Six Weeks Prior...

Inara slumped in her seat as she heard the engines wind down. They had made it off the moon, so why wasn't Mal gunning on the course to Sihnon like he said he would? She heard Mal shouting from the bridge, and a few minutes later, his voice echoed over the ship's comm system.

"Change of plans, everyone! It appears we weren't as patched up as we thought, so it seems we'll have to make an emergency stop on Haven for reassessment and repairs."

Inara sighed and closed her eyes, retreating into her mind, since her services would not be required for some time.

The conversation from only minutes ago replayed in her mind.

"Ready to get off this heap... Back to civilization?"

Just the sound of his voice when he said it... If anyone else in the Verse—on any other ship ever to exist—had asked her, she would have responded in the affirmative with no reservations.

So why did she choke here and now?

"I don't know." Since when has she deigned to give anybody on the Serenity a non-answer? They knew how she felt; they respected what she thought.

So what did she think? Inara sat up, positioned herself in front of her mirror, gazed deep into her own reflection, and chanted, "Serenity, Serenity..."

What feelings did it evoke? Safety or danger? Love or distaste? Comfort or annoyance?

"Serenity... Serenity..."

Inara had been so lost in soul-searching that she had not realized she was still chanting. She fell silent and looked at herself.

Herself; not sorrow, not joy, not home, not pain—she felt herself when she thought of Serenity.

So what did that mean for her future?

Outside the windows of her shuttle, Haven's rugged landscape came into view. The rubble and bodies still lay scattered about, in spite of the few survivors trying to clean up the mess that was The Operative's calling card. Inara remained inside, even as she heard the main bay doors open so that Mal, Jayne and Kaylee could inspect the hull. Purely because of boredom, she opened the terrestrial communications channel and accessed the messages designated for her personal account.

Two messages since their departure for Miranda.

"Greetings, Inara; I just received word that you had expressed interest in a scientific endeavor centered on Miranda. I am sending you the contact information for a senator who might be able to share some information on the subject. I have also taken the liberty of providing him with your contact information, in case he would prefer to initiate contact. I hope this was not amiss. Best of luck, and I hope you find what you need."

The second message was screened through a very secure network; undoubtedly the senator.

"Greetings, Inara Serra; I understand you made inquiries on the subject of the Miranda Project, specifically the personnel involved. Since it was not a widely-published study, I would be very interested to know what prompted the inquiry. I can only imagine it is because one of your most recent circle of acquaintances, if those rumors are to be believed, was someone intimately involved with the project. Hence I have applied for your services, beginning with dinner two days from now. That should give enough time for you to arrange passage to the Core. Meet me on Bellerophon. Ask for Abaddon. I look forward to our conversation."

The channel blinked to indicate an incoming message. Inara allowed the connection, and read the official escort application, with the only reference to her prospective client being the name he already gave, Abaddon. Any reference to his legal name—required on such applications—had been preemptively redacted.

The knot at the pit of her stomach that she had only recently untangled promptly reasserted itself. Her finger hovered over the response command. She could just refuse; she had done it before. It was well within her right as a licensed Companion to turn down a solicitation for any reason. The client was not entitled to any specific Companion, and the Companion was not obligated to accept all solicitations if his or her health, vitality, sanity, or any other part of the Companion's person or life was called into question at the time of solicitation.

Besides that, it was Miranda. They had actually gone there; they knew everything there was to know about Miranda...

Didn't they?

"One of your recent acquaintances... Was intimately involved..."

Inara closed the port without responding; another non-answer. She stood and exited the pod, leaving the questions and issues behind in pursuit of some clarity.

Kaylee Frye Tam ambled on board, streaks of grease framing a gleaming grin on her face.

Inara returned the smile. "Did you find the problem and fix it?" She asked.

Kaylee wiped her dirty hands on the pants of her coveralls before slipping them off, revealing her customary shirt and cargo pants underneath. "Sure did," she responded. "Doesn't matter what the captain says; love may keep the ship afloat, but it takes a good mechanic to keep the engines running smooth!" Both women shared a chuckle. Kaylee continued, "One of the bolts on the aft starboard engine hadn't caught like it should have, so we got her nailed down tight!"

"Oh good," said Inara. "I would hate for it to come apart mid-flight."

"Don't you worry," Mal said as he climbed the stairs toward the bridge. "We'll still get you home in plenty of time."

Twist, went her stomach.

"Actually, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind taking me all the way to Bellerophon." Wait! When had she decided that?

The captain's hand came down on the railing, perilously close to hers.

"Now, what sort of business would take us all the way to Bellerophon?"

Steady, Inara. Maybe it was better if she go straight to Sihnon and make some kind of decision there. Maybe, with access to a land-based information portal, she could find out more about her prospective client before she decided whether or not to meet him. Two days from the time of his message meant she had one more day to either accept or refuse.

Meanwhile, her mouth decided to speak again before her mind was quite ready.

"I just received a solicitation from a client who might know more about Miranda."

Mal's face hardened; it really was too soon. "What more is there to know?" His voice dropped almost to a growl.

Inara listened to the question she had been asking herself just moments ago—but she still could not conjure a reasonable answer.

"Maybe," she faltered. "Maybe he might be able to say why it had to happen, or point us to the people in charge of it." Even as she said it, that odd line sprang to the forefront of her memory. "Something else he said," she commented slowly. "Someone in my recent acquaintance was intimately involved with the project."

That got Mal's attention. His eyes narrowed on Inara. "Like how recent? Is he referring to your tenure on my ship? Like one of—"

He broke off as Zoe approached.

"All set for takeoff, captain," she said without looking at either of them. "Shall I tell River to resume the course for Sihnon?"

Mal waved his hand. "Hold that thought." He turned back to Inara. "So do you think this lead on Bellerophon is worth checking? Or are you just looking to get back into the old swing of things?" He waggled his eyebrows naughtily.

Inara smirked. "Don't be crude," she chided softly. "And would it be so wrong of me to want a little of both? Maybe," her glance fell on the departing Zoe, the way the first mate's shoulders sagged as they never had before. "Maybe it could give us some closure," she said.

Malcolm shrugged. "All right, suit yourself." He ambled back toward the cockpit—but what had ghosted over his face just then? Inara's conscience chided her for this latest in a series of non-answers—Mal's face certainly didn't aid her decision making! Was he really so disappointed? But what if it turned out that the information this Abaddon could provide actually gave them some kind of leverage over the Alliance? Would he be so regretful then?

"Setting course for Bellerophon!" Mal's voice came over the intercom.

Inara heard Jayne'a boots clump on the metal floor, heard his voice mutter, "What gorram business do we have on Bellerophon?"

She sighed and decided to wait out the ride in her shuttle.

Just over an hour later, Inara watched as the ship sank through the curved atmosphere of Bellerophon. The knot in her stomach tightened. Who was this Abaddon? Why did he want to meet her?

The Serenity hovered without docking. The door of her shuttle opened, and she knew Mal had come to say his goodbyes.

He stared at the outfit she had chosen with unconcealed approval.

"Nice dress," he blurted.

Inara only bowed her head. "Thank you." She did not trust herself to say more.

Mal still hesitated.

"Last chance to change your mind," he reminded her.

"I know." She sat at the controls of her shuttle to indicate her choice.

"Well, good luck out there," he fumbled. "Be safe."

That face again—why was he making that face? Inara forced herself to smile. "I will," she promised.

It wasn't till Mal backed away from the hatch that Inara realized he had not crossed the threshold into her shuttle. She pushed all of that out of her mind and flew to the public port of Bellerophon.

"Name?" The customs official asked as he glanced over her licenses and papers.

"Inara Serra," she replied evenly.

He signed the requisite blank. "And what is your business on Bellerophon?"

The same questions, no matter what planet she went to; maybe she liked flying with the Serenity because they rarely went through customs, and thus she didn't have to field the same questions over and over.

"I am a licensed Companion under the laws and regulations of the Union of Allied Planets," she stated. "I am here to meet with a client."

Suddenly, the official in the next booth choked, stopped gawking at her, and returned to focusing intently on the travelers in front of him, who gave Inara thin gazes of acute disdain.

The official handed her papers and stamped visa back to her. "Enjoy your visit," he said out of habit.

Inara nodded graciously. "Thank you."

She exited the tall silver building. The streets were full of richly-robed business owners and billionaires who could afford life on Bellerophon. Inara calmly walked to the information cafe just across from the customs office. If Abaddon wasn't waiting for her, she might as well do some searching. She entered the name ABADDON on the screen. The blinking circle indicated a search in progress.

"Madame Serra."

A hand gripped her forearm. Years of practice enabled Inara to compose herself quickly. She did not flinch or shy from the rough touch. She took her eyes off the screen and looked up into the man's face. He had fair skin, fair hair severely sculpted on his head, and the deepest, darkest eyes she had ever seen on a human. She would need to be careful of those eyes.

"Abaddon," she guessed, throwing in a small smile to combat his severity.

It worked. The thin lips twitched. "Good. Now that we've been introduced, let's go to dinner."

He didn't let go of her arm, but led her down the lane to a very tall tower, with a wide dining space below, a tall support system, and a spacious dining area up among the clouds of Bellerophon.

Inara had to admire the way Abaddon had orchestrated the whole matter to intimidate a weaker woman. The host at the front of the restaurant nodded to him as he entered without a word. He stood, still gripping her arm tight as the waiters took her cape and his coat. He wore a crisp, spotless steel-grey uniform underneath, and they immediately took a small, private lift up to the sky dining area.

Once there, he led her to a table far enough away from all the others that no one would overhear their conversation, yet it was right near a window, to give them the best view of the rest of the planet below. A waiter met them and immediately poured their wine, while another brought in the first course. Abaddon made no move for his food, watching carefully as Inara lifted her fork and took the first bite.

The lips twitched again, as the eyes attempted to swallow her. "Do you like it?" He asked.

Inara could still feel his cold fingers clamped like a cuff around her arm. "It's very good," she answered. "Not a flavor I've encountered very often."

"I don't think you have or will ever taste its like," he responded, finally sampling his own. "I developed this combination myself, and it uses herbs native to only one planet in the whole Verse—so naturally, I claimed ownership of the entire crop."

Was there really that much ego in this man?

"Naturally," Inara repeated.

He gestured to the window. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you a better view. On a clear day, you can see all the way to the horizon in every direction."

His words were not unkind, but the more she tried to relax and warm the tension between them, the more she felt like a candle trying to melt a glacier: he was so cold, she was burning slowly away. Was this how he liked his relationships? She suppressed a tiny shiver.

The eyes seemed to follow her thoughts.

"Do you doubt that I have anything of value to give you?" He asked.

Inara remained on her guard; her training and experience as a Companion to rich and powerful people had taught her to never rush in to an apparent avenue of exploitation. She would not fall for his leading.

"I believe you do not know me well enough, sir," she stated.

The twitch again. "You are a Companion, hired for pleasure and attention; do you ever really know your clients?"

Ah, there was an opening safe enough. "Most of my clients would at least trust my confidentiality enough to use their real names during a session."

The eyes seemed to retract a bit. "Have I behaved in such a way to give you the impression that Abaddon is not my real name?" He observed.

Inara did not waver an inch in her reservations, but she did not show it.

The waiter brought their entrees: yet another exotic dish Inara was sure he had selected to impress her. She ate as if this was normal behavior for a client.

The dark eyes fixed on her again. She noted how he kept both hands clearly visible on the table at all times; this was a man used to double-dealing and manipulation. A man with nothing to hide would not be so conscientious.

"You humor me," he probed at her again, "but you avoid the whole reason I received your name, and doubtless the reason that convinced you to accept my request in the first place."

There it was. Inara still maintained the conviction that this was entirely the work of a man who wanted to use and exploit her skills as a Companion. She was completely on her own in this matter.

"I accepted you as a client; I am merely fulfilling the terms of my contract."

"Oh come, you are too coy!" He leaned forward over his plate, wiping his mouth carefully with the napkin. "Why would a woman who is gainfully employed and successful in her job as a Companion take an interest in an Outer planet such as Miranda?"

There it was, the opening she had been waiting for. Inara seized it, careful to maintain a distance between herself and her friends. "A passing conversation while I escorted a client in the Core."

"Whose conversation, if I may ask?" The voice spoke detached and calm, but the eyes attempted to overwhelm her again.

Inara kept up the lie. "I do not know his name, but it was during a soirée on Cassiopeia, so I believe it must have been someone in attendance there." If he was as well-connected as he seemed, she had no doubt he would either search through that party till he found a name with the right connections, or he would know enough already to call her bluff right here.

The corners of his lips stretch stretched and widened. "Very good; you are better than I thought you would be."

He signaled for the waiters to approach. One bore a small ashtray and a silver humidor. Abaddon glanced at Inara. "You don't mind?"

She maintained her professional demeanor. "Not at all," she replied.

He took the cigar and lit it, pushing the tray to the center of the table.

"It came to my attention, shortly before our mutual acquaintance informed me of your inquiry, that you were seen in the company of a certain man." He lowered his hand toward the tray.

Inara saw the subtle flick of his wrist meant to draw her eye, and when she glanced down, she saw a tiny image displayed in the bowl of the ashtray.

"Do you know him?" Abaddon asked, his eyes deeper than ever.

Inara withdrew inside herself, forcing a slow, measured breath to keep from losing her composure and exposing the crew. Shepherd Book! Why was it so vital for Abaddon to establish a connection with him, of all people?

"His name was Henry Evans, and he was instrumental in maintaining the security of the Miranda Project."

The revelation tore at her—not the name, she had known it for a while; his involvement though—how could they not have known?

She thought of denying any connection to him, but Abaddon had clearly already proven his knowledge that at least they had spoken at one point.

"I didn't know his name," she answered. "I assumed he was a Shepherd of some sort."

"A Shepherd, how interesting," Abaddon mused. "Of course, I did not expect you to know his real name; he abandoned his position shortly after the project shut down, and probably took the role of a Shepherd to hide behind. Of course, he is dead now. So... Was he the one to mention Miranda in your hearing?"

Inara noted that Abaddon seemed exclusively concerned with Book—which possibly meant that he did not know or did not care about the others in the crew.

"No, it wasn't him," she could tell the truth this time, briefly, before continuing with the lie. "The only conversation we ever had, he accosted me while I was escorting a client, and I think he tried to convert me."

The eyes widened, retracting into their sockets and out of her innermost soul. "Ah? Perhaps he embraced the Shepherd life more fully than I gave him credit for." He stubbed his cigar on the image, watching the material curl and singe until it was nothing but a pile of ash under the stub. Abaddon leaned back. "I only ask because Evans and I, we are not much different. Both of us are deeply involved with the upper-elite circles of the Allied Planets—and we both had our own ways of dealing with it." He stood and extended a hand to her, signaling that the meal was over. They exited the restaurant, but he took her further into the city, toward the private residency docks.

"Did you consider becoming a Shepherd as well?" Inara asked innocently, deliberately misunderstanding his meaning.

Abaddon shook his head. "Nothing so noble as that. You see, I reached the top of the inner circles of the Alliance, and I began to see that there was just as much corruption and deprivation among the richest of them, as there purported to be at the bottom. Ergo, having scaled up as far as I could go in society, I decided that the only progress I could make was to plumb the depths of the galaxy's underbelly."

They stood at the base of a ramp leading to a luxurious space shuttle. Abaddon indicated that they would be boarding.

Inara hesitated. "Where are we going?" She asked, keeping her voice low and steady.

Abaddon reached around and placed his hand firmly at the small of her back. "You're mine until I no longer need your services, Madame Serra," he reminded her in a voice dangerously close to a growl. "You will go and do wherever and whatever I want you to." His dark eyes stormed at her. "You have no other clients to service anytime soon, do you?"

It was true, and she knew that he probably made sure this was the case. "I am at your service," she acknowledged flatly, taking the seat next to him as the pilot prepared for liftoff.

"To satisfy your curiosity," Abaddon continued, "we are headed to Persephone; I assume you know it." His eyes slid to her, and the way he said it made her wonder if he had seen through her lies; she had met Book and Mal and all the rest when they all happened to convene at the same ship on Persephone. But then again, given the recent turn of the conversation, she might be able to keep her distance.

"Of course," she replied. "There is a kingpin who operates the largest black market smuggling ring from there." Companions, licensed and unlicensed, would know about smuggling without knowing specific smugglers and their ships.

"A smuggling ring I just cracked, thanks to the authority afforded by my Allied connections," Abaddon bragged. "That smuggling ring belongs to me now, and I have the power to expand operations to every planet in the galaxy, thanks to the number of customs officials on my payroll." He smiled. "That kingpin you speak of? I just confiscated his ledger in the name of the Alliance. His clients and his employees are now mine, and I intend to make full use of every last one of them once we get to Persephone." He unbuckled his safety belt and stood before her. "But first," he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it, "we have a few hours to ourselves until we land and I have a party to throw. Let us see how serviceable you Companions really are."

She removed her belt and stood to join him.

A few hours later, Abaddon lay stretched out next to Inara, as her writhing conscience robbed her of sleep. All Badger's employees—Mal! This man would find out about Mal and Simon and River; he was definitely more dangerous than even Niska. She needed to figure out where on Persephone Abaddon was keeping the ledger, and how to get it away from this man before he could access the information. All it would take was keeping him distracted so that he never opened it before she could steal it and make her escape. Inara allowed the idea to boost her confidence as she lay down with her body carefully aligned with his. She was very good at distractions.