Eventually Freya managed to slip out of their bunk, by virtue of having worn Mal out and leaving him sleeping, a tiny snore filtering through his lips. She smiled softly, then fastened the remainder of the buttons on her shirt before climbing the ladder.

The metal of the deck felt cold beneath her bare feet, so she hurried through the Firefly, pausing only briefly to push at the Halo-inspired fog in her mind and make sure her quarry was where she thought she was, and unaccompanied. Then, nodding slightly, she stepped through the airlock and made her way up to Cherokee’s kitchen.

It was almost dark, just one light burning over the stove in case anyone felt the need to raid the stack of goodies Ida always kept in one of the cupboards. This time, though, nobody was eating. The sole occupant of the room was sitting at the head of the table, her arms on the old wood, head down, staring into a glass.

Freya slid into the seat next to her, watching her for a moment.

Jez looked like a permanent feature, as if she had been carved out of the same wood as the table, and at the same time like some bizarre figurehead. Her glass was currently empty, but the open bottle next to it suggested it wasn’t often. Indeed, as Freya watched, her hand reached out and grabbed the neck, upending it, letting the clear liquid pour out. She didn’t stop until it almost reached the brim.

“Looks like a good year,” Freya commented, the perfume of slightly raw alcohol reaching her nose.

“I think it is. All of four months.” Jez carefully put the bottle back down, somewhat too carefully if the truth be told. She’d been here a long time.

“Ah. You know, I think little Kaylee’s plan is to spread the knowledge of how to build an inter-engine fermentation still throughout the known ‘verse.”

“Probably.”

“And I think it’s working.”

“Marcel made a few adjustments.”

“I’ll let Kaylee know. She’ll probably be interested.”

“Yes.”

They were silent for maybe a minute, then Freya spoke again. “You killed him.” S