Zoë wasn’t a perfect child, but she always did the right thing. Right was what needed to be done, and she understood this. Quiet, perceptive, diligent and intelligent. Fluent in Chinese (mostly so she could curse in front of her father who knew only smatterings of the language) by age 7. Her father taught her how to pilot a shuttle when she was 8. Weapons always fascinated her, and even though she didn’t carry one until she was 14, she began learning about them from her uncle at age 10. Zoë’s mother relied heavily on her. Zoë prepared family meals, watched out for her younger cousins, and took turns monitoring the cortex. Other families would put her in charge of their kids when her family docked on different planets. She was like a warrior babysitter. The kids looked up to her, but they knew if they got outta line...

At nights, alone in her bunk, Zoe fantasized about having a life of her own. Her own ship, taking jobs wherever and whenever she wanted. And maybe even a husband. She giggled a little. Zoë knew that men liked to be in charge, but she had other plans. She wanted a partner, not a dictator. She’d find him someday. She longed for him …someone in her life to make her truly happy; she knew he was out there, somewhere.

Patiently she waited.

Then the war came. She was young, but adamant about fighting for her beliefs. That’s how she met Mal. Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds. ‘Sir.’ In the beginning she only called him ‘Mal’ when she was angry at him, and he caught on to that real quick. Zoë’s ‘warrior babysitting’ surfaced when they came across each other. He was the ‘do or die’ type and highly religious, using it to rationalize the crazy shit that he did. He was like a damn firecracker and she brought balance to his wild ways.

Stealth became Zoë’s forte during those years. She maneuvered the battle grounds like a lioness protecting her pride, eradicating the enemy and keeping a close eye on her cubs…men. Zoë tried to prepare herself for the death and destruction she would