It wouldn’t be long. He’d set it up as best he could, after years of experience not getting killed – shot, stabbed or lasered permitting – and when they came his crew would be ready for them.

His crew. Even the words brought a smile to his face.

Once, a long time ago, a man had said he inspired loyalty. River said it was because he was slightly telepathic, and it made people see his honourable morality that much easier. Only she look a lot longer and used a whole bunch of words he didn’t understand, but he got her drift. Not that he agreed, of course. He wasn’t a Reader, nowhere near. He just did what was right, even if it meant doing what was wrong. And keeping his crew together had meant a lot of that blurred line lately.

Checking the bay for one last time, he saw Simon’s head poking out from behind a crate, and was about to call out, tell him he was likely to get it shot off when the young man disappeared from sight again. He was armed, of course, ready and able to defend himself, even if he didn’t like it much. At least his aim had improved immensely since the skyplex.

Mal shook his head. That medic of his had a lot to answer for, but this time it wasn’t his fault. He’d been recognised, on an out of the way moon nobody in their right minds should visit more than once before vowing never to again. He’d just been unlucky, but that kind of luck had a way of procreating, and now this other crew of ne’er-do-wells and cutthroats were on their way to sell him back to the Alliance.

As opposed to his ne’er-do-wells and cutthroats, a’course.

Even Kaylee couldn’t work miracles to get his boat into the air with a fractured fuel line, so they couldn’t run. Besides, if they did, the other crew might tell others, and that could bring a whole barrel of hurt down on him and his.

Another voice, remembering something else. “You’re not overly fond of the boy, so why risk it?” It , of course, being taking Simon and his sister on board. He’d not been able to give the Shepherd anything be