River strode along the line of waiting ships at the Eavesdown Dockyard, oblivious to vendors, passers-by, and security goons alike. She was trying to focus on the ship -- the transport, the one that Badger had told her to take. The ship that was going back to Nassau Point, so that River could find Simon. She was working hard to maintain her focus, because Badger's reaction to the name "Nassau Point" had thrown every nerve she had left into high alert, and her damaged brain was screaming at her that something was off -- something wasn't right.

It didn't matter. The ship was really headed for Nassau Point, she was certain of that. Anything else could be dealt with later. Getting to Nassau Point was what mattered. She had to get back to Simon.

So focused was she that the memory, when it hit, completely blindsided her, dropping her to the pavement in an agony of emotion.

Kaylee sat in a folding chair under a brightly colored umbrella. "You're gonna come with us," she said to the man in shepherd's garb who was walking past.

Book turned, saw her. "Excuse me?" he said.

"You like ships," she told him. "Don't seem to be looking at the destinations. What you care about is ships and mine is the nicest."

River cried out. This spot. This spot. This was the spot where Serenity had first taken on Book. And Simon.

And River, frozen in a cryo-chamber like forgotten left-over pot roast.

She couldn't possibly remember that moment. Not from within herself. But the memory was tied to this place, and it had waited here in ambush until this moment.

A hand touched her shoulder, driving the memory to a safe distance.

River looked up, into the face of her silent companion. Into Book's face. If the memory had ambushed him, there was no sign of it on his face, or in his psyche. Feeding herself on his calm, River looked past him, her gaze trailing upward.

A ship loomed over them. Not Serenity, which she had half-expected to see, but a decomissioned Alliance troop transport, repainted in utilitarian, civilian gray over its former Alliance white. This was the ship -- the ship they had been looking for, the ship that would take them to Nassau Point.

"Hello, can I help you?" the man who stood in front of her now, holding out his hand to her, reminded her in some ineffable way of Kaylee -- or maybe it was just the lingering memory River had stumbled across.

"I'm supposed to get on this ship," she said.

"Great!" the man said, "We're glad you're joining us. I'm Frank," he stuck out his hand, and she frowned at it. He withdrew it without losing his smile, or missing a beat. "What's your stake? No, nevermind, that's personal, I shouldn't ask." He pulled her to her feet, leading her onto the ship's ramp, where people were coming and going as they loaded an astonishing array of personal luggage and bulk crates. Her guide babbled happily as they walked. "Come on, we'll find you a berth. Unless you need to visit the infirmary first, you look a little pale. Was that some kind of seizure you were having? Or is that too personal, too?"

River shook her head to clear it. Her guide took it as a negating gesture, and steered his chatter in a different direction as he led her deeper into the ship. "You got here just in time, you know, we're lifting off within the hour. Did you tag your luggage before you put it with the rest? Don't worry, the stevedores will get it aboard. It was an extra expense, but we decided it was worth it to have everything professionally stowed, since so many of us are riding out the journey in stasis. Are you going stasis? No? Well, the regular berths are this way --"

***

"Looks like big brother's here," Wash said, his expression glum as he stared at the display. A second ship was approaching the speedy scoutship that had been tailing Serenity.

"Maybe they ain't together," Mal said hopefully, coming to check out the newcomer over Wash's shoulder. This one was a yacht, short-range but very luxurious; a Coaster class vessel that probably required a dozen crew to carry its handful of passengers in luxury. Somebody who had a Swift Nightrunner and a small private army could own a yacht like that. Mal's stomach clenched around the remains of Jayne's stew.

"Maybe not," Wash said, "But they're having an awfully lively conversation, and it doesn't include us." He tapped the readout that indicated communications passing between the scoutship and the newcomer -- encrypted communications.

"Oh, juh jen sh guh kwai luh duh jean jan. Well, let's see will they talk to us." He reached for the communications controls, toggling the link open just as the console blinked an incoming message. Mal flicked the toggle, catching himself and Wash on camera, their mouths open in surprise as Jerrode Eusabian's face appeared on Serenity's screen.

"Good afternoon, Captain Reynolds," Eusabian said smoothly, taking no apparent notice of their discomfiture. "How are you this fine day?"

Well, now, didn't that just explain it all? Mal tried for a carefree grin, but managed only a wry smirk. "Well, outside a little hull damage, I do seem to be having a fine day! I thank you for asking! And how 'bout yourself?"

"Seems to me you're actually in a bit of difficulty, Captain Reynolds," Eusabian observed. "That's some serious hull damage, and you appear to have lost some air."

"Just a scratch, as you might say," Mal said, holding his smirk with difficulty. "I'm sure we'll have it right as rain, directly."

Eusabian gave him a pitying smile. "Captain Reynolds, this may be entirely the wrong approach to take, but I am at a loss for any other," he said. "Your friend Inara fears for your health and safety aboard that damaged vessel. It was at her request that I located you, and I am here to offer you safe passage back to Nassau Point aboard my yacht. We can accommodate one of your shuttles, if you would like to join us."

"That so?" Mal asked, fearing that his irritation was leaking into his expression. "Well, that's mighty nice of her, and of you, to be concerned, but I believe I'll stay right where I am."

Eusabian glanced away from the vid pickup, and Mal's smirk twisted ugly, because he could guess who was off-camera. Inara. She had to know he wasn't going to leave Serenity; why would she put the man up to this? Waste his time flying out in that fancy yacht for this? The thought flitted across his mind that maybe Inara'd been worried about him, but he dismissed it prejudicially. Inara could have been worried, though -- if not about him, then about Wash and Kaylee. Jayne maybe not so much. Him and Jayne. Like as not she'd hardly spared a thought for the two of them.

Eusabian stepped aside, and Inara stepped into the pickup. Mal caught her scent as she moved into view, and then realized his mind had tricked him. His expression turned sour. "Inara."

"Mal, be sensible," she said. "Jerrode can have Serenity towed back to Nassau Point, and you can have her repaired and made spaceworthy there."

"You seem to kind of be forgetting that there's somebody on Nassau Point who did this to us, and we got no idea who that is, or what they want, or how to stay clear of 'em," Mal pointed out. "Going back there ain't exactly the best idea I've heard all day."

"Of course. It's a much better idea to sit out here in your badly damaged space ship waiting to die," Inara said acidly. She glanced offscreen, and Mal recognized her "I told you so" expression -- it was the one he usually saw full-on, but it was easy enough to comprehend in side-view. She turned back to the screen. "Jerrode can guarantee your safety, and Serenity's," she said.

"Of course he can," Mal retorted, growing angrier by the moment. "Because he's got --" he choked on what he had been about to say. A Swift Nightrunner, and a Coaster-class yacht. And a small private army. Inara was frowning slightly. "What I ain't got," he finished lamely, and slapped the toggle. "Well, damn," he said, to the blank screen.

His crew -- what he had left of them -- were all staring at him, fish-eyed.

"Think I know who's been trying to kill us," he said.

"Inara's client?" Wash said, disbelieving.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Mal said sourly.

"Oh, no," Kaylee breathed.

A telltale on the console blinked; the yacht was trying to contact him again. Trying to lure him into their trap, with Inara as bait. Only she didn't know it. If she'd known it, he'd have been able to tell.

"He's got Inara," Jayne observed, unnecessarily.

Mal had that figured already; what he was trying to figure now were the odds that either that scoutship or that yacht was armed, and the time it would take for something that was armed to reach them from Nassau Point, and whether they could reach Reaverspace in that amount of time. And how he was going to get Inara out of the fix she was in. And how he was going to get Inara out of her current fix against her will, if she refused to believe she was, in fact, in a fix.

Now that was a true poser.

Into the long silence, while the telltale blinked unanswered on the console, Mal finally asked, "How long 'til Reaverspace?"

***

Simon had never been in Badger's lair. He knew Badger by reputation, and from his one brief visit to Serenity; knew that Badger was a successful businessman, of a sort, dealing on both the right and the wrong side of the law. Simon had been in the homes and offices of other men who conducted their business in that same gray area, so he was somewhat surprised when he and Zoe were ushered into the gaudy, slightly shabby, utterly disreputable shambles that was Badger's office.

"I guess success doesn't come packaged with good taste," he thought, and only realized he had muttered the sentiment aloud when Zoe gave him a sharp look.

Badger was sitting at his desk, with his trademark bowler resting alongside his elbow. He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up onto the desk when he saw them. "Well," he drawled, "And what a surprise this is!"

"You don't seem surprised," Zoe observed.

Badger shrugged. "Your little duck told me she'd parted ways with the likes of you." He laced his fingers behind his head and regarded them with amusement and open curiosity.

"You've seen --" Simon began, but strangled his own sentence when Zoe moved. It wasn't a move toward him; she merely shifted her weight, but Simon's enforced time with her had taught him that in situations like this, everything Zoe did was to a purpose. If she moved, it meant something. Maybe danger, but Simon thought it more likely that she had realized that he was just about to blurt out River's name to someone who didn't already know it, which would have been colossally stupid, and that her movement was meant to distract him before he could do so. Simon rocked back on his heels, forcibly relaxing his shoulders, and clamped his mouth shut, determined to let Zoe do the talking.

"When did you see our runaway?" Zoe asked, with a barely detectable hint of anger. Anger? Badger's reply was inexact, but Simon was only peripherally aware of it. Why would Zoe be angry with River?

"What'd she do?" Badger prodded. "Steal something of value?"

"Nothing that would be of any value to you," Zoe replied, still with that edge in her voice, and Simon finally caught up. It was an act, for Badger's benefit. Zoe wasn't angry with River; she was trying to play Badger.

"If it's worth something to you, then knowing where she's gone is worth something, too," Badger said, and smiled.

From outside the shabby office came a bloodcurdling scream. Badger's smile vanished. In an instant, he had leapt to his feet, snatched up his bowler, and scrambled through a curtained exit behind his desk. In that same instant, Zoe had Simon by the arm, dragging him sideways, while Simon was still trying to look in the direction of the screaming. Simon stumbled, lifting his free hand to his temple even as Zoe yanked him back onto his feet, propelling him down a hallway, or corridor, or maybe just a long room. Simon couldn't be sure; his head had started to throb. Red splashed onto his shirt. His nose was bleeding. There was a metal door, and he was hauled through it. The door closed. They were outside, in the painful sunlight and sound of the docks, and the corrugated metal wall behind Simon burned even through his shirt and vest but he had no strength to hold himself up. His knees buckled and he collapsed backward, sliding down the wall until he was sitting ungracefully in the dirt, and Zoe next to him was doing the same, and her nose was bleeding, too, and so were her fingernails, and her tear ducts.

"What?" he gasped.

"Blue Sun," she said, working hard to get the words out, wiping her face with the back of one hand and smearing herself with blood. "Hunting River."

No, Simon thought, staring at his bleeding fingernails and wondering what had just happened. His headache was fading, and the blood just a ring of droplets, rather than a steady stream, but Simon was still at a loss. He felt as if his brain had been scrambled.

He dropped his head back heavily against the wall, and closed his eyes. "We have to move," he said. If Blue Sun had come, they needed to go. Now.

"Uh huh," Zoe agreed.

But neither one of them did.