They’d dressed up the cargo bay with lights, stringing popcorn chains from the catwalk and wrapping ribbons around the stanchions, and still Kaylee groused.

“Just a day,” she said yet again. “Ain’t gonna make us that late, is it?”

It had been the tradition in years of late that Mal would make sure they were near a planet or moon at Christmas that had a place where they could land and make snowmen, enjoying the cold air that reddened hands and cheeks, making it that much more pleasant – and mildly painful – when they headed back into the Firefly. This year, however, work meant they were away from the normal trade routes, and there wasn’t a civilised landfall within a week’s travel.

“Can’t do it.” Mal shook his head at her across the table, the remains of their meal still on the old wood. “It ain’t like we can pick and choose at the moment, not with the way the Alliance is cracking down on unlicensed transports.”

Hank stirred. “Just who was Harbatkin?” he asked.

“No idea,” Mal admitted. “Just a name the guy came up with when he made the papers. But the point is we need to make cash where we can, ‘cause there are gonna be some hard days coming up.”

“I know that, Cap’n,” Kaylee said. “But it’s Christmas.” She nodded significantly towards the children.

“Can’t be helped. Maybe after we’re done we can find someplace to sit a day or two, but right now we’ve got business.” He leaned forward, his hands resting on the table. “I let you dress up my cargo bay like some kinda bordello. What more do you want?”

She glared at him then pushed her chair back, grabbing the meat platter right from under Jayne’s fingers as he went to stab the last slice.

“Hey!”

Kaylee ignored him, taking the plate to the kitchen area, muttering under her breath.

“If’n I hear anything about tyrants I might be persuaded to make you take down that frippery too,” Mal pointed out.

The muttering didn’t stop, but it did get quieter.

---

River gazed out of the bridge window.

“Whatcha doing?” Han