Captain Mal Reynolds sat at the pilot’s station on the bridge of Serenity, undisputed master of his ship… having been practically ordered by his first mate to take the helm while she dragged her husband into their bedroom.

He couldn’t say he minded. Zoë deserved all the happiness she could glean from a life near his side, and he’d been surprised and more than a little pleased to see the sparks flying between her and the cocky pilot Mal was sizing up to fly his ship the first day Wash had come aboard. He didn’t pretend to understand it, but it was plain as plain that those two were a matched set.

And Hoban Washburn had other uses besides keeping the ship’s first mate happy. Mal and Zoë were both competent space pilots: with the aid of the nav computer and space beacons, they could get Serenity from one place in the ’Verse to any other without getting lost. And they could pilot a shuttle anywhere its range would take it, even into a planet’s atmo and gravity well. But Wash seemed to regard the computer and beacons as a convenience rather than a necessity, and could figure ten different course profiles to a destination while Mal was grinding out the numbers for the first. And the way he could fly the clunky freighter in atmo, like an assault boat on a hot run, was something you had to see to believe. Both talents had been lifesavers on more than one occasion.

Now, with the ship’s course laid in and the autopilot engaged and nothing left to do on the bridge but admire the stars and mind the collision alarm, Mal sat quiet and content to contemplate their coming good fortune.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Shepherd Book stepped between the consoles and sat at the top of the steps between, looking through the windows at the stars. “I know His works are all around us, but they’re more obvious some places.”

“They’re runaway nuclear reactors that can kill a man uncounted ways, you get too close.” Mal checked the instruments with more care than needed. “Hope you didn’t come up here to compose a sermon, Shepherd. I’d make a bad sounding board.”

The old man chuckled with gentle humor. “No. Not to restore your lost faith either. That’s beyond my power, pray as I might that it happens.”

“What makes you think I ever had a rat turd’s worth of faith, preacher?”

“It’s obvious. A man who’s never felt betrayed by God doesn’t cross streets to avoid passing in front of a church door.” The old man raised his eyes to the stars again. “No, I just came to clear my head. An hour talking with Inara does that to a man, even an old celibate like me.”

It was a mystery to Mal that a preacher and a Companion could be on such friendly terms. He was certain their relationship was aboveboard; he had more respect for Book and Inara as individuals than in what they did for a living, and was sure they held to their separate codes on such matters. But they often danced around each other in a way that put Mal uncomfortably in mind of flirting. “Well, turning a man’s head is what she’s trained for, after all. Not surprised to hear she doesn’t need a grip on anything else to do it.”

A moment of silence, and Mal wondered if he’d put the old man off. Finally, the preacher spoke. “I think her training simply developed a natural talent. The girl sees into people, the same way our Kaylee does.”

He felt his molars compress. “Not. Quite. The same way, Shepherd.”

“Because she’s never taken payment for sex? That seems a narrow attitude.”

Well, Mal thought, I wanted to take him off the subject of God, right enough, but I didn’t expect things to take this turn. “Thought the Church took a dim view of such things.”

“Officially, no. The Church recognizes and accepts the Companion Guild as a professional organization, and makes no moral judgments about the nature of its craft. I won’t say all the Church’s members agree with that, or even all the clergy. But it’s official policy.”

“Mighty open-minded. Or practical, depending how you look at it. Open war with the Companion Guild would win your Church no friends in the Alliance, I reckon.”

“It’s not about making friends, Captain,” Book said quietly. “It’s about doing what’s right.” He rose. “I fear I’ve intruded on your solitude enough.”

As the old man headed for the door, Mal said. “Shepherd. What do you two find to talk about?”

“Everything, Captain.” He paused at the door. “Even you.”

*

“That’s it.” Deke flicked a few switches and settled back in the pilot’s seat. “Out of fuel. Reactor’s still hot, of course, and we’ll have grav and life support. But if somebody doesn’t spot us, we’ll coast until the end of time. And your ship is still too far ahead to wave.”

Simon glanced at the unconscious man on the floor. Sessions wasn’t moving, but he and Dickie would be awake soon. “But we’re overtaking them.”

“Probably. No guarantees.” Deke turned the seat around and looked him over. “You look ready to fall down, kid. Put the gun away and take a seat.” When Simon hesitated, he went on, “What am I gonna do, overpower you and take back the ship? It’s done. We’re either gonna get picked up by your friends or we’re gonna die together in this soup can. Take a rest.”

“I’m not sure Dickie or Mr. Sessions will be so pragmatic.”

“Suit yourself.” He rose from the pilot’s chair. “I’m going to the head, then I’m gonna check on Dickie. I come back, I’ll start calling your ship.”

When Deke returned, the young man was slumped in the pilot’s chair, snoring gently. Sessions’ pistol sat safed on the console; young Tam’s right hand lay loose in his lap, cradling the mike. Apparently, he’d been trying to get the wave working when sleep had finally got the best of him.

Deke leaned over and took the gun out of reach. His own was lying on the deck near Sessions; he ignored it. He took the mike gently from the boy’s limp fingers and fired up the wave. “Firefly transport Serenity, this is passenger vessel Ellsinore directly astern. Acknowledge.”

*

“Another sterling performance, my dear.” Wash kissed the tiny dimple above his wife’s left buttock and ran a hand down the back of her thigh.

She stretched and rolled over to put her arms around him. “I was plenty inspired, got to say.”

The rooster who flies this boat has ruined me for other men.

Her eyes searched his face from a hand’s width away. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing.” His fingers traced an old scar on her shoulder blade. He had no idea how she’d got it. But Mal probably did. His fingers had probably been where Wash’s were now, pressed against her bare trembling skin, holding the edges of the wound together with one hand and sewing them together with the other while she grunted in pain and bled onto his hands. Intimacy of an entirely different sort. War stories.

“Tell me about her.”

He blinked. “What?”

Her fingertips were resting on his spine, just above the small of his back, feather-light on the long scar. “Your mechanic. Janine, right? The girl you trusted with your life every time you climbed in the pilot’s seat.” She stroked the scar. “You were friends. And maybe more?” She wrapped her arms more tightly around him and pulled his head to her bosom. “Tell me a war story, Wash.”

*

Simon stirred, and found he was the last awake. Deke was leaning over him, having just replaced the microphone. “Nothing yet.”

Dickie glared at him from a step away. “Al! He’s awake.” To Simon he said, “Never fell for a Goodnight Kiss in my life till now. Then again, I never expected one quite like that. You’re a sneaky little bastard.”

Sessions’ voice came from the passenger section aft. “Have him come back here out of the way.”

Accommodations aboard Ellsinore were on a par with a passenger shuttle: seating and sanitary facilities and packaged food. It wasn’t meant to be a home for its crew. Sessions was in one seat, which was unfolded into a cot of sorts. He gestured to another. “Still feeling a little under the weather from what you gave me.”

“It has that effect sometimes. You should be fine after a nap.” He sat across the aisle, still weary. “I’m sorry.”

“Doubt it. You just wish there’d been another way.” The man shifted in his seat. “You know, you’re lucky this bucket doesn’t have an airlock. Dickie woke up before I did.” He took a breath and let it out, a heavy sigh. “Care to explain what brought us to this?”

Simon imagined Serenity rushing through space, unguessably far ahead. “You were played for a sucker, Mr. Sessions. The client you were working for is named Adelai Niska, and he and Captain Reynolds have a history. This whole contract was a setup. I only hope we can reach them with a message in time.”

“Deke tells me that if we do get within range, it’ll probably be just for a little while before we separate again. Different velocities and accelerations and orbital paths, pilot feihua. I can’t claim to understand it. But he’s been hailing them every few minutes since I woke up, so’s not to miss the chance.”

Simon rubbed eyes that felt gritty and dry as lizard eggs. “Why did you tell me not to open the box for at least a week, back on Persephone?”

The agent sighed again. “Damn, I’m tired. Son, I saw what she was like before she went in. I figured she’d draw attention and get you both caught five minutes after she was warm. You needed time to get away, get lost. If I thought you’d have listened to me, I’d have told you to keep her cold for a year.” He shook his head. “You two have had plenty of luck, good and bad, since your little sister went to that place.”

“You’re very sympathetic, considering what I’ve done. Deke says we may all die out here.”

“And we may. We’re not sending a distress signal until we contact Serenity, or until it’s sure we missed them. That probably won’t be too late for someone to pick us up. I’m more worried about disappointing my third client, the man we were waiting for. His employers are a rough bunch.” He folded his hands on his chest and closed his eyes. “I’m taking that nap. You might do the same, kid, you still look like hell. Deke will wake you if he makes contact.”

*

“So, he does sleep,” Inara whispered to Kaylee as they stood on either side of the pilot’s chair, bent to examine Mal’s slumped form. His chin was planted on his chest, and his breath escaped his nose in a cross between a groan and a sigh. “I wonder what his dreams are like.”

“Judgin by those little dove coos, I bet there’s a beautiful girl in em.” Kaylee bent further and brushed her lips against the hair above his ear. “I really do love him. I only wish he could find his smile more often.”

Watching the girl’s secret caress brought Inara a strange unease. She forced it down and found her own smile. “I’m sure he mistrusts people who smile too often.”

“Hope not, cause I smile most anytime I see him.” She turned and headed for the door.

Inara turned to follow, and paused, caught up by the thought of being alone with him for a moment when he was vulnerable and unresistant. And what will you do, she chided herself, run your fingers through his hair? Whisper nonsense? Remember who and what you are. Let him have his life without any more encumbrances.

About to turn away, she heard a faint beep. Mal stirred and settled again. A light on the console began to flash. “Kaylee? Isn’t that a hailing signal?”

*

“Tam! Get your pigu up here, I got em!”

Simon lurched off the cot and stumbled forward as sleep fell raggedly away. In the cockpit, Deke was speaking into the mike. “-that’s because we never met. I was one of the men at the bottom of your ramp when you shook hands over your last deal.” He glanced up. “Wait, here he is now.” As he handed the mike over, he said, “Suspicious bastard. Signal’s fading already. Make it quick, make it count.” He laid a finger on a console light that was beginning to flicker.

Simon took the mike. “Captain, this is Moonbrain’s brother, Three Percent. The box is bait in a trap. Find out what’s inside it if you can. Get her to help. The client is the man who wanted to meet the real you. He-”

“Forget it, kid.” Deke’s finger was still on the indicator, which was now dark.

*

Zoë Alleyne was no stranger to bad memories that visited her in the night, but the oldest of them had parted company with her when she became Zoë Washburn. Just having him at her side and hearing his breathing at the edge of her conscious mind was all she needed to keep the war stories out of her dreams. But there was one, more recent, that his gentle presence couldn’t drive away, because he shared a version of it.

*

The door to Niska’s playroom opened, and she fought to keep her face and posture still, giving away nothing. But her first glance at the torn figures bound to the rack told her that her men were meant to die in this room, and soon.

She offered up the crew’s money, hoping against hope to buy the two of them free. But as soon as the twisted hundan gave her that oily smile and said, “Not enough for two. But sufficient perhaps for one,” she knew his game. He wasn’t really offering her her pick. And it was easy enough to guess which one he’d be willing to part with.

“Him.” Any other choice would have meant leaving empty-handed. She could have thanked the rotten little bastard for making it easy for her.

She pulled Wash along, almost dragging him up the stairs when he realized Mal wasn’t coming with. Mal looked her in the eye for the first time since she’d appeared, and shook his head slightly. Go. Don’t look back.

Niska studied the three of them with his lizard’s stare. “A moment, please,” he said, and she felt ice in her belly, knowing he’d thought of another way to use the two of them to torture Mal on top of letting him watch them leave without him. A moment later, he dropped Mal’s ear into her hand, wrapped in a kerchief.

Mal turned away from her as he screamed, and wouldn’t turn back, even though she was sure he knew she was looking at him. She tucked the grisly keepsake into her vest, over her heart, and turned away.

She didn’t know how she’d explain to her husband what she was about to do. Best not to try, she supposed. He could never understand. Just put him on the shuttle, send it back towards the ship, and finish her business here. Her mare’s leg and a few other weapons were stashed aboard, and she’d pick them up on the way out. She hoped Wash wouldn’t look on this as a sort of infidelity when he found out. She didn’t want her man to remember her like that. But she couldn’t walk away and leave him, no matter the odds. No matter the cost.

Wash stumbled over the lip of the shuttle’s hatch, taking her down with him. The words tumbled out of him, frightening and confusing her. “He’s insane. I heard the stories, but I didn’t understand.” “He saved you.” “He kept me from breaking. I wouldn’t have made it.” And finally: “Bastard’s not gonna get days.” Wonder blossomed, and love redoubled.

*

She stirred, and felt his body behind her as they lay on their sides like nested spoons. She felt his arms around her, his hands at shoulder and hip, and placed her own hands over them. I’m right behind you, baby.

There was nothing about her this man couldn’t understand.

The intercom clicked. “Zoë? Wash?” The captain’s voice. “We got us a situation.”

*

The entire crew stood around the cryo box in the hold, as if gathered for some ceremony. Mal nodded to River. “Look it over, little one. Tell us what you can.”

River put hands on the box once more and drew close. Again, she pressed her cheek to the cool metal. “No person, nothing sleeping. Alive, but not living.”

Jayne leaned in. “Any explosives? Poison?”

She slid her cheek and palms along the box’s side, silent. She spread her arms wide, as if trying to embrace it. “Pain and fear. Cold that doesn’t come from the machinery. From the hearts of those who touched it.” She suddenly recoiled and gasped, and Jayne’s arms were around her before anyone else could react. “Death and life. Fear and dark hope and… no explosives, no dangerous chemicals. Just evil.”

“Pandora’s Box,” the Shepherd murmured.

Mal said, “Is it safe to open?”

Her face was buried in Jayne’s chest. “If your heart can stand it.”

The captain turned the latches securing the lid. Then he reached down and lifted the handle that broke the cryo seal, and the box hissed softly. He took a breath and carefully pushed the lid back.

The escaping mist revealed several rows of wire shelves all around the inside wall of the container. On the shelves sat stacks of small containers from jewelry-box size to ones big enough to hold an infant. He glanced at River, but the girl was still tucked into Jayne’s arm, pale and unready for more questions. The others leaned in for a look.

Mal picked up a middling-sized container about the size of two fists. It was still cold to the touch, and he had a little difficulty with its catches before he lifted the lid. Or perhaps it was just that he already had some idea what was inside.

Zoë gave a tiny gasp a bit bigger than a hiccup. Wash said, “What the hell?” Inara shoved her hands into her sleeves. The Shepherd started cursing in Mandarin.

Kaylee stared at the object. “What… what is that?”

“It’s a heart,” Mal said quietly. “A human heart.” He looked at the rows of boxes, feeling sick at heart. “We’re carrying poached organs, hundreds of em.”

“I don’t...” But the little redhead’s eyes were round with growing understanding. “What do you mean?”

Jayne was close behind her, River still in the circle of one arm. “Original owners weren’t done with em yet.”

Mal swallowed, nodded. The cryo box might contain the remains of a hundred victims.

“Not necessarily.” The Shepherd’s mouth was tight. “Could be these were stolen from a hospital. Or a black-market surgical team harvested a disaster site.”

“Could be.” Mal replaced the box on the shelf and pulled back the lid to the cryo box. “But getting caught with em is the end of us all, regardless.” He re-established the seal and secured the lid.

He turned to see that Kaylee had joined River in Jayne’s embrace, each of them in the circle of one arm. Even shocky as Mal was feeling right now, he couldn’t help noticing that the girls’ postures and hand placements on the big merc’s chest were mirror images. Wash and Zoë were twined together, pulling a little closer each time one of them glanced at the box.

Inara, like Mal, stood alone.

So did the Shepherd, who looked from one of them to the other. “If Simon has the truth of the details of this transaction, we have an even bigger problem than what we’re carrying.”

“Meanin?” Jayne growled.

“Meaning someone went to a great deal of trouble and expense to put this cargo aboard this ship and no other, and send it into the hands of the Alliance. I imagine we’re expected.”

Zoë nodded towards the closed box. “Who else has got the money and connections for this? This must have cost a hundred times what he got from us.”

No one said the name; no one needed to. “Seems he’s lost his taste for up-close-and-personal, and he’s takin his revenge at one remove.” Mal looked to his pilot. “Where else can we go with the fuel in our cells?”

Wash shook his head. “Nowhere. We met this guy Sessions on a rock at the back end of the ’Verse with no fueling facilities. Once we were on our way to Halifax, we were committed. We dock there by midday tomorrow, or nowhere ever.”

“Part of the plan, no doubt,” Book put in.

“Then we’ll have to space the cargo.”

“Not the box, just the contents.” The preacher’s eyes turned on Mal. “You can be sure the authorities were provided proof it was put aboard after the fact, without being given a chance to examine its contents; they’d have never allowed it to ship otherwise. We’ll need it for our cover story if we’re to convince the authorities of our innocence. As well as some fine acting skills.”

“Just- toss them into space, like garbage?” Kaylee shivered.

“There’s nothing else to be done,” the preacher said gently. “People die lost in space all the time, little girl. And I’m afraid these remains were headed for a bad end anyway. No reputable hospital or clinic will accept human tissue without a chain of provenance. Whether they were harvested through murder or criminal opportunity, they were destined to keep wealthy vermin alive. Better I say some words over them, and we cast them into the Black.” He turned to Mal. “Subject to your orders, of course.”

“I’ll say it again.” Jayne hawkeyed the old man. “You know too much about crime.”

“But he’s right. Say your words, Shepherd. Zoë, Jayne, secure the hold for vacuum.”

*

“River, dear, are you sure you understand the plan?” Inara’s shuttle slid silently out of its bay, coming to a stop with a gentle bump followed by the snap of its lockdowns releasing. The little ship drifted free of Serenity’s hull, and Inara applied just enough thrust from the attitude jets to clear the ship’s inertial field before engaging the tiny drive.

“So simple it hardly deserves to be called a plan,” the girl replied, sounding less like Kaylee than she had of late, yet still coherent. Her hair was done up in a style similar to the Companion’s, and she wore one of her robes. “You dock the shuttle at the skyplex, then we trade places in the cockpit. Anyone looking in the windows will think I’m Inara Serra.”

“Good.” The planet Halifax grew from a dot to a disc in the window; the skyplex was still invisible. “Just remember, once you’re alone on this side of the curtain, don’t leave the cockpit until I call you. And don’t pay any attention to what you hear on the other side. If…” her voice trailed away as she thought her statement through. “I’m sorry. I was about to say I’d lose my license if you revealed yourself, until I remembered what you’d lose.”

River gave her a sunny smile that was all Kaylee. “Don’t worry, ’Nara. I won’t crash your little tea party. And you can pretend I’m not listening while you entertain, if you want.” She touched three fingers to her lips and smiled behind them. “Now, there’s something you don’t see every day – a Companion blushing.”

She huffed. “It wouldn’t be embarrassing if you were a Companion. Or not a virgin.”

“Oh? You believe him?”

She nodded, eyes on the world ahead. She thought she saw a star at the edge of the disc that was moving in relation to all the others, and guessed the skyplex was rounding the planet towards them. “Yes. It’s obvious to a trained eye that you two haven’t coupled.” She added, “Yet. Do you want that?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure. I think he’d be a perfect first.” River smiled. “Every girl wants at least one tender bad boy in her heart’s memories.”

Inara scoffed. “He certainly fills half the bill, anyway.”

The two women’s hairstyles left tendrils of hair loose at the temples. River played with one at her left temple, curling it around her index finger. “He can be very tender.”

The girl’s loose robe parted slightly at the throat, and Inara was surprised to see her wearing a necklace. The front of the band was a simple braid of thin silver wires that separated at the throat to make a setting for a breathtaking pale lavender stone nearly the size of a marble. Inara knew something of gems; even as rudely cut as the stone was, she was certain River was wearing a fortune around her neck.

River smiled without looking at her. “From Jayne. He killed the man he took it from.”

“How romantic,” she said faintly.

River nodded. “In its way. He noticed that I don’t have any jewelry. He said that a young girl should have pretties, and that I must have had all kinds of them when I lived at home. I didn’t have the heart to tell him different. I left for the Academy at fourteen, too young for a proper girl to start wearing ornaments. This is the first I’ve ever had. He put it around my neck with his own hands and called me his little sweetheart.”

“Really.”

“Not always a courting term where he comes from. Can also mean a special female friend, usually younger, that a man is obliged to look out for for some reason. It’s strangely unclear, but I think the man he killed stole this from a girl he cared about. Odd that I can’t read any more about it from him.”

“And to think,” Inara said, “before I boarded Serenity, I thought there was no such thing as a mysterious man. Now I find myself on a shipful of them.”

River nodded and wound her hair on her finger again. “Maybe that’s because most of the men you meet are clients. No matter how different they really are, when they come to your door they’ve all got the same thing on their minds.”

“That’s not entirely true, dear.” The world before them had expanded to fill half the windows, and the skyplex had assumed a definite shape. “But I think you’d have to be a Companion to understand fully.” She touched the com control. “Halifax Station, this is Firefly transport Serenity Shuttle Two, requesting separate docking instructions.”

*

“Firefly transport Serenity, proceed to Dock One, ten degrees spinward of the administrative mast. Approach dead slow, attitude thrusters only. Do not open your hatch until signaled.”

“Sounds like they want everyone ready to jump out and yell ‘Surprise’ when we come through the door,” Wash said sourly. Zoë wound arms around his neck as he guided the ship to its berth among the clutter of booms, gantries and small cargo carriers shuttling pallets of material from one assembly point to another. Mal noted suited figures aplenty swarming over the station and the docked ships. Halifax Station was a busy place.

The ship thumped into place as Serenity’s airlock met the station’s flexible seal. Several more clanks and hisses indicated umbilicals had been attached and lockdowns engaged. Wash turned to him. “Port lock,” he said. Meaning the station’s computer had overridden the ship’s nav and drive controls and taken them offline. Serenity was dead in the water, so to speak, awaiting the stationmaster’s pleasure.

*

The shuttle approached the station. From behind the curtain, River listened to the voices in the cockpit. “Shuttle, open your hatch immediately upon docking and prepare for inspection.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Inara replied in a cool tone that clearly said, 'bad idea'. “As your records show, this shuttle is engaged by exclusive contract to a Registered Companion. This is my home as well as my office, and I’ll be receiving my client here. I won’t be setting foot on station.”

A technicality. The station still had legal jurisdiction over a nonmilitary vessel at dock, but had little grounds to enter one not bringing goods or people on station. And no one liked to provoke the Companion Guild. The power of money and sex, River supposed. “Any visitors will be subject to challenge and search, before and after… consulting with you. And the identity of your client must be confirmed for the record. This is station security policy, not subject to negotiation.”

“I’m sure Commander Sung will understand,” she said easily. “After all, he probably wrote the policy.” Silence at the other end, while the shuttle bumped and vibrated as it was grappled and drawn tight against the station lock.

“Enjoy your stay here, Mistress Sera.”

“No doubt I will,” she said, and closed com. The curtains parted and closed behind the Companion. “We have a little time. I suggest you use the head while you can. I’ll send you into the cockpit with a cup of tea for appearances’ sake, but don’t fill your bladder.”

“Shiia. Be right back.”

When River came out, Inara was holding her little lacquered box. “River, do you remember coming in here and speaking with me about this?”

She reached for the memory among the confused thoughts of one of her chaotic times. “Yes.” She smiled. “I was asking for kissing lessons.”

“For the ‘cock-a-walk in the derby hat.’ Badger, really?”

She nodded. “That case of drugs was no mistake. He knows who’s aboard Serenity; he’s made it his business to know. And he doesn’t sell goods without some idea of their value. But Badger and company are rather different people than the captain imagines. He knew that if he offered that case to Simon for any price we could afford, it would only make Simon and Mal suspicious.” She quirked a smile. “He’s a very shrewd negotiator to get it into my brother’s hands gratis, thinking it was all his doing.”

“Why?”

She felt her smile broaden. “He likes me. He said so.”

Inara’s smile matched hers. “You have a very unlikely pair of suitors, Miss Tam.” Then the smile faded, became thoughtful. “But I was talking about this. I honestly have no idea what you were talking about. Who loved me, and who kept him from me?”

“Oh.” River touched her fingertips to the box still in Inara’s hands. “I’m not sure anymore. But this box belonged to your mother. I think I was talking to her, sort of.”

Inara replaced the box on its shelf and gave it an unfocused stare, deep in thought. “I have to say, mysterious statements notwithstanding, you’re sounding very rational right now. But not like Kaylee at all.” With her back still turned to River, she wound a tendril of hair at her left temple around her index finger: an unconscious gesture from childhood, River knew, but performed only when she was alone. “Some new development?”

River nodded at the Companion’s back. “I’ve been experimenting.”

*

As instructed, Serenity’s captain and first mate were on the other side of the airlock doors when the ramp dropped, and before it touched the station’s deck, a dozen weapons were aimed at them.

Mal raised his hands. “Whoa, there. What’s this about?”

No one spoke as the squad of armed men scuttled in. Two kept Mal and Zoë in their sights; the others swept their weapons all over the hold, searching the catwalks and covering every entrance.

Three officers in full Alliance Navy uniform, complete with caps, boarded with another half-dozen armed men. Mal, hands still raised, addressed the highest ranker, who looked a bit old and hard for his captain’s insignia. “I’d appreciate an explanation, Mister. We’ve broke no laws I know of.”

Instead of answering, the man nodded to his subordinates, who drew weapons and entered the ship with three men each. The ranking officer turned to Mal. “Papers.”

Zoë was holding the ship’s documents in one upraised hand. She extended them to the officer, who took them in hand and looked them over. “You’ve come here from Creighton’s Moon. For what purpose?”

“Delivery of cargo on commission.”

“Whose commission?”

“We don’t know, we dealt with a middleman who contacted us. But the money was good.”

“So you claim you don’t know who you’re working for, or what you’re hauling.”

“It’s not a claim, it’s a fact. A condition of the contract. We forfeit half our fee if the box is opened.”

The officer glanced at it. “And yet it’s not port sealed. Contents uninspected and unverified. You might open it a dozen times and there’d be no way of knowing, would there?”

“I agreed not to open the gorram thing. My word means more to me than half a fee.”

“Is that so?” The officer studied the documents again. “I don’t see any inspection stamps for New Beginnings.”

“Never been there.”

“What about Georgia system?”

“There are a few worlds in Georgia system we used to touch down on regular.” One of them was the world circled by Niska’s skyplex. “Not lately, though.”

The man glanced up at the hatch to the starboard shuttle bay. “Where’d that one go?”

“Docked separate. We lease it to a Companion, and I suppose she’s with a client by now. Commodore-”

“It’s Captain.”

Mal clenched his jaw. Ships could only have one captain, regardless of rank, and officers aboard a ship not their own with the rank but not the title of ‘captain’ usually accepted an honorary promotion in conversation. Mal was sure this man knew it, too. “Officer, it’s clear you’re not goin to tell us what you’re lookin for. But I’d take it as a kindness if we could put our hands down, at least, and take a load off. Looks like your business here is gonna take a while.”

The officer gestured to a pair of crates well away from the cryo box. “There. Don’t move unless I tell you.” A rifle tracked each of them to their seats.

One of the soldiers returned down the catwalk stairs with Kaylee, who looked terrified enough to melt the heart of any man, even the officer in charge. “Easy, miss. No one’s going to hurt you. Just take a seat.”

Another soldier escorted the Shepherd through the lower hatch; the officer glanced at the preacher and stiffened again. “What business brings you aboard this ship, Padre?”

“Missionary work, Commodore. Bringing the Word to those need to hear it.”

“And I imagine this ship goes where they need to hear it more than most.” The man continued to examine the ship’s papers. Mal wondered at his old-fashioned term of address for the Shepherd, and noted that he didn’t correct Book about his rank. “Your captain’s a sloppy record keeper, at least as regards cargo and passenger manifests. When did you take ship, and where?”

“From Persephone over a year ago.”

He nodded slightly. “Southdown Abbey, I presume?”

“Correct.”

A pause. “Which wing were your quarters in?”

“I moved around a bit. My last room was in the east wing, top floor.” The two locked eyes, and Mal decided the officer wouldn’t be asking Book for ID; seemed the preacher had already presented credentials of some sort. “Might I ask the reason behind this unusual treatment?”

“Soon, Padre. Wait for it.” Mal also noted that the officer hadn’t ordered the Shepherd into a seat.

One of the junior officers stepped through the hatch from the infirmary and passenger country. He beckoned to the senior officer. The older man glanced at Mal and turned that way. “Come with me.”

Followed by a guard, Mal and the ranking officer stepped through behind the other officer. The man in charge paused at the infirmary door. “Fancy setup for an old tramp freighter. Looks well-stocked, too.”

“We spend a lot of time out in the Wild,” Mal answered. “Don’t like the idea of one of my people dyin just because we’re too far away from a med center.” River’s exotic and expensive meds were out of their case and distributed among the commoner drugs in the cupboards.

The junior officer was waiting at the starboard passenger dorm where Simon’s and River’s rooms were. The officer said to Mal, “You have any passengers?”

“Aside from the Shepherd and the Companion? Not this trip.”

“Why not?”

“Seemed nobody wanted to come here. Now I see why.”

The junior officer led the way to River’s room and slid the door open. “What’s all this?”

Mal didn’t step forward. He knew what the men were looking at: All of River’s and Simon’s belongings tossed haphazardly on the bed and floor. “Dead storage. Passengers leave the damnedest things behind. We hang on to it for a while, give em a chance to send for it. But a lot of it goes unclaimed.”

“Just leave it behind, eh?”

Mal nodded. “The big passenger lines got warehouses full of this sort of truck. But they auction it off after a while. We just divvy it up or sell it to some second-hand shop.”

The man gave him a thoughtful look, but just made a turning-around gesture, and the soldier guarding Mal stepped back. As they headed out of the passenger dorm, they saw Wash being escorted down the fore companionway by a trooper. “Um, Captain, We’ve got a kind of standoff in crew quarters. Jayne won’t leave his room, and the fellows at his door seem a bit reluctant to enter his den. He already tossed a practice grenade through the hatch at them when they opened it.”

Mal glanced at the officer, who returned a stony expression. “Officer, let me talk to him. I can do it from the infirmary by com.”

The officer looked at him through hooded eyes. “Old war buddy?”

“Hardly. Don’t think he was in it. But he’s got an arsenal down there, and I pay him to be suspicious of strangers.”

In the infirmary, a quick glance told him the place had been gone through, but with a light hand. A phial containing one of River’s meds stood in a rack on the counter with half a dozen others. He punched the intercom button at the door. “Jayne?”

“What the hell’s goin on, Captain? We been boarded?”

“We have, but not by bandits. Those are Federal marshals you’re playin with, and you’re puttin my ship at risk. Disarm and come up and join the rest of us.” He turned to see the officer studying him.

“Your ship has an interesting name. Serenity Valley was where we broke the Independent Army’s back on Hera. Quite a battle.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Your mate wears a bootlace around her neck, but not you. Any chance you own a brown duster instead?”

Mal felt his jaw muscles jump. “Never saw a reason to get rid of it. It’s right durable, and still fits me fine.”

“I daresay it does.”

“But it’s not part of a uniform anymore. Alliance has been getting in my way most of my life, but I reckon it’s here to stay, so now I mostly stay out of its way instead.”

“Well, perhaps you haven’t been dodging as cleverly as you think.” He turned and headed back towards the cargo bay.

In the hold, Mal saw even more Feds aboard. A pair of them had odd gadgets consisting of small suitcases cabled to slender wands that they were pointing at the floor and walls and ceiling. All six of the floor-level hidey-holes had been opened, the cover plates resting against the walls. “Huh. Thought there was only two of those. All kinds of little nooks on this ship. Don’t suppose we’ll ever find em all.”

“Yes, we will,” the officer said confidently.

“Well, if you find anything in em, they belonged to an earlier owner.”

“Well, then, you’d better hope the earlier owner wasn’t up to anything shady.” The officer glanced again at the Shepherd, who was still standing, speaking with one of the minor officers and seeming more like one of the investigators than the investigated.

A guard backed through the hatch behind them, his rifle trained on the doorway. Jayne came through the hatch and hesitated, surveying the scene. A trooper behind him pushed at him without moving him. “Go on.”

Jayne scoffed. “All big and tough now, eh? Which one a ya screamed like a girl when I tossed that grenade up the ladder well?”

Mal sat down again, waiting. Time passed while the Feds crawled all through the ship. Mal imagined there was an inspection party suited up and roving the hull as well. The officers conferred in low voices at a slight remove, occasionally glancing their way, most often at him and Book.

The head officer turned to the Shepherd. “I’d like to have a word with you in private.”

Shepherd Book’s eyelids lowered a touch. “I’ll be glad to take your confession, but perhaps it should wait until your business here is concluded.”

The man stilled. “As you wish, Padre.” He turned away and gestured at the crew’s seats. “What’s in those?”

“Not cargo.” Mal glanced at each of his crewfolk, meeting their eyes, gauging their composure, urging calm. “General supplies. We break em out as we need em.”

The officer turned to Zoë. “Stand up.”

The first mate stood with eyes only for the uniformed man in front of her, as if the trooper standing two steps away training his rifle on her didn’t exist. Wash, a crate away, also tried to stand, but was forced back down.

The man gestured another officer over, followed by a trooper. “She was the first to take a seat. Let’s see if there’s a reason she picked this one.”

The junior officer snapped the catches and lifted the lid. Inside lay an assortment of boxes, bottles, and cans, many marked with the Blue Sun logo. He selected a bottle and examined the label, then opened it and examined the contents. He did the same with several other containers. Then he turned to the ‘Commodore’. “Detergent, lubricant, some catalysts and enzyme mixtures for their recycling system. Housekeeping goods.”

“Open them all.”

The crew were stood up and herded to the back of the hold while uniformed men opened the crates and went through them. Eventually, satisfied, they put the contents more or less back in order and closed them. The crew were directed to sit again; this time, Wash sat with his wife, and Jayne with Kaylee, who leaned into him for comfort.

One of the junior officers touched a finger to his ear for a moment, then stepped to the commander. “Outside crews report the hull’s clean, nothing stashed or hidden.”

“Well, Captain Reynolds,” the senior officer said, addressing him by name and title for the first time, “your ship is squeaky clean, I must say. Most freebooters leave something suspicious or objectionable lying around, but, aside from the surplus of weapons aboard, you look exactly like what you claim to be.” He beckoned Mal over to the cryo box. “No more foreplay. Open it.”

Mal kept his poker face firmly in place as he turned the latches on the lid and put a hand on the handle that would break the cryo seal and raise the lid enough to slide off. “This ain’t right. We’ve done nothing wrong, been charged with no crime. Now I’m being forced to forfeit half my shipping fee for nothing.”

“There’ll be charges aplenty in a moment, I think,” the officer said, standing close behind him with his subordinates and a pair of armed troopers another step back.

Mal rested his hands on the lid, hesitating. To a suspicious mind, no doubt, he seemed reluctant, but he was just savoring the moment before he pushed the lid off and showed this martinet an empty box. Finally, he took a breath and shoved the lid back.

The explosion took him off his feet.