Part 1 - Moving Parts

The face on the cortex screen was bland and unassuming–the round, pale face of a minor functionary in the middle of a port town. Not Badger's class–but not what Mal assumed Simon's folks must have been, either.

They had just picked up from Eavesdown Docks on Persephone when the WAVE came through. Mal was just as glad to be leaving–a part of him was quite sure Atherton Wing would be monitoring the docking 'nets, and wasn't the type to be above paying some muscle to shiv him while he was in port.

Their trip had been short and sweet–deliver Badger's cut of the last two jobs, see if Harrow had anything he might need ferried off-world. But Persephone was quiet as a tomb. Well, a tomb with a few raucous barroom brawls going on inside it. Still, quiet enough, compared to what they were used to. They'd set down just in time for Wash to get some fresh jiao-zi from his favourite street vendor, and lifted off again less than an hour later.

"I have been told by a certain mutual acquaintance that your crew is both reliable and discreet." Readout said he was a Dr. Nelson Wyner, and was transmitting from Riverside on Zephyr, less than nine hours away. They hadn't had a gig on Zephyr in over a year. Good a time as any to head back, Mal was thinking.

"That we are. Reasonably priced too, if I say so myself."

"Money–as they say–is no object. I only require the utmost secrecy." Mal almost smirked–sometimes, he wondered if the folks he had dealings with were all reading their lines off the script of the same melodrama. But work was work, and after handing most of their coin over to Niska, they needed it. Badly.

"That we can also provide."

"The cargo is breeding stock to be delivered to the Han Province, on Paquin."

"We got a hold capacity of fifty head of cattle–plus room for two weeks' feed."

"I assure you, Captain Reynolds, the cargo won't require that much space. It's in cryo for transport–one cylinder, to be exact, to be decante