Hello. Iverik here. Just a reminder: This story uses characters created by someone other than me.

Facing the Black

Killer stared at the concrete walls of the installation. "No way the autodemarchs could have built this so quickly," he growled.

"It's been here for a while," Paul seconded.

"Great," Mal remarked, "and here's a door." He went inside.

The hall was dark and cold. Mal tried to ignore the fact that he was silhouetted by the light from the doorway.

"Hey, don't do that!" Killer followed. Paul warily watched the horizon. So did Zoe. Finally, he went in. As soon as he was out of sight, Zoe pulled an autodemarch pistol out of a hidden holster and followed him in.

Mal's normally silent conscience was bothering him. He silenced it expertly. It was unusual though. Maybe it was the fact that Paul had saved his life, that he knew their names. He reached the bend in the corridor. He hesitated. Still time to call this off.

But he hadn't risked half his crew's lives for nothing. There was one BIG payday at the end of this, and no power in the verse, especially not the chiang-bao hotze duh Alliance, was going to stop him. He stepped around the corner, and onto a floorplate.

Instantly, light flooded the hall. Paul and Killer instinctively shielded their eyes; Zoe instinctively pulled the trigger. Both men fell to an autodemarch gun. The first stage of the plan was almost complete.

As soon as the firing stopped, Mal came back around the corner, looking much older than he had been. He stooped. Killer was dead. He moved on. Paul wasn't.

"Why?" He asked, blood bubbling from his lips. Zoe's lips compressed. Her gun raised. Mal told her to wait.

"Because we've spent the last six years nearly starving. And if we do this right, we'll be eating and flying again- and the verse will be a safer place. Dong ma?"

It wasn't entirely clear whether Paul understood or not. He was fading. Suddenly, he reached up and grabbed Mal's arm. Zoe's gun came up again- but Paul was only talking.

"Tell me, Captain, would the old Captain Reynolds, the one who died six years ago, would he have betrayed us?" Paul's eyes were bright- Mal found he couldn't look away. "Someday, you'll meet someone like me. And you won't be able to hide anymore..." The brilliance faded, and Paul fell away.

"What the hell was that about?" Zoe wanted to know.

Mal thought for a minute about the old sergeant Malcolm Reynolds. How did Paul know? How could he possibly...

"Nothing," he growled, "now let's get a move-on. We're on a tight schedule."

Wash smiled grimly as he looked at his latest orders. Jayne's planted intel had had the overstretched Alliance in a tizzy. Their reserves were suddenly committed. His ship, and his ship alone would be traveling on this final journey. Impulsively, he tossed his helpful mechanic a dinosaur (one that he didn't use often, true) and readied for takeoff. It was then that the first thing went really wrong.

Jayne wasn't there. Was he held up? Was he caught? Wash worried, fretting over his controls. There was a clunk. Wash got up, and hurried into the aft compartment. There was a small, Alliance issue holo-recorder on the floor. Curious, Wash played it.

"Hello Wash," said Jayne, "I know what the plan is and all. You and I secure this here plane and burn for the black. Well, I've decided to change the plan."

"Ta ma de..."

"You may think I've lost my mind, but hear me out. I met an old buddy here. Used to court my older sister- actually court her, ya know? Well, she died of pneumonia... anyway, the family back home's real attached to this fella and... well, it would look bad if all the browncoats lit out, wouldn't it? Leastaways... well, Bottom line is, I'm stayin'. Say goodbye to the folks for me. So long." The message ended.

The mechanic pounded on the side of the ship. "Hey! Are you taking off or not?"