Book sat alone in his bunk, deep in thought. He was deep in thought over his job profession, namely; a Shepard of the faith, a leader of the faithful flock. Of course, he wasn't always a Shepard, that had happened after he turned thirty or so. It had happened as such: He was living it up as an Operative, getting every mission done at whatever expense. This had been his schedule for the first three decades (or so): Wake up, eat breakfast, brush teeth, shower, do mission, boss around any troops that happened to be about, point and laugh at any clergy-person who happened to be around, repeat steps two and three twice, then go to sleep. Then, he had an apiphany, or, rather, someone had it for him. A shining white, beautiful ship came down out of the sky, landing right in front of him. A ramp extended downward, and the double doors opened, revealing a blinding light that blinded him blind for one single, blessed, blinding moment. Then, when his vision cleared, he saw a figure, impossibly tall and skinny. The figure stuck his finger under Book's nose, and asked in a etheral voice, "Are you Derial Book?" Of course, Book could only nod, thinking that, surely, this must be an angel, and those venerable old geezers had been right all along! "Book, Derial Book, you are a Godless sunuvabitch, and you should go burn in Hell." With that, the angel/figure/insulting being retreated into his ship, and it lifted off and flew impossibly fast into the stars. Of course, he really had been a Godless sunuvabitch, and the venerable old geezers really were right. Now, he was anold geezer, but not really venerable, and he was thinking that, maybe, he was doing something wrong. Oh, well, lets leave him to brood, shall we? *** The ships new A.I., which they had affectionately nick-named Shutup, was starting to get on Simon's nerves. It/He/She(?) reminded him of a rather peppy dog. He hated dogs. You see, when he was still training to be a doctor, he had taken frequent walks around his neighborhood, to releave stress. But, everytime he did, all the dogs in the nearest, oh, five miles, would start barking at him. He thought it was because they didn't like him, so he didn't like them back. (What he didn't know, was that he was the ones destined to set all dogs free, and lead them in glorious Revolution, and so the dogs saluted their Massiah whenever he passed, hoping that he would decide that today was the day that they would rise against the humans that tethered them. Most people thought that Simon smelled like a cat.). Ford looked at Kaylee gravely, frowning the frown that one frowned when one is looking at something gravely. He turned to Mal, who was feeling a bit scared at the prospect of a dour Kaylee. "It's no good, what happened was a fluke. If we try it again, then theres a good chance that She'll be killed." "SHIT!" said Mal, along with several more more colorful curses in Chinese, which everyone but Arthur understood. "Innit there anythin' you can do?" For a moment, Ford sat lost in thought. "Okay, I might have something, but I need someone with two first names." "What?" "Huh?" "Who the Hell has two first names?" At that moment, a man stepped through the door. He smiled, put his hands on his hips, and said, "Hi, all, I'm Ricky-Bobby." Then, he fainted dead away onto the floor. For almost a full minute, no one said a thing, just staring at the uncouncious man. Then, Arthur said, "Well, wasn't that conveinent?"