Fortunately, Mr Universe's moon hadn't been so far off the beaten path as all that. Mal liked to think that the landing wasn't even all that rough, though he knew he hadn't managed it with the delicacy a pilot would have demonstrated.
It was easier to think of it that way--not as well as a pilot, instead of not as well as Wash.
Even as he thought it he saw River watching him from the other station. "He's waiting," she said, in that solemn, spooky way she had, as if she were listening to something no one else could hear. "His wings aren't white, though."
Mal pretended to concentrate on the shutdown sequence, but after a few moments the curiosity got to him. "You gettin' all religiousy on me?" he asked, and looked up in confusion when she laughed.
"Not Wash. The pilot. Don't worry, I don't think he really has wings."
"You know, I think I maybe don't want to know what that means," Mal said.
Zoe didn't sit with him for the interviews; in fact, she made sure to be right off the ship. He couldn't blame her.
"Interview" might have been a fancy word for men and women ambling up the open ramp and being invited into the mess to sit and talk a while, but Mal figured that if they were going to have a Companion around a little longer they could afford to be a titch fancy now and then. Inara had helped make River up as a proper young lady, nothing like the dull-faced waif who peered out of wanted posters and vidscreens. She was wearing clothes that fit her for a change, and her job was to sit off to one side, pretending to read, and let Mal know which ones were to be trusted. She was under strict orders not to say anything creepifying, or prophetic, or really at all.
The first two, he didn't need her help on. You could tell practically by looking at them that, soon as they found out who Serenity's doctor was, they'd be off to the Feds faster than you could say it. Mal glanced at their papers, looked at their ratings, and told 'em thanks but no thanks. The woman smiled at him while she was leaving and said he should look her up anyway, and Mal tried not to laugh at River's rolled eyes.
The third one wasn't any good. He seemed a nice enough fellow, but he had the lowest rating a pilot could earn and still be licensed, and he'd gotten it from a flight school that had something of an unshiny reputation.
The fourth one just rubbed Mal the wrong way. The fifth one was not so tall, and he had a loud shirt and a bushy moustache and an ebullient manner, and Mal hustled him back off the ship almost without a how-de-do.
The sixth one came up the ramp wrapped in a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat, though the day was warm enough as it faded towards evening. His hand was cool when he shook Mal's hand with a grip that could have crushed but didn't. Mal restrained a whistle as he examined the papers the man handed him without being asked; this DeAngelo had a rating almost as good as Wash's, which had been the best Mal'd ever seen.
They sat in the mess, Mal introuducing "his cousin Renee" off-handedly and trying not to notice that her facade of disinterest had suddenly developed a huge crack. She was still holding the book up, but she made no effort to pretend to read it. He shot her a warning glance as DeAngelo got himself settled, to no appreciable effect.
They talked for a few minutes, and Mal found himself liking the man. He was quiet, certainly, but he seemed to know his stuff and he wasn't boastful about it. He called Mal "Captain Reynolds" with relentless courtesy, and though Mal was pretty sure the face was going to give Kaylee heart failure, he reckoned she and the doc were far enough along that it wasn't liable to cause an issue.
"Now I want to make it clear that on occasion we take jobs that ain't what those of us who're sticklers for terminology might call 'legal', Mr. DeAngelo," Mal said at last. "If that's like to be a problem, no hard feelings and I wish you the best of luck."
DeAngelo chuckled. "Has there ever been a Firefly that didn't take an illegal job once in a while?" Mal shrugged. "Anyway, I've got no problem with it." Mal was just about to say he was glad to hear it when suddenly River piped up.
"What was it like?" she asked, putting her book down. Mal gave her his best quelling glare, which was again ignored.
"What was what like?" DeAngelo said. River got up from her chair and started across the floor, her eyes never wavering from his.
"Earth-that-Was," she said. "What was it like?"
Mal stood up and tried for hearty. "Well, it looks like Renee here is getting a little tired. She don't mean anything by it, you understand, but she and her brother--"
"It was green," DeAngelo said softly. River stood next to him, looking down into his eyes. "Green and lovely, though I hardly ever saw it in the day. You remind me of someone I used to know."
River nodded. "She was wrong, though. I'm not wrong anymore." Her hushed tones changed; she looked away from him and caught Mal's eye, one of her rare smiles spreading across her face. "Him," she said firmly. "He can fly even without any wings, and he won't tell on us. I'll go tell Kaylee." And she turned and ran for the engine room. Mal made a half-hearted grab at her as she went by, but as he'd expected he missed by a mile. For a second he listened to her fading footsteps, then he turned back to DeAngelo.
"Thanks for humorin' her," Mal said. "I'll understand if you want to be getting on your way after that."
To his surprise, DeAngelo shook his head. "It's all right. Like I said, she reminds me of someone. Seems less dangerous, though."
Mal, thinking of Reavers in pieces in a small concrete room, didn't rightly know how to reply to that, so he ignored it. "I'm gonna have to introduce you to the rest of the crew," he said. "But if no one hates your manner, Mr. DeAngelo, I'd like to offer you a job."
DeAngelo smiled. "Call me Angel," he said.