Crash!

Prologue

Have we ever gotten away clean?

Me and mine got more jobs under our heels than cattle on a ranch. Try and make trouble for the Alliance whenever opportunity blows its horn. Been caught a time or two, sure, but always on suspicions a mite shinier than we were really up to. Brings us back to the question.

Clean’s a word ain’t got much use in our dirty corner of the ‘verse.

Here’s how I see it: long as we’re flyin’, whether it’s on the job or on the run, that makes me, my crew, and my ship clean enough.

Since you’re hearin’ this tale, then that oughtta tell you: we’re still flyin’.

Mostly that’s on account of a rare round of fortune. Not that all of it’s good. Recently, the Alliance, Lord love ‘em, let us go without so much as a slap on our hull. We’d had a spat with ‘em that just about cost us my ship, and it only got saved at the cost of our pilot, Wash.

Even given that loss, wasn’t out of fairness the Alliance let us go. No, we got away because one of their Operatives, a rare kind of officer they thought ought to be free from the burdens and blessings of rank or serial number, ordered them to stand down. We’d left him long behind, though, and without his authority, the Alliance – progressive, benevolent, overgrown tyrant of a government that they were - wouldn't go so easy on us next time.

‘Bout brings us about up to speed. Our next job’s taking us deep into Alliance territory. Whether we ever got away clean ain’t gonna mean much from there on.

This is the one, the job that’s gotta be spotless. We can’t get caught. Can’t get credit, either. This one’s gotta stay under the whole dang ‘verse’s radar. Anyone gets a good look at our cargo... Well, rather just shoot myself.

For reasons I won't disclose.

     Because I'd have to shoot myself.

     Going to the bridge meant getting past Inara's quarters, so I put on some speed. Caught her in the corner of my eye prettying up herself and her ship. Almost made me w