Freya reached inside the small gap, her fingers probing gingerly. “I can’t reach it.”

Kaylee, up to her elbow in a similar port on the other side of the engine room, grinned. “Try to the left.”

Freya grimaced slightly as she felt oil drip down the back of her hand, but she moved slightly. “Ah. Yes, got it. How come they made it so awkward?”

Kaylee laughed. “Next time I talk to the designers I’ll ask. Though I think most of ‘em are probably dust by now. Okay, on my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

They both pressed identical small nodules, and the engines went from whining to humming. Kaylee sat up, very pleased. “That’s my girl.” She patted the bulkhead lovingly.

Malcolm Reynolds stepped into the engine room, a small cream envelope in his hand, Jayne crowding in behind him. He held out the envelope. “Freya, small guy on a big horse just delivered this for you.”

Freya stood up, picking up a rag to wipe her hands. “What is it?”

“How should I know?” He waved the envelope at her.

Freya held up her right hand, indicating the oil stains. “Just tell me, Mal.”

He tried to look innocent. “What makes you think I’d read your private correspondence?”

“Because it’s addressed to me personally, the flap is open, and I know you.”

Jayne laughed and Mal, with a pained expression, gave in. “All right, it’s an invitation to attend a ball from a Dominic Vine.”

Freya raised her eyebrow. “Dominic? Interesting. I wonder how he knew I was here.”

Mal tried to sound disinterested. “So who is he?”

“Dominic? He’s an old …”

“Lover?” Kaylee suggested.

Mal countered with, “Friend?”

Until Jayne trumped with, “Arms dealer?”

Freya laughed. “Enemy, actually. But he’s always been very civilised about it.”

“Are you going to go?” Even to himself Mal sounded like the father figure he really didn’t want to be.

“Of course. It would be rude not to.”

“Then I'm going with you.”

“It doesn’t say with guest. Or escort. Or boss. Or lover,” she pointed out