AN: Start at the Prologue ******************************* CHAPTER 1

(Six years later… after the show, before the movie.) Jayne woke to a powerful ache in his belly, the dream of his cousin fading fast from his memory. His mind wandered to the kitchen, but he didn’t bother to get up. Rations were scarce and the Captain had restricted them all to one daily meal. Jayne had resolved to sleep through his hunger, but the vibrating deck plates had other plans. Serenity’s engine growled with exertion, causing the bowie knife on his bedside table to vibrate. His hand shot out to silence the rattling blade, but instead sent it clamoring to the floor. Angrily, he rolled onto his back. He was losing his focus, losing his edge. Losing his mind with hunger. The dim light of the room glinted off the arsenal of guns, knives, and other weaponry hanging over his bunk. Vera, his favorite gun, was the centerpiece. Seeing it brought up a brief flash of his cousin—a pain that ached worse than hunger. He suppressed the thought of her quickly and focused on the Callahan, full-bore, auto lock with customized trigger double cartridge thorough gauge. Vera had come with a price. Most of his guns did. Each with a specific talent, they came out for specialized jobs: sharp-shooting, snipering, close-range combat, open-range fights, bar fights, and a few soft leads so as not to damage spaceships. Most of them were sadly locked down ever since that crazy kid River had gotten a hold of his Rutger 45. Lux, his LeMat revolver, sat quietly in the holster which hung from his bed-post. Being more of a day gun, Lux came with him everywhere. His stomach rumbled again, causing the vision of the guns to blur. The ship hiccupped. Sleep was useless. Grabbing the revolver and the bowie, Jayne made for the cargo bay. They were transporting a food shipment to a colony on Newhall, the first honest job they’d had in months. Jayne hated honest work. Only on honest jobs was it possible to go hungry while transporting a cargo of food.

*~*

Shepherd Book sat in silent contemplation at the long, wooden table in the dining room. A trail of painted flowers bordered the walls, an attempt by Kaylee, the ship’s mechanic, to make the place more cheerful. It was not working now. The stove was cold; there was nothing left to cook. The cabinets were barren, save for half of a protein bar meant to sustain the crew until their arrival on Newhall in three days time. Book had been fasting for ten days now, allowing the rest of the crew a slightly larger ration. With each pang of hunger, he turned his thoughts to God, quoting scripture to himself. He had fasted before, and for longer than this. But this fast was different. There was no guarantee of food at the end. At best, they would get one square meal at Newhall, and then be sent away with their pay. From the hallways floated the familiar sound of the crew stirring. River was already light-footing through the corridors, in combat boots today, but still oddly quiet. Mal was in the cargo bay, leaning against one of the crates holding their cargo, half asleep with a revolver in hand. Wash had snuck out of the bunk he shared with his wife Zoë, but he had tripped on the stairs on his way up to the bridge. A few minutes later, Book had felt the starboard thrusters make a minor course correction and the ship engine hiccupped. Not long after, Jayne’s heavy boots clanked up the ladder from his bunk and he slammed the hatch closed, starting his morning prowl of the ship. Jayne stormed through the kitchen without even seeing Book sitting there. He opened and closed every cabinet, giving one long lingering look to the last remaining protein bar. Then, slamming that cabinet as well, he continued his storm into the cargo bay. Taking this as his cue, Book started boiling water, stirring in nutmeg and cinnamon. This was his approximation of morning tea.

*~*

Captain Malcolm Reynolds heard Jayne coming a mile off, but was too tired to stir. The grating of the floor pressed uncomfortably on his rear and an unjustified protrusion in the crates dug into his back. Three more days. Just three more days of sleeping down here, protecting the cargo from a starving crew. The routine was becoming far too familiar. As Jayne’s footfalls approached, he cocked his weapon and aimed it in the general direction of the sound. “Back to the kitchen, Jayne,” Mal said. He opened his eyes, meeting the frustrated gaze of the bruly mercenary staring him down. Jayne’s gun was still holstered, but his gloved hand was at ready. “Dammit, Mal, they aren’t going to miss ONE nutrition bar!” “Oh, they surely will,” Mal said standing slowly, gun still pointed at Jayne. “These are honest people we’re working with and I’d like to work with them again.” “Don’t make no sense to starve with a cargo hold full of food!” “Not planning on starving, Jayne. Planning on having a fine breakfast in about five minutes. Soon as we get ourselves to the kitchen.” Jayne shifted his weight grumpily from one foot to the next, his face already crinkled in defeat. Mal stood his ground. Finally, Jayne broke the face-off with an exasperated sigh and stormed back to the kitchen, muttering “Ke-wu de lao bao-jun.” Sighing, Mal rubbed his eyes holstering his gun. The argument did get shorter every day, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It’s never good when your hired gun loses interest in fighting. “Won’t last.” “Gah!” Mal jumped a mile, his gun fumbling to the ready. River Tam was circling the crate, her hand tracing its edges. Her eerie voice disappeared quickly into the walls of the ship. Despite the heavy combat boots she wore, she’d still managed to sneak up on him. Though River was still a youth, Mal always thought she had a worn look about her. The way her dress hung on her body, the way her hair fell limp and stringy around her face. It was like she’d been used up, wrung out, and discarded. But every now and then, he saw that spark in her—the glimmer of life that made him believe she was still a person. For a moment, he wondered if her words were prophetic or merely stating the obvious. On more than one occasion, she seemed to have it both ways. “To the kitchen, little one” Mal said, reholstering his gun. He motioned for River to walk and he followed. “It’s not nice to sneak up on people. They’re like to shoot ya.”

*~*

Dr. Simon Tam was the last to enter the kitchen. He noticed Kaylee first, lighting up the room with her smile. Kaylee could find the bright side of any situation, calling the tight rations the best diet she’d ever been on. “It’d be so much easier for people to lose weight if they had someone kind enough to point a gun in their face and tell them they can’t eat no more,” she chuckled. Her once round cheeks had become sunken, and her skin was beginning to lose color. Her cheeks were marked with engine grease, saying she’d already been at work this morning. Her hazel eyes shone as she shared a story with River and slowly ate her rations. River, his sister, seemed concerned about some turn of events in Kaylee’s story, but was enjoying it nonetheless. He was glad that the two got along. Caring for his sister was his life right now. Getting to know Kaylee was a bonus. He noticed Zoë offer Wash half of her rations, just as she’d done the day before. When Simon had asked her why, she told him “I can handle a little hunger. He’s got to stay focused so he can land this ship.” Shepherd Book was noticeably absent, choosing to fast in solitude. Inara Serra, a companion working aboard Serenity, was also absent, preferring to stay in her shuttle these days. Simon could imagine that for a woman whose physical appearance was part of her career, malnutrition took a devastating toll. “Eat up, Doc,” Mal called from his seat at the head of the table. “Eat up ‘fore Jayne takes your share.” Jayne grunted, having already wolfed down his meal in seven bites or less. Though they looked small, these protein bars were packed with nutritional supplements and the seven bites they were given still had over 1000 calories. Most of the crew ate slowly, trying to garner some satisfaction from that knowledge. To Jayne, it looked small, so it wasn’t enough. “Good morning, Simon,” Kaylee bubbled as he took the seat next to River. River snuck a peak at him and giggled from underneath her cascade of brown hair. “Good morning,” he said, reaching for his breakfast and a cup of Shepherd Book’s make-shift tea. “What are you laughing at?” “Kaylee told a joke,” River said, her voice a sweet melody. It always overjoyed Simon when he saw River lucid and laughing, like a normal girl. “Apples and doctors and good aim.” “Well don’t spoil the punch line, silly,” Kaylee laughed, punching River lightly on the arm. “Apples, huh?” Wash interrupted. “I could go for some apples right now.” “They’ll come,” River said, looking cryptically at the table as if it contained a cipher. “Can we not talk about food we ain’t got?” Jayne bellowed, fidgeting about with his chopsticks waiting for crumbs to drop. He’s like a dog, Simon thought. “If we had apples, we could make cider,” Zoe added, ignoring Jayne’s frustration. Her eyes met Wash’s and they seemed to disappear into some moment in the past where they were drinking cider together. “Don’t get too attached to the idea,” Mal said darkly. “Ain’t no apples on Newhall.” “Maybe next time we find seeds, we could plant an apple tree on the ship. Then we wouldn’t have to wait for port,” Kaylee suggested. “Do you have any idea how long it takes a tree like that to grow,” Jayne balked. “Do you?” Kaylee retorted. “Well,” Jayne stammered. “It—” “Six to ten years, unless genetically altered or artificially accelerated,” River interrupted. “That’s it,” Jayne affirmed. “Years.” Kaylee seemed disappointed, but only briefly. “Probably starve to death before then,” Jayne muttered. “So if they don’t have apples, what do they have on Newhall?” Wash asked. “Nothing,” Mal answered. When he didn’t offer any more insight, Wash turned to Zoë. “Just settlers,” Zoë clarified. “The first crop failed. That’s why they need this food shipment to get them through their first winter.” “They got money?” Jayne asked. “They’re paying us,” Zoë assured him. “But there’s not much place to spend it on Newhall.” “There’s always a place,” Jayne said quietly, his mind drawing up an image of a nice brothel with beautiful women. “Ten guesses as to the place he’s thinking of,” Wash jeered. “You need ten?” Inara’s voice startled everyone. She had not joined them for a meal in days. Simon imagined the color in her face was almost entirely painted on. Her hair was perfectly placed on top of her head. She wore a stunning dress of red and blue brocade. “Inara!” Mal’s voice was filled with surprise. “To what occasion do we owe the honor of your presence?” Inara afforded him a brief smile. “Actually, a very nice occasion. I’ve found honey.” From the folds of her robes, she produced a small jar, gleaming gold in the lamplight. “Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Mal muttered. Anyone that had food left had stopped chewing just to take in the sight of the little jar, its contents worth its weight in gold. “Where did you get that?” “It was a gift to me from Atherton,” she said. “Atherton,” Mal repeated. “That must have been before he stabbed me.” Mal was referring to an earlier incident on Persephone where he had inadvertently started a duel with one of Inara’s clients. “Must have been,” Inara agreed. She had spent the last few days remembering every client who had offered her a permanent home, imagined every buffet table filled with food, and asked herself again and again why she was still here. Then she had remembered the honey. “We’ll get the most out of it by stirring it into the tea.” Inara’s voice trailed off as she looked into the pot of water on the stove. A few spices clung to the edge of the pot, but the water remained clear. “Think we could get some mead out of it?” Jayne asked, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Fermenter’s down,” Kaylee said, disappointedly thinking of her inter-engine fermentation system. “Needs yeast to get started.” “This will do,” Inara said, opening the jar carefully and stirring a spoonful into the still-warm tea pot. The room filled with the sweet smell of honey, and as one the group inhaled. Tension melted, eyes softened, and each looked as though the smell of the honey alone was a four-course meal. Even Book wandered back from whatever spot he was meditating in. Inara felt their eyes on her as she brewed the drink. Book gathered the cups and she ladled the drink as evenly as possible among them. For a moment, they all drank, no one speaking a word. Finally, River summed it up for all of them. “Thank you.”

*~*

Invigorated by the honey, Jayne decided to do a few sets with the barbell in the cargo bay. He enjoyed a good sweat, but lately hadn’t had much energy to burn off. Book spotted him on the bench press, rambling on about his abbey days and chanting with the other monks. Halfway through his first set, Jayne could already feel his energy waning, but the moving cleared his mind. After a mere 25 reps, he returned the bar to its rack and just laid on the bench searching for breath. “So, why chanting?” Jayne panted by way of conversation. “Many people believe that chanting awakens the spirit to God’s love,” Book began, taking on his lecture tone. Jayne was in no mood for a lecture. “No, I mean, why chant? Why not some livelier form of music? Something with a little swing in the step. Something you can dance to.” “A chant, when properly done, can be very lively and more invigorating than any jig you’ve ever danced.” “I doubt that,” Jayne chortled. “I’ve been a party to some very lively jigs.” “The chant is a vehicle to communion with God,” Book said. His voice always seemed so authoritative that Jayne found it hard to argue. “I don’t commune with anyone who’s not paying me,” he said. Then after a moment’s thought added with a leer, “Or I’s paying them.” “Why is that?” Book asked. Jayne didn’t seem to hear. His mind had returned to the brothel he’d created earlier. A pretty blonde was winking at him from across the room. A brief flash, then it was gone. “What’s that Shepherd?” “Why do you keep people at a distance?” “Ain’t worth it,” Jayne said simply. Despite being tired, he picked up the barbell and started another set. “We got a short time here, Shepherd. We only got a short time in this ‘verse to be happy. Getting close to people just brings heartache. Makes it hard to be happy. Ain’t worth it.” “Was it ever worth it?” Book asked. Jayne stopped in mid-rep so suddenly, he nearly dropped the barbell. Book caught it and eased it back onto the rack. Though his lips were silent, Jayne’s response seemed to answer the question with a resounding “yes.” Jayne waited a few moments to catch his breath, and then he met Book’s eyes with as dark a glare as he could muster. “What the hell kind of question is that?” he spat.

*~*

The engine hiccupped, causing Mal to stumble as he entered the bridge. Wash’s hands gripped the controls as he compensated for the jolt. Kaylee sat on the floor, monkey wrench tapping in her hand, a fresh smudge of grease smeared across her nose. On seeing him, her face didn’t light up, which he took as a bad sign. “Captain,” she said, meeting his eyes squarely, “we need to cut the engine.” “Can’t do that, Kaylee. We’re on a schedule.” “It’s just for an hour or so. We’re not pulling much acceleration from them at this point anyhow.” “I thought you told me the engine would hold.” “I thought we was going to a world with a machine shop on it,” she countered. “The flow regulator is down, that’s why the engine keeps kicking. I can’t fix that while it’s running. We shut down for an hour, that way we can be sure we make it off world again once we’re on.” “Now’s the time, Captain,” Wash interjected. “We have a fair push for coasting and we’re far enough between moons that we’re not going to lose more than ten minutes from the trip.” The engine kicked again, propelling Mal sideways into a control panel. His arm hit metal, assuring a solid bruise. Wash yanked the controls again, correcting course. Kaylee seemed to have anticipated the jump and had braced herself. “I can handle ten minutes,” Mal said. “Do what you gotta do.” Kaylee nodded to Wash who cut the engine. Once the rattle in the deck plates died, Kaylee stood to manage her repairs. She was only half way out the door when the ship rocked violently port. Her head banged against the door frame and a gash opened above her eyebrow. A bewildered look settled on her face. Mal had fallen to the floor and Wash yanked the throttle hard, using correction thrusters to regain control of the ship as it reeled and tossed them about. Finally he controlled the roll sufficiently so that the grav boot could compensate. “I thought you said the kicks would stop,” Mal said, grabbing Kaylee’s hand and pulling her back into the cockpit. He quickly pulled gauze from a first aid kit and handed it to her. “That weren’t Serenity, Cap’n.”

*~*

********************************** LINK TO CHAPTER 2