Shepherd Book bowed his head over his clasped hands, closing his eyes against the bustle around him. He turned his thoughts to thanking God for his many blessings: the company of Serenity’s crew, their continued safety and well-being, and time to repay his sins. He thanked Him for the food they had to fill their bellies. He asked for His blessing as he watched over the flock he shepherded.

He opened his eyes to see a carved wooden bowl wavering in front of him, suspended in Jayne’s strong grip as the man traded insults with the crew. After taking the bowl, he slid a portion of the bland protein mash onto the battered tin plate in front of him. Everyone else had been served, so he set the container back down on the heavy trestle table. Mouths were being filled all around, except for Simon's. The young doctor was poking at the meal with his elegantly lacquered chopsticks, as if he expected it to rise up and strike at him.

"Not to your liking, son?" he asked Simon.

"No, it’s fine," the boy returned with a tentative smile. "It just takes me a while to work up the nerve to actually taste it."

Book laughed. "I do find myself wishing for that endless supply of rosemary."

Simon smiled, fully this time. Twin dimples made him look just a little mischievous, like there was a playful schoolboy buried under all of those fine clothes. The man really needed to relax more often.

"Just be glad you have food at all, Preacher," the captain snapped from the head of the table. Book pushed down the reflexive urge to snap back. Malcolm Reynolds was often like a wounded bear, striking out at any provocation. Unfortunately, he had good ears for a wounded bear.

"Maybe if we got something that paid better than these milk runs we wouldn't have to eat this niou-se," Jayne said. Despite his disdain, the taste didn't seem to slow Jayne down. He held his fork shovel-like, scooping up great mouthfuls of the stuff.

"I know it's been a mite slow lately, but at least it's work. This ain't the time for taking risks, what with both Niska and the Alliance gunning for us. It'll pick up, don't worry," Malcolm asserted.

Simon glanced down at his plate. That one still held a world of guilt about the situation he had dropped on the others, though it certainly wasn't all his doing. It didn't help that the captain never tried to ease his burden.

"Being a bunch of pansy-asses, if you ask me," Jayne muttered.

"Well I didn't," Malcolm shot back. "And I don't rightly recall seeing your ear in a napkin, neither."

The whole room faltered, utensils against plates falling silent as the crew stilled. They rarely spoke openly about Niska's torture of the captain and Wash. That didn't mean that Malcolm himself was afraid to bring up the topic on occasion if it suited his purpose. Book caught a hint of motion; Zoe was reaching out to her husband. Wash patted her hand but otherwise remained passive.

Jayne set down his mug with a thump. "Ah hell, Mal. You know I didnt mean it like that."

Book didn't quite understand the dynamic between Jayne and Malcolm. The mercenary was taller, stronger, and had the loosest sense of loyalty of many a man he had known. Yet if the captain said jump, Jayne jumped. In the past few months, he hadn't even stopped to ask how high. Malcolm finished chewing his food while Jayne stared at him, and then took a long sip of tea.

"Don't rightly matter what you mean, Jayne. I know folks have been getting squirrelly lately. Don't much care for plain protein powder myself." He looked at Book then, and his lips quirked in that deprecating way he had when he knew he had made a mistake. Book nodded, willing to concede the small point to the man's tangled sense of honor.

"For the time being let's just concentrate on the work we got. We'll pick up that load of homespun on Rawley tomorrow. Should be easy as you please," he continued.

"You sure you want those words coming out of your mouth, sir?" Zoe prodded in her deadpan tone. The captain just stared back at her. Zoe raised one elegantly curved eyebrow and waited. The captain broke first, turning to Wash.

"How long to get us to Fusang after Rawley?" he asked his pilot.

Wash wiped his mouth on a napkin. The man's competence shone through in moments like these, when his jocular demeanor fell away and only the pilot remained. His eyes were unfocussed, as if he was doing complex figuring in his head.

"Little over five days, Mal. Less if you want to stress the fuel cells."

Malcolm tossed his own napkin on the table. "No need. That will bring us in fine. Give us a little time to take a stroll planet side. Don't take that as permission to get ourselves in hot water, though." Apparently, that was meant for Jayne, because they stared at each other until Jayne nodded.

"We all square now?" Heads nodded around the table. The captain stood, smiled at Inara, and headed toward the front of the ship.

Book pushed his mash around on his plate before pushing some more down his throat. The crew was excited about the announcement. It would indeed be good to set foot on terra firma once again. The ship could feel mightily cramped if its bare metal walls were the only scenery, week after week. Strangely enough, he couldn't bring much enthusiasm to bear on the news. Almost as if the promise of an easy job was just words bantered about like falling snow, melting away as you reached for them. He shook his head at his own melodrama. Snowflakes were spinning in his own head, silly old man that he was.

"Don't worry, preacher man. First man is coming with the storm," River piped up from beside him. "Of course, it is genetically impossible that one man could populate the human race." She wore an angelic smile, convinced that she was making sense.

"Thank you, River. I didn't mean to worry you."

She nodded solemnly. "It's okay. I like snow. It falls like feathers and makes you pink and shiny."

Book pondered on the teen as she returned to her meal. Though still troubled, her fits had decreased in the past months. Her words were still as incoherent as not, but along with the rest of the crew he had come to accept that they often carried a deeper meaning. That acceptance had relaxed something inside her, let her exhibit a joy and spirit that had been all but crushed when she first came on ship. More than any other thing, seeing her relate to the crew of Serenity had convinced him that this was the place God wanted him to be. So here he would remain.

For the time being, anyway.

He came out of his meanderings to find the others leaving, carrying their tableware to the washing counter. He was on dish duty tonight. It was really no hardship; protein mash staged little resistance to cleanup. He sat back and watched Kaylee interact with the Tam siblings. The young woman was teasing them both, though she was more gentle with River than she was with Simon.

"So, has that big brain of yours figured out my puzzle yet?" she asked River, lightly tapping the girl on the tip of her nose.

River tossed her long black hair over one shoulder as she cocked her head towards Simon. "I unlocked the box but there weren't any hearts inside. Sorry."

Kaylee's wide smile faltered before she forced it back on her face. "That's okay, sweetie. I weren't expecting there to be."

Book chuckled. River's obscure comments were often easier to understand when they weren't directed at one's self. He pushed back from the table as the trio left the room. It was time to wash some dishes.

"Well, we got you here," Jones grunted, mouth puckering up as he held out a grease-covered hand.

Methos counted out a handful of plat and handed it over to the sullen captain of the Darter. Adequate for a transport job, the crew hadn't been very personable. Personable didn't matter much in the greater scheme, however. He was finally acting on the things he had learned while working for Blue Sun corporation. Ten years of learning things that had sent chills up his immortal spine, ten years of keeping quiet as he searched for facts to back up his intuition. He had finally gathered enough information to act, to hopefully deter a danger to the whole immortal race. He could put up with a little bit of rudeness for that, especially if it helped establish his identity as Ben Pierson, antique weapons dealer and mild-mannered rogue.

"If you got more work for us, send Badger a wave," Jones said, still sour-faced as he slipped the coins into his own pouch.

Methos watched the man head back into his ship, thinking how unlikely a prospect that would be. After the bay closed he grabbed hold of the sled carrying his merchandise, hitched his duffle over his shoulder, and started the walk into town.

Yao Chi, the chief port of Fusang, was wild, dusty, and heterogenous--like all border docktowns. Sellers hawked trinkets and foodstuffs in a variety of languages from the booths scattered among the ships. The air was thick with dust and the smell of cooking oil and engine grease. Dazed travelers staggered along. Local children ranged among them, chattering and begging for coins, playing games or offering themselves as guides. A veritable hive of scum and villainy; Yao Chi was a known favorite of middle-men, the perfect place for brokering a deal.

Methos wandered the darkening streets, looking for an inn to use as a base of operations. Afterwards he would visit the local hole-in-the-wall bars in order to make acquaintances and gather rumors that might assist him in his search. With good luck that infantile network would prove unnecessary. A painstakingly gathered tip had led him to seek an appointment nearby with one Inara Serra, Companion of the Guild.

Of the changes he had seen since man's journey to the stars began, the return of the courtesan to respectable status was his favorite by far. They had regained the prestige that was the right of the holy prostitute in his younger days. That prestige came with a price tag, however. Bidding for a Companion's service required a deep pocketbook. Winning a bid required some ethereal quality known only to each particular jewel of the night. Methos had pulled out all of the stops in his interview wave, laying in a bit of deviousness under his most winning smile. He hoped it was enough to gain Miss Serra's attention.

Her reply was due in the morning. In the meantime, he would talk, and listen, and see if anyone was interested in his wares. He stopped in front of a likely building. As he climbed the access ramp adrenalin started to spice his veins, the anticipation of a new challenge replacing the boredom of his recent voyage.

In the morning, he might be one step closer to determining if Miss Serra traveled with his quarry: Alliance fugitives River and Simon Tam.