THE JOB

Disclaimer: It's all Joss Whedon's fault (in yet, amazingly enough, I still own the computer).

Malcolm Reynolds looked at the six faces around him. His family, though he would never openly admit it. He sighed and mentally shook himself. There was crime to be done.

"Badger's waved us with job. We're low on money, and I'm look'in to take it." Jayne laughed.

"Guess Badger's not going to go to our ship direct again!"

"Won't cut us loose though," said River absently. "Thinks were his ticket to 'society jobs'." Mal thought for a moment.

"Well good for us then, 'lil albatross," he said. "You and Jayne will be accompan'in me to Badger's place. It's high time we get ourselves a job."

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"Malcolm Reynolds." Badger said the name with great relish, fully appraising him with his knowledege of the man (however little it may be) and the situation.

"How long has it been now? Six, seven months?" Malcolm Reynolds was nothing, but Badger was something. Badger had roots in the buisness community. Badger was superior

"Don't rightly know. Haven't been keep'in count." Malcolm Reynolds said. Malcolm Reynolds knew this. Badger knew that he knew this.

"Six months, fourteen days, three hours, and 47 minutes." This was the girl. The girl did not have a name to say or appraise. This girl did not have a place. She knew it and she liked it. This unsettled Badger.

River saw all this about Badger, and found it fascinating. But only for a short while. She applied her mind to the task at hand.

"So, whatch ya got for us Badger?" said Mal.

"A guy named Cyprus. He relocates old Browncoats. Wouldn't deal with me, but I figured you two could do buisness." There was slight tic in Mal's eye. Badger didn't notice this and plowed on.

"Lives on Steppe. You've got 'liberate' some cargo off a derelict in wide orbit. Then check in with Cyprus and sell the cargo on Dusttuft."

"Ain' nevur hear' of a planet called