Disclaimer: Firefly belongs to Joss Whedon.

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CHECK MATE: Bishop takes castle.

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Book didn't know how to reply. The abbott's words had both flattered and terrified him.

“I.. I'm not sure I'm ready for such a delicate mission, Father Abbott,” he said. “There must be others more reliable than I. I still have so much to learn...”

“Are you questioning my judgement?” the abbott asked, with a twinkle. “Don't I recall you making a vow of obedience?”

Book nodded and lowered his eyes. “I am your servant and the Lord's.”

The abbott smiled kindly. “Good. This mission is indeed delicate, but you have all the necessary skills. I know the past weighs heavily on you, but this may provide you with the means of transforming it into something pleasing to God. All those attributes you so despise just now may prove vital. 'Who sweeps a room as by His laws, makes that and the action fine.' God will guide you. Simply have faith.”

Book nodded again and looked up. The crows' feet around the abbott's shrewd little eyes deepened as he beamed at his latest recruit. “I have every confidence in you, Book. Would you like to hear the details now?”

* * * * *

He closed the trunk with a sigh and a growing feeling of trepidation. Since coming to the Abbey he'd discovered the kind of peace he'd only ever dreamt of. A warm blanket of acceptance and love that blotted out all his fear and guilt and self-disgust. He had hoped to spend the rest of his days here, to die at prayer perhaps and be buried in the garden under the shelter of the blossoming cherry tree.

But it was not to be. It seemed his redemption must be earned. Once again he must walk the world. And try not to stray from the straight and narrow path that leads to Paradise. The abbott had entrusted him with this task and he would do his best not to fail the old man. If only he weren't so damnably weak!

* * * * *

After the quiet shade of the Abbey, the noise, colour and heat of the Eavesdown docks were an assault on his senses. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen so many people. No, he corrected himself, he could remember, he didn't just want to. His luggage was heavy and unwieldy and finding his way around was harder than he'd anticipated.

“Look for a Firefly,” the abbott had told him, handing over a little wooden box. “One of the later models. An aught three, whatever that means. That's where she'll be. Should be heading for Boros.” He had paused, considering. “We don't have much coin for your fare, I'm afraid. But fresh produce is always at a premium on space ships. Offer it in part payment if their asking price is too high. Our home-grown strawberries are so good this year, they could probably be traded for a berth on a luxury cruiser.”

Book checked the pile of cases for the wooden box. It was still there, the secret temptation safe within. He wasn't surprised to find his mouth watering at the thought. He'd always been a comfort eater, even as a boy. For him fear, embarassment and desire had always expressed themselves as physical hunger.

“You going on a trip, grandpa? Need safe passage? We're cheap. We're cheap. We're clean.”

Everything about the young man trying to hustle him onto his ship was annoying. His tone, his manner, his face. If he hadn't already spent time in lock-down, he certainly would before long. Book sighed as the ruthlessly judgemental side of his character surfaced automatically. This didn't augure well for his mission. He bit back the sarcastic tirade that sprang unbidden to his tongue and contented himself with a simple, “I never married.” He tried hard to be surprised at the hustler's witless “What?” but failed. The boy was clearly as stupid as he looked. “I'm not a grandpa,” he told him mildly but revelling in his intellectual superiority.

Gorramit! Vanity, anger and vengeance had put in an appearance already. Also mild cursing. Oh yes, this was going to go well.....

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“You're gonna come with us.” With a start, Book realized the comment was addressed at him. He looked over his shoulder to see a young, dark-haired girl with the sunniest smile he had ever seen. Late teens, early twenties perhaps. The right sort of age..

“Pardon me?”

“You like ships. You don't seem to be looking at the destinations. What you care about is the ships, and mine's the nicest.”

It was true enough. He did like ships. Or, at least, he used to. He gave the ship behind her a quick glance and felt his heart pound. A Firefly. Which meant this might indeed be the young woman he was looking for. “She don't look much,” he remarked, playing it cool.

The girl bristled a little at the criticism but managed to keep smiling and twirling her ridiculous parasol. “Well, she'll fool ya'. You ever sail in a Firefly?” Book looked at the ship again. It was certainly the right vintage.

“Long before you were crawling.” he told her calmly, trying to keep his interest from being too apparent. “Not an aught three, though. Didn't have the extenders, tended to shake.”

Shake? That was an understatement! But then, at full burn under photon bombardment, most ships did.

The girl stood up and engaged him in conversation. It was obvious she was trying to sell her ship to him, but there was nothing false about her enthusiasm for it. She spoke with an almost maternal pride that was utterly charming. They introduced themselves to each other and he told her just enough about where he was from and where he was going.

“This is Serenity, and she's the smoothest ride from here to Boros for anyone who can pay. Can you pay, or... ?” He loved the way she made it sound as though she really wanted him to choose this patched-up near-obsolete vessel. Not just because she loved it herself, but because she wanted him to as well.

“Well, I've got a little cash, and, uh... “ He handed her the wooden box and watched her eyes as she lifted the lid, deriving a somewhat voyeuristic thrill from the way she gazed at the contents with undisguised sensual longing. A lovely girl. He didn't even mind it when she breathed, “Ooh, grandpa!”

* * * * *

Book retired to his room in the passenger dorm and knelt beside the bed. He tried to focus on his mission, on God's greatness and on the information he'd managed to glean so far.

He had to locate the young woman and keep her under surveillance.

God was our help in ages past and our hope for years to come.

The Captain was a heathen. The 'public relations officer' a neanderthal. The pilot was eccentric to say the least and his wife more than a little intimidating. And there was a whore on board. In some ways, it was just like the old days.

The other passengers were a wet-behind-the-ears doctor and a nondescript bumbler.

He considered the contenders. The mechanic seemed too cheery, although looks could be deceptive. The Amazonian was too obvious. That left the Companion.

He'd have to keep a close eye on her. The idea made him smile ruefully. He could already hear the lewd jokes the mercenary would be making.

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