DR: Welcome back everyone! We finally arrive at a planet, and... (a crash from the other room hearlds the entrance of Hermione, smiling and shicking her head)

DR: What's going on?

Hermione: Oh, just that Harry let Jania try to control his firebolt.

DR: sigh I need to make this place bigger...

Chapter 7: Persephone

It was not a strange sight for the workers, traders and other patrons of the Evesdown Docks to see a Firefly class ship land there. The docks were the preferred place for such ships, though trade had fallen with each month as the official trading and passenger ships landed more and more at the Government run landing pads.

What did draw the eye however was the vessel that flew down gracefully alongside the old transport. It was little more than a bevelled box car with engines stuck on the rear, but there was something about it that hinted that it was far more than meets the eye. It paced beside the Firefly, seemingly flying without effort, dwarfed by its companion. The two ships settled down side by side, The Firefly kicking up dust from its engines, rotated to point downwards for landing. The newcomer however just settled down, barely disturbing the top soil.

As the whine of the engines faded, a careful observer might note that the Firefly was slightly different from the norm. It wasn't anything exactly, just a slight lengthening of the 'neck', some changes in the plating and shape of the engines. However there was no one looking that closely at the ship.

The only one who did look only took note of the ship's name on the side of the neck, before leaving his observation point.

Within the Firefly's main hull, Mal stopped before the opening airlock, letting the smells of the docks drift into the cargo hold. He half closed his eyes as he breathed deeply. Yes, there were smells that weren't exactly pleasant, but they were just as much a part of here as anything else.

Despite everything that had happened in the last year and a bit, he was glad to be back.

A low growl caught his attention. Looking to his left, Mal saw Ghost stood between a couple of smaller crates in the corner, looking towards the open doors.

Mal took a couple of steps towards the organoid. "Best you stay there." Ghost turned his head to regard him as he spoke, one eye ridge raising slightly. It was an oddly human reaction.

"If the folks out there see you, there'll be all kinds of panic." Mal pressed on. "That'll bring the Alliance, and the last thing we need or want is for the gorram Alliance to get its hand on you."

Ghost tilted his head to one side, and Mal got the distinct impression that he was smirking.

"Who said they would see me?" he growled, before he glowed for a split-second. It wasn't bright, but as the glow faded... so did Ghost.

"Wah de ma..." Mal breathed as he stared at empty space. A soft growling, almost like a chuckle, drifted from where Ghost had been stood. He looked out once more at the flow of people walking past. 'How's he going to get through that though?' He wondered. Realising that there was nothing he could do about it now, Mal shrugged before looking back up towards the stairs that led up to the forward passageway.

"Jayne!" He yelled, before turning to look behind at the sound of footfalls. Zoe was walking out from the lounge area, her favoured shotgun – the 'Mare's leg' – in her hands.

Seeing her slide a last shell into the gun reminded Mal about his own weapon, and his hand drifted to his holster without him even realising that he had done so. In the aftermath of the Cylon Assault, Mal had been envious of the Colonial's 'laser' pistols. While in the past he had not been a fan of lasers, the Colonials weapons had proved that the era of the projectile was over.

River, picking up on his feelings and thoughts, had 'borrowed' his gun shortly before his birthday, returning it as a present. It had taken Mal several minutes to realise exactly what she had done to his old Officer's pistol.

In effect, she'd cut the gun in half, then rebuilt the middle section to allow for an interchangeable barrel element. When she'd returned it the barrel fitted was the same one as before, with a clip of compressed powder shots already loaded.

It was the other barrel that had been the real gift. Throwing a few catches would allow Mal to switch them around, replacing the traditional barrel, ammo clip and spark system with a smaller scale version of the Colonials weapons. It was not as powerful as the Colonial original, but it looked almost the same as the other barrel, so that a casual look by a third party would not reveal how advanced it was.

The clump of heavy boot heralded Jayne's arrival on deck drew him back from his reminiscing. "'Kay, here's what we'll do. Zoe, Jayne, we're going to pay a little visit to Badger. Everyone else, don't stray too far. And stay together gorram it. Let's not be losing anyone, not now."

"Really Mal, do you honestly expect the Alliance to try something here?" Inara asked as she stepped down the steps from the upper level walkway. Glancing at her, Mal could see that her face was slightly amused. Her tone had been almost mocking.

"I don't know Inara. They tried to get Badger though. And there ain't just the Alliance out there to be concerned about."

Miranda, following Inara down, was puzzled. But Kaylee blanched a little, thinking about the list of enemies that the crew had gathered over time.

Stepping off the ramp, Mal noticed in the dirt before him a footprint... one that no local could produce. It was formed from three, squared off toes, similar in shape to a bird's foot. Very deliberately Mal placed his foot in the print, twisting it as he turned, to ensure that the print was destroyed.

To anyone watching though, it looked like he had simply pivoted on one foot as he turned.

As he walked over, Mal smiled a little at the curious stares the Colonial shuttle was attracting... as were the two warriors who had emerged. Two warriors that Mal knew quite well.

There had been some fierce discussion – and competition – to decide which squadrons would fly from Thunderchild during the mission. Black & White Knight Squadrons were her normally assigned squadrons, but after the Cylon Assault everything had been mixed around. In the end, the honour went to the most famous two squadrons in the fleet, Blue and Red.

The two captains stood there, just short of the shuttle they had ridden down in, watching in amazement at the heaving mass of lower class people who walked by. Starbuck was gazing with wide eyes, looking for all the world like some lost wanderer from the outer most planet. Boomer was more controlled in his reaction, but his eyes were also wide.

"You two coming, or are you going to wander like a couple of lost sheep?" Mal asked them as he stepped closer. Secretly he hoped they would follow him. They looked like they didn't belong here, too clean and military. At least with Mal and his crew, they'd be safer.

Not that he considered them defenceless, far from it. But this place was unlike anything they had like visited before, and they could find themselves in a whole heap of trouble before they realised it.

Starbuck turned to exchange a look with Boomer, before letting his customary smile crease his face. "Well, never hurts to have a local guide, right?"

Mal smiled a little before turning about. As he walked, he kept his eyes open, watching. He hadn't been kidding before. There were plenty of folk out there who would love to see him dead, the Alliance being the most oppressive and far reaching.

As he moved through the rough, container formed passageways of the docks, he couldn't help but notice that the throngs of traders, con-artists and hangers on was quite a bit thinner than the last time he'd been here. Those that were seemed to be constantly looking over their shoulders, their actions furtive. It wasn't hard to see the root of this. Alliance Federals were scattered all about in highly prominent positions, and everywhere Mal looked he saw Enforcers, local youths and yobs deputised by the Feds in order to provide the manpower needed to keep the peace.

From behind him, he could just hear Zoe and Boomer talking. They were kindred spirits, reserved warriors. All while Serenity's crew had worked with nearly all the key Colonial figures, there just hadn't been the time for them to get to know each other.

Despite the fluid nature of the landscape, Mal was able to lead his small band unerringly to were Badger had set up his business, though Mal preferred to refer to it, in his head at least, as Badgers nest. The tight corridor was as he remembered, though this time there was no thug at the end. Just Badgers voice emerging from within. He sounded annoyed.

Mal felt a smile tug at his mouth when he looked into Badger's den. It was the same as before, the mad jumble of things from all across human history – Earth's history. His wide desk was cluttered with papers and that archaic apple peeler.

Badger himself was looking the worse for wear. There was an air of neglect to him now, whereas in the past he had always been dapper. Right now he appeared to be arguing with someone over the comm.

"Just find him alright? And then find out just how the kao guay he managed to get away with my goods, yea' hear?" He snapped before closing the channel. Badger leaned back in his seat, rubbing small circles at the corners of his eyes.

"I take it business has taken a turn for the worse then?" Mal spoke up.

The effect on Badger was almost comical. He spun round, eyes wide in disbelief. "Reynolds!? But... you... you're..."

"Very much alive." Mal's tone turned cold. "No thanks to you."

X-X-X-X-X-X

Atherton Wing was stood where he spent most days, before his mirror, glaring into his reflection. More precisely, at the reflection of his left cheek; the cheek which that barbarous upstart Captain Reynolds had torn apart with the broken end of his sword. Atherton could still feel the shame of defeat and humiliation that had struck him then, lying there before the clumsy, oafish fool, held at the point of his own blade!

The surgeons had repaired the damage – so they claimed – and nobody seemed to see it, but Atherton could still see the bloody tear in his fair skin. There was still an ache whenever he used the muscles there, just like his right shoulder had never quite been the same since the duel.

The Duel. Atherton snarled as he thought back to that fateful morning. His life could be defined into 'before' and 'after'. 'Before' he had had everything. Money to burn, women on his every whim, and power. People would listen to him merely because of who he was. He was respected, and feared, able to hire any whore whenever he wanted, and he had the power to do whatever he wanted.

Afterwards, things had changed. It had been his first defeat in a duel, and that old bastard Harrow had clearly spread the word of his ignominious defeat. Ever since doors were closed to him, he was shunned and ignored. Worst of all he had discovered that Inara – he clenched his fists in reaction that name! – had made good on her threat. He had tried to hire women to accompany him to the few remaining balls he was invited to, but none would. They all turned him away, mutely pointing at the Black Mark. The only places he could go to slake his lust was in the slums and 'Blackout Zones'. And the one time he did venture down there he had been attacked by muggers. Fortunately he had kept his blade on him, and the rabble had ended up dead, while he took the one woman in the group as compensation.

That had been several months ago now, and she had long been rid of. Besides, the wrench had not helped as much as he had hoped. There was only one woman who could return him to his former glory... and take care of the ache in his loins. Inara.

Atherton knew enough about the way the Companion Guild worked to know that only the one who put the Black Mark against his name could remove it. And he intended for Inara to remove that mark... once he had her back here. He knew that Reynolds ship often stopped here at Persephone for supplies and work, so it was only a matter of time.

Frustratingly, the last time she had stopped over had only been for barely an hour, not enough time for him to even contemplate a daring kidnapping.

And now she had been missing for over a year. Serenity had left Persephone, headed out toward one of the outer rim colony's... and then vanished. There had been no, no sign of that piece of gos se since...

The door to his chamber opened, and one of his remaining attendants stepped in and walked briskly to stand besides him.

"Well? What is it?" Atherton demanded.

"Sire, the transport called Serenity touched down at the Evesdown Docks twenty-three minutes ago. She was in company with an unknown type of craft, possibly a long range shuttle."

Those words sent a lightning bolt through Atherton, making him stand a little taller. "Movement?" He asked carefully.

"Captain Reynolds and two of his crew, plus two from the unknown, were seen leaving the area and heading into the heart of the cargo area. Our man reported that Serenity's pilot has left the craft with a cargo hauler."

"And Inara?" Atherton asked quietly.

"She was seen leaving the ship with another young woman. She's an unknown."

Atherton turned slowly to regard the mirror, a cruel smile beginning to form on his face.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Far across the system, the limping wreck of Dominator slowly closed with the marshalling yard. The crew on board were looking forwards to a chance to put right the damage done to their ship by the mighty titan that had intruded into their space. However only one man board dreamed of revenge; the rest prayed they would never see that ship again.

Commander Lefcourt glared out of the bridge view port, his eyes not seeing the blackness of space, but that off-white, arrowhead prow, red darts racing away from it in all directions. He knew he had been beaten, but he longed to go back and teach those upstarts a lesson. He planned to put in a request to lead the task force against this threat as soon as he got back to the yards. It was quite likely that he would have to transfer his flag to another ship, but he didn't care about that.

All he cared about was striking back.

However, fate had other plans. Lefcourt would never get his chance to lead the taskforce he envisaged. And while the crew's prays that they would never see the Colonial ship again would be answered, it was to be in a way that they never would wish for.

"How long before we reach the yards?" Lefcourt snapped, spinning round to glare about the still damaged bridge.

"Twelve hours, twenty-three minutes sir." The duty helmsman replied, his voice drained; with the dead and wounded running at nearly seventy percent, the remaining able bodied crew were having to work double shifts to keep the ship in one piece and moving.

Turning, he once more stared outwards, a scowl on his face. His thoughts once more began to focus on...

Lefcourt froze, his eyes stopped. Had one of those stars to his upper left flickered for an instant? He stared, watching. He began to wonder if he was losing his mind...

There! Another star flickered, and then another. Then several blinked out at once, for an instant. For a few moments the stars remained steady, and then several vanished rapidly, and in the faint light from the main sun, he saw... something. Whatever it was, it was as black as space itself. It seemed to curve into darkness, cloaking itself in shadows. For an instant, Lefcourt would have sworn that the surface of this strange, unknown ship was shifting, moving...

He snapped back around, bellowing a new order. "Sound bat..."

He never finished his order.

Lefcourt turned just as the ship fired its main gun. The crew, looking up at his order, saw for an instant their commander back lit with a sickly, blood red light. Then they ceased to exist... along with the whole bridge.

Again and again the beam lashed out from the jet black Nightbringer, slicing through the alloys of the cruiser with ease. The starboard tower was split open from top to bottom, exposing hundreds of compartments to the cold vacuum. Into the deep gashes carved by the main gun, the two forward plasma projectors launched bolts of venomous green, the super-heated plasma burning through the thin alloys of the ships interior rapidly, igniting everything it touched.

The very design of the cruiser turned against it now. The outer hull had been the hard shell that not only held the vacuum of space out, but also held the ship together. Now sliced apart by the cruel laser beam, the cruiser began to disintegrate, the inner bulkheads failing and bursting apart. This process was speeded up by the Nightbringer, which targeted every chunk of the cruiser for destruction. The back light from its weapons threw the black, mottled hull in sharp relief, sending highlights racing up the black as night ridges and spines.

At last the black ships guns fell silent. It sat there, seemingly looking over its handiwork. All that was left of the Dominator was a cloud of twisted debris, hardening molten droplets and ashes. Only a few scraps of metal suggested just what kind of ship it had once been. Seemingly satisfied, the nightmare made real turned and left the remains behind, fading back into the blackness of space.

It had other threats to the Alliances rule to eliminate...

DR: Dark times are ahead, but don't worry, Atherton will get his... Until next time!