It was another late night on the ship. Most of the crew had gone to bed, with the exception of Simon. With the news of Kaylee’s pregnancy, Simon had begun research on pre-natal and pediatric care. He knew that he was unsuitable for the job since not only was this not his field of expertise, but the fact that the patient was his wife threw any sort of objectivity out the airlock. But having your patient being a family member was something he was used to so he remained determined in his quest for knowledge. Oddly enough, he felt that this was just another leg in the journey he’s been on for the last four years.

Simon’s eyes began to tire, so he shut off his digitexts and closed up the infirmary behind him. As he climbed up the stairs, he heard River playing softly up in the cockpit. This in itself was not unusual. What was unusual was that it was a viola. It was playing a familiar tune, something from his childhood. He walked through the kitchen and past him and Kaylee’s bunk and into the cockpit. She was in the pilot’s seat, slowly moving the bow back and forth. She was engrossed in the music she was playing, and the melody that was packed with so much longing and desire. She looked up and smiled. He smiled back and sat in the co-pilots seat.

“You missed movie night.”

“Sorry about that. I was busy doing research for Kaylee’s sake. Wasn’t in the movie mood. What was it?”

River looked surprised. “This doesn’t ring a bell?” She struck up the tune again, and stared intently at him, to try to make him realize what they watched and what he was playing. Suddenly, it dawned on him and he sat back in realization.

“All six?”

“Just SITH and JEDI.” She stopped playing and put the guitar, which was in viola mode, in her lap. “Grand stories of tragedy and redemption.”

“I could never get past the wooden dialogue and the special effects. Plus all the inconsistencies. There’s no sound in space.”

River just shook her head. For all his smarts, her brother could never see beneath the surface. “It’s not what’s on the outside. It’s not the Jedi’s and the Gungans and the Ewoks. It’s what is behind it. What it’s all about. What they represent. It’s the mythology attached to it, like us.”

“What’s so mythological about us? We’re just regular folk.”

“No we’re not. We’re heroes. Maybe not now, and maybe only to us and a few others. But one day, there will be stories about us. Told with such frequency and fervor, that long after we’re gone, we’ll live on. Like Moses and David. Like Hercules and Icarus. Like Arthur, Lancelot and Guinevere. And like the Skywalkers.”

Simon thought about it and figured that what she was saying was true. Maybe they were more than Big Damn Heroes. Maybe they were a continuation of that need for mythology. That they were the necessary figures of inspiration people need.

“I have to admit, Mal does seem like Han Solo brought to life. So what does that make the rest of us.”

“Well, Book seems very Obi-Wan. The wise old mentor who can still learn. Jayne is Chewie, all hairy and loud. Wash could be 3PO.”

“You sure? Wash doesn’t seem to be the protocol droid type.”

“He’s the comic relief. Always chatty and very loyal. And Kaylee is most definitely R2.”

Simon laughed at this. He wasn’t sure how his wife would like it being compared to a tin can that beeps and whistles. But he could begin seeing the parallels between all of them. They did all fit into this rudimentary structure of Joseph Campbell mythology. “What about Zoe and Inara?”

“Zoe is Mon Mothma. Tight lipped and serious. And I think Inara is Padme. Gentle and kind, yet so sad.”

There was a slight pause. Simon looked at River and grinned. “I don’t know any female Jedi, so I’m going to assume that you’re Leia. The warrior princess that would’ve lead the rebellion if the Alliance didn’t bankrupt itself.”

“I’ll manage. And you are most definitely Luke.”

“Why? I didn’t blow up any Death Star or know how to duel with a lightsaber. Hell, I still don’t know how to handle a gun, let alone a blaster.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Defying the odds to save the one you love. On an epic journey of peace, justice and sacrifice. And through saving others, you save yourself. If anything, you are mythology incarnate.”

Simon looked at his sister tiredly and sat up. “That may very well be. But for now, I’m a very tired doctor who needs the loving of his newly pregnant wife. Don’t say up too long.”

Simon stood up and left the cockpit. River resumed playing the classic Williams score and reflected on who they are. Are they just working class folk? Or were they representatives of the continuing mythology of the human race?