Mal stood against the porch support, his body curved as if weighed down on one side. He held a metal cup in one hand, watching the setting sun across the horizon. Jayne exited the bar, sniffing, puffing his chest and then spitting as far as he could into the dwindling darkness. "Mighty nice," Mal commented, following the trail of the spit wad with his eyes.

Jayne sniffed again, smiling proudly and hooking his thumbs into his belt and falling back against the side of the building. "What'reya watchin'?" he asked, squinting at the sky.

"Sunset," Mal replied, taking a sip of his rotgut.

Jayne quirked his mouth, tilting his head and looking at the top curve of the sun over the hill. Mal rolled his eyes. "Or maybe I'm just watching the marchers."

"Marchers?" Jayne asked, craning his neck. He saw them then, moving through the foothills. They were carrying torches, moving slowly, heading away from the village that had granted Serenity docking. "Huh. Where you suppose they're goin'?"

"Bartender told me there was a war going on."

Kaylee slipped her way onto the porch, digging her hands deep into the pockets of her jumpsuit. The cold was coming with the night. She shivered, exhaling a thick cloud of her breath as she tried to latch on to what the men were talking about. "War," Jayne asked. "Who 'tween?"

"Some folks got a beef with some other folks," Mal replied with a shrug, deciding not to get into the details with someone like Jayne. "'Tender says they've been sendin' troops for months now."

"You talkin' local politics with the locals?" Jayne asked.

Mal shrugged. "In a roundabout way. Asked why there was only bread to eat on the menu."

"Why was that?" Kaylee asked quietly, finally alerting both men to her presence.

Mal pointed at the marchers, who were now almost out of sight. "Sending their men off to war. No one to tend the fields, no food gettin' to market."

"The women can't farm?"

Mal smiled, trying not to be condescending. "No 'fense there, Kaylee, but the women of this world ain't as equal as some on other worlds. Don't get trainin', don't get educated. Some of 'em don't read or write too well."

"Do they at least speak well?" Shepherd Book asked. He was standing in the doorway, backlit by the bar room. The lantern light within cast a halo around the holy man, making Mal smirk.

"Reckon so," Mal replied. "Course, they ain't as tough and manly as we are."

"Gorram kee-rect," Jayne chuckled.

Book sighed and returned to the bar.

"So the women--" Kaylee said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

Mal nodded. "The men are goin' off to war. The women, well... they've been held back so long they don't know how to manage when they're forced to take care of themselves... Fields're dying out all over, crops dryin' up, so there's nothin' to eat..."

Kaylee hugged herself. "Gosh, never thought I'd wish I were a fella."

Jayne snuffled. "Goin' off to war to kill until ya die? It ain't exactly much better." Mal and Kaylee both turned and stared at him for an awkward moment until he began to squirm uncomfortably. "Or... I don't know." He rolled his shoulder and said, "Stop lookin' at me."

"Why?" Kaylee asked.

"Cause it's making me gorram uncomfortable!"

"No," Kaylee sighed. "Why are they doing this? Fightin' and all?"

Mal scoffed. "Land rights. The farmers wanted more land to grow, the government wanted more land to build. So they started fighting and now... ain't no one using the land."

"Who's winnin'?" Kaylee asked quietly.

"Different war, same answer," Jayne muttered. "Ain't no one winnin'." He spit over the railing once more, linking his hands behind his head and walking back into the bar. Mal shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking at the remaining liquid in his tin cup.

Behind him, Kaylee softly said, "The white bones lie there in drifts, uncollected. New ghosts complain and old ghosts weep, under the lowering sky their voices cry out in the rain."

"Real pretty," Mal said. "Make that up yourself?"

"Poet on Earth-that-was," she replied. "Du Fu."

"Imagine there's no countries; it isn't hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for, no religion too. Imagine all the people, living life in peace..."

"Poet?" Kaylee asked.

"Yeah," Mal nodded. "From Earth-that-was. Don't remember the name, though."

They watched in silence as the last of the marchers disappeared over the rise, the light from their torches disappearing with the last light of day. Mal turned and put a protective arm around Kaylee. "C'mon. Let's get you inside and tucked in nice and safe."

Kaylee smiled, letting him guide her into the warmth of the bar. The rest of the crew was gathered around the fireplace, laughing over some shared joke. Mal deposited Kaylee in one of the armchairs, heading to the bar for a drink. Simon had saved her seat on the couch and she moved to sit next to him, smiling when he let her lean against his shoulder.

Inara and Book were at the table next to the couch, watching everything with bemused detachment. Zoe and Wash were, of course, draped across each other like the love-blissed couple they were. Kaylee sighed happily, letting the image of the war being fought out of her head as Mal returned with drinks for everybody. Jayne dropped his half-eaten apple, eagerly taking the offered mug and immediately downing a mouthful.

Kaylee looked at her shipmates with a new kind of awe. They may be criminals, smugglers, fugitives and liars... but they were also a multitude. Chinese, African, Caucasian, mixtures and mutts. Tams and Fryes, Cobbs and Books. All different, all at peace at the moment.

That had to count for something.

Ballad of the Army Carts Du Fu

Wagons rattling and banging, Horses neighing and snorting, Conscripts marching, each with bow and arrows at his hip, Fathers and mothers, wives and children, running to see them off-- So much dust kicked up you can't see Xian-yang Bridge! And the families pulling at their clothes, stamping feet in anger, Blocking the way and weeping-- Ah, the sound of their wailing rises straight up to assault heaven. And a passerby asks, "What's going on?" The soldier says simply, "This happens all the time. From age fifteen some are sent to guard the north, And even at forty some work the army farms in the west. When they leave home, the village headman has to wrap their turbans for them; When they come back, white-haired, they're still guarding the frontier. The frontier posts run with blood enough to fill an ocean, And the war-loving Emperor's dreams of conquest have still not ended. Hasn't he heard that in Han, east of the mountains, There are two hundred prefectures, thousands and thousands of villages, Growing nothing but thorns? And even where there is a sturdy wife to handle hoe and plough, The poor crops grow raggedly in haphazard fields. It's even worse for the men of Qin; they're such good fighters They're driven from battle to battle like dogs or chickens. Even though you were kind enough to ask, good sir, Perhaps I shouldn't express such resentment. But take this winter, for instance, They still haven't demobilized the troops of Guanxi, And the tax collectors are pressing everyone for land-fees-- Land-fees!--from where is that money supposed to come? Truly, it is an evil thing to bear a son these days, It is much better to have daughters; At least you can marry a daughter to the neighbor, But a son is born only to die, his body lost in the wild grass. Has my lord seen the shores of the Kokonor? The white bones lie there in drifts, uncollected. New ghosts complain and old ghosts weep, Under the lowering sky their voices cry out in the rain.