They were all sitting around the table, telling ghost stories. So far, Kaylee’s had been voted the most effective, but that was because she did all the noises as well, although Mal’s was considered a close second, particularly as he swore it was true.

“Then how come you never told me about Abner?” Zoe asked. “All these years and I thought you’d walked through that minefield all by yourself.”

“Maybe because I wasn’t sure. Still ain’t. But it’s a damn good story, don’t you think?” He twinkled slightly at her.

“Hmnn.”

Then it was Hank’s turn, although his seemed to be more about hiding than actual ghosts as such.

Eventually there was only one member of the crew who hadn’t told a story.

“C’mon, moonbrain,” Jayne said, looking at his wife as she sat with her hands in her lap, her face half-hidden by her long dark hair. “You gotta have something.”

“Ghost stories …” She didn’t look up. “I don’t think I'm the right person to ask about ghost stories.”

“Oh?” Freya smiled. “Why’s that?”

“Because I see them all the time.” She finally lifted her head, and, as she knew it would, all the vibrant colour faded out of the warmly lit galley, her family becoming nothing more than dust dancing in the sharp light of Londinium. Her hair paled to white, and lines grew around her eyes and mouth. She touched the old tattoo around her ring finger. “All the time …” she repeated, her heart breaking.

-

Matthew Cobb stepped out of the groundcar and headed into the scrap yard. More than two dozen ships sat crowded in together, but none of them would ever fly again. He peered around.

“C’n I help you?” A young man came out of the low concrete building to the left of the entrance.

“I hope so. Someone called me. I'm Matthew Cobb.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m Harry Taylor.” He held out a hand and they shook. “Sorry about doing that, today of all days, but she’s back again.”

Matthew sighed. “I'm not surprised.”

“I mean, I know it’s the funeral and all, but I didn’t know what else to do. She’