Disclaimer: For those of you who've been out on the Rim too long, Joss Whedon owns Firefly. I love Joss. I love Firefly. Its writers, crew and shiny cast. God bless them all.

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ELEVEN INHERENT METAPHORIC PARALLELS

“Aaagh!” There was something theatrical and hugely comic about the way one minute Simon was upright and the next flat on his back. His feet had skidded out from under him and as he tried to steady himself, he'd flung the crate he was carrying up into the air. It seemed to rise up in slow motion before crashing back down, hitting hard him in the chest. “Aaaagh!!”

“Now would be an appropriate time for a bit of that swearin' we was talkin' about, don't ya think?” Kaylee suggested playfully, offering him her hand and pulling him back to his feet. She smoothed his shirt down and asked, “You ain't hurt, are you?”

Simon shook his head as he rubbed his bruised backside. “No. I'm fine. Ugh!” He looked down at a dark, sticky and foul-smelling substance now covering both his palms. Kaylee followed his gaze to a smear of what looked like a slick of gou shi on the cargo bay floor.

“Death,” River whispered to herself so quietly no-one heard. Her eyes filled with tears. “Wants to kill us.”

Alerted by the commotion, Mal appeared on the catwalk above them. He leant on the railing. “Ah, the clitter-clatter of merchandise bein' smashed up,” he said bitterly. Then raising his voice, “What the hell is goin' on down there, Doctor?”

“Ain't his fault, Cap'n,” Kaylee called up to him. “Just slipped in somethin' is all.”

Mal gave Simon a standard, half-hearted glare. Not so much because he was angry, but because it was expected of him. The fact that it underlined the doctor's subordinate position in front of Kaylee was just an added bonus. Bad enough the boy was forever getting himself kidnapped, shot or nearly lit on fire. Him in a shipboard romance would be one complication too many.

Mal descended the stairs two at a time and surveyed the broken crate and offending smear. “Zoe!” he yelled. “Ain't we got a rota for keepin' this boat clean?”

Zoe stepped back from the hatch where she and Jayne were stowing the new cargo. “That we have, Captain,” she said calmly. “Did it myself just last night.”

“Then what in the nine hells is that?”

“Looks like something's living in here again,” she told him.

“Vermin,” Jayne declared, sniffing the air above the smear expertly. “Yep, Mal. We got vermin.” He grinned nastily at Simon. “More vermin than usual.”

“OK then, Jayne,” Mal decided, folding his arms across his chest. “You're the one with the trackin' skills. I want this thing off my boat before we get to Persephone, dong ma?”

“Fine by me,” Jayne answered, again looking at Simon. “Don't need no more parasites, that's for sure.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Mal almost convinced himself he'd dreamt the explosion. After all, most of his nightmares played out against a soundtrack of gunfire. A second blast followed by a shock wave that went shuddering through Serenity was enough to persuade him otherwise. He leapt out of bed and began pulling on his clothes, instinctively doing the calculations. The danger was getting nearer.

“Kaylee! I need you in the engine room NOW!” Wash's voice sounded tinny and frantic over the ship's comms. “Get her ready for hard burn.”

“Ta ma de!” Mal muttered angrily as he stabbed at the comms buttons with his forefinger. “Since when have you been Captain on this boat, Wash?”

There was no reply from Wash but after a few awkward seconds Kaylee asked nervously “Cap'n? What you want me to do?”

Another explosion. Closer still. Magnetic depth charge. “Get her ready for hard burn. Wait for my order.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

When Mal reached the flight deck all that could be seen through the window was a vast Alliance vessel. For an instant he gazed at it baffled, and then turned to Wash from whose face all the blood seemed to have drained. Zoe was standing protectively behind him, her expression inscrutable.

“Someone wanna tell me why the Alliance are firin' on us?”

Jayne hurtled into the room, half-dressed and clutching Vera. “Is it Reavers?” he asked breathlessly, full of dread. Then he registered the Alliance ship and his expression changed to one of confusion. “Why's the Alliance firin' at us?”

Mal was glowering at Wash. “Good question. One I was askin' my own self, Jayne. Got any light to shed on this unexpected turn of events, Wash?”

Getting no response, Mal grabbed the pilot's chair and spun it round violently so that Wash was facing him. Holding the chair steady, he crouched down so that his eyes were level with Wash's. “Cos what I'm uncomprehendin' of is why they ain't hailed us?”

Zoe leant forward and flicked a switch on the console. Instantly the head and shoulders of an Alliance commander filled the screen. “Firefly class transport, you are ordered to relinquish command of your helm or be fired upon.”

Mal suppressed a curse and spoke into the receiver. “Good day, commander. Glad to comply with any Alliance request but we got some technical problems this end. Can you give us a while?”

“Five minutes, Captain. Then we either board you or blow you out of the sky.”

* * * * * * * *

Mal felt mildly insulted by the way the feds had all but ignored him. And mighty puzzled at the interest they were paying Wash. The pilot had been seized by two purple bellies and frog-marched off for interrogation whereas Mal and the others had simply been told to wait in an ante-room. Funny too how not one Alliance officer had recognized Simon and River as wanted fugitives. No, all their attention had been on Wash. So much so, that one of them had failed to notice more evidence of Serenity's stowaway. The fall had nearly cracked his skull open.

Finally the Commander called Mal and Zoe in for questioning. He was seated behind a large, steel table. At his side sat another man, whose superior expression instantly raised Mal's hackles. “Good day, Captain Reynolds. I am Commander Pontan and this is High Commissioner Burghan.”

Unsure what the Commander's game was, neither Mal nor Zoe spoke. They didn't have to wait long to find out.

“The Commissioner is very unhappy about your pilot,” Pontan revealed. “Seems to have forgotten to renew his licence.”

Zoe's impassive stare was returned by the Commissioner.

A wave of relief swept through Mal. Gorramit! Was that all? “An unfortunate oversight,” he declared. “Been mainly out on the Rim of late. Ain't passed near any registration points for a good few moon months.” He gave Pontan and the Commissioner what he hoped was a winning smile. “I'm sure this can be settled easy enough, can't ....?” his voice trailed off as both Alliance officers shook their heads.

Burghan spoke. His tone was as superior as his expression. “I'm afraid it's not that simple, Captain.. uh.. Reynolds. Your pilot not only needs to renew his licence. He is also facing a civil lawsuit. He has been bound by law. You will need to replace him, at least in the short term.”

Mal was dumbfounded. When in the nine hells had Wash had time to run foul of the law?

Zoe broke the silence. “What's he charged with?”

The officers exchanged a glance. “Breach of promise,” Pontan said.

Zoe raised an unbelieving eyebrow. “That don't sound much like my husband.”

“Ah.” Burghan leant across the desk as if to draw Zoe into his confidence. “We're not convinced that he should be your husband at all.”

Quick as a flash, Mal laid a hand firmly on Zoe's forearm. A gesture intended to both reassure and restrain her.

“What the Commissioner means, “ Pontan put in, “is that before joining your crew – Captain Reynolds - Mr Warren was engaged to the daughter of a high-ranking official on Beaumonde.”

Mal blinked hard with surprise and threw Zoe a questioning look.

“Hun dun,” she said quietly.

* * * * * * *

Zoe stalked up the ramp with a face like thunder. Behind her trailed a sheepish Wash and a pimply faced youth of about twenty, dressed in the uniform of an Alliance pilot.

“Welcome back aboard Zoe,” Mal greeted her. “This our training job? Don't look up to much.”

“Don't think he is sir,” Zoe snapped back. “But Wash is going to need some help given the extent of his injuries.”

Kaylee looked puzzled. “He seems OK to me, Cap'n,” she observed quietly.

Mal shrugged. “I do believe that woman is planning to slap her husband around some.”

“Don't know what she's so mad at him,” Kaylee replied. “I think it's real romantic the way one look at Zoe was enough for him to throw up a glitterin' career and an arranged marriage.”

Inara smiled. “Personal relationships can be complicated.”

“That they can,” Mal agreed. He turned to Kaylee who was eyeing the newcomer with interest. “Better show the boy to his bunk, Kaylee. And remember - he ain't gonna be here long, mei-mei. The feds said we just gotta let him be our pilot as far as Persephone. Then he goes. No crushes this time.”

Kaylee rolled her eyes heavenwards. “Don't be silly, Cap'n. He just looks like he could do with a friend is all.” And in the blink of an eye, she had slipped her arm through the boy's and was leading him up the stairs.

Mal turned to Inara, who was still standing serenely next to him.”Wanna thank you Inara. For all your help. Don't think the lawyers would have dropped the charges without you pullin' strings.”

She smiled graciously. “Bribery is a universal language.”

“Yeah, and don't come cheap. Soon as I can, I'll be payin' it all back,” Mal insisted. “Or Wash will.”

Inara shook her head. “It's alright Mal. We're family. We take care of each other.”

“It's a kindness to say so. But you'll get your money. I think it's best we keep our relationship an uncomplicated one,” he said, choosing his words deliberately. Then he flashed her a quick mischevious grin. “Unless you was wantin' me to work the debt off in some way....?”

She returned his grin with a contemptuous look. “In your sad and lonely dreams!”

* * * * * *

Wash gazed at his plate mournfully. “So, not so much with the eating then?” he asked, looking at the meagre rations before him.

“Hey, little man, how much food do you need for your line of work,” Jayne asked him. “My work calls for a lot of muscle. An' I got the same size meal as you. What the hell is this, Preacher?”

“There's been a slight problem with the supplies...” Book was explaining as Mal entered the mess. He took one look at the single mound of unadorned protein on his plate and glared at Jayne.

“So. You claim to have been workin' do you, Jayne? Cos I'm lookin' at some mighty compelling evidence that says you ain't.”

“Huh?”

“The rations are low because something seems to have been eating our stores. It's lucky that boy isn't still with us or there'd be even less,” Book told him.

“Thought you religious types was good at makin' a little go a long way? Loaves and fishes kind of thing?” Mal asked, pleased to have yet another opportunity to point of the deficiencies of faith.

“The math is fallacious. Only a metaphor,” River observed.

Mal lifted Jayne's plate from under his nose. “Maybe a bit of starvation might convince you of the urgency of getting your work done,” he suggested.

“Damn it, Mal!” Jayne slammed his fist down onto the table. “Give that back!” He snatched the plate from the Captain's hand and began quickly spooning the food into his mouth before Mal could follow through with his threat.

“Soon as you've finished, you go find that thing.”

“Going to finish us,” River declared, staring into the distance.

“No. I'm gonna finish it!” Jayne was all determination. “With this.” And he drew an evil-looking knife from his belt. “I call her Binky.”