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Book stared down at the inedible mess on his plate. He'd prayed over it, of course, but it would take a miracle to turn this slop into dinner.
Even Kaylee, whose youthful appetite would normally let her eat anything, only played with her fork.
Dr. Simon Tan stared in amazement as Jayne Cobb dug into his plate with apparent relish. His biology classes had included the animals on Earth-that-was, and he'd long believed that Jayne had the muscles of an ox, the brain of a turkey, the courage of a hyena, and the ferocity of a wolverine. Now he was forced to add to that assessment the digestive facilities of a goat.
"How can you eat that?" asked Wash, the sandy-haired pilot.
"What?" Jayne asked.
"The question isn't how he can eat it. The question is how anyone can take perfectly good canned vegetables and turn it into this go-se?" Zoe wondered aloud.
"What? What's wrong with it?" Jayne asked.
The rest of the crew just stared at him, unable to believe he could be so oblivious to the meal's utter inedibility. Then Mal snapped his fingers.
"We ain't makin' proper use of available resources. Be right back." Mal hurried down to the cargo hold. "Where's Jan?"
"Yes, Captain?" She sat on the deck, four or five children gathered around her.
"Come up here. Wanna talk to you without yelling."
"Yes, Captain." She stood up. She told the children, "I'll finish the story later."
Murmurs of disappointment followed her as she went up to see the captain.
"You interested in earning a few credits?" Mal asked. She nodded, and he continued, "C'mon with me, then." He led her to the galley. "Jayne wrecked dinner. Doubt you could salvage what he ruined, but maybe you could make something else."
She looked around the galley, mentally taking inventory. "Give me half an hour."
"We'll be waitin', and hungry," Mal told her.
Twenty-three minutes later, a pasta and cheese casserole was brought to the table. The crew of Serenity wasted no time in digging in.
"Grab a plate and sit down," Mal invited Jan.
"Captain?"
"Grab a plate," Mal repeated. "You made it; you can help eat it."
She shook her head. "I wouldn't feel right, eating with you when the rest are gnawing nutri-bars."
"Warned you it'd be short rations. Nutri-bars'll keep you alive," Mal said defensively. "Wanna hire you as ship's cook until we reach Hutchins' Moon. Wouldn't be much money, but it'd mean a few credits in your pocket, plus better food."
"Mmm, that smells delicious," Book complimented her. "Do you need help with anything?"
"No, sir," Jan replied. She gave her attention to the won tons frying in the pan, but after a moment glanced up at the white-haired, dark-skinned man. "Sir? Captain Reynolds called you 'Shepherd.' Is that just a nickname, or are you really a shepherd?"
Book nodded. "I'm a shepherd." In truth he was more than a mere shepherd, but while he was on this combination of a sabbatical and a wanderjahr, he had abandoned his ecclesiastical rank. "Do you need spiritual guidance?"
"Could you go down to the hold and talk to the others? We were lucky to see a shepherd two-three times a year on the plantation, and they always used 'render unto to Caesar' or Paul's letters to Titus or the Ephesians about slaves obeying their masters. Nobody would object to hearing about Moses leaving Egypt," she suggested.
"I'd be happy to minister to them. Although perhaps I should take the fourth chapter of Judges for my text."
Jan looked up at him blankly for a moment.
"Deborah," he reminded her.
She smiled and nodded her acceptance of the compliment. "Just doing what I have to. I'm not going to let my children grow up wearing the patron's chains."
"You have children?"
"A boy." She didn't mention the two daughters she'd buried. "He deserves better than spending his life as a field hand."
"Have you spent your whole life on Mephitis?" Book asked.
She shook her head as she scooped the won tons out of the pan. "My parents signed a ten year labor contract when I was a little girl. Papa died of overwork after seven years. Mama worked for the patron fifteen years before she died – he claimed she owed money that she had to work off. I was supposed to be released when I came of age. When he didn't let me go, I walked into town and tried to file a lawsuit for my emancipation. The patron showed up with forged papers that I was a chattel-slave and not just a bond-servant, and the judge ordered me flogged and returned to him."
Mal popped into the galley. "Dinner ready yet? I pay you to cook, not to gossip with the first class passengers."
"Getting everything ready for the table, sir," Jan replied.
"I just came to help her carry things to the table," Book added.
Serenity's pilot and XO were making out on the bridge. Then a monitor beeped, distracting them. Wash glanced over to see what it was, his hands still roving over his wife's body.
"Fei-oo!" he swore. He hit the intercom button. "Mal, we got trouble."
"We got a problem," Mal announced to the runaway slaves in the hold five minutes later. "Alliance ship just hailed us, want to board us for inspection. We can't out-run 'em, gonna have to try to bluff our way out of trouble."
Everyone started talking at once.
"The children! What about the children?"
"Won't the false papers fool them?"
"Will they take us back to the patron?"
"Quiet!" Jan shouted. She forced her way through the crowd to join Mal. "Captain Reynolds knows what he's doing. Shut up and listen to him."
Mal smiled at her, grateful for the vote of confidence.
"I hope you know what you're doing," she whispered.
His smile faded. Then his brain caught up with his ears. How did these runaway slaves know about his false papers? Unless they weren't referring to Serenity's forged registration and his fake ID …. "What false papers?"
"You didn't tell him, Jan?" asked one of the slaves, a tall blond man.
"Tell me what?" Mal demanded.
"Get the bag," Jan ordered. She turned back to Mal. "We have forged indenture contracts. We thought that way, if we got caught, we'd only forfeit five years instead of the rest of our lives."
"And you didn't tell me about this because ….?"
"I was afraid it might be too much temptation for you," she confessed. "You must have smuggling compartments on a ship like this. Can we at least hide the children?"
Mal shook his head. "Too risky. If they make any noise, the Alliance'll wanna know why they were hidden, when their papers are all in order. Then they might give those forged papers of yours a closer look than either one of us'd like. Besides, it'd take too long to sort out their papers from the rest." Mal did not mention he preferred not to be responsible for twenty-plus children, some of them diapered infants, if the Alliance seized his passengers but didn't arrest him. "Better to brazen it out, pretend you're just a pack of contract-labor traveling steerage." He raised his voice. "Keep your mouths shut. Let me do all the talkin'."
Mal headed back to the bridge, swearing under his breath in both English and Chinese. He wished they could out-run the Alliance craft, but the excessive demands on the life support system and tying the portapotties into the ship's pipes was straining the engines. If they ran, they wouldn't have enough fuel let to make Hutchins' Moon.
"Get Kaylee on the horn. Got a chore for her," Mal ordered Wash.
"Lt. Wu Deng-shu, IAV Timminear," the young officer introduced himself. His aristocratic features – the pale skin and epicanthic eyes – and slightly accented English vouched for the fact that Chinese was his native language. Three enlisted men stood behind him; he did not bother to introduce them.
"Captain Leo Jones, of the Thermopylae." Mal handed over false papers identifying him as Leonidas Jones.
"Who are these people? And what is that stench?" Wu wrinkled his nose.
"Contract laborers. Gonna be farmhands on Kuan-yin," Mal replied laconically, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt.
"Why are they in such primitive conditions?" Wu demanded.
"All their bondholder paid for, Lieutenant. That's why it smells so bad," Mal confided. "Client told me thirty; that's all the portapotties are capable of handling. If he'd told me in advance he planned to ship out fifty-some people, I'd've told him the cargo hold was too small for that many. But by the time I found out, it was too late to cancel." Mal shrugged. "I needed the job. It's only for three weeks."
Wu shuddered at the thought of enduring such an odor for nearly a month. "DuBois, Sullivan, search the rest of the ship."
"Yes, sir," the two agreed crisply. One muttered under his breath, "Anything to get out of this stench."
"You're welcome to search the ship," Mal lied; there was nothing he'd like less. "But the smell's all over the ship."
DuBois and Sullivan hesitated. The lieutenant's glare forced them onward.
"I'd start with the bridge if I were you," Mal suggested in a friendly tone. "The stink ain't quite so bad there." And the only thing out of the ordinary on the bridge was Wash's toy dinosaurs.
"You have the appropriate paperwork for these … people?" Wu asked.
"Yes, sir." Mal handed over the forged indenture contracts.
Wu glanced through them as quickly as possible. "I ought to write you up for the conditions your passengers are living in."
"Ain't passengers, sir. Cargo," Mal corrected the young officer as respectfully as possible. "Doing the best I can for 'em under the circumstances."
Wu asked, "Perhaps we could …borrow some of the female workers? My men have been in space a long time. And they would surely be grateful to escape this smell for a few hours."
"If it were up to me, sir, I'd be happy to let you borrow as many as you please. No charge, neither. If it weren't for the Alliance patrols, we independent traders would be risking our lives every time we went out into the Black. But the truth is, theyain't my property. I'm responsible to my client to deliver 'em in good shape. I've had enough trouble with this client, and if I pick 'em up healthy, and then deliver 'em with an STD, or knocked up, I'd never hear the end of it." Mal shook his head regretfully.
Wu's nose wrinkled again. He'd had all of the odor he could stand. He raised his communicator to his lips. "Sullivan, DuBois, did you find anything?"
"All in order, sir."
"Return," the lieutenant ordered. "Thank you for your cooperation, Jones."
Mal forced a smile. "Anything I can do to help the Alliance, sir."
As soon as Wu and his men were off the ship, Mal went to the com-unit. "Kaylee, your stinky worked. Now turn the air filtration system on full blast, so we can get rid of it."
"Sure thing, Cap," the mechanic's voice came over the com-unit.
"Wash, continue on course for Kuan-yin for as long as Timminear is watching. As soon as they're gone, resume original course."
"Got it, Mal."
Mal turned back to his passengers and grinned. "We did it, folks. We fooled 'em. Should be smooth sailing from here to Hutchins' Moon."
The runaway slaves cheered.