Chapter 1

Whisker was breathing a little slower than he usually did on a job. He was gaining a greater and greater affinity for the smell of junkyards and wanted to enjoy the taste in the night air. The smell of stale water, stale metal, and fresh mud was more exhilarating than a fresh shower. If he thought deeply about it he might make the connection that junkyards, and their smell, meant parts, and parts meant they could keep flying. And flying meant he could get her back in the sky - untethered. Like she wants to be.

"Whisker!" Fram whispered as loud as he could. "Pay attention. You've disconnected me. Plug me back in."

"Sorry. Sorry." Whisker carefully reconnected Fram's pad to the relay box. His friend could now stop whinging and return his attention to the screen in his hand, while Whisker could return to his mute contemplation of their surroundings. The distant crickets had faded during their exchange but were now growing louder once again as the two continued their task in silence. Anyone more than ten feet away would not have distinguished the mechanical 'click' of electronics amongst the creaking bugs. A click which signaled to the thieves that the fence was off.

"That should be it," Fram said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Go ahead."

With cutters in hand, and a distrust in his eyes, Whisker asked again: "... are you sure?"

An impatient Fram finally took the initiative, grabbing the cutters from Whisker and cutting away at the wire mesh.

"One time that happened. One time," Fram insisted. "Out of what? 20? 30? Will you ever let it go?" The tech's pride was hurt by Whisker's apprehension. "Besides this is a junkyard, not an Alliance impound. It's only an alarm, and its mostly for critters. If it does go off we're more likely to see meat scrappers than lawmen."

Fram was referring to the scavengers which conducted shifty business on backwater moons like this one. For a slight fee, a business, or farm owner, could employ a small team of exterminators who would keep their land free from the nuisance animals which liked to nest and wreak havoc on one's property. Those same exterminators would then sell off their trappings to hash slingers who would, in turn, skin and cook the critters up, selling them as food in town or nearby markets. It was one of the many scrounging jobs one could find in the rougher parts of the 'verse.

"They both carry guns out here," Whisker noted. Fram could only roll his eyes in concession.

With enough of the mesh cut, Fram pushed back the fencing for he and Whisker to slip in.

"Do you know where to start looking?"

"Yeah. He keeps the more expensive stuff close to his shack. My guess, that's our best bet."

"Shiny. I'm following you."

Whisker hunkered down and scurried his way through the shadows of junk piles and junkyard equipment. He was nimble enough that even when he did stumble, one could hardly notice a faltered step. That's partly why he and Fram were always a good team, even when they were kids. Although Fram could hack, break, or pick his way into anything, he was often too clumsy to stay unnoticed for long. He did better following his pal's footsteps.

With a brisk pace, the pair reached the treasure trove pile of junk set next to the owners not un-dignified shack. Whisker immediately began sifting through the pile as quietly as he could. Fram stayed close by, spying the yard on lookout. His eyes were already readjusted to the dark after having stared at his handheld screen. And that was luck for him, as the hacker spotted another get.

"Hey. Look at that. Is that a heat panel?"

Whisker paused his search long enough to confirm. "Yeah. Looks like. In good condition too."

"We should take it too, then."

"How would we carry it? It's almost twice the size of us and weighs ..." Whisker's sentence trailed off. He was not one for exacting figures. He relied mostly on his gut and intuition, whether he was rebuilding an engine or piloting the ship. "... well, it weighs more than we can carry. Forget it for now."

Returning to the pile of expensive junk, Whisker found an almost perfect piece for their needs.

"Heyhey. Here we go!"

"That? That looks too big," Fram questioned.

"I'll have to cut it down, but it should work like new. Let's go."

With prize in hand, Whisker made a dash across the yard, back towards their entry. He was barely five steps away from his accomplice when the dark yard around him lit up, flooded by the pole lights. Simultaneously, out from the shack came an armed, and angry, owner. A single shot from his rifle cracked the cool night air.

"Hold it buddy!" Though irate, the owner is still groggy, from his middle of the night sleep. He doubted his own ability to hit a moving target and opted instead to look his would-be robber in the eye first. "Just turn it around now."

Whisker slowly twisted towards the uneasy gun pointed at his back. Although there was an entire open yard between them, the owner easily recognized the peach-fuzzed face as it spun into view. The young pilot was still almost desperately trying to turn his sparse stubble into a proper beard.

"Whisker?!"

"Hey Burl."

Burl was instantly suspicious. "Are you alone?" he interrogated, warily looking around. "Your drunkard of a captain ain't with you, is she?"

"Nope. She's not here. Just me," Whisker freely stated. He remained hopeful he could divert attention from his friend still hiding in the dark.

"What you got there?" Burl asked, slowly lowering his gun. Usually Whisker was a friendly customer, even if his captain was not. "Injector coil, huh?" The muscular junker did the math of the situation, half asleep or not. "Well, why don't you just leave it lay there, where you're standin'. When Del feels like paying her debts she can come get it herself."

Not wanting to let his prize go, Whisker began thinking the only word he could remember in moments like this: STALL.

"Well, I gotta tell you, Burl, she's not in a mood for negotiations these days."

"Of the two moods she has I'm sure she isn't. But I'm not letting you leave with it." To emphasize his point Burl began raising his gun again.

Before he could fix his aim, the still night air is cut by the hefty sound of Burl's hog-mule - a mule that the junker has suped up for the hefty tolls of junkyard work. Blasting into the light came Fram, riding high on the heavy engine, 4 wheel hog-mule, face covered liked a bandit, and gun drawn. With a few shots in Burl's direction, the junkyard owner is forced back inside his shack for cover.

"Jump on!" Fram shouted to Whisker, not slowing down.

Whisker's first instinct was to ask where, and how. Before he speaks though, he sees the answers he needs. Spritely he lept onto his escape sled - a heat panel, towed by chain, dragging along the ground from the rear of the hog-mule. Clinging to the panel with one hand and holding his new coil in the other Whisker egged on his partner:

"Go, GO, GO!"

With little regard for neatness, the noisy and chaotic mess crashed the front gate.

Burl returned through his door, gun firing, just in time to see all five - Whisker, Fram, his hog-mule, the injector coil, and the heat panel - disappear in the night.

The cool glass of the bottleneck felt solid in her hand. It was often the only thing that did when they were grounded for this long. This particular bottle was only a drink shy of empty. A leftover from the previous week's waiting. It lightly sloshed as she climbed the ladder to the roof of the ship. Often she would climb up top with a whole bottle to enjoy, either alone or with crew or with ... other company. Tonight she wanted just one drink under the stars. That would be enough. Because tomorrow, she knew, they would be back in the sky. Untethered.

Lying on her back on top of her home like this was always more comfortable than lying in her bunk. At least when they were on the ground. She was up here the first time she realized this was not a ship, an object built for the purposes of space travel. This configuration of turbines, thrusters, generators, hulls, hatches, and engine added up to more - more than an object. It was a person. Actual and whole. Someone she knew deeply. When she found the sagging ship, it reflected the poor care and misuse that Del had experience with. As though she saw a twin sister. A sister that gave her warmth and comfort, and would allow sleep even during the most harrowing of times. Tonight was no different as she settled onto her back, drank her bottle's last shot, and let her eyes drift closed...

She couldn't say which sobered her sleepy eyes first, the morning sun peeking over the valley or Fram's clear voice.

"We're ready to go," he hollered, his head poking above the ship's roofline.

"Shiny," Del said. "Let's pick up our feet." She stood herself up on the hull of the ship, wobbling only slightly from her tired state. Seeing his captain rousing, Fram retreated his way back down the ladder.

"Alright, Sarah Adelaide," the young leader chided herself. "Time to put on your big girl pants. Time to be a captain." In almost one complete move she emptied her hand of the dry whiskey bottle, retrieved her holstered gun lying next to her, and alighted back into the ship.

Quickly as her excitement would allow, Del sealed the top hatch behind her and continued on her way to the bridge to join Whisker. Unsurprisingly, he was greasy and soot-covered from a night of ship repairs.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you the hurry we're in, Whisk. Being a week late with our delivery does not look good to future employers."

"I know. Sit back. Just watch me fly."

With a soft, moaning effort the Firefly hoisted its four feet gently off the ground and back into the belly of the ship, just as the powerful turbines ignited to push them away from the heavy valley floor. Both Whisker and Del felt relief come over them.

"I'll let 'im know we're coming," Del said. Leaving the bridge she aimed herself for the cortex in her quarters.

Before reaching the ladder to her room though she is halted by a more immediate chore – Ambrose. The name did not fit the hardened muscle and feelings filling the hallway in front of her. A high-brow name for a thick-browed half wit. It was clear to all who knew him that his father had given him the name in an attempt to rise above his unrespected standing in the community. Suffice it to say, he failed.

"Not now Ambrose."

"Do you still believe you're cut out for this line of work?" He pressed her, trying to imply an expertise which he did not truly have.

With a steadiness seldom seen from her during the last week on the ground, Del responded simply: "I do."

"Are you willing to-"

"I am."

Del's blatant impatience would scare a normal person away from further conversation. Ambrose, however, was not an observant type. He eyed her like a prey that doesn't know its danger.

"Badger put me here for a reason. It'd be better for you, girlie, to remember - "

Before Ambrose could finish, his mouth was stopped by the cold steel barrel of Del's sidearm pressing up, under his chin. The heavy weight of the gun did not slow her intention.

"It'd be better for you not to talk to me like a whore. My memory's just fine."

Del paused long enough for Ambrose to contemplate the feeling of a bullet shooting through his head. Then, seeing her point made, she continued on with her business, climbing down the ladder to her bunk. She won't be sorry to see him go.

Finally, in her quarters, Del tossed her large, unbalanced sidearm on the bed and sat at her blank cortex screen. She needed to collect herself before making the unnerving wave. A deep sigh later, she was ready.

Badger is waiting at the other end with a quick reply.

"Hello, Little One. Does this mean I can expect delivery soon?"

"Just touched off. We'll be there in a days time."

"Good to hear Cupie. And how's our boy-o doing?"

She hated his terms of endearment. He seemingly hadn't learned that they make her skin crawl.

"He's doing his job. That's all."

"Ahhh. You two still going at it are you? I really thought these last couple months would bring you closer together, more like blood relations by now." Del noticed a distinct lack of surprise in his voice. She wondered what he really intended, putting Ambrose on the ship.

"Ah well. A beaming father can't have everything."

She knew he was referring to his son, but the implication that she was somehow also related to him angered her. The feeling was worsened by the knowledge that she did owe him in some regard. Under his thumb, as she was.

"Right. Well like I said, we're on our way."

"See you soon Cupie." Del couldn't shut the signal off fast enough.

The next day passed with little affair. A few drinks. More than a few nostalgic stories of Fram, Whisker, and Del's childhood gallivants. Occasionally Ambrose would step in awkwardly to a conversation. But no surprises. And soon enough Whisker was dropping the whole lot, Firefly, crew, and contraband, into the Eavesdown Docks at Persephone.