“*Captain?*” River called as her voice was transmogrified into an electronic signal and then back into audible sound through the speaker in Mal’s cabin. Mal sighed, kicking the toilet back into the wall and moving his hands to the sink. He rinsed his hands and face and was beckoned twice more before he had dried and moved to the intercom on the wall. “Yeah?” “*You have a call from The Operative,*” River informed him. “*Would you like to come to the flight deck, or should I put it through there?*” Mal rolled his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. “Yer a reader, Little Girl. Why would you need to ask?” There was a giggle over the speaker. “*So I could see your face.*” The Operative’s darkly-complexioned visage appeared on the screen. “*Captain Reynolds,*” he greeted. “*I’m glad you could take the time to accept my call.*” “Not much else goin’ on around here,” Mal growled. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?” The Operative gave a slight nod. “*That very fact is actually the reasoning behind my contacting you again.*” His face, always a mask of calm, still managed to settle a bit, as if he were finally content in knowing that Mal wasn’t going to hang up on him yet. “*I was curious, Captain, if you would be interested in a job.*” Mal shrugged. In the past, he might have told the man where to stick it, just on general principle. However, he found that he’d become more apathetic, and a bit more accepting, in recent months. “We still got some coin left over from those laser weapons we dropped on The Resistance,” he admitted, “but it has been a good long while since we had a job of any kind.” He raised his eyebrows. “’Course, the reward’s gotta match the risk.” “*I understand completely,*” The Operative provided, “*and this job does not carry with it a great risk. I am not asking you to steal anything, nor do I wish to utilize your transport facilities.*” Mal’s eyes narrowed. *If he’s lookin’ for mercenaries...* The crew was not exactly in a decent condition for a fight. Simon and Kaylee were taking time off for their honeymoon, and Jayne was back on his home planet, spending time with his daughter and mother. “We’re currently three crewmen down,” he explained. “What, exactly, do you got in mind?” “*Mediation,*” the other offered. “*A profoundly important meeting will soon be taking place between The Resistance and an outside agency. Neither side trusts one another, nor do they trust me. Besides...*” He paused for just a moment. “*My hands are a bit tied.*” “And you want a neutral middleman,” Mal finished. “I get it. I got bonus points with The Res for bein’ a Browncoat, an’ these other folk got no beef with me ‘cuz I’m a non-combatant. What am I mediatin’?” “*That,*” The Operative explained, “*should not be discussed over a ‘Wave, even a secured frequency such as this one. I will say, however, that a certain member of your crew will be very useful in this situation. You know who I am talking about.*” “I gotcha,” Mal assured the man. *River.* Mal frowned. “If ya know anything about me, you should know I don’t like bein’ headed into a situation half blind.” “*I understand,*” The Operative assured him, “*and I assure you, unless the two parties become... *hostile* with one another, the prevention of which is your job, this carries with it small risk for high pay.*” Mal was slightly intrigued, yet still edgy. “I ain’t no political,” he professed. “Things get hairy, I’m more liable to make ‘em worse than smooth ‘em over.” “*As long as you remain completely neutral,*” The Operative suggested, “*and work to the advantage of both parties, I am confident that you will do just fine.*” Mal took a deep breath, pondering the situation. “I’ll need more details,” he decided at last. “*Of course. I will be arriving in my ship to more fully brief you.*” The man arched an eyebrow. “*Assumedly, I will not be shot on sight upon boarding your ship?*” Mal gave a bit of an evil smirk. “Guess we’ll hafta work that one out, won’t we?”

TWELVE DAYS

**********************************************************

Again, Simon’s head sank into the pillow with exhaustion. He blew out a breath and wiped away sweat that had beaded upon his forehead. “I think it’s naptime,” Kaylee decided. “I’m exhausted.” “Mmm,” Simon agreed. “I think you’ve kept me up long enough.” Kaylee rolled over onto her side, pulling at the sheets that stuck to her damp skin. “I’m hungry,” she decided. “Are you hungry?” “Not as hungry as you seem to be,” Simon sighed, blinking at the ceiling. He rolled over to reach for the phone. “You want to order room service, or what would-” He froze as his fingers closed on something warm and fuzzy that jumped at his touch. “Gyaahh!!!” Simon cried, leaping back into Kaylee as a brown mammal that had been perched on the night stand chittered in fear and anger and rocketed to the floor. “What was it?!” Kaylee exclaimed, eyes darting back and forth nervously as she jumped to her feet. Simon grabbed his pillow and wielded it before him like a Spartan shield. “I think it was a squirrel,” he replied, edgy. “Well, where did it go?!?” Kaylee cried. “I don’t know!” Simon shot back. He leaned forward cautiously, his eyes scanning the hardwood floor of the Botsch Hotel’s meager “Honeymoon Suite”. The only differences between this suite and the normal rooms were a king-size bed, a larger bathtub, and a larger price tag that had cost them nearly all that they had been saving together since the cargo of daschunds. “I think it went under the bed.” Snaking her way around her combat-posed husband, Kaylee nabbed the phone and called the front desk. “Hello? Yes, this is The Honeymoon Suite. We got this huge squirrel runnin’ around in here, an’ we... No, we really need this taken care of; this thing is-” “It’s gotta be a thirty-pound squirrel!” Simon interjected, kneeling to attempt a peek beneath the bed. “Yes, my husband tells me it’s at least two pounds,” Kaylee explained. “Could you... No, we’d rather not... Flooding? Well, when can you get here?” She frowned at what she heard. “All right. Well, get here as quick as ya can.” She hung up the phone and held it at her bare belly. “Someone’s toilet plumbing broke on the second floor, an’ it’s floodin’ the whole ground floor.” “Well,” Simon grumbled, moving on his knees to the foot of the bed for another angle, “when can they get their butts up here?” “They couldn’t say,” Kaylee informed. “All the maintenance and custodial folk are tied up with this water leakage.” Simon groaned. “Well, we can’t stay up here all day. This thing’s probably plotting our demise as we speak...” *******************************************************************

Inara pushed the ornate trunk open to sort through once again. She’d lost track of how many times she’d rearranged the contents of her shuttle, biding her time and keeping her mind from more worrying subjects. *What am I doing with my life?* she wondered yet again, folding hookah hoses and organizing incense boxes. *What am I doing here, and what am I doing to *him...?** A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts, and the woman glanced up, her heart sinking into her stomach as she imagined Mal arriving at her door to bother her with even more unruly, aching emotions. Instead, River’s head popped around the corner. “Are we... interrupting something?” the psychic inquired innocently. Inara shut the trunk. “No, not at all, Dear. Come on in. Is Gabriel with you?” River stepped into the shuttle, pulling Gabriel along by the hand. Gabriel, again wearing his red and black, plaid trousers that River hated so much, gave Inara a tight-lipped smile and a wave of greeting, but said nothing. “We’ve been worried about you,” River explained. “We haven’t seen or heard much from you lately, and I’ve been concluding that you are pulling a ‘Gabriel’.” She flashed a small grin. “All frowns and no giggles.” “Or a Mal!” Gabriel defended. “He sulks and broods more often than I do!” “Nobody sulks more often than you do,” said Inara, agreeing with River. She sighed. “Don’t worry about me; I’m fine.” River gave no psychic confirmation, even as Gabriel looked to her for it. “Gabriel, would you mind giving us a moment alone?” Gabriel nodded. “I gotta go do my routine,” he explained, nodding politely to Inara and disappearing. Once he’d gone, River frowned an unspoken question to Inara. “He needs you,” the girl stated. Inara arched an eyebrow, glancing toward the door. “Gab?” she queried. “What’s he-” “Not Gabriel,” River interrupted. “You know what I mean.” Inara closed her eyes for a moment and held a breath. Then, she blew the air out through her nose and reopened her eyes. “Mal doesn’t need me,” she answered with finality. “Mal doesn’t need anybody, let alone the one person on this ship whose talents don’t contribute to the mission in the least.” River stepped lightly through the room and settled into a seat on the bed. “Tell me something, then,” she requested. “What is the mission?” Inara frowned. “I... um...” She stepped over to the bed and sat beside River, hands intertwined between her knees. “I don’t... know anymore.” “Nobody does,” River confirmed. “The entire time we’ve been on Serenity, the mission has been to earn money through freelance jobs.” She shrugged. “That, and making me better again.” “So, what are you saying, Mei mei?” Inara inquired. “That we’re floating in limbo now, so nothing really matters anymore?” “No,” River answered, pulling her bare knees up to sit cross-legged on the bed. A classical tune with a violin melody began drifting softly in from the cargo hold, but River took no notice of it. “We are not directionless, although we are not traveling in any particular direction. The Nest is our purpose, and it is the best purpose I’ve yet come across.” Inara held up a hand. “Slow down for a second. You’re pulling ahead of me again, Sweetie. ‘The Nest’?” River nodded nonchalantly. “The ship. The family. That’s our purpose.” Inara arched an eyebrow. “From the funny way Mal’s been talking lately, I’ve gotten the impression that he’s of the opposite opinion, now.” River nodded again, more somber this time. “Hermit crab. He’s outgrown his home and wishes to seek another.” Her eyes suddenly widened, and she glanced over her shoulder toward the open door. “Oh, no...” she groaned at the crescendo in the music. Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture began blaring out, surely from Gabriel’s music box. “What?” Inara inquired. “That’s Tchaikovsky.” She smiled. “Not a fan?” “A huge fan,” River replied, jumping to her feet and moving rapidly for the door. “But if I don’t stop him this time, Mal and Zoe are going to try to kill him again...” Inara grinned. *******************************************************************

“Ooh,” Janie cooed, pointing to a large, sleek, black rifle. “What’s that one?” Jayne followed his daughter’s seeking finger to the centerpiece of one particular merchant’s collection. *Gotta be my kin,* he thought. Only a daughter of Jayne Cobb would be fascinated by a gun show at the age of four. “That,” he replied, “is a Brahms automatic fifty caliber rifle. It’s belt-fed, which can be a pain in the butt, but ya get a lot more shots off that way.” Janie giggled. “It’s only a pain in the butt if ya get shot there.” Jayne chuckled. “Must get that mouth from yer mother,” he observed. “Come on. This guy’s askin’ nearly twice the price of the norm if I traveled to a Core World gun market.” “Barbarian,” Janie muttered, her lips pressed together in an attempt at finality. Jayne’s eyes widened, and he grinned down at his daughter. “Who taught you that?” he demanded. “Yer Gramma?” Janie glanced up at her looming father. “She calls lots of people that. Sellers, cops, tax collectors…” She pointed again. “What’s that?” Jayne’s gaze settled on the weapon. He smiled, reached for the gun, and glanced to the merchant. The seller nodded his permission, and Jayne seized the weapon in both hands, kneeling before his daughter. “This,” he began, “is a Marlin 30-30 lever action rifle. It’s a classic, but it’s way too big for yer little hands.” He returned the rifle to its place and grabbed another. “Now *this,*” he continued, crouching again, “is a Marlin .22 lever action made just fer kids. Yer still a bit little fer it, but I’ll teach ya how to clean it an’ how it all fits together.” He opened and closed the action several times, studying the motion and care of the mechanism. “Ya want yer own gun, don’t’cha?” Janie squealed and threw her little arms around her father’s neck. “Yay! My own gun! My own gun!” Grinning, Jayne stood and shrugged at the gun owner. “Never too young, right?” The wiry old man squinted at the little girl. “If you say so,” he replied. “Let’s haggle,” Jayne decided. *************************************************************************

Mal scaled the ladder from his cabin and turned aft in time to see Zoe step through the common room’s doorway. “Just the woman I’m lookin’ for,” he greeted. “Seen Gab?” “Workin’ out in the hold,” Zoe replied. “Fortunately, River stopped that gorram music of his before I did.” Mal rolled his eyes. “Well, let’s go grab ‘im. I got somethin’ I wanna run past the two of y’all ‘fore we brief the rest of the crew.” “The rest of the crew bein’ only River and Inara,” Zoe reminded. “Right,” Mal responded. The two turned down the side hall and descended the stairs to the catwalk in the hold. “Gab!” Mal called down upon spying Gabriel in another odd and uncomfortable-looking position. “Get yer violin-lovin’ butt up here, pronto!” Without hesitation, Gabriel flipped to his feet, scaled the stairs, and halted, panting. “What can I do ya fer, Cap?” “We’re gettin’ a visitor real soon,” Mal began. “Our neighborhood sword-lovin’, government-manipulatin’ sort of friend.” “The Operative’s showin’ up again?” Zoe inquired. “What’s he want, hirin’ us for a job?” “Actually, yes.” Mal crossed his arms and leaned against the railing. “We’re doin’ an ambassador mission, which means River and Inara will be useful.” Zoe’s brow creased over her eyes like a gargoyle. “Ambassador mission, Sir?” she queried, confusion and caution braided through her tone. “We’re doin’ an… a what?” “I’m sure he means that in the most sardonic of senses,” Gabriel assured her. “Sardo-what?” Mal prompted. “Sarcastic,” Gabriel reiterated. Mal shook his head. “Nope, I’m bein’ serious-like about this one. A low-risk, high-pay job. All we gotta do is not hump it up.” “I reckon we’re meeting The Operative for details?” Zoe ventured. “We are,” Mal confirmed. “Don’t know when to expect him, but we’re-” “Captain!” River called from below. She appeared at the base of the stairs, Inara close behind. “The Operative’s ship is approaching. He’s about to call us for dock.” “Guess we’re expecting him now,” Mal corrected, wondering how all the other captains on all the other ships in the ‘Verse got along without a psychic for a pilot/secretary. “That ruttin’ bastard knew I was gonna say, ‘yes’ ‘fore he even called me. He was already on his way here.” Turning, Mal began to ascend the stairs toward the cockpit. “Let’s call him first and surprise him.”