"It's called Anson's Syndrome."

Simon was standing in the middle of the living room, not really sure who in his captivated audience he should be looking at. The Cobbs and the Campbells, as well as the captain, were all present, and the scrutinizing eyes directed at him and the deafening silence reminded him of that very first evening he'd spent on Serenity, when he'd delivered that speech to the crew, pleading his case.

He'd hated it then, he hated it now.

The most prudent thing would be to look at Mattie, he concluded; after all this concerned him more than it did the others. But it wasn't easy, and he had to force himself to do it.

"It's a genetic disease," he explained, "that runs in certain bloodlines." He turned to address Radiant, "You mentioned to the captain you had a brother suffering from the same thing?"

She nodded affirmatively, but otherwise her face remained expressionless.

"It attacks the lungs, slowly destroying their ability to take up oxygen. It's degenerative; you're obviously born with it and it'll worsen over the years." He paused and for a beat everybody was silently waiting for him to continue.

In the end it was Mal who asked the dreaded question. "Is it treatable?"

"No." Simon kept the answer deliberately short. There was no reason to drag this out more than necessary. "There are ways to ease the symptoms, of course, but no, there's no real cure." He forced himself to look at Mattie again. "Few live past the age of twenty."

"And I'm twenty-four," Mattie calmly remarked. "Guess I should consider myself lucky." There was surprisingly little bitterness in his voice, and when he felt his mother tense up next to him, he turned towards her and smiled bravely.

"I'm sorry," Simon said.

"It's not your fault, darling," Radiant told him. "You're only confirmin' what I alre