Authors' Note: So, we've decided to try a different tactic: posting by chapters. Feedback is much appreciated, and will probably encourage us to write faster, too!

"Honor Among Thieves"

By Fish/Jiolee and RSB

Mal leaned forward, his elbows firmly planted on the thick wooden table he shared with Zoe, Wash, Kaylee and Jayne, and watched the sweat dripping from his chin splash into his lukewarm ale. The bar was swelteringly hot, and the various lowlifes filling it were dressed in as little clothing as they could get away with without being arrested. Kaylee in particular seemed to have embraced this trend, wearing something Mal was sure qualified as more of a handkerchief than a shirt, and he constantly had to look up from melting into his drink to scowl at the various young men that approached his scantily-clad engineer. He was damn glad that they all were bright enough to take the hint; it was way too hot for a fight.

Summers on Semele were hotter than hell, and the places on it backwards enough to lack climate control were near uninhabitable. The bar was a few technological centuries shy of air conditioning, with only a weak fan to stir the heavy, sweat-laden air. It was, however, the best place to drum up business this side of Beaumonde, so here he sat with a flat ale and four miserable members of his crew. They were all quiet, now, but the complaints had been nonstop for the hour previous; Mal figured the heat must've sucked all the fight right out of them, for they now merely slouched around the table in various states of stupor, and he knew none of them had managed to choke that much drink down.

"Excuse me!" A loud, if somewhat reedy, voice rang out over the whirring of the fan, and Mal slowly directed his attention to the bar. A thin, gangly man balanced precariously on top of a barstool, ducking his head to avoid bumping into the ceiling. The few conversations still going died down as everyone turned to stare at the new entertainment. "Salutations! I am looking for the owner of the standard radion-accelerator core, class code 03-K64 Firefly mid-bulk transport berthed outside this fine establishment. Is he available?"

Sluggishly, his crew turned to stare at him, looks ranging from amusement to horror plastered on their sweaty faces. "Well?" Wash finally asked pointedly.

The man was still waiting patiently atop his barstool, surveying the patrons with what Mal thought was a sort of merry insanity. With a bemused shrug, he hesitantly raised his hand, wincing as the man's eyes alighted on their table with maniacal intensity. "Well met, sir! I shall be over momentarily!" With that, he clambered down off his stool and started off in their direction.

"Are you sure we really want his job, sir? No matter what it is?" Zoe murmured in his ear, throwing an alarmed look at the man.

"Now, now, never judge a book by its cover, Zoe," Mal said with a generosity he wasn't sure he felt. "He might be rich."

The man finally reached them, and haphazardly snagged an empty chair from another table before throwing himself into it, his watery blue gaze fixed unnervingly on Mal's.

"Fine ship you have there," he said without preamble, thrusting out one white-gloved hand. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am R. Salmanander Cuttingglass IV. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Wash immediately snorted the beer he had been drinking out through his nose, and Zoe slapped her husband several times on the back as he broke into a coughing fit interspersed with choked laughter. Mal managed a smile that wasn't entirely a smirk and returned the handshake. "Malcolm Reynolds, Captain of Serentiy. You have a job for us, uh…?"

"Sir Salmanander, if you please," he replied graciously. "I am interested in acquiring your vessel."

"As transport?"

"No, no, good sir, as a collectible. The 03-K64 model is practically an antique! I will pay you a fair price for her, that you can be assured."

Mal crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to scowl. "She's not for sale."

Cuttingglass chortled. "Come now, Captain Reynolds, surely for the right amount…name the credits, sir, and I will gladly match them."

"I said, Serenity's not for sale," Mal repeated, putting steel behind the words. Cuttingglass held up his ridiculous white-gloved hands and stood.

"Very well, sir, I understand." He gave the group a small formal bow. "Pleasure doing business with you, Captain Reynolds."

Jayne watched the man walk away in dismay before turning on Mal. "Gorramit, Mal, what were you thinking! Serenity ain't worth anything and you just turned down a man who'd pay –"

"Serenity's not for sale, it that clear?" Mal interrupted, fixing Jayne with a glare. "I don't want to hear nothing more about this, understand?"

With that, he pushed back from the table, threw a few coins next to his drink and pulled his hat down low on his forehead. His crew followed suit, but as Wash stood he offered a complicated Cuttingglass-esqe bow to them all.

"I mean no disrespect, sir," Zoe said as she grabbed her husband, who was grinning like his birthday had come early that year, by the arm and led him towards the exit. "But I do think you'll be hearing a lot of Sir R. Salmanander Cuttingglass IV over the next few days."

It turned out that Wash's persistence in mimicking Sir Salmanander was nothing compared to the persistence of the man himself. While the heat on Semele continued to rise and no work was to be found, they found the strange antiquities collector difficult to avoid; he seemed to know exactly where the crew would be, and he always made a point of saying 'Hello' or 'Hi-ya!' or 'About that lovely ship…' whenever the crew didn't see him in time to run away. After Mal 'accidentally' shot a hole in Cuttingglass' hat, the gangly man with the white gloves and strange accent kept his distance, contenting himself to merely wave at Mal whenever he 'just happened to be in the neighborhood'.

Nearly a week went by with out work or even the prospect of it. Jayne muttered something about everyone dying from heatstroke and Mal was thinking maybe it was time the pull up stakes and look for work back somewhere else. The two best arguments for it were Sir R. Salmanander Cuttingglass IV and Wash, who had finally gone land crazy. Zoe was hinting at Mal that they might as well get off-planet soon, or Wash was just as likely to take the ship up on his lonesome.

Finally, a job came in. Simple, honest work. Smuggled goods left on a backwater moon needed to be moved to the next drop, and nobody else was closer, or more reliable. Wash was ecstatic, and Jayne and Zoe looked more than a little relieved to be getting off of Semele. Kaylee made a face and complained about leaving her adoring public.

"I can't tell you how happy I'll be to finally leave this mudball in our wake," Mal said as they pushed out of the saloon and onto the dusty street. The heat of the noonday sun was staggering in its might. "Why is it always so much trouble finding work these days?"

"Could be on account of the ferocious weather, Cap'n," Zoe said, putting a hand on Wash's shoulder to keep him from wandering off. "Any planet's got summer we land on it, work just dries up."

"I'll keep that in mind for the next few stops we make," Mal said, shading his eyes. He heard the sound of a ship's engines powering up over at the docks. Midday in summer was a quiet time. He probably could've heard the engines from the other side of the planet, way things were. Something about that didn't sit quite right with him. "Kaylee, d'you think you might go and fetch the doctor and his sister, while we get in touch with Inara and let her know we'll be getting ready to depart soon?"

Kaylee beamed, and twirled her paper umbrella over her shoulder. "That'd be right shiny, Cap'n. Back before you can mop your brow!"

Mal dragged his sleeve across his forehead in response. Kaylee stopped and they stared at each other for a second. Finally, Mal said, "Well? Get on with you, now."

Kaylee spun about, and marched off down the street, drawing the attention of every man she passed.

Jayne sneezed. "Gorram dust," he muttered. "Next time I'm staying on the ship."

"Not 'till after you go get Shepherd Book," Mal said, pointing towards the church at the end of town.

Mal stopped at the Port Authority Office, sitting in the shade outside the building. That engine whine was getting louder. Shouldn't it have managed to take off yet? Most ships just took a few seconds to get airborne. It was almost as if someone didn't quite know how to pilot a ship.

"Think this job'll go smooth-like," Mal said conversationally. "Pick up cargo from point A, drop it off at point B, get paid."

"Expect that'll be so, sir," Zoe replied. She turned to look up at Wash, who was tapping her on the shoulder, and looking out towards the landing field. "What is it, baby?"

"Does anybody," Wash began, "Remember any other Firefly's parked on this part of Semele when we landed last week? Or even… yesterday? Or this morning?"

"Think I'm like to remember something as momentous as that," replied Mal. He stood up, and looked at where Wash was pointing. "Don't tell me we're not the only ship… in the 'Verse…" He stopped. When the Union of Allied Planets decided they knew how best to govern every person's life, Malcolm Reynolds had signed up with the Independents as a volunteer. He'd fought for independence, fought long and hard and true. And he'd seen all the horrors of war that a man could expect to see and not go crazy in the brain-pan. He'd endured the barbaric brutality of it all stoically. Even after the war, when he'd purchased a ship and gone and done as he pleased, he'd seen surprising things, terrible things, and never let his composure slip.

Standing in the light of the fiery Semele sun, he saw one of the most horrible things imaginable before him. Serenity, his ship, was taking off without him. Mal clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists. He was going to get his ship, his ship, back, and when he did, there would be hell to pay.

"Uh, Cap'n? Was that Serenity I saw just now flying overhead a little wobbly-like?" Kaylee asked, Simon and River in tow.

"Lost little lightningbug" River murmured sadly to herself, dark eyes fixed on the tiny speck that Serenity had shrunk to in the dusty blue sky.

Mal didn't bother to spare his fugitive passenger a glance as he barged into the Port Authority office, drawing his pistol as he went. Zoe was right behind him, cocking her gun with a flick of her thumb.

"Good day, sir, how can I help you!" the port attendant squealed as Mal reached across the desk, grabbed his collar and put a gun to his head. "We can extend your landing permit by another couple days - free of charge, of course!" the man offered in a small voice.

"Who the hell stole my ship, and where in the nine hells did they take her?" Mal demanded. His hands were steady, and his breathing controlled. The anger and fury boiled out of his eyes and made the attendant shrivel and cower.

"I-I-I duh-don't know, s-s-sir! Merciful Buddha, I swear!" the man put his hands up, and continued blubbering. "B-b-but a-a-a man left the p-p-permit and codes for a sh-sh-ship in p-p-por-puh-port and s-said they were for a M-m-marvin Reynolds! Please don't shoot me! I, I've always meant to have a wife… and kids! Two starving kids!"

Mal lowered his gun, but didn't let the attendant go. He held out his hand, and the hysterical officer put a set of bound-leather documents into it. "You, you, you're clear to l-leave whenever you're ready to go," the attendant said. Mal glowered. "Or you could, could stay a bit longer."

"We're leaving," Mal said, turning and heading for the landing field.

Zoe fell into step beside him. "What's the plan, sir?"

"The plan? We find the ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng who stole my ship and we get her back. Whatever it takes."