Joss Whedon's Firefly, which was canceled after only fourteen episodes, stands in my view as his creative pinnacle. Essentially, it's a western set in space. It wasn't popular at all with audiences during its short-lived run in 2002 - 2003, but has since garnered a massive cult following. A feature film, Serenity, was released in 2005, and is widely regarded as far superior to any of the three Star Wars films released in the same period.
Kye and I have Firefly on permanent rotation, meaning that we loop through the episodes plus the film regularly. (Note: it was actually canceled after the eleventh episode, but fourteen were ultimately produced.) It's character-driven episodic science fiction, extremely well written, funny, affecting, ridiculous, introspective, action-packed, campy, homey, and romantic. If you haven't watched it, do. You'll be glad you did.
I've written the first part of my fan-fiction tribute, which comprises ten chapters, and am currently six chapters in on the second, with six new chapters coming soon!
Synopsis: Mal and his crew are back. Always looking for a payday, Mal accepts a job from an old nemesis and occasional client: Badger. The payoff? More than he or his crew can imagine. But with such an astounding amount of scratch comes an equally astounding helping of danger. Read on!
"It's a set-up, sir," said Zoe Washburne, binoculars to her eyes. "It has to be."
She crouched back down next to her captain, Malcolm Reynolds, who said, "Badger … ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng …"
The window they sat under was shattered; it comprised one of three looking out on the porch of a long-abandoned house. The other two were shattered as well. Beyond the porch and down splintered wooden stairs a dirt path cut between two large oak trees that arced over it.
"Three men heading your way, Cap'n'," came Kaylee's voice over the radio. Static made it tough to hear what she was saying. "One at point, two behind, comin' in from the south—"
"South?" he said. "C'mon—"
He unholstered his gun and came up slightly from his half crouch. Zoe had stood fully and gone ahead of him. "Kitchen," she said, flipping the safety on her pistol. "Back door."
"It's Badger, sir …" said Kaylee.
"Got 'em in my sights …" said another, deeper disembodied voice. "Want 'em splattered, Captain?"
Mal stood to get a look at the approaching men.
"Hang on, Jayne," he ordered his gun-for-hire. "It looks like they're unarmed. Zoe?"
He pressed the radio button once more. "Jayne, get down here. Keep outta sight. If things get ugly, I want some backup …"
"Aye, Cap," came the gruff reply. The radio clicked off. Mal rehooked it on his belt as the back kitchen door swung open.
Badger strode in as if into his own domicile, as if he already knew what waited for him. "Malcolm Reynolds ...”
He looked around. "Nice little fixer-upper you got here. Thinkin’ of settlin' down?" He gazed at Zoe. "Though I must say your choice of wife might be a little … how shall I put it?"
"With a sock in it," said Zoe down the barrel of her pistol.
Mal had his own aimed between Badger's eyes. "Best state your reason for being here, Badger. Your involvement in this, as I recall, was to be hands off."
Badger shrugged happily. "Slight change o' plans. I'm not here to interfere. Not, at least, in any potentially costly manner. You can see I'm unarmed. My associates as well. I'm here to sweeten our original deal. Now why don't you lower your weapons and maybe we can do a little business—?"
"The deal was six hundred for twenty caps fresh. That was the deal," said Mal. "That's the business we're here for. The caps have been delivered. Now where's my goram money?"
Badger smiled. "I don' like discussin' business down the barrel of a gun. So if you wouldn't mind …"
"I don't see a big sack of loot, so no, I think I'll keep this pistol aimed right between your beady eyes …"
Badger raised his voice a little. "Kaylee, love, can ya hear me?"
A moment of awkward silence; static; then—"Cap'n?"
"It's Badger, honey," said Badger. He conspicuously thumbed a small round button on his coat near his mouth. "I assume you're sitting your pretty hiney at Serenity's controls?"
Without lowering his weapon, Mal unclipped the radio at his hip, brought it up to his mouth. "Go ahead. The rodent wants to talk to you." To Badger he said, "Mind telling me how you hacked into our comm link?"
Badger's smile didn't waver, and he didn't answer the question. "Kaylee, love, A-F-O—not zero, O—1-dash-zero-zero-nine, enable. Got that?"
"Uh … I … yeah. Cap'n?"
Mal glowered down the barrel of his pistol. "Do it." He released the radio’s button as he pulled back the gun's hammer.
Badger kept smiling.
A few seconds of silence.
"Wow, Cap'n. Badger's got himself an Alliance bank account. Secured, too. Wow …"
"How'd you manage that?" demanded Mal. "You workin' for the
Jayne cut in. "If he's workin' for the
we're sittin' ducks. Best we put 'im down and git—"
"The side of beef speaks," chuckled Badger. "Jayne, my good man, you 'ent got the sense God gave a slug; so once again I'll advise everybody here to calm down. Can we do that? Are you truly a businessman, Captain, ready to deal with the big boys—or are you still nothin’ but a two-bit thief in a ten-gallon hat what runs from real opportunity when it comes round?"
"I don't wear a hat 'ceptin' formal occasions," said Mal. "Now how long have you had access to Serenity's comm channel?"
"Just now, actually," said Badger smugly. "Past three minutes or so. I have me an ace in me cockpit, a real professional—with all due respect to you, Kaylee, love. Are you still there?"
"I'm here," Serenity’s engineer said shortly.
"Please type in the address bar: L-I-8-backslash-backslash-I-9-N-4-semicolon-semicolon-backslash, and then hit enable again, love."
Mal stared at the man smirking back at him. He slowly lowered his weapon, as did his second-in-command. "Go ahead."
"But sir, viruses … We don't know—"
"Okay … Don’t tell me I didn’t warn ya … I need him to repeat it.”
"Ready for some shootin'," said Jayne. "Just give the word."
Badger repeated himself.
"Here goes nothin'," said Kaylee.
There was a moment of silence.
"Wow," she said. "Wow, Cap'n …"
"Report," he ordered.
"Says here a transfer of seven hundred has been made to … to your account, Cap'n … Captain, you have an
bank account?" Alliance
"What is this, Badger? What's your game?"
"I assure you it's no game," replied Badger, taking off his hat and running his thumb along the brim. "Our agreement was six hundred. The extra hundred … well, consider it a bonus."
"A bonus for what? You'd cheat your own mama outta scratch if the opportunity presented itself; the 'bonus' comes with a price sure as hell is higher than a hundred."
"Captain, Captain," said Badger reproachfully. "The big time awaits. You can either embrace this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, or you can go away, like you usually do, empty-handed. The choice is yours …"
Mal swore under his breath. "I knew it. Jayne? Jayne, you there? Come in …"
"He's a little busy, methinks, bein' unconscious," said Badger, putting his hat back on and adjusting it. "With all due respect to lovely little Kaylee, my pilot is an expert tracker and sensor technician. You're surrounded, Captain. Now: shall we discuss my business opportunity?"
Mal waited for the goons to disarm him and Zoe, but they seemed more for show than for bloodshed. Their boots were rooted to the floor. He holstered his weapon and nodded at Zoe to do the same.
"I'm listening," he said.
"That's a good boy," said Badger with a grin. "You may yet be growin’, maturin’, becomin’ more than a second-rate garbage hauler. Let's find out." He thumbed the button on his coat. "Deader, you're up, love. Come on down. We're waitin’ …"
"On my way," came a woman's voice, followed by the click of radio silence. Mal thought she sounded just like his grandmother.
Badger gazed at Zoe. "I haven't yet offered my condolences on the loss of your husband, lovely Zoe. I realize it's been a while—two years? Allow me to do that now." He tipped his hat and gave a short bow.
"Thank you," said Zoe flatly.
"I do not jest," he said with something approaching authenticity. "He was, if I am to believe the stories, a most gifted pilot. I mean—how else could that bucket of bolts have survived all it did? Serenity's crew should all be Reaver steaks, your skeletons adorning the flying radiation sewers they call ships. And his many escapes from the
Alliance—so clever! They're almost legend
along the Rim. Your husband, may the Verse receive his soul, was a real
professional, a true expert. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Since then Serenity and her crew have virtually disappeared—no trace of your whereabouts. It took considerably more than seven hundred to find you, Captain. Seems you have been lyin’ very low, takin’ honest, quick-payin' jobs, nothin’ too risky, nothin’ what would expose you or keep you in one place too long or bring you too close to the Core. I was quite surprised when my associates let me know you were willing to do business with them, even knowin’ I was in the background, and even after six hundred was offered as payment."
"We've had more than enough adventure," grumbled Mal. "We like makin' an honest buck for an honest day's work. Flying right has kept the
Alliance out of our hair. We get no trouble
from them these days. As for you …"
"I find that most interesting," interrupted Badger. "Most interesting indeed … Indeed, it's why I'm here today."
Mal caught his drift right off. "Mr. Universe was helpful in more ways than one. You can stop this fishing expedition right now and tell me why you're trying to ruin a perfectly good payday—?"
"Very well. The extra hundred is a small—a very small—down payment on the next job I'd like you to do, Captain."
"I'm so not excited to hear. It must be very high risk for you to slink out of the shadows like this."
Badger shrugged. "When the price is right, to be sure. And it most definitely is in this case. So here's the deal. I need you to provide safe passage for a … well, let's say a very important passenger."
“No goram way. 'Important' sure as I'm standin' on this dustball means wanted by the
who is leaving us alone now! And since you're such a student of our history,
you should know the last time we picked up fugitives we ended up making number
one on their hit parade! Literally! They sent assassins after us, bounty
hunters, suits in blue surgical gloves with eyes dead as slaughtered steer!"
Badger nodded with grave sympathy. "My, my, yes! So unfortunate! Tell me, Captain: How is our lovely psychic killing machine?"
"Our? Our?" growled Mal. "Our? I'm sorry; I'm having trouble recalling your whereabouts the past five years while we fought Reavers, the Alliance, trigger-fingered goons with the serial numbers sanded off … Pickin' those two up sowed no small measure of discord among my—not 'our'—crew!
is dead; Shepherd Book is dead … Just where the Sam Hill were you in all that
that makes you say 'our' ?"
"Congeniality, Captain," snorted Badger, "was never one of your strong suits. Now—"
He turned when the back porch door swung open. Through it marched an old, stout, gray-haired woman who strode up to his side, staring like a determined grandmother would at big mess left in her kitchen, staring straight at him, Mal ...
—"I'd like you to meet someone …"
She was dressed like a big-game hunter. The pistol holstered at her side was ridiculously oversized, practically a sawed-off shotgun. Its barrel was half as long as her thigh.
She extended her hand without waiting for Badger to continue his introduction. "Tannis Brocius," she said, very businesswomanlike. "You can call me Deader, Captain Reynolds."
"Your new pilot," said Badger.