Someone is shaking him. He groans. “Mom, I don't want to go to school.” “Gorramit, Wash! I ain't your mother!” He opens his eyes to find himself on the floor of the infirmary, a disgruntled looking Jayne holding him by his lapels. His head aches like he's spent the last two days drinking Kaylee's engine brew and the world has a curious, over-bright quality to it. Concussion, he figures. He hasn't felt this light-headed since Saffron kicked him in the head. He blinks, trying to fill in the blanks with regard to why he's on the floor. Realisation dawns as full consciousness kicks in, and he struggles upright. “Zoe?” “She's alive,” Book replies. He's crouched at the side of the fallen first mate, taking her pulse. “Just out cold.” “Looks like they broke his nose,” says Kaylee. She's ministering to Simon, a look of mingled anxiety and pity on her face. “But he's breathin' okay.” “Zoe, baby,” Wash says, replacing Book at his wife's side and touching a hand to her face. “Time to wake up.” He gives her a little shake. “C'mon, or I'll start telling them about the time we-” “Dn't y'dare,” she mumbles, forcing her eyes open and staring at him muzzily. “What happened here? Where's the Cap'n? And River?” Kaylee asks, sounding on the point of panic. Zoe stands with difficulty, holding herself upright using the counter and her husband as the world spins slowly past. “There was a man... Danny, old army friend. Came on board talkin' about the recording,” she says slowly. “He said something. Sounded like gibberish to me,” Wash adds, “And River... well, she just went wild. Knocked us both out. That's all I know.” The three other conscious crew-members absorb this for a moment. “She hit Simon?” Kaylee manages after a moment, horror edging her words. “Guess she must've. Or Danny did,” Zoe says heavily. “One of the shuttles is gone,” Jayne declares, “We though Mal might have taken it.” Wash shakes his head and instantly regrets the movement. “No, he's with Bill... some kind of meeting. Tzao-gao! They took a shuttle. This is bad.” Zoe lets go of the counter, a little more steady now. “Jayne, you're coming with us. Book, Kaylee. You stay here. Make the doctor comfortable. Lock the doors.” “I think I could-” begins the Preacher. “Want someone here to look after Kaylee and Simon,” Zoe cuts him off. Book nods as Jayne opens his mouth. “Where're we going?” “To get that shuttle back,” Zoe answers. She gives her husband a concerned look, squeezing his arm. “You going to be alright to fly?” “I'll be fine,” Wash reassures her. “Then lets go. With a bit of luck they won't have taken it too far.” *

Mal drains the rest of his glass of wine, lurking awkwardly at the buffet table, set up along the back-wall of an otherwise empty room. The food is good, and if the situation were different he'd probably be folding up some of the ripe strawberries in a napkin as a little treat for Kaylee, after he'd filled his own face. As things are, he hasn't much appetite. Oh, the scientists are friendly and informative enough but... something still troubles him. In spite of all she's said, Bill hasn't been honest. Large as a laboratory she's showed them was, it wouldn't make up a quarter of this facility... His counterparts are not as sceptical, and they're still asking questions of their hosts, apparently keen to give some consideration to the deal on offer. He mournfully eats a raspberry, savouring the tart taste. The lights go off. There's no warning, no sound; nothing to indicate any kind of fault. They are simply suddenly plunged into complete darkness. There are no windows in this room, no other natural light sources. Mal's hand strays automatically to his belt – to a pistol that isn't there. He curses in his head, staying still. He can hear the others moving about, an oof of expelled breath as two people collide. “If you can all just stay here,” Bill says, and he can't quite make out where she is, where her voice is coming from. Not too close. “The back-up generators haven't come on line. Power-cuts are still something of a problem for us. It should be sorted momentarily.” He hears the click of a door-handle turning. He can hear the others muttering to one another, ignores their words as he focusses on trying to picture where the door was in relation to the table. He crosses to where he thinks it should be, hands held in front of him in the hope of preventing himself from bumping into anyone else. His fingers touch cool concrete: he's missed the door, hit the wall instead. He runs his fingertips over the smooth surface and finds the metal edge of the door almost out of reach to his right. He expects it to be locked, but with the power off the fancy locks aren't working, and the handle turns under his hand. “Who's that?” a querulous voice calls out. He recognises it as belonging to the tall, bespectacled gentleman Bill introduced as chief scientist. “She said we were to stay here...” He's out, in a corridor that's just as dark. He trails his left hand along the wall, right held out in front of him, walking softly. He knows he should aim for the door at the end of the corridor, that leads back into the large lab and maybe outside. But a terrible curiosity has overtaken him, knowing the doors are all unlocked. His left hand finds a door-handle, and he's turned it and is carefully opening the door before he's even fully realised what he's doing... There's a little light here; apparently the tanks in this lab have a dedicated, isolated power-source. Makes sense, he guesses, wouldn't want a little power-failure crippling the organ harvest...He peers at the nearest tank in the ghostly green light and his stomach contracts. This lab is exactly the same in layout as the one Bill showed them before, but the contents of the tanks are a little different... “Ai ya...” They're foetuses, floating in jars. They're not just cloning organs; they're growing human beings... Like a man in a dream he walks down the central pathway to the door at the far end of the lab. He opens it carefully, the crepuscular light of the lab illuminating a table, two chairs drawn up around it – a half-eaten meal. The young boy charges out of the dark room with a yell, head-butting Mal in the stomach and sending the Captain sprawling. The kid's hand's go straight for his throat, but he's just a boy. Mal feels just a little guilty about the back-handed slap he lands across his face- knocking him backwards- but the kid was trying to strangle him. Mal finds his feet and hauls the boy upright. “I ain't going to hurt you kid,” he says, deftly shifting his grip as the boy tries to sink his teeth into Mal's hand, “Unless you hurt me.” “Who are you?” the kid demands, ceasing in his struggles and eyeing Mal from under strong brows. “I could ask you the same question,” Mal returns levelly. His response appears to wrong-foot the boy. “You're not here with Bill?” “Will you try to head-butt me again if I say I am?” The boy relaxes. “You're definitely not the normal sort she brings to see us.” He licks his lips nervously. “Lauren? I think he's safe...” The light that blazes almost blinds Mal, but after a moment his eyes adjust. A small girl, maybe about eight and certainly younger than the boy, is now standing in the doorway. She's holding a storm lamp. “I'm Marcus,” the boy says, “This is Lauren. Are you lost?” “Maybe. I'm looking for the way out, certainly. Do you know it?” Lauren shakes her head, dark hair falling into her face. There's obviously a kinship between the two – they look like they're brother and sister. “No we don't.” “You don't work for Bill?” Marcus tries to clarify. “No,” Mal says, “I don't.” Lauren gives him a shrewd look. “I think he's one of those Captains. The ones she's trying to recruit. He looks like a pirate.” Mal is reminded strongly of River. “A pirate, huh?” he manages. “We hacked into the computer core,” Lauren says proudly, “So we'd know who was coming to see us next.” “Sshh,” Marcus hisses, “Lauren, you can't just tell him things like that. This could be a trap... a test...” “I ain't a trap,” Mal says, “Nor a test. There a map of some kind on your computer?” “It doesn't make any sense,” Lauren tells him, “All the lines are wrong.” “Can I see it?” Mal asks. Marcus hesitates. “If you can find a way out, will you take us with you?” Mal considers his options. “Who are you kids?” Marcus and Lauren exchange a meaningful look that is lost on Mal. “You mean, you don't know?” “I don't ask questions for no reason.” “We're clones,” Marcus says slowly, “Second-generation clones. Bill brings people here to view us sometimes – to prove we're developing normally.” “We're lab-rats,” Lauren says, nodding, “We live in here. With... him.” Her little face has an oddly shut-off look. “Him?” Marcus looks about as unhappy. “Version one-point-one.” He points inside the room. Mal steps through the door carefully, braced for another attack. None comes. By the light of Lauren's lamp he can see that this is obviously their main living room. There are books scattered on the floor, a teddy bear. And a cot containing a man. He's lying on his side, apparently awake but his blue eyes are vacant and Mal can clearly see that while the lights might be on, no one is home. Drool is pooling on his pillow from his slightly open mouth. He doesn't even look at Mal as the Captain approaches with caution, just stares blankly into the middle distance. “He drugged?” Marcus shakes his head. “That's all he ever does. He just... stares. They come in to change him, feed him. He just lies there. His brain didn't develop how they hoped.” Mal looks at the man, obviously an older Marcus, and shivers. “Here's the maps we found,” Lauren says from the other side of the room. Mal crosses to her and looks at the screen she's activated. “How come we've got power?” “Wired up the battery from one of the other lamps,” Marcus says, “We like to know what's happening. But there's nothing on the cortex to say what's caused the black out. No updates in the last ten minutes at all.” He sounds anxious about this. “That's probably because of the power-cut,” Mal says, moved to reassure him, “Everyone running around trying to fix it, not tell folk what's broken.” He looks at the map Lauren has brought up, and blinks in surprise. Multiple coloured lines are overlaid bewilderingly on top of one another. It's a technique the Independents used all the time in the war as a crude way to disguise plans – he can soon pick out the real map in blue under all the other shapes. “Can you see the way out?” Marcus asks nervously. “Uh-huh, I reckon I can.” He turns. They are looking at him expectantly – Lauren has her teddy bear in her arms. Marcus is holding the lamp. “That way,” Mal says, pointing, and they start walking.

* River knows she is dreaming. Logically, it is the only conclusion. Her grasp on reality may be tenuous, but she knows this must be a dream. It doesn't feel like a dream. The stench of smoke and sulphur fills her nostrils, catching in her throat, and she suppresses a cough. It's hot and humid in the cave; a sticky and oppressive heat like the sort driven before a thunderstorm. River walks, barefoot, red earth staining her soles. The cave is – actually, it's more of a tunnel. It's just high enough for her to walk erect, if Mal or Jayne were here they'd be hunched over or bumping their head on the rocky roof. It can't be a natural cave, no geological process would cause this long, straight formation. It feels like a burrow. A worm-tunnel. River walks on, heart in her throat. The tunnel ends; she can see that it widens out just ahead into a cavern that is bathed in bloody, red light. Her lungs labour in the heavy air as she gathers her courage. The heat is intense. She steps into the cave and falters for a moment, faced with the sheer scale of the space she's entered and the terrible sight before her. The Dragon lies on its hoard, asleep. It is huge, house-sized, wrapped in leathery wings. It's mouth is agape, revealing rows of pointed teeth. They reflect the light of its internal fire, burning in the belly of the beast. Talons, armoured scales – it is the stuff of legend, right down to the twin plumes of smoke being gently exhaled with every breath. She tears her eyes away from the slumbering killer to the treasure it so jealously guards. It glitters like gold, but on closer inspection she realises that the Dragon is sleeping on a mattress of credit strips – a monster for the 26th century. She takes a tentative step forward. Her heart is thumping so loud she's surprised the noise hasn't woken the beast already. She risks another step. If she can just take a few of the strips, just a few... then Serenity will be kept flying for months. The Dragon's eye opens as she reaches out for the hoard; huge, yellow and lizard-like. River is frozen to the spot as the great slit of a pupil contracts in the bloody light. I CAN SEE YOU, says the Dragon, laughing. River cries out with the pain of the voice, so loud; clamps her hand over her ears. It doesn't work, the words are in her head, spoken straight to the brain with no need for the ear to intervene. She falls to her knees as the Dragon shifts its ponderous bulk. It spreads its immense wings, like those of an overgrown bat, and stands on its four feet. HOW DARE YOU, LITTLE GIRL! the Dragon continues. HOW DARE YOU! THIS IS MY DOMAIN! DID YOU THINK YOU COULD SIMPLY TAKE WHAT YOU NEEDED FROM ME? River cannot answer, her tongue glued to her palate in terror. THEY WILL PAY, the Dragon informs her, FOR YOUR INSOLENCE! It folds back its wing, and she sees Simon, bound to a pole. “River?” he gasps. “River, no. Run. Run!” She stands transfixed. The Dragon flaps its wing, and Mal replaces Simon. There's a deep gash running across his forehead, blood dripping down his smoke-blackened face. He extends bleeding fingers towards her. “Help me,” he chokes out, coughing. “Someone please... help us!” The wings extend again and she sees that the Dragon has something in its claw. It's Wash, and he is screaming. Tears fall from her eyes as he cries out in pain. The Dragon drops the pilot on the ground before her. One steely talon is embedded in his chest. He's grey now, mouth opening and shutting soundlessly. “Put him down.” River turns, and in the mouth of the tunnel stands the Knight in shining armour, speaking with Zoe's voice. She pushes back the visor of her helmet, murder in her eyes, and draws her sword. “This ain't right, you know,” she adds in an undertone to the frozen River. “In the stories I heard, the Dragon's meant to be the good guy.” YOU DARE TO CHALLENGE ME? the Dragon scoffs, YOU, TIN SOLDIER, ARE NOT A PROBLEM! Zoe raises an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?” She drops the sword and River suddenly realises there's a grenade in the first mate's hand. Zoe winds back her arm - -River opens her eyes. The shuttle's cabin is filled with the ruby light of the setting sun and the gallant Knight is standing over her. “Zoe?” she says softly. Behind the first mate, Jayne has his gun trained on the younger woman's chest. River flinches. “River?” Zoe says, and there's very little mercy in her eyes, “Where's Danny?” “He's gone inside,” she replies slowly, head still swimming with dragon's caves and grenades. “Gone to plant bombs.” Her hand is suddenly gripping Zoe's wrist very tightly. “Zoe... Mal's in trouble. We've got to help him.” Zoe frowns. “How do you know?” she asks simply. River looks over her shoulder, at Jayne's granite face. Vera's muzzle is still pointed at her. Wash is looking at his shoes, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. She can see the bruises blossoming on his pale skin where she punched him, and she feels a little sick. She meets Zoe's eyes. “He's in there, with Bill, and the terrorists are going to blow it up.” “Do you know where he is?” “I can find him,” she replies, and Zoe sees the truth of her words in her eyes. “Okay,” she answers softly. “Jayne, Wash; secure the shuttles.” “What?” “Zoe... no,” Wash says, “Look, I know-” “Just do it,” Zoe says, with a finality. Jayne lowers his gun and, with a lingering suspicious glance at River, moves off to do as instructed. Wash holds his ground a moment longer, frowning at his wife. “Zhangfu,” she says quietly, “Go see to the shuttles. I ain't in the mood for arguing. And don't pull that face. You look like you've been force-fed a lemon.” A muscle twitches in the pilot's jaw as he holds her gaze for a moment longer. Then he turns on his heel and stalks away, his hurt palpable in the stiff line of his shoulders. Zoe sighs, knowing that she's returning to an argument later. No time to dwell on that right now though. “River,” she says warningly, “If you-” “I won't hurt you again,” the girl replies, “I didn't want to... Danny made me. I thought it was... a kind of dream.” Zoe nods, not entirely sure trusting River is the most sensible thing she's ever done. But Wash... well, Wash will have a point when they row later. She does have a bit of a blind spot when it comes to pulling Mal's ass out of the fire. Hell, it's not like he hasn't done the same for her before. She figures she probably owes him one. She follows River out of the shuttle.