“Scars”

“Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds?”

The voice was cold and sterile, much like that heard through Serenity Valley through those perilous weeks. It was the type of voice he had grown accustomed to in the cold nights of huddling in any crevice he could find to hide. “The Independence will fail. The Alliance outnumbers you. If you wish to see your families again, you will lay down arms immediately.” There was no malice in the voice that boomed over flying speaker boxes, just the confidence of victory.

Malcolm’s eyes slowly opened and adjusted to the dim lights of the holding pin and looked about the wide bare room that had been converted from a cargo hold. Around him were his fellow Independence fighters who had the supreme fortune, or misfortune depending on perspective, of making it out of Serenity Valley alive. Across the room he could see Zoe, the only person he trusted in the galaxy, attending to a fighter who had lost his arm about a week before being taken off of that planet.

“Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds!!”

Malcolm slowly lifted himself to his feet and walked to the middle of the room and looked to the catwalk that ran down the middle of the room. There, he saw the same typical Alliance figure he had seen a thousand times before. Malcolm looked away, uttered a swear in Chinese, and looked back up, “Is it required all Alliance officials look the same?”

A chuckle came from the few Independence fighters who were conscious. The Alliance official dismissed the quip and grabbed a board from a low level flunky. “By decree of the Parliament, as a condition of surrender on the behalf of all Independence fighters, all of your men and women are to be released pending a registration of all fighters with our records. You will all be free to plan your lives after the war.”

Mal shot Zoe a quick look of astonishment and then returned his gaze to the official, “You sayin’ you’re just going to let us all… go on home?”

“Sadly, that is exactly what I am saying. If it was up to me you gorram fighters would