Captain Mal Reynolds sat at the pilot’s station on the bridge of Serenity, undisputed master of his ship… having been practically ordered by his first mate to take the helm while she dragged her husband into their bedroom.

He couldn’t say he minded. Zoë deserved all the happiness she could glean from a life near his side, and he’d been surprised and more than a little pleased to see the sparks flying between her and the cocky pilot Mal was sizing up to fly his ship the first day Wash had come aboard. He didn’t pretend to understand it, but it was plain as plain that those two were a matched set.

And Hoban Washburn had other uses besides keeping the ship’s first mate happy. Mal and Zoë were both competent space pilots: with the aid of the nav computer and space beacons, they could get Serenity from one place in the ’Verse to any other without getting lost. And they could pilot a shuttle anywhere its range would take it, even into a planet’s atmo and gravity well. But Wash seemed to regard the computer and beacons as a convenience rather than a necessity, and could figure ten different course profiles to a destination while Mal was grinding out the numbers for the first. And the way he could fly the clunky freighter in atmo, like an assault boat on a hot run, was something you had to see to believe. Both talents had been lifesavers on more than one occasion.

Now, with the ship’s course laid in and the autopilot engaged and nothing left to do on the bridge but admire the stars and mind the collision alarm, Mal sat quiet and content to contemplate their coming good fortune.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Shepherd Book stepped between the consoles and sat at the top of the steps between, looking through the windows at the stars. “I know His works are all around us, but they’re more obvious some places.”

“They’re runaway nuclear reactors that can kill a man uncounted ways, you get too close.” Mal checked the instruments with more care than needed. “Hope you didn’t come up here to compose a sermon, Shepherd. I