SERENITY

“Sun, Stand Thou Still” (Chapter 4)
by R. John Burke

DISCLAIMER: Firefly/Serenity is a creation of Joss Whedon and a copyright of Fox & Universal. I don't own these characters, and this is just fan fiction. No money is involved, no infringement intended.

--

“You're gonna be okay,” Malcolm Reynolds said, and set about performing what first aid he could for Captain Xifeng Stokes. “You'll have to stay off your feet, but...”

“You'll be a hell of a captain, Reynolds,” she breathed in his ear. “You lie good.”

“Now listen here... you listen to me. I won't...”

“You know what gets me?” Stokes said. “Oh, my. That was the best I could do for an exit. 'Oh, my.' Of all the...”

She proceeded to break all her previous records for ear-scathing Mandarian. Mal didn't think she'd ever run out of invectives. Then she did. Then she didn't say anything else. He closed her eyes.

And then the world blew up-- or that was what it felt like. Maybe it was really happening, or maybe Mal had finally gone completely -feng le,- but he could have sworn one of the Alliance's own landers turned around and dropped about a ton of munitions right on the peak of Crow mountain. There was an explosion-- hell of an explosion-- and suddenly the purple-bellies were scurrying around like somebody stomped on their anthill. If somebody was to hit them right now, and hit them -hard-... Malcolm Reynolds started to get an idea.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Zoe Alleyne was shouting something at him. Mal climbed to his feet and dusted off his pants. He waited 'till his hearing started to come back:

“-- saw what happened,” Zoe was saying. “Is Stokes--”

“Yes.”

“-Ta ma de-... I didn't...”

“Zoe,” he said, “we're gonna take the mountain.”

She blinked. “What, sir?”

He pointed upward. “See that up there? Big damn mountain? We're gonna take it.”

“Wow. My ears are rattled. I thought you--”

“I said it.”

Zoe slapped her forehead. “-Jian ta de gui-... We doing this 'cause we're crazy, sir?”

“Yup.” Mal glanced at Xifeng Stokes' body, and his lip twitched. “Also, we're a mite upset.”

“Don't blame you, sir. But Division HQ will never...”

“We'll make Tracey tell 'em.” He jerked his thumb upward again. “Meantime, we take the mountain.”

He went off to round up some crazy people. To her credit, or maybe her eternal regret, Zoe tagged along.

--

Everything around Derrial was burning, including the body of Book's guard. The shepherd -wasn't- burning... he was just standing over the wounded operative, holding the other man's sword, looking unhappy with himself.

Derrial rolled over, exposing his chest. “Go ahead and finish. You've won, haven't you? You've earned the right.”

“No,” the preacher said. “I can't see how I did.”

“Somehow, you turned the tables. Your people took control of the ship... no, not your people. A -person.- You brought in a ringer. He would have had to be an expert, to commandeer the lander and transfer your cache into it without being detected.” The answer occurred to Derrial, and he swore in Mandarin. “The bounty hunter! What was his name...?”

“Doesn't matter,” Book said. He peered at the blade of the sword, the last ray of sunlight glinting off it. “The day is ended. Joshua has his victory.”

“Seeing one's self as a Biblical figure could be considered a sign of delusion.”

The preacher reached out with his free hand and helped Derrial to his feet. He shook his head slowly. “But I haven't won today... you have.”

Derrial looked around him, at the camp in flames. He listened to the sound of his side panicking and the wild, eerie yells of Browncoats on the attack. “The evidence does not support your theory.”

“You were wrong about me, Derrial. I do believe in something more than myself... but it wasn't the Independent faction. It was something else. It was the idea that a man could exist without violence... that he could protect his flock that way. That he could turn the other cheek. And I have failed in my belief.”

“And screwed me over in the process.” Derrial arched an eyebrow. “Nice work.”

“I used to be very good, too.” The shepherd glanced one more time at the sword, turned it around, and offered him its hilt.

“If you hand me that,” said the older man, “I'll kill you with it.”

“If you wish. But, Derrial, if you live by -this-... this is how you will die. I know that... and so do you.”

Derrial nodded. “The price we discussed.”

“What if there's another way?” Book held his eyes for a long beat. “Come with me. Leave this life behind. You've spent all your days as part of an institution, but people can change... people forgive. If you'll let us.”

Derrial hesitated. The preacher still offered him the sword. If he took it, he could kill Book to complete his mission, blame the military setback on the line officers, and live out his life as he had always known he would. It would be easy. He wondered what would possess a man like Shepherd Book to give him that chance. For a moment, he wanted badly to understand. Of course, he also wanted to reach for the sword.

Before he could, he heard another shot. He whirled, expecting to see soldiers reaching the crest of the mountain...

Then he heard something hit the ground behind him. He turned back too late. Captain Jarvis-- his hair singed and his face badly burned-- stood over Shepherd Book's body, holding a sidearm and wearing what Derrial thought was the most infuriating sneer he'd seen in his life.

“Sorry about that, sir,” the captain said. “I should have done that the moment we found the -hun dan,- eh?”

“Yes,” said Derrial. He drew in a deep breath and bent over to reclaim his sword from Book's hand. There was already blood on it, which he thought was convenient.

“Captain Jarvis?” he said.

“Yes?”

“I hate people who try to do my job for me.”

“Wha--”

Derrial came up, swung from the heels, and left the captain's head lying beside his body, still with that same, startled look on his face. For a moment he felt pride in that, but then suddenly couldn't look at it. He dropped the sword and knelt beside the preacher, checking vital signs. He found some... barely. The younger man murmured something, and Derrial cocked an ear to hear him.

“...seems you were right,” said the other man. “There are no good men.”

“No,” he agreed. “But there are some who want to be better.”

A spasm of pain must have wracked the shepherd, for he spasmed in Book's arms. Struggling for breath, he said, “One dies... in sight of the Promised Land. Another... continues. You understand?”

Derrial nodded. “Joshua.”

“Yes.” A small gasp escaped the preacher's lips. “You... strengthen the others...”

“I can't,” the former Operative said. “I don't believe the same things...”

“But you do -believe-.”

The Shepherd squeezed his hand. Then he died. Derrial sat there for a long time, trying to remember which side he was on. By the time the swarm of Browncoats pushed their purple-armored adversaries back over the mountaintop, he was gone.

--

The Black
Two Weeks Later

Crammed into an old FIREFLY-class transport along with all his closest and smelliest friends, Malcolm Reynolds leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to forget which side he was on.

It wasn't easy, considering he seemed doomed to always be on the losing side. Even on New Olympia, where he'd won, he'd lost. They'd taken the ridge, held it a while, even renamed it in Xifeng Stokes' honor. Then they'd gotten word of even more Alliance ships inbound, and they'd barely managed to jump planet ahead of the hammer. New Olympia was back in their hands now, and the long reach of the Alliance got a little longer.

But at least Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds had himself a new medal. Maybe it would inspire his next captain to pay more attention to him. Most likely not.

“There he is, the hero of New Olympia!” said Zoe Alleyne, pushing her way through a knot of bodies to stand beside Mal. “Can I see the medal again?”

“No.”

“Can I -have- the medal?”

“No.”

“I'll trade you booze for it.”

“We'll talk.”

Tracey was only a few steps behind her, looking thoughtful again: “What was it all worth, though, Sarge? I mean... we did the impossible and it counted for nothing. They took the planet, we lost the captain... what was it worth?”

“We got back up,” Mal said, “again. Sooner or later, they'll realize we won't stay down.”

Zoe nodded definitely. Tracey didn't seem so sure. Then the corporal laughed.

“Hey, sir, you know what they're calling the 57th now? The 'Balls and Bayonets Brigade.' How about that?”

“Huh,” said Mal. “Shiny.”

“It's 'cause of you, y'know... whether you want to take it as a compliment, that's up to you.”

“I wouldn't,” said Tracey.

They fell silent for a moment. Then Zoe said: “She was good people, sir.”

“No, she wasn't.” Mal said, and laughed.

“That's true. But I'll miss her.”

“Me, too.”

Zoe held his eyes for a moment, making sure he was all right. Then rumor started of a card game in the cargo bay, and she couldn't pass that up. She excused herself. Mal wished her luck, hoping if she won she'd pay back what she owed him. She thanked him for the luck, but said she would not. He reckoned that fair.

That left Mal alone with Tracey. After watching the private all mooney-eyed for a while, he couldn't take it anymore:

“Go ahead, speak your piece.”

Tracey frowned. “Off the record, sir?”

“Well, I promise I won't court-martial you. I don't promise I won't shoot you.”

“Okay.” After a moment, Tracey said, “All that stuff you said on the planet... I needed to hear it. It saved my life.”

“I know.”

“But I don't think it was true. I think we're in freefall, sir, and if you don't strap yourself in to reality, I think you're gonna make a mighty hard landing.”

“Well, you're allowed to think... some.”

The younger man sighed. “Mal... what if we -can't- win? What if they knock us down, and -keep- knocking us down, 'till there's nothing left? What if Unification happens?”

“Well... between you and me...” Mal looked back at the bulkhead. Good bulkheads, good ship. He'd always liked this design. He offered half a smile. “They can't take the sky.”

Tracey snorted.

“Watch 'em,” he said, and disappeared into a crowd of unwashed Browncoats.

Shiloh Colony Some Time Later

“There you are, sir... have a pleasant flight.”

The relentlessly pleasant receptionist handed an Ident Card back to a portly traveler, then turned her industrial-strength smile on the next fellow in line, a black man in robes with his salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail. He turned and embraced the woman with her wrist in a cast who'd come to see him off, then stepped up to the desk.

“Hello, sir, welcome to Trans-Alliance Spaceways. How may we help you today?”

“One ticket to Persephone, please.” The man winced as he handed her the money... he'd spent most of his resources setting up a new mission on this planet, and this was all he had left.

“Yes, sir... will that be round-trip?”

The man shook his head. “No... actually I think I'll stay for a while.”

“Yes, sir. Persephone... isn't there some big abbey there? Like a retreat?”

The man offered a bland smile. “Why, yes, I believe there is.”

The flight attendant scanned his card, smiled again, and handed a ticket to the man the computer called Shepherd Derrial Book.

END