Make sure to start at the Prologue ------------------

CHAPTER 1 Book prayed silently as Serenity fell asleep. Despite the quiet of the black, his heart was astir and God was calling him to pray. He had washed the dinner dishes, wiped the dining room table, and scrubbed the stove. The food stock and spices were neatly arranged. If he made it into town this port, he would buy a fresh supply of rosemary. Most of the footsteps echoed in the silence as one crewmember or another wandered occasionally to the toilet. Even Wash, satisfied with their course, had abandoned the cockpit to get a few hours rest. The engine hummed a quiet lullaby. While meditating and praying against the deep foreboding he felt, Book’s mind fell to Psalm 27… “When my enemies and foes attack me, they will stumble and fall.” Why had God brought this to mind? As he prayed for clarity yet again, Alegra wandered into the kitchen and set some water boiling for tea. Her long, dark hair fell softly around her face, her grey eyes ever squinted in deep thought. She leaned easily against the counter as she waited on the tea, lost in reflection and hardly noticing him. “May I have a cup?” Book asked as she poured the hot water over a tea bag. She started, noticing him for the first time. “Sure, Preacher. Can’t sleep?” “I felt the need to pray tonight. What keeps you up?” “Wei. He feels the need to disappear tonight.” “And you? You seem perplexed.” “Just trying to keep my mind busy so I won’t be tired.” She brought the two cups to the table, handing one to Book, and then started adding generous teaspoons of sugar to her own cup. “Still pondering Gideon’s battle strategies?” Book teased. On Osiris, Alegra had tried to garner practical strategies from the Bible and since had engaged the Shepherd in discussions of its ‘counterintuitive life view’. He found her points challenging and it reminded him of the training he had received at the abbey. “Faith is a pretty flimsy strategy, Shepherd. Would you rely on God working a miracle at just the right time?” Book nodded, the words of the Psalm filling his mind. A loud ka-chink from the cargo bay sent Alegra shooting to her feet. “What could that be?” Book wondered. “That’s Wei disappearing,” she informed, taking one last swig of tea before dashing out of the kitchen. Book followed her toward the cargo bay, hopping over River who lay on the catwalk listening to the ship, then darted across the platform to Shuttle 2. Wei sat at the shuttle controls, initiating the take-off sequence, twiddling several small black devices in his hand as though they were worry beads. “Wei, we have to wait till morning,” Alegra said firmly, reaching across him and shutting down the sequence. “Can’t.” “Yes, we can. We’re on an island. If we take this shuttle, Captain Reynolds will have no way to get it back.” Wei ignored her, restarting the sequence and looking annoyed. “You should get Tyler. We must leave now.” “No, Wei. We must do nothing.” Wei looked at Book briefly. “You must get Tyler.” “I can’t let you steal this shuttle,” Book said calmly, not moving. “Don’t steal,” River interrupted tersely, entering the shuttle. “That’s what the Bible says. Don’t steal.” Alegra froze a moment, her eyes adopting the squint of a new idea. With a calculated smile, she looked at Book and said, “Got no need to steal.”

*~*

Jayne sat at the dining room table trying to write a letter, while letting the eggs burn. It was his day to cook breakfast—a task he always approached with a spirit of competition and a bottle of spirits. He had opted for green protein in today’s eggs, just because it would tick off Simon and Tyler found green eggs amusing as hell. It had not escaped his notice that Tyler and the other kids were already gone from the ship. Mal was sure to throw a fit when he noticed. Jayne stood briefly to scramble the eggs a bit with the spatula, then added the last of the rosemary to the mix. The flat-bread that Book had made the night before had gone missing, so he’d have to come up with another option. With a frustrated sigh, Jayne considered again the letter that refused to write itself. He pulled out his last letter from home, hoping to remember how to make some of the characters, but in the end, it would just be a mixture of English letters and Chinese kanji. Normally, he’d send a wave with the credits, but this time he wanted his family to leave for real. He couldn’t count the number of times their house had been burnt on account of him, and now with Jantis getting closer, he wanted to make sure they took him seriously when he told them to get out. The only way he could think to do that was with a written letter. His mother would know by that. Jayne found some canned ham, sprinkled a bit into the eggs, then sliced the rest and started frying. It was awfully quiet for this time of morning… or perhaps it was just awfully early for breakfast. Quickly, Jayne thought through his morning routine, wondering if in fact the whole crew was gone, not just the kids. Wake up. Prowl about. Target practice. Breakfast. That was it! He had been teaching Tyler how to shoot in the mornings. With the kid gone, he’d skipped ahead to making breakfast. No one would be up for at least another hour! With a heavy sigh, Jayne turned off the stove and returned to the letter. Maybe he should just send a wave. At this rate, his family would be caught and killed long before he finished writing all the words.

*~* Zoë rolled out of bed, feeling ill again. She padded barefoot across the cold floor and reached for a piece of flat-bread that Book had made using the last of their flour. The bread seemed to be the only thing that calmed her stomach… at least while she was eating it. That was her frustrating limit of choices: starving, eating bread, or ill. Taking the quiet moment to wash her face, she studied herself in the mirror. Despite the pregnancy, she was losing weight and the sleepless nights left dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes. Wash rolled onto his back, mumbling, “You look beautiful, baby.” Zoë smiled, even though she knew Wash was barely awake enough to realize he was giving her a compliment. She admired his supportiveness even as he wrestled with demons of his own. Despite being physically healed, the memory of Prio’s torture still plagued him. As Wash drifted back to sleep, his face contorted in pain and she couldn’t help but wince with him. After a few minutes, he contracted into a fetal position and cried out so loudly he woke himself. “Zoë,” he choked softly, pressing his eyes shut as hot tears streamed down his face. “Right her, baby,” she whispered. He flinched as she took hold of his right foot, but he didn’t pull away. Zoë found that by simply touching his feet, he would be anchored to the reality that he was not in any physical pain. She ran her fingers around every toe until Wash inhaled loudly and his body shuddered and relaxed. “Good morning, husband,” she cooed softly as his eyes opened to look at her. She set his foot down gently. “Please don’t stop,” he gulped. Raising an eyebrow, Zoë picked up his left foot and began to massage. “Why do I suspect you’re playing this up for a free foot rub?” she joked. She tickled his foot, but he didn’t respond. He merely rubbed his eyes as though trying to get a clear view of the world. Wash’s feet had been ticklish once. Disappointed, she tried tickling his ankle, then his calf. Finally, when she hit the back of the knee, a smile spilled across his lips and he jerked reflexively. “There you are,” Zoë giggled, tickling him again. Wash sprang into tickle-attack mode, going for her midsection. Zoë yelped playfully, dodging and going for his neck, then his side, then his knees again. She rolled happily, getting trapped in the blanket as she reached for his toes, and then he tackled her and the two rolled off the bed in a tangle of bed sheets and kisses. “Wash!” Mal’s voice cut in angrily over the comm, bringing the two to a disappointed halt. “Where is my gorram shuttle?” Wash threw Zoë a confused look as he extricated himself from the blankets and reached for the comm box. “If I recall, we left it on Osiris,” Wash answered dryly. Zoë scooted over to his feet and kissed his ankles playfully, making him dance about. “Not Shuttle 1, Shuttle 2! Where is Shuttle 2?!” “Shuttle 2?” Zoë repeated, a shroud of seriousness falling on her face. Wash shook his head, confused. “I’ll be right up, Mal.” Zoë jumped to her feet and started looking for their clothes. She tossed him a pair of socks and dug out their boots from under the bed, not recalling exactly how they wound up there. When she stood, Wash was already before her, dressed, and surprisingly close. Zoë dropped the boots again as he kissed her softly. “You’ll have to excuse me, wife, I have a mystery to solve,” he murmured hotly. “The game is afoot.” With a sly smile, Wash limped up the ladder wearing his fuzzy, blue and brown dinosaur slippers. Zoë sighed in disappointment, wondering when his gait would catch up to his healing. The doctor insisted that Wash shouldn’t be in any pain, yet he still hobbled about and refused to wear his boots. Disheartened, Zoë chomped on another piece of bread and pulled on her own boots. She needed to talk to the doctor anyway.

*~*

Jayne opened the back door of Serenity, letting in a hazy mist and the first glimmer of sunlight on Three Hills. The abandoned space port had all the stark grayness of an Alliance facility, but weeds and mold crept in through cracks in the pavement, threatening to reclaim the place for nature. Jayne failed to appreciate any of this as he plopped himself on the ground, waiting for the fireworks to start. In anticipation of the show, he lit up a cigar and reclined against the side of the ship. He was not disappointed. Within five minutes, Mal stormed out the back door, kicking any bits of dust or gravel that were not firmly mounted to the ground, and muttering obscenities at the sky. Jayne always found Mal amusing when he was angry at other people. Kaylee rushed out a few steps behind Mal all apologetic and such. Even Wash made the effort to hobble out of the cockpit and watch the show. “Has he managed a word yet?” Wash asked, taking a seat next to Jayne, and slurping on a cup of soup. The mouth of the Stegosaur on his slippers hung open. “In English?” Jayne laughed. “Captain, I’m sorry,” Kaylee was pleading, following Mal as he paced in circles like a caged gorilla. “If I’d known they was leavin’, I would have waked you!” “Kaylee, ‘sorry’ don’t bring that shuttle back any sooner,” Mal exploded. “We got no time to waste lookin’ for Caddock and that can’t be done on this godforsaken island!” Deflated, but deciding not to take it personally, Kaylee let off a few choice words of her own before sitting next to Jayne and Wash. Mal turned his cold stare at Wash next. “Why didn’t you notice the shuttle leaving?” “Hey, I just land the boat. I’m not port control!” “Don’t try and put this on him, Captain,” Zoë intoned, coming off the ship, Simon and River trailing her. “I’m not putting this on anyone but Book! A Shepherd should know better than stealing!” “Do you even care if he went willingly?” Simon asked harshly, running a hand through his close cropped hair. After Osiris, Simon had shaved his goatee and vowed never to cut his hair again. Mal paced a bit more, not losing steam. He tried to channel that steam into plan formation, but alas, plan formation ran on caffeine. If only they had recovered the Inara’s shuttle! “Zoë, as soon as he gets back, you and I go into town.” Zoë nodded, not wasting words. “Captain, I’d like to go with you” Simon stated, with more surety than Mal though he had a right to. “No, you wouldn’t,” Mal corrected. “You’d like to stay here and make sure your sister don’t run away again.” “It’s an island. Where would she go?” “Oh, I’m sure she’d find some place of trouble.” “Nevertheless, there’s some medical equipment I’d like to purchase.” Mal stopped pacing, his anger at Book replaced by concern for Serenity. “Did something in the Infirmary break?” “No, no, this would be new. I’ve already contacted a supplier in town.” “You’ve contacted? You’ve contacted!” “Yes, I’ve–” “Does the name ‘Captain’ mean anything to you people?” He paused a moment and looked at his crew, who were all exchanging blank looks. Bunch of jokers! “You don’t buy things for the ship unless I say we need it!” “Then as the ship’s doctor, I’m telling you we need this… and I will purchase it.” Mal huffed, trying to contain his anger at Book and deal with Simon for now. “What is this suddenly necessary medical equipment?” “An ultrasound machine and an automated analyzer.” That’s two things,” Jayne pointed out, holding up two fingers to demonstrate the accuracy of his count. “And not one of them used for treating gunshot wounds. What’s in your head, Doc? Starting a clone farm?” “No,” Simon said guardedly. “These supplies are practical for many purposes.” Mal could tell he was hiding something and making up excuses. Simon could be such a terrible liar at times and this morning, Mal was up to the challenge. “But you don’t have many purposes in mind. You have only one purpose. What is it?” Simon hesitated and Mal could sense a lecture on doctor-patient confidentiality rising to Simon’s lips. Zoë spoke before Simon could. “Prenatal care,” Zoë said firmly. Mal’s jaw dropped in disbelief. He tried pulling the jaw up so he could speak, but it just dropped again. “What’s that?” Jayne asked, thinking it sounded unpleasant. “You’re gonna have a baby!” Kaylee squealed. Wash beamed with pride, but Zoë stood, hands on hips, still in face-off mode with Mal. Mal looked uncertainly at Simon. “Is she still fit to work?” “Yes,” Zoë answered sternly, turning on her heels and heading back inside. Mal watched her go, but Kaylee jumped up excitedly and followed her in, pressing for news. “A baby?” Jayne repeated, chuckling, and pulling out a fresh cigar for Wash. “Nice work, little man.” “Oooh! Smoky poison!” Wash mused, biting off the tip of the cigar and accepting a light from Jayne. “Shiny.”

*~*

Inara wasn’t even sure what planet she was on, she only knew that Jantis wanted to see her. With a deep breath, she followed the guard down the long corridor toward the exit. She felt the pull of the first aid kit as it hung, hidden in the folds of her robe. She hoped the weight of it was not too obvious against the natural flow of the garment. With no idea of where she might be taken next, she could not leave the kit behind. At the moment, it was her only advantage and somehow, it would help her escape. The corridor opened up into a spaceport hanger bay and she passed by many short range shuttles, including her own. Perhaps she could sweet talk her way aboard again, but to what point. Mal was dead, the crew was missing. No one would be coming for her here. With no idea of where she was, she didn’t even know who to call to mount a rescue. They followed a ramp that spiraled upward around the hanger bay, finally leading to a cage elevator that took them to ground level. What kind of man puts a hanger bay underground? Inara knew as soon as they hit fresh air—a very wealthy man. She noticed the atmosphere was either thinner than Earth-norm or they were on a plateau at 10,000 feet. She saw no evidence of a plateau, but rather a large estate with acres of prairie land surrounding a sleek, modern building, coated with reflective glass. The guard led her away from the building and toward the field. Through the glint of sunrise, Inara could see a herd of buffalo grazing. Noticing a single zebra among them, she did a double take. She had thought both zebras and buffalo were extinct, but there was no denying these were living, moving creatures. The man who owned them was not only a power on this world, but above Alliance law as well. Two black men stood in the midst of the field, ignored by the roaming wildlife. They faced each other, feet shoulder-width apart, one hand folded in, the other snaking the distance between them in slow motion. The slow movement was occasionally interrupted by quick hand motions, but in both men, their bodies were centered and firmly stable. Inara recognized the ancient martial art of Wing Chun—a technique designed to inflict maximum damage with minimal force. Suddenly, the two men ceased their slow motion stance and engaged each other, their hands a flurry of motion, connecting often at the throat and face. As the taller one forced his opponent back, the shorter one went for more direct attacks at the vulnerable areas, all the while maintaining a firm stance. A moment later, fortunes reversed and the shorter man had the advantage. Inara realized that one of these men was Jantis and although she could not distinguish the skill of the two men, she wondered if Jantis was the master or the student.

*~*

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