AN-before you ask, no, there is no beta reader, as I'm working out of a public library. Oh, and please comment, a'ight? *** The operative looked coldly down at Mal, his pistol pointing at his forehead. Billy's blood was still on Mals cheek, a handprint like the one Book had given him as he lay dying on Haven. Mal looked at the boys body, a hole in his chest, blood still seeping out of the boy. Near him, Jayne and Zoe sat in the mule, which lay against a tree on the heavily wooded path. River lay groaning a few feet from him. Mal was on his knees, facing this new operative. He was white skinned, and no glasses or sword. But he was still as cold, mercilous, and as much a murderer as the other man. "He was just a kid," said Mal. "No," said the new operative. "He was an obstacle in my way." Mal closed his eyes, and waited for death to come in and take him. "Sweet dreams of oblivion, Malcolm Reynalds." *** Mal looked warily at the ratty faced man. "So, wait, let me get this straight. You want us to go to the ass end of the 'verse, to look into a guy who jus' might have an offer for you?" Mark Chang shook his head, looking all kinds of nervous. "No, no, Mal, you miss the point. I want you to look around, get a few contacts, search this guy out, look into whoever knows about him, see if I can trust him." "So you say. Whats this place called again?" "Its a new settlement, on a moon called Ptah." Mal would have never trusted folk like Chang before Miranda. A new guy with more money than was good for him, he was looking to get a cut of others profits a mite quickly, which usually ended in someone getting a bad case of the deads, usually the guys like Mal an'co. 'Course, before Miranda, he had a rep that weren't the victim of Alliance mud-slinging. Now, he was lucky to get any work at all, as most of his old contacts were either dead or in hiding, which brought no end to trouble down on their preety lil' heads. He was of a mind to argue, but the large bag of money that was currently in his pocket did much to disuade him of the notion. They didn't shake hands, but they both nodded, understanding that there deal was done. Mal went out of the half'light and into the bar proper. Seemed to be a thing for criminals to own such a fine establishment. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, but only a moment. When they did, he saw Jayne carousing with some other boors and a few hookers, most likely looking to steal his kidneys after ruttin' with him. Zoe, however, was sitting alone at a corner table, downing beer from a fourth mug. He sauntered over and pulled up a chair, not being at all pleased at his first-mate getting drunk. Zoe was surprised when Mal draged the chair along the wooden floor of the bar. She looked up, and Mal was well and truly scared by what he saw. He saw tears. Immediately, his mind went to Wash, his ex-pilot, who was currently taking a dirt-nap. And Mal had never saw Zoe so sad. So vulnerable. "Oh, hi, sir," she hiccuped. She was pretty far gone. "Zoe, what the good gorram is wrong with you?" Screw it, he was never good at this touchy-feely stuff anyway. "Oh, nothin' sir, jus'...m-memories." Oh, shit, this was going in a direction Mal didn't like one bit. "I jus' keep thinkin', it shold'a been me. I mean, he was only the p-p-pilot. I'm the gorram soldier, I should be the one to die." Couldn't even bring herself to say his name. She started in on a fresh flood of tears, which left Mal in an uncomfortable silence. Then, a drunken angel fell from the heavens and saved him...actually, Jayne just came in and belly flopped on the table, breaking it into sharp little bits. Jayne smiled drunkenly at them. Mal looked over at Zoe, who seemed to have regained her composure. Wordlessly, she helped to pick him up, each taking a side. They were halfway to the door when the barman came up and tapped Mals shoulder. "Excuse me, suhs, but ya'll owe us...lessee...threefifty credits for the beer an' damages." Oh, this is just turnin' out fine... *** Oblivion never came. There was a slight wooshing sound, and Mal peeped his eyes open a bit. Just in time to see the operatives head fall off one way, while his trunk went towards Mal, spattering him with spurting blood. Mal looked over, and there stood the operative-that-wasn't-an-operative-no-more. Still had that gorram sword, too. He looked more ragged, now, and he had the startings of a beard. He nodded to Mal, who nodded back, still a bit dumbstruck at it all. "Mal, come on, we have to leave. Now. There is another operative nearby." "Wrong, hes right here," said a deep, rumbling voice. Out steeped another operative, carrying another sword, not unlike the bloodied version in the other mans hand. "Sampson," said the old operative. "Abulurd," said the other man curtly. And before Mal knew a thing, the men clashed, swords sending sparks into the dirt. *** They came back in the mule, and dumped Jaynes sorry, wasted carcass into the 'bay. A soft rustling behind some crates told Mal that they were a bit early. And, sure 'nuff, out popped Simon and Kaylee, looking mighty conspicuous. "Doc, go an' get something for Jaynes hangover. Kaylee, check the mule, I heard a rattlin' when we came in, don't want it blowin' up while we're in it." Simon walked off slowly, a stunned look on his face, namely due to the fact that Mal wasn't shooting him. Kaylee went and hugged Mal, then turned to watch Simon leave. "Say, it look like hes walkin' funny to you?" "Probably. 'Mount ya two go at it, I'd say hes havin' trouble pissin' by now. Y'know, burnin' sensations, an' the like." It took almost three minutes for Kaylee to stop her fit of giggles.