The night on Bernadette was cold and dark. Stellan Bendis, a squat, fireplug of a man gazed ruefully out at the sky from the window, his son not too far off, quietly keeping a safe distance. He knew better than to interrupt his "dear ole dad" when he got like this. "Ten years. Ten years ago tonight my boy was taken from me." He said as a tear rolled down his cheek. There would have been more, but his farmer's lifestyle and soldier's background (he would have gone career, had his knee not been torn up during his first tour of duty) told him to keep them in check. "Why couldn't you be more like your brother?" He took another swig of Ng Ka Pei.

"Because I don't like fighting. You know that."

"You're a jing-(chang) mei yong duh (1) wimp, that's why! At least your brother died fighting."

"Eric ran into some bad people and wound up paying for it! I loved my brother as much as anyone, but he made some dog-dumb decisions. If it weren't for Capt. Reynolds, we wouldn't even know what'd happened to him." The kid dove out of the way as the brandy bottle hit the wall behind him.

"Don't talk 'bout your brother that way. An' 'at so-called 'Captain's' a bumblebee. Man laid down arms instead a' goin' down fightin'. If Eric had been in his position, why he'd a' sent them purplebellies runnin'."

"The Cap' had his other browncoats to think about, too. Not just Eric."

"I don't care 'bout the other soldiers! Eric was a man, which is more'n I can say for the capn' and for you. You with your high-falutin' 'novels'." He expounded, placing great emphasis on the last word. "Think your better 'an everybody else, just 'cause you like your fancy stories. Guy steals a loaf a' bread, he don't become a-a governor or whatever he became. Yeah, I can read, too, doesn't mean I'mo be king someday. All you're ever gonna be is a farmer. Hey, get back here when I'm talkin' to ya!" he bellowed as his son wordlessly rose to his feet and headed for bed.

Peter Bendis was only twenty-seven standard years old, but he looked more like he was in his mid-thirties, owing to the harsh climate and the fact that he split the work with his father. His father hated the planet. In fact, it was just about the only thing he had in common with his old man. They hated that it had been named post-Unification war by an Alliance hero, hated that it was the only planet they could afford to live on without resorting to dishonest work, what with the cost of fuel being what it is; hated the climate, just hated the rock in general. He loved his dad, and he knew his dad loved him (when he wasn't stone drunk, which was actually not that often). He also knew that deep down, Eric had been the favorite son, and that no matter how hard he tried, he would never live up to Eric's legacy, at least in Stellan's eyes. If only there was someway I could get that stupid captain, he thought to himself, then dad could see me for the man I am. Then an idea dawned on him.

Meanwhile, on Persephone, a scrawny rat of a man in a white tank top and a very fine bowler hat sat in his office. "Afternoon, Badger." Said a voice from the door.

Looking up, Badger replied, "Cap'n Reyno'ds. Been waitin' fo' ya."

"Got a job for us?" Malcolm asked, flanked by Jayne and Zoe.

"That I do. The missus'll explain it all." He replied in his heavy Dyton colony accent.

"'The missus?' You mean there's a woman who's actually willing (or lonely enough) to be with you?"

"I mean," Said Badger, a cocky smile spread generously from ear to waxy ear. "Michelle!" he called out. Mal and the rest exchanged worried, knowing glances as they got a good look at the woman. She was a redhead. She was striking. She was Saffron.

Translations

1. Consistently useless