The morning was still comparatively young when there was an unexpected knocking on Serenity’s main hatch.

Mal heaved it open to be greeted by a middle-aged man in a long black overcoat. “Captain Reynolds?”

“Possibly. Who wants to know?”

The man smiled, and his face relaxed into a lot of horizontal lines. “My name is Higson. I work for Mr Rostov – he’s sent me to collect you and your wife and take you to church.”

“He has, has he?”

“Yes, sir. I’m at your disposal for the entire day. And he particularly wanted me to say that I was to make sure you didn’t chicken out. His words, I might add, sir.”

Mal’s lips twitched. “I’m fair sure they were.”

“Are you ready, sir? We don’t want to be late.”

“You might not, but I’m happy to come in at the end.”

Higson didn’t respond, just clasped his hands behind his back, although his lips did twitch. “Sir.”

“You wanna come in and wait?”

“No, sir. I’ll keep the hover warmed over.”

“Shiny. If we ain’t out in ten, knock again.”

“Sir.”

Up in their bunk Freya was still only half-dressed, the contents of her somewhat sparse wardrobe spread across the bed. She was muttering under her breath, and from the odd word he caught as he descended the ladder Mal knew it was some of her more creative Chinese cursing.

“There’s a man with a hover outside,” he said conversationally as he reached the deck. “I think he thinks you should be ready by now.”

“I don’t know what to wear.” She sighed.

“I got that. ‘Though I kinda like what you’ve got on now.” The black lace bra and panties had been a gift from him for her last birthday.

She glared at him for a moment, the 2000 watts one that should have seen him burst into flames. “Be serious, Mal.”

“Serious? Okay.” He crossed the room and picked up the tan-coloured shirt she’d discarded. “This.”

“I said be serious.”

“I am. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s not … it’s …”

“It’s you.”

“It’s ordinary.”

“No, it ain’t. It’s extraordinary, ‘cause you wear it.”

“It’s not r