"He smiled at her." River sat on the steps of the shuttle, looking unseeing at the ambulances arriving and taking off from the other end of the hospital's landing pad. The little vessel had been crowded on the trip to the medical center, having picked up the posse at Brown's Landing, and most of the crew and passengers had spilled out as soon as it had touched down, to stretch their legs and mill about on the pavement nearby. Aside from Mal, Inara and Zoë, who were inside the medical center, everyone else was in earshot of the crazy girl, and listening.

She went on, "The same smile he always wore when they played a game, no matter who won. He smiled at her the whole time the bad man was gagging her and binding her and putting the rope around her neck. He waved at her when the man led her off, like she was going on a holiday trip. And the more she cried, the wider he smiled." She shivered. "The same smile at the shuttle terminal, the escort from the Academy who took my arm as Mother and Father and Simon waved goodbye, the doctors' smiles when they said it wouldn't hurt…"

Kaylee touched her hand. Simon, sitting beside her, put an arm around her and looked up desperately at the big merc. Jayne clenched and unclenched his hands, not knowing what to do, wishing mightily for a deserving throat to put them around.

The crazy girl seemed to gather herself and regain her calm. "The man told her that her whole family had done it, that they didn't want her anymore, wanted to be rid of her. That they'd told him to take her deep into the woods and kill her. But they walked all day, and as they went, he kept talking, as if he was having a conversation with someone. Near dusk, he stopped, and gave her a look so cold, she was sure that he'd decided he'd walked far enough with her. Instead, he took off her gag. And they walked on.

"He asked her questions about her family, and told her things she would never have believed the day before, before a brother she thought loved her more than anything sent her off to die with a smile and a wave. He made her feel like everyone she knew was a stranger in a mask. Only this man, her executioner, could be counted on to be what he seemed, because he had no need for deception.

"After dark, they came on a little clearing beside a wide shallow stream. He gave her that terrifying look again, and removed her bonds. 'Go wash and do your business,' he said. 'Come right back. Don't think about doing anything else. I have to chase you down, I'll make sure you won't do it again. You can still walk with two broken arms.'"

The posse all looked at one another: River had spoken in a good imitation of Burdon's voice, a man she had never met. She went on, "He laid a fire and started it while he watched her bathe. At first, she had only rubbed her hands under the water and splashed her face, but he called, 'Do it right. Skin down, scrub with handfuls of sand off the bottom.' She did what he told her, sitting on her heels in the stream with the water up to her shoulders, keeping one eye on him as he tended the fire, feeling his eyes on her. Feeling afraid of him in a new way." She fell silent.

Royce said quietly, "I was in earshot the whole time they were together. They didn't trade a hundred words. How can she know this?"

"It's a gift," Simon said. "But not really. She's paid more for it than it could possibly be worth."

"He cooked for them both," she went on, ignoring them. "She wondered, if he was going to kill her, why he bothered feeding her, why he wanted her clean, but she didn't dare ask. After they ate, she watched him spread out his blankets, and her meal rose back up into her throat. He gave her that scary look again. 'Come here,' he said. Her legs wouldn't move, as if they couldn't decide whether to obey or run. 'Now,' he said, a little louder, and she went to him.

"He had her lie on her side away from him. He tied her ankle to his knee with a little rope between so she could move some. Then he drew the blanket over them, put one arm under her head for a pillow, and the other around her. 'Go to sleep,' he said, 'or at least keep still.'

"She tried. When the tears came, she was as quiet as she could be, and didn't wipe at them. But he knew anyway. He pulled her tight against him. 'Get it out,' he said. "Out and over with.'

"They set out again the next morning. He bound her wrists in front of her, but he left off the neck halter and gag. On the trail, they talked off and on, him doing most of it when he wasn't asking questions. He talked about everything – work at her father's camps, the world he'd come from, the trail ahead, their next stop. He didn't say any more about killing her, but she was afraid to read anything into that. They shared his roll that night the same way.

"The third day, he told her about the insurance. 'Your old man is already as rich as Xian Lu,' he said. 'But the richer somebody is, the less likely you are to find enough in their vocabulary. He got rich selling fake maps to prospectors, sending them all over the Wood looking for paydirt, walking right over lodes that would have set them for life if he had told them what he knew.'

"On the middle of the fourth day, they stopped early. She didn't know where they were or even what direction they were traveling, but she thought by now they must be as deep in the Wood as they could possibly get. As he was stirring the fire he said, 'Your father's a powerful man. And he wants that money. If you don't turn up dead soon, he'll send men into the Wood after us.'

"Her throat closed up. She understood what he was saying, that he had no choice. She froze when he stood and came around the fire, drawing his big knife. She had pulled her hair back and tied it with a bit of shoelace, trying to keep it from getting too snarled on the trail; he reached around and pulled on it, drawing her chin up and exposing her throat. She couldn't speak, couldn't plead for her life; she just stood looking up at him.

"He brought the blade around, and with one slash took off all her hair below the tie. He combed his fingers through what was left. 'You still don't look like a boy,' he said, 'but maybe from a distance it won't be so obvious.' He cut the ropes binding her wrists next, sheathed the knife and took her chin in his hand. 'Listen to me. Anybody we meet – anybody – might be a spy taking tales back to your father. So if we meet somebody out here, you don't talk to them, not a word, not even if they ask you a question. Don't even let them hear your voice. Let me do all the talking. Dong ma?'

River's eyes drooped. "That night, when she shared his bedroll, she was unbound except for his arms pressing her to him. She slept with her head on his shoulder. It made her feel strange, and reminded her of her mother and father in the morning sometimes when she came in to wake them. She cried again, and this time he stroked her butchered hair and petted her and made soft little sounds, and she finally slept, cradled in his arms." Her eyes closed, she gave a heavy sigh, and was finally silent.

"Qing wa cao de liu mang," Jayne breathed. "Did he…"

River shook her head in a tiny arc. "After that, he laid hands on her all the time as they walked and camped, little strokes and squeezes and gentle manhandling. And when they slept together, sometimes he would touch her places an adult shouldn't touch a ten-year-old. She was used to his hands on her by then. She had a pretty good idea what those touches in the night were all about, but she didn't know how she should feel about it – not from the man who fed her and hid her at the risk of his life, the only person it seemed she could trust. After a while, she discovered that, knowing he wanted her like a woman, and could take her anytime, but held himself back … made her feel… safe." Her eyes misted. "Loved."

"That ga ni niang didn't have any change of heart," Garrod said, looking like he'd bit into something rotten. "He was headed to the mining camp to dicker a higher price for her."

"Yes," Simon agreed, keeping an arm around his sister, who seemed thoroughly wrung out, staring at her knees with shining eyes. "He was just toying with her. Gaining trust and then abusing it is part of the game, for people like that. And it saved him the trouble of tying her up and watching her all the time."

"You shoulda took longer ta kill him," Dell said to the big merc.

An aircar appeared in the sky, approached, and grounded not far from the shuttle. Simon Ames got out and walked their way. He stopped just out of handshake distance of Royce, the closest. "I'm sorry," he said to him. "I owe you everything I promised, and more. But I don't have it. I thought the Wood would take another year to play out, but I was wrong. That sat feed is worthless." He looked at all of them. "I knew I was strapped, but I didn't know how broke I was till I got a closer look at Roderick's books. He kept saying things were fine, we had money coming in…" He stopped himself. "I'll pay you all I can, before the vultures come for everything."

Simon stood. "Mister Ames. How long do you think you can hold off your creditors?"

"Bluff them, you mean?" He scoffed. "A couple of weeks. Less, if they see me selling off personal assets, which is about all I've got left. Your ship won't be fixed up new, son, but it'll be safe to fly again, I promise."

"What if they learn that you're negotiating a sale of your asteroid venture to a big Central World firm? One with plenty of cash to develop it?"

Ames shook his head. "The first thing they'll do is ask me for proof. When I can't produce, they'll know how desperate I am, and pounce like wolves. My other investors will panic, and stampede to anyone who makes them an offer. Some bank will buy up the pieces for pocket change, and-"

"I'm not talking about a bluff," Simon said quietly. "If you can afford a series of long-distance calls through the relay system, I think you'll have a letter of intent from an Osiris-based holding company within ten days." He leaned toward the businessman. "The man they'll send to get the deal is a shrewd negotiator, Mr. Ames. And he'll have to know it's a distress sale. But he won't cheat you. You'll still end up the richest man in Jove system, you just won't own it."

"He won't buy it," said River, still on the steps. When the others turned to her she went on, "Remember his ideals. He wants to help build the Outer Worlds, not despoil them." A shift in her voice and posture told Simon that she was 'channeling' again, adopting the mindset of their absent Companion. "He'll take a major interest, maybe even a controlling one. But Mr. Ames's name will still be on the venture, and the payroll."

Ames looked from Simon to River, and at the rest of the crew, then at the shuttle. "You're serious," he said.

River smiled up at him. "Raggedy band in worn clothes, rattletrap boat." She stood and glided up to Simon, laying a hand on his shoulder. "But we already look richer than we did a minute ago. Hope does that. Subjective reality is malleable."

"I'm sure it sounds ridiculous," Simon said. "Someone who can't afford a long-distance wave, talking about arranging a multimillion-credit deal. Give us a little trust, Mister Ames."

"You gave me back my little girl," he said. "I'd trust you with anything."

"How is she?" Jayne asked.

"Physically, better than we had any right to expect," her father said. He looked away. "She won't talk to us. She won't let us touch her. She endures the doctors, because she knows she doesn't have a choice, but…"

"Time and the doctors will oil the lock," River said. "You still have the key." She slipped an arm around her brother's waist. "She won't be the same, but she'll mend."

"If that's so," he said, "then however else it turns out, I'm a wealthy man." His eyes turned shiny. "My son," he said quietly. "My boy." He turned quickly away, marching across the busy field toward the hospital.

Jayne said to Kaylee, "The fella took you, was he right-handed or left?"

"Right," Kaylee said at once. Jayne's spirits sank until she added, "Except for that knife. He always had it in his hand, so if he wanted to do anything else, I guess he had to learn to use it with his off hand. Why?"

His gaze turned to Simon, and his borrowed flannel shirt: the outline of the little container holding Burdon's tissue sample printed against the fabric of the breast pocket. "Just want to be sure we put paid to all this, that's all, before we lift."

…

The shuttle made a vertical landing in the abandoned quarry, raising a swirling storm of glass shards. When the last of it had settled, the hatch opened and five men, ignoring the vehicle's collapsible steps, dropped half a meter to the surface with a series of crunches: Simon, Jayne, and the Hensons. They marched to the little shack in the crater's center. The five men stood regarding it silently for a few moments, then set to work.

Each man carried a gallon-size metal can. They opened them, releasing the smell of solvent. Jayne, Simon and the brothers each took a side of the little building, emptying the oily fluid on the weathered siding. Royce stepped just inside the door and poured his can on the floor.

Jayne nodded to Simon. The doctor held out a wad of cloth: the sundress worn by Willamina on her last trip into the Wood. Jayne produced a self-igniting match and lit the garment, which burned fiercely. Simon tossed it through the open door. Then they all stepped back and watched from among the sharp black stones as the dry timber caught and blazed up. It didn't burn long; in minutes the place where all those girls had been tormented and killed was a pile of smoking embers and swirling ash.

"He should have been in it when we lit it," Garrod said. "Hanging from the same beam, waiting for the fire."

"You could burn im alive for a year, it wouldn't pay back what he done," Jayne said, staring at the coals. "Nothin we could do to him would bring back your brother and them kids. But he won't hurt nobody else. That's just gonna have ta be enough."

They trudged back to the shuttle. The little vessel was far from empty. Waiting inside were Jim Frye, his sons, and the rest of Serenity's male complement. None of the womenfolk, not even River, had been allowed to accompany them – fortunately none of them had seemed keen on coming anyway. Jayne said to the Shepherd, standing on the ground by the door, "Well, didja pray for his salvation?"

"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak," the old man said. "I prayed for his victims instead. The living and the dead."

Wash and Mal were out of sight in the pilot compartment, giving the others some private space yet bearing witness. Jim Frye sat on the doorsill, feet on the stairs, head in his hands, tears streaming silently. Matt stood behind, his hand on his father's shoulder. Rosh and Will stood behind them gazing out the open doorway at the smoking pile.

Moving slowly, the ten-year-old boy slipped Rosh's hand off his shoulder and descended the steps as if he was alone. With Rosh following, he made his way to the smoldering fire, unzipped his fly, and urinated on the coals.

"It had nothing to do with you," Rosh said quietly. "The one connection between you is one that only matters to stock breeders."

"No," Will said, shaking his head. "Aunt Kay must have seen him every time she looked at me. I don't know why you don't all hate me."

Rosh sighed heavily and put his hand on the boy's shoulder again. "You're the one good thing came out of this awful mess. It's her sister she sees when she looks at you, when we all look at you. And it's guilt that eats at her, not fear or hate. Guilt that it was your ma who went through all that at his hands instead of her. You want to get her past that, you just keep loving her. Let her keep seeing her sister's child happy and good, alive and whole. It won't bring her back, but it'll soothe the hurt of the folk Mina Frye left behind."

…

Simon sighed at the viewer in the infirmary, having just analyzed the results of his latest tests on his sister. He typed in four paragraphs of commentary, then took out his notebook and pen.

6th dose, Theta-DCD, 5cc: slight improvements in cognitive association and Rimsky-Adler response. No ill effects.

He sighed again. The next dose from the sample case Badger had given him nine months before would take them past the halfway point. If he went through them all without finding a cure, there were no other treatments, not even experimental ones, to which he might turn. River had shown marked improvement, but she was still far from being the person who had left for the Academy. Would that incredible young woman ever be restored to him?

Fingers, light as cobwebs, rested on his shoulder. "Giving up already?" River said in a voice too smooth and cultured to be entirely hers. The pressure of her fingertips increased, kneading expertly. "Think how far we've come, gei gei, not how far we have to go."

He reached over his shoulder and touched the back of her hand. "I was hoping we could free you of this, at least. So you're Inara tonight?"

"Only a little." Her fingers pressed deeper, unlocking muscles he hadn't realized were tight. "She taught me this, I'm not taking it out of her head." She gave his shoulder an extra squeeze. "Mother probably would have sent me to Companion school if I hadn't been such a booster-brain. I'm sure Winston would have liked me better if I had been less eccentric and more polished."

"He liked you fine," Simon said. "Even though he cocked his head like a dog every time you talked."

She tittered at that, and her hands slid off him. "If you ever wonder if it's worth it, remember that moment I came out of the cryo box. Every moment of my life, awake and asleep, was just like that before you came for me." She got up on the examining table. "Ready for number seven."

...

"Well," said Badger to Captain Reynolds, "You're looking a sight better these days."

"Been eatin better than we're used to," Mal said to the image in the bridge screen. "Spose we might've all gained a little weight."

"Talking about the bliddy viewer, mate. You don't look like you're suspended in a tank o' sewer water any more. Last payday must have been a big one."

As if you don't know exactly what we've been doing, Mal thought. But misdirection was vital to naughty folk like themselves communicating over Alliance-owned equipment. "Big enough," he said. "But we'll be scrambling for jobs again soon enough."

"Ah, business. My favorite topic of conversation, especially with the call charges piling up." He leaned back in his dusty office chair and tipped back his derby. "If your ship and crew are ready for a bit of work in six days time, I've got a job for you."

"Where?"

"Right on New Home. A colleague of mine is delivering some fancy Core World corporate type there to work a business deal. But he's only dropping off. The bloke and his people will need a ride back to the Central Worlds after he shakes hands and leaves the room with somebody's soul in his briefcase." Badger laid a finger beside his nose. "The jiba owns his own passenger liners, so I hear, but when he goes on little business trips like these, he likes to use native transport, so to speak, to keep his competitors guessing. You'll deliver his party to some transport hub – he'll tell you which one – and he'll take it home from there."

And that would be the end of any interest the Alliance monitors had in the present conversation, Mal thought. Common folk, both in the Core and beyond the Border, were mostly just sheep to be sheared and herded, but petty bureaucrats interfered with the prerogatives of Core World tycoons at their peril. "Reckon we'll be ready to lift by then. How many passengers?"

"Half a dozen, likely. Typical Central World elite, can't take a piss without a servant to shake it. I hear he even dragged his poor wife along with him." Did Mal see a twinkle in the little fixer's eye? "Bloke must have thoughts of turning his little business trip into some sort of family holiday."

…

Mal waited on the upper catwalk, listening to the sounds of Inara's shuttle being drawn into its recess on the starboard side and secured. Greeting their goodwill ambassador on arrival had become a habit lately, though those meetings seldom resembled a tender reunion as much as a father waiting for his daughter to come home late from a party. Still, he felt an irrational and unsettling need to look her over after she had been off the ship for a few days. And Inara always made a point of presenting herself for inspection, though Mal suspected there were times she'd rather stay in her shuttle after docking.

He wondered what might ensue if he should ever see her return to the ship marked or upset. He believed she would welcome his concern, but doubted she'd welcome any attempt on his part to handle the situation. She was still dealing with the notoriety generated by the business with Atherton Wing, so much so that she seldom entertained clients on Persephone anymore. Doubtless Mal's impulsive act of chivalry had cost her a fortune in lost business, though truth to tell, he couldn't feel too guilty about that.

Presently she appeared at the hatch. "Welcome back," Mal said. In one hand he held a pair of mugs from the galley by their handles. In the other, he hoisted a corked and sealed bottle by its neck. "A little bonus from Simon Ames's cellar. 'Rogan Ninety-three,' he called it. He seemed to think it was something special. Care to partake, and explain the finer points of drinkin like gentry?"

Inara winced at the bottle. "Didn't he tell you how to handle it?"

He scowled. "Not that I remember." But now that she had brought his attention to it, he did recall how cautiously Ames had presented it to him, held half on its side in both hands, as if it might burst if jostled. But the glass of the bottle was plenty thick; Mal didn't see what harm he might do it short of dropping it off the catwalk. "Should I be holdin it with my pinky stuck out or some such?"

"No. No, it's fine." Gently she took the bottle from him and cradled it in one arm, as if it was a baby. "Do you suppose we might put it on ice for awhile?"

"You mean like in the freezer?"

For a moment she looked at him like he'd passed wind. "No. In a bucket, packed in ice. For an hour or so."

Mal felt the corners of his mouth pulling down. "'Spect we've got a mop bucket in a closet somewhere. Do you need a thermometer to take its temperature?"

"Mal." The troubled look in her eyes deepened his anger. "There are only a dozen bottles of this vintage left in the whole 'Verse. It probably cost Ames as much as Serenity's repair work. But wine like this usually has a small amount of sediment in the bottle that you shouldn't stir up, to protect the flavor. You have to be careful not to tip or shake it."

"Is that right." He took the bottle from her, holding it at the same angle. "So, you think somebody would pay money for it?"

"Mal, it was a gift."

"Sellin it may keep the ship fueled for a year." Ames hadn't told him to be careful with it; doubtless the handling of fine wine was something every civilized person knew. "Sides, it should go to somebody knows how to appreciate it." He moved down the catwalk, headed for the stair. "Maybe I can find a velvet pillow to put it on."

She made an exasperated sound. "Mal."

He ignored her.

"Mal."

His foot touched the step.

"Ni ai wo ma?"

He stopped.

Do you love me?

He looked down the stairs. "Seems like every time I want to get closer to you, something or somebody jumps up to remind me how far apart we are."

Her voice came from just behind him. "Is that your answer? Because it doesn't really sound like one."

"Wo ai ni," he said without turning. "But your love is trade goods, Inara. I want more from you than free samples."

Her voice sharpened. "My love isn't something found exclusively between my legs, Malcolm Reynolds."

"Think I don't know that? And what's between your legs isn't all you give your clients either, not by a long shot. Bet every man you're with falls in love with you. And thinks he can make you fall in love with him." He raised the bottle briefly. "How's a country bumpkin like me supposed to know what's real and what's art with you? I need something from you that you don't give your clients, wo de ai. But I don't know if I'd recognize it if you gave it to me."

She flattened a palm on his shoulder blade. "How about if I push you down the rutting stairs? That would be something I'd never do with a client."

"Maybe. But I'm not sure it would redefine our relationship." He turned finally, and cupped her elbow with his free hand. "We got a lot of things to work out."

"Mm hm." She tipped her head up. "There's nothing for it now, you're going to have to meet my mother."

"Aright." He hesitated. "Should I keep mum about what you do for a living?"

"Ni shi yiguh baichi," she said, cupping his chin in her hand. "But you're my idiot."