Chapter Text
He hadn't ever thought he'd live this long. Long enough to see the Earth start to die from the abuse humans had put it through. The once fertile soil, dead and dry, blowing in dust clouds that covered the planet. Used up and burnt out in an attempt to support mankind's ever-growing numbers.
Generation ships, that's what they called the vessels of the exodus. And generations were born and died on the massive lifesaving machines that sailed through space like the great lumbering whales that had died five generations before humans had taken to the Black. The more biblical of the refugees had called the great ships Arks. And they were, everything that could be salvaged from Earth-That-Was, if the DNA could be saved, it was saved and cryogenically frozen. The animals might not have walked onto the ships two by two but they were there nonetheless.
He was still an anomaly. Immortal among humans. Mutants weren't hunted but they were...frowned upon in the Core worlds. Funny how everyone had preached open mindedness back on Earth but on these new worlds... Well. Most mutants born in the Core ended up in special schools, taught a useful, needed trade and 'encouraged' to head out to the Border or the Rim. The ones who could 'pass' as human, usually ended up in jobs that kept them somewhat isolated. He didn't know of any obvious mutants with political power. It was as if the entire 'Verse had regressed to the twentieth century in regard to mutations. They were encouraged to hide, or at least be discreet about their existence. The Border and Rim were touted by Parliament as being ripe with opportunity for the 'less fortunate'. Which meant anyone who didn't fit in.
There'd been a time when humans had tried inoculation against mutation. The supposed 'Cure' had been a temporary suppressant, often abilities re-emerged stronger and with branching talents due to nature's implacable progress forward. There'd been other 'Cures', other attempts to suppress the X-gene, or eradicate it. But there was no stopping evolution and mutants were a part of the 'verse as much as humans were. The humans would just prefer that everyone looked human. To have a mutation appear in a family was considered 'unfortunate'. Any deviation from the social norms…well, discretion was the watchword. He supposed it could be worse.
Back in the seventeen and eighteen hundreds, even in the nineteen hundreds, certain topics were 'not discussed', not openly anyway. Mental health troubles were treated with opiates, alcohol, if they were acknowledged and treated at all. Hysteria, they'd called it when it occurred in women. A weakness of the mind in men and it was rare that men even admitted to problems. But all too often the illnesses went untreated, people were hidden away, isolated and in extreme cases committed to mental institutions, some even lobotomized or sterilized (that had happened even in the twentieth century).
He could remember being in England during the fifties, seeing the newspaper articles about Alan Turing, his prosecution and sentencing to chemical castration. The man who had done more to win the second world war than anyone else, the man who'd built a machine to crack the Enigma code, a national hero, and he died, by his own hand, alone, nearly friendless, because he'd been homosexual.
Mutants weren't chemically castrated. And at least they weren't persecuted (jailed without a trial or railroaded into prison) or institutionalized for being mutants. But no mutant had power unless they were, to use the twentieth century term, 'closeted'. Mutants with any sort of public visibility were, to use another twentieth century term 'passing'. They were quiet and hidden, and very few were obviously mutants in the Core. Able to look and behave like pure humans. Young children with obvious mutations, kept out of sight, and quietly sent off to live with relatives on the outer reaches of the 'Verse were the only visible mutants in White Sun. Even then, they weren't long for that system, getting shipped out to the Rim just as soon as it was humanly (and humanely) possible.
One refreshing difference was that families didn't seem to hate and fear their own children and/or relatives. He had no doubt there were a few (or more than) like Vic's father, ready to use pliers to pull teeth and fingernails or a belt to 'beat the mutant' out of their offspring. But that fear of differences didn't seem to be as rampant as it had been back in the twentieth and twenty first centuries.
And families weren't exactly ashamed either. It was more…visual homogenization. The Core was big on everyone being the same. And no one wanted their child mocked or bullied. So there were a lot of folks in the Core who were 'branching out' and buying property on the Border and Rim. Like they figured they weren't really 'allowed' to have obvious mutants in the family on Core planets but it was all right if they weren't living on the Central planets.
So places like Lilac, Deadwood and Kerry (to name only a few) had huge spreads owned by families who had originally started out Core. And those families maintained a presence in the Core but fully half of them had immigrated to those ranches and farms. Because parents didn't want their children ostracized but they didn't want to leave them either. So they'd pack everyone up and move out to the Border or Rim. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than just throwing someone out of the family because they woke up with their hair turning flame tipped orange (literally).
Funny though, every single one of those 'immigrants' had the right to vote and there was a growing presence on the Rim and Border of people who were actually represented in the Parliament. So the planets the Alliance liked to ignore or dismiss were finally being heard even though half the population might have started out Independents who had no voice due to their political leanings and losing the war. Logan could admit to a certain amount of amusement that the idiot prejudice of Core society was working against the government the same society supported.
But the closer to White Sun you were, the fewer mutants you'd actually see. Even on Persephone there weren't many who were obvious. A few. Like the fella with longer than average nails and slightly pointed teeth. Possibly one of Victor's descendants.
He scowled automatically when he thought of his half-brother. Victor was still kicking around the 'Verse and he'd mellowed some when he found a woman who could tolerate him long enough to mate. She was a spitfire with green hair named Sylvan, called herself a Dryad, and she claimed she'd come from Earth That Was same as he and Vic had. It was possible. Her scent reminded him of oak trees and those would live damn near forever without man's predations.
Victor was almost respectable these days. Of course, that transformation had begun back on Earth That Was when it became clear there was no salvaging the planet. Sylvan and Victor were living out on Muir, a planet that had a mix of mutants and humans. According to her, nobody cared about your genetics as long as you could contribute to the community. She and Victor made a living as hunters and crop consultants, at least they had been a couple of decades ago. Nobody could touch Sabretooth for hunting and the Dryad could commune with nature, figure out what crops would grow best where and when to rotate them out so the soil wouldn't go bad.(Not that any of them needed the money but it was a good way to fit in and garner the goodwill of their neighbors.) They had actually settled in one spot these days; having kids made moving around a little more difficult.
It had been too long since he'd seen them. Victor had sent him a wave a few months back asking if he'd heard anything weird about Blue Sun. The company not the system. Seems there were all kinds of rumors about secret projects and experiments and mutants being involved. If there was one thing guaranteed to get Victor's back up, and Logan's along with his brother's, it was mutant experimentation. And no matter where (or when) the Sabertooth was, he always had his ear to the ground for rumors concerning mutants and disappearances. Logan would have thought Vic had a secondary mutation for clairvoyance if he didn't know the older feral was just that paranoid and that good at gathering information. Years as a mercenary had taught him the fine art of differentiating good intel from mere rumors and gossip.
He knew damn well that any mutant who could pass for human and had a power that would be useful to their family (like a telepath who could steal secrets for corporate espionage or a precog who could fine tune their gift to play the stock market for example) would be highly prized. Assuming the kid in question could hide their power successfully until they were an adult (and able to pass off any knowledge as being acquired via other methods). From there it wasn't much of a mental leap to think maybe the government or corporations (or both) had decided to create tools they could use. (It wouldn't have been the first time, after all.)
He'd spent some time nosing around the Core, trying to pin down exactly what was going on, and he'd come damn close to contacting some folks with a direct line into the corporation. But quicker than a wink everyone had closed down, information had dried up and it was as if there'd never been anything to ask about. The only trail left to follow led to Persephone and the docks. And even that was fairly tenuous at best.
So here he was, on a cold trail, trying to find some connection between Blue Sun and the Eavesdown docks.
He inhaled instinctively and turned his head sharply as a painfully familiar scent hit his nose. "Well, I'll be damned..." He grinned wolfishly and began to follow the trio of folk. If there was nothing else for him here he could at least catch up with old friends. He took a deep breath and let out a bellow meant to be heard across wheat fields and battlefields alike. "Hey! Corporal Alleyne!
Like recognizes like, that's the old saying anyway. Kinda funny how often like is drawn to like. Even more funny is how opposites seem to attract. Seem to, because there's always an underlying current that draws folks together. He'd had a long time to see how relationships worked, a long time to know how easy it was for a mutant to get their heart broken.
It was funny though, how things worked. His impulsive yell to the Corporal had led to an invitation to travel aboard Serenity. He'd been introduced to the reason the Corporal had taken a moment to respond to his yell, Alleyne no longer being her surname, one Hoban Washburne. The man was, according to the flat-out adorable barker/mechanic, a pilot of genius proportions.
He was also a mutant. One of the lucky ones with no obvious physical mutations, or at least ones that were easily concealed by clothing. It turned out to be the latter. Wash, as Zoë's husband preferred to be called, had a set of tattoos that went from his collarbone down his back and legs, and wrapped around his front ribs and hips. Apparently, they'd lift off his skin and turn into feathery wings fully capable of supporting his body weight. At least according to Zoë. Logan only got to see the parts peeking out from under his really gaudy shirt.
When he'd commented on it, the huge merc had gone stiff and the captain had gone wary, the little mechanic had squeaked and retreated back to her engine room. Thank God and Buddha and Allah that Zoë had laughed and nudged his knuckles with her own.
Shooting his claws out of his knuckles had gotten a curse from the captain and a sigh of relief from the merc. "Tā mā de dì yù, that's a gorram relief. Mal hates it when I gotta kill people while we're docked."
Logan couldn't help his chuckle at that and looked at the captain and then back at the pilot, whose blue eyes had a hint of gold behind them. Hawk or eagle feral, it didn't matter. The merc though, he looked like he was half bear, at least his size suggested it. "You wouldn't be from Three Hills?"
"Got some folk there yeah, what's it to ya?" The merc wasn't particularly well mannered but neither was Logan.
"Reminds me of a fella I knew once, could track damn near anything." Logan smirked. Figured he'd run into another of his relations. His big brother had whored his way around the 'verse before he'd settled with Sylvan and he'd spent quite a few years on Three Hills a couple generations or so back. "That was a while back though. You got a relative by name of Victor?"
"Probably be my Great-Grandda, 'fore he got hisself killed by the Purplebellies." The merc nodded and looked at the Captain who was still not entirely easy.
Logan looked at the Captain who was still staring like he was trying to figure things out. "So'm I gonna get thrown off 'fore we get to Boros or what? Pretty sure that'd be unhealthy, even for me."
Zoë snorted out a laugh and Logan rolled his eyes at her. For a woman with her gift she was damn amused by the entire scenario. Must not play out bad. It wasn't usual for her to laugh when there was probable impending doom. Playin' Cassandra had turned her stoic early. But during the war she'd learnt to narrow her gaze down to small pocket engagements and it had led to a fairly successful series of skirmishes that got her elevated to corporal and kept most of her little band alive. That had been before she'd joined up with her Captain though since he and Logan had never met.
Captain's gaze snapped to his second in command and he gave a half smile before he sat down and took a sip of what had to be lukewarm tea by the smell. "We've all been a little...wary of folks seem to know who and what we are."
"No shit." Logan shrugged and leaned against a wall. "You given anybody reason to suspect your crew ain't strictly human?"
"Nope." The tall man shook his head. "We're all fairly good at passing here. Kaylee, her talent's for machines but she's genius at hidin' that it ain't just genius. Zoë keeps us outa trouble, much as she can. Jayne here, he's damn near unstoppable in a fight and Wash manages to fly us outa what trouble we get in. I'm the only human aboard, 'cepting the passengers Kaylee's welcomin' now."
"Mal was my sergeant after you got..." Zoë hesitated and Logan laughed gruffly.
"You can say, 'got so shot up they made you leave me for dead' Corporal." He shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't leave me there, not unless they hauled you off. After that I figured I'd better lay low for a while."
"So, you're human and you've managed to get a crew of mutants." Logan wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything like that. It was funny in a weird sort of way. "How do you hide from the passengers then?"
"Well the Ambassador is a huge help in that regard." Wash offered. "She's a Companion, and like all Companions, she's got a little...something extra to help out."
That was interesting. Companions didn't normally associate with the likes of him when they were out of White Sun and it wasn't as if he was able to travel the upper circles of Osiris or Londinium or (God forbid) Sihnon. This was the first he'd heard of Companions being more than human. "Somethin' extra?"
"It's hard to explain," Zoë offered quietly. "It's a feeling I get. Inara don't seem to be aware of it."
Logan nodded. Chances were it was something little, nothing that would draw attention, but if it set off Zoë's radar... Well he'd never known her to be wrong. And there were plenty of folks 'passing' who didn't even realize they were mutants. Usually folks with some sort of mental gift like empathy. Subtle enough they didn't know they were using a mutation to help themselves along.
"So?" He looked at the Captain who was still sizing him up with a gaze far too old for his face. "You gonna keep me or throw me back?"
The man grinned suddenly and everybody relaxed. "I reckon anyone Zoë fought with and speaks up for is a good bet for crew." He went on to explain the wage rates/percentages and how they weren't too good for coin at the moment but they'd come about after they sold off the cargo they were smuggling.
"Let's take you down, show off the cargo bay and let you see the passengers Kaylee wrangled for us." Mal gestured to the door behind them. "Lotta hidey holes on a Firefly. It's why we tend to...keep folks in the passenger dorms while we're flying'."
"Yeah, I sailed in an ought two. Three's gotta smoother ride. Pretty old girl." Logan patted a bulkhead as he passed it and smelt the flare of the Captain's fleeting pleasure at the compliment to his ship. "Ya'll need anythin' done, set me to it. I can fix a lotta things, know some old tricks to making old parts work like new. And these," He shot out his claws, "Well they cut through damn near anything and I've gotten real good at carving with them."
Mal grinned at him and began to give him the grand tour.
The cargo bay was kinda like the army, (at least every army Logan could ever remember) organized chaos as Zoë corralled the passengers and got them moving among their belongings. One fella, an old black man with graying hair and a preacher's clothes, handed Kaylee a box and a burlap bag of food that made the little mechanic's face light up.
The conversation between Zoë and Mal nearly had him laughing out loud as he moved through the cargo bay. "Now we have a boatful of citizens right on top of our... stolen cargo." Logan could practically see the sardonic twist of the First Mate's lips. "That's a fun mix."
Mal was doing his best to sound confident. "Ain't no way in the 'verse they could find that compartment, even—" He paused for a moment as a clumsy individual tripped near him. "Even if they were lookin' for it."
"Why not?" Zoë's question seemed to catch the Captain flat-footed
"'Cause?" Mal's confident tone was taking a beating.
"Oh yeah," Zoë's sarcasm; so thick it could've been a syrup dripping on the deck. "This is gonna go great."
The Captain seemed to regain his aplomb, "If anyone gets nosy, just, you know... shoot 'em."
"Shoot 'em?" Zoë's question was only slightly incredulous.
"Politely," Mal qualified.
The tripping, bag dropping passenger was middle aged and his klutziness seemed more deliberate than actual. Logan moved towards the captain uneasily. "The clumsy guy...dunno where we got him, but...somethin's not right."
Mal looked at him, "You got anythin' more than instincts? 'Cause a payin' passenger...that's nothin' to sneeze at."
Logan was forced to shake his head. "I'm gonna do a search of his room though. I find somethin', you put him off?"
Mal hesitated and nodded, "You find out he's dangerous to us, we'll sail on through to Boros right quick. And while you're at it," He nodded at a slender, very young man. "Take a look at him too."
The feral frowned down at the kid. "He's scared to death. He's hidin' somethin' but it could just be that he's a mutant like us. I'll look in his room too."
Logan managed to keep a growl behind his teeth as he searched Dobson's belongings. As if the mini cortex and very fancy guns weren't enough he found a badge. Moving on to the kid's room he found a MedAcad bag and an encyclopedia along with a few other Core trappings of a rich kid. Things the kid might be able to sell on the rim if he needed to. Nothing that said the kid was anything other than what he looked like.
The cargo bay was another story. The blue box the kid had been so concerned with gave off a hum of machinery too faint for anyone but a feral to hear. And worse, in his opinion, was the smell of chemicals. He knew how cryo smelt. Knew the look of a cryo container.
Heading up to the galley he leant against the counter and caught Mal's eye, jerking his head towards the bridge before heading there himself.
Wash was there, and gave him a startled look before asking in humorously aggrieved tones, "What? Are we carrying a plague victim?"
"Worse," Logan told him grimly and looked at Mal as he came in. "Dobson's a Fed. The kid, he's a doctor, can't be more than twenty-five. And the box he's so worried about is a cryo crate."
"He's smugglin' a person on my boat?" Mal kept his voice down, barely, but he managed and Logan nodded.
"Good thing is I doubt he's smugglin' whoever it is to be slaved out. He'd be on a different boat, somethin' slicker." The feral shrugged. "Think our best bet is to make an unscheduled stop. Heave the Fed and his stuff off, minus his cortex an' weapon, and then make the kid open up the box. Not sure if you wanna keep the preacher on board or not."
Mal sighed wearily and looked at Wash. "What's the nearest rock that isn't all civilized? Don't really want the Fed to go callin' his friends easy."
"Well we're not far from Kerry." Wash checked the charts and smiled a bit evilly. "Lotta unpopulated area on Kerry. If you're not near a mining town there's not much around. Could leave our man with some water and rations, let him walk to wherever."
"Sounds like a plan. Head for Kerry." Mal smiled (a bit strained but a smile nonetheless) at Logan, "Why don't you come an' have somethin' to eat. And by the time we're done an' folks are headed to their quarters we can all escort 'em down and you can lock the Fed in his bunk. Until we toss him out."
"Yeah, probably a good thing I took his fancy toys then huh?" Logan pulled the box of high-tech gadgets and a fancy looking gun out of his pockets and put them in the locker across from the nav station. "Really don't care for the idea of anyone wanderin' around the boat with guns. Anybody who ain't crew I mean. 'Specially not someone as twitchy as that Fed."
Wash nodded and left his chair to lock the cabinet. "Good thought. Mal, I like this one. Let's keep him." He grinned at the Captain and was given a resigned eye-roll by the tall man.
"Yeah Wash, we'll do that."
The food was good. Good enough that he made an effort to answer some of the questions the preacher, a fellow by the name of Book, asked him about where he'd come from. His answers skirted the truth but seemed to satisfy the man. And he found out that the kid was a doctor because he was damn smart and had graduated early.
The Fed spun one lie after another, about visiting his mother in law, which was a gorram odd thing for a man to do without his wife. "I mean, I think the woman actually has a tail, she's such an old dragon." The man babbled nervously between bites.
Logan eyed him thoughtfully, "Whyn't ya bring your wife with you then? Wouldn't catch me visitin' 'thout some sorta...barrier 'tween me an' the dragon. Heard they breathe fire."
Dobson laughed nervously, "I'm headed to Boros anyway. So, my wife insisted I stop in since her mother's there. If I could have brought her with me I would have."
"Never said what business you're in Mr. Dobson," Zoë had caught on to Logan's game of poking at the Fed.
"Oh, mostly facilitating trade," The faux cheerful demeanor was wearing a bit thin as Dobson answered her question, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I check on customers, sell them goods and then arrange to have everything shipped."
Kaylee, not understanding the game, smiled at the Fed cheerfully. "It must be nice, travelin' and meetin' new people, hearin' all their stories an' visitin' all the differ'nt worlds. You must like it a lot."
Dobson nodded his tension easing at Kaylee's friendly words, "Don't usually get food this good though. This's a real treat."
There was a general murmur of agreement and the conversation turned to the difficulties of cooking shipboard and the wonder and wealth of flavor spices could bring.