DR: Well, once more into the breach. My beta has had the chance to look over the whoel stroy now, so from now on we are beta'd.

Chapter 24: Confronting the Night

Mal's face was grim as they approached Hera. Ever since the end of the war, he'd stayed as far away from the planet as he could. As soon as Serenity was running, they had lifted off and left the planet behind. Not once had they looked back.

But now they were back, and that fact churned up all manner of feelings in Mal's gut.

Besides him, Inara could see both his face and the space ahead. As they had approached Hera, Mal's face had closed up, assuming a dark look that she hadn't seen since Miranda. Only in his eyes could she see the turmoil within him. Wordlessly she gripped his hand, lacing her fingers with his. He looked down at their hands for a moment, then at her face. His features softened, some of the remembered pain washing out of his eyes.

As they got closer, ships begin to take form above the planet. Dozens of them.

In the centre of the pack was an older model, larger scale space station. Worn and battered, it still bore scars from the War. Clustered about it were a half dozen frigate type warships, all old and battered. Most also looked like they had laid on a scrapheap for the last few years.

Wash frowned, bent over the one display. "Say... wuh duh ma huh duh fong kwong duh wais hung! That's the Wolves Dancer!"

Mal followed his gaze, to the heaviest ship in the group. It was a lean light cruiser, one of only a few ever built. Small enough to be mistaken for an overweight frigate, few who made that mistake lived to regret it. This craft had a snarling wolf head painted on the bow, with markings along the flanks in the form of lines and dots.

Wolves Dancer was a well known pirate ship. Formerly the cruiser Defiance of the Independents Navy, its crew had refused the order to stand down and had fled into the black. She had returned two months later, and had been preying on Alliance convoys and installations ever since. Not all their raids were that of a traditional pirate though. Often they had hit installations on core planets on foot, then scurried back to their ship before heading out.

Despite Alliance declarations, to the people of the outer planets the Wolves Dancer had become a folk hero. The crew often traded their spoils for supplies and fuel, often through a third party. Since the war, the crew had shifted to be almost completely of ancient American Indian descent, and that hey had marked their ship just like the warriors of those long-ago tribes had marked themselves and their gear.

They had been confused with Reavers at a couple of points but the clean lines of the ship, as well as the neatness of the markings themselves, stopped the mistake being any more then transitory.

Looking over the other ships, Mal noted that they were nearly all freighters and transports, a few sporting jury-rigged weapons. It was a cross section of every craft that flew in the system. The majority were worn, beaten, their hulls showing the signs of hard living. The Alliance may pump out images of shiny new, clean ships, but this was reality. Dirt and grime, sweat and elbow grease.

Mal shook his head slowly. 'They really think that such a gathering can hope to topple the Alliance?' Despite everything, Mal was still sitting on the fence, reluctant to take up arms again.

Then his eyes drifted over to the one side, and he stiffened. There sat an Alliance Cruiser, with two Lancer class frigates and a large number of smaller craft in support.

"Oh, juh jen sh guh kwai luh duh jean jan..." he muttered. Then he noticed something: The Alliance cruiser was still and quiet. Not a hail from it, nor any missiles. Just as significant, the Wolves Dancer was not firing either. As they flew closer though, Mal could see that the pirate cruisers main guns were pointed at the Alliance ship.

The comm crackled. "Inbound firefly transport, identify yourself and your intentions."

Wash tapped the controls. "Transport Serenity, requesting a docking vector for the station."

There was silence for a moment, then the controller came on again. "Transport Serenity, you are cleared for... what the wuh de ma is that!?!"

Mal looked at the rear view screen, on a hunch. Sure enough, coming up fast from behind was none other than Thunderchild, intact and whole. A few blackened scars marred her prow, but otherwise she was unhurt.

As the image of the ship grew bigger by the second, Mal realised that she must be at full power, rather than crawling along like she had while following them.

Then his eyes caught something below and just behind the Colonial ship. He looked closer... and his blood ran cold. Besides him, Inara gasped as she too saw what it was that was being dragged in by the battlecruiser.

Held by thin looking lines, the ship that was being dragged in was black as space, the pale cables standing out. However, the Colonials had set up a number of floodlights that bathed the ship in light. To be honest though, Mal wished they hadn't, as the harsh light showed the horrific nature of the mutated ship in sharp relief. It also showed the damage inflicted onto it, including the gaping hole on one side.

Despite the damage and the oily black stuff that coated it, Mal was still able to recognise the ship design as the same as the operative's ships. The way her fingers dug into his arm showed that Inara did too.

The console toned, drawing their attention. Wash looked closely, then explained for the others.

"Two more ships, coming in fast, and I mean fast." He grinned, the motion and his words revealing just 'who' those ships were.

It was so precise and cinematic it might have been choreographed. As Thunderchild slowed down, two darts rushed in from each flank. Passing each other with bare meters to spare, the two destroyers decelerated as they turned, slowing down to match their larger consort, pacing alongside her. So precise were the manoeuvres that both destroyers settled into perfectly equal distances from their consort.

Wash settled Serenity back into her spot, just behind and below Thunderchild's prow, as a hail went out from the battlecruiser that now dominated the gathering of ships.

"People of this system, we heard you were gathering here to form a new rebellion against the Alliance Government. We also heard about how many feared the Alliance's wrath. Now we bring proof that the Alliance must fall, and soon, before more terrible crimes are committed."

X-X-X-X-X-X

Harken shivered slightly as he followed Achilles into the bowels of his ship. His motion had nothing to do with the temperature, which was pleasantly cool. More it was the feeling of the ship around him... and what he was going to be a part of ahead.

When he'd heard that the Colonial vessel had captured some of the crew of the mutated ship, he'd demanded access to them. At first they told him that they would not be turned over to them, but then he'd explained that he wanted to interrogate them himself, in relation to the destruction of an Alliance fleet. While they had still refused to turn them over to his crew, he was allowed to sit in on the questionings. He was not permitted to fly his ship direct to Thunderchild however; the last time an Alliance craft landed on her under a flag of truce, it had been packed to the gills with a murderous boarding party.

So he'd flown over to the skyplex, and was picked up by none other than Serenity, captained by Malcolm Reynolds. The irony was not lost on him.

However, when they landed in the battlecruiser's bay, the sheer scale and power of the ship became clear. He'd barely been able to prevent himself from gaping at the row of sleek, deadly looking fighters that rested nearby and the yawning opening that the transport had entered via. The look of the ship was primitive, but it had quickly become clear that what was underneath was anything but.

The interior of the ship was dimmer than his own, but it wasn't dark. He had to admit, it was easier on the eyes. He had reset his personal quarters to have a lower level of light than the rest of the ship.

The Colonial ship did feel oppressive to Harken, but then many of the cabins on his ship had been made very light and airy, with high vaulted decks. It was wasted space, he knew, but sometimes it was nice to know you had space to spare.

The Colonials had also built their decks with high ceilings, though not as high as the Alliance. The main difference was that here the bulkheads were straight, not bowed outwards. Hatches were solid sheets instead of glass panelled. And everywhere they went there was a faint rumble in the background. The cruiser he commanded had no such background noise.

They passed through a double hatch, more like an airlock really, as the second hatch would not open until the first one was closed. Stepping through, a pair of Colonial warriors stood each side of the hatch, eyes forward. A third was sat behind a small desk in an alcove to one side.

Wordlessly the Colonial Colonel, Achilles, led the varied group down the passageway. The hatches they passed were quite different from the others on the ship. They were clear for one, with a regular pattern of circular holes cut into them. Harken looked as closely as he could. Those holes looked too small for a hand... his eyes wandered to the pistol holstered at Achilles hip. The barrel of their weapons would fit however, he realised, but not the grip.

They stopped before one such cell. Inside, stretched out on the bunk bed on the far side of the spacious cell, was a man wearing a black version of an Alliance uniform. His head was turned towards the wall.

"Stand to." Achilles called into the cell. "We want to talk." He paused for a moment and then went on when the man didn't respond. "Lieutenant Fargo of Nightbringer four."

The man twitched, his one visible hand curling into a fist, as Achilles went on.

"First officer in fact, under the command of captain Tyn-Sing. Five years service, three in a Lancer frigate as an ensign, then until six months ago a junior lieutenant on board a Unity class cruiser, the Principle." Harken stiffened slightly. That had been one of the cruisers that mutated ship had destroyed. "How did if feel, Fargo, to know that your old ship was one of the ones you were tasked to destroy?"

That got a reaction, as Fargo's head snapped around the stare at them. Harken was shocked to see that Fargo's left eye had been replaced with a machine, the unblinking eye of a camera looking back at him. A good section of his left temple was also covered by the metal, and likely replaced too.

Fargo stood up and walked over to a mirror position of Achilles, glaring all the while. "So, you can actually read." He sneered.

"Your computers were quite easy to crack." Achilles tipped his head to one side. "What I really what to know from you though, is why you do what you do. Butchering your own ships, massacring towns, kidnapping of young women..."

Fargo looked down his long, sharp nose. "It should be pretty obvious, shouldn't it? To someone with such knowledge." The sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Why don't you spell it out for us, just to see if what we think matches what you think?" Achilles countered, eyes narrowed.

A dry, mirthless laugh. "When there is a cancer, do your doctors not cut it out?"

"Been a while since we had that problem much." Achilles mused. "But yes, they do when the situation warrants such drastic measures."

"That is what we are; the scalpel that slices away the unneeded, the wasteful, the diseased. You..." Fargo raised a finger to point at each of the independent and smuggler captains. "...are a cancer on the Alliance. Ridding ourselves of you is for the good of the entire human race."

"Hate to break it to ya kid," Mal interrupted. "But there's more systems out there with humans living in them."

Fargo just looked at him with pity. "Then we will bring them into the fold of the Alliance, pruning what needs to go, of course."

"And if those folk don't want to be part of the Alliance?" Mal fired back.

"They have no choice." Fargo's words and tone were final. "The Alliance is true Civilisation. Why would anyone wish to remain apart from it?" His tone turned curious, confused.

"So me and mine have to just lay down and die so you can live a in a perfect world?" Mal snarled.

Fargo shrugged. "I won't live there. I do what must be done to preserve the human race's purity."

"Purity." Achilles spoke softly. "How does one define purity in regard to a civilisation?"

"It is so simple, I find myself shocked that I have to explain it to you." Fargo sneered. "Purity is achieved when everyone thinks along the same lines, a single religion binds everyone, where people are all equal within their levels, where wrong thinking is non-existent. Where there is a singular purpose that brings everyone together."

Achilles was silent, and Harken noted that the other Colonials looked grim and a little shocked.

At last he spoke. "We've already encountered a civilisation like that. Problem is, it's 'singular purpose' is to wipe out all of mankind." He paused for a moment, tilting his head the other way. "Oh, and they were a machine race too." He tapped his chin as Fargo laughed. "But all that still doesn't explain the kidnapping, nor the destruction of your own ships..."

"The regular navy?" Scorn filled Fargo's voice as he glared at Harken. "Bunch of worthless plods. Good only for clean up and putting forwards a clean face."

"I can see that may be difficult for you..." Mal commented. Fargo's face flushed with anger, but he didn't rise to the verbal barb.

"And the kidnapping?" Achilles asked again. "You snatched them in their sleep, drugged them up and locked them away in a hold, bound to the walls." He frowned. "Can't have been for the crew's pleasure..." The female Colonial captain, as well as Fairchild, shuddered. "...And the ship's systems were pumping drugs into them, not out..." Achilles fell silent, then looked up sharply. "Of course. The Troopers. You took them to act as breeding stock."

"Nothing so crude." Fargo sneered disdainfully. "While regretfully the female womb is needed in the early stages, they are not required to carry the troopers to term. And who knows, trawling through the genetic codes of all these subjects may just pan out something of value, much like one such girl I heard about, who escaped almost two years ago. Pity, her genetics are the most praised."

"I'll be sure to tell River you said that." Mal commented. "She might decide to give you a demonstration why that is."

"I'd rather she didn't." Achilles looked at Mal, a sad smile on his lips. "For the moment, I need this... person's, head attached to his body." He looked at Fargo again. "Although... I suppose he has no use for his arms and legs."

Fargo lost most of his bluster. "You can't threaten me like this! I am a prisoner of war! I have rights!"

"Wrong." Achilles stepped forward, nose almost to the clear divider. "I'll tell you something about my home planet. Back there, we believed in a justice system that was based on the phrase 'an eye for an eye'. 'You reap what you sow' also applies. You lost any claim to such rights when you took them from the people you murdered and kidnapped. You live unharmed right now on my whims alone. Were I to let it be known that I don't care about what happens to you... well, I don't know which way you'd go. The airlock is harsher, but we're closer to the Tylium energisers. Of course, you might not even arrive at either in one piece.

"What you and your government has done sickens us all. It is not Just, or for the 'benefit of mankind'. It's all about power, controlling people. 'The Ends Justify The Means' is not a valid excuse, never has been, never will be." He shook his head. "When we first came here, we hoped we could negotiate, with a government that was not as bad as a biased view painted it as." He glanced apologetically at Mal, who just shrugged.

"But what do we find? A government of nightmares, run by demons in human clothes. No, the Alliance is going down. My only concern now is how to stop it taking as many innocent people with it as it can."

Harken looked at Achilles with new found respect. The man was an idealist, but also appeared to be pragmatic. And if what Harken had seen of his ship was anything to go by, he had the means to back up his ideals.

Even without this, Harken knew he had seen too much to ignore. No, he had some long, hard thinking to do...

O'Neill: I'm really not liking that guy... (*eyes narrowed*)

Hermione: He's a foul, loathsome evil little cockroach!

Leena: (*looked at Hermione*) Well said.

DR: Feel free to wish grevious bodliy harm to Fargo. Next time, we see various people's reactions to what they've seen and heard here... stay tuned.