Kaylee’s Lament

Part Nine

Cold, wet, and exhausted, Kaylee clung tightly to the mule as it rumbled into the pressureless airlock that connected Onyx with the frozen wasteland that was Set. Despite her aching body and her mostly-frozen brain, she was elated. Not many ventured out into the Outside. There were gangs of scavengers who picked through decades-old junk in the debris fields south of the city, looking for pieces small and portable enough to be able to sell on the Concourse. But there were little in the way of organized exploitation of this huge frozen bonanza of slighty-used after-market parts (some lightly damaged by battle and/or impact). The scavengers were, in general, non-technicians, folks just desperate enough for coin to feed them another day to bundle their rags tightly around them and poke through the few picked-over wrecks closest to the city. Apart from that, people mostly left the Outside to itself. There were rumors of squatters, of course, violent hermits who made their homes in the derelict hulks . . . Kaylee and Wash had spent most of the day prowling around the huge Alliance dumps left over from the War. Kaylee was amazed at the sheer volume of parts within the twisted scrap metal. Concerned that ingenious Independents – or other factions —would be attracted to salvage munitions and supplies from wrecks left floating in space after battle, the Alliance had thrown many of the hulks they had recovered in this quadrant down Set’s gravity well and into its freezing maelstrom of atmo, where they wouldn’t trouble anyone or remain a hazard to navigation. After the war, the Alliance had just left, leaving the debris to an icy grave. They were abandoning the world, and they were secure in the knowledge that salvaging the wrecks on any major scale would be cost-prohibitive. For large-scale operations, they were correct. For quick hit-and-run-and-steal-anything-you-can raids like this, not so much. The mule was pulling two trailers of salvaged debris, painstakingly removed from the various old hulks. There were over seventy, according to the Alliance’s own records. Everything from the old 2255 Albatross-class orbital shuttles to the Alliance’s own Victrix-class gunskiffs (with the munitions removed or rendered useless), there was a hundred hectares of assorted junk, too damaged to fly away, scattered on the sloping plain to the south of Onyx. Kaylee felt like she had taken at least half of it with her. It had been a powerful day, she reflected as she bounced along, every muscle aching. But she was happy. They had filled almost every order on both lists, and then some. They had a list for the job, and she had her own private list of parts for Serenity that she wanted. The first list had gone slowly, but surely, all day. The second . . . She hadn’t even recognized it at first, as the thrusters had been stripped and the neck that ran up to the cockpit had been brutally ripped away. But she was there: a Firefly class transport, one of Serenity’s sisterships. Half-covered with snow and frozen mud, Kaylee had almost walked past it on her way to an Alliance personnel carrier that might have a couple of things from her first list. When she realized what it was, she was shocked. The boat looked like Serenity, and for a microsecond she thought that it was her girl. It was alike enough to make her cry. But after she recovered her wits somewhat, she called Wash on the wireless and had him bring the mule over. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. The main cargo hatch was buried under snow, but the port shuttle lock was empty and open. Climbing up the side of the ship, they were able to enter her that way. Apart from the small drifts of snow that had blown in, the rest of the ship, they saw as they came in, was relatively intact. They removed their hoods and took out flashlights, and began exploring. The name of the ship had been the Golden Pear Blossom, and according to the registry numbers she had been built a few years before Serenity. No doubt she had started off life as a light-duty Core-world transport, but somewhere along the line she had gone out to the Rim and never came back. She had been pressed into service during the War at some point – the black, green, and yellow insignia of the Independent Space Navy was still in evidence in the kitchen – but that had been her last assignment. “Shiny!” Wash said, looking around gleefully. “Plenty of good parts here!” “It’s so sad,” the engineer said, ignoring his enthusiasm as she walked through the abandoned kitchen. Instead of the homey wooden table and brightly painted flowers, the walls were painted a non-descript gray and streaked with rust and fluid leakages. “It’s like Serenity’s ghost or somethin’.” “There were thousands of Fireflys built,” said Wash as he stripped off his gloves. “Very popular, back in the good ol’ days. Fly forever.” “I know, I know,” Kaylee said, taking off her own gloves. “I just hate takin’ parts like this. It’s like . . . robbin’ the dead or somethin’.” “Uh, we are robbers, Kaylee,” reminded Wash gently. “I know. Let’s look around. I want to see if she has any power couplings. The ones on Serenity’s port side are just askin’ to break down any time, now.” “Will do. You head for the engine room. I’m gonna look in the cargo hold.” “What for?” “For a while. I just want to see if there’s anything worth scavenging. But here, take this,” he said, pulling a small automatic pistol from under his parka. He checked the clip, thumbed on the safety, and handed it her, butt first. She accepted it the way she would have a live rattlesnake. “In case you run into any potential new boyfriends.” “You have the most twisted—” she said, laughing. “Just be careful. Zoe would have my ass . . .” Kaylee tucked it into a front pocket. She barely knew how to use one of those things – her one experience approaching something that looked like ‘combat’ had ended poorly, with her cowering behind a bulkhead. She had practiced with a gun twice since then, and only because her abortive encounter with Jubal Early had left her with a deep desire for security. She still doubted she could ever shoot at anything, much less hit it. She felt a lot more confident in the 10mm wrench she carried than she did with that pistol. She made her way down the dark corridor to the engine room, stepping carefully around debris as she went. In three places the wiring that ran through the corridor had been cut. However this ship had died, it hadn’t been pretty. The engine room itself was similar to her own, but with some key differences. She stared at the central core spindle with a smile, shining her flashlight around at the strange configuration the last engineer had cooked up. Fireflys were endlessly adaptable, created as inexpensive light transports with endless ways to cobble spare parts on. Not nearly as finicky as something designed to military spec. Seeing how another engineer handled the same problems she faced was a intriguing. After staring in wonder for a few moments, she lit an area torch to chase back the shadows, then got to work stripping off important parts. She was happily at work when she spied something that was worth all the parts in the room put together. Up on a dry-welded shelf on the drab gray wall – so different than the warm colors she had painted her engine room with – were three thick books that immediately attracted her attention. Her heart in her throat, she walked slowly over and reverently pulled one off the shelf.

ENGINEERING MANUAL: FIREFLY TRANSPORT

It took her a moment to comprehend, then another to catch her breath. She clutched the book to her chest like a lover, thanking the Black that she had decided to overcome her initial hesitation and come in here. Serenity’s manuals were lost long, long before Kaylee ever met her. And while Kaylee appreciated the challenge of figuring out the daily puzzle of how to keep her girl running, this book would have answers to some of her deeper questions. As she opened it, she saw with a wild shiver of delight the copious notes the previous engineers had kept on their service. The collected experience and wisdom of her spiritual fathers. She almost cried.

She took equal care of the second book:

ENGINEERING SPECIFICATIONS: FIREFLY TRANSPORT

She opened it like Shepherd Book opened the scriptures: with reverential awe. There it was. Every sweet line, every graceful curve, every circuit, every conduit, every beautiful system and subsystem, with charts, graphs, and tables of numbers – it was all there. She tucked that book into her parka, next to her skin. It was cold, but warmed quickly with the heat of her body. She didn’t want to be parted from that book – ever. There was too much she didn’t know, too much that couldn’t be easily tracked down on the cortex. This book could save all of their lives, someday. She was almost hesitant to take the third book, a thinner volume with a black cover. But she had already found treasure beyond price; this could be a dictionary or a crappy novel, and she still wouldn’t be disappointed. She pulled the third book down, brushed the dust off it’s cover.

OWNER’S MANUAL: FIREFLY TRANSPORT

Her elation lessened just a might. This was still a valuable book. It would have all sorts of information, technical specs and the like, that would be useful to Wash, and probably Mal, too. But the first two books were magical. She put down her tools and took all three books forward. She had to show this to Wash. Of all the crew, he would appreciate this the most. He was the one next closest to Serenity’s spinning core her mechanical heart. He would know better than anyone what this would mean. Kaylee moved quietly back down the corridor, hearing Wash’s good-natured swearing at various inanimate objects as he tripped over them in the dark, including very funny improvised dialog between them. She couldn’t quite make out his words – the sounds on this ship were very different than Serenity, as she was unpressurized, open to the elements, and quite cold. Wash was down in the hold at the bottom of the stairs, poking around with his flashlight. Kaylee almost started down, about to call out to him, when she saw the shape in the dark. It was definitely the shape of a man – a big man. It stood stock still, cloaked in darkness, but she could make out his head, both massive arms – whoever it was, he was lurking directly behind Wash, over by the entrance to the airlock. Squatters. Had to be. She had heard tell of folks like that, outcasts of outcasts, inhabiting whatever shelter they could find. Only two steps away from the inhuman barbarism of the Reavers, it was said. Bad, bad men who not even pirates and slavers could bear to have in their company. Half-mad, they clung to hidden places such as this, jealously guarding their improvised homes, their titanium caverns, killing and looting whoever dared trespass. This ship must be his lair. And he was standing right behind Wash. Kaylee was frozen with fear. If she alerted Wash, she would also alert the squatter, which would put Wash in peril. She didn’t think the squatter had seen her yet – he was stock still, intently trained on Wash’s back. She was above his plane of sight, anyway, she decided. He wouldn’t look up here without reason. She didn’t want to give him a reason. She though briefly of the wireless on her belt, but this close the squatter would hear her voice in the room as easily as he would through the speaker. No, she was going to stand here helplessly, endlessly debating, and let Wash get attacked. She thought of Zoe, and thought of trying to explain her failure to the woman. She didn’t imagine that conversation would go well. It wasn’t going real well inside her head, either. Kaylee, she said to herself, it’s time you acted like a grown woman. But I’m no gunfighter! Kaylee insisted. Oh, but you’ve shot one before. And neither is Wash. That didn’t stop him from shootin’ when there needed to be shootin’. I’m as like to hit Wash as the squatter, she thought. The squatter is like to hit Wash in the back, if you don’t do something. I’m an engineer! You’re a member of Serenity’s crew! That’s a crewmate down there! she told herself sternly. You have an obligation to him. He’s saved your life! He got you laid! How can you just let him get killed in cold blood when you’re standin’ right here, a fully loaded gun in your pocket? I’ll just get myself killed, Kaylee thought madly. Then who will take care of Serenity? Don’t do nothin’, and that squatter will likely kill Wash and then have your cowardly little ass for dessert. I ain’t a coward! Kaylee declared. I done beat a man senseless! Yeah . . . and so now you’re gonna make Zoe a widow ‘cause you’re too scared to fight for your friends, much less yourself? What if that man was Jubal Early? You surely wanted to kill him dead. Yes, I surely did, Kaylee admitted. But I’m glad River did instead. Well, River ain’t here, and you are, and that hulking great squatter ain’t gonna wait for her to arrive! Get to it, girl, or die trying! Kaylee swallowed, then had the foresight to stuff all three books into her parka. They weren’t bulletproof, but they were thick, and they might slow a bullet down a might. Worth a shot. Once she had buttoned up, she slowly took out the pistol, slowly clicked off the safety, and planned her next move. She remembered endless discussions of schools of thought on infantry tactics and dirty fighting around Serenity’s kitchen table. She was always horridly fascinated by the casual way Mal and Zoe and Jayne discussed killin’ folk. But she had listened, and remembered Zoe saying that keeping surprise was an essential element of a winning strategy. She also remembered Mal speaking of sudden, unexpected fields of attack. Then she remembered Jayne saying that all that was garbage, and that all you really needed to do was run at a body and keep shootin’ and screamin’ and hope you spooked them enough to keep them from shooting back. That sounded like a plan. It wasn’t elegant, but it fit both the situation and Kaylee’s own estimation of her abilities. She was good at screamin’. Not so much with the shooting. But if she kept the squatter off guard enough to allow Wash to draw his own gun – he was a decent shot, she knew. Taking a deep, deep breath, she aimed and leapt down three rusty stairs. When her feet landed, she began shooting and screaming. Keep moving, she remembered Mal saying. Once you start, you don’t stop for nothin’. She moved. She kept moving, willing her feet and legs forward. If you were moving, you were harder to hit. She kept moving. By the time she got to the landing, she had fired four times, screamed her breath away. It had startled Wash, who glanced up in panic and assessed the situation quickly enough to draw his revolver and pound away in the same general direction before the squatter could even get a shot off, throwing his body prone on the deck and screaming at the top of his lungs. Kaylee’s pistol clicked empty about the same time that Wash’s did. “What the hell?” he screamed. “What was that?” “I saw someone behind you!” Kaylee yelled back from the landing. “Wu de tyen ah! Did you get him?” “He ain’t shootin’ back! One of us got ‘em!” “Cover me while I reload,” he whispered loudly. “I ain’t got no more rounds!” she screamed back. “And now he knows that! Ye Soo! Alright! I’m reloaded again, and I have a grenade, too, if I need it! Zhu tamin ya min zhu yi!” “Ohmygod!” She clutched one hand to her mouth despite herself. “If I don’t make it, get the rest of the platoon back here with the dogs and the flamethrowers!” “What!?!” shrieked Kaylee, confounded by the pilot’s ravings. The moment the cry left her lips, she realized what Wash was doing. “Just do it, corporal! And tell Zoe I love her!” Before she could question him further, Wash scrambled forward out of the dim light of his fallen torch. Kaylee’s heart felt like an overprimed reactor, and she fought the urge to vomit. Every heartbeat she didn’t hear from Wash was an icy eternity. Her breath made big billowy clouds of steam in the faint orange light of the torch. Finally, she heard his voice. “C’mon down, Kaylee. You got him.” “Is he alone?” she whimpered. “All alone. But don’t worry. He ain’t gonna hurt you. You blew his face clean off.” “Ohmygod, ohmygod, wuo de ma!” she said, throwing herself down the remainder of the stairs, tripping over Wash’s tools. “Ohmygod I killed someone!” When she approached Wash’s looming form, she saw the faint outline of the big man’s body, slumped to one side. “You sure did,” Wash said, a certain ironic note in his voice. “Blew it right off.” “Kwin-gwe-je deh,” Kaylee simpered. “I can’t look.” Wash put his arm comfortably around her shoulders. “You have to look, Kaylee. It’s your first kill. Your introduction into the dark and painful world of violent murder. There are certain rituals that must be performed to complete your initiation into the inner core of the criminal fraternity. Look at his face, Kaylee!” Wash thundered in a very non-Wash way. “Look at the face of your first victim, gunned down in cold blood!” Kaylee looked, through bitter, icy tears. She looked – and her shoulders sagged. “You done killed your first spacesuit, little lady.” “You are such an asshole, Wash. Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze fuh ur-tze!” She stared in disbelief. The suit had been hanging up next to the suit locker, on a rack that didn’t have a counterpart on Serenity. It was far from complete – the backpack had been removed, and both gauntlets were gone. But in the dark, at a distance, it had looked like a big, hulking squatter. “It was good shooting, actually,” Wash said conversationally as Kaylee tried to pull herself back together from the edge of hysterics and decide if she wanted to pistol whip the pilot, or merely kick him a couple of times in the balls. “Look: three shots, right in the faceplate. If that had been a squatter, he’d been dead before I drew. You had good instincts.” He didn’t point out the two much bigger holes in the chestplate that his gun had made. “Oh, Wash, do you really think?” “Oh, yeah. No doubt.” “I feel like a gorram idiot.” “I know you do, honey, but that’s okay. If that had been a real threat, I hope you would react the same way. You did exactly the right thing.” There was a pause while they examined Kaylee’s victim. “After all, it was comin’ right at us,” Wash pointed out. There was another pause. “Ain’t no way you’re gonna keep this to yourself and not tell anyone, is there?” Kaylee asked, hopefully. “Oh no, no way. Hell, no. No. No way could I do that. Are you kidding? You couldn’t write a story this good!” Wash said, shaking his head and looking at the body. “Didn’t think so.” “Hey, look on the bright side.” “And that would be . . .?” He slapped her good naturedly on the shoulder. “After this, ain’t no one going to bring up the brawl you started in the brothel for a while.” “Gee, Wash, you always see the bright side of a situation, don’t you?” “I’m a real ‘glass half-full’ kind of guy.”

There were other treasures aboard. Apart from the manuals – which Wash conceded were a trove unto themselves – they found two functioning spacesuits, an essential part for the protein sequencer, a number of newer-than-Serenity’s gauges and controls, two complete factory-new pressure hull patch kits, a half-empty crate of thoroughly frozen emergency rations (Alliance issue – apparent spoils of war), and a water recycler that looked only partially installed. Kaylee gleefully liberated them all. The galley yielded a store of canned goods that had to be cut out – the locker mechanism was jammed. It also had a huge box of frozen green tea and two sealed plastic bottles of rice wine. But the best treasures were the ones in the crew quarters. Inside the Captain’s cabin (what would have been Jayne’s cabin in Serenity) they found a log-book that went back to the first days of service of the Golden Pear Blossom, written in the hands of five different captains. They also found several old guns – pistols and submachine guns, still very serviceable – in the arms locker, along with a couple of crates of ten-year-old ammunition. They found two caches of cash, one a very large stack of Independent banknotes, which were worth no more than toilet paper, and a smaller one of Alliance currency – about three hundred credits. Kaylee spent two hours prying the prize of prizes out of the ship: the transponder. Factory sealed and powered by a radiovoltaic cell, the transponder was still functioning, although not well enough to be read through the electro-magnetics of the chaotic atmosphere. The transponder was built to never be separated from the ship. It’s constantly broadcasting signal relayed the ship’s location, registry and vital statistics to potential rescuers (and interested law-enforcement authorities) and was welded directly onto the ship’s frame. While Kaylee was wrestling with that, Wash had another idea. One of the reasons Mal had been so eager to purchase a Firefly was the ship’s famed nooks and crannies, extra spaces built into the design that were perfect for smuggling. There were three or four of them on the ship, he knew, and he doubted that even the most lily-white and law-abiding Firefly captain could resist using them to conceal a few select goods. He was right. In the main smuggling compartment he found (to his dismay) three unopened crates of ordinance – light infantry support ammunition and grenades, mostly. Packed tightly around them were Alliance issue survival blankets and a limp bag that Wash first decided were soybeans – until he saw the GREEN COFFEE – PRODUCT OF XIAO stencil on the side of the burlap. He greedily snagged those. Real, good coffee was a rarity in space. Most of the thruster fuel they drank was only thinly disguised as the real brew. Real, good, hard-working coffee could only be grown on a handful of colonies, and most of those were in the Core. In another smuggling compartment he discovered a pile of papers that were probably very important during the War, but were likely only a historical curiosity at this point. He shrugged and included them in the pile. He didn’t mind making money on history. Besides, maybe Zoe and Mal could get all teary and nostalgic about the good ol’ days. They didn’t do that enough, he thought sarcastically. The third compartment was used as a simple storage area for spare parts and broken equipment, few of which looked worth taking. But the fourth . . . Only he, Mal, and Zoe knew about that one. Not even Jayne, who was higher up in the chain of command than he, had been trusted with its location. It was a small little cabinet in the third crew room (Mal’s on Serenity), completely concealed by how the bulkhead and the access door to the air system control came together. You couldn’t even see it – you had to feel for it. Mal kept a back-up set of ship’s papers there, as well as his last will and testament and other important papers. So did the former captain of the Pear Blossom. The ship’s ownership papers were there, as well as an Independent-era code book, a sealed set of orders, a .38 automatic, and a small cloth bag full of platinum. At least five hundred credits worth. Wash was tempted. No one else knew about this money. Kaylee was in the other room, tearing out the transponder. No one would know. . . No, Wash decided, weighing the heavy bag in his palm. I’m not that kind of man. I am loyal to my captain and my crew, one of which is my wife who could either do me severe physical violence or worse, withhold sex indefinately. And any honorable crook knew you shared every scrap of loot with the gang. It was a matter of pride and honor. Wash stared at the bag. Pride and honor. He weighed it in his palm. Pride and honor. Shrugging, he poured six big coins out of the bag, shoved them in his parka, and re-tied it. Honor was for warriors. Pride was for the proud. He was a pilot, a damn good one, who got paid only sporadically and whose wife was getting more and more anxious to start a family. He could at least take her to dinner the next decent world they were on, maybe even spring for a slinky dress and a four star hotel. Well, he decided, a three star hotel. They wouldn’t be checking out the amenities much, no need to waste funds. He swept the other stuff into a sack and started up the ladder. “Kaylee, you’ll never believe what I just found . . .”

There was so much loot that there was no way that they could fit it all into the mule. Instead of trying, they took the most valuable bits and left the rest in a pile just inside the airlock – Wash would bring out the shuttle later to get it all. As the sun set behind the constantly swirling clouds (Set had a day a little under thirty hours – another poor statistic for terraforming) Wash steered the mule back towards Onyx, while Kaylee rode along in one of the carts, one of the submachine guns sitting (unloaded) in her lap to discourage too many questions or too much casual interest in their shopping trip. They went through the lock and down the cargo ramp to the service corridor that ran parallel to the Main Concourse. After driving the mule into Serenity’s cargo hold and noting that everyone else was absent, they threw off their parkas and decided to warm up down the way, where there was a popular noodle shop. The chill of naked Set was enough to drive anyone towards tea, and over piping hot glasses of good black Yuanese Oolong and steaming bowls of congee, they slowly but surely came back to something approaching room temperature. “Want to thank you for what you did on Sophia,” Kaylee said quietly, after they had warmed up slightly. The shop was very warm, the big boiling pots hanging over an open gas fire. “That was very sweet.” “Oh, anyone would have done it. Which part are you talking about?” “Finding me a temporary boyfriend. Wash, I was in a bad way, and you took care of me. I’m grateful that you care. It’s sweet. I can see why Zoe found you so attractive.” “Oh, she didn’t. Not at first. Not ‘till I shaved off my mustache. Then it was just a matter of getting her good and drunk.” “You know what I mean.” “Look, Kaylee, I feel bad for you. Shipboard life, I know it’s tough on everyone, but Zoe and I do have a . . . release that you guys don’t. Unless you count Inara. But I know you’ve been all twitterpated since Simon came on board. The little guy is cute as the dickens. I really like him, and I respect what he’s doing. If he wasn’t putting a big ass target on the ship, I’d be happier, but then again we’d still be wanted for something or other. But I know it’s been hard on you, and I thought that blowing off a little steam might be good for you. Didn’t really plan on the bar fight, or the subsequent threats of spaceport dueling.” “But you took care of me,” insisted the engineer. “That means somethin’ to me.” “Well, you take care of us. You keep us flying, you fix the ship, you cook better than anyone else. If I was a pretty young surgeon I’d be on you like a Reaver on a puppy-dog.” “Thanks, Wash, that’s sweet. And kind of gross and disturbing all at the same time.” “No problem.” “I really don’t rightly understand how you an’ Zoe keep things going so well, for so long.” “We fight.” “Huh?” “We fight. A lot. Oh, not the usual call-the-cops-for-the-third-time-tonight kind of fighting, but we mix it up pretty regular. But only in our bunk. Verbally, you understand. If it ever got physical, I’d be dead by now.” “You fight?” she asked incredulously. “And that keeps the marriage together?” “So far so good,” admitted Wash, toying with his congee. “Look, sweetie, all married couples fight. You can’t help it. You put any two people together, and no matter how compatible they might be there are gonna be issues. Conflicts, differences of opinion, in-laws, money, sex – it all comes up eventually. So you have to fight. If you don’t fight, then one person walks all over the other until there isn’t a real marriage anymore. All couples fight. “But it’s the way we fight. We figured out early on that Zoe was a brute, and I’m just so gorram intelligent and funny that a traditional marital spat may not turn out to be healthy. So we came up with a list of rules for fighting. Our ‘rules of engagement’.” “I can’t wait to hear this,” Kaylee said, amused. “Oh, it’s pretty simple, really. No ‘kidney punches’ – we don’t purposefully punch each other’s buttons, our weak spots. My dinosaur fetish, for instance. Or her – well, wouldn’t be right to tell tales out of school. But we don’t try to hurt each other on purpose.” “Reasonable,” she admitted. “Secondly, no name calling or luh-suh ad hominem attacks. Third, no bringing up crap from previous arguments. Once it’s done, it’s done. Of course, issues can be tabled for fighting at a more convenient time – we do a lot of that. Fourth, we stay civil and polite, especially in public, and try not to raise our voices. Well, not so much around Mal, but he’s earned any embarrassment he might feel. Army buddy stuff. And fifth . . .” “Yeah?” Kaylee asked, intrigued. “We fight . . . naked.” “Shumma?” “It’s surprisingly effective,” Wash continued, grinning. “My idea. Hard to hold a grudge against a naked person. Especially when you want to hold something else against her.” “Fay-fay d’pian! That’s the biggest load of fei hua,” Kaylee declared. “You guys don’t really fight naked, do you?” “Kaylee, marriage is a tough job. Sometimes you have to do things to make it work. Sometimes unpleasant things. Unspeakable things. Unspeakable, unpleasant, horrible things that involve live animals, or maybe a fish.” “You are so full of shit!” “But happily married to the toughest bitch in the Black. You gonna argue with that kind of success?”

Back at Serenity, the others had started to drift in. Zoe and Wash disappeared as soon as he arrived – no doubt to ‘fight’ – and Inara was reading a book in the lounge. Kaylee smiled at her and got one in return. Jayne and Book were arguing over something inconsequential and probably obscene. Simon was no where to be seen – probably in his bunk. Kaylee felt a brief pang, but quelled it before it got out of control. She took a mess of salvaged parts back a to the engine room, where she stored them away in a few convenient places. Then she returned to her own bunk with her prized books and kicked the ladder. She was so tired she could have fallen asleep on the ladder. Only the prospect of reading those manuals kept her from doing so. When she reached the bottom, she kicked off her boots and grimaced at the stench. She wanted a bath – and might use some of her savings to buy one. Pirate ports were short on amenities, outside of booze and whores, but one thing that you could find in nearly every spaceport was some enterprising soul who had purchased or fabricated a bath tub, a hot water heater, and invested heavily in perfumed soaps and shampoos. Most of them would rent you an attendant, if needed, or a whore if desired, but some were just about the bath. Even the meanest ports – Onyx included – had a few dozen of these stalls scattered about. Kaylee was thinking seriously about availing herself. After she slept. She was about to sprawl out on her bunk when she froze. On her bed, in the shape of a big ‘S’, were ten big, fresh strawberries. “Oh, he does love me,” she said, dreamily. She plucked one and popped it reverently into her mouth, savoring the way her teeth cut through the sweet red flesh of the berry, the way the juice slightly burned her throat and filled her nose with magic. She didn’t know where he got them, considering Onyx’s climate – no doubt hydroponically grown and ridiculously expensive – but that made the berry all the sweeter. She put the rest of the red ‘S’ into a container next to her bunk and settled down with her new book. She was sleeping before she got passed the boring introduction, strawberries on her breath. She awoke a completely inadequate hour later to the thudding of feet on the deck above. Worried, she rose and started up the ladder. Jayne was shouting, and so was Zoe. Bleary eyed and catching just the end of the conversation, she got the gist of it: the Captain and River had still not returned. Kaylee could feel that there was something wrong, and moments later Jayne confirmed her fears when he spat at her in passing: “Gou tsao de Mal has done gone and got hisself shot in the anus or the rectum or somthin’!” he said as he headed for the airlock, strapping on his weapons belt. “Jen dao mei!”