The aged little Firefly III emerged from the Black into the pale light of Yellow Sun – pale at this distance, anyway; the ship's approximate destination was a ringed super-Jovian ten AU from its primary. The vessel dropped carefully into a gap in the giant's ring system, and gently boosted along that gap like a traveler taking to a well-worn path, which was exactly what it was: New Home was a shepherd moon that had swept all the debris out of its orbit eons before, making two middling-sized rings out of one big one. The ship approached the little world and eased into a trailing orbit, like an exhausted long-distance runner falling into a walk as he reaches the finish line. The drive shuddered as it shut down, sending shivers through the hull.

Hoban Washburn studied an instrument on his scarred panel, then another, then another, the corners of his mouth pulling farther down with each observation. "Mal…"

"If it's bad news," said the captain, "and I'm sure it is, can it wait till we're on the ground?"

"Yes and no."

Malcolm Reynolds rubbed a hand across his forehead, feeling a sticky layer of old sweat imbedded with grit. The climate control had begun malfunctioning early on the trip out, oscillating the inside temperature from low-normal to bake-a-cake. The water recycler had quit soon after, forcing the crew to forego showers to conserve drinking water. "Go hwon tong. Just say it."

"The old girl is twenty years overdue for her last hundred-month overhaul, Mal. If you want to land, I'm pretty sure I can get us down in one piece. But I won't take her up again until all the major systems have been gone over."

Captain Reynolds took two steps back and turned to look through the hatch. From here, he could see almost the length of the upper deck. Through the galley hatch, he saw Jayne seated at the table. The big merc appeared to be talking to someone in the food prep area, but Mal couldn't hear the voices. The hatches leading to the crews' quarters all looked shut, and the little telltales above each door confirmed it. Satisfied that no one had overheard the pilot's challenge to his authority, he turned back. "Is that right."

"I won't obey an order to crash the ship and kill us all." The look on the pilot's face told Mal he meant it. Hoban Washburn was no coward, but he knew his job, and he was stubborn as an old mule about some things. Wash had nearly been killed in a crash at the start of the War, one caused by a malfunction that was the result of a slipshod repair. The man's trust in Kaylee's patch jobs was a tribute to her talent. But patch jobs worked for only so long.

But there was a question of money involved. The cash box was pretty healthy right now, but they didn't have the coin for the kind of overhaul Wash was demanding, and never would. At least, not if they wanted to fuel and provision the ship. Of course, it didn't make sense to fuel the ship if it was never going to lift off again.

How cautious was Wash's estimate of the ship's condition? Temperamental thermostats and worn-out plumbing were no reason to ground a vessel, especially one so badly in need of steady work. And they had a cargo commitment and a delivery date to keep. He didn't like the idea of leaving Wash in the dirt on New Home, but the pilot had already weighed his options, and that forced Mal to consider his own.

He thought about his chances of hiring another pilot soon. He'd never get another with Wash's skill: the crazy strawhead had signed on for a hefty bonus of the non-monetary kind, one that the next man couldn't be offered, since losing Wash meant losing his wife as well; Zoë's personal loyalty to her old sergeant wouldn't stretch that far, surely. And if the Washburns left Serenity, that meant that Mal would be the last person aboard who could fly the old girl.

He thought about recruiting Inara as a backup. She was already a skillful shuttle driver: she was good at everything he'd seen her do, from fencing to making coffee - and many things he would never see her do, he had no doubt. Teaching her to navigate by beacon wouldn't be hard, and he was fair certain she'd be willing to take the helm when she wasn't … otherwise employed. But that would make her crew, by Mal's lights, and so he'd be obliged to pay her. And ten percent of Serenity's net from a typical job probably wouldn't cover a meal at one her favorite restaurants. He imagined the look on her face as he offered her a handful of wrinkled banknotes from the cash box….

The ship bounced.

Mal grabbed at an overhead brace out of reflex as the artificial gravity fluctuated again, making Serenity feel like a small surface vessel bobbing in a big wave. Wash did likewise, and their eyes met, the same thought passing between them. If the AG or inertial field failed during hard burn, the two-hundred-gee acceleration would turn the crew to spaghetti sauce in a second, and the ship into a debris field a second after. Fresh sweat popped out on the captain's forehead as he quickly revisited his options.

"All right," he said. "Call traffic control for a parkin orbit, preferably the one we're in right now. Wave Sal, and tell her we'll try to find someone else to make pickup on her cargo."

"We're staying in orbit?"

"If the old girl's got no takeoffs left in her, we'd better make sure we set down someplace we can put her right." Mal reached for the intercom just as it clicked.

Kaylee's voice came through the speaker. "Captain, we got some trouble here. The grav-"

"Never you mind that now," he said. "Kaylee, meet me at the port shuttle. We're payin a visit." To Kaylee's hometown, and Frye's Repair.

-0-

Like every little world whose surface gravity had been artificially enhanced by terraforming, New Home had a steep gradient that could take an inattentive pilot by surprise on descent or takeoff. Wash's piloting was anything but inattentive. When the glide path suddenly steepened, he was already correcting, and the little shuttle continued its smooth approach with no more than a slight change in attitude. Mal ignored the ride and watched the scenery.

New Home had been a target for every rock and chunk of ice in its orbit for half a million years; from Serenity and the shuttle at the beginning of their approach, a ghost of its pre-terraforming face had been plainly visible. Though green and well-endowed with water, the little world's geography was all circles and arcs: mountain ranges shaped like chains of crisscrossing crescents, round and half-round lakes, solitary peaks in the middle of deep circular valleys.

The terrain features shaped by planetary physics became less obvious as they dropped nearer the ground, and what jumped out was how pretty and unspoiled Kaylee's home was. They passed over blue water, thick woods, well-ordered farmsteads, and small towns – none, in Mal's estimation, harboring more than a couple thousand people.

Jayne said, "There a road more'n two lanes wide on this whole rock?"

"In Capital City," Kaylee replied, eyes fixed hungrily on the scenery visible through the glass. Her hand slipped into Simon's. "Main Street's got five. They have parades down it on Christmas and Unification Day. Real pretty – so I hear, I never been there. Oh!" She pointed with her free hand. "That's Millersburg! I recognize the town hall. We're almost there."

They followed Kaylee's finger another ten miles to a sprawling farmstead that looked to cover a thousand acres of cropland, grazing, and woodlot. The biggest outbuilding was a large sheetmetal structure adjacent to a neatly-arranged salvage yard. The little redhead directed them to a bare field beside it.

As they descended, Mal looked the junkyard over. On its oil-darkened expanse rested all manner of farm machinery, a score of what looked like passenger vehicles, a neat row of train cars … and a hand of ships, one a rusty old tailsitter larger than Serenity, lying on its belly among the runabouts and shuttles. It reminded him of the one the salesman at the salvage yard on Boros had been trying to talk him into seven years ago, when he had spied the half-stripped old Firefly sitting at the end of the row. The ship below them – how had it come to be here? Was it an old fleet workhorse cycled out of service, or had it been a family ship like theirs, brought here for repairs and sold for scrap because it could go no further?

His fist and jaw clenched. He hadn't rescued the old girl from one boneyard just to abandon her at another.

The shuttle settled to the packed ground, and the engines wound quickly down. Before they fell silent, though, three men emerged from the building and began walking briskly toward them. Kaylee waved through the window at them, then hustled to the hatch, the others following.

The little redhead undogged the hatch, pushed it open, and fell squarely into her father's arms. The two younger men, presumably her brothers, looked on with wide grins as she held him tight, planted kisses on his cheeks, and laughed into his ear.

Mal had met James Frye, Kaylee's father, once before, and knew him to be a shrewd man. When the captain had offered Bester's little playmate a job as Serenity's new mechanic, she had seemed delighted at the prospect but had informed him that she had to ask her pa, even though she looked – and behaved - years past age of consent for a farm world like New Home. Whereupon Captain Reynolds had been visited by said father, and had had to answer a number of sharp questions and endure a close scrutiny of the ship and its crew. He had also been obliged to make a number of guarantees about the little redhead's safety and welfare that he hadn't, in the strictest sense, kept. Or even in a sense not so strict.

Now that man, with his little girl held tight in his arms, lifted his eyes to give the captain a sharp look. That gaze travelled over Kaylee's other companions and their shuttle, reading clues about their state of affairs Mal would rather keep close, and the captain felt his hopes of any sort of negotiating position slip away. Dealing with Patience was easier than this is going to be.

Frye released his daughter and took her by the shoulders, holding her at arm's length. "Sure, they haven't been overfeeding you. Your ma will be pushing food into your mouth as soon as you clear the front door."

"Oh, stop," the girl said, beaming.

The oldest boy – a grown man, in truth, except for his grin - dropped a hand on top of her head, mussing it. "Bout time you got back. Old Man Clyde is still waiting on that manure spreader you were workin on when you left."

Kaylee slapped him on the chest, a gesture that turned into a quick fierce hug. "Missed you too, Matt. 'Spect that'll change after half a day."

The other young man brought an arm around her from behind and pulled her away, then turned her, holding her waist in one hand and her wrist in the other, almost as if they were dancing. "You got nothing for me, Winnit? I'm the one fixed the spreader."

"Convinced him it was fixed, more like. How many times he brought it back since then?"

He laughed and kissed her full on the lips. Then all three of her kin turned toward Kaylee's run-withs, waiting.

"Cap'n Reynolds you know, Pa," she said. "The fella with the flower shirt is Wash, he's our pilot and husband to our first mate." While her brothers shook hands, she went on, "And this is Jayne Cobb."

"The man we've heard so much about. Welcome." The elder Frye extended a hand and pumped the big merc's vigorously.

"And… this is Simon."

"The man we've heard damn little about." Her father offered a hand, rather more cautiously than he had Jayne's. "But you're welcome as well."

Handshakes were traded all around. With Wash's gripped in his, Papa Frye said, "Should've brought your wife with you. There's plenty of room at our table."

Wash gave Mal a glance. "She'll be along later," he said. "I hope."

Zoë had taken being left in orbit with Serenity with her usual stoic acceptance of Mal's orders, though she clearly hadn't liked it. But it seemed prudent to leave someone aboard who could fly the ship.

"Let's head up to the house," Kaylee's father suggested. "Your ma's vibrating in place to see you, and Will's gonna be home from school soon." He caught Mal's eye, and the two men hung back, trailing the others by a few steps.

As Kaylee and her brothers chattered and joked ahead, James Frye said, "Tell me about it." At Mal's frown he went on, "I can feel her ribs through two layers of cloth. None of you look like you've been eating too good – you can't fool a farmer bout that. Livin on Proteen, is my guess. She's careful bout what she puts in her post, but I know her well enough to read between the lines. And sometimes stories get back to us. I reckon I know what sort of life she has with you. You run a step ahead of trouble on good days, and on bad …" He drew a breath and let it out. "But she loves it, I see that too. So why did you come back? This don't feel like shore leave."

That stung a bit. Serenity hadn't been back to New Home since they'd taken Kaylee on. Mal had intended to send her home for a visit, albeit a short one, while they were meeting up with Sal and loading her goods, but other concerns had crowded it out of his mind – until Wash had delivered his ultimatum. "We had a cargo to pick up," Mal said, telling the truth but not all of it, "but the deal fell through."

"And?"

The ex-sergeant hesitated. Jim Frye reminded him of some of the officers he'd served under, the capable ones. You lied to such men at your own peril. So he swallowed his pride and said, "We could use some work done. On our ship."

"That so?" The man frowned. "Then why'd you come down in your boat instead?"

Mal outlined the problem. "We don't work in cash much," he concluded. "Mostly we get by on barter and exchange of favors." He thought again of Patience – not because he felt this man was a danger; trading fire with a double dealer was far easier on the nerves than coming to an honest hardworking man for an undeserved favor. "Maybe you need goods hauled or-"

"This is gonna go one of two ways, Captain," the elder Frye said. "Either we can fix your ship or we can't. If we can, we'll do it, regardless of whether you pay us back. Or else we can't fix it, either because it can't be done or we'd go broke doing it. In which case you'll lose your mechanic, because Kaywinnit won't be leaving with you. Dong luh ma?"

Mal knew better than to argue. "Wu dong."

"All right then." He stopped, and Mal halted beside. "Can you fly that little boat?"

"Not like Wash, but well enough."

Simon glanced back at the two older men, and slowed. Wash followed his gaze. Kaylee took her fiancé by one arm, Jayne the other, and Wash pressed a palm into his back. Together they hustled him on to catch up with her brothers, who never looked back. They all disappeared around the big building.

"Well then," the elder Frye said. "Let's go up to your ship. I need to poke around and see what we're dealing with. Then, maybe, you can bring her down and the rest of your crew can join us for supper. I like to know the folks getting my charity." A line appeared between his eyes. "I know that look. 'Charity' ain't a dirty word on New Home, Captain Reynolds. Folks help one another out when they can, and don't look down on them reaching a hand out. It's not just Christian duty. Life is a practical joker, loves to turn people's luck around. You never know when it's gonna be your turn."

-0-

"Wo de ma," Jim Frye said two hours later, slumped in a chair in the galley with his hands around a cup of Kaylee's 'shine. "I thought it looked ratty when I first saw it, but…" He shook his head. "A man makes his livin from his machinery, Reynolds, he needs to keep it in repair. And when his life depends on it as well…" He glared across the table at Mal, who regarded him steadily over his own glass. "What have you been doing with your money, man?"

Serenity was still in orbit. The senior Frye had gone over the engine room, the bridge, the galley, and into utility spaces Mal hadn't even known the old girl had, while Mal and Zoë followed, sometimes answering questions, but mostly just looking on. Inara was gone in her shuttle, having made an 'appointment' with some wealthy Alliance officer in Capital City. The Shepherd had quickly got between their visitor and River, offered a brief welcome, and retired with her to his quarters; Mal judged that the old preacher had figured that Kaylee's pa might find it a mite unnerving to be shadowed by a girl who spouted nonsense one minute and sounded eerily like his daughter the next.

Mal lifted his glass. "Food and fuel, mostly, and always scrapin for both." He took a swallow, enduring the burn in exchange for a moment to gather his words. "It took longer to turn a profit on this venture than I ever expected. The big Core World lines are squeezing small-timers off the easiest runs, and it's taken a while to set up steady work." He set the glass down. "But things have been lookin up just lately. We get past this, I think we'll be okay."

"You start thinkin that, it's about the time something comes along and knocks you back to square one." Frye drained his glass and set it down as well. "All right. Here's the deal. We can set her right, I think, provided we can lay hands on a few odd parts. How much they cost depends on where we find them. Labor-wise, we're lookin at maybe a hundred fifty, hundred eighty hours. That's a week or so for three men, less if Kaylee pitches in and your pilot's as handy with tools as you say. But we have other work, on the farm and in the shop. The seasons don't wait, and we won't set payin customers aside for this. It might take awhile."

Mal said, resigned, "Define 'awhile'."

"Three weeks, at a guess. Unless those parts are harder to find than I expect." When Mal opened his mouth, the man lifted a palm and said, "We'll leave your ship fit to sleep in. But you'll take your meals at our table. That gosa in your larder can stay there. That's part of the deal."

Feeling small despite the man's prior assurances, Mal said, "I don't rightly know how we can pay you back for all this."

"Neither do I," said James Frye. "But I spose you won't rest till you find a way. You got more pride than is good for you, Captain."

"So I've been told." By everybody from my own da to that weasel in the derby hat.