Chapter 2

Foreman knew he was getting closer. The closer he came to his one link with sanity, the easier it was to hold himself back, to keep himself from simply crushing everything around him.

She was coming to him, he was sure of it.

"Wait patiently." he told himself "It will take her a few days to arrive."

He looked at the clock on the tavern wall. He didn't drink, but it seemed as good a place to wait as any. "Patience was never your strong suit. Will she mind if you talk to yourself? You've done it for so long. You're not sure you can help it."

He stopped. People might see him whispering to himself. If there was anything he remembered from basic training, it was "don't stand out". Already, he was cleaner than the other patrons of this establishment, although similarly dressed. He looked at some of the other patrons, and reflected on the amount of dirt that showed on their skin.

Soon, his own skin looked much the same. He kept his more athletic look though, as opposed to the veritable bears that surrounded him. He didn't want to look like an easy target, but he wanted the people that counted to underestimate him. He could best hurt the ones that didn't expect it.

He heard a slap, and then a yelp. He turned his head, and in an instant, he analyzed the situation.

At a table of four drunkards, one of them men had gotten a little too friendly with the barmaid. She had slapped his hand in return, and gotten pushed to the ground for her trouble.

Now all four men towered over her. The one who had slapped her grinned nastily. "Well now, whaddaya say we give this fine whore what she's been looking for?"

The barmaid stared back in horror.

The bartender stepped out holding his hands up, trying to pacify the men. "Now fellas, this here may be a different establishment than ya'll are used to. We don't abide no whorin' here."

The offender, who was obviously the leader of the pack didn't even look at him. "This here whore says different, dontcha?" Foreman was mildly surprised. He had heard stories of people doing strange things after consuming large amounts of alcohol, but were these men really planning to rape a woman in a public establishment? He waited a little longer.

The bartender still wanted to keep the peace, "C'mon boys, does it really have to go this way?"

All the while, he was reaching for his weapon, which he kept concealed under his apron. Foreman had noticed it the first time he laid eyes on the man.

But before the goodly bartender could reach his weapon, each of the four men had pulled out a piece. The leader pointed his at the barman, while his friends pointed theirs at the rest of the clientele.

Foreman couldn't believe his eyes. He talked himself through the situation, while the air in the bar became more tense than he could have believed possible. The barman hadn't been able to hire good security, possibly because of his "no whores" policy. There were other armed customers, but they wouldn't pull out their weapons unless they had to.

These men were drunk to the point of stupidity. There was no other explanation. In the end, they would lose, but not before there were lives and limbs lost.

Foreman shrugged and turned back to his drink. People were strange on the Rim.

The leader of the drunkards yelled another threat. "Back off, fat man. Me an' the boys are just gonna have some nice, civilized fun with the woman in that back room o' yours, an' everything's gonna be shiny, alright?"

Foreman snorted. These men were stupider than he ever could have imagined. The woman on the floor whimpered.

At the sound of Foreman's snort, however, the men had turned their attention on him.

"What's your problem, boy?"

"Boy?", he thought. "Oh, right, I decided to look my age this time. I got tired of seeing an older man in the mirror."

The leading idiot shouted again. "I said, what's your problem, boy?" He stressed the "boy".

Foreman kept thinking. He was expected to back down, let them carry on. Part of him thought that would be best. Part of him thought this was all wrong. Another part just wanted to kill everything in sight.

"She wouldn't want me to. She wouldn't want this to happen either. She wouldn't mind if I crushed these men... just these four men. But she wouldn't want anyone else hurt."

That decided, he turned his full attention to the four men. "Are you really as stupid as you look?"

Despite his Rim appearance, he kept his Core-bred accent. That would only make them pay more attention to him.

"What'd you say, sissy boy?"

Foreman finally deigned to look at the man. "I said, are you really as stupid as you look? Think about it, there's only four of you."

The man waved his gun around. "Four guys, four pieces, seems enough to me."

Foreman laughed. "Four men, four handguns. Not nearly enough."

The leader nodded to one of his friends who holstered his gun, and strode purposefully over to where Foreman was sitting.

Foreman waited til the man was close enough. Then, in less than five seconds, he slipped out of his chair, reached out and grabbed the right hook that came flying toward him, broke the mans wrist, and tripped him.

In the two seconds that it took the other men to aim their guns at him, Foreman picked up the man, and threw him at his comrades. Their bullets hit the flying man just before the flying man hit them.

Then, in just under nine seconds, Foreman flew across the room and delivered three successive punches. Each punch broke a hand that held a gun. He collected the weapons and placed them on the counter.

The other patrons hurriedly returned to their drinks.

The barmaid looked at him thankfully, while the barkeep approached him with care. The short, fat man spoke up first. "You're stronger than you look."

Foreman simply pointed at the men on the floor. They seemed content to lie there, awaiting whatever fate would bring. "Where do they go?"

The barman understood. "Out the back. And your drinks are on the house."

Foreman nodded his thanks, hauled one man over his shoulder, and dragged another by his ankle. After repeating the trip, he sat down at his table again.

He looked at the clock on the tavern wall. "Wait patiently," he told himself, "for River."

********

Simon and Kaylee were together in their bunk, trying to concentrate on anything but the dryness in their throats. Normally, Simon would have done something about the soreness by now, but Simon and Kaylee had actually been the last people on Serenity to catch the condition. Everyone else was better, and Simon was fresh out of his remedy for sore throats.

The two of them kept busy by reading. River had graciously supplied them with a sampling of her own homemade poetry.

Simon was astounded. "Kaylee, you have no idea what it's like, looking at this poetry. It's so... for lack of a better word, simple."

Kaylee stretched a bit. "Maybe she got tired of bein' all complicated."

Simon smiled. "I remember when she had a poetry assignment in grade school. I had never heard, and have never since heard, such a technical, clinical definition of love."

Kaylee rolled over and faced him. "Well, I think I might have had something to do with this."

"Huh?"

"Well, last week, River was sittin' there, readin' the book o' poetry that 'Nara gave her for her eighteenth birthday. Y'know, two months ago?"

"And?" Simon inquired.

"Well, it's real classical stuff. Some guys named Kipling, an' Longbottom, an' such..."

"You mean Longfellow?" "Yeah, anyways, she asked me how to write stuff like that. She couldn't understand how they did it. The poets, I mean. She said she knew rhyme, rhythm, meter, and all of the mathematical compo... comp..."

"Components?"

"Yeah, so I jus' told her, 'River, honey, it's all about love. I figure once those writers learned everything there was to be learned from books, they forgot it all and just wrote about love.'"

Simon stared at Kaylee. Then he kissed her. She never ceased to surprise him. "Well, it would seem that the counsel you gave her paid off. This one's amazing."

He looked at the piece of paper in his hand and read it again, in his mind. No sense making his throat feel worse than it already did. It was simple, classic, and yet undeniably River.

Starfall

Once she was a falling star, With nowhere left to shine. They cut her brain, left a scar, A sliver of flesh so fine.

Big Boob came, took her far, Away into eternity. Now she rests upon the stars, In the valley of Serenity.

It was one of her shorter poems, but Simon thought it was her best. He didn't even mind being called "Big Boob". It meant she was getting better, and for that, she could call him any name she liked... the brat.

He smiled wryly.

Just then, Mal's voice pierced through the hatch. "Doc, you an' my mechanic better not be nekkid, 'cause I'm on my way in."

And before Simon could shout his reassurance that he was, indeed, fully clothed, the hatch opened, and the Captain dropped himself into the room.

Mal glanced at the pair, and upon seeing them fully clothed, crossed his arms. "Doc, I know ya ain't feelin' well, but you'll wanna see what we've got on the kitchen table."

Simon looked annoyed. "Might I inquire as what that is, Captain?"

"A data pad full of information about what was done to your sister, and some others like her."

Simon looked at Kaylee but she was five steps ahead of him. Literally. She bounded past the Captain and up the ladder. Simon tumbled off the bed, and then followed suit. Mal slowly turned around, and followed the pair towards the kitchen.