CHAPTER 6

The halls of Serenity burned, unable to cool efficiently in the hatch. Book hardly noticed the heat of the stove over that which radiated from the engine room. He chopped vegetables to add to the chicken stir-fry; River helped by boiling water for pasta and Simon set the table. All were quiet, withdrawn into their own thoughts. Though desperate for food, Book was plagued with a new emptiness that it could not fill. Kaylee was gone. He felt responsible, having talked to her just before she went topside. He should have gone with her; he should have been more insistent on helping her. The image of the dead attacker was burned in his memory—a pudgy man in an outdated, purple Alliance uniform thrown flat on his back with a 12 inch screwdriver puncturing his abdomen. The blood had pooled around his body, and then flowed over the side of the ship. Streaks of dry clay were spattered over the hull toward the helm. Kaylee must have cried for help, but none of them heard. As Book had prayed over the fallen assailant, he felt remorseful over the loss of life, and guilty because he was grateful it was not Kaylee who had died. He worried about what danger she might be facing now. He worried about her response to killing a man, even though it was self-defense. He should have stayed outside to talk to her while she fixed the ship.

“You didn’t know,” River said quietly, bringing him back to the present.

Book looked at her, his eyes deep with sorrow. The chicken was burning and he stirred quickly to keep it from searing to the bottom of the pan. He added the chopped vegetables to the mix and kept his hands moving, his mind on the task at hand. River was right, he could not have known.

The three were silent again. Simon, having carefully laid chopsticks beside each bowl and filled the mismatched cups with lukewarm water, sat at the table and waited. He stared reflectively into space. River stirred the pasta to keep it from sticking. She glanced occasionally at the two men, wishing they would worry more quietly. S