Unfinished Business

Chapter Two

“Where is Muir?” Simon asked as he spooned out a dollop of brown paste-like protein into his bowl. It was supposed to have the flavor and texture of meatloaf, according to the directions on the packet, but the result was more like wet cardboard lightly flavored with garlic and beef bouillon than actual food. “Gorgon system,” Mal supplied. “Big 2.1 Jovian planet, moons aplenty. Same system as Ita moon.” “They’re real nice there,” Kaylee assured him. “And Muir is beautiful – about the only place with real live giant redwood trees – saw ‘em, last time we went through.” “Buncha gorram freethinkin’ treehuggers, y’ask me,” growled Jayne as he wolfed down the brown substance. “Good beer, though,” he added. “Muir is actually somewhat special,” Inara interjected, ignoring the mercenary’s comment. “It was settled about the same time as the later Central planets, only way far out from the Core. But unlike most worlds, it wasn’t built by a commercial terraforming company. Instead a private foundation, the Muir foundation, built it as a natural refuge for flora and fauna of Earth-That-Was. The people of Muir regard Nature as the perfect expression of God’s desires, and see Man’s loss of Earth as a divine punishment for lack of good stewardship. So they plan to re-create the old biospheres of Earth-That-Was and try to slide back into a primitive tribal existence.” “You’ve been there?” Simon asked, surprised. “No, I just caught a special on CV,” admitted Inara. Mal chuckled. “Yes, it isn’t likely that the Ambassador would go there. Too much local competition,” he said. “There is a priestesshood of sacred prostitutes that call Muir home,” explained Inara, blushing slightly. “They see the Companions’ Guild as a betrayal of the Goddess’ gifts, so it is said. There have been . . . incidents. By law, Companions are expressly forbidden to practice their trade there.” “No honor among whores, I guess,” Mal muttered. “They ain’t proper whores,” complained Jayne. “They won’t sex you proper ‘less you swear to pray to trees or somesuch. Pagans,” he spat. “It ain’t like that,” Kaylee interjected between bites. “They just won’t have sex with you unless you swear an oath to protect the ‘life force.’ To them sex is a sacrament, is all. I met one, last time we was there. She was real nice.” “But it ain’t all gravy an’ chitlins,” Mal pointed out. “Muir was home to the Green Faction, during the War. Plenty o’ Browncoats came from there, o’ course – the Alliance didn’t like how they was keepin’ all the perfectly respectable big corporations an’ such out – so they clamped down hard on ‘em. But the locals started the Radical Green Militia, an’ fought an insurgency long an’ hard.” “Well, the war’s over with now,” Simon said, as if it settled the matter. “Not on Muir it ain’t,” Mal contradicted. “The Amnesty and Reconciliation acts only covered Independent forces. The Greenies never laid down arms in what you’d call an official capacity.” “You mean they’re still fighting?” Simon asked, appalled. “But the war has been over for almost a decade!” “Well, it’s a pretty low-level insurgency,” Mal said, glancing briefly at Zoe, who was eating and ignoring everyone else. “After the War, proper, the purplebellies turned over administrative control to the Ita Development Corporation, seein’ as how the locals weren’t considered reliable enough to govern themselves like good little Feds. Muir was never officially an Independent world – they had Observer status in the Council, if I recollect – pass the . . . orange stuff, please. But they was sympathetic and sent us support whenever they could. After the war the Feds disbanded the Foundation’s board, and sent in the IDC. The IDC is your basic rapacious corporate interest what sees Muir as a giant, untapped natural resource just itchin’ for exploitation. They’ve tried to harvest forestry products, mine the lands, and use it as an agro base to feed the slaves on Ita an’ the new terraforming projects in the system. The Greenies, they don’t hold with that, an’ so there’ve been some factory bombings and raids on indenture camps.” “Their war is more against the IDC than the Alliance,” agreed Inara. “And mostly against the indenturing operations.” “Oh, it ain’t a bad li’l war,” encouraged Kaylee. “I mean, might could get dangerous in the cities, but I doubt we’ll hold a reunion in a city. Out in the countryside, it’s all Green, pretty much. They like independent traders out there. Else they got to pay high Company tariffs on stuff they need from off-world.” “Yeah, it ain’t Browncoats the Greenies hate,” agreed Mal. “It’s the IDC police – the Blackjackets, they call ‘em. Pure mean nastiness, they are. Recruited a lot o’ purplebelly veterans after the war. Keeps the factory workers in the cities in line. But they ain’t had much success in the countryside.” “Lovely,” Simon said without expression. “And we’re going there on vacation?” “The Reunion ain’t like a proper vacation,” Kaylee insisted. “It’s more like a convention, I s’pose. Lotsa booze, lotsa music, lotsa dancin’, lotsa great food – hey, the McKlintocks are like to be there, ain’t they? Barbecue time!” she said with obvious relish. “That ain’t why you’re lookin’ forward to it,” scoffed Jayne with a knowing grin. “Well . . . there is that,” admitted the engineer. “Why then?” asked Simon, mystified. “The hempflower,” explained Kaylee, dreamily. “Don’t rightly know how they do it, but Muir grows the best gorram herb on the Rim.” “You go easy on that stuff,” Mal warned. “Don’t like the woman responsible for keeping my ship in the sky higher than the ship.” “I’ll be good,” Kaylee promised. “I ain’t about to go on duty if I’m loopy. ‘Sides, ain’t like it’s liquor or nothin’.” At that Zoe got up abruptly and set her bowl in the sink, then headed out of the kitchen without a word. “Oh, ka wen gue jeh deh!” she swore quietly. “I didn’t mean—” “Leave her be, girl,” Mal murmured. “We know you didn’t mean anything by it. She’s just goin’ through a spell, is all.” “Goin’ through a distillery, y’mean,” Jayne shot back. “Stow it, Cobb,” Mal ordered. “She’ll make it. We all will. But we got to give her some breathin’ room. Her heart has done been ripped out in front of her eyes. Even after all she’s seen an’ been through, you can’t loose your mate like that and bounce back quick. She wouldn’t be our Zoe if she did.” “Has she really been that bad?” Inara asked, eyes wide. “She’s been standin’ her watches proper, if that’s what you mean,” growled Mal. “maybe not up to Alliance Commercial Hauler standards, but what on our boat is? She’s fit for duty. An’ what happens in her bunk is her business, I remind all of you. Now finish up – Jayne, you’re on dishes. The rest of you, back to work. We make port in a day, and then we got to get the girl gussied up for the shindig. We’ll be havin’ company, so let’s clean out the cobwebs while we’re on the ground.”

*

*

*

Royce Martin Tessarollo. Mal hadn’t heard that name in years. In over a decade, truthfully, and the man had come to mind less and less as the end of the War receded into history. But Royce Martin Tessarollo was an important name to Mal. He had been there at the beginning. Royce was why Mal had become a Browncoat. Or, at least, one of the reasons. He lay back in his bunk and stared at the usual spot on the ceiling and dredged up old, painful memories of the man, and the cause they had shared.

* “You see this?” Royce asked Mal, who had been no more than sixteen years old, a punk rancher’s kid on Shadow. Royce was only two years older, but had taken the boy under his wing after his father had died. They were kindred spirits, wild, rambunctious, full of piss and vinegar. The two had made up the core of a group of boys from the region that had strode the earth of Shadow as if it had been made only for their benefit. Of the two, Royce was the more blatantly flamboyant about his young-turk status – he had a growing rep among the local girls as the boy you didn’t go see out at the reservoir unless you wanted a reputation. That hadn’t stopped at least a dozen or so from going anyway. That’s where they were, that day, ostensibly fishing: Royce was waiting on one of his many girlfriends to sneak away from her farm and join him. By custom Mal would excuse himself and go elsewhere to act as lookout while they courted, if she didn’t bring a friend. If she did, then they did without a lookout. The paper he had thrust into Mal’s hands was a cheap flexi broadsheet that had large block lettering at the top that red PATRIOTS OF SHADOW UNITE! Mal took it curiously. It was for a meeting over in a barn in Finley two nights hence, a meeting of “free citizens concerned with encroachments on civil liberties and violations of sovereignty of certain off-world organizations” – it didn’t specifically mention the Alliance, but there weren’t any other off-world organizations that were interfering with the sovereignty of Shadow. “What are they gonna do?” the boy asked, his eyes growing wide. “Organize,” Royce said with obvious relish. “Word is they’re lookin’ to put together a . . . militia, a secret militia, to smack the Feds next time they get ornery.” “Sounds . . . dangerous,” Mal stuttered. “Naw . . . look, only Feds worth fearin’ ain’t even on this side o’ the world. That security garrison never leaves Penumbra, ‘less there’s an open insurrection or an earthquake or somethin’ like that. But this here preacher what’s organizing it, Father Fong, he says that someday there will be real fightin’ an’ that it is time for all good patriots who hate tyranny and love liberty to come forward and prepare to gird their loins for battle,” Royce recited, reverently. “And he’s a preacher, so he wouldn’t lie,” he added. “Gird my . . . what in hell does that mean?” Mal asked. “It means that it’s time to start plannin’ for the day when the Feds do come in force. Surely I ain’t gotta draw you a picture o’ what that would be like. Especially after what they did to your Pa, an’ all.”* “Mamma wouldn’t like it,” Mal said, regretfully. “She didn’t like seein’ her boy’s father dance at the end of a rope, neither, I suspect.” “She’s awful cautious of me since then,” Mal argued. “She don’t want to see me get mixed up in—” “Look, Mal, I know what happened. We all do. An’ we ain’t talkin’ ‘bout stormin’ the Citadel on Londinium or nothin’ – just a bunch o’ folk gettin’ together in a barn to discuss the events of the day, is all.” “Events with guns,” pointed out Mal. “Says right here, ‘Suggested attire: casual, with sidearms’. Don’t sound like no revival meetin’ to me.” “Lots o’ snakes around Finley,” Royce pointed out. “Lots o’ hotheads, too,” Mal countered, sourly. “And I’m one of ‘em! You see what they did, bustin’up the Penumbra Fair like that? Told ‘em that they could rename it the Alliance Day Fair or not have it at all. Sayin’ it was ‘non-inclusive and dangerously provocative?’ What was provocative? The pie-eatin’ contest?” he scoffed. “They said it encouraged a dangerous climate of separation,” Mal said. “What kind of feh hua is that? It’s a gorram Founder’s Day celebration – what the hell is wrong with that, I ask you?” “I know,” Mal said, miserably. “I hate those bastards. They changed around the school crickul—carrucu—the stuff we learnt in school. Ain’t even a section on Shadow’s colonial history, no more.” “Just Alliance this, Alliance that,” sneered Royce. “Like we never did a gorram thing out here but pay taxes an’ wait for the Central planets to tell us how to live.” “Mamma still won’t let me go,” Mal said, dejectedly. “Well,” Royce said, “Widow Patil ain’t let Sumana come here to get sparked, neither, but there she is,” he said, nodding towards the horizon. “And lookee there! She got a friend with her – is that . . . it is! Trudy! Trudy Levitt, sure as I’m standin’ here. Ain’t you always had a thing for Trudy?” “Well, she is mighty pretty,” Mal admitted, blushing. “Damn right she is! But before they get here, you in or not? A bunch o’ us are goin’, Brent, Sigmund, Wu Ping, all of us. I can tell your ma we’re going camping together – she won’t mind that.” “Mamma ain’t stupid,” reminded Mal. “She’ll know.” “You’re near a man growed,” chided Royce. “Two years on an’ you won’t need no one’s permission. You in or not? They’re just talking,” he reminded. Mal paused a long moment, but the approaching girls – giggling outrageously behind their palms – was a deadline he didn’t want to miss. “All right, you tell her we’re campin’. I’m in,” he said softly, never taking his eyes off of Trudy, the fishing pole in his hand forgotten. When the sun hit her just right like that, he could see clear through her skirt . . .

*

And that had been the beginning. If it hadn’t been for Royce, he might have stayed out of politics all together – no, he chided himself, he wouldn’t have. But he might have gone longer before he got involved, maybe developed enough wisdom by that point to avoid making such a big splash so early. Royce had been like a big brother, a ringleader, a dashing young man who spoke and acted with the kind of passion that is irresistible to a youth. They had been kids, he reminded himself. Kids who felt powerless and sought to control their universe. Kids who wanted to change the world. Kids who felt like they were part of something important, forbidden, clandestine. They weren’t alone – there were plenty of strapping young lads around who wanted to make an early, impressive mark on the world, and saw the movement – it hadn’t even been called the Independent’s Movement yet, back then – as a way to do it. With the advantage of mature hindsight Mal knew that they had been really looking for a way to legitimize the violence that their testosterone-poisoned bodies had pushed them towards. And to impress girls with their bravery and strength. They had been fools, when they gathered in the barn. They had been fools, young fools, and too many of those young fools had bled out their lives on one battlefield or another in the years to come. He had marked several worlds with his own blood after that, and learned the bloody, callous trade of the soldier. But back then, in the spring of his youth, there was only the cause, and the girls, and the secrets, and the glory. And Royce had been a part of it – he had been a part of all of it.

*

*

* “So,” Kaylee began cautiously, “how long are we fixin’ to keep at this?” “Keep at what?” Simon said sleepily. They were in Kaylee’s bunk, in that near-blissful post-coital state that makes young love – and the attendant lust – so delicious. The sheets were tussled and tossed, her collection of pillows and stuffed animals littered haphazardly about the room in their haste to take advantage of their off-duty hours. Simon abruptly opened his eyes. Kaylee was looking at him expectantly, her hair an unruly halo on her fairy princess pillowcase. “Oh, God, are you ready to go again -- already?” he moaned, awed by her drive. “No! Well, almost. But that ain’t my meanin’. What I was intenden’ on meanin’ was, ‘how long are we gonna stay in separate bunks?’” she asked, expectantly. “What do you mean?” Simon asked, warily. “I mean, seems silly for you to have to walk back down that long corridor every time we . . . or me, havin’ to do the walk o’ shame all the way back here,” she explained. “I mean, I ain’t really ashamed or nothin’, don’t misunderstand. Hell, I’m proud as hell and would strut buck naked—” she said, stopping abruptly in fear that Simon would take it amiss. “No, no, it’s an expression, I understand,” agreed Simon. “And . . . well . . . you want to . . . cohabitate?” “Didn’t we just—? I thought you were tired . . .” “No, Kaylee, it means ‘live together’. “Oh. Yeah, that. Not sayin’ I do, not sayin’ I don’t,” declared Kaylee. “But I think it’s worth a good ponder. But if you think different—” “You want me,” Simon said, looking around at Kaylee’s room, “to . . . move in here?” “I said I wasn’t sayin’ that. But we might could consider the matter,” she replied, suddenly regretful she had broached the subject. “I just thought . . .” “No, no,” Simon said, sitting up quickly. “I see what you’re . . . I mean, I guess . . .” He continued to survey the room while he fumbled for the right words. Kaylee’s room was not messy, per se – there was little in the way of debris or trash strewn about. But it was pathological cluttered, and decorated in a way that could only be described as “fourteen-year-old-girl-meets-fifty-year-old-mechanic”. Hand-painted vines crawled up conduits, and teddy bears were perched on thrust regulators. There was a large piece of machinery lashed in a corner, a misshapen box of indeterminate mechanical function, which had become a surface upon which souvineers of a dozen worlds vied for space with spare parts, old parts, tools, tape and wire. Her curing iron was plugged in next to her soldering iron, and the tiny table where she kept her make-up was also where she soaked corroded parts in acetone solution. There were posters on the wall celebrating a Rim Rock Concert Extravaganza and featured a luridly dressed androgynous lead singer, next to a promotional poster for Titan Universal Gravity Drives, featuring a devastatingly well-built naked man hoisting an improbably large gravity drive on his shoulders. Somehow the strings of Christmas lights and paper lanterns tied it all together. The room was Kaylee’s, through and through – and it terrified Simon. “Um . . .” “Look, it don’t have to be here, it’s just that I . . . I got all my stuff in here already, and you don’t have much.” Simon paused overlong before he answered. How could he say this? “You’re right, I don’t.” “There’s a ‘but’ in there I ain’t hearin’,” Kaylee said, her face crumbling. “Kaylee, Kaylee, no, don’t—” he began putting a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, now. I . . . I think the idea has merit,” he said, cautiously. “What? You’re just sayin’— I saw your face, Simon, it’s . . . it’s okay—” “No, no, you misunderstand! Look,” he said with an exasperated sigh, leaning forward and turning around to face her. “I grew up on a huge estate on Osiris. It’s really . . . well, compared to most of the houses I’ve seen on the Rim, it’s ostentatiously large. I had my own room since birth. Not just a room, a suite. And when I went to the Medacad, I had my own luxury flat. Since then, I’ve slept wherever I could. The Captain was kind enough to let me keep my stateroom – well, perhaps calling that is being charitable – but he’s let me stay there. I’m not saying I’m wedded to it – but I just want you to know where any . . . hesitancy might be coming from. I’ve never really . . . lived with anyone before. Not even a roommate. Male or female. And certainly not a girlfriend. That just wasn’t done in my circles back home. “So it isn’t you, per se, it’s me. I thought it would be important to let you know. My sister has been coaching me on not being a total idiot,” he admitted. Then he looked cautiously into her eyes, which were still teary. “Um . . . how am I doing, so far?” Kaylee heaved a sigh. “You . . . it’s fine, Simon. Of course, that makes all kinds of sense to me. I ain’t some simple farmgirl, y’know. I know you ain’t really been far from home for very long, yet, and you gotta get used to a powerful amount of difference in . . . well, in all sorts o’ things. Shackin’ up, well that ain’t any different than washin’ your clothes in vacuum or drinkin’ your own recycled urine, I s’pose.” “Actually, the airlock thing does a surprisingly good job,” he admitted. “But the drinking urine thing . . . still grosses me out.” “So I understand. I guess I’m just . . .eager,” she admitted, hesitantly. “I done waited so long to get you in my bed, I guess I’m tryin’ to think o’ ways to keep you from slippin’ away.” “Well,” he said, brushing her hair tenderly out of her eyes, “I’m pretty eager, too. It’s like I’m getting to know you all over again. And I love that. But . . . I also like to take things slow, to enjoy this. The relationship, the life of crime, the fighting for my life, the running from the law and bounty hunters, the teetering on the edge of a galactic civil war,” he said with a wry chuckle, which Kaylee shared – the news of late had not been good. “You see, while I’m adaptable, I’m still fairly conservative. I’m not saying I won’t change some – I don’t see as how I have much choice – but I’m happiest when it’s a gradual thing. Just fair to warn you about that. I do think ‘shackin’’ is worth considering. But let’s give it a good long ponder. Let the relationship grow a bit, first.” “I know, sweetheart,” she said, all smiles. The tears had vanished utterly. “Besides, I might dump you if someone really cute comes along, and that’s always a kinda messy prospect when you’re shackin’.” “You –! That’s impossible, it would never happen,” he declared with a laugh. “Why? You think I ain’t got an eye for the fellas? Hate to be the first to say, but I weren’t a blushin’ virgin that first time!” “No, no, I know you’ve been . . .” he struggled for a diplomatic way to put it, “perfecting your erotic education,” he said, finally. “No, I meant that there is no one cuter than me.” Before she could retort with the inevitable teasing comment or thrown pillow, a scream could be heard through the bulkhead – no mean feat, considering it was built to withstand atmospheric pressures. Both of them sat upright. “Zoe!” they said, simultaneously. Kaylee pulled a robe over her naked body and scampered up the ladder without fastening it. Simon settled for pulling his pants on, and went up right after her – which gave him quite an interesting perspective. Zoe’s scream had died and turned to sobbing by the time they were at the hatch to her quarters. Kaylee tried to open it, but it was locked. “Can you open it?” Simon asked, intently. “Ain’t a door, cupboard, or hatch on this boat what won’t sit up an’ shake hands for me,” she declared, sweeping her hair out of her eyes with one hand while she punched in the override code with her other. The hatch hissed and clanged open, and Kaylee was down like a shot. When he had made it to the bottom, Kaylee was staring in horror at Zoë, who was wearing an old white cotton nightgown that was spattered with blood. She had blood on her hand, as well. Her face was contorted with pain and rage and despair, and tears poured out. A glance at the table showed that she had made the acquaintance of at least one bottle tonight. The recently cleared table and the debris on the floor showed the results of that relationship. Something was very wrong here. “Zoë, you okay?” Kaylee asked, her eyes wide with shock and fear. “Zoë, calm down,” Simon commanded in his best doctorly tone. Dealing with belligerent drunks was actually a skill he had perfected in countless hours spent in the urban emergency rooms of Osiris. He kept his distance – in this case he had the advantage of knowing that Zoe was a trained killer. He saw with relief that her guns were clear on the other side of the bunk. “Tell me what happened!” “I . . . I . . .” Zoë said, between sobs. “Are you hurt? Did you cut yourself?” he asked, looking around for a weapon or broken glass. He saw none. “I . . . I done started my gorram monthly,” she said, with a sob. “Oh. Oh, well, Zoë, that’s perfectly normal,” Simon said, relieved. “Nothing to be concerned about. It—” he stopped suddenly when he realized Kaylee was glaring at him. “Okay, Mr. Brilliant Doctor, what does it mean when a woman gets the curse?” she asked, accusingly. “It means . . . she’s not . . . pregnant,” he said, slowly. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it,” Zoe said, her face awash with anguish. “That’s why I been hittin’ the bottle so hard. I wanted it, but I knew, I knew. I so desperately wanted . . . I wanted a little piece . . . I wanted a part o’ him . . .” “Look, why don’t you go practice not bein’ an idiot somewheres else and let me handle this one, huh?” Kaylee said gently, but with clear direction. “This ain’t a man thing.” “I . . . can I get you a sedative? I think I’ve got something that wouldn’t react with the alcohol,” he added, glancing at the bottle. “We’ll call you when we need you, Simon,” Kaylee said, embracing Zoë. Simon wasn’t an idiot – mostly. He left Kaylee rocking Zoë like a baby in a heap on the floor, cursing himself as he climbed the ladder. He should have known – should have remembered. The Washburns had been determinedly trying to get pregnant for a few months, before Wash had died. He should have guessed – he had removed Zoë’s birth control device himself. He had never imagined that she held out that hope, but he counted back the days, and yes, this would have been the first period of hers since he passed away. She ran a little longer than most women, he knew – he was her doctor, after all – and coming off of birth control usually caused erratic menses until the body had a chance to regulate itself properly. In many women it could cause severe periods, or several months without. And the chances of producing blighted ovum – eggs that lacked all the necessary components to properly mature – were unfavorably high for the first six months. He had told her as much when he removed her device. But the clinical issues aside, this perfectly natural process had a very profound meaning for Zoe, he realized. Hoban Washburn was gone, well and truly. Simon stopped at Kaylee’s bunk long enough to get the rest of his clothes and get dressed, then headed for the kitchen. He found Jayne eating left over . . . brown stuff. “What the hell was all that about?” he asked, gruffly. “Heard screamin’. And not the ‘li’l Kaylee just won at “mah jong” again’ kind like she’s been singin’ since y’all hit the sheets.” Simon ignored the jab. He went to the cupboard where the booze was kept and poured three fingers of strong rice liquor into a glass. “Woman’s problems,” he said, unwilling to discuss the matter with the crude mercenary. Jayne nodded, safely mystified. “Oh. Oh, well, I guess that ain’t a bad thing. Usually don’t hear a woman holler like that ‘less you slip out and come in through the tradesman’s entrance,” he said with a wink. “Jayne,” Simon said, swallowing, “you’re as fine an example for promoting contraception as ever I’ve seen,” he declared, reverently. “Well . . . thank you,” Jayne said, confused, but taking it as a compliment. Simon didn’t elaborate. “Too bad you’re hitched, more or less, Doc,” he continued. “A Reunion’s always a fine place to walk your dog – the local whores might be all religious and tree-happy, but there plenty o’ local gals what think a spacer is prime romantic material,” he said. “Well, I’m sure you’ll set them straight,” Simon said with a sigh. “Even you’d do all right, I reckon, bein’ both a spacer and a doc. Have to convince ‘em you like girls first, I s’pose, but I could vouch for ya. Plenty o’ tail comin’ in from the Black, too. Yessir, Muir’s gonna be good for Jayne Cobb! Lotsa them ships that show up got young ‘n’ lovelies just bubblin’ over with acute horniness. Space does somethin’ to their innards, I think.” “Maybe I’ll write a paper on the subject,” Simon said, dully. Something Jayne said got him thinking, though, a long and improbable train of thought that threaded its way through his pre-fugitive memory to a half-remembered notation at the bottom of a medical journal. “Jen duh shih tien sai!” he declared. “I’m a genius?” Jayne asked, confused. “Not even close,” corrected Simon. “I’m not even really sure you’re human. But you just reminded me of something I read,” he said, excitedly. He took a moment to down the remainder of his drink and headed for his quarters . . . and his encyclopedia. “Yeah,” Jayne called after him. “Maybe you an’ Kaylee can break up, y’know, just for the Reunion! Do you a world o’ good, Doc! Variety is the spice o’ life, y’know!” He considered a moment. “Hey, you ain’t even gotta break up! I’m sure little miss hot-panties wouldn’t mind another gal t’help out with her ‘wifely duties’!” He chuckled evilly to himself at the thought. “Yeah, now that’s the kind o’ Reunion I wanna see!”

*

*

*

*See http://www.webcomicsnation.com/serenitytales/st_the_black/series.php?view=archive&chapter=12474&mpe=1&step=1 for details. Yes, I’m stealing from other people’s stuff now. I ain’t proud.