This belongs to Joss, just borrowing the characters for a while...

For my Big Damn Heroes, Adam Baldwin, Robert Anson Heinlein, Tennessee Ernie Ford and, oh yeah, Joss Whedon ;) Thanks!

***

"In case I haven't mentioned it, me and Kip just spent some time in the Canton factory settlement on Higgins Moon." Rhysling paused while his unseen audience collectively held their noses. He listened till they'd had their say and went on. "Yeah, it stank..."

"My sympathies," a man in the audience said. "I hope you got away really, really fast!"

"Not so much, as it happened. We were there six weeks, the ship we came on took off without us." He held up his hand as the audience groaned. "Their captain was a very jealous and insecure man..."

It felt like a good crowd, tonight. From what he'd overheard (and a blind man overheard quite a lot), the second biggest factory was pulling a lot of overtime, building components for yet another starscraper for the Alliance. These people had money and wanted a good time, which was just the way Kane Rhysling liked it.

He told a few anecdotes about Canton, working his way around to the crowd-pleaser that was the little moons' best-loved export. He was a little surprised when someone asked for 'Sixteen Tons.' It was as old as company towns and Earth-That-Was.

"Some people say a man is made outta mud... A poor man's made outta muscle and blood..."

When he was done, he heard someone call for 'Sweet Home, Shadow Planet.'

"We have some Shadowers here tonight? Shiny..." Rhysling was dry, tired and more than a little down. He felt a warm, soft hand on the back of his, which was guided to a mug. Rhysling sipped it.

"Let me take this one, Rhys. I love that song."

"You've triply blessed me, lady fair. Once for the joy of your voice, twice for the sound of 'Duke' and thrice over for the Tullamore Brew!" Rhysling took a long pull to the cheers of the crowd, grabbed his sonador and made his way off the stage, led by Kip.

Angie, the tavern owner's daughter, tuned up her guitar. He'd written a song about it, once. 'Duke' was carved into the front. It was a sacred relic of Earth-That-Was, authentic in the fashion of a 500-year-old instrument which had, over that time, had every part replaced, many, many times. All that remained was its' soul, and Rhysling had never doubted that musical instruments were imbued with a soul. Music was all he had, aside from Kip.

Kip growled a warning as Rhysling finished his beer.

"Don't play it." The voice was pretty high up, a tall man and strapping.

"Play what?" he asked, pulling his sonador close, protective. The electronic synthesizer was an old companion, from the days when he'd been an engineer and scoffed at traditional instruments. Such a tortured voice, this was like to be quick and unpleasant.

"Hero-" he snorted, then his voice got rough, "of Canton."

"Got to. Getting back at The Man, that's got universal appeal. I've sung it in Officers' Clubs... Sit down and join me. What'll you have?"

"Mudders' Milk."

Rhysling shuddered, but got the tavern owner's attention. She was a delightful, cheerful widow he'd known since before he'd lost his sight- and before she'd lost her husband, who'd joined the Alliance Army to fight for unification and had never come home. Milk was the special. Other worlds knew it as Miners' Mercy or the Supervisors' Supper. Add a little dye and it was Blue Juice. "A Milk for my friend, Rum and Bluke for me, Margaret."

Kip was whined. "I'm letting him sniff my hand- prolly win him over with a wiff of the shepherds' cooking... What kinda dog is he?" The big man's voice was closer to the floor.

Good question. Rhysling had never actually seen Kip. A memory came to him of the pup which he'd rescued off a freezing street. Its' nose had been pressed against Rhyslings' belly through a hole in his tee-shirt. He'd smuggled Kip onto an Alliance starscraper inside his coveralls and hitch-hiked that stretch of the Star Road singing navy songs, mostly ones he'd learned as he went. "He's three years old and, near as my experts can tell me, he's Bull Dog, Chow, maybe a little Lab, but mostly bull."

Kip seemed to like the man, which wasn't always a vote of confidence. He'd liked the knockout kisser, too.

"Thanks, ma'am." Their drinks had arrived. Margaret set his by his hand and Rhysling thanked her. When she had gone, he said, "My name's Kane Rhysling, what's yours?"

"Jayne Cobb."

"Wee-ell. Now I've met the Legend-"

"Weren't like that- them folks was *crazed*, take someone like me for a hero."

"It doesn't sit well with you."

"No. I've done... questionable... things. But I don't need to explain myself to no one. It's the way of the 'verse that you do what you can, take what you need."

"Kind of Machiavellian."

"Mocky-who? Dunno him, I'm just a, a working stiff." Jayne swallowed his milk loudly.

"I mean, it's not much to put on a tombstone," Rhysling said, but thought, maybe it is.

"When I'm dead and gone, that's it. I got kin, but once you're dead, folks should concentrate on the living, 'cause that's hard enough. People go prettying up life, making up (fairy tales), they're borrowing trouble."

They sat in silence for a minute or two. Angie finished another song.

A woman spoke. "Jayne?" There was iron in that voice. "Captain says we've got what we came for, time to head back to the ship."

A chair scraped. "I guess it don't matter none. Cap, he said it's not about me, it's about what them as tell the story need," he said gruffly. Rhysling could almost feel the looming presence, like cheerful violence bottled up, move away. Kip put his head in the bards' lap and whined.

"I know, Kipling, but I've got to do at least one more set tonight."

***

Sixteen Tons Tennessee Ernie Ford Some people say a man is made outta mud A poor man's made outta muscle and blood Muscle and blood and skin and bones A mind that's a-weak and a back that's strong You load sixteen tons, what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go I owe my soul to the company store I was born one mornin' when the sun didn't shine I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine I loaded sixteen tons of number nine coal And the straw boss said "Well, a-bless my soul" You load sixteen tons, what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go I owe my soul to the company store I was born one mornin', it was drizzlin' rain Fightin' and trouble are my middle name I was raised in the canebrake by an ol' mama lion Cain't no-a high-toned woman make me walk the line You load sixteen tons, what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go I owe my soul to the company store If you see me comin', better step aside A lotta men didn't, a lotta men died One fist of iron, the other of steel If the right one don't a-get you, then the left one will You load sixteen tons, what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go I owe my soul to the company store