“I see you have been going through a string of relatively bad luck, Mrs... what are you calling yourself now? Oh yes, Bridgette was the name under which you married Monty Reynolds. But since we both know that your real name is Charlene Deidre Hendrix, I’ll take your leave to call you Mrs. Hendrix.”

She glared; her normal pout tightening into a scowl.

“Not that I can fault you for abandoning that name. It is quite the mouthful.”

She lost her temper. “Call me whatever you want. Just don’t let me catch you alone and drunk in some backwater pub!”

“An unlikely occurrence, Mrs. Hendrix. I don’t drink. You may recall I told you that last time you were... questioned. The heist on Greenleaf, I do recall. Attempted access into an Alliance computer network to misappropriate funds. I do admire your escape from the courthouse. Quite the work of art. Plus managing to stow-away on an Alliance-chartered freighter with clearance through all checkpoints to Triumph. Believe me when I say you have my respect.”

“Please tell me you’re going to kill me soon.”

“Quite the opposite. You see, we know that you came to Bellarophon with the Firefly-class vessel Serenity. We also know that the crew had a hand in the theft of your husband’s Lassiter and then left you stranded. However, that is not the main concern of this interrogation. We are willing to pardon you of all your numerous crimes and guarantee your freedom, plus a large quantity of Credits, in return for information and your assistance.”

She sat motionless, baffled. “You want the Lassiter back that bad? I’m in.” She immediately began scheming on how she could steal it back once it was in Alliance hands.

“No, Mrs. Hendrix. The Lassiter is of no importance.

“We want the Tams.”