Notes:

*Please see the prologue to this story for a quick teaser and an introduction of an important character.

*The characters and their world belong to Mr. Whedon and company; the mistakes and the follies are solely mine.

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Chapter One

“See, no tea,” she says, her arms raised at the elbows, palms out. Makes surrendering look like a dance, he thinks with wonder, but then, ain’t that her job, something vicious inside him asks. She must note the brush of conflict behind his eyes, because she lowers her hands. Her head, a bit, too, but he recovers. No fighting. Not now. “No tea? Hardly hospitable of you, ‘Nara.” He pulls out a smile from somewhere, because, damnit, he’s charming. “I wanted to be clear.” “That’s you ain’t hospitable?” “That this was for business, Mal.” “Business?” Now the cold fear that lives coiled in his stomach wakes up. Starts stretching. This about you leaving? he thinks, inchoate curses flashing fast through his mind. “There a problem?” he asks, his voice almost calm. “More like, an opportunity,” she answers, and glides to her couch. He follows, trying to shut up his brain, grateful to sit down, Ta ma de, talking to her was all manner of exhausting, and here they hadn’t said twenty words. She hides her relieved smile, “ren-ci de Fozu – he’s still listening,” by picking up the several pieces of paper on the table before her, fanning them out and turning one to face Mal. She takes a breath. This will go well. It must. “It seems, Captain, that word of your great,” she twists her mouth prettily, “skills, in the field of acquisitions, flies further than you might imagine.” “Not sure I like the sound of that. You giving me a warning?” “No. Like I said, I’m offering you a job.” Mal looks around the shuttle. Definition of “job” got a bit fuzzy in the place. Hell, everything got a bit fuzzy in this place. He’d blame the tea, but— “A job. In acquisitions?” “Just so.” She waits, composed. Mal is leaning back, looking around and not fidgeting. So he was thinking hard, then. She can almost see the battleground of his mind, thoughts written so plainly across his face and hands. She knows she sees him so clearly because of her training, and because Mal is transparent. She does not consider how she knows that, or if it is true. Instead she watches to see how the fight will fall out. Needs wrestling with wants. Need will win, because this is Mal. She watches instead, for what that victory will cost. “Seeing you know how our jobs tend to go, don’t conjure you’re the one hiring,” asking what he already knows. “No. I am acting as the, I believe the term would be middlewoman, in this capacity. Filling in for Badger, if you will,” her hand makes an airy gesture that takes in the papers on the table and the space between them. “Badger huh?” Mal says, stretching his arms over the couch. Not looking at the papers. Relaxing in her lightness, her gentle presence. Gentle’s not something he usually gets out of her. “Badger usually offers me tea.” “Yes. Well. I seem to be out of wood alcohol.” “Pity. I suppose I can hear these details sober. Ain’t got any of those bitty sandwiches about, do ya? “Mal. If you can’t be serious I can just close this discussion like the last four of your prospective ‘clients’ did.” She curses herself the moment she says his name, even as she hands him this too sharp line. He sits up, tense and sharp himself. “Thank you, Inara, for tellin’ me how to conduct my business. We uneducated folk don’t always know how to please—” “The client’s name is Charles Mang, from Lotus.“ She interrupts him. Sometimes talking over him was the only way to make a point. “Officially, Charles Mang Gong if that matters. Though he doesn’t much use his title.” “That so? And why’s this prince among men interested in my “little operation?” Really mad, she thinks, to bring that line up. But he was still sitting down. “Lotus...developed somewhat unusually for a rim world.” “Right, started as a prison colony, found all that ying su weed and turned profitable.” He’d be waving his gun in impatience, he thinks, if the person telling the story didn’t have a voice like cool water after a day in dust. “It wasn’t so much prison as political exile, a sort of enforced social suicide for the elite. But yes, Lotus’s cultural structure, built on the resurrection of lost family and status, is inherently tied to the illegal nature of exporting of unregulated poppy. Which makes for the complicated system of ruling gongs and the clans you see now.” “Not to break up story time, but I ain’t running drugs. Specially not that ben wu duh ying su bai. If that’s the job, tell the gongzi we’ll pass.” “It’s apples.” “It’s what?” “He wants to you steal apples.“ “Apples? As in, two?” “Actually, he wants the whole tree,” another pause, a shrug of one shoulder, “and the bird that lives in it.” “A tree. And a bird?” “An apple tree, yes. And a nightingale.” “”Nara, maybehaps this man’s been sampling too much of his product. We ain’t gardeners.” “It grows on the estate of a rival clan-leader. One that happened to have questioned certain abilities of Mang Gong in a... less than private venue. It’s about honor and revenge, Captain. Things of which I believe you have some passing knowledge.” “And this tree is somehow gonna—“ “He’s was quite eager to meet you and arrange all the fascinating criminal details. May I wave him to say you are considering, so you can pepper him to death with your relentless questions?” Mal stands up, wanting to pace but contenting him self with backing towards the door. Figured his hun dan drug-dealer would want to meet him face-to-face. “Fine. This afternoon. I’m bringing Zoe, too.” He pauses. “Am I like to need Jayne?” Inara’s up and walking to her cortex screen. Ain’t right, being graceful and efficient at once. “I can’t imagine why. Let’s say 4 o’clock? That will just in time for tea. Should I mention your preference in sandwich?” “Won’t be necessary. Best go talk to the crew.” Inara nods, her back to him already, so, Mal feels free to curls his hands into ready fists as he walks out of her shuttle. Working for a client of Inara’s. All kinds of wrong, that. Gorramit. “I hate being broke,” he tells his ship. She hums in agreement.

*

Wash was alone on the bridge, staring out into the ordered port of Lotus Colored ropes, often with flags or symbols hanging from them, marked out clear spaces where one clan or the other did business. People, usually in matching colors, move purposefully in and out of ships and tents. It should have looked like a festival day or the staging area for a town fair parade. Instead, Wash found the whole thing eerie. Hardly any women visible, and no children. No one was seated; no one was singing; transport ships rested silently, only the small signs before them scrolling destinations and timetables. The place was even missing the bright moving billboards of a Core world. All work and no play, Wash thought. No good comes of that. “What’s our status?” Mal asks from the hatch. “All fueled up, at least, as far as our credits, or lack thereof, could get us. Kaylee’s still in the junk-yard, trying to sweet talk her way into spare parts, I think.” “We in need of some?” “When aren’t we, Cap’n?” “More so than usual, I mean?” “Well, let me put it this way—Kaylee wasn’t smiling when she walked off the ship.” “Ai ya,” Mal breathed, more to himself than anyone. “Jayne?” “With Kaylee. Said something about this not being a world for little girls.” “Good. Whole place sets my teeth on edge. Core-pretty criminals” Both watch out the window. Order of it made your eyes hurt. “Speaking of, where’re our own fine Core world criminals?” “Last I heard, the Doc was in the infirmary, arguing with River. Seems Kaylee went and asked if Simon had drugs to spare, for trade, and he was hesitating, but River offered—” Mal holds up his hand. “You know, you can spare me the details.” “You’re the Captain.” “That I am.” Mal thinks. Of a half-crazy crew that ain’t seen coin in weeks. “Do you think he’d say that to Zoe?” “What?” Mal looks at his pilot bemused. Wash was used to it. “Jayne. You think he’d tell Zoe it wasn’t a planet for girls?” “I’d dearly love to see him try. I could do for a laugh.” He reaches over Wash to pick up the comm.: “Kaylee, you there?” “Hi, Cap’n. How’s things?” “Just shiny. You coming home anytime soon?” “Shr ah, on our way. Didn’t have much luck getting parts.” “Not to fret, mei-mei. You’ll have another chance.” “Yeah, when we’re part of a floating junkyard,” Mal hears Jayne in the background. “What was that, Jayne?” “Nothing that mattered, Cap’n,” Kaylee says, over what sound s like a minor comm. tug-of-war. She must’ve won, because she chirps, “We’ll be back in ten,” before cutting out. Wash looks expectantly at Mal: “What with Inara back and those two on the way, wants I should be prepping to leave this less-than-inviting sliver of Earth and find us some homey, disreputable port?” “As it happens, no.” “Something wrong?” “We’re broke, half-fueled, down to weak tea and protein, and stuck on some feud-happy world full of people so greedy and cold even the Core couldn’t stand ‘em. What could possible be wrong?” “It’s your optimism, sir, that makes sailing with you such a pleasure.” Wash pauses, looking reflective and twirling his seat before continuing: “Or maybe the sincerity.” If Mal considered countering, Zoe’s entrance held him up. “We’re ain’t leaving?” She asks, coming to lean against the console next to Wash. “Seems you an’ me got a date.” “That so, sir?” Her hand coming down hard on Wash’s shoulder, before he can say anything. “Of the kind that leads to coin variety?” A bitter smile breaks across Mal’s face: “Hear some gongzi of Inara’s conjures we’re the answer to one of his fahng-tzong fung-kwong duh jeh. “And we’re meeting this client?” “Four o’clock tea party, all set up.” “Not much time then.” “Nope. Wash, prep Shuttle 2 for us, Zoe, get the coordinates from Inara. She’s got all the details, I’m sure.” He walks down the stairs to his room, leaving Zoe and Wash looking at the captain’s retreating back. “I’m going to wager this ends up as one of our more interesting jobs,” Wash ventures, “Husband, I wager this begins as one of our more interesting jobs.” Wash nods, and places his free hand over hers. They both watch the captain disappear into his bunk.

*~*~*

Translations:

ren-ci de Fozu: merciful Buddha gong: old title of nobility, prince/duke ying su: poppy ben wu duh ying su ba: filty poppy weed (ish.) gongzi: nobleman/gentleman shr ah: affirmative, yeah. mei-mei: little sister fahng-tzong fung-kwong duh jeh: knot of self indulgent lunacy