Easy Tickets

by mal4prez

Serenity has a few guests come aboard, but they're not the welcome kind.

5. Part 5 of 9

Easy Tickets: Part 5/9 (Chapters 13-15)

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

---

Chapter 13.

From a distance, the planetary rings of Niflheim are a series of solid tan-gray disks separated by dark gaps. They appear smooth and uniform, and infinitesimally thin.

Up close, they are much more complicated. This is true of all ring systems, but Niflheim's rings have a few particular traits which make them of value to the human race; these characteristics are a result of Niflheim's unique history.

Most planetary rings are found around planets much more massive than Niflheim, and result from strong tidal forces that may prevent a new moon from forming in the proto-planetary cloud. Or, the tidal forces may actually tear apart an existing moon which has come too close to the planet's surface. Niflheim was never weighty enough to wield such power; it received its adornment through a cosmic accident.

Eons ago, while the planet was in its infancy, it had a single small moon. That changed when a massive comet wondered in from the outer reaches of the solar system. It was caught in the planet's gravity, settling into a tilted, highly elliptical orbit. It was only a matter of time before the comet and the moon were more intimately acquainted.

In the collision, the hard, crystalline nucleus of the comet was jarred hard enough to shed its outer layers of snow and ice, but, though fractured, the nucleus held together and was deflected into a more circular orbit. The effect on the structurally weak moon, however, was devastating. It shattered, leaving a cloud of rock that blended with the cometary ice, swarming about the planet. Any large remnants of the moon were soon pulverized to bits in the violent jostling of the debris. Countless meteors burned through the planet's thin, corrosive atmosphere, many crashing into the lifeless surface, but a majority of the debris stayed in orbit.

Things quieted after a time, as the particles on collision courses, by necessity, settled their differences. The remnants of the moon and the outer layers of the comet broke down and blended, and the cloud gradually settled into a disk a mere 100 meters thick, though it was nearly as wide as the planetary radius.

It was a rare event to have planetary rings form around such a small planet, but the real oddity of Niflheim came in the fate of the cometary nucleus. It spiraled around the outer reaches of the system, venturing closer from time to time to careen through the outer portion of the settling debris field. The impacts involved in these visits had an effect on the nucleus, continually deepening the cracks formed during the original collision with the moon. Eventually, the nucleus was hit in just the right spot, and it fractured into smaller pieces.

This process continued, and over the ages the nucleus was worn away to nothing but fragments, and the outer portion of the rings were filled with shards and dust of the crystalline material.

The ice and snow in the rings was kept clean as continual small impacts scraped away dust that might have darkened them. Because of this, the inner rings shone in bright tans and grays, slightly colored by the rubble of the moon. The crystals in the outer rings, however, refracted sunlight, and they shimmered like jewels. It was this feature that would catch the eyes of human explorers when they finally made their way out to this corner of the verse.

.*. .*. .*.

Inara turned off the cortex display. The ride from Serenity to the Cartel platform wouldn't take long, but she needed to keep her mind occupied. The time for doubt had passed; she had to focus on the client she was about to meet in person for the first time.

She stood up and walked into the shuttle's head to check her reflection. It didn't seem possible that her face could look so fresh and flawless; hours of misery should leave a mark. But Guild cosmetics could work wonders, and her sleeplessness didn't show.

She'd just finished an unbearably long four hours, carefully positioned in her bed to protect herself if Serenity's internal gravity went out while the ship was on approach to Niflheim. Inara had been unable to sleep, her mind too busy to let her body rest. She'd gone over and over the conversation with Mal, recalling her hasty decision to travel to the Core with her client, and Mal's bitter response when she told him she was leaving. Then, finally, she decided to go directly to meet her client without talking to the crew about her plans.

An alarm chimed in the cockpit and she turned away from the mirror. The shuttle was nearing the orbital platform where her client waited: Petrovsky Balder Skuld, heir to the Skuld Cartel, a mid-sized corporation with aspirations of greatness. Peter: light-hearted and boyish and eager to have a Registered Companion join him on his voyage to the Core.

It was the suddenness of her leave-taking that was making it so difficult, she reasoned as she went to the pilot's seat. Sometime in the next day or two, she would come back to return the shuttle, and then she'd spend a few hours saying proper goodbyes. It would be hard, breaking the news on everyone so abruptly. But it would be harder if she stayed on Serenity any longer.

She contacted the platform's traffic control and guided the shuttle into the specified dock, faintly aware that she was working to bring a pleasant smile to her face. Usually it was natural, requiring no effort, but now there was a weight in her chest that wouldn't leave. It dragged her body and mind down, making it difficult to move, to smile, to breathe.

Peter was waiting to meet her at the dock, his curly blonde hair looking darker than it had over the cortex, but his smile was just as bright. He greeted her like an old friend, grasping her hands and placing light kisses on both cheeks.

"Miss Serra, my goodness. Look at you, even prettier in person."

She sighed with relief at his artless cheer and felt her plastic smile turn real. Converstion free of half-hidden barbs and double entendres was exactly what she needed.

"As are you, Peter."

Her words weren't a fib. His boyishness didn't apply to his body; he was strongly but gracefully built, wearing tailored clothing with a slightly unfamiliar cut: the most recent Core fashion, she suspected, realizing that she hadn't been keeping up with the trends. Life on Serenity had been keeping her far from many things that had once been so familiar.

He took her arm to lead her off of the platform. She hesitated, looking back at the bags inside her shuttle.

"The servants will see to those," Peter assured her.

"Of course." A little more weight came off her shoulders. Back to civilization – I needn't carry things myself. Definitely, I see a hot bath in my near future.

"Do you need time to settle in?" he asked, and she realized he was studying her face. "Are you tired?"

The thought came unbidden to her mind, I am exhausted, but she freshened her smile with an effort. "Thank you, no. I'm quite well."

"Glad to hear it! How about a tour?"

Inara was surprised at the offer. Often, new clients needed to be reined in to some degree, their attention shifted away from the bed long enough to introduce them to the ritual tea ceremony, to show them that she offered an experience more profound than mere sex. More than whoring.

Damn him… Damn him for making me think this way.

"I'd be delighted," she replied.

Her training settled over her like a well fitted costume. The ability to compartmentalize was a necessity for a Companion; her own emotions must not interfere from her treatment of her client. Still, she'd never felt this extreme of a separation. Her face was placid, and polite rejoinders fell from her lips, but her thoughts wandered in a haze.

Selling honor, Mal thinks I sell honor… as if someone like Peter Skuld needs to buy it.

"Really?" she heard herself ask. "And what do the processors do?" She wasn't consciously aware of what Peter was describing. She tried to pull herself into the present, to focus on his answer.

"The average rock towed in from the outer rings has roughly 30 percent crystal content…"

How long will I feel this absurd need to defend myself? The man is just an ignorant, biased, petty criminal, for Buddha's sake…

"…the separation and initial processing reduces the mass considerably, although… "

…there is no reason for me to justify myself, to him or anyone…

"…eventually we'd like to do fabrication before shipping, but the legal rights on the process are a hotly contested…"

I spent my entire life training, building skills that deserve respect. I help people. I change their lives. He has no right to question that, to devalue what I do.

"…I never tire of this view."

The change of subject, and tone, snuck through her internal rant, and her autopilot shut down.

"Oh – yes," she replied dully as her mind caught up with the situation. They had come to a stop before a large viewport; she'd seen the rings on her way in, but had been too busy with her own thoughts to do more than notice their existence. Now she took a long look.

The sun was a bright point high to her left, shining against a backdrop of stars. Its light made the entire ring structure glow in too many shades of light tan and brown and gray to be named. The outermost rings shimmered in multifaceted color, making a long arc that disappeared behind the brown-yellow rim of the planet just visible to her right.

It was breathtaking. She let herself get lost in the view, and it calmed the bitterness in her mind.

"It is lovely." She looked up and him and smiled, finally able to focus on the present. "You're very lucky to have such scenery."

"I am. I will be sorry to leave."

"Are you really so reluctant to return to the Core?"

His mien turned wistful. "My life isn't my own there. The paparazzi on Londinium are brutal – they're like rodents, squeezing into any little space. And they are impossible to be rid of. Unfortunately, it's not legal to poison them." He finished with a laugh.

"I understand the sentiment," she responded. "I have had some experience with them myself, though a Companion doesn't provide nearly as much fodder as a star Cartel heir and possible future member of Parliament."

He gave her an sharp look. "You did research on me?"

"Not a lot. I just saw an interview with your Aunt. She denied the allegation about your ambitions, but I find these rumors often have at least a drop of truth."

He smiled, took her arm again and continued leading her down the corridor. "Yes, there is… a drop. But the ambition isn't mine. It's not what I'd choose to do with my life. Auntie Beyla is very driven and I find myself swept along in her wake. She built this entire Cartel herself, you know, starting from a small supply firm my parents ran on Londinium."

"She must be quite a woman."

"Quite."

Inara heard a slight tightness in his voice, so she changed the subject. Her previous absent-mindedness bothered her; it wasn't professional to be so preoccupied. She wished to make it up to him, to set him at ease by finding topics of interest.

"I've also heard a few things about Niflheim. Has the terraform truly failed?"

He lowered his eyes sadly. "It has. I still don't understand why it didn't take here, but then, we aren't the ones in control of the planetary environment. That would be the Verdande Family."

"Verdande?"

"The top Cartel here - they have the largest share of the market. Quite powerful. You'll meet one of them at the party tomorrow." He smiled as he continued. "Auntie Beyla hates him with a passion, so of course everything about the party will be perfect. She wants nothing more than to show up the great Edward Verdande."

"He's a tough competitor?"

"Yes. Very." They paused at a viewport on the other side of the corridor; this one was nearly filled with the face of the planet. The oceans were a deep sapphire blue, and the continents various shades of gold and ochre and brown, glowing brightly in the full sun. Stunning, Inara thought, until she realized what the color meant.

"It's really dead, isn't it?"

"It's tremendously frustrating. The world was once approaching full self-sufficiency. A beautiful place, I've heard. I've seen captures taken Before, as the locals call it. It was as green as any world in the Core."

She found herself studying the planet's surface for any sign of civilization. They were down there somewhere, the crew of eight, and the ship. They were probably just landing now.

"Do you ever go planetside?" she asked.

"I did once, when I first arrived. That was two years ago, and the world was pretty much dead even then. We still maintain a few compounds with living quarters for the families of the miners. Their work schedules allow them to split time between the rings and their homes planetside. Other than that, there's hardly anyone left, just those who are too stubborn to leave. Heathens who like living without any law or restraint."

Inara couldn't help a small smile at that. It was an apt description of at least one man down there.

"Worthless garbage," Peter added, "if you ask me."

I didn't ask, Inara thought. And he may be a bit of a heathen, but he's not garbage and he's certainly not worthless. She sighed and shook her head. Now I'm defending him?

"You don't agree?" he asked, noticing her reaction.

She tried to recover with a smile and a teasing tone. "I was just thinking… maybe they're not so different from a Cartel's heir wanting to live away from the constricting society of the Core."

His face tightened for just a second before he returned her smile. "No, I suppose not."

Inara turned her head back to the viewport. She was out of practice; what an idiotic thing to say. Not the most effective way to set the man at ease. She tried to minimize the damage by changing the subject.

"So… you were telling me about the mining process, something about a fabrication scheme?"

"The bane of Auntie's existence." He was clearly annoyed. "I tell you, Miss Serra, I am tired of mining and harvesters and processing by-products and the rest. Do you mind if I put off the rest of the tour?"

"Of course. If you'd like to retire – "

"Actually, I'll need to have my right hand man Henry show you to your quarters. I'm afraid I still have some business to attend to. He'll arrange to have dinner served in your suite. If anything isn't up to your satisfaction – "

"I'm sure it will be fine," she told him. "You'll be joining me later?"

"I have a lot to do to prepare for leaving. I'll come by in the morning and we can finish the tour." He kissed her hand and seemed prepared to leave her with that. Inara held on to his hand, making him pause.

"Peter, you do understand the area of expertise of a Companion?"

"I do," he replied with a gentle smile. "But that's no reason to abandon self control and rush things." He saw her puzzled look and laughed, all his tension gone. "Consider me a romantic. I'd like to woo you. Besides, we'll have several days together during the trip to Londinium."

He stroked her cheek, and leaned in for a real kiss. It was well done, gentle and soft, not too aggressive, but promising that more would follow. He smiled down at her for a long second before he turned to a man who had been trailing some distance behind them.

"Henry, please show Miss Serra to her quarters and take care of anything she needs."

She watched Peter leave, confusion piling on to the emotions already warring inside her.

.*. .*. .*.

Inara took full advantage of her suite's mammoth bathtub and enjoyed an exquisite meal served with an even better white wine, then she spent several hours catching up on news from the Core, using the high speed cortex in the main room of her sumptuous quarters.

It was late by then, but, despite the long night she'd just passed on Serenity, she was unable to sleep. She sat in the cushioned ledge below a large viewport, sipping a second glass of wine which she usually didn't allow herself while working, and she watched the light play in the rings. When the view slowly turned planetside, which was now in shadow, she found a few clusters of lights on the surface. The crew was down there, somewhere. Going about their business without her.

.*. .*. .*.

Inara woke up with a headache and a bitter mouth. She'd allowed herself that second glass of wine, and when sleep wouldn't come she'd had a third, and a fourth.

It was already afternoon on the platform. She was surprised that no one had sent for her; this was one of the stranger appointments she'd ever had.

Ten minutes after she woke up, a gentle knock sounded at the door. It was the servant Henry, arriving with a tray of coffee, fruit, and an assortment of breakfast pastries. She noticed that the wet bar in her suite had also been stocked with the fixings for morning cocktails. Someone had noticed the bottle of wine she'd emptied last night.

In high society, it was common to have one's behavior observed in this way. After all, one's needs couldn't be seen to unless they were known. It had never bothered her before.

Peter stopped by an hour later, after she'd had time to bathe and use those wonderful Guild makeups and hangover cures. She was ready for him, incense burning, lights lowered, and the tea set she'd brought prepared for the ceremony. But he refused the offer, saying he was only stopping by to inform her of the plans for the party that night.

He insisted on seeing her dress, claiming a need to coordinate his accessories. Inara watched him inspect the dress, and she saw through his excuse. He wanted to make sure she'd be up to standards. Fortunately, her white and gold gown passed the test. She didn't tell him she'd worn it before. Nor did she tell him how she'd had reason to worry about getting blood stains on it. That wasn't a problem at most Core society events, only the ones Malcolm Reynolds attended.

Peter kissed her again on his way out. She should have stopped him, insisted that further physical contact wait until he took part in the tea ceremony, but the situation was so strange already, a mix of the Core she knew and the edges of civilization she'd been living in for a year. It was unclear which rules applied, and she was feeling too drained to sort it out.

A few times it occurred to her to check in with Serenity, but she put it off. She remotely connected to the computer on the shuttle, but there were no messages. She decided it was best not to disturb the crew until Serenity was repaired and could safely return to orbit. Inara assumed they would let her know when that happened. She hoped so, anyway.

She'd been unfair to Mal; she was aware of that. But he couldn't be so angry as to deny her the chance to say goodbye. Could he?

.*. .*. .*.

"May I introduce the lovely Inara Serra, Registered Companion."

Beyla Skuld nodded at Peter's introduction. The elderly woman's posture was flawless, her bearing graceful, but she was clearly quite old. Someone in her class could afford the best age-defying treatments; for her to look as old as she did meant that her years were many indeed, well past the century mark. Inara curtsied, respectful of the years of experience before her, then stood patiently before the candid scrutiny.

"Inara arrived last night," Peter continued, stepping closer to Inara and taking her hand with gentle familiarity. "I didn't bring her to you earlier for an introduction, as she slept in a little late." He finished with a squeeze of Inara's hand and a warm, intimate smile.

Inara blinked at the insinuation. Beyla missed her reaction; the woman had turned to the side and spoke into an embroidered handkerchef. Inara just caught the words: I'll be right with you.

"Are you all right, Auntie Beyla?" Peter asked.

"Oh yes, thank you. I have a small business matter which requires my attention. I'll need a few moments. Could you handle the introductions for me?" She inclined her head toward the elegantly clad guests gathering in the foyer.

"Of course."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Serra," Beyla said to Inara. "I look forward to chatting with you over dinner."

Inara smiled warmly. "Myself as well," she said, then on a whim she added, "Auntie."

Beyla returned the smile, then disappeared through a doorway in the paneling behind her.

Inara turned a questioning look on Peter, which he ignored. "Let's go 'handle the introductions,' hmm?" He looked somewhat less than thrilled at the prospect.

The Skuld Cartel didn't accept Niflheim's remote location as an excuse to lack any luxury; on the contrary, abundance was something the revelers at Peter's going-away party seemed to take for granted. Inara found herself wondering how there could be such a wide selection of tropical fruit which tasted as if it had been picked that morning. But she didn't ask; she tried to turn off the analytical part of her brain and just enjoy.

The conversation was engaging enough to help. Peter stayed with her all evening, introducing her to the guests with an obvious show of pride, something she was accustomed to. Or, more precisely, something she used to be accustomed to. She hadn't had this level of admiration in some time. It felt good, and the grief that nipped at her, the pangs of already missing Serenity, faded just a little.

At dinner, she sat next to Peter, who was at Beyla's right hand. On Inara's other side was the Skuld's primary competition: the honorable Edward Verdande III, head of the Cartel which had first discovered the valuable crystals in the planetary rings. Edward, as he insisted she call him, was a confident man, in his mid-fifties and clearly used to all the comforts that came with extreme wealth. He had tendered Inara an offer, though with her hurried decision she'd never even interviewed him. Inara regretted her haste now, not that she believed she would have chosen differently, but being fair was a courtesy she had never before ignored. It was yet more evidence of Mal's detrimental effect on her life.

To her relief, Edward appeared to harbor no resentment. He was attentive and entertaining, although the few words that passed between Edward and Peter were rather stilted. The two men were clearly not fond of each other.

After dinner, Peter led Inara along a small back passageway and they beat the other guests to the viewing deck which served as the night's ballroom. The room was long and somewhat narrow, about thirty meters wide and lined with windows. They entered at one end, where a bar and heavily laden buffet table had been placed to avoid blocking the view.

Inara and Peter wondered toward the far end of the room, arm and arm, getting some distance from the guests who began trickling in behind them.

"Did you like the great Edward the Third?" Peter asked.

"He was quite charming," Inara answered, irony in her voice. She didn't think Peter wanted to hear her complement the competition.

"Yes, he talks sweetly, but the man is actually quite ruthless." Peter didn't seemed distressed over it, in fact he sounded a little bored, but he continued. "Ed's on friendly terms with at least half of Parliament – such is the power of wealth and lobbying. Auntie will make you deaf, going on about how the laws don't apply to him. Mining rights, the mining and fabrication process that he has a stranglehold on... It's all anyone can do to stay in business here, according to my dear Aunt. She thinks we'll be going under any day now!" He gave a sarcastic sigh at the tragedy of it.

"You don't seem to be doing too poorly," Inara replied with a glance around the room.

"Now, that's exactly what I think. But, to each his, or her, own standards."

Inara shared his smile at the pointed reference to his aunt. He really was quite easy-going, not what she'd expected from a possible future member of Parliament.

They reached the far end of the room; which apparently continued for some way, but was too much space for such an exclusive gathering and was blocked off by a solid divider. Just as they reached there, Beyla appeared from a gap at the edge of the partition.

"Peter, dear," Beyla interrupted. "How is your party so far?"

Peter greeted the matriarch with exaggerated delight. "Wonderful, Auntie. Simply splendid."

Beyla smiled graciously. "Inara, darling – could you be a dear and fetch me some brandy? I have a small business matter to discuss with my nephew."

"Of course."

Inara looked back across the room from the bar. Peter and Beyla were standing apart from the crowd, deep in conversation. They didn't seem eager for her return, so she took the long way back, staying close to the windows so she could scrutinize the planet's surface. She had to turn a critical eye on her own behavior; here she was, attending an extravagant party with the wealthiest and most powerful people in the system, but she felt left out of the real action – as if the things happening to the people on Serenity were of greater consequence to the 'verse than the billionaires in this room.

How long would this haunt her, this obsession with that păo lóng tào crew?

She realized she'd reached the far end of the room, passing through the small gap beside the divider. The empty space behind it was comforting, and she stayed there while she crossed the width of the room, enjoying the quiet as long as she could. That was how, unintentionally, she ended up eavesdropping.

"What did he talk to her about?" Beyla was asking Peter as Inara came around the corner behind them.

"A lot of nothing. He was quite well behaved, actually. On a first name basis, can you believe it? Trying to weasel his way in with my Companion."

Inara smiled at the idea. It was flattering to be fought over, as long as no actual blows, bullets, or swords were involved. She stepped back behind the divider, although she stayed within hearing distance. She was slightly shocked at her own behavior, but more amused than ashamed.

From the tone of Beyla's voice, it seemed the woman was smiling as well. "Bù kĕ yī shì gōng jī. I'll bet he was livid she chose you. How did you manage it? Did you plan this in advance, and have her shipped out for the occasion?"

"Not at all. Really, she showed up yesterday, and took my first offer. I didn't even need to haggle. She doesn't have much business sense."

Inara's smile faded and she felt her face heat up. Such was the price of listening in on a private conversation – hearing something unpleasant.

"You always did have the devil's good fortune, Peter. And she's going back to Londinium with you?"

"Yes. I imagine arriving with a Companion in my bed will silence a few wagging tongues."

"It may, but only until the next time you get caught misbehaving. Do I need to explain to you again?"

"Please, Auntie – "

"You've enjoyed your exile entirely too much. Here, you're out of the eye of interested parties, so I've let you enjoy yourself, but it stops now, do you understand?"

"Don't be so harsh," he said lightly. "I have two more days."

"Two busy days. I just heard from Ginger; they've found a ship."

"How did they manage that?"

"She didn't go into detail, but I saw it from the satellite. It should suffice. Thank goodness they finally made progress; I thought I would have to arrange transport for them myself, the fools." She paused for a sigh of displeasure before continuing. "They should have left the surface by now, and we'll have the harvester in the next few hours. I'll arrange to have it placed on your yacht."

"Wonderful," he replied sarcastically.

"I cannot stress enough the need for secrecy. Our engineers in the Core will need to look at it, and no one must know. And, Peter, this means you have to behave. You cannot draw attention to yourself over some minor infraction. This is vital to our future, and to the future of others – you can't be caught with it."

"Yes, Auntie dear," Peter drawled in a bored voice.

When Beyla didn't respond, Inara peeked around the divider and saw the woman glaring at her nephew for a few seconds before her gaze returned to a dance just beginning in the center of the room. Inara decided it was a good time to make her presence known. She circled around the far side of the divider so she could approach them from the front.

"Auntie," she said with as much warmth as she could muster, "your brandy."

It wasn't the first time a client had used Inara to further his social or political position, and it was certainly less offensive and painful than it had been the first time it had happened. Still, it brought back feelings that she'd hoped to have overcome. She'd thought she was past the bitterness that had plagued her during those last few months in the Core. She inwardly voiced one of Mal's frequent complaints, something regarding complications and life's general lack of smoothness.

Instead of being amused by the thought, her annoyance at that man's continued presence in her head increased.

The rest of the evening flew by as she watched the cool Companion in herself effortlessly charm the strangers around her. Much later, Peter took her arm and started to lead her out of the room, but he was stopped by Beyla.

"Peter, darling," Beyla said, "I just wanted to let you know. That business matter we discussed has seen a few delays."

"You heard from her again?"

"Yes. She said they are having… technical difficulties with their transport. But it shouldn't delay your departure."

Inara had barely been listening, but she heard the last part, and a surge of hope rose in her chest, catching her by surprise. "Delayed departure?" she asked.

"Nothing to worry about," Peter said, patting her hand. "We'll be on our way as planned."

Inara missed the rest of the conversation, just coming to herself enough to bid Beyla goodnight as Peter led her away from the party. But she was distracted yet again, and this time she fully realized why. She'd been happy to hear about a delay.

Oh, you fool, she berated herself. You complete fool. You don't want to leave. It's not just a matter of having enough time to say goodbye to the crew – you hate the idea of leaving. What have you gotten yourself into? How could you let it come to this?

Then she and Peter were at the door to her quarters, talking, although she had no idea what she was saying. And they were kissing, and he was gentle and smelled good and tasted good and his body felt good against her, but she hated it. She wanted to push him away, tell him to leave her be.

And then somehow she was alone inside, the door clicking shut behind her.

Inara stood frozen, trying to understand what had just happened. She honestly couldn't remember what Peter had said. Or did she say it? Something about it being late… a wonderful party… time to retire.

She couldn't deny it, the last thing she wanted to do at the moment was service him. But there was a contract and she would do her best to honor it. Whatever her problems, they were no excuse for sending a client away from her door.

Quickly, she changed into a sheer nightgown under a thin but richly patterned robe, then she rang for Henry. He answered at the door looking pleasantly bored and properly unopinionated regarding her apparel.

"Yes, Miss?"

"Could you please take me to Peter?"

She thought she read hesitation on his grey features, but then he gave the faintest hint of shrug. "As you wish," he said, and he turned to guide her though the corridors. He stayed in deserted back halls, probably in deference to her state of dress. It took a few minutes to reach a set of doors which Henry motioned her toward with another small bow. Then, without a word, he turned and left.

Inara watched his retreating back until he turned a corner, then waited until his footsteps faded. Briefly, she wondered if she could find her way back to her quarters alone; it wasn't too late. But she shook the idea from her head and knocked.

She heard a faint invitation to enter, so she pushed the door open and stepped into a large dim room. It was decorated in a modern masculine style, bare walls and a cluster of furniture in the center of the space, stylishly but simply constructed of cream-colored leather over frames of dark brown wood. The entire side wall was transparent, and the yellow-gold light of the planet's surface outshone the glow of the few lamps in the room.

Peter was lounging in the center of the sofa facing the windows. His black robe was open to show his tan, chiseled chest and abdomen, and the loose black silk of his pants draped to accentuate the shape of his legs. He was the picture of wealthy luxuriousness, a satisfied half smile on his face and a snifter of liquor held loosely in his right hand.

"Inara Serra. What a surprise," he said in a smooth voice, but he didn't get up. He didn't move at all, just watched her with an empty smile.

She stepped further into the room, studying his face. She felt that something wasn't right, something she couldn't quite place.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he continued.

"I was concerned that I may have been… hasty about ending an enjoyable evening."

"Ah! Never fear – the evening may be over, but not the enjoyment." His smile grew. "The fun never ends out here on the rim." He patted the sofa next to him.

Inara sat where he'd indicated, trying to appear at ease. He followed her with his eyes, but there was an emptiness there, an absence. She had a strong feeling that how she looked didn't matter; he was completely unaware of her appearance and body language. He continued to watch her with that same pleasant smile fixed to his lips until she shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat.

He inhaled deeply, as if he'd forgotten to breathe. "Where are my manners," he said.

He leaned forward and took a small glass dropper bottle off the table; it was half full of a green-yellow liquid. He unscrewed the lid, filled the dropper, and offered it to Inara. When she shook her head, he emptied it under his tongue, then closed the bottle and leaned back to wait for the drug to be absorbed into his system.

Inara knew what it was: a type of drops favored by the extremely wealthy, not widely used because of its price, its tendency to be highly addictive, and the adverse affect it had on one's emotional stability.

She waited for him to finish with his dose, although she knew that at this point she could have gotten up and left without him noticing. She wasn't sure why she didn't – maybe it was exhaustion, or a growing sense of unreality. She remembered a book in the archives of the Madrassa House library, a classic from Earth-That-Was. Inara had fallen down the rabbit hole, and she felt just as blasé and accepting as Alice had been. Eat me, drink me…

She felt a sudden urge to take the offered bottle, to lose herself in oblivion for a while. But the urge didn't overcome her common sense. She sat still, lost in her own thoughts, not even aware of his movement when he leaned forward to spit the used liquid into a ceramic jar. But he brought her back to the room when he spoke, his words coming slowly, as if he was forming each one carefully.

"A person as schooled in pleasure as yourself shouldn't be so shocked."

She swallowed hard and tried to smile. "Do I look shocked?"

"You look…" His smile was dreamy. "You look like you've seen a really scary spider." He finished with a giggle that was oddly contagious, almost making her smile despite herself. "Big and hairy and… all legs," he continued, then put a hand on the sofa and spidered it over to her, tickling her knee. It took all her will power not to move away from his touch.

"Have some – don't be such a bore," he said, holding out the bottle.

"No, really, I'm fine.

"Do you even know how much this little bottle costs?" He held it up in the dim light. It looked sickly green in front of the golden face of the planet.

"I have a pretty good idea."

"See – I was right. Well schooled. Even a Companion can't afford this all the time. Sure you don't want any? It's really… nice."

"I can see it is."

He set down the bottle, then let himself drape back over the sofa. Inara remembered Mal, in that same pose, not very long ago. But that had been so different.

"You shouldn't be so disapproving," he said, though his eyes were closed and he couldn't see her expression.

"I don't disapprove," she replied, but he continued without hearing her.

"When I get back home, I won't be able to do this anymore. Won't be able to do a gorram thing. Have to behave. No more scandals. Auntie, pfft. She's not an aunt, she's a gorram tyrant. Do you know what it's like to live with a tyrant watching over everything you do?"

"I have… an idea."

He laughed, though the timing was a little off, the delay too long, as if he was laughing at something in his own head and not at anything she said.

"I'm glad you're going with me. We'll have such fun." Without warning, he tilted into her lap and wrapped an arm around her knees.

"Cuddling is nice," he said.

"Yes," she replied absently, trying to force herself to relax. She lifted her hand to stroke the back of his neck, obeying an ingrained tendency to comfort.

Her touch must have felt as awkward to him as it did to her. "Don't worry. I have no designs on you," he said against her thigh.

Inara took a deep breath, confusion and exasperation breaking through her numbness. "Designs? Don't you know what I am?"

He didn't answer. She tried to push him away, but he was heavy, and his arm tightened around her knees. His happy voice was unchanged by her effort. "Relax, it's just a cuddle. You're not really my type."

"Not your type? Then why did you make an offer?"

"Just playing the game. Made Auntie happy. Showed up old Verdande. Don't be upset, I have a lot of respect for you. You're a lovely woman." He rolled to his back and looked at her, reaching a hand up to twirl a bit of her hair.

"I guess not everyone likes lovely women," she said softly, and the numbness closed around her again, though she tried to fight it off. Apparently, she was a pawn in this man's political dealings – but it was just business, not a personal insult. He had no idea who Inara Serra was. He knew her as a Companion, nothing more than that.

And, anyway, she'd bragged to Mal about this very thing. She'd practically paraded it in front of him, her pride that clients would compete, would pay a large fee, for the honor of her company. She had no right to be offended when that very thing happened.

Peter sat up suddenly and burrowed his face into her hair. "You smell good," he whispered against her neck.

Inara turned away from him, but didn't push him off. She tried to be amused at his behavior. "Good smelling is not your type?" she asked lightly.

Suddenly he let go of her and stood up. "Come see," he said playfully. "You can watch if you want." He grabbed her hand and pulled her after him.

When he pushed open the door to his bedchamber and Inara looked in, her mind went red.

When she came back to her senses, Inara was in her quarters, huddled in a chair with her robe pulled tightly around her body. She rubbed a hand against her face, felt the tenderness of her cheekbone. Had she been hit?

Then she remembered what had happened, what she'd done. She shoved it all aside except one driving thought: I need to go home.

Hastily she changed into the first dress she found, her thin peach silk, and threw her belongings into her bags. She tried to carry them all into the corridor, but there was too much; she dropped the bags in the doorway and stood surrounded by them. She considered leaving them behind, but then realized she didn't even know how to get to the landing platform – she had no idea where her shuttle was.

Henry appeared, as if from thin air.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"I…" she forced her voice to be firm. "I wish to return to my shuttle." She braced herself for his response, but his face was completely neutral as he bowed.

"Of course. You may leave your bags; I'll arrange to have them moved."

"I need them with me."

"Please do not distress yourself, Miss Serra. Your bags will precede us to your shuttle. If you'd care to follow me?"

She hesitated, but saw no other option. "Of course."

Henry spoke into a microphone in his cufflink as he led her down the corridor. True to his word, her bags were waiting in the shuttle when they reached it, although the walk hadn't taken longer than a minute.

To her distress, Henry followed her into the shuttle, but he stopped just inside the hatch.

"If you please, Miss Serra, Madam Skuld has sent this for you." He held out a sealed envelope. "It is your payment. She wishes me to inform you that she has doubled the amount." His bored voice never changed in tone as he continued. "Also, she respectfully requests that certain things you experienced here should not be spoken of again. She would be happy to return the favor, and not make public certain actions you chose to take, which could reflect poorly on your character, as well as your standing with the Guild, should they become known."

Inara couldn't even begin to respond to the threat, but Henry wasn't interested in a response. He bowed one last time, then left the shuttle.

.*. .*. .*.

Inara took a deep breath and steeled herself against the continuing silence of the comm. She wiped a hand over her face, clearing the wetness under her eyes, trying to calm herself and failing.

"Gods, are you there? Could you just acknowledge me?"

There was still no response. This was humiliating, begging Mal to speak to her. What had she come to, that she couldn't shake off this need for him?

"Fine," she said in the strongest voice she could muster. "I'll be docking in ten minutes. Don't bother me. Ever."

She shut off the comm, but stayed in the pilot's seat, frozen, for several minutes.

Idiot. I'm such an idiot. Why did I ever come out here? Why did I stay so long?

Wash would have replied to her call, immediately. Anyone else on the ship would have been ready to talk to her. Only Mal would refuse.

He could have said one word. Just one kind word.

Acts of kindness had never been Mal's strong point, but surely he was capable. The way he treated Kaylee… Inara sighed. Kaylee was such an innocent and loving soul; she invited kindness. Not like a fancied up whore.

She dropped her head and wiped at her eyes again. Mal's opinion of her profession wasn't all there was to it; she treated him just as poorly as he treated her. She wasn't capable of the kind of love that could overcome the barriers he had around him, and he'd never be able to heal the hurts that life had done to her.

This is why I have to keep my distance from him. This is why I have to leave.

She forced her lungs to fill, then put her hands on the controls. She could see Serenity now, looking small in the wide empty space between the shadowed inner rings and the planet's night side. She guided the shuttle in, handling the docking mechanism remotely. She was somewhat surprised when the equipment responded; Mal might have locked it down to keep her out, if he really wanted to avoid her.

After she powered down the shuttle, she sat still, trying to decide what to do. Mal wouldn't bother her now; he couldn't be that much of a bastard. To ignore her and then barge in… No, he wouldn't. She could sleep now. Curl up and give herself several hours of peaceful emptiness. She'd probably need a tranquilizer to do it, but finally, she could rest.

She stood up stiffly and walked to the cabinet where she kept her medicines, but before she pulled open the drawer she heard the latch on the outer door of the airlock being released.

Inara turned toward the shuttle's entrance, rage erupting from some deep place beyond her control. Mal was coming here, now, after what he'd just done. The nerve of it made her shake with frustration. But if he wanted to talk to her, fine. He was going to get a gorram earful…

She strode to the hatch and pulled it open. A man wearing a dark grey coat was waiting there, an eager sneer on his face and violence in his eyes.

He stepped forward and roughly shoved her back into the shuttle. Inara felt bewildered more than frightened; this was supposed to be home. The danger awaiting her on Serenity was supposed to be something far different from this. She should be facing callous words from Mal, not a physical attack from a stranger.

She regained her balance and stood still, watching in stunned silence as the man stepped into the shuttle and looked around. There had been violence on the ship; the man's nose was swollen, dark bruises were forming under his eyes, and half dried blood was smeared over his mouth and chin.

"I like the décor," he said casually, as if he was shopping for a shuttle of his own. "Exotic. Turns me on." His gaze settled on her, and he tipped his head to the side while his eyes raked over her body. "Funny," he continued, "he never said anything about you looking like that."

Inara didn't ask who he meant; she barely processed his words. Slowly, her mind began to take in the new situation. A stranger, here, on the ship. Violence. The silent comm…

No time to consider that. She had a strange man in front of her, and he definitely wasn't here for tea. She needed to focus on him. Snap out of it. Think.

"Oh – that's right," he said, and his mouth curved into a smile that would have been brilliant if his lips and teeth hadn't been flecked with blood. "He couldn't tell me. On account of how he couldn't talk."

He was watching her face eagerly, looking for a reaction. He was baiting her then, trying to draw her in to whatever game he was playing. But she didn't respond, just stood her ground. She needed to work out exactly what he was after.

It wasn't difficult. In fact, he did all he could to make it clear. His eyes traveled over her body again as he deliberately pulled his coat off and threw it aside, then he took a few slow, stalking steps toward her. He held himself as tall and broad as he could, as if his size alone would cow her.

Inara was well schooled in recognizing what men wanted and giving it to them, although this was far from the usual way of it. It disgusted her, but she shortened her breathing and took a few hesitant steps back, as if she was panicked.

He smiled, enjoying her reaction. "It's a shame he was gagged," he said. "Your man could have told me exactly how you like it." He put his hands on the buckle of the gunbelt that slung low over his hips. "But don't worry, sweetheart. I have a few ideas of my own."

He looked her in the eye while he unfastened the belt, then pulled it off and dropped it behind him. He was completely self-assured, secure in his superior physical strength. Inara felt adrenaline surge through her, and her weight shifted forward to the balls of her feet, the muscles in her legs ready to move. But she dropped her head and concentrated on relaxing her shoulders, deliberately looking wilted, defeated.

His breath hissed out in satisfaction at her stance, and his smile turned to a sneer as he unfastened the large silver buckle at his waist. Slowly, he drew his belt through the loops of his jeans.

"I told him everything I have in mind for you, and he didn't object. Oh – but wait." He paused to stare up at the ceiling theatrically, looking downright pleased with his own performance. "I forgot again about that not able to speak thing. Not much able to breathe, either. But he sure could listen. Wanna know what I told him?"

He finished removing his belt and twisted it in his hands, as if considering uses for it. Inara dropped her eyes from his face to watch; he was right-handed, and held his left elbow close in to his side, as if his ribs pained him.

He continued to talk, but Inara didn't let herself consider what he was saying. The acts he described were just a way for him to get what he really wanted, to make himself feel powerful by breaking her with fear. She understood it as much as she hated it; no one could become a Companion without learning about this side of the human psyche.

She'd also been trained in how to handle a man like this, although she'd never had someone threaten her with such outright violence. The one time she'd been taken advantage of had been very different –

"Your boyfriend did seem a bit upset over that last one," he was saying. "Seemed to think you wouldn't like it."

Inara wrenched her attention back to the present. He was standing still, watching her. He had his weight back on his heels and his hips pushed forward; he wasn't well balanced – clearly, he wasn't expecting her to defend herself. This wasn't like the other time; this was simple.

"Darling, what do you suppose was the last thing that browncoat did before I came here to meet you?"

Inara didn't answer; she couldn't let herself speak. After the past few days… she could make herself look the part of victim, but she wasn't capable of talking it. She wouldn't be able to mask the vitriol in her voice.

"Come on, honey. Ask me what he did."

She let him get closer, her head down so she'd look properly terrified. But her eyes were focused on his knees, watching his stance, how he shifted his weight as he stepped toward her.

"Oh, all right, I give. I'll tell. Last thing he did was…" he leaned closer and spat the word, "die."

Inara drew in a sharp breath and straightened, lifting her head. For the first time, she spoke to him.

"You're lying."

"Do you think so?" He stopped just out of reach, watching her with his tongue slipping out between his teeth, as if he relished some taste in the air. Then he grinned. "Poor thing. Keeping your hopes up will only make it harder on you when you see his corpse, all bloody and cut up."

She didn't believe him. She couldn't point to it exactly, the thing in his body language and tone of voice that gave him away, but she was sure that he was making this up. He was trying to get into her head, to defeat her without striking a blow. This was a game to him, a game with no rules, but certainly extra points for technique and creativity. He hadn't gotten enough of a reaction out of her, so he'd kept fishing around until he found something…

She realized that she was trying very hard to convince herself. What if she was wrong? What if she was making up the lie she saw in him? She'd made a mistake with Peter; what if she was mistaken now, too?

What if Mal really was dead?

The man was watching her face, and when the doubt came over her, he smiled broadly and threw his belt aside. He took another step toward her, coming within striking distance.

Inara realized she couldn't move. Precious Buddha – Mal dead?

He began to unbutton the fly on his black jeans. When he spoke again, his voice was low and menacing.

"That browncoat took his last breath knowing exactly what I'm gonna do to you right now."

Inara felt nothing but icy coldness inside, but the paralysis snapped and years of training took over. He was completely unprepared for the hard edge of her hand that slammed into his solar plexus, and the knee that drove into his groin. She leaned into him as he hunched over in pain, purposely letting her shoulder knock against his swollen nose, and she dug her elbow into his sore ribs while she used the strength of her legs to shift him off balance. He flipped over her back, his own body's weight intensifying the impact of his skull against the deck, and he collapsed in a heap.

Inara backed away until she reached the bulkhead, moving as far from the cargo bay as she could. She slid down to sit, staring across the shuttle, over the man's still body to the open hatch.

She might have stayed like that until she wasted away, unable to face whatever horror awaited her on the ship. But, after a time she couldn't measure, another strange man appeared in the entrance. He had a heavy old-fashioned revolver in his hand, and his face was blank as he studied the motionless figure on the deck.

He walked in and nudged the body with his foot, then looked up at Inara.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations
păo lóng tào: small time
bù kĕ yī shì gōng jī: insufferably arrogant cock (as in rooster)

---

Chapter 14.

More than a century before the War of Unification established the Alliance as the governing body of all the settled planets, an expedition set out from Londinium. The single large cruiser intended to meander through previously unexplored regions of the verse for three years, searching for planets suitable for terraforming.

The mission was early in its third year when it encountered a promising planet, which was soon given the name New Borjomi. The cruiser spent two weeks in orbit while crews conducted surveys and collected data about the planet's atmosphere and surface composition.

A nearby planet, then known only by its catalog number P23-657, was visited by a few unmanned probes, but was never considered a serious candidate for human habitation. Its native environment was too harsh; the terraforming process would have been lengthy and expensive, and not guaranteed to succeed. But P23-657 drew considerable attention because of its rare and beautiful system of planetary rings. Not surprisingly, astronomy was a popular hobby with the expedition's scientists and their families, and the ringed planet was quite popular.

One of the star-gazers, the wife of a mid-level technician, had an avid interest as well as detailed understanding of astrophysics, a hobby dating back to her college days. Of particular relevance, she was fond of using absorption and emission spectra to identify the composition of distant objects. Sticking her nose in other planets' business, Eileen Verdande would explain to her husband Edward and their three year old son, Ed Jr.

Eileen had a long look at P23-657 and its rings, analyzed her results, then, for the rest of the expedition's visit to New Borjomi, spent the majority of her spare time checking and re-checking what she saw.

It just happened that Edward, who had a background in materials science, had recently read, and discussed with his wife, an article about lithium dubniate, LiDbO3

Centuries ago, he'd explained, computing speeds took a large step up when computer systems changed from electronic to optical. Laser light carried signals through the computer's connections faster than electrons could. One of the challenges to this advance was creating an optical flip-flop, the component which stored the ones and zeros upon which computing was based. Engineers needed a material which exhibited bistability, meaning it could be triggered between two states by an incident beam of laser light.

Recent lab work had found that LiDbO3 showed promise of being a much more efficient optical flip-flip than the currently predominant artificial polymers. If the initial research findings were verified, LiDbO3 would become a vital component in the kind of high-power optical computing systems needed for intensive science and engineering applications, as well as for handling the huge amount of computing involved in the operation of government and military cruiseships.

Edward and Eileen quietly did more research over the cortex. At that time, the use of LiDbO3 in the computer industry was still on the horizon; the material had never been of value before, and therefore wasn't included on standard scans. There were multiple natural sources of the material, but they were all located planetside, and the methods of mining, processing, and transport involved were prohibitively expensive. A source of LiDbO3 crystals, in space, easily harvested and, as Eileen calculated from her spectral data, in abundance, was beyond a gold mine.

The Verdandes watched the other stargazers suspiciously, hoping that no one else would suspect the true nature of the eye-catching rings of P23-657, until, finally, the expedition moved on. The couple was a nervous wreck for the next few months, watching the price and demand for LiDbO3 slowly rise in the Core markets. When the expedition finally returned to the Core, Edward quit his job and the couple quietly went about gathering funds, fortunately obtaining backing from a few wealthy relatives.

A year later, they took a private trip out to P23-657 and collected samples from the outer rings. Those samples, combined with Eileen's data and her estimate of the size of the LiDbO3 reserve, helped the couple gather all the capital they needed. They bought the mineral rights to the remote planet, getting a ridiculously low price, and the Verdande Cartel was formed.

.*. .*. .*.

River made no sound as she ran up the stairs, leaving Jase on the deck behind her. She knew she was supposed to hide, but she wanted to stay near the infirmary. She had to make sure that Simon was doing everything right - she'd promised Jase as much.

She took the chance of standing in the hatch to the cargo bay, watching from above as the footsteps and voices approached.

"Where the hell'd he go?" Ray demanded.

Simon was wondering the same thing himself. He stood just outside the infirmary, staring at the empty bed inside as if it could tell him where his injured and sedated patient had gone. It had been some time since he'd left the infirmary to take Mal up to the bridge, and for a good portion of that time there had been no artificial gravity. As unlikely as it seemed, it was possible that his patient had moved under his own power.

Simon glanced around the corner into the cargo bay and saw a small figure laying on the deck a few meters past the hatch. He didn't wait for Ray, just hurried to kneel next to the boy.

River watched from above when Simon came in to get Jase. Ray was following a few steps behind.

Ray. Pa. Monster.

Ray disgusted her. She wished she could go into his mind, kick and scream till she bruised things, see if she could make him fall apart. Pay him back for all the hurt he'd done.

But she couldn't. She was learning how this worked – she could passively listen to the things in people's minds, that wasn't hard. In fact, that was often difficult to turn off. But in order for her to really get in, to see through their eyes, to talk to them or have some effect on what they were thinking, they had to be weak or sick in a way that made their inner walls go down. Like Jase was now. Like the captain had been on Oeneus.

Ray was healthy and strong, and she couldn't do anything to him. She could listen to his thoughts, but that was one thing she really didn't want to do. She'd seen tension in him before, seen pain, and she'd very nearly pitied him for it. She'd almost forgiven him for hitting the captain, but she knew now that he didn't deserve that. She didn't want to see inside Ray again; she wanted to hate him.

Simon picked up Jase and went back to the infirmary with Ray behind him. River quietly stepped back out onto the catwalk, then crept down the stairs. Simon and Ray were talking, and she wanted to hear.

.*. .*. .*.

Simon lifted the boy carefully, surprised at how light a sixteen year old could be. He was grateful as well – it hurt enough to breathe, carrying a person, even a small one, didn't help his sore ribs.

"He gonna be all right?" Ray asked.

Simon turned and walked past Ray to get to the infirmary, saying as he went, "To be honest, I'm not sure."

Ray followed. "But… that bullet didn't hit nothing important. I seen men hurt much worse than that, up and walkin' about."

"He's feverish, and it's only been a few hours since he was shot. From what I saw of him earlier, I think he was in a weakened state to begin with." Simon laid Jase on the exam table.

"Weakened?" Ray sounded insulted.

"His immune system... He's small, malnourished. The blood loss is–"

"He eats," Ray interrupted defensively. "Damn kid is eatin' all the time."

Simon let it go, this wasn't something he needed to argue about. He focused on removing the old bandage; about halfway through the task, he realized that his patient was awake and watching.

"Simon?" the boy asked faintly.

Simon was surprised to hear his name, surprised that the boy knew it. "Yes, that's me."

"Good doc, huh?" Jase's voice was slurred. "She tol' me you was…"

She?

Simon bit back a word that Kaylee would have been proud of. He glanced back at the hatch, at Ray stepping through, listening.

"I'm a very good doctor," Simon told Jase, "and I'm going to make you feel better. But you need to be still. Don't try to speak."

Jase smiled. "She's pretty," he mumbled.

Simon sighed impatiently. Why would his patients never do as he told them? Clearly, it'd be better to leave the bandage for the moment and go straight for a sedative. While he prepared the syringe, he noticed that Ray moved toward the bed, looking at Jase intently.

The boy's eyelids fell closed, but he kept talking. "She can fly."

"Who you talkin' bout?" Ray asked.

Simon tried to deflect the question. "He's delirious."

Ray ignored Simon. He grabbed the boy's jaw, turning his head as if trying to force him to wake up and pay attention. "I asked you who the hell you're talkin' about."

Jase was too far gone to cower at the threatening tone. His smile remained dreamy. "Angel. Said Ma's here." He raised his good arm and laid it on his chest; his fingers tapped against his sternum. "In here. Never wen' away."

Ray's eyes blazed, but he let go of Jase's face and backed off. Simon took the chance to interrupt, stepping up to the bed.

"Please," he told Ray. "If you want him to live, you need to let me work."

Ray didn't look at Simon, but he continued to retreat toward the hatch. Simon watched for a few seconds, surprised at how shaken the man seemed.

.*. .*. .*.

River leaned against the bulkhead next to the hatch, so near the infirmary that she could have leaned to the side and waved at Simon through the window. But she sank to the deck instead, hands over her ears.

She couldn't ignore Ray; suddenly his thoughts were a scream. The things her eyes were seeing went grey, and she followed the wandering of his mind, felt the conflicted waves of emotion that poured out of him.

.*. .*. .*.

Ray didn't argue with the doctor. He backed out of the infirmary, needing to put distance between himself and the boy whose existence had made his life hell for near seventeen years. He found himself wishing that captain had aimed better, that there'd been a quick end to Jase like there had with Hank, instead of it dragging on like this.

So much blood. Wasn't like he'd never seen blood before, but this time it made his insides go to jelly. It was her boy, fading away right in front of him. There was a familiar feel to it, to watching death settle in and knowing that he couldn't do a thing about it. The past ten years, seemed all he did was watch death move along, taking whoever and whatever it liked. Ray should have been used to it by now.

A wobbly voice carried out from the infirmary, faintly singing:

Fŏng chuī laí di shā

Luò zaì beī shāng de yăn lĭ

Ray clenched his fists, suddenly wanting to go back in there, to pull the little shit off the table and make him shut up. Pound on him till his face looked different and his mouth wouldn't work so good.

But he only stood still, wavering. The rage shook him, but it didn't take over like it usually did. It didn't blind him. He stared into the infirmary; it was something about the doctor. The young man shamed Ray, made him step backward till he ran into a chair. Made him perch his butt on the arm of it and stay put.

The doctor worked without hesitation, hands moving fast and face focused like he knew exactly what to do and had no doubt about it working out right. I'm going to make you feel better, he'd said to Jase, like it was such a gorram easy thing to fix a broken person.

Sheí doū kān chū wŏ zaì děng nĭ.

His hands fisted again. The little bastard was doing it on purpose. Jase knew he looked like her; he had to know that he sounded like her too. All the time, Ray felt like the boy was shoving it in his face. I'm the last bit of her you have, and I ain't even yours. You couldn't provide for her, couldn't even give her a child.

Fŏng chuī laí di shā

Tuī jī zaì xīn lĭ.

Gorram, but he did sound like her. Lower voice now, but the tone, the lilt of the tune... Ray could picture her, leaning over the exam table like she'd leaned over a crib once. He could smell her too, smell that fancy water she'd brought from her homeworld to rinse out her hair when she bathed.

Shì sheí yě cā bú qù di hén jī.

Jase's voice trailed off to silence, but Ray didn't notice. The memory of her scent made the anger pass through him, left him weak and empty, hands hanging loose beside him. Unbidden, the first time he'd seen her came into his mind. He hadn't thought on it in years.

.*. .*. .*.

River tried to pull away. She felt a pressure coming from another direction, a heavy weight of dread that made her stomach ache, made her curl up on the deck and whimper. Something bad was happening to the captain. Something very bad.

She wanted to get up. No good being hidden and safe, not while the captain was feeling like that. She had to get to the bridge, help him. Didn't matter who saw her, she had to make it stop...

But Ray's memories were closer, and already had a hold on her. There wasn't enough medicine in her head to make her numb to this. She was sucked down – the captain's pain faded away, and River lost herself completely inside Ray.

.*. .*. .*.

He must have been a sight, a skinny, awkward young man standing outside the landing dock in Alsvidh, wearing his best clothes and freshly polished boots. The marriage agency had provided a sign, and he held it up in front of him as he anxiously watched the folks coming out of the new arrival's office. She was one of the last, and she stopped in front of him to point at the sign, and told him that was her name. Then she smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He led her straight to the sheriff's office, had the ceremony done right away, and then they took the long ride out to the homestead. Ray had been six months in building the house and getting it ready, trying to make the place worthy to be the home of his future wife. He didn't think it was nice enough for her, but inside a week she set it to rights. She had a knack for that kind of thing, for making a home.

Six years passed in a blur. Six seasons of breaking in the fields, building a shed and a barn, buying the ox to help with the plowing. Six years the harvests came in and life was good.

Six years he shared his home and his bed with his wife, but never once in the whole six years did she get with child. He told himself it just wasn't time, that all things come when they were meant to. Anyway, having his home and his wife was enough.

Then came that seventh autumn, when he took his usual trip to the city to trade for the winter's supplies, and an early storm hit. Ray was stuck in Alsvidh for a week. A whole week she was alone, with Ray's little brother Bucky living just a quarter hour walk away from her.

Ray saw how things were when he got back. He saw the looks, felt the change in how she acted, how she pulled away from him. He read the guilt in his little brother's face.

Bucky, always the timid one, always afraid of doing wrong and never able to stand up to his big brother, ran off to the city. Said he was done with farming and wanted to help with their cousin's livestock business, and maybe someday learn about machines and take up work with a cartel. But that wasn't the real why of it; Ray knew better. He saw how his wife sighed and her eyes turned sad when she thought she was alone.

A couple weeks later, she told Ray there was a baby on the way.

Years passed, and he hoped and prayed to hear her say that again. But he knew in his heart that the only offspring he'd ever have wasn't his. He might have accepted that, might have made do. He tried, even let Bucky play the part of uncle, so long as he kept his distance and didn't upset the balance of things.

And then the land began to die.

One autumn night, Ray came in from the withering fields to find his brother visiting unannounced. Jase ran to his "uncle" for a hug, Jase's mom smiled and raved about the supplies that Bucky brought, but Ray just stood quiet and watched.

He kept his peace through supper. After, he took Bucky outside. He told his little brother what he could do with his help. He told him to get back to the city and keep himself there for good. Then Ray went back in to the house, and before he knew it he was shouting at that gorram woman, telling her what he knew about Bucky, and what he knew about Jase.

Things were bad after that. They stayed bad right up till the morning, a year later, that she died. And then things got worse.

.*. .*. .*.

River started at a noise above her – the shuttle was back. She didn't move; the lights were on now, and any motion would draw attention.

Kaylee stepped out of the shuttle first. Her eyes were red; fear and worry rolled off of her in thick waves, but she had it under control. Ginger came out behind her and followed along the catwalk, heading aft toward the engine room. The woman didn't have any violence in her mind; she just wanted to get the ship fixed and move on. That was good. Kaylee wasn't in danger.

Ginger and Kaylee left the cargo bay, and River realized she couldn't feel the captain anymore. No pain, no thoughts, no dreams. Just an emptiness. Like he was really far away, and not on the ship at all.

She didn't know what to do; she was being pulled in too many directions and couldn't get them straight. Helplessly, she fell into Ray's thoughts again.

.*. .*. .*.

A week after she died, Ray beat the boy for singing. Punched him square in the face with a closed fist, like a man might hit another man in a brawl. Not like anyone ought to ever hit a kid.

The guilt nearly choked him. He backed off, then turned and fled from his own gorram house. A neighbor had a horse to lend, and Ray rode like hell to the city. He got there in just over a day, never doubting what he meant to do. Jase wasn't his, and he didn't want him. The boy was another man's problem.

It didn't take long to find the right place, and he pounded on the door. When it opened, his little brother was standing in front of him. Ray took a good long look at Bucky, really seeing him for the first time in years.

Times hadn't been so bad in the city, at least not yet, and Bucky looked good. He had fancy clean clothes, probably from off-world. He'd filled out, and his face wasn't all used up from working outside all the time. He looked a good ten years younger than Ray, though the real difference was only three. Bucky stood his full height, with his shoulders held back wide and strong.

For the first time, Ray realized that his brother was as tall as he was. He saw something else, too: his wimpy little brother was a success, was better than him. He wondered if his wife had known it a long time ago. Suddenly, Ray wanted to hurt Bucky. Wanted to hurt him bad.

"She's dead," Ray said, and he watched the pain spread across Bucky's face. Ray wanted to see more of it. You stole my wife, he thought, I ain't gonna let you have the boy too.

"Jase is dead too. Both of em, gone."

Bucky stepped back from the door, seeming to shrink as he slouched, his head and shoulders falling forward as his chest caved in. He looked like the weak little brother he was supposed to be. Ray felt powerful, the rush surged through him and he took a step forward, leaning over Bucky.

"If I ever see you again," he said, "I'll kill you."

Then he turned and left.

When he got back home a day and a half later, the rush was gone, buried under exhaustion and remorse. He looked once at the boy's bruised face and then away. Won't ever happen again, he promised himself. I can do it, I can bring him up better than anyone. Better than Bucky.

But the rage was relentless. Ray found himself doing it again and again over the years, getting lost in his spite and trying to beat away the accusations he saw in the boy's face. The guilt still came, but he learned to shut it off. Learned how to smother it down where it wouldn't interfere with what he needed to do. Eventually, he didn't feel it anymore. He felt nothing but pains in his gut that came sometimes late at night, that made it impossible for him to sleep or eat.

The guilt rose in his chest now, guilt like he hadn't felt in years. There was no time for it; there never was time for remorse. Only time for taking care of business.

It wasn't easy, keeping a kid alive in this dead place, in a city with no law, where anything one needed for staying alive was scarce. Ray'd had to keep a house secure, worry over finding new clothes as Jase grew, keeping food around when often there was none to be had.

Malnourished, my ass, Ray thought, though in the back of his mind he was seeing the bare cupboards in their kitchen, picturing the barely passable grey sludge Jase fixed himself for dinner, hearing his own voice yelling about the money he had to spend on supplies.

I did what I could, he argued. I gave up plenty. He never took a break from his crappy life by getting drunk or strung out like other folks did. Ray would have been fine to let himself waste away on the streets, but he couldn't leave her boy alone, not on this hard world. And he couldn't admit to failure, couldn't go find Bucky for help. Anything but that.

So Ray had worked, ever since he and Jase left the homestead, he'd done all he could. He hadn't any know-how worth pay; the only way to earn his keep was with a gun. But Jase complicated that, too. Ray had to pass up on the best jobs, the riskiest ones that paid big, jobs that might have gotten him off of this planet, or at least made the living easier. There was a bundle of money to be made with the drug trade, but Ray wouldn't go near that with her kid leaning on him. Instead, he had to kiss ass with the cartels just to get by.

He worked security when he could get it, and took to only petty crime on the side. But stealing this ship was too good a chance to pass by. It was the closest he'd ever got Jase to a firefight, and now there the boy lay, half bled to death, with some stranger getting set to stitch his torn body back together.

Ray looked into the infirmary again, trying to rein in the feelings that rose in him at the sight. He'd given up on remorse long ago, there was no point to it. He had to deal with the reality that faced him, moment to moment.

And here was the new reality: it might be for the best if the boy'd just die. Just leave him the hell alone.

.*. .*. .*.

Ginger watched the mechanic work, or, really, try to work. The pathetic thing was sitting on the deck next to a hammock; clenching her hands into fists to steady them. She'd been sniffling the whole flight up in the shuttle, and although she wasn't all out crying, her eyes were red and swollen.

How could anyone work with such a sentimental chit? No wonder these people had their ship taken out from under them. Sniffling. That captain must have been hard up to hire such a girl. Or just hard.

"Hey, how'd you get work here?" Ginger asked.

The girl had sat down on the deck and was starting to lean into an open panel, but she paused, looking up in surprise.

"I'm just wonderin'," Ginger said. "How'd you get that captain to hire a puff like you?"

The girl's brow furrowed up, and she answered hesitantly. "I… I fixed it. The engine. I fixed the engine. The reg couple."

"You tellin' me you don't do nothin' else for your captain?"

The girl looked more confused.

"A little helmet shine now and then?"

She understood that, and she actually got angry. "No! Cap would never be like that!"

Ginger snorted. This girl was too gorram green. "All men are like that."

"Not the captain."

The girl aggressively held Ginger's stare for a few seconds, then seemed to realize what she was doing and returned her attention to the ship's workings. But her face was like a window, and Ginger could see that she was still mad.

Ginger thought about it. She had to be tough as nails, both in the military and working out here in the wilds. She could have made use of stuff that other women did: wiles you could call them, if you were being nice. But Ginger wouldn't stand for that. When she took a man, it was because she wanted his body. Wasn't a thing else she'd have from him. Wasn't a thing else a man had to offer that she couldn't earn for herself.

After a while, the girl got up, saying something about needing to shut off the artificial grav system for a bit so she could replace the part, and wanting to warn everyone. Ginger let her talk over the comm, then braced herself in the hatch as the girl crawled into the panel.

Ginger heard a clang when the grav was shut off, and it might have sounded familiar if she'd thought about it more. But she was still busy considering this girl.

She must be real clever with the machines if someone would keep her on when she was no good in a fight and wasn't handing out free passes to her bunk. Wasn't any other reason a captain of a slummy ship like this would have a cute little gal on his crew, not as far as Ginger knew.

It was only a few minutes before a warning sounded, and the grav came back on. Ginger waited till the girl stood up.

"It ain't gonna break again?" Ginger asked.

The girl just shook her head, her mouth pursed a little like she was still miffed.

"Good. Let's get to the bridge. There's a job needs doin'."

They headed out. The preacher was still under the table in the dining hall, looking like he'd made a home of it. He called to the girl as they passed through the room.

"Kaylee?"

"Shepherd?" The girl paused to crouch and look under the table. "You all right?"

"Don't you worry bout him, missy," Ginger said.

"I'm having a rather strange day," the man replied, ignoring Ginger. He gave the girl an encouraging smile before Ginger pushed her along.

As they stepped into the fore corridor, Will came out of the bridge, walking with a spring in his step and a satisfied smile on his face. The girl stopped short when she saw him.

"Ginger, hon – you're just in time!" Will said, then he looked at the girl. "And you must be Kaaay-lee." He drew out the girl's name, and his eyes wandered over her body. Not that Ginger was one to get jealous, but it did annoy her. Now certainly wasn't the time for that.

"Sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to you in town," he told the girl. "I was a little busy. Making plans." He flashed his most winning smile, which didn't look so good since his nose had been broke and his mouth was a little bloody. But the girl didn't notice. She didn't even look at him.

"Where you goin', Will?" Ginger asked.

"I have a little business to take care of. Nothing big – shouldn't take long. You take this filly on up to the bridge and keep an eye on the captain." Will's smile widened. "Not that he needs it at the moment, but Ray might worry if he's left alone."

"Where's Ray?" Ginger asked as Will walked past her.

"Down in the infirmary, worrying about that stupid boy."

He passed around the corner, starting a happy whistled tune that faded after him. Ginger never had figured her man's moods. Seemed the oddest things could make him cheery, or turn him pissy as a cat in a rainstorm.

.*. .*. .*.

Kaylee understood how living on an out-of-the-way planet with nothing to do could make a person want to be someplace else.

Sometimes, she wondered what would have happened if Serenity had never stopped by her own home world. If she hadn't seen the Firefly's first mechanic, Bester, stepping off the ramp. Or if she hadn't followed him to the saloon, wanting to get him talking about his ship and his life out in the Black. If he hadn't been so cute, maybe she wouldn't have taken up his offer for a tour of Serenity's engine room, a tour that turned into something more, and then, when they were interrupted by the captain, turned into something much more.

Most of all, Kaylee wondered what would have happened if anyone but Malcolm Reynolds had been the man who found her being intimate with Bester. Another man might have thrown her right off the ship, machine smarts or no. An even worse kind of man, walking in when he did… well, she tried not to dwell on that. It made her face get warm, to think of the risk she took by following a pretty boy onto his ship, by sexing him up in a dark back room. Bad things might have happened, the kind of things she never even thought could happen to her until she met Jubal Early.

Point was, Kaylee understood how lucky she'd been to meet the captain. Seeing some of the dead end parts of the verse she had in the years since made her count the blessing more. It was easy to get stuck in a bad place with no way out, and natural talent don't always count for much with the people who have it, not unless they get some luck on their side too.

Which is why Kaylee wasn't so ready to hate these people who had taken Serenity. They lived on a tough world, and she couldn't see that they'd ever had a good time of it. Like the boy in the parts shop. She thought back on his eyes, and how he'd seemed to be drawing back from her the whole time. She'd taken it as shyness, but now she wondered if he'd been scared.

And then she'd met Xiaojun, and heard her story. How she had such a beautiful life once, and then it all just died. Her husband and her land, gone, leaving her to wander around her shop, alone, for endless years.

Niflheim sure was a hard place, and Kaylee couldn't blame a person one bit for trying to get away. She could even see how they might take to extreme measures. Not that she'd do something like that herself, and she meant to stop them if she could, because Serenity was her home and she didn't want to lose it, but she didn't hate these people.

Not at first, anyway.

She'd been downright scared when Zoë told her how they'd threatened the Shepherd, but the more she'd thought about it, the more she was sure they were just bluffing. Just desperate to get away and find a better life.

She started feeling different when the woman Ginger talked about the captain like he was some lecherous old hump. Taking a man's ship in dire need was one thing, but there was no call to be talking mean about him, attacking his character like that.

But Ginger didn't know, Kaylee told herself. She couldn't know. Maybe she'd only met men who were mean, maybe she'd never been so lucky as to meet someone like Serenity's captain.

When Kaylee saw the Shepherd, his face haggard and dried blood on his neck, tied up under the table like he was just some old cur, she starting getting really mad. He's a Shepherd! she thought. And when he gave her a brave smile, showing how his dignity and kindness couldn't be beat down, it warmed her a little, but it also made a place deep inside her feel frozen solid.

And then she saw the man in black – Will was his name – and that's when her idea of these people really changed. Will was smiling and having fun, just like he'd been when she'd seen him before, talking to the boy outside the parts shop in Alsvidh. Will wasn't desperate; he was playing a game. It probably tickled him that he'd given her a flirty smile in town, at the same time that he was plotting to take away her home, hurt her crew, and do his best to ruin her life.

Kaylee didn't say a word to him, didn't even look at him after that first glimpse of his smiling face. She knew she was mad enough to say something really mean, and it wouldn't help a thing to get herself in a fight she couldn't win.

Kaylee let out a cry as soon as she stepped onto the bridge. The captain was in the pilot's seat, bound tight and not moving, his head hanging down over his chest. She ran forward and crouched next to him. He was gagged with a dirty bandanna, and his face was a mess of bruises. Kaylee looked at Ginger once, her eyes narrow, then back at Mal.

"Cap'n? Wake up!" she said, trying to push his head up, but he didn't bat an eye. Kaylee felt her anger get all covered over with fear.

"Cap'n? Oh no…" She looked up at Ginger again. "What'd you do to him?"

The woman didn't answer, just looked at Kaylee blankly. Kaylee moved around the back of the chair, started pulling at the tight knot of the bandanna.

"There's no call to be doin' this," Kaylee muttered. "Never any excuse to be treatin' a man like this…"

She finally got the gag off and looked at the captain's face again. He was so still – she couldn't even see him breathing, like he was dead. A heavy sob escaped her, and she knelt down, put her ear to his chest and held her breath while she listened: a faint heartbeat, and, real slow and shallow, a breath taken in.

Kaylee sat back, momentarily weak with relief. She wished like hell Simon was here. Cap'n seemed barely alive to her, but maybe he wasn't as bad off as he looked. Simon would know for sure. She started working on the knotted ropes, half expecting Ginger to stop her, but when she felt a tap on the shoulder and turned around, Ginger was holding a knife with the handle out.

"Don't be gettin' no ideas," the woman said. "I still got a gun on you. Just get him loose, then put the knife down real nice."

Kaylee hesitated, half afraid of a trick, then she took the knife. She only had to cut a few ropes, then she tossed the knife behind her without a care for where it landed. She pulled the bindings away, and had to scramble to catch the captain as he slid out of the chair. He was heavy, completely limp, and she just managed to control his fall as he sprawled to the deck.

"Guess we'll need the doc to wake him up again," Ginger said impatiently, and started walking around Kaylee and the captain so she could reach the comm.

"Again?" Kaylee asked. Deep on the inside, she felt her anger flare up and thought she must be turning red all over. She felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks. "Yāo guài! What've you been doin' to him?"

Ginger stopped short of the comm and stared at the captain; she seemed a mite uncomfortable "Look, girl, he was fine when I left. I didn't have nothin' to do with this."

Kaylee looked at Mal, and though she was still mad as anything, her heart broke. The man who'd done so much for her, laying here helpless and maybe dying, on his own ship. She couldn't hold back a sob.

"Please, get Simon," she said. "The doctor – get him to help."

She looked up, but Ginger didn't activate the comm; she just stood and watched. "Kaylee, huh?" she asked.

Kaylee nodded.

"You're all tore up bout this." The woman actually had the nerve to smile. "You still tellin' me you and him ain't bumpin' uglies?"

"No!" Kaylee snapped, and her anger came out full force. "He's the captain!" She couldn't remember ever being so mad. She'd never wanted to hurt a person before, but she did now. She thought about the weapon Xiaojun had given her, felt the little metal disk hidden in her shoe, laying against the sole of her foot, and she wondered just how much of a jolt it carried.

Ginger frowned. "So what?"

"Cap'n takes care a' us." Kaylee took Mal's hand, held it tight. "He's the best man there ever was."

Mal might have heard her; suddenly he took a deep breath, his head tipping back and chest heaving like he'd just figured out how to work his lungs. Kaylee let go of his hand when he rolled away from her, laying on his side and coughing. She rubbed his back, hoping it'd help, and waited till he'd near caught his breath before she leaned over him.

"Cap'n?"

He rolled to his back again, eyes slowly focusing on her.

"Li'l Kaylee?"

"Yóu yú shàng dì!" she gasped.

He raised a hand to wipe at his mouth, like he was clearing a bad taste away. Then he asked in a thick, sleepy voice, "What's goin' on?"

"This lady here," Kaylee glanced at Ginger with a nod, "she brought me up from planetside. I had to fix the grav. They said they'd hurt Shepherd Book if I didn't."

He followed her focus and studied Ginger. After a pause, he lifted a hand, snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

"Ginger?"

The woman looked like she thought he was making fun of her. She sneered. "Yeah."

"Right."

He tried to sit up, but didn't make it. Kaylee caught him and lowered him onto his back real careful.

"Maybe you ought'a stay layin' down for a bit, Cap'n."

"Think so?" he asked, his eyelids heavy. "Yeah, could be... Need to fly the ship though. Idiots'll crash it." He forced his eyes open and looked out the windows. "When'd it get dark? We out'a atmo already?"

"Yeah, we're in low orbit – " Kaylee started, but he interrupted her.

"Right, right. Grav broke, I fixed it." He tried to sit up again, with more success this time, then sat looking around the bridge.

"What is it?" Kaylee asked.

"I'm feelin' a mite fuzzy." He wiped his face, swiping hard at his mouth again. Then he looked at her, and Kaylee felt the intensity of his stare as he studied her face. "They hurt you?"

"No. No one's touched me."

"That's good." He had another look around the bridge, like he was searching for something, then he focused on Ginger. "I did fix the ship already, right?"

"Girl here had a new part, to fix it for good. And now it's time to move on. Job to do." She nodded to the pilot's seat, motioning for him to get into it.

Kaylee saw that he didn't get the hint. He just sat on the deck, still looking confused, then turned his head to the hatch leading to the rest of the ship. He stared like he was trying to see something happening off that way.

"You all right, Cap'n?" Kaylee asked.

"Yeah, I just… I think there was somethin'…" He looked up, stared at the comm, but there was no comprehension in his face.

"Whatever it is, it'll wait," Ginger said. Her gun wasn't pointed right at them, but her message was clear. "Get to the helm, I'll tell you where to go."

He looked up at her again, then nodded and pulled himself into the pilot's seat.

.*. .*. .*.

As the captain climbed into the chair, Ginger found herself wondering why he was so out of it. He'd seemed right chipper last time she saw him, when he was headed back to fix the ship's artificial gravity. He'd been chock full of smart talk for Will and Ray; the man clearly didn't have a lick of sense about self-preservation. But he'd ended up alone on the bridge with Will, gagged with what she recognized as Will's bandanna. Wasn't hard to work the rest out, and that explained why Will'd been looking so cheery.

Ginger shook her head. Her man really was a bastard sometimes. With a sense of foreboding and annoyance, she wondered what business he'd been so happy about going off to take care of.

She'd have to figure it out later. "Outer edge of the rings," she told the captain, "middle of the night side. And keep clear of the cartel platforms." She stayed toward the back of the bridge where she could see them both, but her attention was drawn to Kaylee. The girl had gone to sit in the co-pilot's seat, where she was staring at Ginger with venom in her eyes, and, oddly, fiddling with her shoe.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations
yāo guài: monster; devil
yóu yú shàng dì: thank God

Fŏng chuī laí di shā
Luò zaì beī shāng de yăn lĭ
Sheí doū kān chū wŏ zaì děng nĭ.
Fŏng chuī laí di shā
Tuī jī zaì xīn lĭ
Shì sheí yě cā bú qù di hén jī.

The sand that is blown by the wind
Falls into sad eyes
Everyone can see that I am waiting for you.
The sand that is blown by the wind
Piles up in the heart
Sand leaves marks that cannot be erased by anyone.
- from Kū shā (Crying Sand) by Tracy Huang

---

Chapter 15.

The planet P23-657 needed a name. Eileen and Edward Verdande, as the only people in the verse with an active interest in the remote planet, drew from the mythology of Ed's Nordic heritage:

Niflheim: The world of cold and darkness. From Niflheim
flowed the eleven ice-cold rivers, the Elivagar, from which
life first emerged.

They chose the name because the surface of the world was, indeed, cold and dark. Clouds of sulfur and methane gas blocked out the sun's rays, and the corrosive atmosphere was a large part of the reason the planet had been passed by for terraforming.

Because the planet was so inhospitable, living quarters, refineries, and all the infrastructure needed to support mining crews and cartel staff had to be constructed in orbit, all at great expense. There were further delays while contracts were signed for the transport and processing of the mined lithium dubniate, and agreements were negotiated with the computer manufacturers who would be buying the final products. In the end, it took nearly twenty years after the mineral rights to Niflheim were purchased before the infant cartel finally established its mining trade. It was twenty difficult years of alternating hope and despair, and the Verdandes were never sure if they'd lose everything or come out ahead.

Finally, when it was all settled, the success of the venture was beyond their wildest hopes. There was a first heady rush, creditors repaid and wealth amassing as the Verdande family expanded into other markets and generally enjoyed the thrill of being the newest Movers and Shakers of an expanding human empire. Ed and Eileen Verdande got used to having the best of everything. They greeted Parliament members by their first names, and had biographies and documentaries made about their rise to glory.

As they settled into their success, the second part of the mythological Niflheim's definition came back to the couple: "from which life first emerged." If their planet was carefully nurtured and lovingly guided through its infancy and childhood, they thought, it could be a new life. It could rival Greenleaf for natural beauty, Sihnon for the grace and elegance of its culture, and Londinium for its industry. And, they reasoned, it was located so far from the Core that it would never be brought down by overpopulation and the associated evils of high crime, pollution, and black markets in human beings and illegal drugs.

At great expense, using all the political clout of their cartel, they won enough backers in Parliament to have Niflheim considered for terraforming. The plan took years to gain approval, and there was another long wait before a large enough crew could be spared to tackle the special challenges of the remote planet. Eileen didn't survive to see the terraforming crews arrive, but Ed Sr. watched from orbit as the face of the planet began to change.

A few months before he died, Ed Sr. walked the surface of Niflheim, and slipped off his mask to breathe an atmosphere which still had the noxious tang of sulfur. It burned in his lungs, but he convinced himself that it tasted wonderful.

.*. .*. .*.

"Cap'n?"

Mal turned to Kaylee. She returned his look for a few seconds, like she wanted to say something, then bit her lip and glanced toward the back of the bridge.

"Spit it out," Mal prompted without looking at the woman who stood silently behind them. "She'll speak up if she don't like you sayin' anything in particular."

Kaylee glanced back one more time before she spoke, her voice low but a little forced. "I was just wonderin'…" She stopped and swallowed hard, doubt in her eyes.

"What is it?" Mal asked softly.

"I saw the Shepherd, in the dinin' room, and he's been hurt. Not too bad, but… well, you been all beat-up too. I was just wonderin' if… I was wonderin' where Simon's at."

Mal studied her face. She didn't look like his little Kaylee should. The wet shine in her eyes wasn't a surprise – she'd been brought into a bad situation, and Mal knew that she was more than a little sweet on the young doctor. It was natural she'd be worried. But there was something different about her, a hard set to her jaw and a deep down shake to her voice that wasn't right.

"You keep yourself cool, Kaylee. Doc's just fine."

Mal had to force himself not to look away from her when he said it. Truthfully, he wasn't even sure where Simon had got to, or who was with him. Last Mal remembered seeing the doctor was… hell, when had it been?

"He ain't hurt bad?" Kaylee asked.

Mal looked away from her, realizing that he wasn't entirely sure about the answer to that. Vaguely, he recalled Simon's voice, gasping: Just bruises… possibly a cracked rib or two…

"He had a few knocks," Mal replied, "but nothin' he can't handle." He looked back at her, trying his best to be reassuring. "He'll be all right."

Kaylee nodded and looked away. Mal hoped that would be enough to satisfy her for now; he wasn't up to providing details. He returned his attention to the console to check the course he'd set. Serenity was heading toward the outer edge of the rings, and it would take a few minutes to get there. He had time to think things over, to try to pin this down.

When had he seen Simon last? Mal remembered 'fixing' the grav drive, then…

He had to close his eyes and concentrate, forcing himself to picture it.

I came back here… Will was sitting at the pilot's seat. Simon was… Simon was curled up in the nose of the ship. Lookin' beat up. That's when he told me about his ribs. What happened next?

Nothing came, and Mal's thoughts started wandering, thinking how Simon had put up a fight against armed men, even though he'd been alone and nauseated by weightlessness. Boy was awful stupid, even with all that schooling. Boy was awful brave, too.

Mal pulled himself back on track with an effort.

Focus. What the hell happened next? I… I got Simon up, helped him to the co-pilot's chair.

The co-pilot's chair. Mal glanced at Kaylee, who still had her eyes fixed on something far away. He should come up with some clever way to ask her about Zoë, Wash, and Jayne. They had to be up to something, if only he could ask without Ginger figuring it out…

Cut it out. What was next? I moved Simon to the co-pilot's seat… Kaylee! He told me how Kaylee was being brought here. And Will…

The next memory was vague, fuzzy with his own rage. He'd been punching someone. He remembered pinned a body to the deck and hitting, hard as he could…

Then he woke up on the deck with Kaylee leaning over him, feeling like he hadn't drawn a deep breath in hours.

There's a gap, after I was hitting – it was Will, I got him pinned, beat on him, and then…

Nothing.

Mal tried to think on it more, to figure out what was working his nerves so bad, but he kept getting distracted. It was like there a slippery place in his mind where his thoughts wouldn't go. He couldn't even focus enough to work out the question he was trying to answer. There wasn't really a problem here, was there? He'd jumped into a fight with Will and Ray had knocked him out. Simple enough.

But there wasn't any sore spot on the back of his head. No headache at all. He did have a sour taste in his mouth, a slight jitter in his hands, and a weakness in his muscles that he couldn't shake off. The feeling reminded him of something. Made him think of Adeli Niska.

Mal realized that his eyes were fixed on a cord on the console, one that ran to a lamp; it had been cut clean through. He looked down and saw the live end of it lying on the deck, so he pulled the plug. It wasn't safe having a bare wire sitting out like that. Could hurt someone.

He held the cut cord up, and his uneasiness increased.

"Somethin' special you plan on doin' with that?" Ginger asked from behind him.

Mal frowned and shrugged. "Not a thing," he replied. He looked at the cord one more time, then threw it aside and wiped his hand on his leg like he'd been holding something slimy.

"Good," Ginger said. "We almost there?"

Mal glanced at the display. "Another minute."

"All right. Stay sittin' where you are, I need to make a call." She came forward and took down the comm unit, then stepped back, stretching the wire so she'd have some distance from Mal and Kaylee while she talked.

.*. .*. .*.

Ray?

Ray started when Ginger's voice came through the comm, then lifted his head to look into the infirmary. The doctor was watching him, sitting on a stool with his hand poised above the exam table, a small curved needle in his fingers with a thread running down to Jase's shoulder.

Ray felt like he'd just woken up from a heavy sleep. He stood up stiffly, then walked into the infirmary to get to the comm.

"What is it?" he replied to Ginger.

Ship's all fixed, and the captain says we'll be gettin' to the harvester soon. Time to seal off the cargo bay.

"I'm busy. Will can do it."

Will's off someplace.

"Doin' what?"

Didn't say. I figured you knew.

Ray closed his eyes and wiped his face. He was so gorram tired. "Go find him."

I got two people up here, the captain and the mechanic. I can't leave em' alone.

Ray paused to think about it. He couldn't leave the doc walking around free; if he was to go looking for Will, he'd have to tie the young man up and interrupt Jase's treatment again. Wouldn't go good with the boy. There was only so much a half-starved and half-bled out body could take. Ray looked to the exam table; Jase was completely out, looking pale and lying still like he was dead already.

If Jase died, Ray would lose the last bit of that woman he had left. Maybe it wasn't a bad thing; he could let that part of his life go, and he'd be free. He could finally do as he liked, and not have this burden any longer.

Funny – the thought didn't make him feel good. Not at all. But it was out of his hands now.

"You stay put," he told Ginger over the comm. "I'll get Will."

.*. .*. .*.

Simon tried to find a position that wouldn't pain his bruised and likely fractured ribs, but there wasn't one. He finally gave up and sat still, breathing as carefully as he could. His hands were taped together, and also taped to one of the seats that folded down from the bulkhead just inside the infirmary hatch. He still had his surgical gloves on, covered in blood. Ray hadn't allowed him time to do anything but tie off the last suture.

"Simon?"

He looked up when he heard his whispered name. River stepped through the hatch in a crouch, tentative and wide-eyed as a hunted deer.

"River? What are you – "

She flinched and raised her hands over her ears. "Shh! Too much! Please, so loud now. Can't do it anymore." She curled up next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. It hurt a little, but he was more concerned that he couldn't hug her back, not with his hands bound.

"Need more medicine," she said into his shoulder. "Ma's gone. Pa turned into a monster. Too loud."

Oh, dìyù, Simon thought. He'd find a way to explain how he got loose. "River, you need to help me get my hands free."

She continued like she couldn't hear him. "Walls won't stay," she mumbled. "Tore down, never fixed right. Melting walls. No control. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't warn her. Then the pain…"

"Mèi mei… can you get into the drawer? Over there. River, please!"

"Had to put the memory away… But they come back. The smell of her… miss her so much."

"River, I need the scissors, so I can get free and help you. Do you understand?"

Finally, she replied to him with a nod. She got up and found the scissors, but instead of cutting him free she put them in his gloved hand and turned away. Simon couldn't stop himself from pausing to stare at his sister as she climbed onto the exam table, lying down along the edge of it.

"Think about the good day," he heard her whisper, and Simon knew she wasn't talking to him. "Trees and the pretty sky and songs. I need the good day."

.*. .*. .*.

Ray didn't know much about ships, but he wasn't stupid. He noticed the open hatch off the catwalk in the cargo bay, and remembered that it that hadn't been open before. He wasn't sure where it led, but he had an idea that he might find Will there.

He stopped just outside, taking in the warm light that spilled out of the room. He saw heavy curtains of dark fabric, golden light, and artsy things on pedestals. Stuff that didn't belong anywhere near this ship. He drew his gun and stepped through the hatch.

There was a body lying still just inside; it was Will. Ray nudged him with his foot. The man was breathing, but didn't respond to the prod.

Against the far wall sat a young woman with dark curly hair, wearing a peach gown of a sort that Ray had never seen, fancy and rich-looking. She had her knees drawn up, hugging them to her chest. She also had a darkening bruise on her cheek. She didn't get up, just looked at him with empty eyes. Ray hadn't been working with Will all that long, just a few months. He couldn't say he knew the man well, but he had a good idea as to what had happened here.

"He have a go at you?" he asked the woman.

She looked at him blankly, and for a second he thought she didn't understand. Then she nodded. He looked back at Will, then at the woman again. "And you knocked him out?"

Another nod.

Ray walked nearer to her, keeping his gun pointed at the floor. She looked all delicate and pretty, and didn't have much in the way of muscle.

"Now how exactly'd a thing like you manage that?"

The woman swallowed hard, and finally gathered herself enough to speak. "It's not always about strength," she said, her voice soft and rich, her words carefully pronounced. Ray couldn't rightly explain why, but he believed her. Maybe it was her dignity. She seemed beyond doubt.

"Did… did he hurt you?" he asked.

The woman gave a short laugh, like she was insulted by the question. "He wasn't expecting me to defend myself," she said in a stronger voice. Then her face slowly went blank again, and she asked distantly, "Did I kill him?"

"No, he's still breathin'."

She was quiet for a bit, as if deciding how she felt about that.

"Oh," she finally said. "I guess that's good. I wouldn't like to be a killer." When she said the last part, she looked up at Ray, looked him in the eye like she was accusing him of something.

"Ain't my favorite thing either," he said. But she held his eye still, her expression telling him that he was less than human. He glanced around the room, wanting to escape that stare.

"This place wasn't here before," he said. "Where xactly'd you come from?"

"This is my shuttle. I returned from an appointment."

"Anyone know you were comin'?"

"I waved." Her voice shook when she said that, and she paused to swallow hard before she continued. "No one responded."

"Guess Will there heard you."

The woman didn't answer. She clasped her hands together in front of her knees like she was bracing herself, then she asked in a voice that was forcibly calm and steady, "Is he really… dead?"

Ray paused, confused. Maybe this lady wasn't all there. He glanced at Will, then back at her. "I just told you, he's breathin' – "

"Not him. The captain. The captain of this ship."

He frowned. "Where'd the hell'd you get that idea?"

A strangled sound came out of her throat and she dropped her head, staring down into her lap. Ray waited, stood still until she pulled herself together enough to speak again.

"He told me Mal was dead," she said softly, not looking up.

Ray turned and frowned at Will's still form, sorely tempted to go over and give the bastard a few hard kicks.

"Your captain's just a little beat up is all."

"You're sure?" she looked up at him, naked hope on her face.

"He's on the bridge – flyin' this thing right now."

The woman crumbled; she buried her head in her arms and sobbed.

The sight of her crying twisted something in Ray, and he couldn't do anything but stand and wait for her to stop. He felt sick. He hadn't planned on this. It was supposed to be simple: just take a gorram ship. He'd assumed it'd be crewed by a bunch of rough hands, the sort he was used to seeing on Niflheim. Just a few folks who'd cower down at the sight of a gun, then sit quiet till the job was done. He never thought anyone'd make such a fuss as this bunch was doing, never considered that he'd have to see someone all torn up like this lady was.

He didn't like how he was feeling; he wanted it to stop. He stepped closer to her, and when she looked up, he motioned with his gun for her to stand up. "This really is all kinds a' fun," he said, "but I got no more time to chat. I can't leave you here. Come on."

.*. .*. .*.

Simon fumbled with the scissors as he tried to reach the tape on his wrists; the gloves on his hands were slick with congealing blood. It took a few minutes before he worked himself free, then he stood up and stepped to the table.

River had pulled the unconscious boy's right arm away from him so she could nestle against his side, her head resting on his healthy shoulder. She had her arm wrapped around his waist, and appeared to be fast asleep.

"This is something I don't need to know about right now," Simon said to himself. He stripped the surgical gloves off, then turned away to prepare a fresh batch of smoothers for her. River opened her eyes when he gave her the injection, turning her head to look at him. She was calmer than she'd been. When he finished and she had her arm back, she hugged the boy again.

"You can't let him die," she said.

"I'll do all I can," Simon replied, but instead of hurrying to put a bandage over the boy's wound, he found himself standing still, watching his little sister. She looked at Jase's face and smiled, nearly beaming.

"He's nice," she said.

Simon sighed. "The ship is held by violent criminals, and you're busy making a boyfriend of one of them?"

She turned her head and gave him a silly-big-brother frown. "We just met. Not my boyfriend."

"I certainly hope not." He put a hand against her cheek. "Are you okay?"

She smiled. "I'll be all right. There were too many bad things, all at once."

"Have you been hiding?"

"Of course." But the glint in her eyes said something else, said that she'd been making mischief. Simon decided not to pursue it; there were too many things to think about as it was.

"If you're feeling better, I want you to go hide again," he told her firmly. "And don't come out, no matter what. These are bad people, River. They'll hurt you."

"Not all bad," she said. She rested her head on the boy's shoulder again and twisted a finger in his hair. "He's not. Still has a chance to be whole. That's why you can't let him die."

Simon looked at the boy and remembered that he had a task to finish. He turned away from River to get some gauze and tape.

"Don't get too fond of him," he said, suddenly feeling tired. "I don't know how much I can help."

"Promise you'll do your best?" River asked as she slid off the bed.

"I always do, mèi mei."

.*. .*. .*.

For a good solid minute, Inara had no control over herself. It wasn't something that happened often. She hadn't felt much more than disgust when Will was stalking her; she hadn't even been overcome when she'd believed that Mal was dead. That had just made her feel numb, empty inside.

But hearing that he was alive…

After a while, she became aware that the tall, gaunt man was still watching her, standing closer than before. His face looked hard, like he'd never felt an emotion in his life, but Inara didn't believe that. His patience with her suggested something different.

He noticed her looking at him. "This really is all kinds a' fun," he said, "but I got no more time to chat. I can't leave you here. Come on."

Inara nodded and wiped her face. She stood up, her legs shaking and her head light. She took a few awkward steps to the divan and grabbed her robe, hoping that the time it took to put it on would help her find some strength.

It didn't. She looked at the man, trying to stall.

"Where are we going?" she asked. She couldn't stop her hands from shaking, so she clasped them together in front of her.

"I got a few things to do, you can help out," he answered. "And uh… I'm a little more prepared than Will there. I don't mean to hurt you, but I will if you try anything like that on me." His voice lacked the threat of his words, like he was saying it just because it was expected of him.

"I'll behave," she said, then started toward the hatch. She noticed that he backed away from her, keeping his distance. He meant it then, he wouldn't be leaving her an opening like the man in black – like Will – had.

She paused next to Will. "What about him?"

The other man shrugged. "He'll do just fine where he is." But he didn't move, just stared down at the unconscious man, then back up at her. "How'd you do it?" he asked.

At first she wasn't sure what he meant, then she understood. "There are many soft places on a man," she explained distantly. "You don't need to hit hard, if you aim well."

He smiled at her, and Inara blinked in surprise. The expression didn't fit his face. He looked a little shocked by it himself, but then his features settled into it.

"Gotta say, lady, I never liked him much. If things were different, I might buy you a drink."

At first Inara frowned in confusion, not sure what to make of him. But then she found herself smiling back.

"I could use a drink."

His smile faded as he studied her face. "This ain't how I wanted it to go," he said softly, then he looked away, like he hadn't meant to say that.

Inara might have said something about intentions, but she didn't. "What's your name?" she asked.

He hesitated, then answered. "Ray."

She didn't respond, just nodded to him and walked out of the shuttle.

.*. .*. .*.

"Captain's not all right," River told Simon. She was sitting on the counter across the exam table from her brother, watching him finish the bandaging. The medication was working, and she was able to think clearly again, to separate the voices. But she was very tired. It was hard work.

He looked up at her. "The captain?" he asked. "Is he injured?"

"Bruises. You saw those already."

River sighed. She felt Simon looking at her, but she only stared at the floor. She didn't know how to explain. "No control," she mumbled. "Had to shut down, close off. Only way to avoid damage."

"What does that mean?" Simon asked.

She looked up at him. "Sometimes forgetting is the only safe thing to do."

Simon tore off the tape, then turned away to set it down on the counter behind him. He didn't understand. Of course not; he couldn't. She sat silently while he finished.

"Can you tell if Kaylee is on board?" he asked.

His voice was even, but River could see the worry behind his question. "Yes," she answered, and she raised a hand to rub her forehead. She rubbed hard; she didn't like what she was sensing. "Very angry. Toy in her shoe. Not a fun toy. Not for playing."

Simon was looking at her again; he still didn't understand. And he probably wouldn't, no matter how many different words she used. But she kept going, telling him the other things she knew.

"Book has a headache. Needs to go to the head. Inara is… " She stopped.

Simon froze. "Inara?"

"Came back early. Will was waiting."

River immediately regretted saying it. Simon was better off not knowing, since there was nothing he could do about it now. But he'd want to help anyway, because that's how he was.

"Will?" Simon asked, and River felt a wave of anger rise inside him. She wasn't used to seeing that in her brother. He really didn't like Will. Nobody did.

"What did he do to her?" Simon asked.

River felt her eyes starting to tear when she thought about Inara, so she turned her face away from Simon. It wasn't her place to explain. He probably wouldn't understand anyway.

"Can't look, Simon. Not now."

Simon looked up in the direction of Inara's shuttle, as if he'd be able to see through the walls. "Is she hurt?"

River held her hands over her face. "No. Sloppy. Bù zhī tiān gāo dì hòu. Arrogant. Good for Inara, easy to play." River didn't open her eyes, but she knew what Simon was doing – he was considering the array of scalpels he had available, wondering which would make the best weapon. River lifted her head and jumped off the counter.

"No! Nothing you can do. Finish Jase."

"But... it's Inara. She's on our crew, and this boy is just…"

"Can't think that way. Trust me. She doesn't need help from you. The real hurt is in her heart. Not yours to fix."

River watched her brother take a deep breath, saw how he winced at the pain in his ribs, and she saw that he'd stay. Simon wasn't foolish; he wasn't able to put up a fight right now, and he knew it. He nodded to her, and River wandered back to the exam table.

Jase was pale as a sheet. Even his mind was far away, too far for her to reach. River knew Simon was doing all he could, but a body this weak was difficult to help. Blood was running low. No blood, no fight.

"It's time for you to go hide," Simon said.

"Not yet," she replied. "One more thing for me to do." She lifted Jase's hand and met Simon's eye. He knew exactly what she meant. After all, she'd gotten the idea from him, even though he hadn't said it out loud.

"No," he said. "You've been here for too long already. You have to go."

She stiffened her jaw and glared at him. "Then you better get started." She pulled a stool up next to the bed and laid her arm out on the edge of it, rotated up to bare the veins on the inside of her elbow. Simon still hesitated, and River sighed impatiently. "Same type," she said. "I don't need all I have. Not as much as he does."

It was the right thing to do, and Simon knew it. River glared at him until he gave in. She held back her victorious grin – well, most of it, and sat quietly while Simon started the transfusion. He was just finishing and stepping away when River saw two people in the hatch.

"Hey, Inara," she said casually.

Simon whirled around, and his face turned pale when he saw Inara standing with Ray behind her.

"You could have warned me," Simon said softly.

River smiled – there was nothing to worry about, she had it under control. Simon didn't know that; he was always a little slow to keep up with things.

But then, most people were.

.*. .*. .*.

Ray took the woman along a winding path, stopping at each hatch that opened into the cargo bay so she could latch and seal it. He'd told her how the outer doors of the bay would need to be opened, letting in the hard emptiness of space, and they'd all be dead if she didn't close things off right. She didn't argue.

They left the bay through the hatch near the infirmary. Ray wanted to stop by, see how things were going. See if Jase was gone yet. When he looked through the window into the little room, he grabbed the lady's arm and pushed her ahead of him until the reached the door. A young girl was sitting next to the bed, a red tube running out of her arm. The tube connected to a bag, then ran down to Jase.

"Hey, Inara," the girl said.

Her casual tone confused the hell out of Ray, and he stood dumbfounded, barely hearing a few words exchanged between the doctor and the girl. He turned to the lady.

"She come here with you?"

The woman's response was a look of such genuine confusion that he ruled that possibility out. He pushed her into the infirmary so he could keep an eye on her.

"You got a friend, Doc?" he asked.

"She's just a passenger," the man replied. "She's been hiding. For some reason, she thought one of you people might hurt her."

"I wonder why I'd think that," the girl said in a saucy tone. "Do you know, Simon?" She looked pointedly at the bruise on the side of the doctor's face. He answered her with a frown and a shrug.

Ray's eyes narrowed at their sarcasm. Gorram if they weren't making fun of him. He held up his gun, noticing how the doctor looked alarmed at the sight, but the girl just watched him with open curiosity.

"So why ain't you hidin' now?" he asked. And why ain't you scared of me? he didn't ask.

She looked at him, and her eyes cut into him like she was some kind of witch, like she could see into his soul.

"Mĕi Líng," she said softly, and Ray straightened in shock. "That was her name," the girl continued, her head tipped to the side and an expression on her face like this was something she was just learning. She lifted her eyes to him. "You called her Mĕi."

Ray felt the blood draining from his face. He motioned at Jase with his gun. "He told you that," he said. "It was you he was talkin' about – "

"No," she interrupted. "He only calls her Ma." She looked at Jase and took his limp hand in hers. When she looked up again, staring straight at Ray without a hint of fear or concern, he felt a little hint of the rage licking at the edge of his mind, like flame just taking hold of paper.

"Um… River…" the doctor said, staring at Ray's face. The young man took a few steps forward, putting himself between Ray and the girl as if he meant to protect her with his own life.

Ray lifted his gun, waved it at the doctor. "Move," he mumbled.

The doctor stayed put, but the girl's hand gripped his elbow and pushed him aside.

"It's okay, Simon," she said impatiently, and now she sounded like an ordinary teenager, bratty and know-it-all.

"What else'd he tell you 'bout me?" Ray asked.

"Nothing, really. Told about himself. You told about you."

"I ain't never…" He glanced at the two others in the room, the pretty woman and the doctor, to make sure they were keeping their distance. They were playing him, they had to be. Setting him up for something. But neither of them had made a move toward him.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" he asked the girl. "I ain't never even seen you."

"I saw you. Saw everything," she replied, and then she shook her head, looking sad, looking like she almost pitied him, and her voice was soft when she said, "You're a bad man. A very bad man."

Ray opened his mouth to argue, but he didn't know where to start. Sure he'd done some hard things, but it'd been for the best. Hadn't it?

"River, you're not helping…" the doctor said, edging toward the girl, but she didn't answer. Her eyes stayed on Ray.

"But I understand why you're bad," she said.

Ray didn't know what it was about this girl, but she sounded like she knew. Not like she forgave him – there was no pardon in her voice. But her eyes stayed on him, glowing like she was seeing things that no one else had ever known about him.

And that would be something - to have someone who understood. Someone who knew those things long past, who could see the invisible scars he carried from hurts he hadn't deserved. If someone knew that he hadn't always been what he was now...

Ray shook his head, and clamped down on the feeling of need; it made him weak. "You stay out of my business," he snapped at the girl. "You don't know a gorram thing bout me."

"Please," the doctor said, stammering in his worry over the girl. "Look at her, she's… she's harmless. She's only here to help."

The woman's plea followed right after the doctor's. "Ray, these two have been in here, free, for some time," she said. "They haven't tried anything. It appears they've just been treating this boy."

Ray glanced at the doctor, aware of the dried blood on his face, the way he held his body stiffly like it hurt him to move. He didn't have to look at the woman; he could picture the swollen redness of her eyes, and the sound of her crying still rang in his ears. Gorram accusations, coming at him from everywhere. As if Ray didn't know that he'd gone astray. As if he didn't know that, at the heart of it, he was the cause of all this. Including Jase. Especially Jase.

He took in a deep breath and ground his teeth at the thought. He'd known it in the back of his mind, known it for a long, long time. This boy may not have come from Ray's own body, but he could have been a son just the same. Ray'd never even tried to take him in that way. Not really. He had failed. He'd failed Jase, and he'd failed Mĕi. Probably even failed Bucky, if you viewed it in a certain light. He'd failed as a farmer, and didn't make much of a criminal either. He'd never done a single thing right.

But he was going to fix the one thing he still could. The boy was alive; there was a chance to make things work out. This job - he had to see it through to the end. There wasn't anyone gonna stop him from doing it.

Suddenly, Ray felt alive, aware, and more awake than he'd been in years. Like a cloud had lifted from his eyes, and he could finally see clearly. He had his opportunity; it was right in front of him. He wasn't going to miss it. No way. He backed out of the infirmary, then motioned at the woman to follow him.

"You two stay here," he told to the doctor and the girl. "Keep him breathin'. This is gonna work out fine – just don't let him die." He paused for a second, thinking about the chance he was taking by leaving these two free. But it was only a half-beaten doctor and a skinny little girl; they couldn't be a danger.

"Once this hatch closes," he told them, "it best not open again." He was speaking faster than he ever did – energy surged through him, and he couldn't slow himself down. "Stay put, and don't make me sorry I'm leavin' you here like this."

He swung the door closed and latched it, then turned to the woman.

"Inara, huh?"

"Yes."

"Bridge, and move it," he ordered.

.*. .*. .*.

Inara entered the bridge in front of Ray, and she had to stop with a hand against the bulkhead to hold herself up. Mal was there, alive. He was at the helm with his back to her, his attention focused on the console.

"Inara!" Kaylee gasped. She was in the co-pilot's seat, sitting with her knees up and her arms wrapped around them, hands clenched to her elbows. Mal sat up straight when he heard Kaylee speak, then slowly turned around. His eyes met Inara's for a barely a second, then he looked away. His face was shadowed, and Inara couldn't make out his expression.

Motion caught her eye; a strange woman stood off to Inara's left. She had shoulder length iron gray hair and eyes just as hard as the pistol in her hand. She gave Inara a hostile glare, then turned to Ray for an explanation.

The two strangers exchanged words, but Inara wasn't listening. She waited until the rush of blood in her ears quieted and the worst of the weakness in her legs passed, then she took a few hesitant steps forward. When no one stopped her, she continued on. It was Mal's arms that she wanted to fall into, but he stayed in the pilot's chair, not looking at her again. Kaylee stood and held out her hands, and Inara gratefully accepted the embrace.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations
dì yù: hell
mèi mei: little sister
bù zhī tiān gāo dì hòu: not know the immensity of heaven and earth (have an exaggerated opinion of one's abilities)