Mal took Zoe's advice, and was very glad that he had. Ten minutes of supplemental oxygen at regular pressure had relieved a lot of his symptoms, although it couldn't relieve the terrible dread he felt as he put the call through to the woman who had hired him. She appeared on the broadwave screen, looking just as she had when he had first met her. Schoolmarmish, he had thought to himself then, with her graying hair pulled straight back into a neat bun, a white blouse that sported both a high collar and ruffles down the front and at the wrists, and eyeglasses with rhinestones at the temples. He braced for a scolding. Or worse.

"Captain Reynolds," she said, folding her hands neatly on the desk in front of her. "Do you have a report for me?"

Supplemental oxygen notwithstanding, Mal felt suddenly unequal to his task. He fumbled briefly for words, and settled on bluntness. "Job went bad," he said. "There were uninvited guests at the meetup. Unless you invited 'em to kill us all?" Oops. He hadn't meant to be quite that blunt.

The woman on the screen looked nonplussed. "Of course I didn't --" she stopped, frowning as though something had just occurred to her, and cleared her throat. "Er . . . how then do matters stand?" she inquired, with strained politeness.

""Cargo's stowed away safe," Mal said. "My ship's badly damaged, though, and I don't know what happened to your buyer. Far's I know the folks who crashed our party are still hanging around, too. We been keeping out of their way."

"I see," the woman said, and seemed not to have anything further to say.

Maybe that execution will hold a bit, Mal thought.

"Well then," his client added after a moment, "I shall have to contact you again when I have . . . when . . . I have further instructions for you. Goodbye."

Mal stared at the blank screen, perplexed. The noose he'd already been feeling around his neck seemed to ease. When I have further instructions for you? Mal had dealt with contacts,