“I hate laundry day,” Kaylee said bitterly as she lugged a duffel bag of her clothes into the cargo hold. River was just behind her, walking dreamily, like a dancer through a staged set, her eyes looking everywhere but in front of her. “Continuing to wear soiled apparel is considered unhygienic and reduces social status in most cultures,” River explained, as if this was news to Kaylee. She had her own clothes in hand – by ship tradition, Men and Women did laundry on different days. No one was sure why – there seemed little point at shyness for a ship as small as Serenity – but that was spacer tradition, and Travelers of all stripes were more-or-less bound by it. There was also a tradition that everyone did their own laundry. It didn’t matter if you were the Captain of a Core-world Metroliner or the lowest mate on the junkiest tramp freighter. Laundry was a personal thing in space. It had taken River several weeks to understand that, under Kaylee’s guidance. Of course, she hadn’t had much in the way of clothing upon her emergence from cryogenic sleep, so it hadn’t been much of an issue back then. “I know why we do it. I just hate doin’ it, is all,” Kaylee said matter-of-factly. “It ain’t like at home, where you chucked ‘em in a tub o’ suds, or paid Ms. Kee to take them down to the river.” “They do not smell the same way,” River agreed, dumping her clothes out chaotically on the deck. Growing up, her clothes had never even gotten close to a river rock, but even machine-washed and servant-folded laundry had a fresher smell. Kaylee picked another spot on the deck and dumped hers. “Clean clothes should smell fresh, like a mountain breeze,” she said, wistfully. “Or like carefully combined chemical compounds designed to elicit a positive olfactory response, leading in turn to the purchase of more detergent." “I don’t see no mountains, crazy girl.” Kaylee kicked her clothes around haphazardly with her foot until they were spread more or less evenly on the deck. River sat down gracefully and spread her clothes out carefully by hand. Her wardrobe was growing – Simon had only thought to buy her a few ill-fitting things when he busted her out of the Academy. Most of what she had was donated by Kaylee and Inara (Zoe’s frame was just too large), but she had picked up a few other things – underwear and socks, mostly, but some homespun skirts and dresses, too – on some of the frontier worlds. She looked up with a most cogent –and wicked – look in her eyes. “I am not the one who got into a bar fight and—” “That’s quite enough, thank you,” Kaylee interrupted quickly, but not harshly. “I done been lectured by near everyone on the ship, and ‘Nara’s gonna get her turn after we pick her up. ‘Ceptin’ your brother. He still don’t know, does he?” There was a small waver to her voice that belied her casual attitude. “Completely oblivious,” agreed River. “Are these pretty?” She held up a light cotton dress, pale yellow and simply cut. Kaylee looked at it and made an assessment. “That came from ‘Nara, didn’t it? Yeah, its pretty – on you. Yellow ain’t her color, no more’n blue’s mine. But it’s surely pretty. Inara’s got better taste than everyone else on the boat put all together.” “I really don’t know anymore,” confessed River. “Since the Academy, I mean. I can’t tell if something is pretty just to me, or if it’s pretty to everyone.” “You ain’t the only one sufferin’ from that,” Kaylee said, smiling as she got the detergent bottle out of a locker. “If Mal didn’t wear the same gorram thing every day of his life, I reckon he’d dress hisself like a clown half the time. Notice how he only wears earth-tones? He makes it out like its ‘cause he was a Browncoat ‘n’ all, but if I was a wagerin’ woman, I’d say the man is more’n half colorblind.” She started to spray her clothes rigorously, hitting some of them that displayed grease spots or other stains very thoroughly, occasionally using the little bottle of stain remover attached to the side to handle the problematic areas. When the mist had settled down, she handed the bottle to River and started rubbing in the detergent. “What’s with Wash and the Hawaiian shirts?” River asked, sounding more like a catty teenager and not a computer for a change. “I been tryin’ to figure that one out since I came aboard.” “A flamboyant style of dress can indicate deep-seated emotional issues, including dysfunctional problems with ego, self-esteem, and social conformity.” offered River, spraying her clothes as if she were attacking them. Every now and then Kaylee would help her aim, as she was still rather inexpert with the bottle. “Have you interrogated Zoe about it?” “One don’t interrogate Zoe, ‘less she want to be ‘terrogated. ‘Specially about Wash. She’s real private-like. But I wondered. He’s got a couple that I swear will give you radiation burns. Now your brother, he knows how to dress. Snappy dresser. I guess they teach you that in doctor’s school.” “Simon has always been fond of fine clothing,” River said, finishing spraying. Kaylee was already headed for the airlock with her load. “At least I think so. Sometimes the memories do not come as they should.” She started clipping her damp, soiled laundry to the interior of the airlock, as Kaylee was doing. “Is it true that you want to have sex with my brother?” Kaylee stopped what she was doing and just stared at the girl. “I don’t know if you got your tact removed when they cut open your brainpan, or if you’re just bein’ seventeen. What kind o’ gorram question is that?” “Observation has revealed evidence that you seek to have intimate relations with Simon. Your behavior on Sophia, your manner of dress at ship social functions, your attempts at casual physical interaction, and the way your pupils expand when he is within your view indicate a high degree of carnal interest.” “It’s gotta be your age,” decided Kaylee, shaking her head. “Ain’t anyone can take a body’s brain apart worse’n teenage hormones.” “It is also apparent based upon your apparently promiscuous behavior—” “I KNOW!” Kaylee said, flushing deeply, as she returned to clipping her clothes “Gorram, you know how to get to a body. I ain’t real proud ‘bout it, y’know. Not the violent parts, leastways. All the stupid stuff I did – hey, did your brother have a girlfriend on Osiris?” “He had his share of females who admired him,” admitted River. “From what I recall, he was very popular at the seasonal festivals. Quite handsome – dressed well. And smart. For a boy. A good dancer. Not as good as me. But many females who expressed an interest discovered his complete inability to interact on a meaningful level. It occasionally led to the conclusion that he was a homosexual, but I knew otherwise based on his choice of pornography.” Kaylee looked astonished. “Simon looked at dirty pictures?” River nodded solemnly. “He attempted to conceal them within his school data. But I am a much better cryptographer than he, and the algorithmic codes he used were relatively simple to discover.” “Anything . . . unusual ‘bout them pictures?” Kaylee asked with great interest as she hung up the last pair of trousers. “Nothing that would elicit concern from a therapist. Ready?” “Yeah, clear the ‘lock.” Kaylee walked back to the control panel and sealed the inner hatch. “That’s good to know, I guess. So he looked at nekkid women – that’s a good sign. But he weren’t no good at talkin’ to ‘em, I’d wager.” “He has actually gotten quite better, I believe.” River waited until the door was completely shut and then stood on the tip-toes of her combat boots to peer through the window. This was her favorite part of laundry day. “Cycling,” said Kaylee, and she opened the outer hatch a few centimeters, allowing the lock to depressurize. River squealed as the air in the ‘lock was expelled into space, making their clothes twist as if in a hurricane for a few seconds before becoming unnaturally still. “I find that hard to believe, crazy girl. He’s about as dim as . . .” her voice trailed off a little, unable to find a suitable simile. “Well, he’s dim.” A thought suddenly occurred to the engineer. “River? You don’t . . . discuss any of this kinda thing with him, do you?” River stared back blankly. Finally, she said, “Confidences between females are often treated as privileged communication in private interpersonal situations. Violating this rule can lead to social ostracization.” “I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” she said, clearly relieved. “Shiny. I don’t know if I could handle that. That bein’ said, do y’know if he . . . y’know . . . has had any . . . experience?” “He is not a virgin. He lost his virginity to Clarice Meriwhether Lee the night of the Spring Ball when he was fifteen. They were in the back of my father’s hovercraft, and Clarice was not impressed by the experience. Simon, on the other hand, was absolutely unbearable for weeks.” Kaylee stared, open mouthed. “How the hell do you know that?” “I was a curious adolescent.” River continued to stare at the all-consuming nothingness of the Black, her breath steaming up the viewport. “That was just a few months before I went to the Academy. I overheard him discussing it with a friend, using inappropriate language and clumsy euphemisms. And Clarice complained about it to most of our social circle.” She turned around. “Apparently, his kissing left much to be desired.” Kaylee’s face colored again. “I don’t rightly know if I shoulda asked ‘bout that. Kinda gives me, y’know, an unfair advantage?” “If you are going to sleep with my brother, I think it best you make a fully-informed decision.” “Well, can’t rightly say I’ve made a decision – leastways, one that makes any difference. I do like Simon. He’s smart, he’s caring – he’s loyal enough to throw his entire magical Core-world life away to break his sister outa jail and get hisself chased by the gorram Alliance. An’ he’s . . . real, real cute.” Kaylee’s eyes had gone all dreamy. Suddenly, she snapped back to reality. “Not that it looks like it’ll ever work out, River, but I need to ask you: you gotta problem with how I feel ‘bout your brother? Book said he’s all confused, like, on account he left everything behind and never had no ‘sperience with a—a Rim-world girl like me.” River leaned forward and brushed Kaylee’s tear away even as it formed. “Ain’t nuthin’ wrong with who you are, Kaylee,” River said, her Rim-world frontier accent flowing as naturally as her Core-world words had a moment earlier. That was one little talent that unnerved people, Kaylee in particular: River’s ability to switch accents like a verbal chameleon. But this time it was an effective means of communicating her compassion – not mocking, but empathetic. “You want my permission to court, I think it’s shiny. Don’t matter t’me what Simon thinks, or what he don’t think. I know you a good person, Kaylee, and there ain’t no Core-world society bitch what could treat my Simon better’n you.” Kaylee cocked her head, moved by River’s tender speech. “Thank you River,” she said, fondly. “That means a powerful lot to me.” “You know,” River said, bringing her face about three inches too close to Kaylee’s, “you have the most texturous eyebrows.” “Um, thanks. Uh, time to ‘rinse’! Don’t want to miss that!” Kaylee turned, not wanting to hurt River’s feelings – but the image of a brightly flashing butcher knife and a scarlet diagonal line across Jayne’s chest flashed through her head. River didn’t take it amiss – she bounced over to the viewport again as Kaylee slowly bled atmo through the lock. Once the detergent-laden clothes had been exposed to vacuum, most of the dirt particles released by the detergent had been instantly frozen. Blowing warm atmo over them like this whisked the particles into the depths of the Black. After a full minute of the treatment, Kaylee closed the outer lock and repressurized the airlock. “Now, this here is the part I really hate,” the engineer said disdainfully as she retrieved her clothes and started to fold them. “I ain’t never liked foldin’ – never saw much use for it, ‘till ‘Nara showed me what happens to her good clothes when you don’t.” “I find the topological expression of creased fabric strangely soothing,” River said. She sat cross legged on the deck and was folding her clothes with machine like precision. “I’d rather make wrinkles into a fashion statement, myself.” “What do you think of my brother’s plan? Or are you too blinded by your lust to think about him objectively?” “Y’know,” Kaylee said, philosophically, “Your parents didn’t do near enough beatin’ of either o’ you two.” “We were almost never subject to corporal punishment. Daddy’s lectures . . .” “Never mind, come back, don’t go all weepy on me!” chided Kaylee. “I think it’s a damn fine crime, if that’s what you’re askin’. Getting’ that big ol’ machine and stealin’ it right out from the Alliance and gettin’ them to pay for us to do it all – it’s shiny sweet.” “You do realize that Simon has an ulterior motive,” River said, softly. “He isn’t doing this to gain materially or to benefit the frontier worlds.” “He ain’t?” “Nope. He’s doing it so that he can get a special piece of equipment he thinks can help my brain.” “What? He tell you that?” “Nah. I saw his requested supplies list. In addition to the TR-10, he has equipment and pharmaceuticals sufficient for invasive neuro-surgery; the drugs have all shown promise in accelerating the regeneration of select neurological tissue.” She folded a white smock that had gotten too small for Kaylee into a precise rectangle. “He doesn’t know I know, but I saw the manifest. That’s what he’s up to.” “So that’s why he’s so fired up ‘bout this plan?” “Yep.” Kaylee considered. “I don’t see that as a problem, I guess.” River stuck her tongue out. “It ain’t your brain he plans on sawin’ open!” she said, lapsing back into frontier dialect. Kaylee giggled and stuck her tongue out in return. “’Sokay, crazy girl, he ain’t gonna find nothin’ there anyhow!” “Though I ‘spect there’s other parts you wouldn’t mind him sawin’!” Kaylee turned bright, bright red. “You bitch!” “Yep. Don’t worry none too much though, y’dang engine monkey.” “Why’s that?” “Only two reasons he ain’t noticed your crude advances and desire fer proper courtin’: I’m one. Th’other is that he ‘spects to be dead in a couple months time, and he don’t wanna start nuttin’ and leave you with a parcel o’ regrets. Wouldn’t be fair to you.” Kaylee stopped again. “That’s about the stupidest thing I ever heard. Y’know? Your brother is as dumb as . . . he’s dumber than Jayne ‘bout women!” “Noticed that, didja?” asked River slyly. “Nuttin’ gets by our Kaylee!” * * * Serenity landed just to the north of the Thomasite monastery, well clear of the carefully cultivated crops and orchards that ringed the old stone structure. This wasn’t the main Mother House, or even a chapterhouse. It was a mission, and a remote one, at that. But it was also far, far away from Alliance attention, which suited the purposes of the meeting nicely. After they touched down, Mal, Jayne and Book took off on the mule for a dusty, windy ride through the gentle hills around the abbey. Mal silently regretted not getting that sweet hoverbike – sure would have come in handy on a stretch like this one. He drove carefully but quickly through the rows of corn towards the stone building, wary of rocks and other impediments in the dirt road. Jayne and Book held on behind him. “What are all these Shepherds doin’ out in this craphole?” Jayne shouted over the road noise. “They aren’t Shepherds. Different Order. They’re Monks!” “What’s the difference?” There was a long silence. “Well?” “I don’t rightly know how to describe it to you,” Book shouted back. “It has to do with the vows you take. And the rules you follow.” “Any they don’t get any trim either?” Jayne asked, mystified. “Not officially,” said Book. “They have been known to stray, just like anyone. But they’ve taken vows that include celibacy.” “You ever stray?” “That’s between me and the Lord!” “Just askin’. These monks, they jus’ pray all day?” “No, this isn’t a contemplative order. This is a service order. They pray, then they help folks, then they pray some more.” “Sound like workin’ folk.” “There’s a lot of hard work to be had at the abbey.” “Been avoidin’ hard work more’n seekin’ it.” “You would have made a lousy monk. For a number of reasons!” “These monk fellas – they peaceable folk?” “They have taken vows to take no lives, yes.” “Then how come there’s a passel of them in front of us with rifles and machine guns?” “Huh?” Sure enough, as Mal slowed the mule, six or seven brown-robed brothers, their hoods covering their heads, were surrounding the vehicle. They all bore weapons of one sort or another, including two that had Independent surplus Victory 707 9mm submachine guns and another three with Guodong 88 assault rifles. The others had pistol belts over their plain brown robes, and there was a scattering of grenades here and there. “Uh, hello?” said Mal as he came to a stop. He could feel Jayne tensing up the way he always did in these sorts of situation. “We’re looking for Brother Theodore? We have an appointment.” One of the shorter monks stepped forward, holstered his pistol, and flipped back his cowl to reveal a friendly-looking face, well fleshed and smiling. He stepped forward to shake hands. “Welcome to the Trinity Mission House, Captain . . .” His accent was pure Core-worlds – if Mal had to guess, he’d say Thor or Isis. They were a looong way from Thor or Isis. “Reynolds. Malcolm Reynolds.” Mal stripped off his driving gloves and pushed his goggles up to his forehead before reaching out and shaking the offered hand. The monk had a grip like iron. “We appreciate you coming to us with this. Have you eaten?” “Well, can’t say that we haven’t, but whether it was really food remains subject to debate,” Mal quipped. He turned to his crew. “This is my . . . head of security, Jayne Cobb, and this here is Shepherd Book. He’s the one what recommended y’all for this.” Hands were shaken as Brother Theodore introduced the other brothers, who all waved very friendly-like, considering they were as well armed as most Independent infantry squads had been in the war. “Brother Theodore? I hate to ask, but why do a bunch o’ peace-lovin’ men like yourselves pack enough iron here to ambush a supply train?” The monk scowled. “Precautions, Captain. We learned not two days ago that the Mission on Tiamat was wiped out by Reavers.” Most of the monks crossed themselves and whispered prayers at the mention of the fact. “While we aren’t as close to the Border as they were, our experience has demonstrated that sometimes Faith isn’t a sufficient weapon to combat the tyranny of evil men. We’ve had problems with bandits and rustlers ourselves. And we have learned to be wary of strangers who drop down from the Black, promising good intentions. The law around here is pretty thin on the ground.” “You got no problems shootin’ a man?” Jayne asked nervously. “I thought you Holy Joes had rules ‘bout that.” “Well, it’s true that the scriptures prohibit killing as a grievous sin,” noted Brother Theodore. “But I’d honestly rather have to ask the Lord forgiveness for that horrible sin than burying a Brother because we had more piety than sense.” “Besides,” added Brother Amos, Theodore’s deputy Abbot – who had a Rim-world accent, “we come up with a way that allows us to protect ourselves and still carry out our mission: a robber gets violent, and we draw our weapons and politely tell them that they seem to be standing exactly where we’re going to shoot. We ain’t threatenin’ them, per se, but they usually are willing to contemplate the consequences of their actions before they take them. Useful spiritual advice.” “Ain’t it though,” muttered Jayne, who was clearly unnerved by the thought of holy men who didn’t mind shooting if they needed to. “What about that sniper, then? He gonna shout that from way up yonder?” He jabbed his thumb up in the air and towards a grain silo. Brother Theodore looked perplexed and embarrassed. “Uh, that would be Brother James. He was a sniper in the war, and doesn’t like for us to conduct . . . business without a little insurance. Just a precaution, I assure you.” “Brother, we don’t aim to start any trouble. Come to talk trade, is all.” “Your reputation precedes you. By all means, let’s go inside for some lunch.” “I suspect there’ll be prayin’ afore chow,” muttered Jayne to Book. “It’s been known to happen.” “Just make damn sure they don’t get any on me.” “I think you’re quite immune by now.” “Good. Last thing I need is to go an’ get religion.” “Good. Last thing we need is to let it get out that we ain’t that picky about who we let in our little club.” Jayne looked at Book strangely. “You don’t think I’d make a good monk?” Book laughed, and slapped the mercenary on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Jayne, you’re already a folk hero. That’s amazing enough in this humped-up ‘verse. Were you to lay down arms and take holy orders, well, I’d say that until real proof of the Divine came along, that’d do for most reasonable folks.”

“You do got a pretty spread here, Brother,” commented Book. “Even Bathgate Abbey doesn’t have an orchard to compare with this one.” They stood on the veranda of the main house -- the building that housed the dormitories and the kitchens -- after a well-prepared lunch of fresh fruits and vegetables. Other out-buildings had other functions – equipment storage, stables, chicken coops, communications relay – but the dominating feature of the landscape was the large and fertile patch of green in a sea of brown-red dirt. “Thank you, Shepherd. That means a lot to us. We aren’t very close to what most folks call civilization, but we like to live well.” Brother Theo got down a decanter and poured four glasses of pale yellow liquid. “Dandelion wine – purely for medicinal purposes, I assure you.” “Monks that drink and got guns,” Jayne whispered and shook his head in disbelief. The wonder of it all didn’t stop him from pounding the glass. “Brother, I’ll come right to the point,” Mal said. “We may have something that you might be interested in, but we wanted to runit by you and get all the details in place before we went and committed.” “A wise course of action,” agreed Brother Theodore. “How you fixed for medicines?” Mal asked, grinning. The abbot immediately looked uncomfortable. “Food we can spare, even blankets and tools if you need them. But our stores of medicines are precious. Every drop, every pill comes from the Core, and costs ten times as much as it would there. So if you have some for sale, and the price is right, I'll not look too closely at where they came from.” “We are aware of your situation,” Book said. “And we know it is the norm, out here, not the exception. Yet it’s unlikely to get better any time soon. But we may have a way to fix that. Provided that we can trust you to keep our confidences.” Book fixed the abbot with a penetrating stare. “If you mean ‘away from the Alliance’, I assure you gentlemen, you have little to fear on that score. We are not supportive of the Alliance’s policies concerning the border worlds. Indeed, many of our brothers fought for the Independents in the war. Several others were bound by law when the war was over and charged with ‘providing aid and comfort to the enemy’ because our order ran aid stations on several Independent worlds. Myself,” he said, sighing as he looked out over the orchards, “I was a chaplain – for the Alliance.” Mal immediately stiffened, and Jayne placed his cup on the table, ready to leave, shoot, or otherwise spring into action on his Captain’s command. “Don’t let it concern you, Captain,” Theodore said gently. “You can run my service number on the cortex and you will find that I received a Dishonorable Discharge for refusing to obey orders. I was at Brookstone on Whitehall, you see, attached to an Alliance armor company. We had the Browncoats surrounded, all sewn up, and they would have laid down arms in a few days, had we held them. But the commander was anxious to curry favor with superiors, and so he ordered a full-scale attack – against my advice and under protest. He ordered every living thing at Brookstone to be killed. Including fifty-five women and thirty-two children, the families of the local militia. It was a barbaric slaughter, dishonorable conduct by any standards. I officially protested. I called in every military favor I had coming to me. I did everything in my power to have the crime investigated. For my trouble it got me a court martial and two years in a prisoner-of-war camp on Theseus. So no, I am not partial to purplebellies any more than you are . . . Sergeant.” “As long as we know where you stand,” said Mal softly. “If this is gonna work, we need to know we can trust y’all.” “So, what is this amazing plan that has brought you all the way to this insignificant flyspeck of a world?” Shepherd Book outlined the gist of the plan, showing copies of the seed catalog and Simon’s notes on production capacities. It took the better part of an hour, but at the end of the informal presentation the abbot was impressed. “I’m no physician, but I’m no idiot. If these are genuine, then yes, I think we can find a mutually beneficial outcome. Let me tell you right now, whether or not you can procure the machine, it will take time for these seeds to mature and propagate. So I want them now – and I’ll pay you a third of your asking price for them. The second part will be paid when the seeds come to fruit. The third will be paid when we positively identify the compounds you claim are in them. The machine? Well, if you can get it, then the Order will pay you . . . twenty percent of list price. In cash.” “Sounds . . . fair,” admitted Mal. “Can’t hardly blame you for bein’ a might cautious. Rough folk around.” “Plenty of good folk around too, Captain. Folk who need this medicine. It’d be nice if people on the Rim could raise their families with a reasonable expectation that they would survive, and maybe someday thrive. Every time I see a farmer blow his whole earthly savings on a month’s worth of medicine to keep his baby alive, I want to cry – and pray to God to smite the Alliance. Not a charitable feeling I know. But accurate.” “So where do a buncha monks get that kinda cash, anyhow?” asked Jayne. “Ain’t y’all supposed to be livin’ in poverty?” “True,” conceded Brother Theodore. “Our individual brothers do not own anything but their Bibles and their robes. But the Order, as a community, has some resources. A loyal and openhanded group of supporters back in the Core, for one. And then there are those who donate all their worldly possessions to the Order when they take their vows. I’ll be honest with you: a few of our members had coats of brown when they joined. And some had . . . less than savory reputations, but heaps of ill-gotten gain. We don’t ask where a donation comes from, and a Brother’s history here starts with the day he takes his vow – all else belongs to the past. We have a store of coin. We have off-world resources. And we have the weapons to protect them. So we’ll be your farmers, gentlemen. And we’ll be your distributors. Because, by the God I serve with every breath I take, I will not rest until the suffering of the Rim-worlds is diminished.” “And if we can’t get this here machine?” scowled Jayne. “What you gonna do then?” “Well, first I suspect you gentlemen are good at what you do. Your own reputation, while less-than-savory, includes several successes. Brother George, who spent a considerable amount of his life before he took Orders as a mid-level criminal on a space station near Hecate, still has a few family contacts with his former employers – and your handling of the Niska affair has branded you local legends. As has your other work . . . on Ariel, on Belarophon, on Canton – yes, Mr. Cobb, we know all about that. You have a rep for getting things done. Get this done . . . and the reward will be great. I think we can all agree on that. “But even if you fail, we’ll grow the seeds anyhow. And we will take cuttings to each Mission and Chapterhouse in the Order. And we will cultivate them until . . . well, until we can get one of these machines.” “So you’ll buy the machine?” asked Jayne. “And pay a fair price?” “We will. You have my word on it.” Jayne looked at Book, attempting to be subtle, and whispered: “Do monks gotta keep their word?” “It’s considered pretty standard,” agreed Book. “You have a deal, then,” said Mal, standing. “Speaking of deals, Captain, there is something else we can agree upon, I think.” “What’s that?” “Well, we’re also aware of the nature of Serenity’s . . . ambiguous status under the law. I want to first propose that, upon the completion of our deal, you and your crew will have a permanent welcome here. Far from the view of the Alliance. Plus, Brother George has given me three or four names of people who still live in the world and might be able to help you out concerning any, uh, documentation issues. Finally, I want you to accept my gift.” He pointed out the window at the Serenity’s mule, the cargo area of which was bulging with burlap bags. “I know it can be tedious eating nothing but protein all the time. Perhaps this small gift will make your journey lighter and more pleasant.” “Thank you, Brother, thank you so very much,” Book said, grinning. “Of course, it means Brother Jayne and I will have to walk back to the ship. But a small price to pay for such a generous gift. God bless you.” “Let’s just go, ‘kay?” Jayne said, anxiously. “Monks with guns, I can understand. Monks who used to be criminals, well, I can understand that too. But lookin’ around and not seein’ any womenfolk – just gives me the creeps, somehow. Ain’t natural.” He shook his head sadly. “Nah, ain’t natural at’ll.”