---

---

Harper had to assume that this unexpected visit wasn't for the purpose of inquiring into his dinner plans. Not that such an event was unheard of; he was a conventionally handsome man raised with good instincts for grooming and hygiene who, a lifetime ago, was financially stable and had excellent career prospects. Well, misplaced naivety certainly brought all of that to an abrupt, screaming halt. The last part, anyway; Liam was still an okay looking guy who kept up his appearance as the occasion called for it. Holdover from a Core World upbringing, most likely. Every second past that halcyon existence taught him the value of well placed cynicism and the benefits of the proper application of a blunt object.

All the same, it was highly unlikely that the presence of the Lady Bluegloves, or indeed the status of the entire ship suddenly going Black, had anything to do with him. Logically, it made zero sense. The authorities would rather just shoot someone than stage something this elaborate. It was incidental. A fluke. Considering that his freedom was due to an amazing set of circumstances that lined up at the proper time, and he personally took considerable risk to hop onto the opportunity provided, this whole scenario could even be listed (by the more spiritual types) as Destiny unfolding.

So why not? Maybe there was a thing which the Agent required the assistance of a skilled Pilot, Alliance Officer, or merely the fresh perspective of a new face on board. While trust (by no means) had been accomplished, Liam could benefit from some conversation and a tour of part of the ship.

"Miss, umm... Miss Lobo?" he began with a hint of uncertainty. To his experience, it was an unusual surname. He wrapped his speech around it deliberately, almost to the point of overpronunciation. "Yes, Ma'am. I'd be happy to be of help. Just a moment."

Harper left the door partially open and took a step backwards. Turning to one side, he recovered the jar of preserved fruit he had opened earlier. He plucked out a couple of peaches and put away the remainder before turning his attention back to the lady in the hall. Exiting the room, he politely offered her a peach, nonchalantly confiding in her, "Could go for a coffee. You?" and motioning in the direction of the Lounge. Coffee, yeah. Liam could go for a blast of grain alcohol with what he just found out, and he wasn't exactly a heavy drinker.

As they began their short trek to the ship's Lounge one deck below, he opened conversation with, "Situation being what it is, maybe you can help me figure something out, too. First, what did you want to speak about?"

---

---

The request by his oldest friend to ready sidearms did more than simply pique Foy's interest. The Esteemed Mr. Coiffeur was generally always ready to throw himself into an event featuring violence; his training saw to it admirably. Even when his more genteel mannerisms were at the forefront (especially, sometimes), he was a breath away from either Thrilling Heroics or Aiming to Misbehave, depending upon his contract. What's more, Jahosafat knew this. If the good Doctor felt the need to remind him to ready himself, this must surely be a noteworthy event unfolding before him.

The unfailing Gentleman, upon hearing his friend's words, stared at him piercingly - trying to catch any hint or glimmer of the man's feelings and motivation. During his lengthy gaze, he retrieved his large bore Derringers in quick release holsters and slapped them onto his forearms, then lowered his sleeves before extensive wrinkling set into the fabric. Not his primarily preferred method of throwing lead at those designated to receive it, but more than adequate to put down a threat in close quarters. To hear Jahosafat talk, he didn't want this particular close quarter target killed if they could help it. Still, there are very few places in a human body that you could put a .50 slug where it didn't cause catastrophic injury.

As the various safeties were removed from the case, Foy dramatically flexed his arms, prompting his two-shot sidearms to spring into his hands. Something akin to a smile crossed his face as he raised his diminutive but powerful weapons to either side of his head, then down toward the opening crate. Foy took up a sideways facing stance, waiting for the mist and cold to dissipate.

When it finally did, the Dapper Gentleman cleared his throat softly, and spoke in polite tones to Dr. Moreau, "Apologies, old friend. I would be obliged were you to repeat your last intonation; I could not hear you over the sound of me forcibly soiling my undergarments. Come again?"

---

---

"Carla." The terse statement interrupted the pilot's strangling of her surname. She involuntarily shivered at the use of the word ma'am. I'll take opportunists with blackened hearts over polite military sycophants any day. She made an aside glance to the offer of fruit and shook her head. Breaking her fast on strawberries put her off fruit for the day. "I'm fine. Grab a cuppa if it suits you." They turned a corner as Harper cut through the pleasantries and asked what was on his mind. Carla took a moment to ponder.

Espionage often broke itself down to the right gamble at the right place. Less blackjack and more Russian Roulette. Proper preparations removed bullets. The wrong word to the wrong person added frustrating unknowns. Or it could turn a light to the obscured. "I wanted to speak about your record. Specifically what Conduct Unbecoming of an Officer entails. I noticed they didn't include gentleman. Oversight? Is that still a thing?" She asked the last question to herself, almost. She cast a side long glance at him as they entered the lounge. Carla considered herself an amateur study of the eye. Guilt and innocence were frames of mind that let themselves known if one studied close enough. The record was sparse and Carla hand't given it a thorough look. She wanted to do so with the man in question. It saved time.

She stepped up to a shut door, made a puzzled expression, and waved at the scanner to accept her entrance. The buzzer sounded off in annoyance and continued to glare out red. Carla sighed and shut her eyes. "We can do this at the conference room. Quinn never uses it anyway." She didn't acknowledge his request for a quid pro quo. Carla briefly wondered at why it was secured but pushed the question out of her mind. One thing at a time.

---

---

---

---

---

Dorothy smiled slightly as Jackson left the Med Bay, hearing the sounds of pain from the boy outside. Even if the Captain survived, she likely would've suggested it anyways. The others had to pay with their lives for harming Anisa. Was it a bit sadistic and harsh? Possibly. Dorothy glanced away from the blood test, before using the vasopresser that Atticus fetched for her.

Before she could even set it up, however, bile and blood spewed from Anisa's mouth. Dorothy knew that she likely only had seconds at that point, none of the antidotes were there. Barely registering the words of the kid, about how the vial was an antidote, Dorothy opened it up and poured it into Anisa's mouth, stroking Anisa's throat in order to force the Captain to swallow. With baited breath, Dorothy set up an oxygen mask, prepared to help Anisa with breathing. With the gagging and the activated charcoal tube, Dorothy carefully removed the tube, hoping that it would help the Captain some. She had given Anisa all of the antidote contained in that vial. None of her treatments seemed to be working. If the antidote didn't work, then Anisa would die.

"Anisa, love, blink if you can hear me," Dorothy instructed, shining a light in Anisa's eyes to attempt to detect signs of life. She gently patted Anisa's clenched hand, waiting for the bile to stop coming up before hooking Anisa up to the oxygen. Dorothy didn't let herself feel the panic and stress of her best friend dying in front of her. It wouldn't help Anisa at all for her to freak out.

"Anisa, any movement you can make," Dorothy added, waiting for any change in Anisa's condition.

Lionel was not a man of weak constitution. He had seen just about every internal organ in the human body exposed to open air, he had felt men struggle for breath under his hands before they grew still and the life left their body, he had even managed to eat his ex-wife's cooking on occasion; however, the smell of disinfectants, medicines and the rushing of doctors filled him with a sense of dread down to the pit of his stomach that he couldn't shake, and when the person being operated on was someone he had some measure of respect for he couldn't stand to be there any longer.

When Genevieve followed him to help him move without falling onto his face, but not back towards the med bay, he non-verbally accepted her help again, this time a bit more openly and without any grumblin' or cussin'. His room was less'n 50 feet away from the Med Bay across flat ground, but any extra stability was still welcomed. When Gene told him to call, he looked at her with an indeterminate expression. It could have been pain, exasperation, irritation, some combination of the three or none of the above, but he gave her a solid, no-nonsense answer.

"Will do, Miss." With that he shuffled into his room and proceeded to fall face first onto his bed.

He could really use a drink right now. Lionel looked up from the bed and spotted a nearby half-empty bottle.

It was out of arm's reach.

Tā mā de wǒ de shēnghuó.

---

---

This was the time to do some thinking since she wasn't supposed to enter the Med Bay, despite how much she wanted to. Instead, she waited for any sign that Anisa would be ok or that she would be called. The door opened and out walked Jackson, without so much as a nod. She decided to follow him, as she wanted to talk to him anyway.

He made his way towards the young boy they placed on the couch and before Genevieve could take a breath, Jackson pounded his foot on the man's already broken leg and demanded answers. This display of anger wasn't unheard of in Jackson and, with recent events, seemed all the more likely, but still, it wouldn't help Anisa anymore.

"Jackson! The boy has suffered a lot already, more violence would just anger his partners. If you'll allow it, let me talk to him and get the answers. Maybe I can finally show you what I am able to do."

---

---

Damn, no coffee. At least not from the Lounge, though he could have sworn he smelled some fresh coffee back up one level, near the crew quarters. While it wasn't 90 proof liquor (the thing he had his mind set on acquiring a moment or two ago), the idea of a warming cup of coffee, or even a strong tea, was becoming more appealing. Liam held no illusions that this was going to be a professional conversation, steeped in an exchange of mutual trust and understanding. All the same, one was expected to catch flies with honey. Walking along the corridors of The Retribution, the Lady Assassin's opener to the pretense of meaningful discourse appeared to be an attempt to put him on the defensive. It was a sound tactic, coming from an icily scary woman.

For whatever reason, she took it upon herself to read his file, and used the content therein as her opening salvo in what was likely to be more of an interrogation than anything else. Harper stopped, refusing to keep pace with his companion and looked at her. Blankly at first, until he allowed a touch of his actual irritation to show. Finally, he nodded slowly, as if coming to an unspoken understanding. If she was looking for defensive, he could oblige.

"The Union of Allied Planets' Military Punitive Code describes "Conduct Unbecoming" as any action or omission of action that demonstrates dishonesty, indecency, lawlessness, unfair dealing, indecorum, injustice, or cruelty. I was, quite expediently, Court-Martialed and sentenced for my breach of protocol, the debt for which has been paid. If you're that hard up for specifics, you may wish to speak with the Captain, who has access to the details and is under no obligation to share; though he does have legal obligation to respect my right to privacy. Likewise, unless you're in my Food Chain, have superior rank, and clearance from Judicial, I'm under no obligation to share, either."

She didn't know anything about their present set of circumstances, same as him. Were Liam a betting man, he'd put up a respectable sum of money to that effect. The beautiful part about interrogating someone in a subject to which they are ignorant (like himself) was that all it did was make one's voice hoarse and arms tired. Deflect and move on.

"You'll have to excuse me. I'm going to look for that "cuppa" elsewhere. Enjoy the rest of your day, ma'am."

Lieutenant Harper turned and began to stride back to the ladder they descended to get to Mid Level, hoping to find the source of the siren song odor of brewed coffee. He could have sworn it was closer to the rear of the vessel. Maybe near Engineering. It was at least one mystery he could solve in the meantime.

---

---

The smell as she looked through bits of scraps started getting a little thick for her. She should have thought about that. Normally she would have asked Dorothy if there was anything that she could use to help with the musty smell. However, with the firefight that had occurred, and the captain being hauled off to the Med Bay, it probably wasn't the time to ask. Wasn't like there was anything that could be done about it now. She was sort of in a rush to leave the planet, and the captain probably would start yelling about it once she was all healed up anyway.

She walked around and found the hydrolic fluid that they needed. That and several bits of ship parts that could help patch up Vengeance were also near. Too bad she had no idea really what she was doing. Daphne didn't have the tools for this type of work. Hopefully Gideon has something we can use to cut these parts, and maybe filter the fluid too, she thought, and walked over to where he was.

"Hey Gideon, you wouldn't have something that could, oh I don't know, cut pieces of metal. Hopefully you have something to get that hydrolic fluid out and filtered too." she said to him.

---

---

Atticus's eyes went from Dorthy to Gene to Jackson to the man and then down to Anisa. He watched as Dorthy gave her what they were told was the antidote and held his breath as his fingers reached down and ran over his rosary. Running each bead slowly through his fingers and thumb as he quickly said a prayer for each one that picked through his touch. It was better for him to pass the time than to stand there doing nothing. Prayer was all he could do right then. Well other than going over there and breaking the mans other leg for being apart of what caused this entire situation.

Slowly the color started to come back to Anisa's cheeks as her heart rate and blood pressure stabilized. Her hands unclenching from the side of the bed as her back finally unarced and rested flat on the medical bed. Atticus let out a sigh of relief. "Thank god... Anisa, can you hear me?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Anisa turned her head back and forth a little before spitting out the blood and other fluids that had bubbled up into her mouth, all over the preacher. "Thank Dorthy," she muttered under her breath before her eyes finally opened. They were bloodshot and pained but she was there as she took the first deep breath she had in a while.

"Gorham, what in the fuck just happened," she asked as her hand came up and she rubbed her forehead, it felt like her brains had been scrambled. Atticus jumped back slightly and rolled his eyes as he reached over and grabbed a sheet, wiping his face off slowly as he dragged it down and scrubbed his beard some.

"Well, it seems like she is back to normal," he said as he turned and tossed the towel into the bin before stepping to the doorway. Shaking his head he grinned and looked back over towards Anisa. "I'll pray for you."

"Pray I don't wring your neck soon as I am off this table."

---

---

Carla noticed the pilot slipping behind her and continued walking. She let the footsteps of leather soles on hard floors echo out into the distance widening between the two. She turned at the sound of his voice and measured the man. She examined his annoyance, reviewed the defenses he set up, and tuned out of his explanation mid-speech. Instead she focused on his eyes and mouth. On the way his lithe form shifted in place.

He's performing. Whether it was for his own benefit or hers she couldn't reason yet. Pilot's been hiding a backbone. He's decided I either can't or won't act. She blinked. The pilot was talking about a Food Chain. Does he mean a chain of command? Carla paused to wonder at the authenticity of his mannerisms while the image of military superiors devouring each other was contemplated. They almost seem like what a civilian might think military men act like.

Carla learned a long time ago people decide and believe what they are inclined to fairly early on. You fly spaceships and come up with the reasons after. You murder people for a living and sort out the why later. As Harper walked away, Carla made no attempt to stop him. She already decided. Guilty. The why and the circumstances would come later.

She waited as he left her for the mid level. Carla then made her way down to the Cargo Bay. Harper might be the cover to distract and deter. She reminded herself of the useful nature of distractions as she contemplated Foy's presence on the ship. Carla began with a cursory view of the cargo bay's various stowed containers. She remembered the last time she sneaked onto a ship in a crate. Not nearly enough reading material. Afterwards, she pulled up the ship's cargo manifest on the nearest bulkhead terminal and began to sort through the various lists. Carla became visibly annoyed at the information slamming her eyes and sorted it by the time it was loaded. She then used the terminal to pull up the log detailing the transfer of all personnel deemed non-essential. She double checked the time-frame and then verified all the last minute supplies that were checked on board the Retribution. It's a start.

---

---

Jackson groaned in irritation as the kid threw up on his foot, taking a step back as he began to spill his guts about the vial. Looking over his boot, he shook his head and took a moment to wipe it back off on him. As Genevieve came over, pleading to his better nature against harming the boy, he couldn't help but chuckle, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. "Talk to 'im all you want now, got the info I needed."

It wasn't uncommon for Jackson to get like this, the generally good-natured man going out the window as he became all-business, as if he was still in the military, completing a mission. Anisa being in the situation she was, and having only just been shot at, brought it up all the more fiercely than usual. The kid with the broken leg just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and on the wrong side. He was satisfied enough that the man had given him some info, otherwise he might've snapped toward Genevieve even as she came to offer some help. Not that he'd been particularly friendly to her offer regardless.

Moving back into the medbay, Jackson could see Dorothy had obviously heard the kid as she poured the contents of the vial into Anisa's mouth. For a few moments he stood there, waiting, to see what might have happened. What did happen in the next few moments would very well dictate the fate of the boy in the other room, and, well, likely Patience her self. Jackson didn't feel in an avenging mood yet however, and it seemed it wouldn't be necessary as Anisa seemed to recover, prompting something of a smile to grace the First Mate's lips. "Gorhammit, Captain, next time you do that i'm just goin' to take over and run the ship with an iron fist." He commented, masquerading any concern which may have been making its way up behind humour.

---

---

---

---

As they arrived in the Lounge, Quinn set down the crate along with the others and stood up straight, dusting his hands off. Without his usual uniformed jacket, he looked far more relaxed than the business-like and procedural officer preferred to. With just the simple change of wardrobe, he almost looked like a grunt, his undershirt tucked neatly into his bloused trousers. With a good look to his face however, Quinn still looked every bit the calculating leader he always was, giving Jahosafat a look of relative pleasure as he made his request.

Shifting his hand down, he wrapped his hand around the grip of his Walther, generally otherwise hidden under his jacket. Dragging the weapon from its holster, he reached up, slowly dragging back the slide to engage a round as he flicked the safety off. Outside of field executions, the weapon didn't get much use, it certainly wasn't a regular weapon for combat, it was far more for intimidation than anything else. The doctors next words only served to further displease Quinn, and he pre-emptively pointed his weapon toward the crate, finger on the trigger. In the event that whatever was housed in the crate was dangerous, he had no plans of thinking twice.

As the crate began to open, Quinn watched the smoke as it came out, waiting for the top of the crate to open up fully. As it faded away, it took him a moment to fully grasp what he was looking at. When he did, it was a surprise that Quinn could gather a look of even greater displeasure, his weapon remaining trained on the body as his gaze shifted toward Moreau. "Doctor." He began, and eerie calmness to his voice. "Please explain to me, immediately, why this is aboard my ship."

There was something almost zen about lying on your face while in constant pain that you couldn't do much of anything about. Trying to turn over or shift his weight only resulted in a flare up of pain and muscle spasms in his back, so here he was. While he couldn't do much physically, his mental faculties were completely free to think about all sorts of things he couldn't do right now.

Interestingly, he didn't really feel all that angry or irritated anymore. Yeah crash landing on a planet and getting covered in urine and fecal matter was still among the many lows of the day (if you can even call a given sequence of time spent in The Black a day), but that had been conveniently moved to the back of his mind as he lie there.

Lionel pondered over Deadwood and how progress on his new estate was doing. It probably still had another six months or so of work required before he could return, assuming nothing fucks with it like more Reavers. Which reminded him that he'd need to check in on his shoe company later. They hadn't been recovering as well as most of his other ventures, and if that behavior continued he'd have to do some creative restructuring of upper management or cut the whole thing off before it could effect his other businesses with profit loss. Shèngmǔ mǎ lì yǎ he couldn't wait for his back to stop hurting.

---

---

---

---

---

Dorothy overheard Gen's complaints, her voice wafting into the Medical Bay. She couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly, even considering the circumstances. Once this entire mess was over, she was going to have to sit down with Genevieve and explain some things for her. They were friends, but tough love was needed. Her childish insistence to aid everyone with her psychology skills had to come to an end. She was in dire need of a reality check, and fortunately for her, the doctor would soon be in.

Seeing Anisa spew all over the preacher, Dorothy smirked slightly. "Welcome back to the land of the living, captain," Dorothy said curtly, her hands folded at her side. The captain had improved remarkably, and Dorothy let herself, for just a moment, feel happy that her friend hadn't died. They didn't need a dead captain, after all.

"Your vitals are stable, and the crew is quite worried...Three people can come in at a time," Dorothy said. "Any more and there won't be room to work in here."

She stepped aside, allowing Jackson and Anisa to do their thing. Dorothy knew rather well that the two of them were practically family, and she busied herself with finding the proper medicine to help Anisa deal with the lingering pain. Finding some painkillers, Dorothy filled up a glass with water, and set it down with the medicine next to Anisa. Her eyes flickered towards Genevieve outside of the Medical Bay and she pursed her lips slightly.

"Captain, do you require further medical assistance?" Dorothy asked, knowing rather well that Anisa was rather in tune with her body, and would let Dorothy know quicker than any test if there was another emergency on her hands. If not, she'd mend the boy's leg as best as she could. Assuming, of course, the crew didn't decide again that everyone could pile inside of the med bay and nothing would go wrong.

---

---

Harper did a remarkable job releasing a slow sigh of relief, blessedly unnoticed. He pace remained steady, regardless of his desire to move with much greater speed. Given the circumstances of his assignment (the pilot of a Black Ship headed toward the Rim, outfitted with a skeleton crew dotted with a sociopath or three), he wondered if he was safer back in prison. This was very much not what he had in mind when he aspired to freedom. But at least the food was better.

All the same, turning one's back on a blue-gloved Agent wasn't the prescribed behavior of a man in his situation. His actual situation, anyway. It might be the prescribed behavior of someone unconcerned with getting a slug to the back, and/or someone genuinely insulted by said Agent nonchalantly bringing up red marks in their fitrep. No, everything was a gamble, nowadays, and would remain so until he could quietly rejoin society somewhere that didn't care about his history. Get through it one day at a time.

On the up side, now that he was back on the Upper Level, he could definitely catch the aroma of coffee. It was to the rear of the vessel, past crew quarters. Harper shook out the stress of the previous moment, and strode thoughtfully toward the source. Down the corridor, far back, almost to Upper Engineering. The newly assigned Flight Officer was familiar with this vessel type - this area was supposed to be a Recovery Ward and some manner of Medical Office. Instead, when he entered the room that hosted the emanations of roasted heaven, he was surprised to slap retinas upon...

"A Barbershop?"

---

---

---

---

---

@Bluesky44 - With the withdraw of L.W. - Gideon will now be moved to the RP Shelf, the character will still receive rolls and such when situations arise but for now treat him as a Free For All NPC. Control as you need to finish gathering up stuff in the mines and get back to the ship. (Wing it if you will, going to give a lot of latitude since our mechanic is now an npc. Once back in the ship with the stuff, we will go from there.)

---

---

"I need a gorham cup of coffee, black and strong," she said lifting her head up for a moment before letting it fall back down. Smirking slightly she gave an appreciative nod towards Dorthy. "You did good, I'll be up shortly."

"Oh cork it Jackson, you know as well as I do it will take more than death to stop me from being Captain of this ship," she said rolling her eyes a bit. Turning her head towards him she gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm fine," she reassured him in a whisper of a voice before she reached out and took his hand. It might have seemed like a tender moment, a touch of her hand to his to give him comfort from worry but even it was it was quickly over with as she used the leverage to sit up and swing her legs off the edge of the medical bed. She hated being on one of those things.

Groaning slightly she let go of him and reached down, pressing her hands to the side of the bed on which she sat. Curling her fingers over the edge of it on either side of herself as she lowered her head and fought off the dizzy feeling. She would have rather just climbed into bed in her room but now was not the time for the crew of the ship to see her weak. She had to be strong now and alleviate any thoughts that their captain was not at full. Taking a deep breath, she did what she always did; she sucked it up, buried it deep and let her feet hit the floor with determination as she stood up right; not letting the pain in her tigh or the rest of her flicker in her eyes. "Alright, give me a status update," she said as she looked back over to Jackson.

---

---

Jahosafat slowly released his hand from his side arm as he knelt down in front of the crate as the fog of the chilled air cleared visions way. Taking a breath he looked over the unconscious Reaver before reaching over it and pulling the lid back in place, going through the various motions to ensure it was locked back into place and secured before he turned his attention to the two very confused men. He couldn't blame them for any fear or shock they may have been experiencing. He had gone through similar when he was originally approached. Standing up slowly he turned to face them and rested his hands at his sides.

"You can holster your side arms at this time gentlemen. He is secure," he said before moving over to a seat and resting himself down into it as if nothing spectacular was occurring. A relaxed look in his eyes as he reclined back somewhat and draped an ankle over his knee. "As I stated before Whitefall will be under Reaver attack soon if our calculations are correct. It is my job to find a way to either stop these former men, or how to..." He stopped, pondering his next words carefully. "Harness them."

Sitting up he let his foot drop to the floor as he placed his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together before him. "As you are aware the PAX is mostly just a chemical that calms people, far too much mind you. That 1/10th of 1% of the population it affects in this manner," he said pointing over at the now sealed crate, "is what I am appointed to figured out. Genetic mapping my good fellows. I need to find out what in certain ones of us can be triggered to become that. Once I am able to do that, I am to develop a means of suppressing that specific gene or hormone or whatever it could rightly be so that as our War against the Reavers continues they will not be able to increase their populations anymore."

Standing up he slipped off his over coat, draping it over the back of the chair gently before rolling his sleeves up. Once they were pristinly in place he opened his medical bag and pulled out a small kit. "First things first, I will need blood sampling from each member of the crew to compare with Jayne's here. I need to know if any of you are possibly future Reavers."

---

---

She waited along with the others after the man spilled his guts. She hoped that if they had their way, it would be quick. He was a young guy, probably got caught up in this by having no other options.

She felt relief when Anisa finally awoke and resumed her tough exterior. She knew if she stepped into the Med Bay she would be met with more problems, so she merely left and walked back to her shuttle. She knew Anisa would see her if she felt it was relevant. She hoped she did, as now she was near death in this instance, and she felt she could do more.

She was concerned about Dorothy too now. She knew that Dorothy was capable, heck she may even be one of the best, but even the simplest operations can take a toll, especially when it's all you do. She may have been in the wrong, but her heart was in the right place and damn if she was going to stop because people could only look at her as a high-up prostitute.

She entered her shuttle and sat at her dest and answered messages and sent comms to those she would have to miss.

---

---

She grabbed a pair of cutters from Gideon. He was still looking around at other parts of the wreckage. She walked back to the where there were pieces that could be used to patch up the hull. She started pulling off bits of metal, cutting it away from the larger ship. There wasn't much she could do, Gideon never told her how much of the hull needed to be patched up. Well, might as well cut several pieces of metal off. If we have extra than so be it, makes it easier the next time the ship gets a hole in it.

Daphne kept slicing away at pieces of metal. Once there was a somewhat large pile of metal, she started pulling it over and loading it up into the vehicle that they had come in. She managed to get Gideon to help her out, so she didn't risk hurting herself lifting it all by herself. She grabbed the equipment from him that could siphon out the fluid that they needed. Daphne set to work once more, getting the fluid the ship needed.

Why am I the one doing this? Why did I agree to come along anyway? Oh, wait. It had something to do with the fact that I wanted to leave this planet quickly after the ship nearly blew up mid-flight. How could I forget that. Oh well, might as well try to get this over with quickly so Vengeance can get off the ground. Daphne siphoned out a few containers of hydraulic fluid, there wasn't anything with them that could filter it. They would have to do that back on the ship.

"Alright, might as well try and see if there is anything else that could be useful nearby." Daphne said, talking to herself.

---

---

Carla began the tedious process of sorting through the deliveries made to the Retribution before she left Persephone. Last minute medical supplies, a laundry list of office supplies and maintenance equipment, and nothing of note. She turned and made a survey of the cargo bay. Everything was stowed securely and she couldn't eliminate based off of size. She eyed the giant black box, made a puzzled expression, and shook her head. It's never that obvious. More than a good portion of these boxes could hide a man and an arsenal's worth of gear. Checking each and every box sounded menial and the thought exhausted her. Maybe I'm just paranoid?

Well, yes. But idle hands. She then re-checked the terminal and looked for Harper's name. Personal gear and effects all checked into his quarters. Nothing else of note. Or you're not as good as you think you are. She sighed, rolled her eyes at her own frustrations, then noticed a name she hadn't seen before right after Harper's check in. Jahosafat Moreau checked on board with a clearance level reserved for Alliance royalty. "What did you check on board, stranger?" An image came to her mind: the stranger who dismissed her and treated Quinn like his errand boy and didn't give a name. Carla still had to hazard that these two were one and the same. Or else Foy is up to using false aliases again. Carla made a mental note to check Foy's deliveries later. He always got the best contraband.

As she examined the terminal, she made note of the notes of a yeoman attached to a very large crate received and taken into the custody of Jahosafat Moreau. Carla blinked. This man can get a huge black crate put on a ship with no one checking what it is? She started to dissect the yeoman's sparse notes and see what the description of the cargo was. The large black box loomed over her.

There has been an awakening.
Have you felt it?

Familiar,
but unexpected.
Unwelcome.

Bubbling from the pits
Like a geyser
Gurgling
Straining against its boundaries

Although he may try to resist
Lionel knew that there could be no victory
Against inevitability.
Struggling against fate
He grit his teeth

Clenched toes
Strained breath
Clouded mind
Forgotten hope

The struggle finally lost
Lionel succumbed
And cut loose what he had been holding back

The Mother
Of All Farts

---

---

---

---

---

Dorothy raised a bit of an eyebrow, considering vaguely vetoing the Captain's request for caffeine. She still couldn't be certain that the caffeine wouldn't have an undue reaction with the other chemicals coursing through Anisa, but she decided to let it be. After what the Captain had just gone through, she more than deserved something stronger than water to drink.

Watching Anisa carefully as she rose from the bed, Dorothy chuckled slightly in spite of herself. She shouldn't have expected Anisa to do anything else, truly. "I know you won't agree to bed rest, so please take extra care to drink water and avoid undue physical strain." It was a comprise on her part, knowing that the Captain would be fine, but also not wanting to see Anisa back on that medical bed any time soon. With Anisa on her feet, Dorothy quickly rinsed her hands, and snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. "Alright, I'll be tending to the chwen." Nodding at the Captain and Jackson, Dorothy headed into the Med Bay Exterior, she crouched down by the boy, propping his leg up gently. Running her hands over the leg, she inspected it for any deformities and swelling. Depending on the type of fracture, the leg could become infected.

"What's your name?" Dorothy asked, forcing a smile. "Tell me about yourself, hmm?" She continued about her work, looking for any indication of the skin being pierced by the bone, the most serious type of fracture the boy may have. People tended to enjoy talking about themselves, and given she didn't know much else about him, it would be one way to get his mind off of the pain. "You got a favorite color or something?"

---

---

Watching Anisa closely as she gave him that look, he gently took her hand in his own, giving it a firm squeeze as if to confirm that she was actually going to be alright as he slowly helped her up. He knew she hated being on a medical bed but he also knew full well if she wasn't fit enough to be up she wouldn't be trying to get up in the first place. Lifting her up onto her feet, he slowly let go of her hand, lowering his own down as he set his hands on his belt, looking over those present for a moment before Anisa turned back toward him.

It took him a moment or two to recall everything that'd gone on, it'd been a frantic period of time since the shoot out. "Well to start out, that boy ain't gettin' back to patience to deliver your message, got a broken leg from the horse you dropped on him." He motioned out the door towards the kid still on the couch, and still stained with his own vomit after he'd puked on Jackson's foot.

"Daphne and Gideon've head down into the mines to look for anythin' useful for repairs, haven't heard back from 'em yet but they ain't been gone too long." He continued, attempting to recall if there was anything more but it all slipped his mind for a moment or two. "Oh, and 'fore I forget, 'parently there's a blade in Brutus' boot what'll stick you with more of that poison so, you'd best steer clear."

---

---

---

---

Quinn made no effort to holster his side arm, keeping it up and aimed at the body as he watched Jahosafat. Something irritated Quinn far more about the man now than it had prior, perhaps it was how relaxed he was. The words he used were, considerably worse. Harness. Was Moreau, was the Alliance in general, really trying to think of a way to use the Reavers? To turn them into some kind of weapon to put the Independents down and keep people in line? Quinn forced himself to keep any comment he had on the man's words to himself, not letting anything slip just yet as he stood there.

"Blood samples will be supplied, doctor, but if you don't mind me asking..." He glanced down to the body, weapon still aimed carefully at its head. "How else do you plan on storing R142A? I would prefer it not to be simply left like this in the middle of my lounge." He commented before gazing back to Moreau, if he knew that it would have been against orders from higher-up, the man would've simply airlocked 'Jayne'. Having a reaver aboard his ship was not something that Quinn was particularly excited about.