Chapter 3 – Flying

Before his world was turned sideways, Simon Tam had been reading a letter from his father. He lay on the pallet of his small cube-of-a-room in Serenity's passenger bay, just behind the cargo hold. The room was small but comfortable, brightly lit and surprisingly cozy for a prefab module. The bed was small, but firm, with a small side table and a lamp to read by. The overhead light provided an even illumination to the rest of the cube, while another lamp adorned the crude desk, behind which he now sat.

It had taken nearly a year for his father to send this letter, but admitting he was wrong and begging for forgiveness was not something that came naturally to Gabriel Tam. He was an important man on Osirus and in Core society and he wasn't used to being wrong, much less conceding that fact to his son. Gabriel was an Icon to Simon, a man that until then had no peer. Though his intellect didn't reach that of his baby sister's, his righteousness and fortitude of moral fiber were beyond reproach.

Finding out what had been going on in the Alliance, human experimentation on a planetary level, was more than the elder Tam could immediately accept. The fact that it was right under his nose, in the middle of his own family no less didn't make it easier. He'd dismissed Simon's warnings and forced his son to rescue River on his own, an out cast. Rejected the truth and evidence his son had given him and even thrown him out to preserve his ignorance. He coldly refused to believe the rumors, news reports and exposés until they were completely undeniable. Rumors of Reavers secret weapons and reports of horrible experiments – it was not the way of the Alliance, not his Alliance.

The recent death of the Security Minister, an old friend and former adversary, seemed to jell it all in his mind. The official and un-refuted exposé of his secret programs was the nail in the coffin. With this letter Gabriel Tam was making an overture to his alienated son and tortured fugitive daughter. It started out forceful and demanding, as was his style.

'Simon. It is time for you and River to return to Osirus. It isn't right that you should be traveling the Universe at such low station when you can return to your career at the hospital and your home, here with us.'

So like him, Simon thought, not to give an inch from his high horse. He'd tossed the letter in a corner of his desk for a time, refusing to read it any further. But it had nagged at him all week and he'd finally gotten up the nerve to finish reading the correspondence.

After some rationalizations on how and why he should come back his father's tone changed. It took Simon off guard and as a bit of a surprise.

'I realize now how wrong I was and I don't blame you for being angry. I should have trusted you more. You and your sister were always so close. I should have known you were right. I'm sorry, so sorry that you both got mixed up in all of this. I should have seen it then, but now I'm asking, I'm begging. Bring River home. Come home.'

Simon stopped for a moment considering the possibility. He could return to the hospital and maybe a more normal life. Helping regular normal people again, instead of patching up this band of unappreciative misfits mercenaries. River could get the help she needed, the best in the Verse. They could go home. Things could be like they were before.

But what would happen the first time River accidentally took out a bar full of patrons in a brawl, or matrons at a quilting club? What would happen if she killed someone? She was getting better, but he still didn't know what might set her off. It was safer for the family that she, that they both stay out here.

"Home." He muttered.

He pondered the word wishfully for only a moment. It was warm and comforting, that word. It meant so much to Simon. It meant quiet sitting rooms with a library of fine literature and plush silk rugs with deep comfortable sofas and warm aromatic tea sitting on an elaborately inlayed table. It meant being someplace for more than a few days, settling in to a routine, feeling a part of that place and that it was a part of you.

He wondered briefly if that was what 'home' meant to River. Then Serenity lurched sideways and he was rudely slammed from one wall to the next flying across his room, and left clutching to the strut of his rack desperately trying to stay in one piece.

Flying had always been one of Inara Serra's passions. She had to admit that one of the reasons she signed on with Serenity in the first place was that freedom of having her own shuttle and being able to fly it on her own. On Sihnon she was chauffeured to where she needed to go, watching from the back seat, never feeling the controls of the flight, the lift from the wind and the rocking of the pressure flux, the thrust of the main drive. She wanted to feel the freedom of soaring in the clouds, experience the wind beneath her wings, taste the excitement of re-entry, let it fill her – with her hands on the wheel. She could not have that at the Companion House.

But Mal granted her complete autonomy over the shuttle she rented. It was hers. This shuttle was not just a space that she had made into a home, or a place to conduct her business, it was freedom itself. She could go where she wanted, do what she wanted, control her world. No more feeling restricted to the confines of the Guild house or the situational vagaries of a job gone bad. She had her shuttle to fly away in, she was free. The only problem was that that freedom came hand in hand with Malcolm Reynolds.

Mal had allowed her to make any modifications she wanted, and she could pay for herself, of course. That wasn't the issue. Her shuttle had been upgraded with additional stabilizers that could remain active even while docked. These could damp out some of the small jerkiness of Serenity during reentry and docking. She was comfortable enough. It was customized for greater speed and extended range, so she could get to and from her work dates more effectively. It was decorated lavishly and was quite comfortable as a living space. It was everything she wanted with ample use of cushions and pillows in the decoration. But it could not help her with her feelings toward her proprietor.

Inara Serra loved Malcolm Reynolds. His simple sense of honor and loyalty. His protectiveness toward those that could not protect themselves. In some ways she even loved his sense of adventure and unpredictability. So when Mal's voice came on the Com, then Serenity lurched and dove, it was not entirely a surprise to the Companion. It was almost expected.

It was the cushions that saved her from being battered to a pulp in this particular situation – and it was these situations that exemplified her problem with Malcolm Reynolds. Serenity's bucking sent Inara flying through the air, flailing around like a strange exotic bird, trying to latch on to something firm, anything. Eventually she grabbed hold of her largest cushion, wrapped it around herself for protection. Then she bounced around with the rest of the flotsam and jetsam, praying for the mayhem to stop.

The jostling ended as quickly as it had started and suddenly everything fell into place. Her large brown eyes stared incredulously at the ceiling of her shuttle, her heart still bounding as she struggled for breath. Yes, Inara Serra had a passion for flying, but this was not at all what she had in mind.

The now disheveled Companion struggled to her feet and stumbled dizzily to the shuttle controls. After all of her work, gently hanging, carefully positioning and artfully draping, her shuttle was a shambles. It would take her hours to clean up. She snapped up the intercom angrily.

"Mal! What the hell is going on?"

There was a long pause.

"Meeting in the galley after touch down."

Another pause.

"A little help back here please," came Kaylee's small voice over the intercom.

Flying was Inara Serra's passion. Fly with Malcolm Reynolds was her curse.

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