‘Welcome to all our friends! We at The Spa know that inside you will find everything you could dream of, and if our imagination is lacking, do please ask and it shall be yours!’

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Hank brought the shuttle in to land at the small port, nestling it cheek by jowl with the other vehicles already parked, most of which could have bought Serenity a dozen times over. The latest two seater runabouts were probably the most vulgar, but there were plenty of older, well-looked after craft, and the pilot hoped they’d get lost in the crowd.

“We’re down,” he called over his shoulder, shutting everything down.

Mal looked at the two women in front of him. “You good to go?”

Zoe nodded. “That we are.”

“I guess.” Freya was checking through her bag once more.

“Frey, you’ve got everything,” Mal said quietly, smiling at her.

“I don’t know. I just get the feeling I'm missing something.”

“Your guns,” Hank put in, coming through from the small bridge.

“Probably. I feel naked without them,” she admitted, running one hand down her hip.

“Well, Zoe is your bodyguard, so she can go armed instead.” Mal took the bag and handed it to his first mate, knowing she was wearing his wife’s shoulder holster under her jacket. “You know what you’ve got to do. Soon as you can, let me know you’re inside. We’ll be listening.”

“Yes sir.”

“Bring me back a bottle or something,” Hank said, sounding a lot more relaxed than he felt.

“Any particular vintage?” Zoe asked.

“Whatever you think will suit my fine tastebuds.”

“Beer, then.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve drunk some of the finest champagne known to man!” He grinned. “Well, for under ten credits, anyway.”

“That much.”

Mal knew they were bantering because of the tension in the small shuttle, a stress that had grown since they left Persephone. He felt it himself, an ache in the pit of his belly like something bad was about to happen. “Well, as much as I myself would like to hear about Hank’s adventures with alcohol, it’s show