Hiram Riley owned his own moon. Only a very few people in the 'Verse could lay claim to that and, where you to ask him about his feelings on the matter, he'd tell you that it's not all it's cracked up to be.

First, there was the constant hemorrhaging of money. Unless your piece of rock produced something that was essential and no one else could make it, or you had support from the Alliance, there was never any profit. All his piece of rock produced was rain and mud; neither was special in their make up or design. Tawaret did have a beautiful spring that made the hills explode with color and nary a rain drop to be seen, so he made a fair turn off tourists, but spring lasted all of three weeks, four in a good year and that wasn't enough time to make the kind of money he expected when he first found out he was going to own this piece of go se moon.

Second, there were the people. The climate of the place had driven all but a few thousand away and those held on for the thin ray of light that was the tourist season. And those people wanted. That's all they ever did was want. We want more food. We want more money. We want our houses not to get dragged away in the mudslides. We want better protection from the Reavers. Want. Want. Want. Truth be told, he would have been gone ages ago had ne not know that both sides of the 'Verse wanted him dead. The Browncoats would kill him on sight and the Alliance had made it clear that they were never too certain where his true allegiance lay and so here he was and so here he shall remain.

And his allegiances? Well, they had only ever been to himself.

Luckily, he never forgot a face. The fancified man that Malcolm Reynolds was trying to pass of as one of his crew would have raised red flags for him anyway, the man just didn't belong, but his face set the alarms to going long before his manner did. It took three days, but he finally remembered where he had seen the ji bai before. Pulling up the warrant on his Cortex, Hiram shuddered with pure joy. T