Mal stepped through the open doors of the saloon. Zoe and Jayne followed. His gaze swept the room, coming to rest on the solitary figure behind the bar.
"Mr Swearengen?" he said.
"Upstairs," the barman replied, staring at him from behind a thick beard.
"Captain Reynolds?"
Mal turned. A short man in a cheap grey suit was watching him from the landing that overlooked the taproom.
"Yes?" Mal replied.
"I'm Al Swearengen. We can talk in my office."
Swearengen turned and walked towards the far end of the landing without waiting for a reply. Mal followed.
Swearengen seated himself behind his desk. Standing behind him was a large, bearded man wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Mal noted the knife at the man's hip as he and his crew took their places in front of the desk.
"Whisky?" Swearengen asked, producing a bottle and a set of glasses from a drawer.
"No, thank you," said Mal, silencing Jayne with a pointed look.
Swearengen shrugged and poured himself a drink. Mal used the brief moment to size him up: middle aged, with a dark complexion on the far side of grizzled. He had a reputation for toughness and he looked every bit of it. Mal had certainly not failed to notice the faint red stain on the boards beneath his feet.
"This your crew?" Swearegen asked.
"Part of it: this is Zoe, my first mate, and Jayne. All told we've got another five souls aboard."
"This is Dan," said Swearengen, gesturing to the man standing behind him.
"You're probably wondering what it is I want transported," Swearengen continued, pouring himself another whisky.
"Can't say it didn't cross my mind, wage you're offering," said Mal.
"But you're not going to ask?"
"I don't, as a rule."
"Good," said Swearengen brusquely, "I don't like dealing space captains, not if I can help it. They get too used to ruling over their own little flying kingdoms. They forget how to deal with regular folk. They start making all sorts of pihua demands, when all you need them to do is transport a lump of fen from one rock to another."
"We're takin' on fen?" Jayne whispered, disgusted.
"Not fen; gold," said Swearengen. Jayne's head whipped round hungrily. Mal's reaction was confined to a raised eyebrow but he was no less surprised: Serenity rarely handled such valuable cargo.
"Yeah, it's gold," Swearengen repeated, "Nearly a tonne, refined but unstamped. All under a dead man's seal, of course."
"Of course," Mal echoed. A dead man's seal was a highly effective way of securing precious goods. An explosive device was placed in the lid of the container and linked to a combination lock. Three failed attempts to enter the correct combination, or any attempt to tamper with the lock, would trigger an explosion that would destroy not only the would-be thief but the goods as well.
"How soon can you have it off world?" Swearengen asked.
"Where is it now?" said Mal.
"Under canvas out in the woods; Dan can show you where."
"If needs be we can be underway by midnight."
"Good. There are some who might start asking awkward questions if they should hear of my recent windfall, particularly with regards to the location of its previous owner, so I want it secure and off world as soon as possible."
"What's the destination?"
"Jefferson," said Swearengen, "You'll hand it over to my man there, who'll see that it gets forwarded on."
"Run to Jefferson will take the best part of three weeks," said Mal, "You might want to consider somewhere a mite closer if you want it stowed away quick."
"Jefferson's the only place far enough away to cast doubt over the manner in which I acquired it," replied Swearenegen, "and I want it there inside a week."
"You realise that'll mean going through the Woods?" said Mal.
"The Dark Woods? That's Reaver territory!" said Jayne fearfully.
"Right you are. That's… not going to be a problem is it, captain?" asked Swearengen, watching Jayne's reaction like a wolf watching a limping sheep.
"No, no problem at all," said Mal quickly. He gave Jayne a threatening glance. Jayne scowled but said nothing.
"Of course I don't except you to fly solo," said Swearengen, still watching Jayne with a mixture of curiosity and sadistic amusement, "I bought you a place in a convoy heading out that way. It's guarded by some big shot Hunter named Hatton; very good rep'. Sometimes comes out with as many ships as he went in with.
"Rendezvous is in two days at Nova Point Station. You'll get half your payment now, other half when you hand over the gold in Jefferson."
"Shiny," said Mal.
Take my love, take my land
Take me where I cannot stand
I don't care, I'm still free
You can't take the sky from me
Take me out to the black
Tell them I ain't comin' back
Burn the land and boil the sea
You can't take the sky from me
There's no place I can be
Since I found Serenity
But you can't take the sky from me...
The Deep Dark Woods
Chapter One
"So, what are these 'Dark Woods'?" Simon asked.
"Some big nebula: it covers about eight sectors between Medea and Gray Goose," said Kaylee with a shrug, "I don't know myself."
"They're a whole heap of trouble, that's what they are. Captain's gotta have a death wish, taking us through there," growled Jayne.
The crew were milling around on the floor of the cargo hold. They had made the rendezvous at Nova Point without any trouble. Swearengen's gold was safe in the darkest corner of Serenity's hold. Shewas easily the smallest ship in the convoy; the rest were long-haul merchantmen, broad and thickly armoured for deep space flights. Before they could depart, however, each ship was to receive a visit from the Hunters who were guarding the convoy. Mal had been reluctant but they had insisted.
"They're just coming alongside," Wash announced as he descended the stairs into the hold.
"Wash, do you know anything 'bout the Dark Woods?" Kaylee asked.
"Sure. It's one of the standard horror stories the instructors tell you in flight school," said Wash, moving to stand beside Zoe, "There's a special kind of radiation there that messes with a ship's computers. In some places it's so intense that your ship just shuts down. Even where it's lighter you can't use long range scanners or navigation programmes. You have to fly the whole way on visual."
"The radiation also affects communicators, so you can't call for help if you find yourself going off course," Zoe added.
"Like that's your biggest worry," said Jayne darkly.
Simon looked curiously at Jayne.
"Dark Woods are Reaver territory," Zoe explained, "They don't care about scanners or communicators. They just sit tight and wait for a ship to fly past. There's no way of knowing when or where they'll come at you."
"Some Hunter crews offer to protect convoys of ships but most people can't afford the fee, so they just take the long way round," said Wash.
"Sounds good to me," said Jayne.
Serenity gave a gentle shake as the Hunters' ship bumped up against her. Simon had seen her while Serenity was orbiting Nova Point: an ugly brute of a ship, like a great grey fist covered in guns.
Complicated metallic sounds were heard on the far side of the door as the two ships locked together. Simon glanced round at the others. They were nervous. Jayne was perched on a bench, brows knotted as he raised and lowered a dumbbell. Book stood nearby, flicking through his Bible. Kaylee was fidgeting, unable to keep still. Wash was chattering to no one in particular. Even Zoe seemed distracted, her hand going to and from her carbine every few seconds. Mal, arms folded in a defiant knot, was standing ahead of the rest, facing the airlock. Only Inara and River seemed unconcerned; the one serene, the other fascinated by the patterns she was scuffing on the deck with her combat boots.
Simon understood the crew's nerves. Reaver Hunters were a strange breed. They chose to do what no other spacefarer would dream of: search out and fight Reavers. They worked on the very fringes of settled space, never staying in one place, always moving. Suspicion followed them everywhere. People seemed to fear that the madness of their prey had somehow rubbed off onto them.
Simon had never met a Hunter himself but the older members of the crew seemed very wary of allowing them aboard. Simon had been concerned about allowing them to meet River but Mal had explained that the Hunters were effectively outlaws themselves. The Alliance still officially denied that Reavers existed. To them, the Hunters were criminals. It was not in the Hunters' interest to call the marshals in.
There was a hiss of compressed air being released and the airlock swung open. Everyone froze to watch as a line of strange figures filed into the hold. Simon's initial thought was that they had stepped straight out of a history book. They wore dark leathers, overlaid with steel splints or tunics of steel rings. A few wore helmets with visors that covered their faces. Some of them wore heavy belts or bandoleers, decorated with what looked disturbingly like human scalps.
Their weapons were, likewise, unconventional. There was the usual mix of small arms common to all space crews but each Hunter also carried some form of blade: more like meat cleavers than knives. Their faces were pale, a sure sign of men who had spent too long under artificial ship's lights. Their expressions were blank; practically inscrutable. They did not display a flicker of interest or emotion as they lined up beside the airlock.
To say that Simon was taken aback by their captain's appearance would have been a gross understatement. Having seen his crew, Simon had pictured someone akin to a Viking chieftain; a bear holding a battleaxe. He was not prepared for the dapper young man who strolled confidently up to Mal and doffed his white Stetson to him.
"Wade Hatton, at your service."
"Malcolm Reynolds," grunted Mal, clearly as stunned as Simon was.
"So this is the Serenity, huh?" said Hatton, glancing round the hold, "She's a Firefly, am I right?"
"Yes. And it's just Serenity," replied Mal, still agape at Hatton's appearance. Apart from his white Stetson, he wore a red shirt and dark pants, both cut to the latest fashion and in exquisite taste. Simon felt underdressed.
"Beautiful model; beautiful," Hatton was murmuring, "Don't see enough of them in our line of work. Who's your mechanic?"
Kaylee raised a tentative hand. Simon noticed that she was blushing slightly.
"Ah, charming!" said Hatton, taking her hand and bowing over it with all the formal gallantry of a duke, "Miss…?"
"Kaylee. Just… just Kaylee."
The blush had become a glow. Simon managed not to scowl. Jealous as he was, he could understand her reaction: Hatton was classically handsome, with a square jaw, neat moustache and broad shoulders tapering into slim hips.
"Kaylee, I wonder if you would mind giving my mechanic a tour of your engine room?" Hatton asked, "Not that I doubt your competence for one moment but we do have to make sure that every vessel is in a fit state to make the journey."
"No… no, of course," said Kaylee.
Hatton gave one of his crewmembers a nod and a beefy man with close cropped hair stepped forward to follow Kaylee up to the engine room. Simon watched them go. He did not fail to notice Kaylee glance back at Hatton.
Hatton was making his way across the hold, introducing himself to each member of Serenity's crew in turn. Mal was trying to dissuade him by being as rude as possible but Hatton was not to be deterred. He shared a brief, soldierly exchange with Zoe, laughed heartily at one of Wash's quips, before pausing beside Jayne.
"That's a Starlight, isn't it?" he said, nodding at the knife at Jayne's hip.
"Yeah," Jayne mumbled.
"May I?" Hatton asked, holding out his hand. Jayne hastily unsheathed the knife and handed it to him. Hatton held it lightly in his hand, running a finger lovingly down the blade. He tossed it up, caught it by the point, tested it for balance across his finger, and then handed it back to Jayne.
"A fine weapon," he said, "And in good condition too. Have you had it long?"
"Sixteen years," said Jayne, "It was a present from my pop. Family heirloom, sorta thing."
"You wear it often?"
"Never without it."
"Good man. I don't doubt that you can use it."
"Best I've ever seen," said Mal brusquely, although there was no disguising the distinct note of pride in his voice.
"I hope you won't have to prove it," Hatton laughed, "But it's always wise to carry a blade with you in Reaver territory. All my men have one," he gestured to his crew, "I've seen Reavers shrug off bullets as if they didn't even feel them. Sometimes a stout knife is all you can depend on."
The colour had drained from Jayne's face but his only reply was a determined nod. Hatton now moved along to speak with Book.
"A shepherd!" he exclaimed to Mal, "Why, captain, your crew are full of surprises. How are you, preacher?"
"Better for seeing your… professional crew, captain," said Book.
"Professional?! They're rogues and scoundrels to a man!" Hatton replied with a laugh, "I'm afraid there's precious little spiritual guidance to be had in these parts. Might I trouble you to lead a service or two for them during the voyage?"
"W-why of course!" said Book, beaming.
"Splendid," said Hatton, moving on to address Inara.
"Forgive me," he said, bowing to her, "Your captain did not inform me. I would have brought a gift if I had known that I would be introduced to such an eminent and… beautiful lady."
"Yes, he's so thoughtless," said Inara sweetly. She glanced at Mal, who made a face.
"I regret that we should meet like this," said Hatton earnestly, "Perhaps, when I am next at liberty to visit some civilised world, I might have the honour of sharing your company, my lady?"
"I look forward to it, captain," said Inara, favouring him with an especially charming smile.
Hatton returned the smile, bowed once again, and turned at last to address Simon and River.
"Dr. Tam, our medic, and his sister. That's all the crew," said Mal, trying to hurry Hatton off the ship as fast as possible but Hatton seemed oblivious to Mal's promptings.
"Ah, the old sawbones!" he said, taking Simon's hand in a firm grip, "A pleasure. That waistcoat is Osiran silk, am I right? You're a long way from home, doctor."
"Yes… I am. I'm… helping people; people who don't normally have much access to medicine."
"And you brought your sister along for the ride? How touching," said Hatton, giving Simon a shrewd look.
"And what might your name be?" he asked, turning to River. River stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, then cried:
"No! No, I'm not!"
Hatton frowned, dumbfounded, as River took a step back.
"I'm not a rabbit! I'm not!" she continued to shout, "You can't just put on the red jacket and blow your trumpets and expect me to dance for you, 'cause I won't!"
"River, hush, it's okay, River," Simon murmured, catching her in his arms, trying to place himself between her and Hatton.
"Maybe later," said Hatton, smiling. He turned back to Mal.
"Well, captain, if that's all?"
"Yeah, that's all."
"Then I bid you farewell. The convoy will be underway within the hour."
Hatton paused by the hatch as his crew filed back through.
"God be with you, captain," he said, "This will be a dangerous journey. Pray that you live to see the end of it."