Here we are in Chapter 11, and for the first time ever, actual horses will be making an appearance. In all honesty, I avoid writing them because I have so little experience with horses (I'm actually kind of terrified of them) so... apologies in advance if my portrayal of equine behavior takes more artistic license than it should.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CONTACT

Late April, 2506

"Think she'll ever come?"

Mal ran the brush down Babylon's white-speckled back, rubbing the horse's neck with his other hand. Babylon's ear swiveled toward the sound of Mal's voice. He turned his head to wink with one dark eye, and huffed out through his nostrils.

"Yeah." Mal curled one side of his mouth, grim. "I don't think she will, either."

Over a month had crawled by, and there had been not a word, not a sign, of Inara Serra. Maybe she hadn't fallen for Mal's act after all, the blushing and bumbling he'd put on after she caught him out. A partial act, if he was honest. Seemed she brought out certain bumbling and blushing qualities in him.

His excuse had come out flimsy, but it seemed to have worked. Miss Serra hadn't swished away, nose in the air, as Mal had expected. She'd started talking to him, instead. She'd almost taken the gift he'd tried to offer her. A stupid idea, anyway.

She made words come too easy. Maybe it was the way she asked him questions, about the Independents, no less. With slight gestures and the upward lilt of words, she cast a net around him. Delicate, strong as spider silk, and twice as deadly. Mal had come to his senses, thank God, just in time.

He might've written it off as high-society small talk, if he hadn't overheard her minutes before, trying her father and the Chancellor. 'I simply want to be informed,' she'd told them.

Mal shook his head, and moved around Babylon to refill his water dispenser. "Why she's so keen to know what's happening outside the Core?" he said aloud. "Makes no gorram sense. And it's more than a mite unsettlin'."

Mal shut off the water and turned around, digging in his pocket for a biscuit to offer Babylon. It vanished between velvety lips. Mal rubbed the horse's forehead.

"She's trouble, Red," he murmured.

He hadn't meant to give Zhi's calmest horse, and Mal's favorite, the same nickname he'd given Ready Boy. Almost four years since he'd last said it aloud, yet it fit right somehow. Babylon looked nothing like Ready Boy, of course. He was too long and thin, his red roan coat bright with the metallic sheen that characterized the Luxa breed. But his gaze held a familiar light, watching Mal, knowing.

"Yeah, don't give me that look." Mal dug another treat from his pocket. "Y'think I don't know I'm in some deep fèn here?"

Babylon stepped forward to take the biscuit, ducking his dark copper head. Mal leaned back against the wall, and sighed.

He may have earned a couple of Brownie points at his last debriefing a week before, thanks to the Chancellor's visit. But they only wanted more. The shift in the air had been palpable, a steep drop in temperature, when Mal relayed the conversation he'd overheard.

"You must find out whom Zhi's so eager to make contacts with," Moran had said. "But most important, we need more about the man himself. We need to know exactly who it is we're dealing with."

Mal had already given them every detail he could conjure about the Councilor, as far as his manner and personality. He gave off the impression of an actor in one of those Core-produced dramas, smooth and assured, his fine grey suit free of wrinkles. His smile aspired to make the recipient feel as though he were the only person Zhi smiled at like that.

To tell true, it turned Mal's stomach. Zhi's smile was an older, harder version of Inara Serra's.

The debriefing had almost ended without a mention of her. Zhi's ominous activities were nearly enough of a distraction for Mal's superiors to forget their orders concerning the man's daughter.

But no such luck. Latha had been the one to bring her up. "The surest way we learn more about Zhi is through his own flesh and blood."

They were all in agreement. One way or another, Mal had to get to Miss Serra.

He left Babylon's stall, dragging his feet toward the last in the aisle, the one that belonged to Colossus.

The name fit him well. He was huge, for a Luxa, muscles rippling under an iridescent black coat. Unfortunately for Mal, the gelding's size was matched by his attitude. Liable to enrage at the slightest misstep, he played tyrant to the other horses, starting fights if he perceived a threat to his dominance.

"Hey, Easy," Mal greeted Colossus as he entered the stall. The nickname was half a joke, and half because Mal had to tell him 'easy, boy' so often that it might as well have been his name. "We're not gonna make any trouble today, are we?"

Colossus snorted into his food trough, with a swish of his glimmering tail.

Mal chuckled. "I'll take that as a 'yes, sir.'"

He kept talking, low and smooth, as he tidied up the stall. Silas had taught the importance of a running 'chore commentary.' It didn't matter what he talked about, as long as he kept it up, to establish his presence and help Colossus track his movement, to lower the chances of the horse getting jumpy.

"I've been thinking a fair bit, lately. Got nothin' else to do down here. And y'know what I think, Easy? The Allied Planets' dearly beloved Covenant could be half its size, if they'd just written it straight, without all the 'hereby's' and 'wheretofore's.'" Mal shrugged, and picked up the brush. "But they couldn't make it too easy for normal folk to understand. That'd be missing the whole point."

The brush tended to shorten Colossus' temper by a considerable amount. Mal let him see it, and moved slow, running it over the horse's shoulder. For the first time, Colossus relaxed under the brush. He dipped his large black head, with a sigh.

Mal rubbed the side of his neck. "Good boy, Easy," he murmured. "That's a good boy."

"That's amazing."

Mal jumped, and dropped the brush. "Jesus-" He fumbled to catch it mid-air, making Colossus tense up, as Mal spun around. He knew exactly whom he would see, but shock still slackened his jaw.

Inara Serra rested her elbows on top of the stall door, chin in her hands. Her dark curls were pulled into a knot atop her head, leaving a few wisps to escape around her ears and neck. Her eyes were wide, wondrous, watching Mal.

"No one's ever been able to calm that horse," she said simply, as if continuing a conversation. "My father can barely ride him. The last stable hand thought he should be sold, but my father never could bring himself to do it."

"Yeah, he's, uh… he's a mite unpredictable." Mal cast Colossus a wary glance. The horse didn't seem to mind Inara's sudden appearance. Maybe because he knew her. Maybe because she had some magic power over every living creature in her presence. Mal glared at her. "Not the wisest idea to sneak up when I'm in his stall."

"I'm sorry." There it was. That nǐ niáng de smile. "I won't do it again. But I couldn't bear to interrupt your book report."

Mal tried to be irritated with her. He really did. His will dissolved, melting into a warm place in the pit of his stomach. "Oh, yeah?" he tossed out, like couldn't care less if she'd heard him carrying on a one-sided conversation with a horse.

Her smile compressed into a smirk. "I'm impressed that you actually read it."

"Yes." Mal went back to brushing Colossus. "I do, in fact, know how to read."

He could almost hear her wince. "That's not what I meant."

Mal let her stew in silence for a beat, before casting a glance over his shoulder. "Gotta say, Miss Serra, I'd almost given up on you."

"I know. I'm sorry." She lifted off the door and stepped back, ducking her head. "I wanted to come earlier, but I… couldn't get away."

"They must keep you busy up at your diplomacy school."

"Yes." It took her a moment to look up, into his eyes. "Very busy."

"Well, I'm glad you did." Mal turned all the way around, to rest his elbows on top of the door, where hers had been. It brought him a little closer than he meant. "Manage to get away, that is."

"Me, too." She turned aside, to cast her eyes over the barn. "I haven't ridden for years. I'd forgotten how much I like being in here. It's so calm and quiet, almost like a temple." She took a breath. "I like the way it smells."

"When I'm not doing a full muck-out of the stalls, you mean?"

"Yes." Inara flashed a smile. "But here I am again, interrupting your chores."

"Not at all. I just finished."

"In that case…" She hesitated. "Perhaps you could tell me what you thought of the Covenant." Her eyes settled in his, as if to read something out of him. "I'm curious."

A flicker of distrust lit in Mal's chest. And with it, the nagging sense that this, talking in low voices over the stall door with the Councilor's daughter, was a terrible, terrible idea.

But Moran's voice echoed in his ear. "You must earn Miss Serra's trust, by any means necessary."

So Mal gave her another smile, and dipped his head. "As you like, Miss Serra. But we can't talk like this."

"Why not?" She spoke a pitch above a whisper.

"Well, uh…" Mal dropped his gaze. He lifted up off the edge of the stall, and took a step back. "For one thing, Davis could barge in any second with a whip about me taking meals with the cook again, or some other such nonsense. I'd hate for you to see him chew me out."

Inara's brow lifted. "You take meals with Galileo Shen?"

"Yeah, sometimes." Mal left Colossus' stall, shutting the door behind him. "He's a nice guy, and it beats the hell out of eating my protein dinner alone in my bunk." He winced. Pathetic. He shifted tack. "I'm impressed you actually know the man's name."

"Shen has been working for my father for almost twenty years. Of course I know his name." She lifted her chin. "I like to visit him in the kitchen, as well, when I can."

"Well, shoot." Mal smirked. "I thought I was special."

"You are-" She cut short, with a shake of her head. "You are fishing for compliments," she finished, sharp. "So if we aren't safe from Davis here, where will we talk?"

Mal considered. "There's a bench out back, on the wall of the barn. If you like, we could…" he trailed off.

"Yes." Inara smiled, open, pure. "I would like that very much."

/*/*\*\

"A license to play God?"

Inara was seated, looking up at Mal, her neat dark brow furrowed.

"Yep." Mal had lifted one foot onto the bench, leaning forward on his knee. "That's all it is."

"I hope you're prepared with evidence to support such a claim."

"'Course I am." Mal flipped through the small blue book in his hands, until he came to the right page. He cleared his throat. "'The Bill of Universal Human Rights is the central and foundational document by which all policy must be measured, and will serve as foremost consideration in the realm of interplanetary law.'" He tilted his eyes at Inara, adding, "Here's where they get tricky," before he read on. "'Its prepotency is such that the Bill supersedes all other concerns, including the sovereignty of lesser governing bodies, of planetary status or otherwise."

Inara blinked at him. "And?"

"And?" Mal waved the book. "They're giving themselves free reign over the whole 'Verse. Just 'cause they got this piece of paper which, by the way, they also wrote themselves, that means the Alliance gets to stomp all over 'lesser governing bodies.'" He snapped the book shut. "What's so right about that?"

"The Bill of Universal Human Rights is more than a 'piece of paper,'" Inara shot back, heated. "It's the heart of the Covenant, of all policy ever written by Parliament for the last four hundred years."

"Yeah, I read it. Bù zěnyàng. None of it justifies ignoring a planet's sovereignty."

"And what if that planet's government is committing war crimes?" Inara threw out a hand. "What if it kills or mistreats its citizens?"

"Well, that's…" Mal knit his brow. "That's beside the point."

Inara kept going. "As inhabitants of the Universe, we are all of us granted certain inalienable rights, no matter where or how we are born. That's what the Bill ensures. Right to life, to dignity, and-"

"Sure, okay." Mal shrugged a shoulder. "That's all shiny, in theory. But in real life, it don't always work out that way."

Inara's eyebrows arched high. "I have to say, Wesley, it sounds as though you're against the Unification Initiative." Her face softened, but her eyes didn't. "Why?"

It wasn't an accusation. It was a question. She stared at him, expectant.

Mal swallowed. Careful, now. "'Against' is a… strong word." He tilted his gaze out toward the pasture, where the horses grazed, roaming only as far as the fence allowed. "I ain't never taken too well to authority figures, that's all. Don't matter who they are."

"I believe that." A smile curled Inara's voice. "But you shouldn't be so quick to dismiss the Covenant. It's done a wealth of good for humankind."

"Really." Mal sat down on the bench beside her. He leaned back, crossing an ankle over his knee. "And how's that?"

"On Earth-That-Was, there were constant wars, and humanitarian crises, and little could be done about them. But the Covenant allowed us to advance beyond all that. There's no need for violence, no squabbling over resources, not when there's a standardized system of distribution that ensures universal health and education."

Mal knew she was wrong. But to hear her voice, so sweet and sure, safe within her sheltered view of the 'Verse, he found it hard to contradict her. A dozen counter-arguments sprang to mind, of course, not least the 'squabbling over resources' that the Alliance itself had spearheaded on his own planet, but Mal knew it'd do him no favors to bring that up.

Inara leaned closer, demanding his eyes. "Unification will bridge the gap, which you pointed out yourself, between theory and reality. The Covenant promises its protection to everyone in the Universe. But only when all the planets are unified will the Alliance be able to fulfill that promise."

Mal frowned. "Seems to me that no one group of people should be able to sit around a table and make that kinda decision."

"If you're referring to the 624 members of Parliament, they didn't simply crawl out of the ground." Inara's voice cooled. "There are elections every twelve years. Which, I might point out, is more frequent than the local council elections on your home planet."

Mal's brow shot up. "You've studied Shadow? At your diplomacy school?"

"A bit," she said lightly. "I've read its Constitution."

"Have you now." He smirked, to hide his surprise, and turned toward her on the bench. "And what is your expert opinion?"

"It values individual freedom too highly. At the expense of safety and social stability, one might argue."

"Maybe." Mal dropped his voice, leaning toward her, as far as he dared. "But I'm willin' to bet, Miss Serra, that you value individual freedom more than you're free to admit."

She stared at him. They were close enough that Mal could hear her breath, falling through parted lips. "Why do you say that?" she asked.

"You came all the way down here, just to talk to me." He tilted his head. "Even though I'm likely not the kinda friend you're supposed to have."

A spark caught in her eyes. "No one tells me whom I can be friends with."

"Good," said Mal. "You oughta be able to decide that for yourself."

They held course a moment, straight into each other's eyes, before Inara looked away. "I didn't come here only to talk to you, anyway. I came for my gift."

"Ah. Right." Mal picked up the book from the bench between them, and brushed off the cover. "Thanks again, for the etiquette lesson," he said, handing it over. "I'd say I have a real shot at not gettin' fired."

"I'm glad." She shot him a sideways glance. "It would certainly be a shame, if you were."

"Would you miss me, Miss Serra?" He twirled the question into something coy.

She stood up, holding the book to her chest. "Please." She smiled. "Call me Inara."

"Uh. Sure." He stood with her, helpless against a sudden grin. "Inara," he added, just to try it out. The name already felt well-worn in his mouth. Three descending syllables, round and soft, like prayer beads.

"I should really be going." She ducked her head, picking up her feet, to slip between the open barn doors.

Mal followed after her. "Will I see you next Sunday?"

"Maybe," she offered, without turning around.

He caught up, and trotted backwards alongside her. "Don't make me hide in the rose garden again, and ambush you."

She flicked her eyes to his. "But I thought you enjoyed doing that." She picked up her pace, leaving him behind. Over her shoulder, she added, "I'll try to spare you the trouble."

Mal stopped in the aisle, to watch her go. "Until then, Inara," he called out.

"Goodbye, Mal."

He stood there, boots stuck to the floor, for a long while after she'd gone. All he could hear was the thud of his heartbeat, and the echo of his real name in her voice.

translations:

fèn - excrement

nǐ niáng de - damn, f*cking

Bù zěnyàng - 'Nothing special,' 'I'm not impressed'

Oh you know, just friendly ideological debates and some harmless flirting. What could possibly go wrong?

I would really love to hear any thoughts about this chapter! Any readers with horse expertise willing to give me your honest take? But horse expert or no, anyone is qualified to give their opinion on the story thus far. Concerns, complaints, suggestions? I'm worried that this part is a bit, well, uneventful... but Mal and Inara deserve at least a brief period of (relative) happiness before it gets snatched away, right?

By the way, I hope to get my act together and return to a weekly/bi-weekly update schedule soon. We'll see how that goes. Hope to see you all in Chapter 12!