"Shoes? We're haulin' shoes, Cap?" Jayne asked in disbelief as he looked up from the crate he had just cracked open.

"Yes, Jayne, shoes. You got a problem with that?"

"Ain't got a problem, Mal, just wonderin' what woman out on the Rim is gonna be lookin' to wear shoes like these." He opened a box inside the crate and prodded at a strappy pair of faux leather ladies high heels, while Book peered over his shoulder in amusement.

"Those are fine pieces of quality footwear, Jayne. Any woman'd be proud to tuck her feet into 'em!" Mal grinned broadly, clearly enjoying Jayne's befuddlement.

"Yeah, if she wants to get her fool neck snapped when she breaks a heel and goes pitchin' over a cliff," Jayne retorted as he slapped the lid back on the box.

"Jayne, ain't you got no idea what these are?" Kaylee enthused, as she brushed past the two men and scurried up to the side of one the large crates, running her hand lovingly over the logo imprinted on the lid.

"Course I do," Jayne said gruffly. "Shoes."

Kaylee looked over her shoulder at him. "Shoes? Shoes?" She clucked her tongue and turned back to the crate. "These ain't just shoes, Jayne. These are Francesco Chans! Real live-"

"They ain't alive, little Kaylee, and they ain't real," Mal interjected.

"-fake Francesco Chans, straight from the cobbler! You know how much the real ones of these here shoes'd fetch back in the Core?" Kaylee pressed on, her eyes wide and engaging.

"Eighty credits a pair," Inara answered with a soft smile, descending the stairs from her shuttle in her customary graceful fashion.

Jayne's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "How much?"

"Eighty credits," Inara repeated, drawing up beside Mal, a shawl draped artfully over her crooked elbows. "Maybe more, if they're a special design or use more leather. They're quite the designer item."

"You tryin' to tell me," Jayne rumbled, pointing to the crate Kaylee was stroking with loving fingers, "that there's womenfolk crazy enough to wanna pay eighty credits for some dead cow skin and a heel could punch holes in sheet metal, what didn't take more'n five or ten credits t'make?"

"If you want to think of it that way, yes," Inara replied.

Jayne gave Mal a baffled look. "We're in the wrong gorram business, Mal."

"Not today we ain't," Mal answered cheerfully as the mercenary moved to open and inventory the other crates. "Today we're respectable shoe merchants, come to peddle our wares to the fine people of Pastiche. Shepherd's gonna be visiting a local Padre when we land. What about you, Inara?" He asked, eyes hardening slightly. "You got business you'll be handlin' while we're dirtside?" It was an innocent enough question with a two-ton weight of meaning behind it.

Inara shifted uncomfortably; he pretended not to notice. "Now that I know where we're going, perhaps," she affirmed.

"I'm surprised," Mal smirked. "I've been to Pastiche and it ain't hardly more'n'a dung heap out among these parts, though some of their folk think they're a bit more civilized. If they're into buying fancy shoes maybe they've decided to upgrade their...female companionship, too."

Inara felt her hackles rise, but was determined to remain calm. She and Mal had been avoiding each other ever since their last argument over Simon, which basically meant she had been staying in her shuttle. "I've heard the Guild is planning on expanding outwards, further into the Border planets. I thought I might check up on that with the Guild Book Keeper and see if any progress has been made."

"Chat with old friends and the like."

"And the like." Inara's tone gave her away and Mal took the opportunity to rib her a little.

"You mean life in a Companion Training House ain't all pajama parties and pillow fights? 'Nara, you just gone crushed every young man's dream." He gave her a rakish smile, and she thought perhaps this was some kind of peace offering. Why he'd be offering one now was a mystery, unless he'd actually been paying attention to what she was telling him.

Really paying attention.

A small smile flickered on her lips. "It's a lot of politics, Mal," she explained. "You make friends and you make enemies, just like in government. It can be very treacherous, especially if you're on track to become Guild Mistress or House Priestess."

"And here I thought companioning was all fancy shindigs and lyin' on your back."

A flicker of hurt crossed Inara's face, but she quickly smoothed it away. "I could say the same for you, Mal," she retorted, adjusting her shawl as she turned to head for the common room. "Simon's had to reserve you a permanent bed in the infirmary. Obviously when they had the training on how to avoid getting shot, you were unavailable to attend. In fact, you were probably busy getting shot!"

"It ain't my fault folk tend to shoot at me," the captain griped.

"Of course it's your fault, Mal," she replied coolly as she reached the top of the steps and kept right on walking. "You make people want to kill you.

"If I'm not here when you're finished with your crime, don't bother to leave a light on. It'll just mean I'm not coming back." She vanished back into her shuttle in a flourish of silken robes and perfume.

"That weren't a nice thing for you to do, Cap'n," Kaylee reproached softly after the Companion had disappeared. "Why do you always gotta insult her?"

"Insulting? Who's insulting?" Mal fumed, eyes still fixed to the place where Inara had disappeared. "Was I insulting just then, Jayne?"

"Didn't sound it t'me," the big mercenary answered. He'd tugged the top off one another of the crates and was now holding up a pair of strappy, stiletto-heel sandals, appraising them like a jeweler.

"See?" Mal said, turning away from the steps and ignoring Kaylee's eye roll. "I was just statin' fact."

"You all but called her a whore!" the mechanic protested.

"Little Kaylee, there ain't nothin' new in that."

"Naw, and that ain't right neither. You oughta show 'Nara more respect, else she's really gonna leave. And I don't care what you say, Cap'n, you'd miss her, same as everyone else." Kaylee fixed him with a straightforward, challenging stare.

Mal gritted his teeth. "Ain't none of my business what Inara do or don't do, dong ma? Ain't none of your business neither. She's a grown woman; she does what she does 'cause she wants to. End of story." Kaylee looked ready to argue, but Mal cut her off before she could continue. "Little Witch, whatcha doin'?"

All eyes turned to the back of the cargo bay, where River had quietly appeared. Nobody had heard or seen her come in, but River could move like a mouse when she wanted to. At present she was circling one of the crates, trailing one hand along the edge of the lid as she took delicate dancer's steps around the circumference, her bare feet making no noise on the bay's cold metal floor. "Considering," she said in response to Mal's question.

"Considerin' what?" Jayne broke in, snickering. "You don't even wear shoes near half the time. What y'got interest in these for?" He dangled the black stilettos a moment longer before he set them back down.

River stopped walking and just stared at him for a second, making the mercenary shift uncomfortably. The girl had a stare like a laser beam. After a moment she looked away again, apparently losing interest in Jayne and going back to her perusal of the crate. "Cow skin and rubber," she mused aloud. "Dye, paint, and gratuitous crystal baubles. They are impractical, uncomfortable, and ill-suited to extensive wear."

With a sigh, she stretched herself out on her stomach atop one of the unopened containers, pressing her cheek against the lid and gave the crate a possessive hug.

"Yet I desire them," she said, giving the crate a squeeze. "Many of them. Pairs and pairs. I believe I may be ill."

Kaylee giggled. "You ain't sick, River," she said, grinning. "You're a girl!"

"Same difference, in my opinion," Jayne muttered, and just managed to duck out of the way of the heeled boot Kaylee chucked at his head.

"Inara! It's so lovely to hear from you again!" The woman on the screen smiled, though there was no warmth in the action. "A Wave? Normally all I hear from you are data packet updates."

Inara smiled icily in return. "It's been too long, Janael. I do wish I'd kept in touch better, but I've been so frighteningly busy."

"Too busy to keep contact with old friends? Why, there must be more business out there on the Rim than I'd thought." The blonde woman's smile was anything but friendly; it looked almost predatory. "But I've been known to be wrong on occasion, haven't I, Inara?"

Inara ignored Janael's dig and changed the topic midstream instead. "Miri told me the Guild is expanding its training operations deeper into the Border worlds. I need the names of those I'd speak to about possibly joining one. I was also wondering if Miri is still on Pastiche getting the new trainees settled in."

"So, you're tired of living out in the black, are you?" Janael smirked. "I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did."

Inara scowled as Janael flipped through the pages, paying no attention to the screen. "I'm quite happy out here, thank you. Change is the medium through which we grow," she quoted, schooling her face into a mask of impartiality.

Janael snorted, eyes averted, still looking through her book. "Oh Inara, you can't fool me. You know that Companions can't lie to each other. We're too perceptive. Isn't that half of why you left House Madrassa in the first place?" She started typing on her screen, referring every few seconds to the book Inara knew was in her lap.

"My reasons for leaving are personal and none of your concern," Inara replied coolly. "All I need from you right now are names."

The blonde scowled at Inara from the monitor. "Why don't you just ask your mother?" she snapped. "Seems to me she should be able to get you anything you want. Not that that's anything new. It's her birthday soon, isn't it? A good daughter would remember things like that."

Inara felt her jaw muscle twitch at the mention of her mother. "Careful, Janael -- envy will make you haggard and gray by the age of thirty if you keep up like this."

Janael's eyes narrowed for a moment before she turned away and began typing offscreen. "Do you want these contacts or not? I may be required to talk to you, but who's to say that piece of go se you travel in didn't just -- oops! -- go out of range?"

Inara closed her eyes and swallowed her pride. "Please, Janael, I need those names."

"Sending now, Inara," the other woman muttered icily.

"Thank you," she acknowledged.

"You're very welcome, Inara Serra. Let Buddha guide your path, and let no man tempt you from it." Janael spat out the words, then waited impatiently for Inara to close the farewell.

"And to you also, Janael Harweth. Let Buddha always lead you to your destiny, and let no man tear you from it." The traditional parting address was over, but Inara didn't close the channel.

"Yes?" Janael sniped after a moment, making a frustrated motion towards the monitor. "And?"

Inara sat up a little straighter. "I need you to connect me to my mother."

It took a second, but then Janael's face split in a broad grin. "Decided you're going to play the good daughter after all, hmm?"

Before Inara could formulate a response the display flickered, changing to the standard Cortex stand-by screen as the wave went through. Inara folded her hands firmly in her lap, refusing to toy with her fingers. That had been a bad habit drilled out of her years ago, but it was never far away whenever she had to talk to her mother. And she did have to talk to her; Janael was right about that. A good daughter would call her mother to wish her a happy birthday.

Inara hated being a good daughter.

When the stand-by screen winked out, Inara flinched. It was reflex -- a gut reaction. It was also incredibly undignified, and the absolute antithesis to the woman looking back at her through the screen. Epoline Serra was poised, sculptured, and utterly radiant. Her coloring was fairer than her daughter's, her beauty more delicate than exotic. But she was beautiful - and she knew it.

"Inara, darling, how wonderful to see you!" her mother murmured, her tight smile belying her words.

"Hello, Mother," Inara acknowledged.

"It is a rare occasion when my daughter condescends to talk with me in person. Are you well?"

Inara sighed. "I'm fine, Mother."

Epoline raked an appraising eye over her through the Cortex link before meeting her eyes again. "Yes, I can see that," the older woman affirmed with a brilliant smile. "Though it would be nice if the next time you call me you at least took the time to brush your hair. We don't all live in the black, you know!"

Inara's hand twitched and she almost reached up to feel her hair, but stopped herself before she made any big movements. "You're looking well, Mother." By some stroke of luck she was able to say it without grinding her teeth.

"Oh, you know how it is in the Core: parties and rendezvous and soirees galore. Never a moment to look less than stunning!"

Inara chose to ignore the implied slight. "I was calling to wish you a happy birthday." She dared a smile. "I imagine you'll be hosting one of your traditional parties?"

If it was at all possible, Epoline went from radiant to breathtaking in the span of a heartbeat. "All the ladies from the House are coming, and everyone is bringing a guest! Everyone will be there -- absolutely everyone."

Yes, Inara thought, keeping a smile plastered on her face. They always are, aren't they? All the important people in your life.

So where is my invitation, Mother?

"Well I'm sure you're busy planning, Mother, so I'll leave you to your business," she opined, hoping her mother would graciously accept her exit and not try to drag the conversation out.

"You aren't upset I didn't invite you, are you?" her mother asked shrewdly. Her tone was meant to be conciliatory, but Inara could hear the satisfaction in it. Her mother was a wonderful actress, but Inara had had years to study her; years of being a pawn in her little games and power-plays. "Only with you so far out on the Rim, and the party coming so quickly... and, well... Honestly -- who would you invite to a party in the Core?"

Inara had a brief moment of rapture as she imagined what it would be like to go to her mother's birthday party with Malcolm Reynolds on her arm. It was his favorite kind of mayhem, crashing parties in the Core. Of course, that would be contingent on getting him to speak to her long enough to ask him. So perhaps it was best she hadn't been invited after all.

"It's fine, Mother," she said with a deliberate smile. "I'm busy here anyway. I just wanted to wish you well."

"Thank you, Inara." Her mother inclined her head regally, smiling slightly. "Your eyes look very lovely today."

It made Inara sick, how happy that one little compliment made her.

"Thank you, Mother." She paused before adding, "I love you."

Epoline blew her a kiss through the Cortex, twiddled her fingers in a wave, and then the connection was broken.

It didn't escape Inara's notice that her mother hadn't replied.

Continue to part two