Downtime

by Douglas Moran

Simon is convinced that Jayne cleans his guns more often than he cleans himself.

Jayne sat at the table in the common room, working his way through his pistols. Wednesday it's pistols. Friday, small automatic rifles. On Monday, he takes care of his sniper rifles. Checks his ordinance on Tuesday.

Vera gets all day Saturday to herself, but none of the crew knowed that. Jayne only takes care of Vera in his room. Unless he's gettin' sexed. Vera is special, but she ain't that special.

Simon watched Jayne out of the corner of his eye as he moved around the kitchen fixing lunch for himself and River. Protein stew? He's tired; maybe just ramen noodles and protein, with some of that new Blue Sun flavoring they picked up on Beaumonde. Simon shrugged. Couldn't be worse than the time Jayne accidentally dropped a can of gun oil into that pot of chicken protein soup. Simon knew they were sometimes short of rations, but he still thought that Mal was being a little extreme by insisting they eat it.

"Don't worry, Doc; that oil goes right on through ya. Won't hurt nothin'."

As if a doctor didn't already know that. . .

In the long pulls through the Black between worlds, sometimes even the dinosaurs aren't enough.

The course is set and the nav is locked in. Nothing's on radar. No Alliance nearby. Nothing on radio. Really, he should be down in his cabin with Zoe; there's nothing to do up here. But she's still pretty beat after that last job, so he came up here to give her a chance to rest up and get himself some quiet time, be alone with Serenity and the Black.

But now, damn, he's bored out of his mind.

He looked sideways at T-Rex on the console. Naw; he's just not in the mood now. There was that alteration to the entry jet control units that he and Kaylee had been talking about; he hadn't liked how Serenity had handled that last atmo injection just before their last job. Kaylee'd been complaining about the entry couplings to Mal for months, but Wash knew something was going to have to blow up or fall off before Mal fixed it. Mal would spring for fuel--God forbid they not have enough fuel so that Mal could run 'em from place to place--but maintenance? In Mal's mind, "maintenance" fell under the heading of "Have Kaylee Fix It," and don't bother tryin' to tell him anything else. Duct tape, rubber bands, and chopsticks. Hope Kaylee didn't run out of them. Or the duct tape, at least.

Wash leaned against the radar panel and put his chin in his hand. He didn't want to work, anyway. Kaylee might like to be covered with grease all the time, but if Wash wasn't flying, he'd rather just be with Zoe. And without Zoe around, well . . .

He picked up Brontosaur. "Ah ha! You have forgotten my incredible ability to scheme, connive, and otherwise, um, fake you out!"

"Oh no!" replied T-Rex. "Another cliché rising from what seemed to be but was obviously a faked death! I stand aghast!"

Back on Osiris, River had hated it when guests visited. Not because she hated the guests--she kind of liked having new people around--but because it meant she had to share a room. She hated sharing a room. She liked having her own room.

Or had, at least, until the Academy.

Now she shared a small room with Simon--small compared to their rooms at home, anyway--and as far as she was concerned, the whole crew could bunk in there with them and she would be happy. Even Jayne. Well, if he took a shower, anyway. River supposed that it was hard for Jayne to stay clean onboard; he was a big man, and there wasn't that much water to go around, , even if it was all recycled through the ship's systems. Three pounds of food, four of water, and thirty-four pounds of air each needed for each person per day. That's a lot of supplies. Good thing Serenity could recycle things so well, and the protein food supplements went so far considering their size and mass, otherwise they'd have to fill the cargo hold with supplies just to get from planet to planet. Even with a cargo hold carrying volume of 460 tons, more than a ton of supplies for every week would have put a strain on Serenity. Where would they have put the cows?

'Most everyone liked to shower every day, but even at 50 gallons an hour, nine people could go through a lot of water just for drinking. And the heating. Serenity may be creaky-cracky, but Kaylee kept that engine running shiny. Still a strain, though, if everyone wanted hot water at once. Air heating, water heating, not enough BTUs.

"BTU," said River to the empty room. "Abbreviation. Not an acronym; acronyms are pronounced as words, like RADAR. British thermal unit."

Why British? British Empire, probably. Probably one of those stupid measures, like a yard being the distance from your thumb to your nose, or an acre being the amount one man with one horse could plough in a day. Silly measurement. Makes as much sense as "feet." She admired her feet for a moment. Dancer's feet. She enjoyed dancing. Not enough dancing on this ship. Kind of boring, actually, between jobs, not on planets. She missed the cows. They scared her on board, but at least they made the ship feel more full.

Mal might have been surprised how similar his feelings of comfort from having that cargo were to River's.

She really did wish everyone would crowd into the room. Maybe crowded, but not boring. Maybe at bedtime. Maybe Simon wouldn't mind too much. At least Kaylee would be in the room with him, too. But after they played; not now. At bed time. Nighttime.

"Artificial diurnal/nocturnal cycle simulated by raising and lowering the ships lights on a fixed schedule predetermined by the captain or other member of the crew with access to the ship's administrative systems," River said.

But it was too early for bed now, so inviting everyone into the bunk wouldn't be reasonable. And she wanted to be reasonable, even though sometimes, with all them inside, it was hard. Well, Kaylee was probably free. There weren't too many repairs she could do right now, and she spent too much time in the engine room as it iswas. Maybe they could play something other than jacks this time, though; Kaylee hadn't been too keen on it since the last time River had gotten twelvesies.

River swept to her feet and walked out of the room, passing a still-irritated Simon going the other way.

"River! Where are you going?" said Simon.

"To see if Kaylee can play hopscotch, 'cause Jayne doesn't shower enough, and Mal hasn't bought the entry couplings yet."

There was a long moment and then Simon, as he so often did when he was not actually trying to diagnose what was going on, mentally shrugged and gave up. "OK. Just remember to be in time for dinner."

River rolled an eye at him. As if she'd forget to eat. Honestly, sometimes she worried about him. "Bye!" she said brightly, and skipped off.

The door to the Shepherd's bunk was closed, but River didn't notice as she went up the stairs.

Book kissed the stole and put it over his head. It was really too early for Nones, but on this ship, Shepherd Book had learned to pray the orders when he had the chance, not exactly on the dot. And besides, he was on a ship in the Black, for Heaven's sake; it's not like Pope Gregory would rise from the grave, materialize in Book's bunk from his Earth-that-was afterlife, and berate him for sinning. Not to mention that Book's order didn't follow medieval Catholic dogma, anyway. But Book tried to, for the most part, simply as a matter of discipline and meditation. Though he had to admit that he rarely got up for Matins or Lauds; Book had a hard time believing that the Lord wanted him ministering to folks with his eyes droopy from lack of sleep from getting up at 3am. Or 5am, for that matter. No sense being fanatical, even if you're a Shepherd.

He reached for his missal and then stumbled slightly as the ship lurched. What now?

"<Damn it>!" Mal dropped the book he was reading. The crew didn't much think on it, and Mal didn't advertise it, 'cause some folks--like Jayne--would get the wrong idea if they knew, but Mal read quite a bit. Not a lot of the fancy schoolin' his Ma had forced on him had much stuck, but he had gotten the habit young, and now it was on his back like that damn monkey folks carry on about. But no one stayed in his cabin for long--well, no one worth mentionin', anyway--and so he was able to keep it under wraps, mostly. Accept Except for Inara, and that woman kept more secrets than a 'Lliance computer system; he didn't worry overmuch about Inara knowin'. "Discreet" was probably invented with her in mind.

And he certainly wasn't goin' to tell 'em about the calligraphy. Saffron or whatever-her-name-was may have thought he bought those pieces--or lifted 'em--but fact was, he was a handy man with a brush, even if he didn't practice as much as some. Gave a man a little peace, and was somethin' to do on those long pulls through the Black, 'tween jobs. He wasn't the meditating type, that was sure. But making something, now, he had a mind that there was something in that, even if he wasn't sure what it was. Beat listenin' to the Shepherd prattle on about faith, anyway. 'Sides, reckon all that practice with a brush gave him a better touch with his pistol. Man needed all the advantages he could get, all the people wandering the sky as they was nowadays.

Them Earth-that-was maps and history books, now, the crew probably wouldn't be all that surprised about them. But Mal readin' Shakespeare or something? Tellin' 'em that it was just 'cause he found "Taming of the Shrew" funny? No, that wasn't gonna fly with them. He could just hear what Wash would say, not to mention Jayne. Zoe wouldn't care, but still, best hold your cards close to your chest on such things as that. Best hold your cards close in general, really.

He rubbed the back of his head, took two strides over to the other side of his cabin, and hit the monitor switch with an unaimed but well-practiced whack.

"Wash! What the <merciless hell> was that?"

"Not sure, Mal. Hadn't been reading anything in the area, and we weren't picking up any radio traffic, so I'm pretty confused myself."

"Well, get yourself unconfused; I'll be up there in a minute." Mal reached across and grabbed his gun. Strapping it around his waist, he headed for the stairs.

"Zoe!"

Zoe was already fully dressed and strapping her cut-down shotgun onto her leg. She had been in the military far too long to sleep through the ship lurching, and had jumped up and started pulling herself together as soon as she felt it. Wash's voice on the intercom followed her up the ladder and into the front hall on her way to the bridge. Mal wouldn't expect her to come up to the bridge, but then again he would; she knew he liked having her around for backup whenever something unexpected happened. And what was more unexpected than havin' something bump you so hard in the middle of empty Black that it took a second for the dampers to settle down? He'd want her there.

She had been asleep, sound asleep. Sleep, that's what a veteran looks for in her spare time. In the time of war--hell, even in peace--it always seemed like she was two weeks short on sleep. Ever since basic. When there was free time, she would cork off.

A'course, with Wash around, sometimes that wasn't possible. For one thing, he was hilarious to be around, and often kept her awake just from bein' funny. And that man did love to talk. She never was much of one for talking, until Wash came along. With him, though, she could talk. Somehow he just seemed to pull it out of her; she didn't quite know how.

For another thing, well, he was one damn sexy man. She was a woman, wasn't she? Women had needs, same as men. Soldiers even more so. Or so it seemed to her, anyway.

Not that Wash seemed to mind that.

Mal was hovering over Wash when she climbed onto the bridge. Something was odd, that was sure.

"What is it, sir?"

Mal shook his head. "Dunno," Wash said. "We're still not picking up anything, but there's something there sure." He waved his hand vaguely at the front port, and Zoe's jaw slackened, just a little.

It was a ship. Not as big as an Alliance cruiser, sure, but way too big to sneak up on them without Wash picking something up. If there wasn't anything wrong with the ships systems. Which there always was. But still.

"It looks like an Alliance ship, but I've never seen a make like this before," said Wash. "Nothing in our records on it, but it's kind of got that look, you know?"

"I thought we were out of Alliance territory," Zoe said.

"We are," said Mal. "But we ain't so far out on the Rim that they’re not going to be here at all. Even so, I was havin' Wash fly us a little out of our way, so's to give 'em a little wagon room." He waved out the port. "Shouldn't ought to be here. But here they are. And here we are."

"They hailed us yet?"

"Not yet," said Wash. "And that's pretty strange all on its own."

Mal shook his head and walked over to the intercom. He flipped the switch. "Jayne," he said, "We got Alliance near. You want to take care not to do anythin' foolish." He clicked off and turned to Zoe. "I want you to go to the Doc and tell him to get to 'nara's shuttle like we spoke on the other day. Inara'll know what to do."

"Yes sir." Zoe left, not running, but moving fast.

"Kaylee," Mal said on the 'com to the engine room, "You be ready to give us a full burn, just in case."

"Will do, Captain," her bright voice came through.

There was a silence, then Wash turned to Mal. "So, we going to just wait, or what?"

Mal narrowed his eyes, still watching the ship through the port. Then he seemed to shake himself and looked around at Wash. "Fella once said," Mal replied, "Audacity, always audacity." He motioned Wash aside and moved to sit down in front of the vid panel. Wash stood up, looking worried.

"What, you're going to call them? Not wait for a hail?" Wash sounded incredulous. Mal didn't usually make an effort to seek out the Alliance, to put it mildly.

"You sure that's smart, Mal? I mean, you're not always the calmest guy when we're meeting up with Alliance folk, you know," Jayne said, having come up onto the bridge behind them.

"I coulda sworn I told you to not doing anything foolish, Jayne."

Jayne shrugged, completely unembarrassed. "Figure you could keep me from foolishness just as well up here. 'Sides, I didn't want to miss out on anything."

Mal gave up and was turning back to the pilot's chair when Book came up onto the bridge.

"What is this, a prayer meetin'? What are you doin' here, Shepherd?" Mal exclaimed.

"I thought I might be able to provide a bit of calm advice, should the need come, Captain."

"You reckon I'm just going to go off half-cocked at these folks?" Mal said.

Shepherd Book's slow look took in Mal's long brown coat, his service gun with his hand hovering right over the handle, and Mal's angry expression, and lifted his eyebrows. "Now, why would I think a thing like that?"

Mal started to make a sharp retort, then snorted out a quick laugh. "Reckon you might come in handy at that." He waved everyone out of sight of the vid camera. "Y'all stay clear; no need lettin' them know how many we got aboard."

Book tapped Mal. "Just remember, son; they bumped us. We didn't notice them, no proximity alarm, nothing at all. Could be they're not out here . . . legitimately. Or at least might not be eager to advertise their presence."

Mal gave him a searching look, then nodded. "Could be a good notion at that; I'll keep it in mind." He finally took the pilot's seat and flipped the vid camera switch. There was a spark and some smoke, but it powered up just fine. Mal flicked the switch that hailed the other ship and said over his shoulder, while waiting for the vid to heat up, "Don't worry none; I promise to be real diplomatic-like."

Simon and River's steps rang on the gangway outside the shuttle as Inara prepared herself. She tried to treat it as an interesting intellectual challenge; to show any people boarding the ship and wanting to see her shuttle that she was indisposed. To imply a client without naming him; to imply a relationship without actually stating it; to deny the presence of fugitives without an outright lie. Companions are trained in conversation, telling clients the things to relax and help them enjoy their time, being witty without being overbearing; being clever without being pedantic or dull. What it meant in these situations was, to put it baldly, the artful verbal dodge, the dancing around the truth without denying the truth. Or stating it, for that matter.

And Simon. Simon was hardly a blushing virgin, but he was young, he was relatively inexperienced, and he was far out of his element. Being thrown in with a professional Companion of high rank; he would be nervous. How to relax Simon and reassure him, without at the same time revealing that theirs was not a typical Companion/client relationship to any gendarmes who might come aboard. Certainly an interesting challenge, which she could have appreciated much more if she wasn't so nervous.

Sometimes that the was thing that bothered her the most about being out here; the unexpected bouts of nervousness. Companions, as one of her teachers had often said during a practice session at the training house, were not nervous; clients were nervous.

She had been practicing her music when Serenity had told them all of the presence of the Alliance ship by her unexpected lurch. Not the dulcimer, although she knew how to play. Inara favored the oboe, a much more difficult and subtle woodwind than, say, the saxophone. For certain clients, she also played samisen, but while she had a flair for it, it was not her preference. She also knew keyboard and had a rollup for when the mood struck her, but on the whole preferred harpsichords and pianos and, as the shuttle lacked room for either, tended to stick to the oboe.

After all these years, Inara of course required little practice beyond that needed to keep her skills sharp. Even so, there were certain tasks that she relished, and others that she merely practiced for the purposes of discipline and duty. She enjoyed the yoga, the meditation, the music, the dance. She found the histories of the various worlds and moons almost endlessly fascinating, if sometimes brutal and repellant. But she could live without studying the constant updates on how to behave in "polite" society on more than a dozen planets and moons. Or the political situations on Londinium, Osiris, Sihnon, and the other core worlds. Or the Guild scheming and politics that, while she had forcibly and deliberately removed herself from it, she still had to keep abreast of, if only in self-defense.

Every time these unexpected "visits" occurred, Inara wondered what her role would be this time. The respectable Companion, well known throughout the Core worlds, and often asked to serve as--yes, it was true--Serenity's ambassador to polite society? Or would she be forced to use, as Mal put it, her "wiles," the member of a crew of mercenaries, thieves, and fugitives who tended to avoid the legal when they could, and paid fines or just plain ran away when they couldn't? She wondered what her teachers at the training house would say if they saw her training a gun on a woman in a trash bin in order to secure the theft of a valuable historical artifact, or helping a former rebel, known thief, and all-around brigand fence stolen goods? What would they say if they saw her using her years of training and patient, endless practice to fool Alliance officials into thinking she was the owner of indentured slaves? Or the many other things she had done in her role as "crew," rather than Companion?

Somehow, she didn't think they would approve.

Still and all, she preferred it to constant parties on Persephone, or the gossip and infighting and scheming that happened on any of the Core planets. She missed it sometimes, certainly, and many times the other members of the crew drove her crazy. Well, Jayne and Mal, mostly. Very well: Mal. Something about him just. . .bothered her. She didn't know what. But when she thought of what she would have missed . . . when she thought of leaving Serenity herself, she knew she had made the right decision those months ago. Even thought it could be so hard here, sometimes.

Simon rapped softly on the door frame, but River--as was her wont--burst right in.

"We're here to pretend to have sex!" River said.

Simon flushed. "We're here to hide, River. The sex part is just, um . . ."

River turned on Simon abruptly, an angry teacher remonstrating a favored but somewhat-slow pupil. "By pretending to have sex, Simon! This is a Companion's shuttle! This," she pointed at Inara, "is a Companion!' We have to pretend to have sex to hide!" She shook her head and turned from Simon, favoring Inara with one of her sudden and brilliant smiles. Inara couldn't help smiling in return. "So, what first? Do we need to take off our clothes? I'm not wearing any shoes." River bent over at the waist and touched her feet.

Still smiling, Inara spoke to River in order to give Simon a chance to recover himself. "Just Simon and I will be pretending, River. You're to hide in the emergency space suit over there." Inara pointed to a worn and dilapidated suit hanging in the corner. ("All two-person shuttles are required to have two emergency suits good for no fewer than four hours of external wear in vacuum," Inara had read in the shuttle's stained, torn, and crumpled manual many months ago after she had paid her first month's rent and taken possession. At the time, she had looked at the one--not two--suit hanging in the shuttle emergency supply closet and reckoned that a suit of Japanese bamboo armor, circa 1600, would keep hypoxia and asphyxiation at bay better than this particular patched, worn, and well-ventilated rubber-like object in front of her.)

River tilted her head to the side, walked two steps toward the suit, stopped, and stared at it. After a few moments contemplation she said without turning, "I hope we don't lose atmo while I'm in it; it doesn't look safe."

Inara laughed, waited a beat, and then turned to Simon, who she sensed had gotten himself back together enough. She gave him a warm smile, the kind that both soothed and invited confidences. "Come, Simon. It won't be so bad. And think of what a wonderful story it will make someday." She pressed the shuttle door switch, and it slid shut and locked behind him. Simon smiled wanly back at her, and then allowed her to lead him over toward the bed by the hand.

The lights, ordinarily bright, were dimmed to reflect the call to battle stations. All the panels on the command deck were gleaming and polished. Everyone wore a uniform. There was little movement, but what there was was purposeful, swift, and understated. Captain Nguyen--hardy a young captain on his first deep cruise into the Black, but a grizzled vet of the Unification War, a man who had rank high enough for a desk job on an inner planet with a nice estate to go with it, but had been called to command this particular ship on this specific mission--stared at the screen.

Alliance attack ship IAV Shenzhen didn't have ports or windows. What would they do with windows, anyway, Nguyen wondered, roll them down and look for road signs?

"What are they doing here?" Nguyen asked. "Any ideas, Carstairs?" [pronounced just like it reads: “car-stairs”]

"No sir," answered his exec. "This part of the Rim was chosen specifically to avoid this kind of thing." He waved a hand at one of the panels. "Those Firefly-class hulks are everywhere out here, though, sir. If we were run into, I'm not surprised it's one of them."

Nguyen shook his head. "<Fucking> bad luck, though." He thought for a moment. "Hmmph. I supposed they've noticed us by now; we're practically sitting on top of them. Why the hell didn't we notice them?" He turned around and looked at Carstairs, who looked uncomfortable.

"You're right sir; unforgivable breech. Definitely embarrassing on our test cruise, even if we were running our full-stealth mode test pattern."

"Radar?"

"Passive mode only, sir. Didn't pick them up."

"Proximity alert?"

"Appears to have malfunctioned, sir."

Nguyen sighed. "I don't suppose I should even bother running through the other systems that should have detected that piece of <junk> before we actually banged into it, should I?"

"Well, it is a shakedown cruise, sir."

"Don't get smart with me, Carstairs."

"Sorry, sir."

Nguyen pulled off his cap and ran his hand through his hair. Hell, maybe they should have some windows. He could just imagine the scene with the top brass. "To avoid detection and ramming by Firefly-class junkers in the future, Admiral, I would recommend we retrofit our new stealth attack models with windows, and assign men to peer out of them and sing out if they see anything." Yes indeed, that would go over well.

"Well, I suppose we had better. . ." he was interrupted by a flashing light on the comm officer's panel, backed up by an alarm.

"Ship's signaling, sir," the comm officer said.

Nguyen lifted his eyebrows. "Well, let's see what they want, then, shall we Lu?"

Mal looked at the smooth-shaven, crew-cutted and capped face on the grimy vid screen. Hell, kid probably didn't even need to shave yet. Mal put on his company smile.

"Howdy," he said to the Alliance officer. "Looks like we've had a bit of a run-in with your boat. How about that?"

The officer looked at him, nonplussed. There was some muttering in the background on the Alliance boat, and then the image changed to a guy more Mal's age. Dark hair, dark eyes, bit of a Sihnon look to 'im, Mal thought. Professional. Mal dropped the smile. He might not like them 'Liance folk overmuch, but he'd rather deal with a pro than some downy-cheek kid still green as fresh paint.

"Well, Captain, that would appear to be the case," Captain Nguyen responded. "May I ask what you folks are doing out here? Not exactly along the standard trade routes, are we? You're a transport, are you not?"

Mal flashed a quick smile. "Well now, that might be the case at that. My pilot's been known to nod off on occasion and add a few extra miles to our trip." There was an intake of breath behind Mal, and then an "oof" as, apparently, Jayne's elbow connected with Wash's stomach to stop an outburst. Mal kept his expression bland. "And this ol' boat's got a lotta miles on her, too; nav system a little wonkity." He gave a sly look to the other Captain. "Not all shiny and <high tech> as you folks no doubt have on board your very new and interesting boat, I'm guessin'." He leaned back in his seat a bit. "'Sides, you look to be a mite off course yourselves. Do we need to render any aid or such?"

Captain Nguyen regarded Mal thoughtfully, then turned to Carstairs.

"Name's Serenity, sir," Carstairs said quietly. "We're accessing computer records on the crew, but it looks to be just another of those tramp transports that scratches a living out here." He cocked his head. "They often have contraband on board. Shall we initiate a search? Hold them?"

Nguyen looked at his exec incredulously. Yes, of course he could have the boat searched. And they would probably find illegal goods on board. Knowing some of the people out here, there was a good chance of stolen items as well. But then he imagined what happened as the paperwork made its way through the system. We send you out on a test mission on our newest stealth ship, Nguyen, and you bump into an old Firefly? Was your whole damn crew asleep? And then you searched her, made an official report? Have you lost your mind?

He had an exemplary record, so he didn't think he'd end up out on some backwater beyond the Rim, in charge of a squad of grunts guarding cargo loads being transshipped from one hick port to another. But they'd be tempted. And wouldn't Williamson love to catch him on something like this? The ambitious <bastard>.

Nguyen turned back to his vid camera and gave Mal his professional smile.

"Well, Captain, I do apologize for us running into each other in this very abrupt way. But no harm done. We don't read any damage or hull breach on board your ship, and we're just fine here." He leaned forward and gave Mal a very significant look. "I'm sure we both would like to get back to what we were doing with a minimum of fuss, don't you?"

Mal favored Nguyen with a crooked smile. "Well, that's probably a fact there, Captain. Reckon it would be good for us to make up for lost time at that. So long as we don't have anythin' further to discuss, perhaps I should be pushing on."

Nguyen nodded at Mal, and then turned from the vid camera to someone out of sight. The camera flicked off. Mal and the rest of the crew on the bridge watched as the ship, which was barely visible against the sky around, backed slowly away from Serenity, turned, and moved off.

Mal turned hit the switch on the vid screen, which flickered four or five times before shutting off. Got to remind Kaylee to take care of that, Mal thought. He got up and let Wash resume the pilot's seat and walked over to the intercom. Although he wasn't sure, Mal had the distinct impression that ol' Captain Purplebelly there was just as pleased as he was to--how was it the Doc had put it that time?--"avoid any entanglements." Mal shook his head. Hell, probably worried what some brass hat will think when he sees the ding Serenity made in that fancy ship o' theirs. Never mind. Do the job. Keep flyin'. He clicked the intercom to the shuttle.

"We're good, Inara," he said. "You can tell the Doc to pull on his pants and head back to the Infirmary; they're movin' off."

"Thank you, Mal," Inara replied. Mal heard Simon muttering something in the background, and grinned just before he clicked off. He punched up the com to the engine room.

"Okay, Kaylee," Mal's voice said over the intercom. "Reckon that's all for now. Thanks."

"Shiny, Cap'n." Kaylee turned away from the engine and back to her cubby. River had been wrong; she wasn't working on the engines, or anything else in there. She was working on a special little something for Serenity. They had been on Regina, and Cap'n was in a hurry, as usual, so she had stayed on board, thinking that she might do some work on the ‘atmo system, or maybe try to redirect some of the excess heat that her engine put out on full burn so's it stayed in the system somehow, 'stead'a radiating out into space. Not enough hot water, and we're just throwing away good energy like that; it was crazy. Must be something she could do to rechannel it somehow. Bypass the engine recirc values, maybe. She wanted to poke around a bit, anyway.

Then she was walking through the common room, on the way back from the air lock, and noticed the vines she had painted there so long ago. It put her in mind of that little sittin' area outside the infirmary, where sometimes she would set with Simon and some others. It had some comfies, sure, but it was still pretty bare.

Kaylee didn't have a lot of hobbies, truth to tell. She was still pretty young, and those long pulls through the Black, well, she did spend a lot of time with Serenity, makin' her run smooth, keeping her company. Wasn't that she didn't like people company; a'course she did. Heck, that's kinda how she got this job, come to think on it. She wished she could go to more parties like that fancy on Persephone, and that was the truth. But the steady hum of Serenity's engine was more soothing to her than almost anything she could recollect, and so half the nights found her in her hammock in the engine room, 'stead 'a her bunk in her cabin. Though she did like her cabin, now as she had some pretties to nicin' it up a bit. And she thought the lights around the door was a nice touch, too. Added some life to that corridor, which could get pretty dark and grim, if you was to notice it. And not that she wouldn't mind spendin' more time in a proper bunk, if there were good reason. There just hadn't been much good reason, lately.

So now she was fixin' up a little something to make the lounge a bit nicer for the passengers. Simon, too, a'course; but all the passengers, really. And if Simon noticed that new light, the one what was making it so much more comfy in there, why, she didn't mind takin' credit. Or credit for the little paper and bamboo roses that she was making to put in a vase in there, too. Mama always said flowers made a house a home, and while, no, paper and bamboo weren't exactly proper flowers, they were better than nothing. And once she got 'em all painted shiny like Inara had showed her how, they would look good in the light a' that new lamp she was making. Right next to that comfy sofa, the one that fit two people so nice.

She sat down in her hammock and picked up the bamboo and paper and glue again, a small smile on her face. River watched her from just outside the door. They could play hopscotch later, River supposed; she didn't want to interrupt Kaylee when she was doing something so sweet for Simon. Not that Simon would notice. River shook her head; whatever would she do with him?

* * *

Mal stood up and motioned Wash to his seat.

"Go on ‘n get us headin' back on course, Wash. And mind you keep your eyes open this time."

Wash snapped the wheel back into position, flipped a few switches, then turned on Mal and gave him a sour look. "I think they ran into us, Mal. Being as how they were flying some kind of double-secret Alliance stealth ship and all."

Mal grinned. "Well, maybe they should poke a couple'a holes in that <fancy-pants (or the equivalent)> ship a' theirs, and put in a couple a' windows next time." He laughed a bit at what he viewed as "typical 'Liance stupidity." "Pricey ship like that, and they can't even see us comin' right at 'em. Don't know how they manage."

Jayne had been cleaning his fingernails with his knife, which he slipped back into its holster, snapping the strap over it. "'spect they got a body-shop or some such to take care of it, no problem."

Mal ignored Jayne and turned to walk off the bridge, but Zoe was coming up the gangway.

"So," said Wash, heaving out a breath and then turned around to look at Zoe, "Still need a little rest?"

"Uh huh."

Wash's face dropped. Zoe gave him a slow smile that made his heart lurch in his chest, and his smile answered hers.

"But," she continued, "I was gettin' kind of lonely down there."

Wash lifted his eyebrows.

"Also, bored."

"Well, what do you think I can do about that?"

Still smiling, Zoe pulled him to his feet. "What say we find out?"

Wash climbed to his feet and headed for the gangway. "Permission to leave the bridge, sir?" he said over his shoulder as he walked through the hatch.

"You ever stopped when I said no before?" Mal said.

"Thank you, sir," came Zoe's voice over the clank of the hatch to their quarters being opened. Mal grinned.

"Well, Cap'n, so long as that's all settled, I was kinda in the middle of somethin'. And you," he sJayne said turning to Simon, who had just pushed past Wash and Zoe, and was a bit red in the face. Jayne whacked him on the back so hard that Simon staggered a bit, "Ain't it your turn to cook dinner again?"

"But I cooked last night!"

"Guess maybe you oughta get better at poker then, hey, Doc?" Jayne laughed and headed back for the common room. Damn gun parts were probably all over the floor, what with all that lurchin' around. He sighed.

Book glanced at his watch; too late for Vespers, but maybe he could squeeze in Compline before Simon got dinner made. Simon hadn't moved yet, so Book patted him gently on the shoulder.

"Well, son, now you can see that gambling is not only sinful, but for you it's probably a bad idea as well."

"But you were in the same game, Shepherd!"

Book smiled gently. "It's critically important for a Shepherd to have as full an understanding as possible of what his flock must go through, in order to help them resist in, shall we say, more critical matters." He patted Simon again. "If you come by my bunk before you commence dinner, I believe that I still have some of my private stock of that Tony Cochere's Seasoning that we picked up when last we were on the Core Planets." His smile grew wider. "Nothing like Cajun seasoning to cover up a multitude of culinary sins, eh?" He turned and left the bridge. Simon dropped his gaze to the deck and followed slowly.

Mal, dropped down in the pilot's chair and leaned back. And he had really been looking forward to finishing that book, too.