A/N - This is really half a chapter, or "chapter lite." It was supposed to be longer, but I wanted to get an update out before the end of the month. If you want the next chapter to be out soon, gimme a high five!

Book One – Chapter Sixteen _______________________________________________________________

There were no chairs outside Control Agent Carlton Rao’s office. He preferred to make his visitors stand when waiting. Agent Oren looked around the walls of the outer chamber, his hands folded in front of him, and his legs getting more and more tired.

Since Control Agent Rao believed himself to be the truest form of a patriot, the decorum of the outer chamber presented this side of him the most. On the wall opposite Oren was a holographic mural that spanned nearly three meters in length and stood about two meters tall. It was a fairly good replica of the painting by Sir Angelo Durne III, “The First Landing.” Durne was the Artist Laureate of Londinum during the time of the historic first landing, so the task of commemorating the event fell to him. The original mural was at the foot of the Londinum Grand Coliseum, near the actual landing point.

The painting depicted the first building-sized transport shuttle touching down on the freshly terraformed grass, trees in the background stretching up to the perfect azure sky. Further down the mural was an illustration of the Londinum Grand Coliseum under construction. Dividing the two scenes, in the center of the painting was a man planting the flag of the American Empire into the rich soil.

Oren knew it was a falsehood. When the shuttle landed on Londinum, there were barely any plants growing. The landscape at that time most likely resembled a moon like Whitefall, rather than the lavish utopia that Durne had painted. It was a well-known fact, but no one ever acknowledged it out loud. The People, generally, were happy with the mural.

The young agent eased the weight off of his left foot and on to the right. He then let his eyes wander some more, stopping momentarily on Rao’s assistant, a young attractive redhead, who sat obediently at her desk, never looking up at the Agent for a moment, lest the scanners catch her impertinence.

Oren always felt that the air was a whole lot thinner this high up. Of course, technically this was true, however it was mostly just psychological. The oxygen stabilizers in the Agency complex adhered to all the building regulations on Londinum. All the same, it was difficult for Oren to breathe so high up. He didn’t even want to risk what would happen if he looked out the window.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the redhead put her finger up against her jaw, approximately where she had her intercommunication uplink installed in one of her molars.

“Yes, sir,” she spoke quietly into the internal microphone. “Yes, sir.”

She looked up diplomatically at Oren. “Control Agent Rao will see you.” She then obediently turned her eyes from the Agent and back to her desk.

The first things that caught Oren’s eye in Rao’s office were the three large flags that decorated the room. On one side of the office, to Oren’s left, were the flags of the Anglo-Sino Alliance as well as the flag of the Galactic Parliament. To his right was the flag of the Londinum province.

The rest of the room was a stark white. A stylish, polished metal desk sat, unmovable, in the center of the room in front of Oren. There was no real wall opposite him, however, since the entire complex’s outer walls were made of thick panes of glass.

Rao stood in front of the giant window, his back toward Oren. Oren, meanwhile, concentrated on not looking out the immense transparent wall. For anyone else, the view would have been breathtaking. For Jeremiah Oren, it was nauseating and suffocating.

“What’s the man’s name?” Rao asked, staring out onto the cityscape of Londinum’s Capitol City, glazed golden by the gorgeous afternoon sun.

“James Novak, sir,” Oren replied.

“He’ll have to be dealt with eventually.”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

Rao turned to face Agent Oren, his arms crossed behind his back.

When talking to Carlton Rao, it was difficult not to concentrate too heavily on his bulldog-like jowls, which caused the corners of his mouth to droop almost past his chin. Due to this physical attribute, Rao found it very difficult to bring himself to smile, so a frown was all that he met his fellow agents with.

That, and his prosthetic left eye that, despite its steep monetary cost, was a shade duller than his right, natural eye. It kind of made Oren uneasy.

“I assume you’ve heard,” the elder man said.

“Cytherea. That’s excellent news, sir,” Oren replied half-heartedly.

“What the hell are they doing out there? I thought that sector was off-limits to public transport.”

“Someone hid a payload of untraceable contraband there apparently. Serenity is out to retrieve it.”

“Weapons?”

“Most like.”

“Who was their contact?”

“We’re not entirely sure. Someone based on Persephone.”

Rao motioned to the small chair that paled in comparison to his own leather chair. Oren picked up on the hint and took a seat in front of the large desk. He soon discovered that the metal chair wasn’t made with any concern for comfort.

“The ‘Wonder Twins’ left yesterday to pick Reynolds up.” Oren noted the contempt in Rao’s voice when referring to Michael and Gabriella, and he couldn’t help but feel the same.

“Well, that’s that then.”

“I want you to get on the next transport out.”

Oren blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“Go to Cytherea. The Readers have been instructed to hold their positions there after retrieving Reynolds. You’ll escort him back to Sihnon personally.”

Oren found himself at a loss for words. “Um… All right. But…”

“Yes?”

“Isn’t that why you sent… the ‘Wonder Twins’?”

“First, I didn’t send those two… things to Cytherea.” Rao began absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb furiously against his right hand, as if he were trying to start a fire in his palm.

“Second,” he continued. “They’re only there to arrest Reynolds. But I don’t trust them alone with him, especially if he’s got River Tam with him.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Oren said under his breath.

Rao’s face began to twitch slightly as his muscles strained to work a smile on his face. Becoming frustrated with the simple act, and distracted by his dedication, he soon gave up.

“I take it you don’t like the new additions to our family,” the elder said, amused.

Oren shifted in his seat. “It’s not that I don’t like them, sir, they’re just… well, psychotic and sadistic are the only words that come to mind. But I’m pretty sure that they’ve heard me think of those words, so now I don’t think they like me that much.”

“It’s their eyes that bother me. They’re just too blue,” Rao mused quietly. “A lot depends on the scenario of Reynolds coming here safe and sound. I want you to see to that personally. Can you do that, Agent Oren?”

But something had triggered an instinctual suspicion in Oren’s head. Something confused him about what he had just heard.

“’Safe and sound’? I – excuse me, sir – I thought that it was the intention to kill Malcolm Reynolds. Isn’t that why the Readers were brought out of stasis?”

The old man glowered at Oren but made no move. He just stood behind his desk for a moment, before turning his face to the Londinum sun outside his window.

“Don’t worry too much about it.” Oren could audibly hear Rao sigh deeply. “These aren’t my orders, son. This is the Big Time. You’ve been requested specifically by Chairperson Thorne and the other Parliament figureheads.”

“Really?” Oren asked, for a moment very impressed with his own accomplishment.

“Get your things together. Whatever you need, take it. Just get the job done.”

Oren stood up, nodded his thanks in Rao’s direction, and headed to the door. But then he stopped. A question was plaguing him, had been for several weeks. He didn’t know what the question meant or even if he really wanted to know the answer, but it wouldn’t leave him alone. He made a decision to take the opportunity.

“Sir?” Oren faltered a bit, but he pushed forward. “Sir, if I’m to be taking a further grasp on the Reynolds situation, which is what I believe you are telling me to do, I think I should require a bit more… information.”

Rao turned, his bulldog frown aimed directly at Oren.

“What kind of information?”

“Sir, what is ‘Antebellum’?”

Rao looked as if he had just gotten through running a marathon at the mention of the word. All his energy suddenly lost, he weakly made his way to his leather chair, carefully unloading himself onto it.

“Sit down, Agent Oren.”

Oren did as he was instructed, praying he could handle what he just asked for. Rao continued, softly, his white-haired brow overhanging his eyes.

“What do you want to know?”

“What can you tell me?”

“Nothing.”

Oren stammered a bit. “W-well, slightly more than that, would be good.”

“All information regarding Antebellum… well, it doesn’t exist. Not even at a classified level.”

Oren felt his stomach drop at his inevitable failure. But then the old man reached under his large metal desk and pressed a button. The sound of the door locking and the slowed whirring of the scanners deactivating sent a shiver down the Agent’s spine.

“Which is why,” Rao continued. “None of this will leave this room. If it does, there will be no trial or jury. Just execution. Hear me?”

Oren throat was dry. “Yes, sir,” he scratched out.

“Of course, I can’t tell you everything, but I agree that you deserve something. Antebellum, Agent Oren, is a mission. Or rather, an operation.”

“What kind of operation?” Oren asked, overcome with impatience.

“I can’t tell you. Truthfully, I don’t even know the specifics of it all.”

“So it’s something new then?”

“No. Not by an air shot. Antebellum, in its infancy, was developed many centuries ago, back on Earth-That-Was. Or so they say. It was developed to be the Ultimate Solution. The final operation to win any war.

“About two or three years before the War for Unification began, there were whispers about ‘Antebellum,’ just as there are now. There were even whispers about the Special Projects division trying to perfect the operation. It began under the name ‘Phase One,’ but was deemed sporadically successful. ‘Phase Two,’ on the other hand, was deemed entirely unsuccessful. ‘Phase Three’…”

“Yes?”

“There was an Operative of the Parliament. The best. Trained in the highest form of Tui Na. If the man had a name, it would have been put on golden plaque in the Main Hall of the Coliseum. He was sent by the Parliament to approve ‘Phase Three.’ But something happened. Of course, details are mostly up to speculation, but the short of it says that this Operative shut down the operation. For this reason, ‘Phase Three’ was never completed until after the War, Antebellum was never commissioned by the Parliament, and the Alliance almost lost to the Independents.”

“What?”

“Didn’t know about that, did you? Most of the ‘verse doesn’t realize how close we were to defeat, but it doesn’t matter now. We got lucky, and we pulled out victorious. But we all knew we wouldn’t be as lucky next time.” Rao’s stony face seemed to solidify even further. “This time, we aren’t making mistakes, Agent Oren.”

“What happened to the Operative?”

“Depends on which story you listen to. Some say that he had a sudden change of conscience and withdrew from service. Others say he went mentally unstable due to a history of schizophrenia, and then withdrew from service. Either way, no one ever heard from him since. He was trained to disappear, and that he did.”

Oren searched his mind for another question. Anything to give him more information while his window was still open.

“Who pulls the trigger?” he asked.

“The trigger?”

“The Antebellum trigger. You said it’s not an official operation, so no one in the military can give the order. Can they?”

“Agent Oren, you’re looking at this incredibly wrong.”

“Yeah, I do that sometimes.”

“There is no trigger. Antebellum is an Ultimate Solution. Meaning, it wins the war without firing a shot. If you’re asking who activates it, I don’t really know. But then again, it has been working for some time now. Who started it is of no importance.

“Satisfied?”

“Not nearly,” said Oren.

“Bring Reynolds back here. When you do that, more will be revealed. I guarantee it. Now go. Stop wasting time.”

Oren hesitated a moment before rising from his uncomfortable metal chair and moving to the door.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Hold on,” the elder called back.

Oren turned around and saw the look on the man’s face had grown even grimmer than usual. To Oren, it almost looked like the man was worried.

On the lens of Rao’s left prosthetic eye was the reverse image of a man’s face. The man was wearing a security officer’s uniform. His mouth was moving, but Oren couldn’t hear anything as the audio was patched directly to Rao only. Oren always thought that the other Control Agents had strange ways of communication. He was happy with just using a CorTex console.

“When?” Rao asked the video feed in his eyeball. “I’m sending someone over right now. Nobody move.”

He winked his eye, and the image fizzled out into the opaqueness of his mechanical iris and pupil.

“What was that?” Oren asked.

“Your plans for Cytherea are on hold. You need to go to Area 54 right now.”

“Area 54? What--?”

“There…” The old man’s voice was shaking, his teeth chattering. “There was an explosion at the cryobank.”

***

The space around Cytherea was empty.

Of course, most space in the Black was empty, but the kind surrounding the desolate moon seemed even more so. Just traveling through the soundless vacuum, they all felt alone. What’s more, although they would never say it out loud, they were frightened.

Cytherea was the official name of the moon, in that it was the name the Alliance registered it under when it was first terraformed. After what had happened there, it was known more colloquially as The Ghost Island.

Of course no one knows exactly what had occurred, since no investigation was officially executed. Mal Reynolds only knew what the rest of the ‘verse had heard. That being only what the Alliance had told them.

Cytherea was terraformed at the behest of the Companion’s Guild, who wanted a Border Planet base to bring their light of peace and civility to the region. As the law of the Guild dictated, they were to be self-governed with diplomatic ties to the Alliance, but the Alliance nor the Parliament were not to interfere with their dealings. This, as expected, was not welcome news to the Parliament.

However, they did grant the terraforming, albeit reluctantly. It wasn’t until after the War had ended that the moon was declared safe for colonization. Five shuttles made their way from Sihnon to Cytherea. One shuttle returned. There were only two survivors. According to them, ghosts had killed all the rest.

Purportedly, a Search and Rescue was sent to that part of space, but the results of the “rescue” were never made public.

Mal never found it odd that the Alliance didn’t then send their troops in after to investigate, to overtake the “ghosts.” Cytherea was on the Border, and therefore, out of the realm of the Parliament’s empathy. Instead, they blocked off that part of space. The local traders labeled the space “The Sector of Disregard.”

The Companion’s Guild was also quick to abandon their allegiance to the moon. Nowadays, the tale of Cytherea served as a “monster in the closet” story for the young girls; a cautionary tale of what happens to good people when they try to serve savage Border World dwellers.

No one ever went back. Those who did, believing there to be buried treasure or a lost utopia were never heard from again, short of their transports being found several years later drifting through space, mostly dismantled by scavengers. There were speculations that the planet had been populated with Reavers, but experts dispelled this theory based on Reaver behavior. They were a nomadic hunting people, which did not match the profile of Cytherea’s residents.

“Kaylee, talk to me,” Mal spoke into the comm from the pilot’s seat. His eyes were fastened at the overwhelming emptiness that took over The Ghost Island.

“Simon wants me to sleep in River’s bunk with him,” the mechanic chirped from the other end of the radio. “We probably won’t be havin’ sex or nothin’ but it’s the first time he’s ever asked me to do that, y’know?”

“Hey, that’s great, sweetie, but you got anything to say about the engine?”

“Oh, yeah. Ease up on starboard compression ER-32 just about four clicks.”

“Um, okay.” Mal quickly looked across the board of switches and buttons and panels, making a mental note to start labeling things.

“The big blue knob under the second red lever to your left,” Kaylee said.

“I can find it.” He patched himself to the ship’s main PA system. “Campers, brace yourselves. We’re headin’ in.”

From the co-pilot’s chair, Zoe did her work at checking the pre-landing sequence, the landing sequence, and checking that both of them corresponded with the coordinates received from the Baron von Jeffery. Meanwhile, Jayne sat behind her keeping an eye on the energy consumption and the external stabilizing temperature on the consoles behind her, while Kaylee stood by in the engine room making sure that what was going on on the bridge was not having adverse effects on the engine. These were the things that Wash or River could do simultaneously. It took four people to match just one of her mister.

“Zoe?”

Zoe readied her hand over the touch-screen. “Landing sequence activated in three… two…”

As soon as Zoe pressed down on the screen, the hissing and whirring of compression releasing could be heard outside. The port and starboard thrusters shifted their positions, killing some of the pull the gravity had on the ship. The resistance shook the cabin, and Mal thought that it might bounce right across the synthetic layer of gas around the moon. He clenched the handles in front of him, believing that if he lessened his grip for a second the entire boat would explode.

As the flames and sparks of the friction passed away, Mal eased on the handles, doing his best to drop the ship down to the moon surface.

Cytherea had two extremely different climates. On one side of the moon, it was a literal desert, covering most of the western hemisphere. The other half was what Alliance scientists had tried to equate to the once prominent rainforests on Earth-That-Was. It was the original intention of the terraforming experts to make all of Cytherea to resemble this extinct climate. Instead, due to insufficient terraforming technology of the day, they got the two polar opposites, metaphorically speaking.

There touchdown point was on the rainforest side, a couple meters from the forest line, directly beside the remains of a Companion Training House. Just to look at the huge stone temple sent a strange, sharp chill down Mal’s back. He could feel the headache he had just gotten over come back, buzzing at his temples.

After landing, Mal could feel the landing gear sinking in to the soft ground a couple feet. He didn’t know much about landing or taking off, but he couldn’t imagine that it was ideal to land in such a spot.

“Zoe?”

“Landing sequence complete, sir.”

“Kaylee,” Mal spoke into the comm. “Where are we on fuel cells?”

“Well, the good news is we’ll fly about 10,000 meters upward before we start fallin’ down again,” the mechanic said happily.

“That was cuttin’ close,” Jayne grumbled from his corner console. “We gotta shut down power soon or else we won’t even get the engine turnin’.”

“We’ll have to deactivate most systems anyway to install the new hardware we’re gettin’,” Zoe added.

Mal stared silently out the window for a moment, his face resting in his hand in contemplation. They pirates and merchants who told the stories of Cytherea liked to say that the ghosts dwelled in the forests.

“We alone, Zoe?” Mal asked.

“As far as our scanners go, they ain’t touching nothing. This rock’s empty, just like everyone says. Not even animals. This is seclusion, all right.”

“I don’t like goin’ to all these dead planets all the time,” Jayne said. “Let’s get what we want and jack the hell off.”

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to phrase it that exact way, Jayne, but I see your point.” Mal decidedly avoided looking at the mercenary when he was talking to him. “Are we ready to shut down?”

“On your order, sir,” Zoe responded.

“Do it.”

Zoe pulled down the comm, putting her other hand on a series of switches on the console.

“We’re going dark, crew.”

One switch turned off the interior lighting systems. The next turned off life support and air purification. With each switch the energy in Serenity fell lower. As the final switch was flipped, all the lights and screens on the bridge turned off, leaving the bridge in nothing but the natural light that came through the immense, angular windows. Before the three crewmembers was the stone temple, its general shape evident despite being completely dilapidated and overcome with vines and other foliage.

“Well…” Mal said. “There it is.”

“Well, let’s stop talkin’, get wit’ the doin’,” Jayne commanded. “Where’s the loot?”

Zoe looked over at the coordinate transmission listed on the portable reader tablet. She took a moment to re-read the coordinates once more. “In the Training House,” she said with a touch of inevitability.

“Yep,” Mal said, his eyes narrowed at the sunlight.

Jayne let his guard down for a split-second and let out the tiniest of whimpers. Noticing it himself, he quickly looked around the bridge to see if anyone had heard. He then cleared his throat in a very masculine manner and felt generally felt good about it.

“Just like the Baron,” Zoe mused. “Nobody would ever want to land on this moon, let alone walk into that place.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ in there,” Jayne protested. “I got… My back hurts. I’ll just lay down, while you guys…”

“Relax, Jayne,” Mal said, his eyes still closed in on the moss-covered Training House. “Ghosts don’t exist, and even if they did, they have no hold on what is unlawfully ours. There’s no one around. We’re completely alone and completely safe.” He paused, noticing that he was suddenly short of breath.

“Just to be safe, though,” he continued, “let’s stay avoid the jungle part if we can.”

There was silence on the bridge for just a second, although to the three compatriots it felt like an hour. The stony building, while probably not haunted, could not deny its own uneasiness. And as Zoe eyed her fearless Captain, she could tell that he saw the same thing.

“Jayne,” she said. “Why don’t you go prep the Mule?”

“Mule’s already prepped. Ain’t like she’s travelin’ no great distance.”

“Jayne,” Zoe spoke slower. “Go prep the Mule. Again.”

Jayne picked up on the hint but didn’t bring himself to leave the bridge at once. He locked eyes with the First Mate with a look that froze Zoe’s blood. She got the feeling that the hulking man, while prone to forgetfulness and rash behavior, had yet to let go of the “contingency plan” he informed her of. He moved his glare over to the back of his Captain’s head, breathed deep, and forced himself to leave without complaint.

As he left, he muttered, “Ain’t safe us bein’ here. Not wit’ these spirits around…” and the rest trailed away with him.

“So,” Mal said, after a long silence. He swung his chair around to get a look at Zoe lit by the afternoon Cytherean sun.

“I been thinkin’ of growin’ a beard.”

Zoe creased her brow. “Really?”

“Yeah. What’s the matter?”

“Well, sir, you know I don’t have any call to tell you what to do to your face…”

“I been clean-shaven most my whole adult life, Zoe. I am a grown man, I think I’m entitled to some hair on my chinny chin chin.”

“Are you sure it’d look good?”

“This is my face we’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

“I understand the principle.”

“Some furriness ain’t gonna negatively alter God’s work of art.”

“It might not grow in everywhere is what I’m sayin’. Wash couldn’t grow a beard. It came up in patches all over his cheeks and jaw. His face looked like a poorly-mowed lawn.”

Mal leaned back in the pilot’s chair and laughed, his eyes clinched shut. It struck Zoe to think that she hadn’t seen his smile in such a long time. It was the least she could do to join in with his reminiscent laughter. After the laughs subsided to chuckles, and the chuckles to hard breathing, Mal sighed.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Damn straight I am,” Zoe responded.

The silence came back up on them, but Zoe was surprised to see that Mal’s smile had not left him.

“You know… I’m happy that you said yes. All those years back, when I asked you to fly with me. I know it’s not what you wanted, but… I appreciate it.”

“It’s been my pleasure, sir.”

“You ever get the feeling that we’re just jumping from planet to planet to moon to planet nowadays? Seems we’re always runnin’.”

“That’s true. But if we don’t find our loot in that Training House, we’ll probably be able to stay here a little while longer.”

“Yeah.” He paused for a moment. “Has Jayne been actin’ strange lately?”

Zoe clenched her jaw to keep from answering. “Strange how?”

“I don’t know, that’s pretty much why I’m askin’.”

“It’s just Jayne, sir. He’ll get over whatever he’s feelin’.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“Sir…” Zoe’s tone turned slightly to the serious side. “What happens next?”

Mal’s face dropped at the question. “Next?”

“After we pick up the Baron’s Motherload, fly away from this rock, what happens? We disappear across the Rim, right?”

“That’s the current plan, yes.”

Zoe pondered the look on her Captain’s face for a moment. “We should come up with something more long term soon.”

Mal was silent. He racked his head for another plan but nothing came. All he could feel was his headache.

“I’m gonna go to infirmary. Get me some aspirin.” He rose from his chair and headed to the archway. Before leaving he turned back to Zoe, who was still staring out the windows. “We got a rendezvous point, right?”

“Yeah. Just in case.”

“Good. Zoe, when we’re back in the air, you, me and the rest of the crew, we’ll sit down and discuss long-term, all right?”

Zoe smiled. “I think that’s a good plan, sir.”

“Anyway… I’m going to the infirm.” His eyes locked onto the temple outside once again, and then moved on to the dark, shadowed jungle nearby.

“And let’s stay away from the jungle. If we can avoid it.”