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Firefly: Seven Deadly Sins
Chapter 4: Reflection
Part II
A few hours after reuniting with her daughter, she was in the galley. Emma was on her lap, and hadn't left it at all over that time.
Emma, for her part, had stopped crying, and Zoë, for her part, had stopped weeping. Right now, neither of them were doing much of anything, just sitting there as mother and child. Listening to the constant hum of the engine, and the sounds of the three or so dozen that now called the ship home.
"Hey Zoë."
One of them being Jayne Cobb.
"How you holding up?"
She gave him a look – she was holding up just fine, thanks for asking. He however, was looking worse for wear. His right arm was in a sling, and his face was bruised. In fact, come to think of it, a lot of her old crewmates were looking bruised.
"Silent treatment eh?" Jayne asked. "Well, sure. Maybe I got that comin.'" He gingerly stretched out an arm and patted Zoë on the shoulder. "Guess you ain't in good mind to be talkin' to me, but..." He fell silent, gave her a nod, and began to move onto the cockpit.
"How'd you shoot?" Zoë asked.
He stopped short and looked back at Zoë. Still keeping Emma on her lap, she turned and looked at the merc.
"How'd you shoot?" Zoë repeated. "Mal said you were covering us on the escape, but..."
"But?"
She nodded towards his broken arm.
"This?" He looked at his arm, a smirk on his face. "Well, that's a long story Zoë. But hey, ain't no broken arm gonna stop me from shooting straight."
"Shooting straight with a broken arm, using what I'm guessing is a high powered sniper rifle?"
"A SN-nine fifty cal.," Jayne said, smirking."
"Holy shit."
Jayne shrugged, or rather, half shrugged, since his right arm was out of commission.
"And the arm?" Zoë asked. "How'd that happen? How..." She swallowed. "How you back here Jayne? I mean, I'm grateful, but after Helsinki..."
Jayne pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her. A big dumb grin was on his face, like a child who'd got straight A's. Or in her case, back when she'd told her ma about her first spacewalk.
Good times.
"After Helsinki, not much happened," Jayne said. "Only been the last few weeks when things started getting interesting?"
"How interesting?"
"Well, that depends – you want the long, or the short version?"
Zoë paused, before asking, "you know where we headed?"
"Theophrastus. World in the Georgia system. Bit of a trek."
She smiled. "Alright Jayne. Let's have the long version."
Jayne smirked. "Alright. So, here I am, minding my business back home..."
Zoë snorted.
"...and by minding my business, I mean taking out bandits hitting the route to Prospect Springs."
That sounds better.
"Y'know, fighting the good fight, helping those in need...what Mal didn't want to do after Siren..."
Zoë frowned.
"...so I come home, and find a whole group of people waiting for me. New Resistance, they called themselves. Wanted to stick it to the Alliance, but needed Mal to do it and-"
"How much did they pay you?"
Jayne blinked. "Sorry?"
"How much did they pay you?" Zoë asked.
"I...I don't..."
"Come on Jayne, I know you. No way you were looking for Mal unless there be gold at the end of the rainbow. Or, heck, at the start."
"Zoë, come on..."
"How. Much?"
"...a lot, okay?" He averted Zoë's gaze for a second, taking a keen interest in the galley wall. "I mean, there's this girl, Bea, who's leading her band of the resistance. And by resistance, I mean Browncoat wannabees, but hey, ain't so wanabeeing-"
"That isn't a word, Jayne."
"...that they don't get they need some veteran or somesuch to make them effective." He looked back at Zoë and sighed. "Well, we know how that turned out?"
"Do we?" Zoë asked.
Jayne paused. "Want me to skip ahead to that, or tell the story in order?"
"Asked for the long version Jayne. Figure we've still got time for it."
"So, we use her ship to find this old girl." He patted the table, as if Zoë had forgotten what "old girl" was referring to. "Bea wants Mal to join her resistance movement, only Mal ain't big on that, and he's a mite focused on finding you. Only..."
"Only?"
"Only Bea's ship gets destroyed by a bomb, robbing her of her crew, and leaving her and yours truly stranded on Serenity." Jayne's face fell and be began taking a keen interest in the workings of the kitchen table.
"How many people?" Zoë whispered.
"Twelve." He sighed. "Ain't my people Zoë. This ship, you, Mal...Wash...you been the only people I know."
"And yet you left us," Zoë said. She could pass by the mention of her late husband, but she wasn't going to let this go. "After Helsinki you said you weren't coming back, and-"
"Yeah yeah, we say a lot of things," Jayne said, avoiding Zoë's gaze. "You think Mal didn't say his piece when I got onboard? Can you imagine-"
"I can imagine quite a bit," Zoë said. "Ain't gonna feel sorry for you there."
"That's fair," Jayne said, avoiding her gaze again.
Thing was, she did feel sorry for him. Jayne was like a dog, she reflected. Dogs were loyal, but had a nasty habit of shitting on the carpet if you weren't careful. If they did the shitting, they might bark, and run off for a bit before coming back with their tail between their legs, wanting food and forgiveness. Jayne, in this moment, reminded her of such a dog. Not that she'd ever owned one of those mutts mind you, but she'd heard enough from friends and family to know what to expect of "man's best friend." And Jayne, she reflected, was a friend, if only barely. Mal had become her friend through war. Jayne had become her friend by deciding not to hijack Serenity but take the better deal when Mal had offered him a place on his crew.
"Bea's ship," Zoë said. "Did you find out how it happened?"
"Oh, sure." Jayne met her gaze again. "Jubal Early did it."
"What?!"
Emma began to cry, and Zoë started making efforts to calm her down, bouncing her up and down on her knee. Jayne smirked.
"Little tyke's got the right idea. But, yeah, that bastard was somehow still alive. Say 'was,' rather than 'is,' because...well, even longer story there."
"Keep with this one Jayne, it's as long as it is."
In truth, she intended to get that story eventually – Jubal Early, sociopath as he'd been, had been in the lives of the crew of Serenity for only a few hours, but it was a few hours that she wasn't going to forget. Still, no reason to start one story before finishing another.
"So, anyway, not that you need telling, but River 'Crazy Girl' Tam is on this ship, and has done a bit of soul searching, or mind searching, or whatever crap she does. Think the idea was that she find some more secrets in that basket case of a brain and try to blackmail the Alliance to let you go lest they leek out of her head."
Zoë bounced Emma on her leg again – her daughter apparently didn't have the same image of a brain leaking fluid all of a sudden.
"Only she remembers that other psychics are in the Academy," Jayne continued. "And, we figure, maybe that ain't too bad an idea. I mean, sure, we could have more crazy boys and girls on this ship, but if we stole some information and tried to barter it to get you out of orange..."
"Jayne, does this jumpsuit look orange to you?"
"Um...no?"
"No, it's green." And a whole lotta brown, thanks to the dust. "And I'm guessing that since my rescue was anything but peaceful, your escapade didn't go to plan."
"Oh, it did, sorta." He got up and headed for one of the galley's cupboards. "Only if we were going after the Alliance School for Crazy People, Mal figured we needed some help getting in. Only..."
"Let me guess," Zoë murmured. "This is where he turned to the Operative."
"Yeah." Jayne walked back to the table, a bag of crisps in hand. "Dunno how he even knew where the díkè tiǎn bī was hiding out, but somehow, Mal got him to help us." He took a handful of crisps and shoved them in his mouth. As he chewed, he offered the bag to Zoë. "Wansome?"
"No, thank you."
He offered the bag to Emma. He baby girl reached out for it but Zoë slapped her hand away.
"No, Emma."
Her daughter began to cry, the sound of her wails even louder than the sound of Jayne chewing.
"Ssh, ssh, it's alright, it's alright," Zoë whispered, bumping her daughter up and down.
Course it wasn't alright though, she reflected. The idea that Mal had used that...monster, to come and get her. In the war, the Independents had relied on mercenaries. As freelancers/privateers, she and Mal had done all kinds of dirty jobs for even dirtier people. But while she couldn't argue with the results of Mal's plan...had the ends justified the means? She was with her daughter again, so maybe they did, but the thought of using that bastard...
"Listen, maybe I should-"
"Sit down and finish Jayne," Zoë snapped.
She needed to hear how this ended. Even if she had to endure Emma crying and the sound of Jayne eating in-between mouthfuls of crisps to do so.
"So, anyway, we get to the Academy," Jayne said, his teeth laced with half-chewed crisps. "Ain't too bad a look on the outside, and our Operative least gets us in through the front door. Only, it's a trap."
It was only having her daughter on her lap that prevented Zoë from getting straight to her feet (well, that and the pins and needles). "He betrayed you?!"
"Believe it or not, no. Alliance guessed we were coming."
"Right..." Zoë wasn't sure if she believed it. "Then what happened?"
"Well, what happened with the Operative I can't say, because he stayed outside to fight one of his own or somesuch. Me and the others though, we, like, go commando-"
You're hardly a commando Jayne.
"...and find our way inside. Only to have another crazy girl unleashed upon us."
Zoë frowned. "Like River?"
"Yeah, except, more crazy y'know? Like, I dunno, what the boys in Londinium wanted our Crazy Girl to be all along?" He shrugged. "Remember the Maiden's Head? Think that, multiply it by ten."
Zoë did so, and then halved it – even that was scary enough.
"So, does a number on the captain...don't worry, he's fine, and Crazy Girl One sedates Crazy Girl Two. So our crazy captain, who's bleeding from the neck at this point, decides to take Crazy Girl Two with us. So, we head outside, and to my shock and horror, I find the fight is over."
"Where Operative One killed Operative Two?"
"Well, that, and where Alliance marines landed, but were taken out by New Resistance members." He smirked. "You'd have loved it Zoë. Second Unification War."
Zoë adjusted Emma on her lap, deciding not to mention that if she'd have "loved" a second Unification War, Jayne obviously didn't know her too well.
"So, we kidnap an Alliance officer," Jayne said. "He..." His mood darkened. "Well, he had bad news for us – this New Resistance that's been floating around? Alliance has been funding it."
"What? Why?"
Jayne shrugged. "Way of flashing out discontents I guess. Figure they get all the people pissed off 'bout Miranda in one place, then pull the plug. Or, trigger, I guess." He gestured around the empty room. "People you saw on this ship Zo? They're all that's left."
"How..." Zoë steadied her throat – Emma had stopped crying, much to her relief, which made processing this little nugget of information easier. "How many people?"
"What, how many people there were? Or how many people are left?" He took another mouthful of crisps. "Answer to the latter is you see what you get. Answer to the former? No idea. Doubt even Bea knows."
Zoë didn't say anything. She'd barely exchanged a word between this Bea girl since she'd got onboard the ship. Her first inclination was to find her and say...well, something, but then, what could she say? They'd both fought in a war (or tried to), and both had lost. What could she say about that?
"What if the officer was lying?" Zoë murmured.
"He wasn't." Jayne pushed the empty crisp packet to one side. "River saw to that."
"Saw to it?" And isn't she Crazy Girl One to you?
"Saw to it. Like, read the bastard's mind." Jayne sighed. "How we know he was telling the truth. Also how we found you. Turns out this guy, Rogers-"
Rogers?!
"...had a hand in sending you to the shithole you wound up in." Jayne looked at Zoë somewhat funny. "You know anything about that?"
"...no." A lie, but she didn't feel like discussing it. "What you do with him?"
"Dumped him on the prison world we sprung you from. Seemed appropriate."
"It was," Zoë said. She looked Jayne straight in the eye. "Trust me."
"Right..." Jayne got to his feet, wiping crisp salt on his jeans. "Well, that's pretty much it. I mean, you can thank Kaylee for coming up with the idea of coming in low, so you'd see us and somesuch, but after that..."
"Yeah." Zoë smiled. "Yeah, I saw how it played out." She paused. "Fifty cal eh?"
Jayne smiled like a puppy.
"One handed?"
"Yep."
"Huh."
"That it? Huh?"
"No. What I want to say is...thanks. As in, thanks for coming back Jayne. Might not believe it, but in spite of everything, I missed you. And even if you're only good for shooting one handed and getting your arm broken...well, that's something."
"Wow." He leant back in his chair, trying to not smile like a puppy, but failing. "And I thought my speeches were bad."
"No, not really. Kaylee told me you have a knack for them." She paused, remembering Canton – it felt like a lifetime ago. A time where Book and Wash had still been alive, before Emma had even been conceived, and the 'Verse had seemed less dark than it did now. A time they could never go back to.
"How long till we get to Theophrastus?" Zoë asked eventually.
"A few days. Two, maybe three."
It wasn't Jayne who said that, but-
"Mal!"
Mal, who'd walked into the galley. Or rather limped. He'd looked beaten up on Nirodha, and that remained true here. Perhaps even more so.
"Hey," he said weakly, taking a seat at the table. He looked at Jayne, then back at Zoë. "How you holding up?"
"Fine," she lied.
The look on Mal's face told her that he knew she was lying, but wasn't going to do anything about it. Not yet anyway.
"Glad to hear it." He paused, rubbing his hands together. "Listen, I ain't gonna presume what you do or don't need, but we've still got your bunk ready. Most of the babysitting's been done by Inara, but we kept it ready for you."
"...thanks."
There was a lot she wanted to say. To ask. But as she got to her feet, still carrying Emma with her, all she wanted to do right now was find some place to lie down.
"Need any help?" Mal asked.
"No, I'm fine. Still know my way round here." She headed for the galley door and paused. Emma yawned, while her mother turned and looked at the two men behind her. Both of them beaten up. Both of them insane in their own way, and at times, both of them insufferable.
"Thank you guys," she said. "Really."
"Hell, it's nothing," Mal said.
"Really? Don't look like nothing." She nodded towards Mal – specifically the patch on his neck. "But really, thanks."
She turned and headed back for her bunk. Emma needed to sleep. She needed time to think. To reflect on what had led up to this point.
And most importantly, plan her next move.
As it turned out, they landed on Theophrastus in 31 hours. Over 18 of those hours, Zoë had slept the sleep of the departed – free from memories and dreams. It had been in the last seven that she'd been free to think of both past and future, to do so while feeding Emma and changing her nappy. Sitting on her bunk, Emma dozing on a pile of blankets that were about as close as she was going to get to a crib, she took the time to actually think.
Nirodha was still a prison world. Tom was still a prisoner. Wash was still dead. The Alliance was still out there. And one particular person was still alive.
If you prick us, do we not bleed? She looked at the ladder that led out of her bunk. If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?
One of the first things she'd done after climbing down into her bunk was take out the book that Tom had given her. She'd jumped to a random page and had made neither heads nor tails of it. After falling asleep, the words kept rolling around in her mind. Glancing at it on her bedside table...
The hell am I even doing?
Part of her wanted to give it to Inara – she was the kind of person who might get more out of it. And yet, she felt inclined to hang onto it. Tom had given it to her. The least she could do was try and make the most of it.
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
And at times, take its advice.
Getting to her feet, Zoë walked over to a trunk in the corner of the room. Opening it, she picked out a pair of revolvers, and holstered both of them. After that, she put on a jacket – she'd gone back to wearing her old, proper clothes now.
Emma began to stir.
"Shh," Zoë whispered, tucking her daughter in. "I'll be right back sweetheart."
As she climbed up the ladder, she looked down at her daughter. There was a chance that she might not come back. She knew, technically, she had a choice to stay in the bunk and let events play out. This was just a pit stop. A parting of the ways between Serenity and what was left of the New Resistance.
Closing her eyes, she climbed the ladder.
Some things, you couldn't let go of.
Some things, you had to see through.
It was easy enough to follow the Operative.
She hadn't survived the Unification War by knowing nothing about tracking. That at least got her into the forest, when she'd followed the single trail of footprints. Some of the New Resistance were staying here. Some were going with Bea to try and continue the fight. Either way, those people would be heading off in groups...or so she'd assumed. Maybe someone, some way, was heading into the forests of this island by their lonesome, but she'd made her gamble, and seeing the Operative walk up ahead, satchel slung over his back like some damn vagabond, it turned out that her gamble had been correct.
The forests of this place were like most of the forests of the 'Verse on worlds that had them – thick canopy, thick trees, faint slivers of sunlight seeping through. She might have taken time to appreciate the beauty under normal circumstances, but all the light in all the 'Verse couldn't obscure the well of darkness up ahead. The well that, after three minutes, finally turned around to see the one who was following him.
Took you long enough.
Separated by about eight metres, the two of them stood there in silence. Nothing interrupted it – recreating the forests of Earth-That-Was had been relatively simple. Recreating the actual ecosystems had been much harder. No song of bird, no scurry of fox, nothing. Just the sound of the wind, and the steady breathing of two children of Earth. Silence, broken at last, by the sound of one child's voice.
"That baby's father died running from you and yours."
The Operative didn't say anything, which gave Zoë's mind the chance to wonder. To segway from present into past. To relive the moment that Hoban Washburne's life came to an end. It was but a moment however – the silence drew her back.
"Don't matter much if you helped save me, that's a debt can't be repaid."
"No," said the Operative. "It cannot."
For a moment, Zoë continued to stand there in silence. So did the Operative. Even the wind had died down, she reflected.
Still and silent, the Operative continued to stand there. Even as Zoë drew out one of her revolvers. Even as she cocked the hammer. Even as she tossed it to the man before her, the gun landing with a thud. A break in the silence that allowed the river of sound to flow.
"I will defend myself," the Operative said.
Zoë scowled. "I'm countin' on it."
She watched as the Operative took off his rucksack, laying it on the ground. How afterwards, he picked the revolver up and got to his feet. How he examined it, checking there were rounds in the firing chamber before holstering it in his belt.
Don't have to do this.
She shook the doubt away. Of course she had to do it. Her husband was dead. Her daughter would never know her father. The man before her hadn't pulled the trigger, but he'd worked for those that had put the gun in the murderer's hand. She owed Wash this. Herself this. Whatever justice was left in the universe, she owed it this, if only to tip the scales of judgement slightly into balance. She suspected that Shylock would agree.
So she stood there. Still in silence. Hand lingering at her revolver. Eyes narrowing. Hand quivering. Breathing laboured. Just like she had when bringing life into the world, so too did she breathe deep as she prepared to bring death. All still in silence. All in stillness.
She fired.
A single shot rang out through the forest. One snap, like a whip of thorns. The bullet, nay, barb, tore through the right side of the chest of the Operative, causing him to fall to the ground and drop his gun.
Still slow on the draw then.
Not lowering her revolver, Zoë walked over. Standing above him. Pointing her gun down at him. Watching as he looked up at her with blank eyes, breathing heavily. Not taking her eyes off her target, she kicked his revolver aside. All the while he lay there. In stillness. Waiting.
"Is this you defending yourself?" she whispered. "Did you even try?"
"There is little to defend."
"Isn't there?" she whispered. "Your better world? Your world without sin? The ends justifying the means? I recall you were quite keen to defend that."
"You'll find that there's many roads to Hell, Zoë Alleyne. Only some of them are paved with good intentions."
"And the road to Heaven?"
"I never found that road." He sighed, smiling, uncaring of the blood beginning to flow from his wound. "Once, I thought it had. Long, straight and narrow, its end beyond my sight, but travelled in the knowledge that the journey was just...but the road ended. The stones were stained with blood, and my feet blistered."
"You think I give a damn about your feet?"
"No. I don't think you give a damn about me at all." He sighed. "Kill me if it brings you peace, Zoë Alleyne Washburne. I helped save your life. If my death helps save your soul, then I shall abide."
In silence, she stood there. In silence, she suddenly reached forward and grabbed the Operative by his collar, pulling him up to her.
"How many people?" she whispered.
He said nothing.
"How many?"
Still in silence, he remained.
"How. Many."
"Many," the Operative whispered. "Many is the only answer I can give. More than I can count, or remember."
"Try."
"I can, but I would fail. The mind wipe process was very effective."
Zoë said nothing, even as her eyes widened.
"How many have you killed?" the Operative asked.
Still in silence, she remained.
"Less than me, no doubt. But you are a former soldier, and outlaw. I imagine you've killed quite a few both during and after the war."
"Don't compare me to you."
"I don't. I am a monster by choice. You, at least, have brought new life into the world. And yet, I wonder..."
"Wonder what?"
"Why, after having killed so many, your hand is shaking now."
It was, Zoë reflected. With her left, she held the Operative's collar. In her right, a palm, holding the grip of her revolver, its barrel wavering thanks to quivering hand. One with five bullets left. Four more than were needed now.
"Do you have anything left to say?" Zoë whispered.
He remained silent for a moment, saying nothing. No last words, no final rites. He lay there. Closing his eyes. "Do what you have to do."
Zoë said nothing.
The wind said nothing.
The forest, in its eternity, said nothing.
All that remained was the silence.
And the sound of a single gunshot that tore through it.
When Zoë got back to the ship, Mal was standing outside the entrance hatch.
The rest of the crew were inside the cargo bay, playing around with Inara's clothes. Some girl (presumably a member of the New Resistance) was trying them on. New attire, Zoë wondered? Some parting gift? Certainly brown wasn't in vogue right now. Even Mal wasn't wearing his duster.
"Hey," he said, as she walked over.
"Hey," he said, looking at her. He looked less beat than he'd been a few days prior, but not completely healed. Mal being Mal of course, some wounds never would.
She came to a stop and the two stood in silence, watching the scene before them. Crew on the inside, the captain and his XO on the outside. Not that this was a military ship, but Zoë reflected that was the best term for her. Mal, the leader. Wash, the pilot. Her, the one that kept everything together. Or at least had.
"Who's the girl?" Zoë asked.
"Iris." He looked at Zoë. "One of River's friends from the Academy."
Crazy Girl Two? Zoë wondered, remembering her conversation with Jayne. She didn't seem so crazy. But then, she hadn't been there. And if River had taught her and over a dozen Reavers anything, it was that looks could be deceiving.
"She's gonna be leaving with Bea," Mal continued
"And you?"
"My own way. Wherever the wind blows. Something fancy about boats and rivers."
The two stood there in silence. For a moment, Zoë was reminded of the boneyard where she and her captain had first found Serenity. Course, at the time, Serenity had been bereft of any human presence, but they'd made it theirs. Made it a home.
But can you go home again?
She didn't know who had claimed that you couldn't. But over her life, the truth of the matter had become apparent. Mal could never go back to Shadow. She could never go back to the Torres. They could both go back to Serenity, but so many others never could. If home was where the heart was, it was a damaged one.
She glanced at Mal – he had that far-away look in his eyes, as if he wasn't looking into the cargo bay of a flying rust bucket, but rather at something else. As if beyond his sight was the horizon – infinite opportunity, rather than an angry sun looking to burn him something else.
"Plat for your thoughts?" Zoë asked.
Mal sighed. "Somewhere else. Thinking somesuch."
"Yeah. I've been doing a lot of thinking myself." She forced a smile, thinking of the long nights she'd spent on Nirodha. Of the dreams, memories, and regrets that had filled her thoughts. "Time on the inside does that to a girl."
"Mal turned to look at her, though briefly glanced at the forests from whence she'd came. A few members of the New Resistance were still milling around. "Anything else it do?"
Zoë didn't say anything.
"Heard a pair of shots. He looked down at Zoë's belt, where a single revolver was holstered. "Anything I should know?"
She turned away to look back at the forests – away from family and home, back to the world that so many now called theirs. One war was over. Another one had ended before it even started. And her war...
"Did what needed to be done," she said.
"Anything else?"
"No sir. Nothing else." She looked at Mal, who looked back at her in silence. Keeping that silence, he nodded, and returned his gaze to the forests of Theophrastus. As did she. Listening to the wind, which had since returned. On the ground around them, a cluster of leaves blew along, yet never soared.
"If you wanted to take Emma and settle down someplace far away from all of this..."
"No thank you," said Zoë. "This is Emma's home, and screwed up as they are..." Both of them turned around to look back at the bay. "This is Emma's family. What's left of it."
"Zoë-"
"Plus, you need me sir." She looked at Mal, who smiled.
"Wouldn't know what to do without you, truth be told." The smile faded. "You all right?"
For a moment, the question didn't register with her – was she alright? Her family was long dead. Her husband was dead. She'd spent a week on a prison world, been reunited with her daughter, and done something unforgivable less than an hour ago. All in the knowledge that this life, of crime, fear, empty stomachs, and an ever darkening universe, was the only life that awaited her. And more importantly, her daughter.
"Getting there sir. Getting there."
Mal took her hand and squeezed it, giving her a glance. Only for a second, but that was as long as was needed to say everything that needed to be said. So as he walked up the ramp into the cargo bay, leaving Zoë to take as much time as she needed...She got the message. Serenity was her home. She could always come back to it. Even if, for now, all she wanted to do was to stand here and listen to the wind. To imagine the songs of bird departed, and see leaves on the breeze, ever doing the dance that all worlds shared.
To think on what lay ahead. To reflect on what lay behind. Of the pain, the anger, and the regret.
And maybe, at last, to move on.
And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection,
I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself,
That of yourself which you yet know not of.
A/N
I was uneasy with this chapter, given that I had to have Jayne deliver an info-dump on the events of Leaves on the Wind. From a structural standpoint, it's debatable if it works. On the other hand, I don't think many people have read EU works, so it seemed to be a requirement to explain what was going on on the sidelines.
Anyway, as of the next entry, we're back into fully original material.