The crew had split up, and were now spread throughout the two ships, each gravitating towards their respective interests.

Kaylee slid out from under Cherokee’s coil on the wheeled trolley, and looked up at Marcel. “You were right.”

“I know I was.” Marcel Delarue, his mid-brown skin shining in the glow of the worklights, sighed. “Just wish I wasn’t.”

Kaylee grinned. “Don’t. I figure you got a bad batch of fuel last time, and it’s all the gunk from that that’s tacked the router.”

“Oh, don’t I know it.” He went down onto his heels next to her, his hands resting between his thighs.

A year or so older than Kaylee, he was almost as tall as Jayne, but less bulky, and although he was much more at home taking engines apart than people, he was handy with a gun in his own right. His blonde, almost white hair made him stand out, especially against the cappuccino skin, but he always claimed that his colouring came from his father’s side of the family, after a dalliance his great-grandma had with a freighter mechanic that left her with a smile on her face and a little extra present some nine months later. The rest of his family were redheads with pale skin, and even his baby sister teased him about being a changeling.

He grinned, his teeth seeming to gleam. “Jez’s been on at me something cruel, as if it was my fault.” He shook his head. “My fault! I told her not to go to Ferelli’s on Ganesha, but did she listen?”

“No,” Kaylee supplied, feeling as if she was right at home, listening to one of her brothers moaning. “Seems to be sometimes captains just don’t know what’s good for ‘em.”

“Oh, ain’t that the case.” Marcel let his ass fall to the deck with a thump. “I mean, money’s one thing, but even I can’t work miracles.”

“A’course you can,” his friend said stoutly, sitting up. “You keep Cherokee going fine.”

“Until something breaks and I have to ask for help.”

She patted him on the knee. “It ain't exactly every week.”

“Sometimes …” He suddenly laughed. “Jez thinks I do it o