Firefly - Aim to Misbehave E-Book

Rosiee Thor

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Serie: Firefly
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 392

Beschreibung

The ninth exhilarating and original Firefly novel tying into the critically acclaimed and fan-beloved series, from creator Joss Whedon, follows Mal, Book and the rest of the crew mounting a madcap heist to untangle themselves from a sinister web of lies on a backwater moon. Stranded and Broke It all started with the geese. The Firefly crew is eager to get paid for their latest job, but when payment arrives as a gaggle of geese instead of a purse, their stay on the planet Brome gets an indefinite extension. Don't matter that the geese will fetch a pretty penny once they get somewhere to sell them. Without coin, they can't buy fuel, and without fuel, they can't get off-world. Serenity is stuck. A Figure from the Past Luckily the foreman of the local fuel refinery, Lyle Horne, wants to hire them, but not to work in the factory. A philanthropic authority known as The Governess has been kidnapping his workers. Lyle's fixing to get them back— with the help of Mal and his crew. Only trouble is, Lyle's got a mysterious past with Shepherd Book, one the preacher ain't too keen to talk about. Plans Go Awry Out of options and out of time, they launch a three-pronged plan: Mal will break into her fortress of an estate to retrieve the workers, Inara and Simon will pose as potential donors to the Governess's charity as a distraction, and Jayne will stay behind to keep an eye on Lyle. But things never do go smooth, and soon the crew finds they have more than a few geese running amuck on Serenity.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Leave us a Review

Copyright

Dedication

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Acknowledgements

About the Author

AIM TO MISBEHAVE

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Firefly: Aim to Misbehave

Hardback edition ISBN: 9781789098396

E-book edition ISBN: 9781789098433

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

www.titanbooks.com

First edition: November 2024

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

© 2024 20th Television. All Rights Reserved

Rosiee Thor asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

For fallen friends and those still flying.

Henry Evans didn’t like God. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe, just that he didn’t have much proof that God liked him either. All these years, and the big man upstairs hadn’t done much to make his life better. Despite his imagined mutual disdain, every so often Henry got the distinct feeling he was being watched, and not by the raccoons patrolling the dark back alleys of Patrick, capital city of the planet Valentine.

“You’re late,” he said into the night.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Henry turned to face the direction of the voice just as the familiar figure of Lyle Horne stepped into the dim light of the alley behind Scatter Shot, the once bustling but now derelict tavern where they’d made their hideaway.

“Know exactly when I’m coming.” Lyle was not a tall man, but what he lacked in height he made up for in sheer magnetism. A sly smile twisted his lips and a flicker of gold caught in the hazel of his eyes. “It’s like you’re some kind of oracle.”

“I’m just observant,” Henry said, and uncrossed his arms, the tension in his muscles unspooling at the sight of his partner. Truth was, he’d mistaken some native possum-type creature for Lyle just a few minutes earlier, but he wasn’t about to tell him that. Let him think Henry was impressive once in a while. “So, what kept you?”

“I don’t know if I like the path this narrative’s takin’. You’re late, what keptyou… You know I don’t keep a schedule, Hevans.”

“Your relationship with time is rather fluid, yes.”

“All my relationships are.”

“You gonna tell me what you got or keep me guessing?” It’d been a week since their last job and Henry was getting a tad nervous. They didn’t sit and wait, he and Lyle. That wasn’t their way. It was much harder to hit a moving target, and Henry and Lyle hadn’t stopped moving since they’d started up together a few months back. When the next job hadn’t lined up, Henry had thought it might be a welcome break from all the action, but that was six days ago and he wasn’t breathing any easier.

Henry motioned Lyle inside the abandoned tavern. Splintered wood stuck up from the floorboards, and a large ceiling beam had split the counter in two—a safety hazard if Henry had ever seen one. It was better this way, though. No one would come looking for a couple of lowlifes in a dried-up watering hole.

“Got us a job,” Lyle said, his grin as wide as his big-brimmed hat. “Well, got us some loot.”

“And you got us a buyer, I hope?”

“Surely do.” Lyle drew out one of the more stable chairs and plopped down. “A potential buyer, anyway. We just gotta track ’em down.”

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t so much a job as a hunch?” Henry had picked up most of Lyle’s tells, but it didn’t take much to know when Lyle was hedging. He was always hedging. That was Lyle’s way, and most of the time it worked in Henry’s favor, even if it had taken him by surprise the first few times. Maybe surprise wasn’t strong enough a word for it. It took him by outrage, or by horror, the cavalier way Lyle carved a path through life, leaving bodies in his wake—sometimes enemies, sometimes friends. Henry didn’t plan to be one of them. By now, he knew better than to ask questions. With Lyle, you either followed or you didn’t, and Henry wasn’t about to get left behind.

“Do you trust me?” Lyle asked, throwing Henry a wounded look.

They were the same words he’d asked that first night when they’d met, when Henry had been double-crossed by his own crew, left bruised and bleeding and primed to take the blame for their misdeeds. “Do you trust me?” Lyle had asked without preamble. Henry hadn’t even known Lyle’s name yet, but he had a kind smile and a gun, and Henry found he needed both desperately, so he’d said yes.

He’d kept on saying yes, and it had kept on working for him, so he rolled his eyes, drew up a chair, and said it again. “Yes, fine, I trust you. Now, what have you got?”

Lyle’s face quieted and he placed a small data card on the table between them. “Took this off a uniform at the Crooked Rose.”

Henry’s stomach dropped. There had been rumblings for months. At first, Henry had thought it was all talk—the Allied planets were so numerous, it seemed impossible that they’d all come together and actually agree on a course of action—but then the soldiers had come, and war was officially in motion. An independent movement had sprung up quickly, and no matter how hard the Alliance tried to eradicate them, they kept popping back up like weeds. Henry didn’t like to think about it if he could help it. War didn’t make work like his any easier, and the longer it went on, the more likely it was to sweep him and Lyle up in its current.

“Alliance? Lyle, what do you think you’re doing, messing with them? I thought we agreed—no war,” Henry said.

“War’s coming for us all, Hevans. I ain’t of a mind to wait around for it to get me.”

“So, you went to an upscale bar and pickpocketed an Alliance soldier?”

“Officer, at least. Might’ve been ranked higher. Wasn’t really paying attention to his medals. I was busy swiping this.” Lyle tapped the data card, a light-gray chip with nothing more than a faded Blue Sun logo on its top side.

“And what if he noticed your hands in his pockets, Lyle?”

“Oh, he noticed.” Lyle’s eyes danced with mirth. “I reckon we got a few hours’ peace before he realizes it’s gone, and by then we’ll be rid of it anyhow. Independents will be pleased as punch to get their hands on this kind of intel.”

“I don’t like this. Not at all.”

“That would have more weight if you liked much of anything.”

That wasn’t really fair, or true. Henry liked things. He liked clean socks and the scent of rosemary. He liked watching the sunrise and the sound of a city asleep. He liked fruit when he could get it, and he liked soup. And loath though he was to admit it, he liked Lyle Horne as well. He wouldn’t say so, of course—the man would be even more insufferable than he already was if he ever got wind of anything more substantial than a begrudging agreement to a mutually beneficial partnership coming from Henry. And Henry wasn’t all that keen to alert Lyle to any fondness that his partner might find a way to weaponize against him, should their luck turn.

In truth, though Henry’s time working with Lyle Horne had been brief, from the moment Lyle had swooped to Henry’s rescue, they’d been a real team. Life hadn’t been easy since Henry left home—it hadn’t been easy before, either—but these past few months working with Lyle had at least been fun.

“All right, say I’m in. What then?” Henry asked warily.

“What then? We get ourselves a drink to celebrate.”

“To celebrate what?”

“Henry Evans, getting off his high horse.” Lyle punched him playfully on the arm. “That’s the fastest you’ve ever agreed to a job, I think. Bring out the fireworks, folks, we’ve gotta commemorate this.” Lyle gestured around as if to invite a nonexistent crowd in on their private joke.

“Very funny. You buying?”

Lyle chuckled, one hand braced on the table as he tipped his chair to balance on its back legs. The chair, as it turned out, had other plans. The wood splintered under his weight, sending Lyle crashing to the ground.

“Lyle!” Henry reached for him, their hands meeting just before Lyle hit the floor.

Laughter bubbled up from the man on the ground. “You pay,” he said weakly. “This chair ain’t the only one around here who’s broke.”

Before Henry had a chance to argue, there was a sound like a gunshot and the world around him went sideways as Lyle kicked Henry’s feet out from under him and pulled him down.

“What happened to a few hours?”

“Guess my estimations were off,” Lyle whispered. “Run.”

Henry didn’t need telling twice. He scrambled forward on his hands and knees, catching a glint of shiny metal out of the corner of his eye before he dove for one of the broken windows. Splinters of wood and glass scraped his arms, but otherwise he was unscathed when he rolled to a stop outside.

Brushing himself off, Henry ducked behind a trash can in the alley as the sound of gunfire filled the air. “I told you this was a bad idea,” he began, but Lyle wasn’t beside him. Henry cast about for any flashes of movement, and there, illuminated by a small spotlight sweeping the tavern, was Lyle, darting back toward the table. He was visible for only a moment, as his fingers closed around the data card, before he bolted toward the alley.

“I told you to run!” he yelled, grabbing Henry’s elbow and pulling.

As Henry let the momentum carry him forward, he caught a glimpse of their pursuer. An Alliance officer, it was not. Instead, a steel, angular drone exited the Scatter Shot tavern, a low hum reverberating through the space as it speared a bright pillar of light directly at them.

Henry dipped toward another alley, slinking deep into the shadows. He knew the streets of Patrick about as well as he knew Lyle—which was to say, by instinct alone—so he let himself be guided only by the soft patter of Lyle’s boots on the concrete and the thunder in his veins.

“Lyle,” he whisper-shouted as concrete bled into a dirt path. They were in outer ring of the city now. It was darker here, and the architecture had gone from ramshackle to almost nonexistent. Encampments of unhoused people spread out to the northeast, punctuated by the occasional street lamp. Henry couldn’t hear the drone anymore, so he slowed to a jog. “What was that thing?”

“Some kind of Alliance drone, I guess.” Lyle put his hands on his knees, panting. “Too bad. I was kind of hoping that shuài young officer would come looking for me himself.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “You know we almost died, right?”

“Almost being the operative word.”

Despite himself, Henry smiled. It was a good thing it was dark. He didn’t need Lyle seeing that. “Now, about that buyer of yours—”

Lyle held up a hand.

Henry heard it before he saw it: a motor softer than a cat’s purr. The spotlight came into view, shining down on them both. There was a moment of quiet as Henry stared wide-eyed, stunned into silence by the blinding light, but at the first sound of gunfire, Henry tackled Lyle into a large bush. They rolled out of the spotlight and back into the shadows.

“How in the hell did it follow us?” Lyle asked, his whisper a furnace in Henry’s ear.

They laid still, not daring to move a muscle as the drone proceeded toward them. Moonlight illuminated the stamp on its metal plating—a blue semicircle with letters in English and Chinese above and below. Blue Sun. Henry had his answer.

“I think it’s tracking the data card.”

“Well, shit.” Lyle tried to push himself up, but his arm buckled. Henry reached out to brace him and something dark and warm trickled down from his compatriot’s bicep between Henry’s fingers.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine. Just grazed me.”

“Yeah, but you’re bleeding.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lyle hissed, keeping low to the ground. “We’d best find our buyer, and quick. Then it won’t be our problem anymore.”

“It’s our problem now,” Henry said, but he needn’t have bothered. Lyle was already gone into the night, and the drone wasn’t far behind.

They ran until Henry’s breath was as ragged as the slums they passed through. After several minutes, they finally shook the city. Here, at the edge of town, where Patrick nestled up against a steep drop-off, light pollution made way for dust and sky. They could see the stars, now—a wide sea of them, hosts to worlds unknown. Henry had left his own home planet behind, a thing he had never thought he’d do. Maybe someday Valentine would just be another place he’d lived once upon a time.

“It’s no use,” Henry panted. “They’ll keep on following no matter what.”

“That just means we’ve got something valuable.” Lyle held up the data card, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Henry just stared at the chaotic churn in Lyle’s gaze, the endless depths of the unknown, not unlike the stars above. He’d seen that expression before. Nothing good ever came after. There was danger in a look like that. But there was promise, too. It would be easy to follow Lyle anywhere he went. It would probably get them both killed.

Henry deliberated for a split second, then he grabbed the data card and bolted.

“Hún dàn!” Lyle called after him. “You owe me fifty percent!”

Henry didn’t need to be a genius to know fifty percent of zero was better than dead. With all the strength he had left, he hurtled toward the cliff’s edge, weaving back and forth as he went. The whirring of the drone and the pounding of Lyle’s footsteps followed in his wake.

“Hevans, you son of a bitch, slow down!”

Henry did as he was told, not because Lyle asked but because the lip of the canyon was coming up mighty fast. He skidded to a halt in the loose dry dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust, and held the data card high in the air.

“Track this!” he shouted, then threw the card as far as he could into the abyss below.

Almost as if the world had slowed down around him, Henry watched the data card sail into the air, flying end over end, and the drone dive after it. The card could have meant a lot of money. It could have changed the tides of war. It could have been a whole lot of nothing. Now it was just a story of one wild night he’d had on Valentine.

“Zāo gāo!” Lyle shouted, hands outstretched.

The card was too far away. There was barely a sliver of a chance he’d catch it.

Lyle jumped anyway.

His shoulder bumped Henry’s, and time—andgravity—caught up with them both. Henry’s balance slipped, his foot catching on a protruding rock, and he went down. The ground caught him, once on his knee, then on his hip. Pain rocketed through his left side as he felt more than heard something snap. He rolled until he was flat on his back, staring up at the sky. His vision blurred, tears pricking his eyes.

“Hevans?” came the gruff voice of Lyle, muffled as though from far away. “Hevans, a little help?”

Henry twisted toward the sound and dragged himself on his hands back toward the edge.

There, hanging by his fingertips, was a red-faced Lyle.

Relief unspooled from Henry’s shoulders, and he scrambled forward. “Take my hand.”

Lyle shook his head. “Can’t,” he said.

“What do you mean, can’t?” But his question was answered with a mere glance. Blood dripped down Lyle’s other arm as it hung limp at his side, fingers closed in a fist. “Wasn’t just a graze, was it?”

Lyle grimaced. “It was a good arm, too.”

“And it will be again.” Henry’s knowledge of medicine wasn’t precise, but he knew if he could just reach Lyle, he should be all right. “Just… stay there. I’ll try to get closer.”

Henry pushed himself forward, leaning out over the edge with his right foot hooked around a large rock. From there, he could just brush Lyle’s knuckles with his fingertips.

“You’re gonna have to grab me,” he said, straining. “On three?”

Lyle bit down on his lip, eyes narrowed in pain, but he nodded.

“One… two… three!”

With a heave, Lyle pushed off the cliffside, and his hand grasped Henry’s.

“There we are.” Henry gripped Lyle’s hand as hard as he could. “I won’t let go,” he said. It was more a promise to himself than to Lyle. “Now, slow and steady, all right?” He tried to pull Lyle up, but his strength wasn’t with him. Between the pain in his leg and the awkward angle, he couldn’t get the leverage he needed. “We’ll just have to keep trying. Maybe if we—”

“Hevans,” Lyle cut in, catching Henry’s gaze with his. There was a focus there that went beyond pain, beyond desperation. “I need you to listen.”

“What is it?” Henry asked.

A low whir of a motor answered.

The drone was back.

Henry’s gaze darted around, searching for the data card. Maybe he hadn’t thrown it as far as he’d thought. Then his eyes fell on Lyle’s closed fist, and his heart sank.

“You stupid man,” he murmured, words lost on the wind.

“Do you trust me?” Lyle asked.

His reply came like a Pavlovian response, even though it couldn’t have been less true. “Yes.”

It was the last thing Henry Evans ever said to Lyle Horne.

The drone didn’t fire a single shot before Lyle’s hand slipped from Henry’s. One moment he was there, hanging on to the cliff through sheer force of will. Then he wasn’t.

Henry lay there at the edge of the cliff for a long time, staring at the place where Lyle had been. He watched the dust clear. He watched the drone fly away, down into the canyon. He watched the first pink and yellow rays peek over the horizon as White Sun rose in the sky.

Henry retreated from the light as it illuminated the cliff’s edge, and he looked up at the sky. In the months, the years, the decades that followed, he would think about this moment and wonder. Was his grip not strong enough? Or was it his faith? Maybe it was neither. Maybe it was all chance, or maybe it was God’s plan.

He’d left his home, he’d lost his way, and Lyle… was gone. Henry Evans was utterly alone in the ’verse. And still, somehow, he felt watched.

And so, for the first time in his life, Henry Evans got to his knees and prayed.

I’m gonna need you to tell me what I’m lookin’ at, little Kaylee,” Captain Malcolm Reynolds said as he eyed the obstruction in the cargo bay—a row of shipping containers, a few chairs from the dining area, and the Mule, all lined up to form a ramshackle blockade.

“That’d be a flock of geese, Cap’n.” Kaylee pulled at a loose thread on the waist of her jumpsuit, unraveling the petals of a blue embroidered flower she wore. “Nine of ’em, to be precise about it.”

“Isn’t that nice? One for each of us.” Hoban Washburne, Serenity’s pilot, said as he descended the last few rungs of the ladder with a hop and flashed Mal a winning smile. “I’ll take the one with the spot on its nose. Maybe grow back my mustache so we match. What about you, Jayne?”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere near them birds.” Jayne Cobb, their hired-muscle-slash-public-relations-officer wasn’t difficult to spot, hiding inexpertly behind the weight rack in the corner of the bay. “I don’t do geese, Mal.”

Mal shook his head to clear it. He’d stumbled across plenty of niú fèn on his boat over the years—literally, in the case of their job transporting cattle for Sir Warwick Harrow—but a flock of pearl-white geese sure was a surprise. They toddled back and forth across the cargo bay, long curly feathers swaying.

“I’m less concerned about the what than the why,” Mal said, taking a tentative step toward the birds. One of them let out an almighty honk and Mal raised his hands instinctively. The blockade his crew had built suddenly seemed a lot more necessary than it had before.

“Arvin dropped them off ’bout an hour ago.” Kaylee said, a quaver in her voice. “Thought you had an understanding.”

“I ain’t in the business of takin’ on new jobs ’fore I get paid for the last one.” Mal turned toward the cargo-bay door and the dusty open planes of Brome, where Arvin Helios’s Knorr-class cargo freighter was stationed in the distance.

They’d only been docked a few hours, but Mal didn’t relish staying any longer than they had to. A remote moon of the planet Whittier in the Kalidasa system, Brome didn’t have much to offer besides a meager market, a fuel refinery, and a good stretch of barren land on which to conduct his business without prying eyes. The plan was to drop the cargo, get paid, and move on. He wasn’t interested in deviations. They needed coin. Badly. Without it, they couldn’t keep Serenity in the sky, let alone feed her crew or keep them paid. If Arvin Helios was trying to pull one over on them, he had another thing coming.

“Payment, actually,” said Wash. “Arvin said something about these being a valuable… variety? Species? Breed?”

“Sebastopol.”

They all looked up to see River dangling her arms over the railing above the cargo bay. She wore a white dress and her hair fell across her face, swaying just like the goose feathers below.

“Don’t go naming them just yet. We ain’t keepin’ them.” Mal had come to respect the unpredictability of their youngest passenger in recent months. She and her brother, Simon, had earned their keep and then some with the job they’d pulled on Ariel, and though the money had finally run out, he wasn’t likely to forget Simon’s doctoring ways had saved his ear after their recent run-in with Adelai Niska. The fugitive siblings might have been trouble, but Mal was beginning to believe they’d prove their worth. Still, he didn’t much think it wise to go mixing River’s brand of peculiarity with potentially violent poultry.

“Sebastopol geese,” River continued. “First documented on Earth-That-Was in the nineteenth century. A luxury bird. Very rare.”

“How rare?” asked Jayne, leaning out from behind the weights rack.

“Didn’t we agree, no more livestock after the cows?” Mal muttered as the rest of the crew joined them. Zoë Alleyne Washburne, Mal’s first mate and perhaps the only person he’d truly trust his life with, led the group, followed by Shepherd Book and Inara, laden with a thick layer of dust and nothing much else. They’d gone with the intention of restocking Serenity’s meager kitchen, but to no avail, it seemed.

“Do they lay eggs?” asked the Shepherd. “Would be nice to cook with something other than artificial protein for a change. The market was a little sparse for my liking.”

“I wouldn’t say no to an omelet,” Zoë said wistfully, leaning in to kiss her husband on the cheek.

Wash melted into the touch, eyes glazing over. “I wouldn’t say no to watching you eat that omelet.”

“Sebastopol geese lay on average only thirty eggs per year. Their plumage is quite valuable, though,” River said.

“How valuable?” Jayne, extracted himself from his hiding place to join them on the far side of the barrier, a light in his eyes that could mean only one thing. “Changed my mind, Mal. Maybe I want one after all.”

The geese appeared unperturbed by Jayne’s declaration.

“Well, I certainly don’t.” Inara smiled, composure intact as always.

Mal tried not to admire her poise too overtly. Of all Serenity’s passengers, none embodied the ship’s name so expertly as Inara. As much as she and Mal needled one another from time to time, she rarely lost her temper. Sometimes, he wished she would.

“Can I have hers, then?” Jayne asked.

Mal heaved a sigh. Of all the things his crew might get rowdy over, geese hadn’t been on his mental list of possibilities when he’d woken that morning.

“Nobody’s keeping the geese. We’re giving them back, doňg ma?” Mal turned to Kaylee, whose nervous fidgeting had resulted in a pile of blue thread at her feet. “You get them herded up while I track down Arvin and get us paid right and proper.”

Kaylee looked into the enclosure with an expression of great trepidation. “I don’t know, Cap’n. I’m not so good with animals. Their wings are so… flappy.”

“I’ll do it!” Jayne vaulted over the Mule and into the enclosure.

“This ain’t a petting zoo,” Mal muttered, but it was too late. Jayne landed on the other side of the barricade with a thump, and the volume of the geese’s warbling increased tenfold. Their wings beat with tremendous force and they honked with furious abandon. Flappy, indeed.

“What’s going on out here?” Simon Tam slid open the door to the infirmary, eyes wide and mouth agape as he took in the scene before him. “River?”

“They are full of honks and have teeth on their tongues.” River leaned away from the railing. “I’m staying put.”

“You heard your sister, Doc. You’re not needed here.” Jayne circled, center of gravity low as he closed in on his prey.

Mal checked his holster for his trusty pistol. The smooth grip of his Liberty Hammer was a comfort to him, even after all the bloodshed it had seen him through. There weren’t many he could trust after the war, but his gun had never misfired. Well, rarely.

“You expecting a fight?” Zoë asked. She extracted herself from Wash’s embrace and gestured toward the stairs.

Mal didn’t need her to say it to know she was offering backup. Zoë was a better shot than him. Hell, she was a better soldier than him, no matter that the war was over. He’d take a bullet for her, and she him. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.

“Guess that depends on Arvin,” Mal said.

Before he could stomp off in the direction of the scheming lowlife who’d somehow mistaken birds for platinum, there came an almighty yell from the enclosure. With a flurry of feathers and garbled honking, Jayne tumbled into the barricade, knocking several containers over as he fell, landing flat on his back, hands clasped over his face.

“My eye! The gorram goose got my eye!”

Kaylee and Wash scrambled to reform the wall around the geese while Shepherd Book knelt beside Jayne, prying the man’s fingers away from his face to reveal a bloody gash.

“Well, you’re wrong on two points, son,” Shepherd Book said with a sigh, rocking back on his heels and hailing Simon over. “First, you haven’t lost your eye—not yet.”

“Don’t feel like it.” As soon as Book released him, Jayne’s hands flew back up to cover his wound. “What’s the second thing?”

“The doctor’s services will be needed, after all.”

Simon darted through the geese, who mostly ignored him. They’d either already satisfied their bloodlust thanks to Jayne or didn’t perceive the doctor as much of a threat.

With Jayne attended to and the geese properly corralled once more, Mal nodded to Zoë and patted his Liberty Hammer. “Best get your gear.”

“Mal?” Wash’s voice took on a rising lilt, as it so often did when the captain took his wife on potentially dangerous missions. Since their run-in with Niska a few months back, Wash hadn’t complained about the treacherous nature of Zoë’s job—well, not much. Still, Mal wasn’t about to leave her behind, not when Jayne was out of commission.

“I ain’t lookin’ to argue. Zoë and me are going to have a chat with Arvin and that’s final.”

“No, she isn’t.” Wash, pointed out at the horizon. “Neither of you is.”

In the distance, Arvin Helios’s Knorr freighter retreated in a cloud of dust. Its engines burned hazy against the bright summer sky as it sailed up, up, up… and then, it was gone.

Things never did go smoothly for the crew of Serenity. It was a marvel Mal still managed to be surprised by it.

It was supposed to be a simple job, but then weren’t they all? The simpler they seemed, the worse the derailment. They’d picked up cargo on Beaumonde—a few crates of computer parts from one of the factories. Their contacts, Fanty and Mingo, a set of crime-curating twins, had assured them the goods weren’t tagged—they were rejects from one of the factories with only a few aesthetic defects, they’d work fine for anyone looking for a discount who didn’t mind a few scratches. The crates had been scheduled for recycling, and technically that’s exactly what Mal and his crew had done with them. For a price.

As it turned out, that price was nine fully grown geese—not exactly the figure he and Arvin had agreed upon. He should’ve known better than to get involved with Arvin, who’d shorted Mal on a job some three years back. A misunderstanding, Arvin had said. Now, Mal wasn’t so sure misunderstandings weren’t a key part of Arvin’s business model.

“We in any shape to go after him?” Mal asked, but he knew the answer already. He’d only agreed to sell to Arvin on account of Serenity being out of fuel and out of funds. They weren’t equipped to make it much further than Whittier, and they’d no other contacts in range. It had been Arvin or starve.

“I could try a full burn, maybe divert some of the power from the drive feed to the engines,” Wash began, but his tone was subdued. Usually when Mal asked Wash for some superhuman piloting, he’d spring to life, like adrenaline was a power source. This time, he just looked tired. “Could be enough to catch up.”

“No way,” Kaylee said. “Serenity ain’t up for that.”

Mal knew better than to argue with Kaylee when it came to Serenity. Sometimes, he thought she knew his ship better than he did. They had some kind of silent communication he’d never quite understood. She had a gift with machines. He’d be a fool to ignore it.

“Then we’d best make course for somewhere with a taste for goose.” He wiped his hands on his trousers and turned back to survey his crew, sweeping his eyes over them and finding their numbers one short. “All accounted for?”

Zoë nodded. “River’s hiding in the galley.”

“Doc?” Mal called over the din of honking. “How’s our patient?”

“He’ll live,” Simon said coolly.

“And my eye?” Jayne asked. “You can save my eye?”

The doctor, with the Shepherd’s help, half-carried half-dragged Jayne through the infirmary doors.

“He’ll do his best, son.” Shepherd Book patted Jayne’s bicep.

Wash’s face split into a grin. “One might say he’ll… take a gander.”

“One might refrain from pun-based humor while a man is in pain,” the Shepherd shot back.

Undeterred, Wash turned to Zoë and said, “It’s too bad we got geese instead of ducks.”

“Dare I ask why?” Zoë gave her husband an appraising look, though her hand snaked around his shoulders to give an affectionate squeeze.

“Because then I could say Simon was tending to Jayne’s mallardy.”

Zoë scoffed and hoisted herself up the ladder.

“It’s a good thing he’s not a quack!” Wash called after her.

“Wash, get on the Cortex and see where else we can get to that might have a market for expensive geese,” Mal said.

“Hang on, I’ve almost got something about birds of a feather—”

“I don’t pay you to make jokes, Wash. Bridge, now!”

Wash popped a salute and followed his wife up the ladder, leaving Mal to survey nine angry birds.

“Cap’n,” Kaylee murmured, sidling up beside him with an apprehensive expression. “Serenity don’t have enough fuel to get anywhere. She barely had enough to land.”

Mal nodded gravely. It was as he’d suspected. Not far off Beaumonde, Kaylee had discovered a leaky pipe. She’d patched it up, but the damage had been done. The mechanic had done all she could to extend Serenity’s fuel supply, but in the end Brome was as far as they could get. Even the planet below was out of range with their current fuel levels.

“Sorry, Cap’n.” Kaylee’s face was contorted in a frown, her eyes watery.

“Hey, no need for apologies. This ain’t your fault.”

“I know.” Kaylee’s fingers danced up the steel plating around the cargo-bay door, eyes traveling around Serenity like she could see the ship’s nervous system. “I just don’t like it when she’s not her best. Feels like I failed.”

Mal braced his hands on Kaylee’s shoulders and caught her gaze. “Everybody gets sick now and again. No helpin’ what’s already happened.”

Kaylee nodded, swallowing.

“Now, put that brilliant brain of yours to work thinkin’ about how we can fix it.” Mal let go, turning back to face the inside of his ship. He didn’t have Kaylee’s mind for machinery or Wash’s quick instincts, but it didn’t take an expert to know what came next. “Right, so we need to fuel up.”

Inara slipped out of the shadows. How a woman like her managed to hide in plain sight was beyond Mal. She wore a dusty rose robe with velvet trim. Even in one of her more understated articles of clothing, she still looked strangely opulent on board Serenity, like a polished gemstone in a box of rocks. “Can we afford to do that?”

Mal tried not to react to her use of the word we. It had been cropping up in her vocabulary more and more these past weeks. He knew it had been some time since she’d been able to conduct business, what with their work taking them to the Rim, but he’d get her back to her world soon enough. Still, his skin warmed at the thought of Inara conspiring with him. He’d long stopped thinking of her as only a passenger. She was part of his crew, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.

Mal jammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Might be the folks out here could use a flock of geese. Get us a payday, refuel, and get to somewhere less…”

“Remote?” Inara angled her gaze up at him, unblinking. “You didn’t see the market, Mal. No one there can afford a single one of your geese, let alone the whole flock.”

“Thought that might be the case,” Mal said with a sigh. Brome was a perfect location for off-color dealings, on account of it being out of the way, sparsely populated, and economically fragile. It also made it less-than-ideal for their current predicament.

“There’s a refinery here, if I’m not mistaken.” Shepherd Book exited the infirmary to join them. Judging by the quiet, Jayne had been given a sedative or elsewise passed out from the pain.

“You suggestin’ we relieve them of some of their burden? Didn’t think a Shepherd would approve of thieving.” Mal raised his eyebrows.

He’d long wondered about the Shepherd’s history with crime. It was obvious he had one, based on his breadth of knowledge of the subject. He was useful in a fight as well, adept at martial arts, and a fair shot. He had to be an ex-smuggler at the very least. But just when Mal thought he had the preacher figured out, Shepherd Book had proven to have even more secrets. Back on Jiangyin, when he’d taken a bullet to the chest, the Alliance of all people had come to their aid. What kind of man could get such a warm reception by the people Mal most hated and still want to fly with outlaws? It boggled the mind.

“I’m suggesting nothing of the sort.” The Shepherd clasped his hands behind his back. He nodded to the still-open cargo-bay door. “Simply pointing out that there is an established center of commerce on this moon, and that we might consider participating in their economy in exchange for what we need.”

“I could see if anyone in town got somethin’ needs fixing,” Kaylee said with a shrug.

“Now, that’s an idea, little Kaylee.” Mal straightened. “Could be we all find work in town. Just enough to get us somewhere there’s a bit more civilization.”

Kaylee brightened. “Simon could help. There’s always folks need a doctor.”

“We’ll see how Jayne’s faring,” Mal said tentatively. “Don’t want to see a repeat of the last time we let the doc loose planetside.”

“The boy does seem to always find trouble,” the Shepherd agreed, giving a meaningful nod to Kaylee. “Best he doesn’t go alone.”

Simon Tam was indeed a magnet for misfortune. The last few times they’d let him wander on his own on a border world, he’d ended up being either kidnapped or taken hostage. Even their job on Ariel had almost resulted in the Alliance apprehending him and his fugitive sister, though none of that was Simon’s fault, and Mal wasn’t one to lay blame where it wasn’t due. After all, his line of work didn’t exactly invite the most trustworthy of folk into their orbit, but Simon sure had a knack for ending up where he didn’t belong. Same with that sister of his. The Tams were trouble. But then, so was Mal. Maybe Wash’s birds-of-a-feather quip was apt, after all.

Wash’s head appeared up above, just past the door to the dining area. “Cortex keeps shorting out. Signal’s scrambled.”

“That’s no good,” said Mal.

“I know! Prefer it over-easy, myself. I like a runny yolk.”

Mal groaned. “Kaylee?”

“Hard-boiled, for me,” Kaylee said, eyes wide and innocent even as her lip twitched. “I like peelin’ the shell. It’s nice. Cathartic.”

“I swear—” Mal began, but Inara cut him off.

“You can try my shuttle. If I can connect, I can pay you next month’s rent as an advance.”

Mal’s body stiffened. Inara’s generosity might get them out of a bind, but he didn’t like the idea of owing her. Still, he couldn’t very well decline because of his own pride. He had his crew to think of.

Before Mal had a chance to decide what to do precisely, Wash joined them below, a glum expression on his face—a rarity for the pilot. In the years Mal had known Wash, he could count on his hands the number of times he’d seen the man without a smile or some joke or other.

“Won’t make a difference. There’s some kind of interference. Brome was only terraformed recently, so it’s possible signals just can’t reach here.” Wash gave a shrug, looking from Mal to Inara. “Can access any data that’s already downloaded, but nothing new. No long-distance waves unless we head back into orbit. Can make whatever local calls you like, though not sure there’d be anyone to answer.”

“Still, I’d like to try.” Inara swept up the ladder toward her shuttle.

“Well, that narrows our options,” Mal grunted, trying not to watch Inara go. “S’pose we’ll have to take our chances with Brome after all.”

From the way his crew reacted, Mal might as well have told them there’d been a sudden windfall or one of them had a birthday to celebrate.

“I do so love to mingle with the locals,” Wash said, unfastening the top button of his tropical shirt. He headed for the Mule to begin extracting it from the makeshift barrier, but seemed to think better of it once the geese started flapping their wings in response to his approach.

Kaylee clapped her hands in a flurry, bouncing on her toes. “I’ll go get Simon!” The light was back in her eyes and a smile played at the corner of her mouth.

Mal watched as the mechanic practically skipped from one end of the cargo bay to the other, carefully maneuvering around the goose enclosure to reach the infirmary. Everyone was too gorram happy about this.

“What’s got you smilin’ there, preacher?” Mal asked when it was just him and Shepherd Book left. “Eerie sight, a man of God grinnin’ at you.”

“Oh, just the thought of us all engaging in some simple, honest work,” Shepherd Book said, a slippery quality to his tone.

Mal narrowed his eyes. There was that word, simple.

“Makes for a nice change, don’t you think?” asked the Shepherd.

“Well, just don’t go countin’ on it being permanent,” Mal said, breaking eye contact. “Once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Book eyed him carefully, his gaze so sharp Mal felt for a moment the Shepherd could see right through him to his core. “We can all find redemption in the eyes of the Lord. The word of God will set all sinners free.”

“Yeah, but I ain’t lookin’ to God for my freedom.” Mal patted Serenity’s frame affectionately. “Already found it right here.”

There was something intoxicating about a new world. Kaylee loved her life in the sky, and wouldn’t trade flying around on Serenity for anything, but there was novelty to the feeling of her boots on the ground and sun on her skin, a little slice of the unknown waiting for her on the horizon.

In the case of Brome, that horizon was obscured by tall grass, framing the small market ahead of town. They’d passed through a heavy thicket on their way, the long blades tickling their arms and legs as they went, leaving them covered in a dusting of seeds by the time they reached their destination.

“Excitin’, don’t you think?” Kaylee’s eyes flicked to Zoë on her left and Simon on her right. “A new place to learn about?”

“If you like breathing in dust and pollen, sure.” Zoë wrapped an amber-colored cloth around her nose and mouth.

“Oh, come on, I’m sure there’s more to recommend this place.” Wash gestured them toward a market stall with a muted blue awning and a sign that boasted Fresh Brome Beef. “See? A local delicacy!”

An eager stallholder stood to greet them, a young woman with a red scarf braided into her brown hair like a crown around her head. “Best meatless alternative you’ll find this side of Red Sun.”

The enthusiasm drained from Wash’s expression.

“Having second thoughts, dear?” Zoë asked, taking his arm.

“Not at all.” Wash’s voice had gone rigid. “My passion for new cuisine remains as ardent as ever. I just remembered we don’t have any money to spend.”

“How unfortunate?” Simon glanced from Wash to Zoë to Kaylee and back again, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to follow the subtext of the conversation.

“It is very, very sad for me,” Wash said to the woman behind the cart. “You wouldn’t happen to know where folks might find work around here? What we lack in cash, I promise we make up for in work ethic.”

Kaylee let her eyes wander as Wash and Zoë conversed with the Brome beef merchant. The market space was large, but there weren’t many stalls—a dozen at most. Most sold food and drink, but a few peddled metalwork pendants or woven-grass baskets. The vendors stood behind their stalls with eyes downcast. Some crouched to keep their faces and necks out of the sun while a few wore wide-brimmed hats that looked like they’d been made by the basket weaver. The crowded markets of Kaylee’s childhood had all been tightly packed, the vendors squeezed together, but here there were large spaces between carts, like maybe there were some missing. As Kaylee’s gaze skated over them, something in her chest constricted. She didn’t know why, but she felt like crying.

“Lot of grass-related products,” Simon observed as he followed her toward the other stalls. “Is this like that moon with all the mud? If Jayne’s a hero on Brome, too, I think that might actually be too much for me.”

“You know, they said nothin’ would grow here? Soil’s too rocky, or something. Alliance didn’t even want to terraform it. But look at all this!” Kaylee gestured at the grass that surrounded them.

“They were probably hoping for more life-sustaining crops, I imagine.”

“Nice to see something green, though, right?”

Simon gave her a dubious look.

“Okay, maybe not so green. But it’s alive, ain’t it?” Kaylee nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, relax a little!”

“One of the few things I’m notably bad at.” Simon sighed, eyes traveling up toward the cloudless blue sky. “I’ve never liked field trips.”

“Why’s that? I bet you used to get to go to all sorts of incredible places!” Kaylee took the moment to look at him properly. With smooth skin and shiny hair, Simon appeared as out of place here as he did on Serenity. Every day she hoped maybe he’d learn to blend in a little better, really embrace his new life with the rest of them. Sometimes, she saw slivers of it—Simon