” Mal said firmly. “I’m the captain and that means I don’t gotta explain anything I chose to do ta any of you. Now, if I was a little mean with Kaylee, I had my reasons, which I don’t have ta explain. I’ve apologized and I think it’d be nice, be Christian, fer ya’ll ta forgive me. Which brings up another point, I weren’t mean ta you gents so I’d appreciate it if only one person in this room were mad at me.” There was a very uncomfortable silence. “And I think she ought’a find it in her heart ta let go a this little episode.” Kaylee sighed and nodded, clearly not meaning it. “I guess that’ll have ta do,” Mal said. “Time we got supper on the table. Doc, Zoë and Wash comin’ ta supper?” “I would assume so,” Simon said. “They didn’t really discuss their dinner plans with me.” “And even if they did you wouldn’t be able ta tell me,” Mal sighed. “Well, their places are set so if they don’t show, they don’t show.” “Why don’t you sit down,” Simon offered, pulling out a chair for Kaylee. “I ought’a . . .” the girl started. “I can do it,” Simon said. “You look tired.” “Well, thank you, Simon,” Kaylee said, smiling up at the doctor before turning very pointedly towards Mal. “That’s real polite.” Mal sighed and turned away. Ten minutes later the table was set and everyone, with the exception of Wash and Zoë, were seated around it. It was 18:00, time to eat. But there was a sort of empty pause as everyone waited for either the firstmate or the pilot to come in and, at very least, explain that they wouldn’t be eating with the crew. It felt all wrong, to start without them, but it also felt a little silly to wait for them. “Maybe I should go check on Zoë,” Simon volunteered, “See if she’s coming up.” There was a weighty pause. “If she comes, she comes,” Mal finally said. “We can start without her.” Jayne reached for the bowl of rice. “’Course,” Mal said, glancing at the mercenary in a way that made him slowly draw his hand back. “Might not be such a bad idea. You sure she’s all right?” “She should be fine,” Simon said, pushing himself away from the table. “Maybe they just lost track of time.” “We’ll wait on ya, Doc,” Mal said, as the boy hurried past him. “Aw, Mal, do we have’ta?” Jayne grumbled none-to-softly. “Yes,” Mal said. “We do.” Simon had just reached the steps leading to the door which would take him to the hallway and downstairs to the infirmary, when he stopped short. “Oh,” he said, taking a step back to clear the way for Zoë and Wash. “There you are.” “Weren’t waitin’ on us, were you?” Zoë asked as she, Wash and Simon took their seats. Mal couldn’t help but notice that his firstmate’s poker face was more than unusually red around the cheeks and bright around the eyes. Wash looked downright giddy, and seemed to find a way to be touching his wife no matter how she moved; once they were sitting, Mal was sure they were playing footsy. The food was passed around. Those who prayed silently did so, only slightly grating on their captain’s nerves, and everyone started eating with an uncharacteristic quietness. Everyone was dying to know what was going on with Zoë, whose sudden transformation from sickly to giddy was somewhat troubling, but no one quite had the gumption to out and out ask. “Is it just me,” Wash finally said after a couple of tense minutes. “Or is everyone unusually quiet tonight?” “You know what, hon, I think they are,” Zoë said with a chuckle. “Ok, ok,” Mal finally said. “No need ta put on a little show. Ya obviously got good news, we’d all appreciate it if ya’d share.” “You wanna tell or should I?” Zoë asked her husband. Her nose was crinkling in a joyous way that Mal had never seen before. “I want to,” Wash said, “But it’s really your news.” “No,” Zoë insisted. “It’s both of our news, you can tell . . .” “Somebody tell,” Mal said, growing a little angry, “That’s an order.” “Yes, sir,” Zoë said, taking a deep breath and becoming dry and professional again, although there was still a twinkle of joy in her eyes as she glanced around the table. “Wash and I are pregnant.” There was a heartbeat where everyone at the table, with the exception of Simon, starred at them in absolute shock, which was broken by Jayne’s grunt, “You just said Wash was pregnant.” “Ahhhh!” Kaylee screeched, jumping from her chair and barreling over to Zoë, who was quickly wrapped in a congratulatory hug. “You’re gonna have a baby! That’s great!” Inara, who happened to be sitting next to Zoë, quickly joined in fawning over the firstmate. “That’s amazing news. Congratulations.” “Thank you,” Zoë said, her professionalism gone, she was giddy again. “Thanks.” “We’re you trying to . . .?” Inara asked “No,” Zoë said. “It just kinda happened.” “But yer happy ‘bout it, right?” Kaylee asked. “Yer excited?” “It’s a good thing I was in the infirmary,” Wash explained to Book, Jayne and Mal, who listening eagerly. “’Cause when Simon told me Zo was going to have a baby I nearly died of a heart attack.” “This will be wonderful,” Book said, “Having a child on this ship.” “Right,” Jayne grunted. “Smelly diapers, cryin’ in the middle of the night, not bein’ able ta cuss, this’ll be jus’ wonderful.” “I never really wanted a baby,” Wash said, a little wonder in his voice. “I mean, having Zoë was just so fantastic. But soon she’ll have a son or daughter; we’ll have a son or daughter.” He looked up at his friends, “I can’t even describe how wonderful this feels. It must be why some family’s have twenty kids. I could totally have twenty kids if it feels like this every time.” “Just wait ‘till the cryin’ and the diapers, like Jayne says,” Mal said good-naturedly. “Then we’ll see how you feel about prolific offspring.” “A baby,” River said softly. She, like Simon, was watching the others congratulate. Simon had already offered his felicitations and River couldn’t quite figure out what would be right to say. “That’s right,” Simon said with some confidence. “A baby.” “It’ll cry and spit up.” “That’s pretty much what babies do.” “And its mommy will love it and rock it and sing to it.” “Yeah, I think Zoë probably will.” “And its daddy will bounce it on his knee and tell it scary bedtime stories.” “Yeah,” Simon said, turning away from his thrilled shipmates towards his sister. “What are you thinking, mei mei ?” There was an odd smile that spread across River’s face, the kind of smile she barely every had. It was hopeful, encouraged, and a little expectant. She looked like she was about to laugh and cry from sheer joy. “Soon the smell of baby powder And the sent of curdled milk, Fragrance like a pungent flower To our hearts the same in ilk, Will descend, like spring's fresh shower Of the rain which does not bilk Its joy; nor should we gathered cower From this babe, with skin like silk. I would not shrug, no, not a day Which I could spend with what may be: Unique, unknown, new DNA Beloved, hopeful progeny, Of one gay nights roll in the hay: The ships first own, our loved baby” Simon stared at her, dumbfounded for a second. Finally he managed to say, “Was, was that a sonnet?” The girl nodded, “It’s for the baby.” “Did, did you just come up with that? Just . . . compose it?” River nodded again, she still had the silly, youthful, smile on her face. “Do you think I should tell Zoë?” “Ah, no,” Simon said quickly. She looked at him critically, almost hurt. She didn’t say it, but he knew she wanted to know why not. “It’s a very nice poem, River,” Simon said. “I know Zoë will appreciate it, ah, you just might want to consider reworking the sextuplet first.” She stared at him blankly a second before nodding. “The meter’s off.” “That’s not what I . . .” Simon started, before deciding that it would probably be better to just agree with her. “Yeah.” “I’ll think about it,” The girl promised.

FRIDAY “All crew report to the cargo bay,” Mal’s voice boomed, echoing through the cargo bay where most of the crew was already assembled. Jayne and Book were in the twelfth round of a knockdown, drag-out, horseshoe tournament. Simon and Kaylee were perched on the catwalks, their legs hanging over the edge, watching. Inara and Zoë, under the pretense of watching, were sitting on some of the large crates talking, and, a couple of yards away, River was hovering, like she had been ever since Zoë made her announcement, beaming at the firstmate. “Doesn’t it drive you nuts?” Inara asked quietly, so that River couldn’t hear over Jayne’s loud gloating as he landed the perfect toss. “Not so much,” Zoë said with a shrug. “She stays outta the way, she’s quiet, and it’s better this than her rantin’ and screamin’.” “I suppose,” Inara said. “I’d just wonder about what’s going on in her head.” “That’s somethin’ I’m sure we’ll never know,” Zoë laughed. “But look at her face, can’t be harmful,” Zoë said, turning to smile at River, who smiled bashfully yet eagerly back. “She’s just excited ‘bout the baby. So long as she stay’s out from under foot there ain’t no harm.” “What about when you go out on a deal?” Zoë grunted, “I ain’t gonna go out on no deal, not for nine months.” “And you’re all right with that?” Inara asked, amazed. “That’s the way it is,” Zoë said with a shrug. “Between Cap’n worrin’ and Wash worrin’, just ain’t worth it. Now, when my nine months are up, well, then we might have us a little ruckus to determine who goes out on deals and who stays on the ship.” Inara laughed. “But for nine months’ I’m ship bound,” Zoë continued. “Don’t think I’ll mind the company most times.” “She can be a very sweet girl . . .” Inara said, letting her sentence trail off. “I talked ta Simon ‘bout it, he said that he thought the baby gave her hope,” Zoë said, an almost uncharacteristic sentiment in her voice and eyes. “Ya know, the poor girl’s seen so much, got next ta nothin’ ta look to in the future. But this baby, it gave her hope. I just . . . I just don’t wanna be selfish about it, ya know. This ship, Serenity, for better or for worse, it’s all our home and we’re all kinda family. Can’t help but feel sorta like it’s everyone’s baby. Even River’s.” “I doubt you’ll feel that way after twelve hours of labor,” Inara said. “By then you’ll feel you’ve earned exclusive rights.” “After bein’ saddled with the kid fer nine months I think I’ll be eager fer some time away.” “So, are you hoping to groom River to be a sort of nanny.” “I ain’t doin’ anything,” Zoë said, trying to hide how frightened she was at the idea of the girl who’d coolly sliced Jayne across the chest with a carving knife holding her baby. Zoë had to admit to herself that River was fine hovering around as long as that’s all she did: hover, be a pretty little specter on the edges of her peripheral vision. The prospect of more than that was slightly disturbing. “In nine month’s we’ll see,” Zoë finally said. “But right now, I ain’t gonna chase her away when she’s done nothin’ wrong.” “Well,” Inara mused, “For now at least you’re making her very happy.” “An’ that’s good,” Zoë said. “Everybody deserves their share a happy.” The conversation on the catwalk was remarkably similar. “She’s real pretty when she smiles,” Kaylee said, gazing at River. “I know,” Simon sighed. “It’s nice to see it again. I just . . . I hope that she knows enough to be cautious.” “Wa’da’ya mean?” Kaylee asked. “She’s so enamored with the idea of a baby on the ship, a new life, tabula rasa.” “Tabula-whosa?” “It means a clean slate, a fresh start,” Simon explained. “I’m just afraid eventually Zoë’s going to get sick of having River hovering over her.” “Well,” Kaylee offered. “River ain’t botherin’ nobody.” “Not yet,” Simon sighed. “But she can be so unstable. I know she wouldn’t do anything to hurt Zoë or the baby, but if Wash were to, quite reasonably, ask her to zou kai . . .” “I’m sure it’ll all work out jus’ fine,” Kaylee said, grabbing Simon’s hand and squeezing it affectionately. “A baby’s a blessin’ and my grandma said nothin’ bad come’s of blessin’s.” Simon looked at Kaylee skeptically, but he didn’t dare nay-say her grandmother’s words of wisdom. “Ya never know, maybe It’ll turn out she’s great with kids and can take care of the baby while Zoë goes out on a job.” “I’m, ah, I'm not sure . . . I don’t think she even really seen a baby before.” “Naw,” Kaylee asked, amazed. “She’d of had to.” “I can’t conceive where . . .” “At a family gatherin’ maybe?” “No,” Simon said, his eyes scanning the cargo bay ceiling as he thought, as if his sister’s life experiences were painted there. “She was the youngest.” “Well, yeah, but you had cousins.” “Two,” Simon said. “One, Jeanette, was my age and the other, Foster, was four years older then me.” “That was it?” Kaylee asked amazed. “Come to think of it, Foster’s wife was pregnant when I left. They’ve probably had the baby by now. Huh.” “Ya couldn’t of had just two cousins,” Kaylee said, amazed. Simon’s eyes drifted back down to her pretty face, “My father’s sister never married and my mother’s brothers had one child each.” “So, you didn’t have any cousins,” Kaylee asked, her mind stuck on this fact. “I told you, I had two.” “Might’as well be none,” Kaylee said, rolling her eyes. “Why, how many cousins do you have?” “Ain’t sure,” the girl shrugged, “’Bout twenty four on my ma’s side, I think, and . . .” “Twenty four?” Simon’s voice cracked just a little. “Yun-huh,” Kaylee nodded, not skipping a beat. “An’ then on my daddy’s side I think there were . . .” “Hey, Little Kaylee,” Mal interrupted as he bounded down the stairs. “Thought’ I told everyone to be in the cargo hold, ready ta get off.” “We’re gettin’ off the ship?” Kaylee asked excitedly, forgetting about her countless cousins. “That we are,” Mal said, reaching down and offering a hand to help her up. “I think we could all stand ta have dirt under our feet for a spell.” “So,” Simon said, pulling himself to his feet unassisted. “When you say ‘we could all’ . . .” “You and yer sis included,” Mal said. “It’s a nice little out of the way planet full a nice little people, no reason to fret.” Simon nodded clearly still fretting, but willing to trust his captain’s words. “Hey!” Kaylee said, as if realizing something for the first time. “Where are we setin’ down? You ain’t told us once what planet we were goin’ to.” “Well, you were too busy to much care,” Mal said as the threesome plodded down the stairs, clinging to the banisters. The gravity of the planet was already kicking in and as Wash eased the ship down the whole crew felt just a little off kilter. “Cap’n, You hao zi !” Kaylee said, turning and slapping Mal on the arm hard enough to hurt. “You had me do all that work so’s I’d be too busy ta ask where we were headed.” “I am, at times, amazed at my own cleverness.” “Wow, Captain,” Simon said, with a somewhat nervous respect in his voice, “That was quite the connivery.” “You may think what you done was clever,” Kaylee said lividly as she reached the deck and started heading towards the hatch. “But you’re gonna be sorry when I decide never ta talk to you again.” “I have great faith in the weakness of those convictions,” Mal told Simon quietly over his shoulder. The doctor couldn’t help but snicker. “You laughin’ at me?” Kaylee said, turning on the men with more fury in her expression than either man would have thought possible. “No,” Simon said very quickly, his mouth going dry. Mal, who knew what was going to happen as soon as the hatch hit the dirt, continued to chuckle. Kaylee sent him a venomous glare so cold that he started to cough, had to clear his throat, and came out of it looking more or less contrite. There was a dull clunk as the hatch unlatched and a loud cranking as it started to lower. It was loud enough to prevent any real communication, but Kaylee still managed to communicate her extreme displeasure. It hung around her like a cloud, Mal and Simon didn’t dare come close to her. The rest of the crew wandered slowly towards the opening of the hatch, taking in the fresh air as soon as it flowed in. It was a sort of ritual for the crew to gather near the hatch when it opened. Even on planets were Simon and River were not allowed off, the siblings would hover near the ships entry, breathing deeply of air that hadn’t been sterilized, filtered and recycled. Jayne and Book had quit their game. The mercenary sucked in the air greedily while the preacher closed his eyes and took in deep measured breaths. Inara made a sort of contented sigh as she exhaled the first sweet breath. Wash slipped his hand in Zoë’s as he slid next to her, their faces were very close, almost like they were taking the same first breath. River’s tousled hair wisp back at the slight breeze, she was giggling, softly and seemed almost overcome with the simple pleasure. Even Kaylee’s foul mood lightened as the cool air hit her face. As Mal looked around he mused that, if he ever had to describe joy, he’d probably say it was fresh air flowing through Serenity. But what happened next would, perhaps, have been a better definition. When the hatch was half down it became clear that, wherever the ship had landed, there was a mass of people waiting. When the hatch was three-quarters of the way down, and the mass of people were clearly visible, Kaylee screeched. Although Mal couldn’t see it, he knew Kaylee’s bright face had a downright radiant, probably blinding smile on it. She ran to the edge of the hatch before it hit the dirt, screaming all the way, although her voice was lost in the din as most of the assembled crowed called out her name. “Ah, Captain?” Simon asked, clearly confused by the mechanic’s reception. “It’s her family,” Mal said. “Her home.” “So that’s why you kept her busy, preoccupied. So this could be a surprise.” “Yeah,” Mal said warmly. Kaylee’d just thrown herself into her father’s arms. Her mother was petting her hair and trying not to cry. Nieces and nephews where pulling at her jumpsuit begging for their aunt’s attention. “I think she appreciates it,” the doctor offered, his voice was warm too. “She’s my girl,” Mal sighed. “Thing’s I go through ta see that smile . . .” “It’s worth it,” Simon said. Mal glanced back at the boy. He was staring at Kaylee’s warm reunion with an almost wistful expression. Mal wondered if the boy wanted to be in Kaylee’s place, welcomed back to his family with loving embraces, or if he’d rather take the place of the handsome young man who’d just kissed the pretty mechanic on the cheek. “On that point, Doctor, we are in perfect agreement.” * * * “Now Captain,” Al Frye said very seriously, “You ain’t been gettin’ my daughter in any trouble, have ya?” “No trouble I couldn’t get her outta again,” Mal said. The older man laughed. He was mostly bald, skinny and weathered; a man who’d lived a very full life at the relatively young age of fifty. He had thin, nimble fingers, tawny sun soaked-skin, and a face that had clearly spent more time smiling then frowning. He was the kind of man who made it extremely difficult for anyone to dislike him. His wife, Nora, matched him perfectly. She was shorter and plumper than her husband, but she had the same sun-worn appearance and crow’s feet from too many smiles around her eyes. She had thick gray hair with a few tenacious brown streaks in it, and Kaylee’s gorgeous brown eyes. They, that is to say, Kaylee's entire family, most of her friends, and the crew of Serenity, were walking through the small town of Sweet Well on Newhope. It was a train-stop town of a little over three thousand people half way between the planet’s capital city, unimaginatively named Du Cheng , and it’s largest export, salt from vast valleys of salt mines. Its roots were in a large farming community, although there was a small copper mine that was getting bigger. Still, the best thing the town had going for it was the train. It was why Mal had decided to land in Sweet Well in the first place, years and years ago. Whatever Sweet Well didn’t have, they could get by train, but the Alliance big wigs in Du Cheng didn’t care to bother with such an out-of-the-way city. If you had to be planet bound, Mal thought so long ago, this was about the best place to do so, and he walked rather conspicuously down the street, followed by a large chunk of the community, he realized he still felt that way. “And she’s been good, I take it?” Nora asked, drawing Mal out of his musings. “’Course I been good,” Kaylee said, rolling her eyes lovingly at her mother. “Better’n gold,” Mal assured the matron. “Little Kaylee’s never let me down.” “And these jobs you do,” Nora said, “They ain’t too dangerous?” “Not overly,” Mal said. “Course, most work pay anything’s got a little danger in it.” “Don’ have ta fret over me, ma,” Kaylee said, slipping her arm around her mother’s and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Cap takes good care of us. He always will.” “If I doubted that I wouldn't of let ya go off,” Al grunted. “It’s a dangerous world, gotta take care of your own. Gotta watch who ya trust.” “Don’t I know it,” Mal replied. “But if I can say so, I think Serenity’s got herself a mighty fine crew of reasonably trustworthy folk.” “Reasonably trustworthy?” Nora asked. “Cap’s just bein’ modest,” Kaylee said. “Serenity’s got the best crew of any ship flyin’.” “I wouldn’t know that, sweetie,” Nora said with a motherly sing-songy tone in her voice as she turned her head to look at the crew of Serenity, who were following closely as they wondered from the empty field the town used as a docking port to the Frye’s home on the other side of town. “Ya ain’t introduced yer crew ta us yet. I see new faces since ya last shipped off.” “Right,” Kaylee clipped. “Well, ya know Cap’n Reynolds, an’ Wash and Zoë.” “So I do,” Nora said. “And this here’s Inara, case you couldn’t figure it out . . .” “I could figure them all out, Kaywinith, I just wanna be introduced proper.” “Right,” Kaylee said, “Ma, this is Inara, Nara, this is my ma.” “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Frye,” Inara said politely, although she had to yell a little to be heard over the din of the conversations around her. “You too dearie,” Nora said, “I’ve heard so many wonderful things.” “An this is Shepherd Book.” “Ma’am.” “Very pleased ta meet ya, Shepherd,” Nora said. “Been longin’ to ever since Kaylee first described ya.” “An’ Jayne,” Kaylee continued. “Ma’am,” Jayne said, tipping his hat to her. “He’s politer than ya made him sound, sweetie,” “I clean up good,” the large man said, smiling sweetly at Kaylee’s mother, who didn’t see her daughter roll her eyes. “And this,” Kaylee said, forcing her mother away from the ‘charming’ Jayne, “Is Simon and River.” “It’s very nice to meet you Ma’am,” Simon said politely. “The children have a game,” River said. “The take the flowers and sing ‘mama had a baby and his head popped off.’ But that didn’t happen, he caught fever and died.” There was a very heavy minute of silence. “Ah,” Simon finally said, “I’m very sorry about, ah . . . River.” “You were dead-on right about them, Kaylee, dear,” Mrs. Fray said, turning to her daughter. “I see ‘xactly what cha meant.” This answer, however, didn't seem to relax Simon at all. Mrs. Frye, thankfully, noticed the young doctor’s extreme malaise and laughed good naturedly. “Don’t fret over your sister. This family’s got odder then her in it. Least she smiles.” * * * “Hey, Doc, I gotta know, can Zoë dance?” Wash said, running up to Simon. The young doctor was standing on the very edge of the large gathering and had been somewhat hard to find. There were easily over a hundred and fifty people at Kaylee's welcome home party. There was more food, more real food, than Serenity's crew had seen in months. Fresh hodgeberries, blueberries, raspberries, apples, pears, and even large, plump strawberries, Kaylee's favorite. There was meat too, real meat: a roasted pig, ground beef meatballs in thick sweet gravy, and barbecued chickens. There were also all sorts of cakes, pound cake, fruitcake, yellow cake, and pies: pecan pie, apple pie, pumpkin pie, rhubarb pie. It was a feast to rival the swankiest of parties. Simon had to admit, held under Newhope’s cool early autumn sky, lit by torches and a large bonfire, it was the best party he’d ever been to. Even if he was very carefully avoiding every other guest and consistently preoccupied with the worry that an accident would lead to someone’s horrific death by third degree burns. “I don’t know,” Simon said innocently. “She’s your wife.” Wash, who was clearly enjoying the large keg of very hard cider, laughed loudly and slapped Simon on the back. “It won't hurt the baby, I mean, will it?” “Not unless you trip and fall on her because you're too drunk to dance,” Simon said, pulling away from the intoxicated pilot. “Where is Zoë, she's not drinking, is she?” “No,” Wash said, trying to pull himself up and appear passingly sober. “She said I could drink fer the both a us.” “Well, you’ve been doing a good job,” Simon said. “You should probably go to bed.” “Nah,” Wash said. “I’m just fine.” “Well, at least try to drink something non-alcoholic, re-hydrate yourself. And stay away from the torches.” “Got cha,” Wash said. “Yes to water, no to fire. May I part with your blessing?” “If you feel you must have them,” Simon said. Wash however, did not seem inclined to depart. “So why are ya back here, all alone?” “I’m not alone,” Simon said, “I have River.” He nodded to the ground where River was sitting. She was braiding together the summer’s last dandelions, all of them she could find. The chain looked, to Wash, like it could have stretched from the Serenity’s cockpit to the engine room, down the stairs and back out the hatch without much trouble. But then, he was very drunk. “She ain’t much for company.” “Presently, neither are you,” Simon pointed out. Wash laughed “Yeah,” he said, pointing at the doctor affectionately. “Good point. I should maybe find Zoë.” “Maybe.” “I think we’re gonna dance.” “Oh?” Simon said, as if this were news to him. “Hey,” Wash said, apparently forgetting, again, that he meant to be going back to Zoë. “Din’you say River used ta dance?” “Well,” Simon said glancing down at his sister. He knew that she was very aware of this conversation; he assumed that she was always very aware of everything, although he also assumed that she never really understood what was happening around her. “I’m sure if she wanted to . . .” She glanced up at him so suddenly that it startled the perfectly sober Doctor. Wash, however, was either too drunk to be startled or too drunk to show it. “I’m done, let’s dance.” “I thought you didn’t want to be in the middle of all the people,” Simon said. “You didn’t want to be in the middle of all the people,” River said, standing up and wiping the dandelion sap off of her hands onto her dress. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” “Great!” Wash said, too loudly, grabbing Simon's arm. “Let’s go!” The drunken pilot dragged the doctor into the center of the party, a large area set-aside for dancing; River followed, laughing out loud the entire way. Simon was tempted to ask River why she was laughing, but he had a feeling she would confess that she was laughing at him, and if that was the case he’d really rather not have known. The crowd had thinned somewhat. All the children were in bed, as were those who needed to wake up early without a hang-over. By this time, those remaining had eaten all they wanted to and were content with drinking. A group of Kaylee’s cousins had gathered together a few guitars, a flute, a fiddle and a drum and were making music for a very lively jig. “Hey Mal!” Wash yelled into the crowd, pulling Simon over to where most of Serenity's crew was standing, very near the cider. “Look what I found!” “Ah, Doctor,” Mal said, with drunken good humor. “Wonder’d where you’d gone off ta.” “Nowhere special,” Simon said. “Just around.” “He was with River,” Wash explained. “She was making a dandelion rope.” “Well,” Mal said, beaming at the young girl, who beamed back. “Ain’t that nice. See, Jayne, told ya she weren’t useless.” Mal said over his shoulder. Jayne, however, wasn’t there. “Hey Zoë,” Mal said to the person who was there. “Where’s Jayne?” “He left, sir,” Zoë said with sober tact. “If you’ll remember. With that blond girl.” “Oh,” Mal said, nodding. “Right, yeah, she, she was pretty.” “Not as pretty as my wife,” Wash said giddily, walking up to Zoë and taking her hands. Simon was surprised to see that the firstmate was more amused by her husband’s behavior than annoyed, but then, he’d decided long ago that it was better for to just accept Wash and Zoë, and not try to understand them. “Come on, sweetie, Doc said its ok ta dance.” “I told you he would,” Zoë said, rolling her eyes and laughing. “I’m not an invalid. I’m just pregnant!” “Don’t that just warm yer heart?” Mal said, loud enough to block out whatever Wash said as he swept his wife onto the floor. “What?” Simon asked. “Wash and Zoë?” “Yeah,” Mal drawled, his voice a little dreamy. “Was a time when I wanted a wife, a son, a bunch of daughters who’d call me papa and wear frilly pink dresses.” “Really?” Simon asked to be polite. He’d just realized that he wasn’t sure where River’d gone. “I don’t know why I always thought I’d have a lotta daughters,” Mal continued as Simon scanned the crowd around him. “I guess it’s ‘cause girls is so sweet, ya know? A boy, he causes all manner of trouble, gettin’ in scrapes. But daughter’s they, they just love.” “I’m sure,” Simon said, taking a step back. Maybe it was just the pale light and shifting shadows of the torches, but River wasn’t anywhere to be found. “Captain, sir, I need to . . .” “Ya know, I always wanted a baby sister, as a little kid,” Mal mused, clearly oblivious to Simon’s behavior. “I think I just like ta take care of things.” “I need to find River,” Simon said, because no matter how drunk the Captain was, he didn’t want to leave so rudely without offering an explanation. If Mal noticed, it didn’t deter from his self disclosure. “It’s why I like the ship so much, I think. She’s like a daughter, gotta take care a her, giver her the right fuel, make sure she gets tuned up and all, but without the work a havin’ a family . . .” * * * “River?” Simon called loudly, to be heard over the din of drunken conversations, lively music, and dancing couples. He’d worked half way around the dance floor and his sister was nowhere to be found. He was near panic. “Simon!” Kaylee squealed, drawing the doctor’s attention. She was surrounded by handsome young men, and had been for most of the party. She was talking, laughing, pushing her hair behind her ears only to have it tumble out again. Her cheeks were just a little flushed from the alcohol but her eye’s were bright and keen. For a moment, his building concerns for his sister were almost driven from his mind. Kaylee looked about as beautiful as Simon had ever seen her, and he could tell by the gleam in all the other young men’s eyes that he wasn’t alone in his observations. This was, more than Simon would ever admit, the reason he’d avoided the party. He didn’t want to compete for Kaylee, he couldn’t, not against these men, who knew her so well, who spoke her language, who understood her, who weren’t being hunted by the Alliance, whose mere acquaintance couldn’t get her killed. “Hey,” The girl said, coming up to him, smiling beautifully, sparkling. “Hey,” Simon said back. He suddenly felt very hot and very thirsty. “Wanna dance?” She asked. Simon blinked and forced himself to think, “I can’t, you see . . .” “Don’t have ta dance well,” Kaylee said, clearly not understanding his objections. “Just have ta try.” “No, River . . .” “Got an answer for that,” Kaylee said, slipping away from him for a second, leaving him cold but still thirsty. “Kaylee,” he said, taking a step to follow her but no more. “You don’t under-- . . .” He was interrupted by a large wooden mug full of cider being shoved into his hands. “Drink this,” River suggested. “You’re thirsty.” “River,” he said, almost overcome with relief. He reached out and touched her smiling face, displaying all the faith of St. Thomas. “Where were you?” “Getting drinks, silly,” the girl said, as if she’d told him and he’d forgotten, before taking a deep swig out of her own mug. Simon looked at the amber liquid, then to his sister. “Have you had any of this?” he demanded foolishly. She smiled at him and nodded, “It’s good,” and took another sip. “River, you shouldn’t be drinking this, you’re too young.” “I’ve seen time stream by,” River said in her eerily serious and slightly insane way, her voice lax and her eyes unfocused. “Flow like a river past me. I’ve been baptized in time, sunk under until something died, come up gasping for breath. New life out of time.” She blinked and came back to herself. “I think I’m old enough for alcohol,” she said candidly. Simon struggled to comprehend what River meant for a moment before realizing that such endeavors were never worth the effort he put into them. “Who gave this to you?” He asked, believing that he’d be able to confront the inattentive barkeep and have his sister cut off. “Captain Reynolds,” River said in a wonderfully snobbish way, the way she talked as a child whenever she’d convinced there parents to take her side in an argument, which was most times. “You’re kidding,” Simon said dryly. “Drink up, Simon,” River said, taking her own advice. “Don’t want to be too cold.” “Now, River, you know that alcohol doesn’t actually keep you warm. It draws blood away from your extremities which can lead to serious health issues,” Simon lectured as he scanned the crowd, catching Mal’s eyes so he could send a very disapproving scowl. The captain didn’t seem to notice the glower; however, he raised his own wooden mug jovially, letting the sweet amber liquid slosh over its lip and onto his hand. He seemed surprised, when that happened, and took down his mug, gazing at his hand, trying to figure out just why it was wet, or perhaps just why he had less cider in his mug than he’d had a minute ago. Simon sighed and turned back to River. “No more, mei mei, you understand?” “You’re not my father,” the girl said, wrapping her hands around the wooden vessel and pulling it close to her chest. Simon understood that, if he wanted her to stop drinking, he’d have to pry the cider from her cold, dead hands. “I just want you to be safe,” he said. “And alcohol . . .” “Doesn’t react with any of my medications,” the girl said solidly. “I don’t know that, we’d have to check the . . .” “It doesn’t,” River insisted. “You think I’ll get drunk and that someone will rape me.” Truthfully, Simon hadn’t been brave enough to think that. Almost instinctively, he took a deep drink of his own cider, trying to wash the notion away. “It won’t happen,” River said. “I’m too smart.” “River, it’s not about being smart,” Simon said, lowering his glass. “It’s just, when you drink sometimes . . .” “Hey,” Kaylee’s voice said, cutting through the doctor’s lecturing. She looked just as distractingly beautiful as she had before, all soft and radiant in the firelight. Behind her was a younger man, about River’s age. He was somewhat boxy and short, not more than an inch taller than River, with a bright face, not unlike Kaylee’s, and deep brown eyes. His round face was a little flushed, from nervousness, excitement, or too much cider, Simon wasn’t quite sure. “Just the people I was lookin’ for.” Simon, too polite and reserved to lecture River in front of a stranger, especially a stranger her own age, tried very hard to greet the newcomers cordially. “Hello, Kaylee, I hadn’t realized you were looking for us.” “Simon, River,” Kaylee said, “This here’s my cousin, Jackobeam.” “Ah, Hello,” Simon said, reaching out to shake the boy’s hand. It was clear what Kaylee was doing, Simon just wished he had an idea how to stop it. “Very nice to meet you, Dr. Tam,” the boy said respectively. “And you can just call me Jack.” “Right,” Simon said, forcing himself to smile politely. “Jack.” “Jack here was wondrin’ if River’d like ta dance,” Kaylee said, somewhat pointedly. “Well,” Simon said, “She’s . . .” “Yes,” the girl said, glancing mischievously at her brother as she grabbed Jack’s arm and, after shoving her drink onto her brother, pulled him onto the floor. “Kaylee,” Simon said, turning away from the intoxicatingly pretty girl so he could place his sister’s disregarded drink on a near by table. “I wish you would have asked me first.” “Wow,” Kaylee said, totally ignoring his comments. “She’s amazing.” Simon followed her gaze and saw his sister and Jack, dancing the reel with a grace and passion and abandon that was unrivalled on the makeshift dance floor. Simon wondered if it could be rivaled anywhere. The crowd, drunk as they were, was starting to notice the young couple, well, River really, dancing as beautifully and as naturally as a bird flies or a star twinkles. “It’s so good,” Simon said, forgetting that he was upset, “To see her dance, like this. She never, I mean, she was classically trained but, but I always kind of thought that this, folk dancing, was what she really loved. She would,” he laughed softly at the memories, “She’d grab me when mom and dad were away, at a dinner party or something, and beg me to partner with her because she wanted to try a new jig or something she’d seen on the Cortex but her instructor wouldn’t teach her.” “So you can do these kinda dances then?” Kaylee asked, looking up at Simon expectantly. “I know how,” Simon answered, not really getting the gist of her question. “But she’d always get frustrated with me as a partner. I wasn’t coordinated enough and, frankly, didn’t really care. Jack, however, seems to be doing very well.” “Well,” Kaylee said, rather loudly, as she pulled on his arm, almost physically dragging his attention away from his sister. “I promise not ta get frustrated with you as a partner.” Simon looked at her and blinked, “Oh,” he said, realizing what was obvious. “You want to dance.” “Yeah,” Kaylee nodded. “Ah,” Simon stuttered, before taking another, deep, swig of his cider. “Right.” He took a deep breath and set the wooden mug down on the table next to River’s and wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs. Then, extending his hand to her very politely, and bowing just a little, said, “Would you do me the honor, ma’am, of a dance?” Kaylee smiled and any embarrassment or uneasiness Simon felt got lost in her eyes, “I’d love ta,” she said. On the other side of the dance floor, a very drunken Mal Reynolds had found a bosom friend in Kaylee’s Uncle Hubert, who had eight daughters and one son. Both had been caught up when Hubert’s son and Mal’s youngest crewmember started dancing. “Didn’t know the boy could move like that,” Uncle Hubert said. “He’s agile and he’s quick, but gai si that girl makes him look good.” “She do,” Mal said, a little proudly. “She’s one of mine. Took her in off the street, so ta speak.” “You’re a good man Cap’n Reynolds,” Uncle Hubert said, slapping Mal on the back. The captain didn’t notice. “Well now, look at that,” he said, pointing to Simon and Kaylee, who’d just started to dance. They didn’t dance half or even a quarter as well as Jack and River, but as both of them chuckled at their general gracelessness they were, unquestionably, enjoying the dance and that had its own kind of appeal. “Don’t that just warm yer heart?”

SATERDAY River’s favorite time of every night was when everyone was asleep, when the din of everyone’s voices became little more than the murmur of dreams. If Simon knew that’s how she felt, he’d probably be worried. If he knew she made a habit of wondering around Serenity late at night when no one was awake he’d probably try to find a way to lock her door. If he knew she planed to do the same now that they were planetside, he’d probably try to stay awake for seven days straight to insure she was never able to wander off. But there were a lot of things Simon didn’t know, and a lot of things he couldn’t bring himself to remember. It wasn’t his fault, River thought, he had a lot of pain and, trying to protect her, he kept it all to himself. Eventually, that dark ball River could feel growing in him would kill him, if something didn’t stop it. River wished she knew what possibly could. It took a long time for everyone to tumble into sleep on this particular night, with the party and the excitement. Most of the attendants didn’t go to bed until very, very early in the morning. Thankfully, River was told to sleep in a room with six other girls, all of whom were far too tired to notice when their guest got up, climbed out the open window, down a tree, and headed for the empty Serenity. River padded through the town, watching it wake up, the baker and the milk man had already started working, the cooks and workers in the taverns and inns had all started cooking breakfast and many a farmer was out milking a cow. The world was clearly alive; River felt that life pulsing through her. When she reached Serenity, the first rays of sunlight were starting to creep across the horizon. She wouldn’t have long, she knew. She crept up the still open hatch, used all her strength to open the airlock door once she’d overridden its locks. She made no noise as she padded, barefoot, up the stairs in the cargo bay and told the doors to Inara’s shuttle to hush as she opened them. Thankfully, the companion was so exhausted from her own -- reasonably conservative -- revelry, that she didn’t notice the girl enter. She didn’t notice the girl hack into her shuttles computer and program a very unusual set of commands into the shuttle’s small transmitters. She didn’t even hear River’s soft giggles of excitement from the thrill of doing something wonderfully naughty. The young girl was doing to Simon, more or less, what Captain Reynolds had done to Kaylee. Simon would be mad when he discovered her activities, which he would have to if her plan worked, but he’d be so happy it wouldn’t matter. River crept out of the shuttle and skipped almost the entire way back to the room with the six girls in it. When she reached her pile of blankets, she sighed happily and curled up. Simon would be so very happy, she thought, hopefully that thought and the warm autumn sunlight streaming in from the window would be enough to hold nightmares at bay. * * * Inara set her shuttle down on the roof of the largest villa on the top of the large hill overlooking the bustling city of Du Cheng. It was an exciting city, growing by the day. As the long arm of the Alliance reached out further and further into the darkness of space, civilization itself seemed to sprout out of nothing. Four years ago, Du Cheng had barely existed, now it was considered an up-and-coming city. A place where energetic and resourceful young men and women could go and make a fortune, a world of opportunity. Kaylee had left this little world barely two years earlier, and in that time the city’s population had doubled. This was, in no small part, Inara imagined, due to the good management of her client, Reginald Comworth. He was the planet’s Governor, she’d learned last night. According to Kaylee’s many relations, he was a good man, fair and just. No one much minded having the pushy Alliance assign them a leader if they kept assigning men like him. His granddaughter was well-known, and generally liked. It was said that she was a Newhope child through and through, adventurous, rambunctious, not pinned down by convention and tradition. Inara chose not to disclose that she’d been hired to culture the young girl, weed some of the adventurousness and rambunctiousness out of her while teaching her the importance of convention and tradition. She had a feeling that wouldn’t go over too well with the citizens of Sweet Well. When she exited her shuttle she was immediately greeted by the heavenly aroma of a well-kept rose garden. It was the most wonderful smell Inara could imagine, so she didn’t even have to try to smile as she introduced herself to the older man with bright, sad, blue eyes and his pretty young granddaughter. “Governor Comworth,” Inara said, extending her hand, “It is a pleasure to meet you.” “And you, Lady Inara,” the governor said before kissing her hand cordially. “I can not tell you how pleased I was when you accepted my invitation.” “It truly is my pleasure,” Inara said, then turning to the girl. “And you must be Regina.” “Yeah,” the girl said, sticking out her hand as if for a very masculine handshake. “Call me Genie.” “Genie,” Inara said, taking the girls hand delicately by the side and squeezing it in a far more feminine version of a hand shake. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I do hope we’ll be able to be friends.” “Right,” the girl said, looking at the companion as if she was insane. Inara smiled pleasantly at the girl and then back up to her grandfather. “When do you think we should start the lessons?” “Genie is ready,” the Governor said, putting his wrinkled hand on his granddaughter’s shoulder affectionately. “But we don’t want to stress you, Lady Inara.” “I’m quite ready,” Inara said. “If it’s all right, I think it’d be best to start in the rose garden. Genie and I can walk around and get to know each other a little better.” “I think that would be just fine,” Gov. Comworth said, obviously pleased with how this was going. “Genie, show Lady Inara to the garden, would you? And remember to be on you best behavior.” “Yes, Papa,” the girl sighed, “You can follow me, ma’am.” “You can just call me ‘Inara’,” the companion said. “I was serious when I said I hope’d we’d be friends.” “Fine, Inara,” The girl said. “Please, follow me.” Genie slouched a little as she led the companion through the villa’s beautiful marble hallways covered with holographic representations of classical works of art. Her grandfather fell in step with Inara, so that they could talk softly. “You have a marvelous home, Governor,” Inara said. “I can’t remember the last time I saw anyplace so beautiful.” “I try,” Gov. Comworth said, smiling a little. “When I was sent to this planet six years ago it seemed to me to be nothing but a ball of mud. I wanted to bring all the comforts of home.” “Do you have a different view of the planet now?” “Now the planet is home,” he said with a smile. “These are just a reminder of where we came from, not the core planets, so much, as where humanity came from.” “It’s nice to be able to remember,” Inara said, her eyes resting on Degas’ “Place de la Concord” “Indeed,” he said. “But, I must know, what do you think of Regina?” “I think,” Inara said causally, “That she has the adoration of this planet’s citizens because she is, as I was told ‘A daughter of the soil.’” “That will get her nowhere in polite society, I’m afraid,” the Governor said. “The trick will be refining the gold and removing the dross,” Inara said. “I don’t want to change your granddaughter, not an iota. I want her to be able to present herself in such a way that even the most close-minded, arrogant, self-important snob will see the wonderful girl that all of Newhope knows.” Governor Comworth smiled and laughed, “I am so glad you chose to come here,” he said. “So very, very glad.” “Hey,” Genie said, turning her head, “What you guys talkin’ about?” “You,” Inara said honestly. “Oh,” the girl said, blushing a little and returning her attention to where she was going. “Well, then, I don’t want to interrupt you.” Inara laughed, “I can tell that this is one job I am going to thoroughly enjoy.” * * * Mal woke up with a horrible headache. As he stumbled down stairs he didn’t remember stumbling up last night, he tried to recall who’d sent him off to bed. The house he was in was large. Not large enough to get lost in, but large enough to feel big. As Mal passed through it he could hear noises on the other side of most of the doors, not loud or intriguing noises, but the soft pad of bare feat on wooden floors, the creek of opening a drawer, mummers of two voices quietly talking, the chainsaw like snore of someone who hadn’t woken up yet. Whatever house he was in, he could defiantly say it was alive. When he finally wound his way to the kitchen, he discovered his hostess and the first of his crew. “Mornin’ Cap’n,” Kaylee said brightly, looking up for a very large bowl which she’d been put to work stirring. “Didn’t expect ta see you up so early.” “Why?” Mal said, scanning the intolerably bright room for a coffee pot. “What time is it?” “Nearly ten,” Nora said, mercifully providing Mal with a ceramic mug filled with hot black coffee. “But you were mighty drunk last night.” “Was I?” Mal asked, not really wanting to know the answer and hear its proofs. “Daddy had ta practically drag ya up ta bed,” Kaylee laughed. “Course, he weren’t much more sober then you.” Mal grunted a sort of laugh and nodded, then winced as the slight movement sent lightning bolts of pain streaking behind his eyes. Kaylee giggled at her captain’s expression. Mal was sorely tempted to be upset with her, but her chuckles were so bright and cheery that he ended up laughing with her. “I must admit, Nora, you here know how ta throw a party.” “We do what we can,” Kaylee’s mother said. She was frying a lot of bacon in a very large pan. Mal was starting to realize he was very hungry. “Ain’t every day our little girl comes home. It’s so kind of ya, Cap’n, ta bring her back.” “Yeah, well, don’t think ya kin keep ‘er,” Mal said, smiling as he walked over to the large platter of finished bacon. “We need her up on Serenity, she’s the only one can keep us in the air.” He reached tentatively for a slice of bacon, glancing at Mrs. Frye to see if she was going to whack his hand away with the spatula. She smiled and nodded, giving him clear leave to steal as much bacon as he wanted. “Oh, no amount a mother’s lecturing could keep her planetside,” Nora chuckled. “My girl’s got a free spirit.” “Speekin’ of,” Mal said, turning back to the blushing Kaylee. “How’d it go with Simon last night? Well?” The girl laughed and shook her head, “Not so much as other times,” she finally said. “But better then usual.” “Well,” Mal sighed, “I guess that’s somethin’.” Kaylee smiled and blushed and turned back to her mixing. “Don’t suppose you know where the good doctor is this morning,” Mal asked the kitchen in general. “An’ the rest of my crew for that matter?” “Why, ya need ‘em?” Kaylee asked. “Naw, just like to keep tabs,” Mal explained. “It’s a captain thing.” “Well,” Nora said. “If ya kin wait another twenty minutes everybody’s supposed ta come over fer a nice large brunch.” “Ah, hence the bacon.” “Yep,” Kaylee said. “’Course Nara won’t be commin’ she left fer that job early this mornin’.” “Right,” Mal said. “Over in Du Cheng.” “Shame she won’t be around,” Nora said. “I’d of loved ta talked to her a might.” “She’ll be back,” Mal clipped, “She’s only workin’ five days, we’re set ta be here seven.” “True enough, I suppose,” Nora sighed. “How ‘bout Jayne?” Mal asked, longing to talk about anyone but Inara. “Know where he is?” “Who’d he go off with last night, Ma?” Kaylee asked. “Was it Janice Forbot?” “It was,” Nora said nodding. “So’s there’s no tellin’ where he slept. Behind a barn in a haystack like as not. Wouldn’t ‘spect ta see him fer brunch if he was with her.” “Ah, well,” Mal said causally, “He’s a big boy, can take care a his self. I’m sure he’ll find his way back here eventually. How ‘bout the others?” “Well,” Kaylee said, getting up from the table, her mixing finally done. “Zoë and Wash are stayin’ with my brother Collin and his wife, they live just down the street.” “They’ll be over for brunch,” Nora said. “An’ Shepherd Book’s stayin’ with my sister Jackie and her family,” Kaylee continued, she’d reached the stove and was starting to ladle pancake batter out of the large bowl she’d been stirring onto a skillet. “And River’s with Uncle Hubert and Aunt Tammy and their girls. Simon was supposed ta stay with Doc Garland, but he got all panicky ‘bout River stayin’ alone.” Mal laughed, “I imagine he did.” “So he’s over there too, with Jack. And I think that’s everyone.” “Seems ta be,” Mal nodded. “And you say they’ll all be here in a matter a minutes?” “Good Lord yes,” Nora said, “Thank god for sunny days, gotta set the table outside and all the places, should be ‘bout twenty people fer breakfast, and Tammy promised ta bring enough milk fer everyone ta have some but if I know her she’ll forget ‘bout half the people so’s we ought’a go and fetch some from the barn, and some butter from the cool box wouldn’t go amiss. Don’t suppose you could lead me a hand, Cap’n?” “Be my pleasure, Ma’am,” Mal said, “Just tell me what to do.” * * * “The trick to being a lady,” Inara explained as she had tea with Genie in the Comworth’s beautiful rose garden, “Is beauty.” “So what?” the girl asked. “Yer gonna teach me what dresses are in fashion and how to do my makeup.” “Well, yes,” Inara admitted. “But that’s not really what I mean. You can be very attractive and still not be beautiful.” “Are you going to tell me that real beauty is within, because if so . . .” “No,” Inara laughed pleasantly. “And yes.” “Do you even know what you’re going to teach me?” “Well, I hope to teach you how to make every action beautiful.” Genie guffawed at the very idea. “You see,” Inara said. “That’s not very beautiful. Is there a way for you to laugh without making a snorting noise like a pig?” “Whatever,” Genie muttered. Inara sighed, consciously letting her composure slip a little, “You don’t want to do this, do you?” “No,” Genie said. “Well, I don’t want to fight with you about it.” “You don’t?” the girl was obviously aware that the companion was trying to pull something, she just couldn’t figure out what. “No, I don’t,” Inara said, picking up the napkin in her lap and folding it in what seemed like an absentminded mannor. “It’s only my second day here, I’m sure I’ll be able to find more work before I leave. And even if I can’t, my ship is docked in the most charming little town imaginable. I wouldn’t mind some time in a peaceful country inn, eating some good frontier home-cooking, and enjoying the wilderness.” “Sounds great,” Genie said. “Go with my blessing.” “Of course, just because I leave, that doesn’t mean your grandfather will quit trying to find someone to coach you.” “He can try aplenty,” Genie said, smiling sweetly. “No one else wants the job.” “In that case, Dearie,” Inara said, putting her napkin, folded into an elegant fan shape, down on the table in front of her. “I’m really very sorry.” “Because I’ll stand out like a sore thumb in ‘polite society’?” This was obviously a threat Genie didn’t take too seriously. “Exactly,” Inara said sharply. “You are a clever, sweet, remarkable young woman, I can see that. What I can’t see is why you knowingly are heading for the worst possible torture I can imagine.” “It can’t possibly be so –” “It is a thousand times worse,” Inara said sharply. “Think of hundreds of people smiling at you to your face and laughing at you behind your back; young women who have nearly endless financial resources and hours of spare time amassing all of their energies to humiliate you for fun; every young man you know being your friend, but none of them wanting to be anything more. And imagine all your social faux pas are broadcast over the Cortex as headlines on the society waves. Is that what you want?” Genie didn’t blink, which was to Inara’s advantage, because there was sheer terror in the young girl’s eyes. “I don’t want to change, pretend to be what I’m not.” “You don’t have to,” Inara said, laughing comfortingly and putting back on her soft, amiable countenance. “You just have to be aware of yourself. You have to want to show people how beautiful you can be, how beautifully you can speak, how beautifully you can act, how beautifully you can move. No ones asking you to change, we just want you to be the most beautiful you you can be.” “Fine,” Genie said, sitting up a little straighter and pulling her elbows off the table. “I’ll stop being a brat.” “Thank you,” Inara said pleasantly. Genie smiled back sarcastically, “My pleasure, I’m sure.” “Not quite right,” Inara commented as she pored them both a cup of tea. “But a marked improvement.” * * * “So,” Kaylee’s sister-in-law Marggie, asked during breakfast. “Y’all are pregnant?” Zoë glanced at Wash and smiled, squeezing his hand affectionately. “Yah,” She said, “Got any advice?” “Give ‘em what they need, not what they want,” laughed Margie, who had a very plump one-year-old in her lap and was keeping her eyes on a two and a three-year-old who were playing with the other children in the yard behind Zoë. “Sound advice,” Wash said, “When our baby’s crying for Champaign I’ll be sure to put my foot down and say milk or nothing.” Margie laughed again, “You’re so silly!” “Seriously,” Zoë insisted, pushing aside a set of chuckles. “What do you mean?” “Baby’s cry fer everything,” Margie explained. “You don’ have ta give ‘em everything. If ya need ta sleep, the baby can wait fer ten minutes, ain’t gonna kill it. If yer arm’s is tired, the baby kin lie in the crib, ain’t gonna hurt it.” “Seems a little mean,” Wash said, perfectly seriously. “If the baby’s crying you should . . .” “I ain’t sayin’ ignore it,” Margie quickly explained. “I love my babies more ‘en I love anything. I’m jus’ sayin’ that some times a mom works too hard ta make sure the baby’s always happy. It don’t hurt the baby ta cry a little, but sometimes it can hurt you ta live yer life makin’ sure the baby don’t cry.” “Yer talkin’ about setting boundaries,” Zoë said, “Makin’ sure I don’t go nuts.” “First baby ya don’t know what yer doin’ so ya jump at everything,” Margie said. “I got so stressed my hair started turnin’ white. Thought if little Alexis cried was ‘cause I was bein’ bad. Ain’t so.” “Thanks,” Zoë said. “I’ll remember that.” “Ew,” Wash said, kissing his wife on her temple, “White hairs, don’t want that.” Margie laughed again, “Yer husband, Zoë, he’s crazy funny.” “What can I say,” Zoë said, smiling lovingly at her husband. “Ya can’t chose who ya fall in love with.” Margie laughed again, “Yer both too funny. Must be horrible hilarious on that ship, what with Kaylee bein’ happy all the time like she is. She is still happy all the time, ain’t she?” “Ridiculously so,” Wash said. “Good ta know,” Margie said. “But then, I guess ya have ta be a pretty happy type person ta work on a space ship. No sun, no people ta talk to, nothin’ but cold and dark.” “Ain’t so bad,” Zoë said. “Crew gets pretty tight.” “Bet they’re all real ‘cited ‘bout the baby.” “Yeah,” Zoë laughed. “It’s really gonna change all our lives.” “Ya got a nursery fer it?” “Ah,” Wash said, glancing at Zoë, then back at Margie, “No.” “Well, where’s it gonna sleep?” “That a good question,” Wash said. “In our room, I guess,” Zoë said with a shrug. “In our room?” Wash asked, clearly not likening the idea too much. “It’s a baby, sweetie,” Zoë said practically. “Then, when it grows a bit, it can stay over in the guest quarters.” “Ya got a crib?” Margie asked. “No,” Wash said, “Why, you have an old one?” “Naw,” Margie laughed, “Just ya might wanna get somethin’ sturdy. Don’t know what it’s like on a space ship, but can’t be too careful on a home where the floor moves.” “She has a point,” Wash told Zoë, “You said your husband was a carpenter, didn’t you?” “He could make ya somethin’,” Margie said. “Wouldn’t charge ya but for the wood, ya bein’ Kaylee’s shipmates and all.” “We couldn’t possibly . . .” Zoë started. “Would he let me help?” Wash interrupted. “Or, wait, no, would he let me make it?” “Ya work much with wood?” Margie asked. “No,” Zoë said. “He hasn’t.” “I’ve built a working atmo-ship practically from scratch.” “With Kaylee’s help,” Zoë interjected. “I think I can hammer in a few nails.” “Great,” Margie interjected. “I’ll tell Collin, y’all can start this afternoon.” “I’m so excited,” Wash said, drumming his fingers on the wooden table. “It’s like the first step into a lifetime of fatherly projects. I’ve decided I’m going to be the kind of dad who can do everything.” “Hold up a minute,” Zoë laughed. “’For you jump headlong into handymanship, you’re forgetting something. Captain’s got a big fishin’ trip planed for today.” “Well I can miss it, can’t I?” Wash asked, pouting a little. “How many people do you really need to fish? I mean, won’t too many hooks confuse them, tip them off maybe?” “Their brains are about the size of a pea,” Zoë reminded him, “Don’t think they got enough sense to get confused. ‘Sides, the fishin’ ain’t the point. Crew bonding’s the point.” “Kaylee isn’t goin’,” Wash pointed out. “She’s stayin’ with her family. They ain’t seen her for months on end.” “I haven’t seen her family for months on end either.” “Everybody but Kaylee’s goin’.” “River’s not going either.” “You wanna sit in a small boat in the middle of a deep lake with that girl?” “I don’t even want to think of her near a tackle box, what with the sharp hooks and the more sharper hooks,” Wash said. “But the point is that Kaylee and River and Simon – ” “Nope,” Zoë said. “Contrary to popular belief, them two ain’t joined at the hip. Simon’s comin’. And you’re comin’.” * * * “Why isn’t Wash coming?” Simon asked as the group headed out around noon for a slow, relaxed afternoon of fishing. “He’s got stuff he’s doin’,” Zoë clipped. “Got special dispensation from the Captain.” “And how did he --” “River will be fine,” Zoë said, cutting the doctor off before the young man got his hopes too high. “There’s easily thirty people lookin’ after her.” “None of whom have anything resembling medical or psychological training.” “They got compassion and common sense,” Zoë said. “For a few hours, that’ll be enough.” Simon took a deep breath and nodded. It had taken the captain, Kaylee and Book most of breakfast to convince him that leaving River alone with a group of girls her age would be good for her. It would, they argued, give her a chance to make friends and get a glimpse of how regular kids interacted. Simon agreed with them whole heatedly, she’d spent the majority of her adolescence in some perverted nightmare of a school. The social skills accumulated between the age of 14 and 17 were vital, and she’d been denied an environment where she could hope to learn them. If there were other children, Simon doubted she ever saw them. It spoke volumes of the depths of the Academy’s cruelty that being robbed of such important interactions was the least of River’s troubles. The argument went that, as long as Simon was around, River would be inclined to stay with or near him, and the whole point of her staying behind (besides the fact that no one, including Simon, was in favor of putting her in a small boat and give her access to a box full of sharp hooks) would have been lost. Eventually, he’d had to agree. Still, every step he took farther away from River, the more worried he became. He couldn’t ask to go back, Mal wouldn’t have let him in a million years; nor could he find his way back to the Frye’s house, he’d been so lost in worry that he hadn’t been paying attention to the path they’d taken. So it was almost a good thing when Simon’s attention was drawn away from his musings by someone pushing him roughly on the shoulder as they walked through the twon. “Excuse me,” Simon said, his tone of voice making it clear he expected a full apology. “Might,” the man sighed. He was about Simon’s age, very muscular, with oily brown hair and dark, dark eyes. There was something about the way he moved, or maybe the way he spoke, that made Simon uneasy. “I got a bone ta pick with you.” “Sir,” Simon said, a condescending edge in his voice. “I don’t see how that’s possible considering we’ve never been introduced.” “What are yer intentions ta my Kaylee?” he demanded. “What, may I ask,” Simon said, clearing his throat. “Entitles you to call her yours?” “Don’ you be questionin’ me!” the man said, his small eyes looking just a little wild. “I hear her letter’s read out loud.” “Her letters?” Simon, at this point, was as confused as he was affronted. “Are you her brother?" “They read ‘em after services on Sunday, ya fop,” the man said, spitting tobacco juice out of the space where a tooth should have been on the side of his mouth. “An’ I listen ‘cause, ya see, Kaylee ‘n me, we is meant fer each other.” Simon, who didn’t believe fate or destiny had thrown him on Serenity, and certainly didn’t believe his present relationship, nebulous though it was, was the result of some cosmic forces plotting and scheming their lives, driving Kaylee and him towards each other because they were, as Plato would have said it, to halves of the same soul. All that, Simon was convinced, fell under the category of utter nonsense for a feebly romantic mind. Still, oddly, he resented the idea that this man, crude and awkward, who chewed tobacco and considered his rotted-out teeth a convenience, could possibly be pretty little Kaylee’s soul mate. “She never mentioned you,” Simon said, more than a little snidely. “I’m surprised a fancy-dan like you listens when she talks,” the man grunted before spitting again. “You go anywhere near her ‘gain an’ I’ll beat yer face so bad’ll never hold that smirk again.” Simon turned and looked at the man and tried to take him seriously, tried to feel something, fear, pity, compassion, anything except revulsion. He couldn’t do it. “What makes you think I’d let you?” The man laughed in Simon’s face, letting a nauseating smell out of his mouth and displaying disgustingly inadequate dental work. “Pretty boy like you ain’t never fought, bet ya can’t take a hit.” “I’m not going stand hear while you try and scare me with bao li ,” Simon said simply. “Is that a challenge?” the man asked, a vicious glimmer in his eyes. “No,” Simon answered plainly. “It’s a fact. I don't care what you say or what you threaten, I’m not going to waste my time or energy on you.” “Ya don’t understand,” the man said, pivoting so that he was standing directly in Simon’s path. “I ain’t gonna stand for ya ta steal . . .” “Kaylee is a grown woman who can make her own decisions,” Simon said, forcing his voice to project over the disgusting man’s. He didn’t realize it, but his shoulders were squared and his hands were in fists and his usually soft stormy-blue eyes had narrowed into slits. “If you have a problem with her behavior it might behoove you to discuss it with her, not with me. I will never attempt to dictate her life to her, nor will I be intimidated into avoiding my friends. So, sir, if you are quite done demonstrating that you are an unashamed lok chat , I would appreciate it if you could please leave me alone.” The man stared, shocked, at Simon for a moment. But, before he could recover his brutish self, Mal’s commanding voice drew the young doctor’s attention away. “Hey, Doc, Ya commin’ or what?” “Yes, sir,” Simon said, quickly stepping around his dumbfounded adversary and jogging to catch up with the rest of the Serenity’s crew. “What was that all about?” Mal asked once the doctor reached the rest of the party. “Nothing, sir,” Simon said quickly. “Just an old friend of Kaylee’s.” Kaylee’s father, who was hosting the fishing expedition, chuckled. “That weren’t no friend, son, that there was Clinton Myers. He’s had a bing crush on my daughter since they were kids. ‘Cours she’s smart ‘nuff ta see a crazy when he flirts with her.” “Crazy, huh?” Jayne asked. He was carrying a pile of fishing rods like he carried his shotgun, slung casually over his shoulder. “What’d he say ta ya, Doc?” “Nothing important,” Simon said cagily, taking the tackle box Mal handed him. “He threaten you, Son?” Mal asked glancing over his shoulder at the now retreating form of Clinton Myers. Simon sighed; he didn’t want to relive the discussion. An ex-girlfriend had once told him that he turned into the biggest Jackass in the known universe every time he got assertive or aggressive or defensive. She’d told him he was sarcastic, belittling, shaming, pretentious, and just downright unlikable. Then, as he tried to defend himself he realized that he was being insufferably pertinacious as he sarcastically tried to belittle and shame her into taking back her observations. At the end of that discussion neither of them liked Simon very much. She had the advantage though, she could leave. And because Simon had no idea how to fix these character flaws he tried to avoid them, and when he couldn’t do that he tried to ignore that he’d displayed them, at least, as much as humanly possible. “He wanted to know my intentions towards Kaylee,” Simon answered. “Boy might be a crazy, but he asks good questions,” Mal said, a sort of mischievous glimmer in his eye. “What are your intentions, Doc?” “My intentions?” Simon asked, wide-eyed. He had no idea how to answer; he could barely believe he was being asked. “That is a good question,” Al said, laughing dryly. This was a joke to them, Simon realized, he just had no clue which punch line wouldn’t lead to him, well, being punched. “What are yer intentions to my daughter?” “We . . . well . . .” Simon stammered. “What’s wrong, Doc?” Jayne laughed, “Don’cha know?” “Be kind, Jayne,” Book said, “This isn’t exactly an easy question to answer. Any young man would be nervous when having to explain himself to a pretty girl’s father, her captain, and her preacher.” Simon sent a nearly-sinfully-angry glare at the preacher. Zoë Laughed out loud. “Yeah,” Jayne chuckled. “I can see how that could be a little nerve racking,” He chuckled again. “No pressure, Doc.” Simon sighed. “I don’t have any intentions towards Kaylee,” he said, a little more defensively than he would have liked. “I’m not scheming or plotting, or flirting, or anything. I’m just . . . we’re just . . . we’re friends. She’s my friend.” “Yeah,” Jayne grunted. “’Cause ya look at her the way people look at their friends.” Simon felt himself blush, a harsh, sarcastic, belittling reply popped into his mind. He literally had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at Jayne something, he was sure, would win him no points with Mr. Frye. “Preacher was right when he told ya ta be kind, Jayne,” Mal asserted. “Doc was gracious enough ta answer the huai hua question, no need ta make him feel the fool, well, more’n we already have.” Mal, Jayne and Al laughed; Book and Zoë tried not to, but ended up just snickering. Simon took a deep breath and told himself it didn’t matter. “Don’t worry, Son,” Al said between laughs, slapping the doctor so hard on the back that Simon almost stumbled. “I know my daughter well ‘nuff ta know that the question ain’t what yer intentions are ta her. Question ought’a be what her intentions are ta you.” Everyone started laughing again, and even Simon managed to smile and nod and breathe a little bit easier. But as the conversation drifted, thankfully, away from him and onto less stressful topics, Simon couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, that was supposed to mean. * * * Gov. Comworth was busy reviewing the reports on the environmental impact of run-off on southern farmland from Newhope’s vast salt mines. It was a complicated, politically charged issue that impacted a good deal of the planet’s population and needed to be dealt with quickly, decisively, and fairly, with minimal disruption to the citizens lives. In short, it was the kind of engrossing problem that made Comworth wish he was not a governor and did not have any sort of power over people’s lives. Therefore, it was not at all surprising when he snapped as his secretary poked his head into the governor’s office. “What is it, Tripper? I’m busy.” “I know sir, but we’ve received an unusual transmission.” “Transmission?” he grumbled, “From the High Command?” “No, sir, it’s short range, very quiet, has to be coming from on the grounds.” “Genie probably just . . .” “No, sir, I don’t think it’s one of her pranks. It’s very unusual.” “Can’t you find the source?” “No, sir, it’s my understanding that the transmission is, ah, sort of echoing.” “Echoing?” “It’s been routed through the holographic art projectors. It’s showing up instead of the paintings. I don’t know how sir, we can’t find the bandwidth but . . .” “Agh,” Comworth grunted, “Let me see.” The old man followed his secretary, a young man who would, undoubtedly in the future, turn into a prim and proper Alliance bureaucrat, through the outer office and to the hallways. Instead of images of humankind’s greatest artistic achievements, Gov. Comworth was greeted by streaming text that didn’t make any sense. They were Roman letters, but they weren’t spelling any words, at least, not any words in any language that the Governor was familiar with. Still, they seemed not to be random, there was definitely a type of pattern, although he couldn’t see it, not standing in the middle of the hallway watching letters stream past him. “Is this a continuous stream? Is the pattern repeating itself?” “Yes to both. The maintenance worker tells me he could cut off the stream at any time, I just thought you should see it.” “Yes,” Comworth said, “Can we download it?” “Already done, sir,” Tripper said, handing the Governor a computer pad with the text on it. “This is the entire message. It’s already looped three times, so I don’t think it’ll change.” “Well, tell Bester to cut the transmission, I want my art back. And he should figure out where it came from, if that’s not too much for his stunning mind.” “I’ll inform him of your wishes, sir,” Tripper said, noting all of the Governor’s orders on his own computer pad. “And notify me immediately if any other such transmissions are received.” “Yes, sir.” “Good,” Comworth said, nodding. “I’m going back to my reports.” And he did, for a few minutes. But there was something about that message that bothered him. He felt very strongly that he should be able to read it, that it shouldn’t mystify him. With a sigh of resignation, he pushed aside the reports and took up the pad. The letters looked like utter nonsense; the first line, yar revi. Those weren’t words, they weren’t words backwards, they weren’t words coded. But then, as he scanned the document, he noticed that every other of the nonsense words began with ya. “What if,” he muttered, taking the first line and writing it with the ya removed. R revi still didn’t make much scence, neither did rrevi, and neither did revir. Then it hit him. “Shen di yu ,” he said, his throat suddenly becoming very dry. “River.”

To Be Continued . . .