Alliance officials were sending a ship to retrieve the prisoners and the Operative, which should reach them at three bells the next morning. A second shuttle would arrive shortly after that to silence his crew and wipe his memories of the event. He had intended to get some sleep before they arrived, but he was preoccupied. He was currently looking through a short list of candidates for replacement officers, but he found he couldn't even focus on that. He swiped the list off his screen and got up to pace.

He found himself in the head, and decided that a hot shower was just the thing he needed. He disrobed quickly and stood under the hot water. It scalded a bit, but it was what he wanted just then. Several minutes later, he found he still couldn't calm his mind. He pounded his fist against the tile of the shower wall and turned off the water in frustration. He quickly threw a towel around himself and sat in front of his vid screen, not bothering to dry off. He really had thought the satisfaction of setting River off would have been what he needed to forget what the Doctor had said, but much to his annoyance, the Doctor had been correct. All he could think about was, King's knight to g5. What if Fischer had done this? It clearly wasn't a *bad* move, but was it better? It opened up his defenses more, invited an aggressive offense, but -

The Admiral cursed. He was thinking about it again. The truly frustrating thing was, in a few hours, they were going to come and wipe his memory of the whole thing. He wouldn't remember the encounter with the Doctor, so he certainly wouldn't know about this unconventional move. He was trying not to think about it because he didn't want to take the Doctor's bait. It would mean that he was right. But the truth was he *had* to know. He would have to reset the board and play through all the scenarios until he proved the Doctor wrong.

He punched a couple buttons and brought up ship's time. It was shortly after first bell. He cursed again. There wouldn't be time. He got up and paced again.

Once he came to the conclusion, he moved with certainty. There were no other choices available to him. He would have to play a game against the Doctor. But he still had to maneuver carefully. He sat in front of the vid screen and punched a few buttons. The Operative appeared on screen moments later. Good. If he wasn't sleeping, it meant he was thinking along similar lines.

"Operative," he said by way of greeting. "Are you satisfied with your encounter with Captain Reynolds?" he asked.

The Operative's face showed a micro-expression of self-disgust before it resumed its more accustomed calm exterior. "I must admit, I am not."

"At three bells, he will be taken, forever beyond your reach, and you will never know: How did he do it?" the Admiral prompted.

The Operative paused before admitting, "Yes."

"But as you said during our debriefing with him, he is not critical to the Alliance in any way. They are likely to just kill him as soon as we hand him over. The likelihood of a mock-trial is slim at best, and they won't be disappointed if he dies attempting escape."

The Operative was a model of self-control. To the Admiral, who made his career reading people and anticipating their moves, it was obvious that he wanted to be excited by the proposition the Admiral seemed to be offering, but he remained outwardly calm. "Go on," was all he said.

The Admiral sat forward. He had no reason to hide his excitement. "What if I offered you the opportunity to face off against him? One on one, to the death. We close off the holo-room sector, and only my private guard will know we are there. They are to be silenced soon anyway. You can find out how good he is, and what mistake your Operative made. We'd have to kill him either way, but you would know. And a dangerous man would be expunged, no harm done."

The Operative considered it, but he was going to say yes, the Admiral was sure. "And why would you offer me this satisfaction? What do you gain in doing so?"

The Admiral laid his cards on the table. "I am similarly frustrated by the challenge presented by the Doctor. I need to face him, prove I can beat him. My memory gets wiped in a few hours, so it means little in the end, but I have to know."

The Operative nodded understanding. "I can not let my feelings cloud my judgement, Admiral," he said. The Admiral had a moment of pure panic, but the Operative went on. "I see no threat in the Doctor. He is a little man with no fighting skills. Taking him from the holding cells does not concern me in the least. Malcolm Reynolds is a threat. Despite the fact I feel certain I could take him in a fight, I must take into account the fact that he beat my Operative, and take him seriously. On the other hand, he has had exposure to others in the time since then, and if he has learned something, he may have spread that knowledge. It is in the Alliance's best interest if we learn what that is before eliminating him. I... worry... that this threat may not be a similar concern for the council and they may decide to silence him. If I face him now, I can make that determination. If he defeats me, every moment will be recorded, and my successor will learn his secret. If I defeat him, we had nothing to worry about in the first place, and it was my Operative that developed a weakness beyond my ability to know.

"Therefore, I conclude that your proposal is the logical course," the Operative finished.

The Admiral was prepared. "I will seal off that sector immediately and dismiss all non-essential personnel from the station. Prepare yourself. I will have both of them in that room in one half hour.

The Doctor was sitting with his eyes closed on the small bench provided when the soldiers entered. The lighting came on in red and the two guards opened his cell. He stood, ready for this, and walked out. They closed the cell behind him and opened the cell that Mal and Simon shared. Malcolm was sleeping when they entered, and they didn't bother to wake him, they just dragged him out. He struggled reflexively before he saw the Doctor and realized what was going in. They pushed him forward wordlessly and one trained his gun on Mal while the other locked the door behind him. Simon had been awakened, but merely watched what happened. After they had exited the cell block he whispered loudly, "The Doctor and Mal have been taken."

"Where are we going," Mal asked as they turned through corridor after corridor. One of the guards responded by hitting him in the back of the head with the butt of his gun, then prodding him in back with the muzzle. They proceeded through several more corridors and down a lift two levels. They came out into a dark corridor, otherwise similar to all the others. They were pushed forward again with the guns, and continued on, but were stopped in front of a double-wide door. The door opened and they were pushed inside. The door shut behind them with the guards outside.

This room, in contrast to the rest of the station they had been led through, was brightly lit. It was rectangular, longer than it was wide. The floor was covered in mats, and interspersed along the walls were similar padded mats. Between these were racks with traditional martial arts weaponry. There were staffs and polearms and swords, both wooden and sharpened steel. There were punching bags and practice dummies, but they had all been pushed off into the far corner.

Half way down the room, directly under a light and off to the right side, was the Admiral's chess set on it's end table, looking more like a pedestal with a padded wooden chair on either side. The Admiral and the Operative each stood in front of them at parade rest. The Admiral was in full military blues. The Operative was once again dressed as he had been when they had been captured. He had a long-sleeve black spandex shirt with body armor covering his chest, and flowing black pants tucked into his boots. Absent though was the sword.

"Good evening gentlemen," the Admiral started. "The deal is this. Mr. Reynolds, you will fight the Operative to the death. Your motivation is clear. If you win, you survive with the vain hope of a later escape before your summary execution, nothing more. Doctor, you and I will play our finest game of chess. Clearly we do not want you dead either way, so to motivate you, consider the treatment of your friends. Ms. Frye, Ms. McShane and Ms. Serra can spend the rest of their lives on a penal moon under the harshest conditions the Alliance can inflict, or, with a word from me, they can live out their days in simple incarceration. The two of us will play a single game of chess. There will be a hard time limit. At 0300, a shuttle comes to collect you. If the game is not over at this time, you forfeit no matter the point score. If you win the game, on my honor I will recommend the women be allotted every comfort allowed while still maintaining proper security."

There was a moment of silence as the two considered the deal, then the Doctor said, "I agree to your terms."

"In that case, Doctor, follow me," the Admiral said, and led the way to the chess board. The Doctor followed.

The Operative led the way to a spot even with the chess board, but off to the left. He and Mal faced off roughly three meters apart.

"I'll need my gun," Mal said.

"You won't be getting your gun," the Operative responded coolly.

"When I faced your man, I was strapped."

The Operative sighed. "I won't risk you turning the gun on the Admiral. Let's just skip forward to the point where I would easily disarm you, and take it from there?"

The Admiral offered the Doctor his choice of seat, in front of the black pieces, or the white.

"No," the Doctor said disapprovingly. "I find that this one randomization makes all the difference in a proper game of chess."

The Admiral shrugged and selected one white pawn and one black pawn from the board and faced the Doctor with his hands behind his back. He rolled the two pieces several times between his hands, and when he was satisfied the Doctor couldn't know which hand contained which piece, he offered his outstretched fists to him.

The Doctor considered his choice, then instead of picking one of the outstretched hands, he turned and walked the three steps to where the Operative was standing. The Operative looked at him oddly, but said nothing as he approached.

The Doctor stood looking up at the much taller figure of the Operative. "I don't want to go so far as to suggest that I don't trust the good admiral, so let's just say, I don't know him," the Doctor said. "However, in your position, and with your training, I believe you to be an honorable man, and so I will trust you. Will you ensure that the bargains we strike this day will be carried out?" The Doctor extended his hand to shake.

The Operative's eyes darted over to the Admiral briefly, but his expression did not change. "I will," he said, and shook the Doctor's hand.

The Doctor returned to the Admiral, and slapped the back of his left hand. The Admiral turned over his left hand and opened it. "White. How appropriate," he said with a smile. He walked to the other side of the board and sat down on the black side, replacing the two pawns. The Doctor sat down on the chair in front of the white pieces and pulled his chair in close.

The Operative walked to the rack on the far wall containing the swords. He pulled out two katanas and returned to his place before tossing one to Mal.

Mal stepped out of the way and let the blade bounce off the padded floor, only picking it up after it came to a rest. Both the Operative and the Admiral watched him with a patronizing look on their faces.

"What?" Mal said. "This thing is sharp." He took a few practice slashes, getting a feel for its weight. The Doctor noted that he held it more like a broadsword than a katana, choked up on the guard, one handed, and swinging it forward and down with brute strength. The Operative waited patiently with his sword down in the hidari gedan no kamae pose.

Mal nodded that he was ready, and the Operative bowed deeply without taking his eyes off of Mal. Mal inclined his head slightly, slashed down and to the right in a sort of salute, then charged at the Operative with his sword overhead.

The Doctor moved pawn to e4, paying no head to the clash of metal coming from next to him. The Admiral smiled and said, "Somehow I was expecting a less orthodox opening coming from you."

"As Fischer said, E4 is 'best by test'," the Doctor said absently, surveying the board.

"I think I'll go with the Sicilian defense," the Admiral said and moved his pawn to c5 to counter.

The Operative easily brought his sword up in time as Mal's sword crashed down heavily onto it. He stepped to the side, twisted his blade and slashed at Mal's back as he passed. Mal turned and held his blade out to parry.

"I know better than to go against a Sicilian when death is on the line," the Doctor said and moved his knight to f3.

"Boring and predictable play so far, Doctor," the Admiral commented. He moved his pawn to e6.

Mal lunged forward, but feinted, drawing back at the last moment. The Operative barely dipped his sword in response. The two described a half-circle clockwise on the practice mats.

The Doctor considered his next move for a few moments, then quickly moved his pawn to d4. "Weak again," the Admiral responded, capturing with his own pawn, cxd4. "Losing pieces so early in the game is not a good sign."

Mal lunged forward again just as before, but just as he drew back, he whipped his sword around in a circle aimed at the Operative's leg. He reacted late, pulling back a moment too slowly and suffered a slash through the fabric of his pant leg. "Not sporting, Captain Reynolds. The legs are not considered a fair dueling target, but we can play by your rules."

The Doctor responded to the Admiral's jabs. "Tell me, Admiral, do you simply enjoy the sound of your own voice, or are you trying to upset me?" He captured the pawn with his knight, Nxd4.

"A little of both if I'm honest, Doctor. As you say, only a small portion of chess is played out on the board. I've seen a match decided by the constant tapping of a pencil." He moved his pawn to a6.

The Operative startled Mal by charging and assaulting him with repeated overhead strikes. Mal stumbled backward, fighting to deflect each blow. He became aware that he was holding the sword wrong and gripped it with both hands, strengthening his defense and halting the Operative's charge. The Operative whipped his blade around to sting at Mal's left shoulder, drawing first blood.

Mal flinched, and circled around, sparing a glance at the flesh wound. His gaze was all concentration now.

The Doctor moved his other knight to c3. Sweat was beginning to form on his brow as his eyes darted to all parts of the board.

"Alright..." the Admiral said doubtfully and moved pawn to b5.

Mal charged again, and the Operative deflected his blade. He spun, holding Mal's blade in place with his, then released it to sweep at Mal's back as he passed. His sword cut cleanly through Mal's shirt and drew blood as well.

Mal cried out and let go of his sword with his left hand to brace his back as he turned to face the Operative again. He held his sword at arm's length, pointing it at the Operative's heart. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead.

The Doctor countered with pawn to b4. For the first time, the Admiral didn't comment, but contemplated the move before making his own. He ended up capturing the b4 pawn with his bishop.

The Doctor quickly moved his bishop to bolster his knight at d2. The Admiral responded by moving his knight to f6, and the Doctor quickly moved his pawn to defend at f3. The Admiral sat back and viewed the entire board as a whole.

Mal blinked, and the Operative was upon him. He barely knocked aside the initial swing from the right, and the Operative's blade rebounded to quickly come at him from the right. Mal stepped back and blocked again, but with a bit too much strength. The Operative's blade fell back to easily and came at him again from the right. Mal didn't respond quickly enough, and it bit deeply into his upper arm. The Operative fell back quickly, out of range of Mal's clumsy response.

Mal took a few steps back and made a practice swing before switching the sword to his left hand. The Operative circled around with the look of a predator in his eye. Blood streamed freely down Mal's arm, staining his shirt a deeper red.

The Doctor spared Mal a concerned look before returning to the game in front of him. He sat anxiously watching as the Admiral took his time in moving. Finally, he moved his queen to b6. The Doctor quickly responded with knight to e2, and sat back smugly.

Mal looked again at his right arm. He was really losing a lot of blood. He shook it, and blood sprayed across the mat in an arc. "Perhaps you'd like to give up now?" Mal asked the Operative.

A mild look of annoyance came over the Operative's face, and he stepped in for another attack. He came at Mal with overhead strikes, first left, then right, then left again. Mal backed away, barely getting his sword up in time as each blow tested his left arm's strength. He felt his back touch the wall. The Operative suddenly dropped and spun. His blade cut into the bone of Mal's right lower leg.

Mal brought his blade down hard, but the Operative had his up in time to block. He stood up again, the two blades pressed together, the two combatants' faces a breath apart.

The Admiral was perplexed by both the Doctor's move, and his smug look about it. He looked back up at the Doctor, but he was paying more attention to the fight. The Admiral snapped his fingers several times rapidly to draw the Doctor's attention back to the game, then he deliberately slammed his bishop down on c5. The Doctor absently moved his queen to c1, and returned his attention to the fight.

Mal gripped his sword with both hands and pushed. Even with both arms injured he was able to make slow progress against the Operative. "I guess that's a no," he said. He brought his right leg up and kicked hard at the Operative's chest plate. The Operative was forced several steps back and had the wind knocked out of him momentarily. Mal circled around, away from the wall, but he had a distinct limp now. He let go of the sword with his right arm again and tried to shake some feeling back into it. More blood sprayed across the mat, and he renewed his grip.

The Admiral picked up his pawn and moved it to d5. He had to get the Doctor's attention again. The Doctor moved his knight to f4. The Admiral castled king-side and the Doctor moved his other knight to d3.

Mal and the Operative both moved at once, trading blows and passing close to end up in each other's starting location.

The Admiral caught himself watching the battle as well. He chuckled and moved his bishop to d4. The Doctor watched him, then moved a pawn to e5, and returned his attention to the fight.

The Admiral taunted the Doctor, "Doctor, you should pay more attention to the game at hand. Captain Reynolds isn't the only one to make a fatal mistake." He picked up his knight and moved it to d7.

The Doctor glanced at the board, then did a double-take and sat up straighter. He cried out in frustration, and reached for his queen but pulled back before moving it. Instead he moved rook to b1.

Mal circled the Operative. The Operative stayed in one spot, but pivoted to constantly face Mal. When Mal had the Operative's back to the wall, he charged in. He swung high and the Operative blocked. Mal kicked him in the chest again. The Operative saw the move coming and braced himself with one leg behind him. He let his chest armor absorb the brunt of the impact. Mal stumbled back several paces and started circling again.

"Pathetic, Doctor. And you claimed to be a 'worthy opponent'. The Admiral captured the pawn at e5 with his knight. "I should have never listened. I should have left you in your cell and gotten a good night's sleep. This wasn't even a proper diversion, much less a challenge."

The Doctor captured the Admiral's knight by moving his knight to e5. "What do you think of that then, Admiral?"

The Admiral captured the Doctor's knight with his bishop. "Oh," the Doctor said glumly. "That's what you think, hmm?" He twiddled his fingers together for a few moments, then moved his own bishop to d3.

"Enough," the Operative said. "If you have any last trick up your blood-soaked sleeve, I suggest you use it now. Let's finish this." He took up a Ko Gasumi pose and walked swiftly at Mal. Mal charged him, knocked his blade aside and swung hard at waist level. The Operative's blade was down in time to block, then he raked hard across the back of Mal's ankles. Mal fell to hands and knees and cried out.

He placed his sword point-down on the floor and pushed himself up to kneeling. The Operative spun and plunged his sword into Mal's back. Mal screamed again, and looked down to watch the end of the Operative's sword come out through his chest. His sword dropped from his fingers and he coughed up blood. He tried to grab the Operative's blade with both hands, then he turned to look at the Doctor, surprise and sadness in his eyes, then he fell forward onto the mat.

The Doctor stood up and yelled, "Captain!".

The Admiral spoke up quickly. "Leave this table Doctor, and forfeit the game! You will seal the girls' fate."

The Doctor reluctantly sat back down but continued to watch Mal with concern.

The Operative stepped over Mal and grabbed his sword with both hands. He made one quick twist. Mal didn't move. The Operative yanked his sword free.

Mal's blood spread across the mats.

The Operative wiped blood from his blade onto his left arm and sheathed it, then approached the table. His expression didn't change the entire time. He came to parade rest at the side of the table and surveyed the chess board.

"So, in the metaphorical game of chess, we've taken your queen, and on the board before us, I can take yours when I please," he said and moved knight to d7.

The Doctor looked up at the Operative before making his move. Not so stoic anymore, there was a trace of a smirk on his face. The Doctor appeared ill as he returned his attention to the board and moved his knight to e2. The Admiral responded as if he had known what the Doctor was going to do, and quickly moved his own knight to c5.

The Doctor gulped and moved his bishop to f4. The Admiral sighed and captured the bishop with his own. "Doctor, how long must we continue this farce? Why don't you just resign now?"

"I have had just about enough of you Admiral," the Doctor spat. "You know, your hubris truly knows no bounds. I'm the sort of person who tries to find the best in anyone. Our friend here, for example, Mr. Operative," the Doctor said, looking up and indicating him, "is calm, dedicated and capable. You, however, are just deliberately unlikeable."

The Doctor paused for a reaction from the Admiral, but he looked like he had just been slapped in the face. He obviously wasn't used to being spoken to like this. The Doctor went on. "You don't even seem to know what game we are playing! I warned you before about the pieces on the board. You are playing the person across the table! And we have been playing you this whole time. These pieces," he continued, waving his hands frantically over the chess set, "are only a means toward that end. Here, " he said and captured the Admiral's bishop with his queen. "Do you like that?"

The Admiral looked totally taken aback. "If you are trying to rile me, you are better at chess, and that is saying a lot. Perhaps we should just play?" The Doctor impatiently waved an arm over the board inviting him to move.

The Admiral picked up his bishop to move it, but the Doctor interrupted him. "Oh, and you were wrong about Captain Reynolds being my queen. More accurately, I am his."

The Admiral paused with his bishop over b7. "What do you mean?"

Suddenly he saw something move behind the Operative. The Operative caught the Admiral's eye movement and reacted instantly, but was still too late. Mal whacked him hard on the back of the head with a wooden practice sword and the Operative went down, unconscious.

"Check," Mal said, panting hard. He was standing there, bruised and sweaty, but with no sign of the blood or wounds he had suffered at the Operative's hand.

The Admiral stood up, sending his chair back.

The Doctor tutted. "Careful Admiral, leave this table and you forfeit the game!"

The Admiral looked down at the Doctor as if he were insane, then back to the doors. "Guards!" he yelled.

"Look at the board, Admiral!" the Doctor yelled. The Admiral looked the Doctor in the eyes, then looked down at the board. "Really look at it. Stop seeing what you want to see and look at what is really there!"

The Admiral looked at the board, and everything was as he expected, every piece in its place. But suddenly, something seemed odd. It was like a double exposure, something else was there but he couldn't quite make it out. He closed his eyes and shook his head to clear it. When he reopened his eyes, all the pieces were in different places. Half his pawns were captured, as were one of his knights and a bishop. His king was in check, and threatened by multiple white pieces. "No!" he cried softly. "It can't be..."

The Doctor reached out and grabbed him by the arm. "It was important that you knew! It was important that you saw that you were beaten! Handily! And the plan was his," he said, pointing to Mal, "I only followed the plan and played my part. He beat you because you underestimated him."

The door opened up, and the Admiral had a moment of hope, where he could just about believe he could still win and be smug about it, but then he saw it wasn't his guards coming in. It was that sheriff from Deadwood. Danton. And following behind him was Zoë Washburne.

The Doctor let go of the Admiral's arm and stood up. He took off his gloves and threw them onto the chess board.

Just then an alarm went off. "Time to go, Captain," Zoë said, and handed him his revolver and holster.

Mal threw down the practice sword and accepted his holster, tying it around his waist. Then he drew his revolver and pointed it at the Admiral. "Mate," he said.

"No!" the Doctor said and moved to get in the way. "Don't you kill him! I will not abide killing."

Mal looked at the Doctor as if about to say something, but instead he looked back at the Admiral. He aimed his gun a little lower and fired, hitting the Admiral in the gut. "There you go Doctor, he's not dead," he said. "Come on."

The Admiral collapsed in pain, holding his hand to the wound trying to stop the blood, as the four left the room.