"Jesus Almighty, is that a gorram Firefly?" the Militia ship pilot asked, leaning forward over his console in surprise. "I didn't think many of those suckers were still flyin'."
Titan Pilot Tommy Jerans had to agree with that. The last time he'd seen a Firefly, it'd been on a scrapheap on Demeter. Yet, here one was. From the looks of it, it was a smuggler vessel, like so, so many vessels in the Militia had once been. Or still were, when the senior officers weren't lookin', Tommy reminded himself.
"She transmitting?" Tommy asked. "Comms, radar, anything?"
"Don't look like, man. Jus' sittin' there. Maybe the thing's abandoned." the pilot responded. Tommy noted he wasn't looking at his instruments, so that ship might've been scanning them with the best systems in the whole dang 'Verse, and he wouldn't know it. The man leaned back in his chair again, and fished out a cigarette from God only knew where. Tommy snatched it out of his hand, much to the guy's dismay.
"What the hell, man?" he demanded. "Can't I have a smoke? Where's the love?"
Tommy gave him a look, and dropped the cig, kicking it between the floor grates. "You know as well as I do, man. Cap'n's orders. 'Specially now. "
The pilot muttered something choice, and glanced at his controls. His eyebrows went up, and Tommy directed his gaze to see what had gotten the guy's attention.
"Well, wouldja lookit that," the pilot muttered, pointing to the blinking blue light on the console. "That Firefly's hailin' us." Tommy nodded. "Yep. So, we'd better pick up."
The pilot grumbled some more, and pressed the blinking button. "This is Frontier Militia transport Wilson T, respondin' to your hail, Firefly. Who're ya, and whaddya want?" he said boredly.
The voice that replied was rough, male, cranky, and maddeningly familiar to Tommy, though he just couldn't place it.
"This is Firefly transport Serenity, Malcolm Reynolds speaking, Wilson T. I could ask you fellas the same question. What the sam-hell are you doin' in my sky?"
Tommy swore, and covered his face with one gloved hand. This bunch again. He'd encountered Malcolm Reynolds and his merry band of misfits once before the war, and they'd struck him as a thoroughly odd bunch of folks. Dangerous, too. Of all the ships to run into out here….
"We ain't lookin' for trouble, if that's what you're asking, Serenity." the pilot replied. "We're just passing through."
"I'll be the judge of that, Wilson T." Reynolds said, almost snapped. "You 'Militia' boys just 'passing through' don't sound like it's the whole truth. Not with a frigate taggin' along behind ya like a puppy dog."
Tommy swore. Reynolds had a legendary rep for what seemed bordered damn close to outright paranoia when it came to warships, no matter who they belonged to. Even more so, recently.
"Like I said, Serenity." the pilot said, now looking thoroughly bored. "We're just passin' through this sector. Not lookin' fer trouble."
Another voice butted in on the comm from Serenity. Young-sounding, a girl.
"Ah, you sure 'bout that?" she asked cheerily. "You fellas look like you've been through one heck of a scrape. Busted heat-transfer units, your drives look all wonky, busted up comms and cargo holds…. and that's just what I can see. Oh! A lot of burn marks on the hull, too."
Tommy grunted. From the sounds of how quick she had identified near everything wrong with the Wilson T., that voice probably belonged to Kaywinnet Lee Frye. Before the pilot could reply, flabbergasted as he was, Tommy cleared his throat and spoke into the pickup.
"Copy that, Serenity. Thanks for telling us what we already know." he said flatly. "As it stands, we are just 'passing through', but all the same, we'd like to get movin', sooner rather than later. When last we checked, we still had no less than six Alliance cruisers following us. Maybe five hours behind. Less, now. Don't think they'll be very happy when they catch up."
The change in Reynold's attitude at the words Alliance cruisers was nothing short of a complete 180.
"Ah, did you say six cruisers, Wilson T.?" he asked, the crankiness in his voice all but gone.
"Affirmative, Serenity." Tommy said. "Six, and they're catchin' up fast while we're sitting here jawin'."
"... Roger that." Reynolds said. "Nà zhēn de bùshì hěn hǎo... Y'know what… you fellas have a nice day. Serenity out."
Reynolds said, and cut the comm.
Tommy shook his head. That was Reynolds to a T these days. Avoid Alliance and the Militia both, and if they are in close proximity to each other, run like hell. Tommy really couldn't blame him. Things tended to explode around the Militia. The Firefly turned in space, and as Tommy and the ship's pilot watched, went full thrust and shot off like a cork.
"Have any idea where they're goin'?" the pilot asked.
"Not a one." Tommy said. "We best be movin' on, too. Unless you're wanting to chat with those Alliance cruisers."
The pilot barked a humorless laugh.
"Nǐ tā mā de xiǎng, nánrén." he said, laying in a course.
Tommy leaned over, and glanced at the coordinates. Hobben's Fall, a small port moon way out on the Rim that was frequented by cargo vessels, smugglers, and the Militia quite a lot, though nobody controlled it. Better than nothing.
"Fleet's movin'." the pilot reported. "Standby for jump."
The hull seemed seemed to elongate around them as stars started to dance in Tommy's vision, then bam, and they jumped. It was a few more jumps to Hobben's Fall yet, and for some reason, Tommy couldn't shake a feeling that they hadn't seen the last of Serenity.