Archangel – Chapter Two

Author owns no rights to Firefly, and no copyright infringement is intended.

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"Miss Cobb, I'm sorry, but. . .this is the third incident in the last month," the

school superintendent shook his head. "This incident was the worst. The child he attacked is still in the emergency ward."

"I understand," Vera nodded. "He's had a rough time of it. He hasn't always adjusted well."

"We simply cannot allow him to continue attending here, Miss Cobb," the superintendent told her. "I'm sorry, truly I am. He's a very bright boy, with excellent marks. But. . ."

"I understand," Vera said again, hiding her disappointment. "Thank you for calling me. I'll take him home, now."

"I'm sorry, momma," Mikey said quietly as they exited the school. "I didn't mean to. He. . .he just kept making fun of me, and it made me so mad, and finally it was like something just broke, inside." He looked up at her. "I don't remember doin' it, momma, but the teacher said I did. She called me a lunatic. What is that, momma?"

"Nothing, baby," Vera soothed. "She was just talking about something else, that's all."

"I can't go back, can I?" he asked, tears in his eyes.

"I don't want you to go back," she told him, meaning it. "I can teach you all you need to know at home. And that will leave you more time to hunt and track, and learn from ole Crowfeather." Mikey brightened at that.

"That'd be swell!" Vera smiled.

"I thought you'd like that."

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Vera answered the door in her apron. After two years out of the military, she was almost a home maker. Her pension was enough that they lived fairly comfortably on what had been her family's farm.

"Can I help you?" she asked that tall man at the door.

"Are you Janine Cobb?" the man asked politely. "Sergeant Major Cobb?"

"Just Cobb, now," she smiled, but was instantly on guard.

"My name is Book, Miss Cobb. Derrial Book." The man offered his hand, and she took it, still wary. "I'd like to talk to you about your son."

"Why?" she demanded.

"I'm a friend, Miss Cobb, I promise you," he smiled. "Your son is. . .very unique, I know. I'd like to offer you a learning opportunity for him."

"He's learning fine, where he is," Vera replied. "Thanks anyway."

"Miss Cobb, please," the man was patient, she'd give him that. "I know you're cautious, and that's understandable. But if you'll give me a few minutes, I think you'll see that I'm trying to help."

"Five minutes," Vera told him, walking out onto the porch. "Then I'm throwing you off my land, I don't like what I hear." He smiled.

"First off, I will tell you, honestly, that I am an agent of the Alliance, but," he held up his hands, "I am not here in that capacity. I am here as a member of an ancient order, Miss Cobb. One you've never heard of."

"Your son needs training, ma'am," Book told her bluntly. "He needs to learn to deal with his inner turmoil. My order can train him to do that. To harness the anger, the rage, that runs through him unchecked right now. Help him to fit into society. And," he added, "they can prepare him to be of great service to his fellow man."

"How?" she snorted. "By doing the Alliance's dirty work? Not my son."

"As I told you," Book smiled, "I'm not here on behalf of the Alliance. There are bigger and more important things, Miss Cobb, than the Alliance."

"I'm listening," Vera said.

Thirty minutes later, she was still listening.

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"Momma, I don't want to go!" Mikey said for the fourth time. "I wanna stay here, with you!"

"I know you do, sweetheart," Vera smiled down at him. "But this is a different kind of school. One where special children like you go. You'll learn how to do a great many things. Things you couldn't learn in school here, or even from Old Crow."

"Like what?" Mikey asked.

"Well, you'll learn about history, for one thing. About great people who have used their talents and abilities to help others. And you'll learn how to fight, too. Not just brawl, like you do now, but really fight. And, the training will make you big and strong!"

"Like you?" Mikey asked. She looked down at him, smiling.

"Oh, honey, you'll be so much stronger than me," she hugged him. "You'll be tall and strong, and all the girls will ooh and ahh over you. I'll be so proud."

"Want you to be proud, momma," Mikey smiled up at her, and for an instant, Vera faltered. She wouldn't do it. No. He would stay with her. Then Book's warning had come back to her.

"War is coming, Sergeant Major," Book had said quietly. "And no one can stop it. Things are too far gone for that, I'm afraid. And when that happens, someone with your experience will be sought after by both sides."

"This planet will likely be a battleground, it's loyalties divided. We can take him away from all that, Vera. We can keep him safe, and teach him everything he needs to know to master himself. He isn't alone, you know. Others suffer the same problems as he does, though perhaps not from the same source."

War. She shuddered at the thought. No, Mikey would be safer away.

"I'll be very proud, baby," Vera smiled. "I'll always be proud of you."

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Mikey was taken to a monastery far into the countryside. All the people were very nice, he thought. At least those who weren't instructors, he amended. The instructors weren't exactly not nice, but they were tough. Very tough, and very demanding.

Here, he was known as Michael. Just that. Michael. He knew there were others in the 'school', though he rarely encountered them. He did wonder why he was so often sent for 'check-ups'. Until one day, he happened to overhear two of the 'doctor brothers' talking in hushed tones.

"So, the virus is present?" one asked.

"Yes," the other nodded. "He has the gene, as well," he added, showing a readout to the first. "He is doubly cursed, poor boy."

"Then we will make doubly sure of his training," the first assured him. "He is a very bright young man. He has great potential. Perhaps the greatest yet, once trained."

Michael didn't know what potential meant, but it sounded okay. It hadn't been said in a bad way, at least.

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Over the next few years, Michael found himself immersed in deep training. Sometimes it consisted of simply sitting in complete stillness, senses aware of every smell, every sound around him.

Other times, he was pushed to the limit of his endurance, his body being molded for whatever was to come.

And then, there was the sword.

The brothers had been delighted when they discovered that Michael was ambidextrous. He was placed with a swordmaster who was also adept at using both hands equally, and Michael's training began in earnest.

He had learned to use many different types of weapons. Firearms had not been much of challenge for him. Between Vera and Crow, he had learned most all one could know about the care and use of firearms. Here he learned gun smithing as well, which he enjoyed. He realized that he could do most anything he wanted to a firearm with that knowledge.

He learned to use the knife, as well. To cut, slash, parry, even throw almost any edged weapon, regardless of size.

But always they focused on the sword. Finally, he asked why.

"A sword will never jam," his sword master told him. "It will never run out of ammunition. It will never fail to fire. And," he added in a lower voice, "there are some enemies that the sword is better against than the gun."

Satisfied with that, Michael devoted himself to the sword.

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Michael looked at the letter, refusing to believe it.

"I'm very sorry, Michael," Brother Thomas told him softly. "She. . .she was a very good woman."

"I. . .she can't. . ." Tears streamed down the boys face, as words failed him. At sixteen, he was huge for his age, and his physical training had made him lean and hard. Muscles bulged as tension ebbed and flowed through his body.

"We can arrange for you to visit the. . ." The brother broke off as Michael turned away. He began to stuff things into a backpack.

"What are you doing?" the brother asked.

"I'm leaving," Michael said, over his shoulder. "I'm through."

"You are not ready for that," the brother cautioned. "Your training is. . ."

"Finished," the boy said, turning to face the brother. "I'm finished. I sat here, breathing and doing all your God stuff, and now my mom's gone. I'll never see her again. I'm through." He started for the door.

"Michael, please," the brother tried again. "You need to finish your training. To leave as you are now, invites only trouble."

"As opposed to what I've got?" the boy snorted. "I'm all alone, again, Brother Thomas. As alone as I was the day she found me."

"Your being here is not the reason for her death, my son."

"Isn't it?" Michael shot back. "If I had stayed, she wouldn't have enlisted. She'd still been at home, being my mom."

"It was her wish that you be here, during that time, Michael," Thomas pointed out. "Her wish that you receive the training we can offer."

"That may be, Brother Thomas," Michael nodded. "It doesn't change the facts."

Thomas watched him slip out of the door, and into the darkness of the night, his heart heavy. He walked slowly to his office, where a terminal sat. He entered a code, and was soon talking to a familiar face.

"He is gone," Thomas said quietly. "He took the news hard."

"I feared as much," the man nodded. "I am sorry, Thomas. I cannot deal with it at the moment. Perhaps I can find him, soon."

"I do not believe that you can," Thomas shook his head. "He will disappear as if he never was. We have lost a strong warrior in him, my old friend."

"God often shines the light when the hour is darkest, brother," the man reminded him. "We'll see Michael again, when he's needed." The connection was broken, and Thomas looked out his window, into the dark.

"I pray you are right," he murmured. "I pray it be so."

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The docks were busy. The boy walked along the strip, eyeing the ships in port. The hands glanced at him as he walked by, some smirking, some nodding. Many had been like him at one time. Another gangling farm boy, tired of choking on dust behind a plow, or wading through cow manure all day.

From that perspective, life in the black looked like shiny wrapped in pretty.He stopped, suddenly, at the open cargo door of a middle sized freighter. The mate was standing there, beside a sign that said the ship was looking for a crewman. He pondered a moment, then shrugged, and walked up to the man.

"Need a job," he said calmly. The first mate eyed the over large boy with care.

"How old are you, boy?" he asked, though not unkindly.

"Sixteen," the kid replied.

"Your folks know you're down here?" the mate asked.

"They know," he nodded. "Got in a bit o' trouble. Gotta be scarce."

"Kill someone?" the mate asked warily. The boy shrugged.

"Made the wrong man mad, s'all," was the only reply.

"It's hard work, son, but you look fit enough. Come on and meet the Captain." He started through the hatch, then turned back.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Cobb. Jayne Cobb."

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"We're takin' on passengers?" Jayne asked, as he worked to move cargo onto Serenity.

"Few," Mal nodded. He'd hired Jayne in a desperation move, to keep him and the merc's former boss from killing Mal and Zoe. He'd kept him, over the years, because he was good with a gun. Or with a knife. Or his hands, Mal grimaced. But he never stopped complaining, and was almost constantly in an ill mood.

"What for?" the merc demanded.

"Cause I said so, Jayne," Mal retorted. Jayne glared at him for a second, then shrugged.

"Whatever," he walked on, resuming his work. He placed the crate in his hands atop others, and turned back.

Coming face to face, nearly, with a Shepard.

"Jayne'll get that," Mal was telling the Holy Man, and the Shepard smiled.

"I can manage, thank you," he replied. "Though you may want to have him cart the food up to the galley."

"Jayne won't mind that," Mal smiled.

Jayne ignored the by play. Did that voice sound familiar? He cocked his head to one side, studying the Shepard. Reminded him of something, he decided. Something long ago. But what, he couldn't put his finger on.

"Jayne, why not take the Shepard's donation of real food up to the galley?" Mal said, jarring the mercenary from his thoughts. Jayne nodded, taking hold of the stack of crates and hauling the effortlessly up the stairs.

"Rather strong young man," Book commented softly, and Mal nodded.

"And a bit thick headed," Mal chuckled. "But he's a good man in a fight."

"I'm sure," Book repressed a smile. After all this time. . .

"Excuse me, Shepard, got Captainy things to see to. Kaylee'll see to gettin' you settled."

"Certainly, Captain." Book nodded absently.

"God shines the light when things are often darkest," the old man muttered to himself, following the engineer to his quarters.