Chapter1:

Dear Samurai, You didn't look too good the last time you waved me. I hope you're holding out well, and I honestly mean that. Would I be sending you this info if I didn't? Well, that's for you to decide. In the end, I suppose it's better if you trust no one, especially those of us on the inside.

Here's everything you asked for: Project Farsight, Project Demolition, and Project Spartan. And yes, I did manage to get that one other thing you asked for. No idea why you'd want it... Agent Priest's been off the grid for more than three years.

If you can ever figure out how he managed to actually disappear so well that we couldn't find him... well I guess you wouldn't tell me.

But hey, I'm here for you, anytime. Really.

Regards,

Phantom 437

******

Agent Samurai looked at the sword that had given him his nickname. His actual designation had been Agent Stonewall, but no one had used that name, except in official documents, since Agent Samurai had adopted that sword. No one else used a sword. And after what he had done, no one else ever would. It would invite unwanted attention from higher-ups.

He smiled to himself. Every other agent had used either a gun, or a soundstick. He shivered. Those tiny sonic agents of death gave him chills. Operatives were only sent to kill those who had accomplished remarkable things... things worthy of an honorable death.

Bleeding to death from your ears while having your brain turned to jelly was not an honorable way to die.

When Agent Samurai had taken up the sword, his superiors were understandably concerned. The sword had at first appeared to embody a dangerous affirmation of independence, of individuality. He had to work hard to give that sword a different meaning.

That sword became the symbol of the most dedicated Operative that the Alliance had ever trained.

That thought made him smile again. He would use that sword to destroy the Alliance. That masterful bit of irony spelled the end of his former superiors' lives.

Agent Samurai looked back up at the data he had just finished decrypting. The three projects he ignored entirely. They were a peace offering Reynolds, nothing more. It was Agent Priest he wanted to know about.

He looked at the face, and he knew he had found his man. Put together with with more recent information, the picture was complete. Well, as complete as it could be. He would never know what Priest had been before his days as a third-generation Operative.

"He was most likely a young, idealistic fool like I was." He mused, "It probably runs in the family."

He turned towards the three paintings on his wall. The three women were his Three Concepts.

"Fate," he said, "I thank you for showing me that I was not a monster fighting for good, but rather a monster fighting for monsters who were far less well-intentioned."

"Duty," he continued, "I thank you for compelling me to destroy that which I had devoted my services to. I still seek for a better world, but a kinder one."

Stepping in front of the last painting, he softened his voice. With a mad smile, he concluded his ritual. "Irony, I thank you for the justice you pronounce upon one who has sinned. Thank you for revealing me as my own father's murderer."

Agent Samurai wanted to grieve, wanted to weep, but refused to believe that he had any right to do so.

And so, Agent Samurai Book laughed.

********

Foreman looked up from his work. Everyone in the Osiris scrap yard was running for the office. Foreman himself opted for a more leisurely pace. It was pay day, the last of the season. Today, his contract ended. Today, he would leave and never come back.

He knew she was out there. She was his sanity, the one thing he could never destroy, the one person he could never hurt. And the broadcast had come to him with a message: she was still alive.

He had known that the Alliance was no better than the rotting pile of corpses they had built their peace on. That was not the news. To some, the Miranda wave had brought confusing, and to others, hatred. To Foreman, it was hope.

He walked into the office, preparing to hold his instincts in check. He felt the rage as he looked around him. He could kill everyone in the room in under twenty seconds. But she wouldn't want him to.

He could reduce the building to rubble in under two minutes. But she wouldn't want him to. In two weeks, he could be the only living thing on Osiris. But she wouldn't want him to.

He walked up to the box, its bulletproof glass a pitiful defense, and calmly collected his payment. This paycheck was the last one he needed. Now, he could travel for months in the black, which was more time than he needed.

He left the office, focusing his heart, soul, and consciousness on the only being in the universe who was safe from him.

River.

********

Captain Malcolm Reynolds was having a good day. River could tell.

"I know what you're smiling about." She said.

Instead of getting annoyed that she had read his mind, Mal just chuckled. "Please, li'l Albatross. Tell me all about why I'm so gorram cheerful."

"Simon and Kaylee both came down with sore throats, and while you feel sorry for her (not him), you're glad they didn't keep you awake last night. Jayne's nursing a hangover and is still asleep, so he can't bother you by being who he is. Zoe smiled this morning. I'm not too crazy to fly. Most importantly, you've not had a fight with Inara in two days, seven hours, 35 minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine..."

Mal smiled a rare kind of smile. "Well, I'd say you didn't miss anything. Just try not to do that all the time ya hear?"

River rolled her eyes, and said to herself, "She hears every gorram thing."

Mal looked at her, both concerned, and more than a bit proud. She was sitting there in work clothes that Mal called the "Zoe line of fashion", with a gun strapped to each hip and a third to her back. And countless knives hidden elsewhere. Mal tried his damndest to make sure she never had to use them, but now and then...

Although River still referred to herself as "she" every so often, but she was definitely not the same River who woke up screaming every other night.

"Hell," thought Mal, "make that every night."

River ignored the mental commentary and focused on flying. Mal, however, thought it necessary to expound audibly.

"I'm right proud o' you, Albatross."

"I know."

Mal paused, the pressed on. "I mean it. One day, you were crazy as all hell, the next day, all hell broke loose, and then by the third day you were talkin' almost normal-like. You fly this ship like you've been flyin' her since the day she was made, and you hold your own on the job."

"I do my the best I can in each situation, given all the variables and possible permutations of each outcome."

Mal smiled mischievously. "'Course, gotta get that Doc of a brother of yours to do something about all the technical go se you like to ramble on about."

River smiled back. "You'll have to get him to fix himself first."

At that, Mal gave up. Unless he was in the infirmary, or in one other place that Mal tried not to think about, the Doc was hopeless. The best they could do was keep him alive so that he could return the favor whenever they got shot.

River smirked, "You're forgetting his brilliant criminal mind."

Mal sighed. Nothing got past her. "Speaking of our unspeakable activities,", he began, "how's he holding up? With you, I mean. The first time I took you on a job he punched me in the face afterwards, we tried to ditch ya'll, you tore up a bar..."

He stopped. He hadn't meant to go there at all.

River rushed to assure him. "It's all right. And Simon's fine. I get Kaylee to keep him occupied whenever I go."

Mal winced.

River smiled again. "Serves you right, Captain. Anyways, he's still a boob, but he stays out of my way."

Mal suspected Kaylee had a hand in that too, and the thought made river smile again.

Mal thought, "Well, whatever makes her smile. Buddha knows she deserves it."

Just then, the Cortex screen beeped. Mal lazily pushed the button to bring the wave through. The Operative's face filled the screen and Mal scowled.

Malcolm Reynolds was having a bad day.

********

The Operative sighed. He had not expected Macolm to be happy that he had waved, and he had been right. He hated it when he was right.

Malcolm positively growled. "Say what ya gotta say and say it fast."

"Very well, Captain. I wanted to send you some rather interesting information. It concerns your Albatross... and others like her."

The Operative watched the captain pull back from his screen for a bit. When he returned, Mal gave a grudging, "We might be interested."

The Operative sighed again, this time from relief. "Very well, I'm sending you the data packet now. River will know how to decrypt it. I've also included something extra. It's the file on a former Operative called Agent Priest, the man you knew as Shepherd Book."

Malcolm's eyes widened, visibly shocked. The man's mouth simply wouldn't close. "Huh." was all he said.

At last, he gained some semblance of composure. "And you're sending all of this over here, free of charge, 'cause we're best friends forever, right? Or didn't you try to kill me and a whole lotta my crew?"

The Operative's neutral expression didn't change at all. "Malcolm, I am sending you this information because I think you'll want to see it, and because I think Book would have wanted you to know the truth at last."

"And you understand a holy man real well 'cause..."

"I believe he was my father. Farewell captain."

******** Back on Serenity, Mal thought it was just as well that the Operative had cut the transmission when he did. Mal felt like he was going to... he wasn't sure what it would be, but he knew it wouldn't be good for his captainy image.