Mal takes a deep breath before touching the comm button. Wash's knuckles are white on the helm – Zoe's fingers are digging into the back of his chair like they're running for their lives rather than just about to dock. Tranquillity fills the bridge window, twinkling blue seas and swirling white clouds postcard perfect. Like every settler's dream. “Tranquillity base, this is Serenity.” Mal's voice is calm, measured; a complete contrast to his tense face. The response is instant. “Good morning Serenity.” The speaker is a woman, speech light and pleasant, no trace of a rim accent. “This is Tranquillity base. You're a little ahead of schedule, but that's no problem at all. You have clearance to dock in Zone Two. I'm transmitting the co-ordinates to your nav-comp now.” “Thank you,” Mal responds as Wash nods to say he's received their course. “I hope you have a pleasant stay on Tranquillity base,” the air-traffic controller burbles. Mal cuts the comm, lip curling in distaste at her chirpy statement. “Take her in Wash,” he says curtly and the pilot nods. Wash can feel the sweat beading on his upper lip as they break atmosphere, fists clenched tightly around the stick even though he's been landing ships since he was fourteen. They clear the banks of early morning cloud and he lets out a whistle. The construction site is huge. The scaffold skeletons of tower blocks stand as vivid charcoal sketches in shadow, backlit by the dawning orange sun. Mal counts seven, but there are more on the horizon, accusatory fingers admonishing the sky. Vast yellow trucks are reduced to the size of children's toys at this height. The morning shift are already toiling in the brown mud. Cranes are gently swinging giant girders into place, and the tiny dots that represent orange hard-hats swarm at the bases of the half-finished monoliths. It takes them five minutes to pass over the site. The distant towers come more clearly into view. These are complete, and strongly reminiscent of the Hub back on Beaumonde, but far grander in scale and feel. Majestic is probably the term, Mal thinks, but to him the dark towers seethe with menace. The docks are neat, nothing of the normal chaos about them any visitor would expect. Wash sets Serenity down as gently as he ever does, but barely any of the fear drains from his face upon completion of another perfect landing. “Now what?” he asks anxiously. Mal shrugs. “I gu-” The crackle of the comm cuts him off. “Ahead of schedule,” says a familiar voice and Mal suppresses a shudder, the nightmarish images of bloody bodies clear in his mind's eye. “Bill,” he replies into the radio, “You know you can count on my crew.” The brag sounds almost too jovial, and a moment of silence leaves Mal sweating over whether or not he's over-done the impression of an oh-so-casual-Captain. “I do,” Bill says after a moment, “I'll be at your door in ten. Meet me in the cargo bay?” “You're the boss,” Mal replies as Wash and Zoe exchange a panicked look at her words. Mal's fingers brush the handle of his pistol for the momentary comfort it brings as he weighs up his options. “If she's wearing blue, we blow her brains out and run,” he decrees and Zoe nods. “No argument from me, sir,” she says, moving to follow him. Wash's fingers catch hers as she turns. She meets his frightened gaze and he tries to smile at her apparent stoicism. She allows herself a moment that is simply him; his touch, his sad smile and bright blue eyes, knowing it could well be her last. Then she lets go of his hand and follows her Captain to the cargo bay.

* Simon doesn't need to strain his ears to hear the cargo-bay door opening – he can tell the exact moment that Bill steps onto Serenity because River stops shivering. She's been trembling uncontrollably since Tranquillity first became visible, quietly terrified. Now she holds herself deathly still, head cocked at an unnatural angle. “It's okay,” she whispers, relaxing a little, “She's one alone.” Simon looks at her helplessly, filled with a quiet rage only exacerbated by his complete inability to do anything other than hide in the passenger dorm. River smiles suddenly; a fierce joy lights her features that is totally alien to her. “It's going to be fine, Simon,” she says, meeting his eyes. “This story always ends the same. They all live happily ever after.” “I don't understand,” Simon replies softly, and she touches his cheek with her thumb. Her face is full of pity – pity for him, he realises. “I know,” she says quietly, as if she's talking to a child, “But you will, Simon. All the players are here – Damsel, Knight and Dragon. It's just a question of parts.” *

To Mal's immense relief, Bill is gloveless as she steps into his cargo bay, a genuine smile creasing the corners of her eyes. He hears Zoe let out the breath she's been holding besides him. “Captain Reynolds,” Bill says, something like pride in her voice. “Knew you'd be quick. Ready for unloading?” Mal nods. “Soon as you are.” He attempts a smile as she whistles to the ground crew. “The ground crew will handle everything,” Bill continues, as the pallet truck rolls up the ramp. This machine gleams, obviously brand new. The operator gives Mal a friendly grin as he manoeuvres it deftly. Tits and teeth, he thinks, Mark of a slick business. It would set him on edge even if they hadn't come across the Hugo. “How was your journey?” “Not too bad,” Mal lies, “Got buzzed by some Reavers, but we managed to shake them.” She studies him for a moment, and Zoe's hand shifts ever so slightly closer to her holster. There's something knowing in Bill's gaze, something she doesn't like- “Good. Well, I'll see you later, Captain. As soon as all the goods are unloaded and logged, all present and correct, you can collect your payment from the office. Your crew are all very welcome to use the facilities in this Zone until you're ready to fly again.” With a nod to Zoe, she saunters off down the ramp. “Don't much like the sound of you meeting her in the office for payment,” Zoe says bluntly, once she's well out of earshot. Mal considers his options. “I don't think she's like to kill me here,” he says slowly, “This place is... civilised.” He almost spits the word. “We didn't touch the crates and we got them here fast. They need crews like us – you saw the size of that site out there. Got to be difficult bringing in all the materials. I take the payment, we re-fuel, and we get out and spend our well earned credits elsewhere.” Zoe looks unconvinced by his words. “Yes sir,” she settles for, clearly unhappy but keenly aware they have little other choice. *

Some of his unease drains away upon seeing the queue of Captains waiting outside Bill's office door. Mal strolls over, tapping a tall man sporting a particularly spectacular moustache on the shoulder. “This the queue to see Wymann?” he checks. The moustachioed man nods. “Sure is. Likes to keep us waitin' outside the door like naughty school boys,” he adds wryly. Mal smiles thinly, reaching up unthinkingly to scratch the scar on his ear. “That a fact?” “We'll be here a while yet,” the Captain responds. “My name's Yanni.” He offers a callused hand to Mal, who shakes it firmly, trying not wince as his fingers are ground together in the man's iron grip. “Reynolds,” Mal returns. Yanni's eyes widen. “Malcom Reynolds? Captain of Serenity?” Mal takes a moment to respond. “That would depend on who was asking,” he settles for, seeing only surprise in the man's eyes rather than anger. Yanni grins, showing very white teeth. “Reckon that'd be so,” he says, “After some of the jobs your boys have pulled. Things must be bad, if a crew like yours is reducing to haulin' this kind of cargo about.” “Well, I wouldn't say that,” Mal risks, trying to work out if Yanni's words are a compliment or an insult. “Nothin' wrong with a bit of honest haulage.” “You took on Niska and lived to tell the tale,” Yanni replies, raising an eyebrow. “'Sides, you and I both know there ain't nothin' honest about this cargo.” Mal remains carefully silent, expression neutral and Yanni chuckles. “You're a canny Captain, I can see. And I'm actin' the lummox shootin' my mouth off to you; a stranger who took Reynold's name, for all I know. But don't worry – you'll see how it is here, soon as you collect your first pay. You made the first run and that's always the hardest.” Yanni pauses, the tip of his tongue darting over suddenly dry lips. When he continues, Mal has to lean in slightly to catch his almost whispered words. “I know a decent man like you will have gone over and seen the mess they made of the Hugo. She'll try to tell you it's Reavers, but Reavers don't leave bodies like that. Hugo wasn't the first, and she won't be the last, neither. Too many folks out there not got the sense they were born with. 'Don't open the boxes,' the lady said. Them wrecks out there are warnings and I ain't as stupid as I look. But pay like this is hard to find elsewhere. And the facilities in this Zone beat anything else my crew can afford.” “They're good?” Mal responds. Yanni nods. “Like something from the Core. She won't let you fly anywhere tonight, Captain. Not until she's tried to give you a taste for the high life, and gotcha name on a permanent contract as a result.” “I'll bear that in mind.” Yanni chuckles again. “You do that.”