Serenity - Yesteryear

Chapter One

Wash languished alone on Serenity's bridge with only his carved toys for company. He fought his desire to sleep by searching the stars for signs of life. There were none, but he knew they were out there. How can we be the only life in this 'verse with all those stars warming all those planets? Deep thoughts for a mere ship's pilot, he mused, but perhaps that's how philosophers are born. He tried to imagine what type of creatures the stars might be cultivating. Would they ever hitch a ride aboard Serenity? Would they be friendly? He hoped he'd still be aboard if they did.

He had little time to wait for his wish to come true. His lack of vigilance had allowed a dark ship to settle in their wake. A small runabout had brought two equally dark shapes close enough to board without raising any alarm. One dark figure slithered up the stairs to the bridge while the other took up watch over the passageway leading to the crew's quarters. The first figure reached the bridge and tossed a pebble causing a rattle that drew Wash's head around. He stood to inspect the noise.

"Rats", he speculated, "We've got gorram rats again".

His movement covered any sound of the dark figure's bare feet approaching his back. He never saw the padded sap raised over his head, nor heard the sickening crack as it crushed against his skull. The attacker bent to insure Wash was in dreamland, and then reached for the lantern over the helm. He struck a match and lit the lamp, bringing the flame up to bright. By the light, his features became visible. A red head scarf gathered his greasy mane of black hair, and a long scar drew along his cheek. His waist sash held both a cutlass and a pistol. But his cruel grin revealed all, a pirate!

The brigand swung the lantern back and forth in a signal for the ship riding to the stern. It was returned by their own light, after which the pirate lowered the flame. He padded forward and loosened the mainsail's line, allowing the weight of the huge canvas to collapse slowly. Using the friction of the cleat on the bulwark, he halted the collapse before the tackle hit the deck. He left the small foresail up to give stability to the till, and returned to the helm to hold her steady. The trailing ship pulled out and using it's advantage in speed, slid alongside Serenity. No light, no sound, no chance.

Although she was small compared to the big sailing ships, Serenity was still a prize. Built in 1862, and christened 'Beauregard' she was a iron hulled steamer. One of the first launched by the Independent States, she sported two masts for sail or rigging to load cargo. Her compound expansion steam engine was of English design, and propelled her to a maximum speed of almost 12 knots. Able to transport a cargo of a hundred and sixty tons with five passenger cabins, she held quarters for a crew of nine. At one hundred and sixty feet in length, her sharp bow and flowing lines made a striking appearance for a supply craft.

As such, she sported no guns. That might have led to her demise, because in 1864 she came under the cannons of an Northern warship. If not for a skilled captain and foggy conditions, she would surely have sunk to a watery grave. But she limped into port at Mobile, listing and taking on water. Her cargo was saved, but when she was put in dry dock, the hull was thought to be beyond repair. It could have been Serenity's last voyage. But with the war raging, she escaped being stripped for parts, and was left to rot, forgotten in the turmoil of defeat. She lay waiting for salvage or dismemberment.

Her salvation came in the form of a hero with less than noble means. Malcolm Raynolds was a sergeant in the Independent army. His bravery was an inspiration to his men, but it couldn't stop the tide from turning against them. Their last official battle was in the Serenity Valley of Tennessee. When his officers brought down their flag in surrender, Malcolm gathered what was left of his platoon and escaped into the night. For almost two more years he and his men fought on their own. Raiding, pillaging and harassing the Northern Alliance, they cut a swath of revenge across the south.

Alas, with the signing of a final peace treaty, the war was over. Mal, as he was known to his men, saw no need for them to be hanged as outlaws and released them to return home. He and his faithful, female corporal, Zoe, took their share of the booty and headed to Mobile to buy a ship. Their plan was to sail the Caribbean and eastern seaboard running supplies no one else dared to touch. They spent weeks crawling in rancid bilges, stumbling through holds as black as night, but Mal wasn't impressed with any of the boats they were shown. Until one late afternoon in May.

They had been inspecting another twin masthead schooner, with the broker expounding on it's speed and seaworthiness. Mal took a break to smoke a cheroot and looking across the dry dock, saw Serenity, covered in dust and rust. Dropped in a far corner, she rested on the sand with old timbers struggling to keep her upright. When he asked about her, the broker effected a snarl and explained she would never sail again. But Mal got his permission to inspect her, and borrowing a ladder, they spent the rest of the afternoon making drawings and taking measurements. Zoe was bewildered.

"Have you lost what lil' mind you have left?" She questioned. "This tub is scrap. And steamers are slow and expensive to sail. Let's take that last schooner, it is clean and ready to launch!"

"Now give 'er a chance Zoe", Mal entreated, "With some work this could be the perfect smuggling boat."

"Even if you found a miracle worker to get her seaworthy again, we couldn't outrun a rowboat." Zoe kicked at the large steam engine, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air. She shot Mal a look that had caused many a recruit to soil themselves.

"Ah, speed isn't everything darlin'." Mal smiled. "Even the fastest schooner won't outrun a warship's cannons. And they have precious lil' space for hiding goods. Let me show you something."

Mal knelt to the deck and pulled up the metal grating that covered the steam pipes running beneath the engine. The stench of putrid water and drowned rodents came rising into the room.

Zoe snorted and spit her disdain. "Perfect, foul as a fresh grave in summertime."

"Ah, but would a inspection patrol crawl down there looking for contraband?" Mal's smile widened.

Zoe's eyebrows lifted in acknowledgment.

Mal jumped to his advantage. "And steamers don't depend on the wind. They avoid the days spent loading and unloading ballast at each port. I hear tell that English steamers make ten trips in the time a sailing ship makes one. And they can sail with a much smaller crew. Less mouths to feed, fewer tongues to wag, eh?" He gave Zoe his patented 'ain't I brilliant' smile.

She rolled her eyes, but didn't throw anything at him in any case. "Even if you're right", she asked, "where are you going to find a shipwright who can repair the structure?" Zoe pointed to the sagging main beams in the deck above. "And where are you going to get a engineer to refit this rusted bucket of bolts?" She gave the engine another kick.

"My daddy always said, where there's a will, there's a way." Mal grinned.

Zoe fixed him with her hard stare. "Your daddy was always off his feed, you know that, right?"

But his mind was made up. They spent the next several days scouring Mobile for an engineer with more talent than brains, and a shipwright with a very high opinion of himself. They found the shipwright while drinking at a tavern. He and his foreman occupied the next table and were lamenting their misfortune at losing a contract to an unworthy competitor. Mal introduced himself and proposed a deal where their competitor's goods might be diverted to the shipwright. Thereby insuring the lost contract would go to them, and in return, Mal said, he had a ship that needed hull repair.

The deal was struck, and after a naughty night's labor, work began on Serenity's punctured hull. This was a major job however, and in the next few months, Mal finally found a mad Irishman who claimed he could raise the steam engine back to life. By Christmas the hull was finished, but the engine still had yet to show signs of life. Mal suggested the engineer take some help from the shipyard. But the stubborn, beer swilling souse would have none of it. Luckily the problem was solved with an interesting intervention by providence.

The Irishman brought a local girl aboard to warm his bed one night. Mal interrupted their friction fest to demand what was left to be done.

"Oh not much to be sure squire." The sweating engineer began as he pulled his clothes on. "We have a frozen compressor coil, and will require another be found."

"It's not broke." The young lass interjected as she fought to arrange her tarnished bustle.

Both men gave her a look of amazement.

"What do you know about it ma'am?" Mal asked with a smile.

"Well, not much. But I can see your collector valve is clogged." The girl tugged her blond locks away from her eyes. "I saw it while I was on my... um, looking up at it just now."

Mal and the engineer exchanged confused glances.

She continued. "Just look here." Her dainty hand pointed beneath the maze of pipes and valves. "See... I'm pointing right at it! The seal is blown out, that's a dead giveaway."

Mal looked at the Irishman, who jumped to his own defense.

"Nah mate, she doesn't know what she's on about." He squeaked.

"Here, hand me that wrench." The girl sighed. With a mighty swing, she whacked the valve to loosen the rust. After a few turns the valve fell open and a stream of black sludge poured out. She wiped the threads with her finger and attached the part back together. "Now give 'er a try." She said with a bright grin.

The engineer looked at Mal, who nodded his approval, and turned the steam crank by hand. With a hiss of air, the frozen crank broke free and spun like a top. "Huh". It was all he could think to mutter.

"You're still gonna need a new gasket seal, but that's only a few pennies, a lot less than a new compressor." The girl was enjoying herself.

"Where did you learn steam engine mechanics?" Mal asked the girl.

"Nowhere." She demurred. "I just help my daddy with his boat sometimes. He says I have a talent for it. Don't know 'bout that. I just think engines speak to me." She looked up to see if they were laughing at her.

"You ever been on a steamer at sea before?" Mal questioned.

She shook her head.

"Would you like to?" Mal smiled at her surprise. "I could use a good engineer."

"Oh... I, of course, I, um, I'd have to ask my dad." She murmered.

Mal offered his hand. "What's your name?"

"Kaylee." She managed, wilting beneath his grip.

"Well go ask him and be back here tomorrow." Mal ordered.

With a grin as big as all outdoors, she lifted her hem and rushed out of the engine room.

The Irishman scratched his head. "What do you need two engineers for boss?"

"I don't". Mal replied, and turned on his heel.

Within ten days Kaylee had the engine running and clean as a pin. Mal was pleased at her progress, and set his sights on finding a good pilot for the helm. As might befitting such a crew, his search ended at the jailhouse. A ship had been boarded while in port and when contraband was found, the crew were jailed. Mal heard in the taverns that her pilot was a wizard who knew the coastal waters like the back of his hand.

A bribe changed hands and Mal effected the release of the pilot who's name was offered simply as Wash. Despite his escape from hard time, Wash didn't seem keen to join another smuggling crew. One could hardly blame him. But when his eyes first took in Serenity, they had themselves a helmsman. He loved her as much as Mal did, and took right in, re-rigging her lines, and making her topside shipshape.

The four of them worked feverishly and by March, she was ready to launch. Mal spent the last day stripping away her old moniker and attaching her new name plate. Serenity, named for a battle he couldn't forgive or forget. With her new paint and fresh lacquered decks, the name seemed to fit. She was to be an island of serenity, a place not bound by laws or the by your leave of politicians. A home for a crew who lived by their wits and will.

As so she took to the sea. With only four hands, it was a lot of work, but if asked, they'd all say there was nowhere they'd rather be. All but Zoe that is. She took a disliking to Wash from the first moment she saw him. Mal questioned her about it, but she would only venture he wasn't to be trusted. In truth they were not much alike. Wash was a blond joker, jolly and outgoing, while Zoe hid behind a scowl that only the most foolish dared to broach. But Wash lived up to his fame, and brought them through a few tight spots with his skill, both in navigation and at the helm. Mal proved an excellent negotiator and the jobs were plentiful. The months passed and they pressed ahead despite their fatigue.

And so it was on this dark night, with Wash laid out on the deck and the rest sleeping below that one shark prepared to eat another. The sea can be a cruel place, and those that don't keep alert wind up dinner.