Chapter Eight – Introduction

Standing to the side of the Infirmary door, Zoe checked the cylinder of her short-barreled "Avenging Angel' model Colt Army conversion. Satisfied as to the loads it contained, she snapped the loading gate closed, spinning the cylinder gently and indexing the hammer before shoving the weapon down her pants into the small of her back. She had decided on the Colt versus her Jericho 941's because the .45 Long Colt round was heavier, slower and had more knockdown at very short range. The short barrel was also good for close-in work and the heavy frame could be utilized as a club at need. There was also the consideration that if the woman managed to take the gun away from her, she would only have five rounds (Zoe had indexed the hammer on an empty chamber as a safety precaution) to do damage with rather than the fifteen in the Jericho.

Both Inara and Kaylee watched her with obvious discomfort but Zoe had already spoken her peace. She honestly did not believe that the woman was currently a threat but she had not survived as long as she had without heavy personal/professional paranoia. Such things were ingrained into her very DNA these days. Why else did she still strip apples with her knife? Without another word she gave the other two a nod and in they went.

Simon looked up. He had just finished taking the IV out of the woman's arm. Mal was standing on the other side of the table back against the counter with his arms folded in front of him. At the movement in through the Infirmary door the woman looked up. Her eyes narrowed somewhat as they flashed across the three Serenity women, staying just a moment longer on Kaylee whom she had not seen before. Then, knowing that something was about to happen, the woman looked to Mal.

"We need to get a few things straight," he said bumping himself away from the counter, locking his eyes with the woman's. "Seems like we've all come to believe that you're not a danger to us . . . so we're gonna let you loose. But—"

"I need to behave." The woman told him, addressing the statement before it was even completely out. Her voice was losing some of the 'hoarseness' but had not cleared being soft and wispy. "Don't touch anything that I don't know what it is," she continued, "don't go anywhere that's restricted, stay out of the way if there's trouble." She managed what could only be described as a grim smile in response to the slightly aback look on Mal's face. "My pardon Captain. But something tells me that I've given a similar speech to someone on more than one occasion."

Mal got his mental feet under him with, "ah—so—you know about bein aboard ships?"

The woman nodded. "The feeling has come to me while I've been lying here that I have spent a very good portion of my life in space." She broke eye contact and looked around the ceiling of the Infirmary. "There is a feeling of space that only spacers know." She looked back to Mal, "it took some time to come to me, but I recognize it now."

Mal kind of absently nodded his head. He found it interesting that she had said 'spacer' rather than 'Independent'. Did that mean that she could be just a regular Alliance citizen who had been a 'spacer'?

"Fine . . . swell . . . well—right now, we're gonna restrict you to the Lounge (Mal waved his arm toward the outside of the Infirmary) which is where your bunk will be (a thumb jerked back over his shoulder toward the passenger dorm area) and the Dining Area up top (one finger pointing up) where you can get some food. Zoe, Inara, and Kaylee," he waved to the three women waiting, "will help you get set up."

The woman took another glance at Kaylee when the Engineers name was said but then she looked back to Mal. Her gaze was—steady but her tone was, "I . . . sense that there is something else that you need to tell me Captain. Something I think . . . that I have also had to say to unknown parties on occasion."

Mal's face tried real hard to hide his surprise. It was almost like she was reading his mind. He didn't think she was though. Which meant something else to him; something like this woman had been in a similar position of responsibility like Mal's own.

Shaking that feeling off, he leaned down to the woman's face in order to say in a close whisper, "as I said, at the moment, my folks an I don't think you're a threat . . . but I find out different . . . I'll put a slug right between your eyes."

The woman's eyes held steady, not a flinch, or even a flicker of emotion despite Mal's almost intimate closeness, not a speck of reaction at the bluntness of the threat. After a moment, she just nodded, "you are most direct . . . and understood Captain," she breathed back at him. "You'll not have any problem with me toward your ship and crew. You have my word."

Mal held that steady gaze for a moment . . . finding that this woman's 'word' was strangely comforting to him. He gave her a nod back then drew himself up. He gave a glance at everyone about the room before saying, "good enough. I'll let the womenfolk get on with their business." He gave his 'womenfolk' a nod (trying not to notice that they were 'glaring' at him over the use of the term) as he headed out.

"Now that that is done," Simon said, moving to 'blackout' the Infirmary windows, "all I want to say is that I ask you to be careful as you start to move. All of your bones have healed enough (he had to catch himself from making some kind of comment about that strange and unusual 'healing') that you don't have to have a brace or cast but I would feel better if you used a cane. You're still anemic and you will be weak. So until your muscles get use to holding you up again—" Simon took a cane out of a cabinet, set it on the counter and with a gracious bow, "I'll leave you ladies to get our guest up and about." He then backed out of the Infirmary door closing it as he went.

It didn't take long for there wasn't much to do. Considering how close in size they were, Zoe provided the woman with panties and ship slippers. Inara had brought one of her longer/plainer robes. There was only one thing they currently lacked and considering the size of the woman's bust, she would have to go unholstered for a period.

Zoe stood back watching as Kaylee and Inara helped. Once they were 'introduced', the young engineer, in her usual fashion talked up a storm as they got the woman to sit up on the edge of the table. Inara formally asked for permission before working the woman's tangled, dirty mass of hair out of the bag next to where her head had been lying. Zoe's eyes were more on the woman herself as Kaylee helped her out of the Infirmary smock.

Simon hadn't been lying. Zoe vividly remembered how the woman's skin had looked almost shredded from all the cuts and gashes her ride in the pod had inflicted. As Inara and Kaylee got the woman undressed, Zoe could see only perfect, flawless skin, skin like someone in their early twenties; although Zoe would guess that the woman was somewhere in her mid thirties. Not so much as mark or a scar was visible anywhere. Zoe felt—

She wasn't sure what she felt. Her own skin bore the signs of her life. Modern medicine reduced the scaring from surgery to something basically invisible to anyone but a professional like Simon. But jagged lacerations on shoulder and side of torso from hot flying shrapnel left untreated for hours, pucker marks on both sides of a thigh from being impaled on a steel reinforcing rod from the shock wave of an exploding ammo truck—

Wash . . . had never mentioned them but Zoe knew that he saw them every time she was naked in front of him. Sometimes she wondered—

Zoe took a very slow deep breath to clear the feelings out of her. She was who she was . . . and her husband had known and accepted her as that before they were married. It didn't matter; it never would.

Zoe realized . . . that the woman was watching her intently even as Inara and Kaylee fussed over that massive catball of hair. Zoe matched that look—

And once again . . . felt a kindred spirit. Zoe knew without a doubt that this woman was also some kind of soldier, one of honor and integrity, one who had known pain, sadness, loss, defeat—

The woman gave a tiny wince, her head twisting as Inara tired to finger out a snag in all that hair.

Zoe—blinked—the moment broken. Zoe realized that she had felt something else in the woman but whatever it was was now lost. But Zoe's impression was. . . .

Someone who understood responsibility for another.

"Zoe?" Kaylee asked, "can you help?"

Zoe stepped over to assist in helping the woman into Inara's robe. Inara was holding the unruly mass of hair out of the way while Kaylee was starting to work the robe up one of the woman's arms. She wanted Zoe to assist with the other arm.

As she drew close Zoe maneuvered carefully as so to keep her 'back' as far away from the woman as she could. But after a moment the woman said in a soft voice, "you bend over too far Ms First Mate and that revolver in your backside will drop down into the crack of your butt."

Zoe barely managed to hide her surprise; she wanted to step back away out of sudden fear that the woman would snatch the weapon—

But she controlled the urge. She glanced back at the counter as she finished getting the robe on the woman, realizing that the woman had probably seen the gun in the reflection of the medical unit she had been standing in front of. If the woman had wanted the gun, Zoe knew she would have taken it.

Zoe looked back at the woman . . . who was looking straight ahead with no expression on her face. Why did she do that? Zoe wondered. Did she do it to make a point, to let me know that she could have taken it and yet didn't.

Inara was saying something about taking the woman across the Lounge to the Passenger Dorm shower where a proper job could be done and how she was going to go to her shuttle to get some of her own hair products—

The woman, with Kaylee holding on to one arm for support, came forward off of the table, carefully and slowly coming to her feet. Zoe instinctively backed away. The woman came fully upright. Zoe found that she was maybe less than an inch taller than the woman but then she had her boots on while the woman was barefoot. Naked before each other, the woman would probably be just a shade taller than her own 5'10".

The woman was looking at Zoe again, that same, steady measured gaze.

This time, the woman said in that soft voice, "I think that there are parts of us where we are very much alike Ms. First Mate."


Despite it all—despite the possible prejudices through the influences of Mal's, Jayne's and Zoe's words and attitudes, despite all the strange and unusual things that Simon had to say about the situation, despite her own feelings and her own admitted preconceptions, Inara had to admit—she was impressed.

If the woman had been a Companion, she would have been among the elite.

The two of them were inside of the small shower within the Passenger Head just off to the side of the Lounge. The woman was leaning her back into the far corner while Inara was standing right on the door's threshold with her back 'out'. Zoe was standing directly behind her keeping an eye on things. Kaylee was waiting out-of-sight to the side; not wanting to 'peep' at the woman.

And despite it all, Inara didn't feel threatened . . . although she had to admit to feeling a little . . . intimidated. Which considering that the source of the intimidation was another woman, while it wasn't a 'new' sensation for her, but it was certainly 'novel' considering the circumstances involved.

But Inara also knew that the intimidation she was currently experiencing was from the 'raw charisma' that she felt from the woman. The fact that most of that charisma was at the moment unfocused only increasing the depth of Inara's appreciation of the woman. She anticipated many—interesting conversations with this woman in the days ahead.

Then there was the 'physical' side of things.

Very tall, very slender, Inara mused as she took in 'the entire package' standing in front of her. Narrow hips with a slight but definite waist giving her a 'girlish' shape rather than 'womanly'. Well proportioned—neither her torso nor her legs are longer than the other. High, firm D-cups—very high and firm—almost twentyish instead of the mid-thirties she has to be. Simon was right about her being muscled but its sculpted athletic rather than bulked power.

Inara was incapable of having envy toward another woman's body. Such feelings were purged in the Temples, allowing only appreciation for the uniqueness and/or beauty of others. The woman before her certainly qualified for both terms.

Inara was in the process of folding the robe she had loaned the woman. She placed it into the upper storage shelf. She then started to take off her own sari—

As she did so, she was aware of the piercing gaze from the woman—


Just what is going on? the woman wondered to herself. Things are suddenly moving so fast. And it's not that you're . . . uncomfortable with that—it's—is it the lack of control over what is happening to you? That . . . makes you more than a little uncomfortable . . . and something tells me that you've always had something about being in—not—not 'in control'—but 'in command'.

Something else was causing a reaction within the woman that made her feel 'uncomfortable'. She was standing back in the corner of the shower. She felt—'tense'—she knew that she probably 'looked' tense—and maybe a little trapped—she found those facts, while they were not unfamiliar to her—

Something inside her told her that she had spent her entire life in situations that were inherently tense without her and her body showing any outward signs of the effects of the same. In fact—a sudden 'insight' told her that she had spent much of her life in situations where it was necessary and required that she not show tenseness in tense situations as if—she had to do so in order to set an example for others.

That wasn't all. And the woman knew that much if not all of what she was currently feeling was directly due to the way her status had so suddenly changed. And with that status change—and the 'freedom' that had very suddenly come with it—new sensations, new impressions, almost constant 'little flashes' were assaulting just about every one of her senses. Something told the woman that she had always 'prided herself on steadiness and control' and she knew that at the moment she was nowhere near being steady and in control.

Also—some things made sense to her—too much did not—but what was weird about it, even some of the things which did not make sense—they somehow felt right.

An example of that was what she felt at that very moment; for she was buck-assed naked in that corner of the shower . . . and a woman who was virtually unknown to her was in the process of getting naked just a foot or two away with another woman—the ships First Mate no less—watching the procedures from outside and . . . nothing within her seemed to mind any of it. In fact, it seemed normal. A whole flood of flashes and impressions suddenly came to her of communal showers or even bathing in places like rivers, both sexes, totally businesslike, almost military—

Another flash told her that that was probably part of the truth. Her earlier 'flash' to the woman currently in the shower with her—Inara—told her that she had 'known war'. Many of her flashes and impressions were rapidly causing that to become clearer.

The woman was certain that she had spent most if not all of her life in a—military setting. Beyond that, things were very confusing for she had had flashes and impressions of all kinds of environments, ground (riding in vehicles-field camps-the bathing in rivers thing), air (cockpits-cargo areas in what could only be aircraft) and space (ships bridges-compartments and mess halls—berthing compartments). A bewildering mixture of common moments such as 'shining boots' and 'paperwork' thrown in with moments so dark, jolting, disjointed and impressionistic that she could only assume that they were frantic, dangerous, potentially deadly scenes from combat. All of the moments had the intimate sense that told her that they were actual memories of her personal experiences rather than something she had heard of or seen in another medium.

Almost none of it made sense to her. It was all she could do to try and control, try to somehow 'throttle down' the mass of haphazard emotions and impressions that were running through her.

She found that there was a part of her that could do that. It almost felt as if she could slip a mask over herself, over her emotions, that she was capable of locking an iron gate over her feelings showing the world only what she wanted it to see. It seemed to be something in her which was almost instinctive to her, part of that 'ice' that she had felt inside of herself earlier. Something else told her that it was a talent that circumstances in her life had forced her to 'learn'. Due to that, she knew she could do it even though at the moment her control over it was imperfect, such as the fact that she was currently having trouble concealing just how tense she was.

But somehow she knew that she could do it. All she needed was practice.

She knew that she could do that with a 'cold' certainty inside of her. She was coming to realize that there were other 'talents' that she possessed as well. Some of those had already come back although she might not have been truly aware of them. She had come to realize that one of these was how she 'looked at people'. Currently, she was still unsure of it—she was still trying to lock all the impressions and interpretations down—

But like everything else, she knew that all she needed was practice—

She made herself 'look' at the woman—Inara again, trying to get whatever it was that she sensed she could do to become clearer.


Inara ignored the woman's sudden, intense 'look'. She had seen its like before. In fact there were two others on board Serenity who had a similar talent. She could tell that the woman wasn't really sure what was happening when she looked at someone in that way but if the woman was anywhere near as intelligent as Inara thought she was it wouldn't take her long to figure it out.

In professional terms, it was called the 'all-seeing' or 'omnipresent' gaze. It was the ability to instantly memorize with a single sweeping look the entire dimension of a room and the exact placement of everything in it. It was the ability to look at a person never before encountered and know just what kind of a person, their personalities and traits, was being seen. It was different than the talent that Mal Reynolds had. Mal could tell if a person was good or bad instinctively based on their 'aura', that invisible personal energy that people emitted. Zoe and Shepherd Book however had something just like what the woman was displaying. It was a total 'reading' of everything their eyes saw before them and unlike Mal's ability it extended to the physical environment they were in in addition to the people they encountered.

Companions received training in both aspects within the Temples. Like 'female intuition', such talents if discovered were encouraged. Even with those such as Inara herself, ones who didn't have a single ounce of this kind of talent (although she was fine with her highly-tuned intuition), they received in-depth training in the powers of observation in order to perceive and act on any need from their clients. Such training helped Inara recognize the talent when she saw it and in her opinion, the woman had it in buckets—probably as strong as the Shepherds. The fact also was that Inara personally thought her own ability to observe was 'better' than the 'all-seeing' talent for it was much less 'obvious', less 'intrusive' than that intense 'stare' even if it was also much less powerful.

For as had been said, what Inara was seeing was before her was—impressive.

Now, as she finished removing her sari, which she carefully folded in order to store it away, she wondered just how the woman would react to her own nude form—


The woman watched Inara disrobe. She tried to make sense of what it was that her senses were telling her.

She's—Inara—is very sure of herself—very comfortable with the fact that she's nude in front of me. She's . . . the way she's standing—it's almost as if she's presenting herself to me for inspection. But . . . there's nothing—she doesn't seem to be seeking approval—it's as if—

A humorless smile came to the woman's face. In that cracked, withered voice, the woman said, "I take it that you wish to come close . . . and you want to hear from me that I won't bite."


A smile with humor in it came onto Inara's face—yes, the woman was just as smart as the Companion thought she was. "I have intensive training," Inara told her quietly, "in massage and relaxation techniques; in the care of skin and hair and familiarity with the needs of those suffering from old or debilitating injuries that may assist you if you find that you are having difficulties with any pain or stiffness in your movements or difficulties with your tactile senses. But I also must have permission to enter your personal space and to know if there is anything that you would find uncomfortable or unacceptable."

The woman's piercing look was back for a moment. Then she asked in a tentative voice, "are you a nurse—or a member of some kind of healing order?"

Inara had to struggle for a moment not to let a chuckle escape her lips. Better not let the Shepherd hear that I might be part of an 'order'. He might have something to say about that.

Once she was sure she had internal humor under control, Inara told the woman, "I have qualities and abilities from both of what you say (let's just not mention that I'm a Companion just yet. If she's from one of the more conservative social or political factions she might react badly). If I may, can I at least assist you with your hair." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "as well as providing what you need if you have other matters of feminine hygiene to attend to." With that she held up a female depilate device.

There was a moment of a most peculiar look in the woman's eye for a moment followed by what appeared to be embarrassed shock crossing the woman's features. Inara realized that it had taken that small moment for the woman to recognize just what it was that Inara was holding then react to the fact that another woman was commenting on—

As Inara had this thought, the woman, in what appeared to be an involuntary reaction, looked down at her legs, one hand impulsively reaching up into her underarm—the bruising and scaring might have vanished but current conditions of those places of her body were definitely—furry—much more so than the weeks the woman had been on Serenity could possibly account for. This had to mean that if the woman was of the social type that attended to such feminine needs, she had been unable to do so for a substantial period before they had found her in the pod.

Inara again had to stifle a smile—as a very real blush came to the woman's face—almost immediately to be banished as a mask seemed to drop over the woman's features, attempting to block off all visible evidence of emotion.

"No embarrassment . . . no intimacy . . . is intended," Inara told her in a gentle, humble tone. "And if such things are against a cultural or religious—"

The woman held up a hand stopping the Companion. Inara waited as the woman mentally—regrouped.

"It has come to me," the woman finally rasped, "that indeed I was in the military—" she paused as if trying to recall or organize her thoughts. "It seems to me that when we were out in the field—" the woman faltered as if trying to put the concepts together—

"You would defer such . . . female practices," Inara filled it in for her, "due to the necessity and reality of the 'field' situation." As a part of expanding her knowledge about the Verse and the diversity within it, Inara had once asked Zoe how being a soldier effected her being a woman. The resulting conversation had been very interesting and informative and was now proving to be useful. "But," Inara went on in an understanding tone, "in a more . . . normal situation . . . you would follow more normal female practices."

After a moment, the woman nodded her agreement.

Inara held the item out in her hand as if it was an offering.

The woman looked at it for a long moment, then she slowly came out of the corner, reaching out her one hand. With that acceptance, Inara moved closer to the woman, easing herself into the woman's personal space—

"I'm . . ." and there was a definite hesitation in the woman's voice, "more than a little shaky still. And . . . while I might have recognized what this device is—I'm . . . not sure if I have the current correct memory as to this device—if it had any particular operating mechanism." The woman's tone sounded like she was having trouble admitting it to herself—but Inara instinctively knew via her Companion training, that the woman would put aside personal discomfort in order to 'get the job done.' All the Companion needed to hear to complete the transition into the woman's comfort zone was—

"Can you help me?"

Inara bowed her head slightly, "I would be honored to do so."


"Are you crazy?" Jayne half squealed.

"That's been believed by more'n a few folks," Mal said easily as he finished helping Wash get supper ready to go onto the table. River and Book had been helping the Pilot in starting to prepare the meal when Mal came in after leaving the Infirmary. Jayne had been sitting at the table, glancing warily at River any time she had come near the butcher block containing the knives. A general conversation had been going on which Mal had joined into. It wasn't until Wash was about ready to actually put the meal on the table that the Merc turned to Mal and asked, "are we gonna dump the witch on one of the smaller moons thereabout?"

"We ain't dumpin her," was Mal's reply which had caused Jayne's reaction.

"Zoe raised the notion," Mal continued to state after Jayne's outburst, "that her memory since the crash seems to be good. If the Fed's get ahold of her, she's seen Simon and River. If we have to dump her, it won't be on a world with so many Feds."

Jayne seemed to relax a little when he stated, "but we are dumpin her. Somewhere! Soon!"

"No we're not," Mal said very plainly as he moved a pot to the table.

Jayne held both hands out in question, "but why?"

"No reason too at this point."

"No reason," Jayne seemed completely mystified. "She's an Alliance spy who's . . . been turned into a witch—she can probably see through walls, outrun a bullet, be stronger than a train, jump over buildins—"

"I think," Book broke in in his most reasonable voice as he brought the next pot over, "that you're suffering from a case of overactive imagination my friend. That happens sometimes to smart men such as yourself. But consider, do you really think that Zoe and the Captain would allow someone who is really dangerous to stay on board." He glanced at Mal before continuing with, "I seem to remember several unsavory individuals rapidly leaving this vessel—usually feet first."

"Well," Jayne said reluctantly even though he was pleased by Books flattery, "I seem to be the only one smart enough to realize that trouble should be gotten rid of at the first stop. But I'm hopin that at least you'll keep her locked up somewhere."

Simon was just coming into the Dining Area as Jayne said this. He stated to open his mouth to say something but Mal, who was just sitting into his chair at the table told the room beat him to it. "Nope, she's free as a bird even as we speak . . . or maybe eat," as he started piling things on his plate from the pot he had carried over.

Jayne just stared at his Captain with open mouthed disbelief.

The meal got started—although things were very quiet at the table. Jayne kept shooting angry glances, even if it was just Book asking for the beverage container or Simon passing a plate to his sister.

Then, a noise from the aft passageway.

All eyes looked up as Inara stepped through, holding back a hand—

Helping the woman step through the hatch and down the short stair.

Inara's robe, which was full length on the Companion, covered the woman down to someplace more than a bit above her calf's. Considering the Companions smaller stature, things were—a bit tight through the bust. The woman was moving slowly but confidently with the assistance of the cane provided by Simon. As she came into the Dining Area, she took a long slow look around, her intense eyes seemingly seeing everything.

Book had come to his feet and moved forward to direct the woman to the unoccupied end chair. As her eyes came to him, seeing him for the first time outside of when he was at the foot of the Infirmary bed, those eyes and that look stopped him for just a moment. He then gave her a disarming smile, taking that piercing look from her with a small bow saying, "madam, I am Book, Shepherd of the Good Lord, may I assist you to your seat?"

The woman seemed to hesitate for a moment as if evaluating the offer, those eyes examining Book very closely—then with a small nod, she held out the hand that wasn't gripping the cane, saying softly but hoarsely, "my good . . . Shepherd (she sounded tentative with the term), that would be most welcome."

Muttering, Jayne came to his feet. He started to pile food on his plate as everyone looked to him. He pulled away from the table, his eyes going to the woman, "might as well leave on my own 'fore I'm kicked out anyway for speakin my mind." With that he stalked out through the forward hatch.

A pail of cold water seemed to come down on the Dining Area—

Inara slipped into her place between Book's chair and Mal, Kaylee sat next to River and Zoe next to Wash. As Zoe sat, she placed a hand on Wash's shoulder as her eyes caught those of the woman, "this is my husband, he's our Pilot."

The woman nodded to Wash who just stared—

Until Zoe elbowed him in the ribs.

Book finished pulling out the woman's chair—

She hesitated before sitting—it looked like she was trying to remember something—

Then it struck her, she twisted her body around, reaching with her free hand.

When she turned away, those with a clear view were able to see the now thick, straight fall of hair that disappeared out of sight behind/below the level of the table. The woman reached around, gathered it up, looking as if she had once completed this act routinely but was now forced to work it through in stages. She managed to get it into a ball which filled her hands at which time she sat, placing the ball of hair in her lap.

"That's a lot of hair," Wash said under his breath.

Unfortunately, in the silence of the Dining Area, it was clear to everyone—and it earned him another elbow in the ribs.

"Sure is," Kaylee spoke up, her delight at the new person at the table obvious. "Took full power on the water extractor to get it dry." She looked at Simon, "you didn't do as much damage as you were 'fraid of." Kaylee nodded across the table, "Inara had to trim out some rough ends and feather in some of the shorter locks you had to hack off but . . ." she looked back at the woman with a beaming smile, "can't tell a difference. Ain't seen hair like that in a spell. Only girls in these parts who have hair down to their knees are some of the priestesses."

Book was resuming his chair between Zoe and Inara. The rest settled, there was an expectant hush—

"Your pardon Captain," the woman said, straining her voice to make sure Mal could hear her, "I wish to thank you and all of those here for allowing me to sit at your table. I will try not to be a burden and if I can do useful work as a repayment I will do so." She hesitated a moment before, "the man who left because of my presence; is that presence going to be a problem? I do not wish to cause disharmony among your crew."

Mal gave her a wry smile. "Don't fret. We've all been a bit . . . disharmonious among ourselves at one time or nother." He straightened in his chair and waved at the table, "have what you like, Doctor says you need some decent food in you—unfortunately our Pilot cooked tonight so you will have to take what's here."

"Ha, ha," Wash singed-songed.


After diner, Mal was heading up for his turn on the Bridge. When he stepped onto it, his eyes snapped to Jayne who was leaning against the co-pilot console with an angry look on his face.

"You're serious?" was all the Merc said.

Mal felt his own gaze go hard. "I am."

"Why?"

Mal considered for a moment telling Jayne to get the hell out but—

"River . . . says she's okay."

"River," retorted the Merc angrily, "once went wild and cut me without warnin."

"Zoe and Inara also feel that she's not a threat."

"Since when have you become—what's that thing we saw on the monitor at Baslack station—'warm and feely'? You should have shot her in the pod. Mal! She's—"

"My gut," Mal told Jayne with a real hard look, "tells me different. It told me then—that's why I didn't shoot her in the pod—as much as I denied it, as much as I hid it and it's tellin me the same now."

Jayne didn't look convinced. "Ain't like you,"

Mal waved an arm in frustration. "It told me 'bout Saffron but I ignored it! You were ready to buy her from me with your favorite rifle!"

Jayne wouldn't be convinced. "She's trouble Mal; a spy's who's a witch. The Doc says nothin 'bout her makes sense."

Mal raised both hands to stop Jayne. "Look, none of us have to trust her. We'll all keep an eye on her. But the main thing is that we don't have to worry 'bout being boarded and searched if she's not locked up! She can go out onto the hull like Simon and River. . . ."

"And go right over to the Purple Belly's ship," Jayne would not be dissuaded.

Mal's mind flailed about for a moment before, "you can put one of your grenades into her suit. Blow it if she drifts away from the hull."

That 'lit' the Merc's eyes. "Now you're talkin some sense."

"And it's not like she's gonna stay aboard,' Mal continued now that he had Jayne thinking on a new track. "When we get where we're goin, we can ask around. Someone had to know somethin 'bout someone like that. If we can maybe figure out who and what she is, maybe we can just let her walk away and be done with her."

That made Jayne think. "Yeah . . . yeah . . . and if no one does, that would have to mean that she was a spy," he gave Mal a cunning look, "which would mean that someone would have to take her out to keep her from blowin the whistle on Simon and River."

Mal wasn't happy with the turn of Jayne's thoughts but at the moment, it was the best that he could expect.


"Will you need help getting back down into the Lounge?"

The woman looked up at the—Shepherd who was standing next to her chair, one hand again held out in an offer of assistance. She managed a small smile, something in his—'courtly manner' (at least that's what she thought the term was) reminded her of something . . . or was it someone—

"I probably should take you up on that offer," she wheezed back at him. "Something tells me that I've spent time as an invalid and that I didn't always . . . behave . . . sometimes with consequences."

"Can't have that now can we," Book told her as he assisted her with her chair. He glanced up at Wash who with the help of Inara and River was starting to clear the table. Wash started to open his mouth—only to have the Companion who was right next to the Pilot place her open palm over it while making a 'go on' motion toward Book with her other hand. Book gave Inara a grateful nod of his head; it was his turn to assist with the dishes that evening and here he was bugging out—he managed to keep from breaking into a grin over the look on Wash's face.

The woman stood. Book could tell that she was being careful with her balance and footing. Even so, he also noticed that she once again 'scanned' the Dining Area as she stood.

As she did so, the Shepherd noticed—that she had noticed just how quickly the Captain had left before the rest had been finished with the meal followed by the First Mate gathering up the Doctor as soon as the rest of the group was done, also leaving out of the forward hatch. There was a most—particular look on her face for a moment—most definitely an 'I wonder' expression—

"This way my dear," Book told her, deftly taking her hand that wasn't holding the cane, turning her about before she could complete her train of thought—

She's a sharp one the Shepherd said to himself. Hope that she doesn't see too much into whatever the Captain has up his sleeve—


Mal was still on the Bridge. Jayne had left; he had been joined by two others. He knew that one of them wasn't exactly 'thrilled' about the nature of the conversation but then again, Mal as always really didn't care all that much about this man's personal feelings when they came against more practical things like survival.

". . . so can you do it? Long enough for us to get to Poseidon and a piece of time after we touch down?"

Simon was clearly unhappy but, "I understand." And he did too. What the Captain was proposing—made sense however uncomfortable it made him personally. However—

"I'm a little . . . reluctant," Simon told the Captain and Zoe who had brought him to the Bridge to have this little conversation with Mal, "only because I'm not sure what I could give her to do the trick without risking some kind of reaction on her part. So much of her chemistry is . . . strange. I don't have the equipment for a real in-depth analysis but I'm beginning to think based on the serial blood tests I ran on her during and after the seizures that there was some kind of series of drugs in her; drugs for which I have no clue as to what they were; the traces were so small that I couldn't do a comparison run with known narcotics –not that I would have been able to find out much anyway given the . . . no offense Captain . . . nature of the very basic analysis equipment provided on board. But then again I don't think that would have mattered anyway because what analysis I could manage to wring out, the traces of drugs I found appeared like so much else with this woman, to be types I've never seen or heard about." The Doctor thought another moment before, "I'll try to come up with something though."

"Much obliged Doctor," Mal told him. "It would certainly make things a lot easier."


The woman looked into the sleeping cubicle, now put together for her comfort. At a very soft footstep, she turned. Simon came up to her holding out a small cup. "I really don't want to give you a regular sleeping pill," he told her. "I'm hoping that this herbal potion from Inara will do the trick instead. You need natural sleep—as much of it as you can get. I don't want you up for at least a day."

The woman took the cup saying, "thank you Doctor. I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything you've done."

Simon nodded—stood waiting—

The woman then realized, "oh, sorry Doctor, but I'm going to put this right here," as she leaned into the cubicle, setting the cup on the side table. "I wish to think a little bit before I go down. I have to get everything I saw and heard today properly pigeonholed."

Just for a tiny moment, the Doctor seemed a little nonplussed—but he then nodded with understanding before asking, "anything at all coming back?"

The Woman shrugged. "Unconnected bits. One came to me while—Inara?—was helping me in the shower. It seems that there is someone who has helped me before to get my hair put back together after some . . . incident. I got the impression that it was an . . . Asian girl with hair even longer than mine."

Simon nodded thinking that it was probably a Chinese girl, maybe a professional stylist who specialized in long hair. He had known of a couple of them on Osiris.

"Something was missing for me at dinner," she continued, chasing down the fleeting memory again. "Something tells me that I . . . normally drink something other than whatever the beverage was that was served." She held up a hand when Simon smiled, "I don't want anyone to think that it was less that the best hospitality. I am forever grateful. And I thought that your pilot—?" she seemed to be searching her memory for a name—coming up empty because no one had ever told her the name of Serenity's pilot other than the First Mate's 'husband'.

"Wash," Simon told her. "It's a nickname/contraction from his last name, Washburne," he added at her questioning look.

She gave him a tired smile. "Well, I thought he did very well. Something tells me that I've had worse fare at a table; in fact it tells me that I've had much worse at one time or another."

Simon smiled again saying, "well, enough bits come along and you can make an entire picture." He then nodded to her and pointed to one of the other cubicles. "Sleep well, and if you have any problems during the night, I will be right there."

"Thank you Doctor."

Simon turned and headed back up the stairs for the Dining Area.

The woman stood for the longest time, kind of forlornly looking about her. She then turned and went into the cubicle, sliding the door closed behind her.

For a long time she sat there—wondering.

Deep inside—the fear, the anxiety bubbled and churned. Once again, part of her wondered for just a moment how she was able to keep such a firm control on that turmoil deep inside her. But she had already been through these thoughts—somehow she knew that she could do so, that she could control it—that somehow she had spent major parts of her life doing so. Something told her that there had been times when she had failed to completely control such emotions but right now deep inside her was an overwhelming force of will that would not let that happen.

She did not know what to do next. But also deep inside her, in a place right next to that force of will, was something—almost like it was knowledge—something that told her that whatever happened—things would somehow work out and she would someday see—

Even if at the moment, she didn't have a clue other than those deep, deep feelings—that she even had friends, a home and maybe even family to go to.

Something like the family that she had instinctively seen at that dinner table earlier.

But whatever was to happen, she somehow knew to just trust her instincts—

And take it one thing at a time.

She glanced at the cup . . . and again thought of that 'family' at that evening's dining table. She then thought about the Captain, the First Mate, and the Doctor. Such different personalities and yet there were parts she sensed where they were much alike.

Part of that was their determination to protect those they felt close too—

Such as the 'family' at the table.

As such, the woman didn't think that whatever was in the cup was suppose to kill her. Her instincts told her that it was suppose to knock her out for a period. She had no idea what the Captain and his crew hoped to accomplish while she was 'out'. But the fact that they were all more 'curious' about her rather than hostile might be part of the answer.

As for the rest of it?

That particular train of thought also brought another particular thought to the forefront of the woman's mind—such as why would she 'know'—how could she so easily recognize—what it was that the Captain and Doctor were planning on doing to her even though they were trying so hard to hide it . . . for obvious reasons on their part.

Which in turn brought to her mind—what kind of person was she—what kind of life had she led where such a 'plot' directed toward her would be easily recognized by her. But even more than that—what kind of life had she led that would allow her to so easily 'accept' such a plot against her as long as she believed that they in fact did not intend any true harm as a part of it.

For such was her belief.

As far as any answer to those questions—she thought she had put her finger on the main factor involved.

The woman had come to accept that . . . there was something she recognized within the Captain . . . something that she had come to realize was was a part of her own personality as well.

She had given the Captain her 'word' that she would cause no problem. She had seen the acceptance of that 'word' in his eyes.

The woman had realized that they both were very much soldiers of 'honor and integrity'. She instinctively knew that if the Captain intended to harm her—or turn her over to someone who would harm her—he would have never allowed her her freedom—he would have told her to her face what he intended, in words just as plain and simple as his threat to her had been before her release.

She somehow knew . . . that portions of the Captains honor were damaged—that sad, angry look/tone that was always brimming under the surface of his eyes and voice. But she thought it was something in his past. Some kind of defeat or betrayal he had been forced to accept. She somehow knew that such a past would only make him stronger and more direct in the present.

How did she know that?

Something told her very strongly that she had experienced the exact same thing at one point of her life. Something else told her that whatever it had been had finally healed—but the time it had taken, the pain she had endured—had lasted many, many years—and now—it seemed as if she had a new wound, recently inflicted.

For something within her—she knew that there had been times in her life where she had besmirched her honor—that unlike the Captain, it had been something that she had allowed to happen to herself—even now the pain that came with the thought—it was as if she didn't want to think about that, as if she was running away from what could only be a recent memory involving something which was too painful to think about.

Was that why she was here? Had she been running from something that she had done to herself—something she had done to her own self which had blackened her being within her own eyes—

Somehow, the dull, very heavy ache in her heart that came with the thought gave her a clue as to the answer.

So, after another moment of reflection, she took the cup of potion which she drank. She lay down, snuggling into the strange bed and sheets—

Partially rising a moment later—something was nagging at her awareness—something about what she had to do when she laid down to sleep—something tugging at her just like something had as she had tried to sit down at the dinner table—

That caused her to realize—she then gathered all her hair up which she then piled 'above' the pillow in order to remove the possibility of her rolling over onto it and 'hanging' herself with it in the middle of the night.

She then settled back down again—

And somehow she knew that she was capable of willing herself to sleep even without the potion—despite the fact that she was as probably as lost as any human had been.

She hoped that if she dreamed—that she would dream of home—

Maybe she would find the reason for the ache at the center of her being—and if she could acknowledge it, allow it to heal—

Maybe much of herself would come back to her.

Maybe—


A/N: Just a note on the guns utilized or mentioned in reference to Zoe at the beginning of this chapter. In watching Serenity, I was unable to accurately figure out just what kind of pistol Zoe was using during the confrontation with Patience prior to her being hit in the vest. When it was holstered in a cross-draw rig on the front of her belt, I initially thought it was a Smith & Wesson Schofield. However, I was able to find a screen shot from 'leavemethewhite(dot)com' (album 1 photo 594) that clearly showed it was a cut-down 1860 .44 Colt Army with the assumption that it was a Richards-Mason cartridge conversion (can't tell because we can't see the right side) due to the fact that she would not be using an original Black Powder Cap & Ball pistol in her day and age. The fact that I had never seen such a 'short' version of the Colt Army (a modification normally restricted to the 1873 Peacemaker where they were known as the 'Sheriffs' or 'Storekeeper' models) caused me to have to hunt around a little more until I located the 'Avenging Angel' modification.

The 'Jericho 941's are the two silver/chrome semi-auto's Zoe used during the assault on Niska's Skyplex in War Stories. These I initially thought were chrome Beretta 92F's but upon closer inspection saw that they were too 'square' to be Beretta's. Had about given up hope to properly I.D. them until I looked at the Firefly/Serenity entry in IMFDB (Internet Movie Firearms Data Base). Even there, the guns were not actually 'listed' in the database but were 'mentioned' in the background of a photo from War Stories displaying Wash's Colt Python.

I hope that this story continues to live up to expectations. I would be glad to hear what you all think.

Until next time

I remain

Your Humble and Devout Servant

The Wise Duck