1815 Hours, January 10, 2543

Zik's Bar, Planet Santo

Smoke hung heavy in the small saloon, obscuring anything more than a few yards away. Between the plain brown attire of the bar's few patrons, the dirty brown of the floor, and the haze thick enough it practically choked out the light, Cortana was easy to pick out of the crowd. Even at her most drab, the rich colors of her clothing set her apart from those around her.

She had settled herself into a dark corner, drawing from her experience with Serenity's crew to impersonate the rest of the locals. For today, she was here as an observer – John had finally invited her along to see what their dealings actually looked like.

At the moment, their 'dealings' involved a drawn-out pool game with a pair of rotten-toothed, stinky fellows.

"Easiest money I ever made," the leader of the pair – Wright, if Cortana remembered correctly – bragged as he leaned across the pool table. "Some stronger locks, thicker doors . . . didn't even have to up the rations for the trip. Six in the corner pocket." He pointed at one of the solid-colored balls with the tip of his cue.

"That kind of work consistent?" Fred asked through tight lips, watching the other man painstakingly line up for his shot on the six ball.

"Nothing surer, friend," Wright answered, turning a scummy smile in Fred's direction. "What can I say – work out on the border planets is dangerous. Those terraforming crews have something of a high turnover rate."

Watching as Wright missed his shot, Cortana felt a distinct urge to take the ball and knock out a few more of the man's decayed teeth.

John meandered his way around the table, picking his own shot. "And when you say labor, you mean slaves, right?"

Wright shared a look with his partner before they both began laughing. "Well they ain't volunteers, that's for sure!"

John missed his second shot. He stepped back to allow Fred to make his own move, bumping into Wright as he made his way around the table and stopped by Cortana's side. "There isn't a snowball's chance in the hot place we're selling weapons to this scum," he whispered, leaning conspiratorially close to her. "You might ought to start heading back to the ship."

Cortana straightened in her chair, resisting the urge to scratch where John's breath tickled her neck. "Why? I'm starting to have fun."

John gave her a rare genuine smile that the doctor tried hard to convince herself wasn't distracting. "And just what does a refined lady such as yourself find to be 'fun' in a place like this?"

In an effort to hide how fascinating she found the movement of the captain's lips when he spoke to be, Cortana turned her gaze to the table. "I like watching you play. Unsurprisingly, the winning strategy seems to be 'give Fred something pointy and then stay out of his way.'"

John turned just in time to see Fred sink the third ball in a row. "You'd be surprised how many scenarios that particular strategy applies to," he said, shooting her a subdued smirk. "All the same, could be wise to cut the viewing party short in this case."

He leaned in closer still, his hand brushing hers. "Seems there's a thief about," he breathed into her ear before leaning back. It took her a moment to feel the weight of the stack of credits John deposited in her palm. "He took this right off of those poor, honest slavers."

Cortana's jaw dropped, and she looked at the captain in shock. "John!" she playfully admonished.

John nodded, his face a mask of feigned sympathy for the pair at the pool table. "Really, it's just a terrible shame. Not that they'll notice before they go for another round . . ." He trailed off when a hand fell heavily on his shoulder.

The captain craned his head until he could see the hand's owner. "Good drinker, that one," he said when he turned back to Cortana. Then he whipped around and connected his fist with Wright's jaw.

As Fred broke his pool cue over the other slaver's head and the rest of the saloon burst into a brawl, Cortana rushed for the exit. "Wonderful establishment," she said in a friendly tone as she zipped past the Kig-Yar bartender, "I'll be sure to tell my friends."

0950 Hours, January 11, 2543

Hestia System, Planet Meridian

"Does it seem to you that we left Santo a mite quick?"

Linda asked the question benignly enough, but given she asked it just loud enough for him to hear even though she and Kelly were walking several meters behind him down Meridian's dust-choked streets, John felt it was pointed in his direction.

"Seems we're leaving everywhere a mite quick these days," Kelly answered. "I wouldn't mind staying in one place for a while. Meridian's a nice colony – we could stay here a while, don't you think? Do some sight-seeing. Fred's always talking about this waterfall one of Badger's guys told him about one time, that isn't on any map and it . . ." She trailed off at the sound of Linda snickering.

"Fixing to go find some secluded waterfall alone with Fred, are we now?" the pilot asked, hardly keeping herself from all-out laughter. "I wonder what kind of shenanigans the pair of you could get up to out there."

There was another sound, a dull thud as though someone just got hit by a flying object.

"All I'm saying is I wouldn't mind some time on the ground here," Kelly continued, now clearly disgruntled. "Lately Meridian's almost been like a second home."

"Meridian's no home," John cut into their conversation as he stopped and faced them. "Too many folks here we don't want to run into. We're just here to sell the last of the weapons we pulled off of Virgo, and then only wait long enough to find something else to take us off world."

Kelly sighed wistfully. "Serenity is home, but I sure don't mind stretching my legs a bit. There's no room to run on that bird, and the treadmill Miranda fixed up for me gets a bit tedious after the hundredth kilometer of staring at the same patch of wall."

Linda nodded in agreement, removing Kelly's jacket from where the other woman threw it over her head. "I suppose we ought to count ourselves lucky those boys on Santo turned out to be filth," she said. "Give us some more time in the dirt while John makes his shifty dealings."

"Hey, my dealings are as honest as they come," John defended himself. He paused a moment before adding, "It ain't my fault folk in this 'Verse is so darned dishonest. I'm as straight a shooter as Linda."

Linda looked at him, one crimson eyebrow raised in a way that meant nothing but trouble for the person it was turned upon. "You've either impugned my aim or told a blatant lie to my face, captain, neither of which endears you much to me. Fred's out ahead of the group a ways – maybe you ought to go and bug him instead."

John thought about arguing that she had no right to tell him to leave, that he wasn't challenging anyone's aim, or that he wasn't afraid of her. Instead, he made the smart choice – for once – and increased his pace to get away from the pair behind him.

Looking around, he remembered why he didn't enjoy spending time on Meridian. The wind blew nothing but dust through town, people noisily bustled through the streets, and the entire town seemed in a rush to be someplace else.

John didn't mind the rush. He wanted to be someplace else himself.

His crew, however, didn't seem to be in a hurry at all. As he walked down the wooden sidewalk, choking on dust and hefting a duffel bag weighed down by contraband firearms, he did his best to swallow the angry shouts to hurry up that kept creeping onto his tongue.

He swallowed hard when he practically tripped over Miranda, who had stopped cold in the middle of the walkway.

"Would you look at those?" the young girl said dreamily.

John followed her gaze to a window display on the other side of the street. Through the window a trio of young women modeled what John assumed were fine dresses. Miranda was particularly fixated on the dress in the middle – a massive, gaudy affair that looked more suited as a cake topper than as clothing.

"I like the fluffy one," she said, practically swooning. She held her arms out as though lifting a skirt from her legs and twirled in a dainty circle. "I've never seen such nice clothes before, except for Cortana's."

"We're not in any particular overabundance of time here," John muttered, trying to push the group along.

It didn't work.

Kelly caught up and stood beside Miranda to consult the display for a moment. "Too pink for my taste," she said after some contemplation. "And too many layers. I figure dresses are supposed to show off, not to cover up – if I wear a dress, it's got to have some slink to it."

Fred coughed loudly. John turned to the other man, but he was already whipping his face away from the group. Still, he wasn't fast enough to hide the faint pink that had crept into his cheeks.

"I like the ruffles," Miranda continued, oblivious to the rest of the 'Verse, "it gives a sense of sophistication. Why, if I had a dress like that, I'd –"

"You'd what?" John cut in gruffly. "Do yourself a waltz around the engine room? Just as well put a Gúta in that rig as a ship's mechanic."

Miranda's face fell, and the partial smirk Kelly wore since she'd made Fred choke on his own spit vanished. The woman put her arm around Miranda's shoulders and shoved past John, knocking into him with her shoulder as she went.

"We'll see you back at the ship, captain," she said coldly.

John blew out a gust of air. The look on Miranda's face was punishment enough, he didn't need Kelly's help to feel bad about what he'd said. All the same, he had no retort for her when she pushed past him down the dusty street. When he shot Fred a glance, the other man simply shrugged.

"If I were you, I wouldn't dawdle in making it up to her," Fred counseled. "The kid's cute, but she can hold a grudge."

John rolled his eyes, but knew his crewmate was right. He began to think about what he could do for the young girl, but his thoughts were derailed by a familiar chorus of metallic clicks behind him.

When he whipped around, he was greeted by the business end of half a dozen firearms.

"Fancy running into you here," said an all-too familiar voice from the center of the pack. Two of the larger men wielding SMGs parted just enough to allow a small, scruffy man in a worn shirt and sport coat to step in front of them. "Seems a lovely day for a little chat, don't you think?"

"I'd say it's an even lovelier day for you to screw off, Badger," John answered with as friendly a smile as he could muster.

Badger barked out a humorless laugh. "I'm sorry, my friend," he said, stepping in close to John. "Did I lead you to believe that I was asking?" With that, he shoved his way around John.

The captain weighed his options. Even with Fred, the odds that the two of them would be able to handle all of Badger's men weren't great; especially since they'd already been beaten to the draw. With a frustrated grunt, John wheeled himself around and followed Badger, Fred stepping into place beside him.

It was a short walk to Badger's dingy headquarters, and soon they were settled around a dusty table. Badger, in a rare show of generosity, stepped around the table pouring them cups of something from an old tea kettle.

John stared skeptically at the mystery brew in his cup before sliding it away from himself. "So, Badger, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

The man settled into the chair opposite John with a sigh. "Can't a man want to catch up with friends?" he asked in a voice that, coming from anyone else, might almost sound innocent.

"That only works if you have some friends to speak of," Fred grumbled.

Badger turned his eyes on Fred for a moment before shrugging. "I suppose you might be right – we ain't always been on the best of terms. But I've got something that might help us all see eye to eye a bit better. You see, there's this local who's got some property he wants to sell off-planet for a higher price."

"But the powers that be won't let him sell inter-planetary," John surmised.

Badger wagged a finger in John's direction. "Right you are. So it seems to me that what this fellow needs is a smuggler. Which is where you come in."

"You've got ships of your own," Fred grunted. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

The little man ginned with dirty teeth. "Well this man, you see he doesn't want to deal with me direct. Thinks he's fine and dandy to break the law, yet he doesn't want to associate hisself with the lawbreakers. Which is where a new ship from off-world and without my name on its lease comes in mighty handy."

John crossed his arms over his chest. "I seem to recall a few deals you and I have made in the past that didn't turn out so well after all was said and done. You're like to make a man a tad skittish to work with you when you operate your business that way." He dared to take a sip of the tea Badger poured him.

"Now there's the beauty of this little arrangement for you. You make the deal and take the money for the sale, take your own percentage out of it, and then bring me my cut. I'll cut you in 20% of the sales." Badger looked almost eager as he explained the idea.

John was surprised – he liked the sound of this deal.

Which in and of itself made him distrust it.

"You've sweetened this pot too much, Badger," he said, standing. "There's something you're hiding from me, and I don't much appreciate being lied to."

While Fred rose from the table behind him, Badger raced in front of them. "Alright, alright, fine," he grumbled. "It's this – the seller ain't exactly . . . human. He's a split-lip by the name of Sesa 'Refum."

John placed his hands on his hips, close to the gun holstered on his thigh. "You mean to tell me you want me to make a deal with a Covvie? Badger, I never thought I'd say this but you might actually be handsomer than you are smart."

"He ain't no Covvie," Badger defended, puffing out his chest defiantly. "Not anymore, at least. He got disillusioned, as it were. Split off from them some years back to strike out on his own."

John stalled for a moment – that did change things, if only slightly. And the money Badger was promising was good. He leaned forward, getting as close to Badger as he dared without being assaulted by the man's breath. "Then riddle me this: how do you plan to organize a meet with this guy if he won't even deal with you?"

"I know where he'll be. There's a party this very evening for all the rich and righteous members of society – the kind that they wouldn't let a businessman such as myself into, mind you. You couldn't buy a ticket to this thing for the price of a luxury corvette, but I've got me hands on a couple." Badger smiled, sensing that John's resolve was faltering.

John pinched the bridge of his nose before turning to Fred, who shrugged in the universal sign for why not?

After languishing in indecision for a while longer, a thought struck the captain. He turned back to Badger with a smile that turned out far more predatory than friendly.

"Fine," he said, "you've got yourself a ship. But if I'm doing this for you, you're going to do some things for me. First, you're paying full price for that duffel bag I've been toting around all morning, then you're going to find me a third invite."

He shared a glance with Fred, who immediately caught on to what John was thinking and smiled widely at the dismayed expression on Badger's face. "And one more thing," John added, wearing a smirk of his own. "You're paying for a new a dress."

John stared at the lavish ballroom's ornate, arched entrance, almost nervous to step through the doorway. Beyond the archway were flashing lights, laughing aristocrats, and a whole world to which he did not belong. He felt more at home outside with the coyotes than indoors with the high society.

The captain tugged nervously at his tie. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "I don't belong in places like this. I stand out like a whore in a nunnery."

"That's what you brought me along for," Cortana said, pulling his hand away from the ascot and straightening it for him.

Miranda bounded over to him from who-knew-where, grabbing his arm and hugging close to it. "Well sure, I'd bet Cortana's been to enough events like this to keep all our heads above water." She started tugging his arm toward the hall. "Come on, they're about to announce us! I ain't never been announced before."

John took a deep breath, then offered Cortana his other arm before stepping through the archway and into the alien world.

"Announcing Miss Cortana Serra, Miss Miranda Keyes, and escort!" a stuffy-looking man with a white pompadour declared from the entrance. No one paid them any attention, which was fine by John. His own focus was drawn to the ornate decorations strewn throughout the place.

Miranda skipped forward into the hall, so entranced by the decorations and the dancing that she nearly tripped over the skirts of the dress she had squealed about since the moment John gave it to her. "Oh, but ain't it pretty though?" she asked, taking in the entire scene with stars in her eyes.

"Sure, it's the whole kit and kaboodle," John grumbled. "Let's not get off-topic here. We're looking for a Sangheili goes by the name 'Refum. Sooner we find him and get this taken care of, the sooner we can get back to what we do best."

Miranda pointed to one corner of the room. "Is that him?" she asked.

Cortana stepped forward to follow Miranda's sight-line. "No," she said with a smile, "I believe that's the buffet table."

The young girl didn't turn to address either of them, still fixated on the table. "Well how will we know for sure unless we do some investigating on the matter?"

John sighed, muttering something along the lines of give me strength under his breath. "Fine, go investigate. But you better not eat yourself sick on all that chocolate. I don't want you ruining that dress we made Badger pay good money for."

Miranda whipped around, a smile practically consuming her entire face. "Yessir, captain!" she said exuberantly, and then bounded away like a happy circus tent with legs.

John turned back to the other socialites in the crowd. "He's supposed to be wearing a red sash," John said under his breath. "What on earth a split-lip has to do with a sash, I'll never know, but . . ."

"John," Cortana interrupted, "you look crazy talking to yourself like that." She joined him in scanning through the throngs of well-dressed and partly drunk partygoers for a moment, then turned and held out her hand to him.

"What are you doing?" John asked, eyeing her outstretched arm skeptically.

"This is a party," Cortana said with an exasperated smile. "The best vantage point is from the dance floor."

John groaned, staring at the ceiling again. He'd learned a few dances over the years on a suggestion from Maggie – so that he might stand a better chance at fitting in on such an occasion as this. That didn't mean he understood what he was doing, though, and it certainly didn't mean he felt comfortable doing it.

Still, Cortana had a point, so he took her hand and let her lead him onto the dance floor, apologizing in advance for her toes.

They took their positions as the band struck up a new song and began a slow waltz around the room in time with the rest of the dancers. John kept his gaze pointed at the people around him, searching for a red sash among the crowd.

He was distracted when he heard a gasp from his dance partner. When he looked down at her face he found it white as a sheet, her eyes fixed on something behind him.

"What's the matter?" he asked, trying to discreetly glance over his shoulder.

Cortana cleared her throat, giving her head a slight shake. "I just . . . recognize someone here." She kept her gaze fixed on John's chest now, resolutely avoiding his eyes and anyone else's.

The captain waited until the dance carried them to opposite positions so that he could properly scout out the area of the room that startled Cortana. To his shock, there was an Elite and what looked like two Kig-Yar servants.

"You were so familiar with this thing that you learned to recognize it on sight?" he asked, glaring in the Elite's direction. He hadn't meant it to, but his tone turned accusatory – just as it did with anyone who chose to consort with the Covenant over resisting them.

Cortana looked him directly in the eye, refusing to be cowed. "You and I learned to survive the Covenant differently, John. Not all of us had a ship to escape on."

They danced on in silence for a moment, the space between them now filled with tension. Finally the song ended and they broke apart.

"I see your man," Cortana said coldly, pointing dispassionately to a spot near the exit. "You'd better go and take care of your business."

"Might better," John answered, equally frosty. "This really ain't my kind of party."

Part of John wanted to say something – to apologize for how he spoke to her, or simply to follow her and ask for another dance so he could have time to come up with the right words.

The other part of him, the more stubborn part, turned his feet away and walked to the red sashed Sangheili.

"Sesa 'Refum," he said, extending a hand when he reached the Elite's side.

'Refum looked down through narrow eyes, slowly extending his hand to shake John's. "Do I know you?" he asked, his voice distrusting.

"No sir," John answered. "My name is John Reynolds, I captain a ship goes by the name Serenity. I tell you this because it's been brought to my attention you have some property you'd like to move off of Meridian."

The Sangheili made a quarter-turn toward the dance floor and away from John. "You must be mistaken. I am an honest dealer."

John stepped forward to reenter 'Refum's field of vision. "Seems to me there's nothing dishonest in getting your goods to those that need them," he pressed.

"So you worry for the needy," 'Refum responded, a note of humor in his voice. "And yet I have no doubt that you expect your own compensation in return for the service you offer." He paused, looking at the ceiling. "Whom do you represent?" he finally asked.

John hesitated. Badger wasn't likely to be a popular figure in this area. Still, 'Refum purported to value honesty, so a lie wouldn't garner a positive relationship with him. "Fellow called Badger," he answered.

'Refum turned again to the dance floor. "I know this Badger – I find him a psychotic lowlife."

"And I find that to be an insult to psychotic lowlifes the 'Verse over," John responded, "but this deal is solid."

'Refum looked John in the eye for the first time, and the captain made to press what small advantage he gained in the negotiation when he was interrupted by a sharp yelp elsewhere in the hall. He turned in the direction the noise came from, where he found Cortana with her elbow in the grip of the Sangheili John saw earlier.

"Your companion?" 'Refum asked. When John nodded, his hands immediately turning to fists, the Elite continued, "She seems to have run afoul of Let 'Volir. He is the type of scum that makes even Badger appear tolerable by comparison. Perhaps we should intervene."

John followed wordlessly behind as 'Refum confidently strode across the ornamented room toward Cortana.

"I should turn you in to the authorities," John heard 'Volir sneer through sharp teeth as they approached.

"You will do no such thing," 'Refum cut in forcefully. "You are an enemy of the Covenant as well. Most in this room are, and I assure you that they would not take kindly to your bringing our enemy to our doorstep."

'Volir glanced around, seeing the angry glares of everyone in the room. He dipped his head in a mocking deference to 'Refum. "As you say," he said loudly, then rounded on Cortana. "Perhaps, then, I will keep you here for myself. I'm sure I'll find some use for you."

"Unhand the kind lady 'fore this nice evening turns a little livelier," John warned through clenched teeth.

'Volir laughed derisively. "This one isn't worth your time fighting for," he sneered. "She once passed for a doctor, though now I doubt that she serves as much more than a common –"

His voice was replaced by the sound of John's fist connecting with his jaw. The Elite was taken so aback by the strike that he tumbled to the floor.

"Well," John said, turning an open smile to Cortana, "turns out this is my kind of party!"

'Volir surged to his feet, his strange jaws turned in what John assumed might have passed for a smile. "I accept," he snarled.

"Well that's good," John answered, though his bravado faltered at the end. "You accept what now?"

One of 'Volir's Kig-Yar servants stepped behind his master. "A challenge!" he declared, and any partygoers not yet attracted to the altercation stopped in their tracks to stare.

"You have taken on more than you're prepared for," 'Volir said, that imitation of a smile still adorning his face.

John stripped his waistcoat and began rolling up his long sleeves. "You're talking about a fight, then? That's fine by me, let's step outside."

Cortana stepped forward, placing a calming hand on John's chest. "That's not how things work here, John," she said quietly. "This is a Sangheili custom. You've just challenged Let 'Volir to a duel."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" John asked. "Doorman over there's got a whole mess of pistols – whatsay you and me take care of this issue right now?"

Ignoring him, the Jackal continued on, "The duel will be met tomorrow morning at the 'Volir Range." The creature gestured to John with a wave of his hand. "He will need a second. Who stands for this man?"

After a moment's contemplation, 'Refum stepped forward. "I accept the responsibility," he said gravely.

The Jackal nodded, satisfied, and turned to leave the room. Behind the servant, 'Volir remained just long enough to lean close to John and whisper, "I'm going to enjoy this."

The captain ignored 'Volir's taunts, instead turning to 'Refum. "My second?" he asked.

"Should you flee tonight, I will take up the duel in your stead. In truth," 'Refum added, pacing slow enough to allow John to fall into step beside him, "few could blame you for running. 'Volir is scum, but he is very skilled with a blade."

"John," Cortana said, grabbing at his elbow and pulling him aside, "Let 'Volir is dangerous. They'll put you in lodging tonight to keep you here – if you want to escape, we need to do it now."

"I've been in more than a few scrapes with a pistol and I've always managed to come out on top," John answered confidently.

"No, John," Cortana shook her head. "It's not that kind of duel. The Sangheili custom is to duel with a sword."

That left John speechless. He turned for a moment to stare at the open door to the banquet hall, before turning back to 'Refum. "You being my second, that mean we're doing business together?"

The Sangheili smirked. "It means that I find Let 'Volir to be reprehensible, and the fact that you publicly damaged his pride has raised my esteem for you somewhat. Should you survive tomorrow, which seems to me unlikely, we shall discuss your transporting my cargo." Without another word, he turned and left the room.

John nodded. "Sounds to me like we have a plan, then. There's just one thing left to do."

Cortana crossed her arms over her chest, observing him with one eyebrow raised. "What's that?" she asked skeptically.

John rubbed the back of his neck bashfully, staring at the floor. Finally, he raised his eyes to meet Cortana's. "I have to learn how to use a sword."