CantonTown, heart of Higgins Moon Mudding operations, is slowly recovering from the devastating plague which it suffered.

Please Pay Attention to the Rules. They are for your safety and the safety of others.

1. No Guns Allowed in CantonTown. Not by workers, not by staff, not by anyone. Anyone who thinks they are above this law will find themselves in a speedy trial followed by a few months in a swamp box.

2. Work Day is from 7:00 AM to 7:00 PM during the long days. Sunrise to sunset during the winter. Workers found off-site during work hours will be fined 5 Platinum per offense.

3. Rations are supplied on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. If you miss your alotted ration distribution time due to work duties, see your foreman for extra rations.

4. No nudity.

5. No spitting.

6. No drinking of alcoholic beverages outside of established taverns.

7. No fighting, stealing, mud-bathing, unauthorized bricklaying, misuse of medical supplies, running on the swamp-walks, or endangering fellow workers.

8. No unauthorized statue building, portrait painting, or unauthorized portrayals of any heroic figure past, present or future.

Welcome to CantonTown and Have a Pleasant Stay.

The rebuilding of Cantontown was going well.

Apart from the blackened earth near the cane-breaks, there was little trace of the devestating small-pox outbreak. Only the few workers toiling about, where once there had a been a small city, gave away that anything was amiss.

Higgins, in workshirt and khakis, strode through the mudwalks, the plans for the rebuilding in his hands. He'd overseen most of the work personally, and was pleased with the progress.

Spying the man he wanted to see on the opposite side of the pits, he raised a hand and waved, "Tolby! Glad you could make it on short notice."

He eyed the youth quickly, a friendly smile on his face as he approached and jumped the last wide step from the mudwalks to dry earth, "The workers should be here today or tomorrow. I hope there won't be any problem with getting their paperwork?"

Higgins cast a growling eye skyward, "Since the... illness... the Alliance has seen fit to stick it's nose ever more firmly in my affairs. I need that workforce on the job, not sitting in Labor Division interviews."

With a hearty laugh, he slapped Tolby on the back, "But they tell me you're the best when it comes to making the stamps stick, as it's said.

Rex is stopped by one of the friendlier talkative mudders, showing him a quite remarkable handful of clay they've just started digging up.

"ever see a red like that, spaklin like a crystal she is, 'mazing ain't it."

It is beautiful, an exceptionally unusually color that will make a nice fancy teacup for some Core Princess of Persephone someday. Rex answers without enthusiasm, "Yeah, shiny," the local vernacular picked up some time ago.

His mood has been souring, and it isn’t just the mud, definitely not the mud. Yangtree's been in the mud, weeks and months longer than this. It's the talking about it, all day, all night. Mud this and the texture of that chunk; what’s the density on that lot; can you believe the weight he tried to put that hover? Rex harrumphs to himself and moves on.

Thank god his ninety day contract is almost over. Half of his belongings are dirty, all but the space equipment: vacc-suit and recoilless rifle, sealed up locked.

Spotting Higgins coming off a plank and standing, looking over a section of the mud works, he heads in his direction.

"Afternoon Boss." Respectful. "Bully boy down on the south end won't be stirring things up." Mudder trouble, pushing other workers around, 'borrowing' things. He'd been pretty insolent, had to box his ears a bit, but no point in telling Higgins that, the guy would be shipped out and his family, poor souls, would be out a paycheck. *and I care about that why?*

"You want me to take a fly around before the end of the shift?"
Trouble makers, petty thieves, hardly terrorists in his mind, but that was supposed to be the job.

"Afternoon Boss." Respectful. "Bully boy down on the south end won't be stirring things up."

"Yangtree." Higgins looked the other man up and down. He'd be losing this one soon and it was a shame. Man was a damned good worker and had done a far sight to keeping things in balance after the furor from the plague had died down some.

Still, while he could appreciate him, he didn't particularly like him.

"Foreman says there's been no more trouble from the south camp, either." He let out a soft chuckle, "You've been more than earnin' your pay. Don't suppose I can convince you to stay on a while?"

"You want me to take a fly around before the end of the shift?"


"Yea, do that." Higgins laughed again, louder this time, his heavy jowels shaking, "Best cure is prevention, isn't that right?"

The unthinking statement reminded him of the plague and he sobered again, turning his mind back to business, "With the new red-load we just uncovered, we can't be too careful. The quarantine may have served to stop the smuggling then, but now... well... Any sign of mucking about, you'll let me know?"

"Maggie Higgins", as Rex thinks of him, though he'd never uttered the words aloud, replies, "With the new red-load we just uncovered, we can't be too careful. The quarantine may have served to stop the smuggling then, but now... well... Any sign of mucking about, you'll let me know?"

"Mucking?" thinks Rex as he looks at the mud, clay, whatever it is or how they distinguish the valuable from the muck.. "is that a joke, he's making a joke?" Looking at Higgins's face, he decided it isn't.

"Right." Rex headed to the hanger, or garage, since there's nothing in it but a couple beat up hovers, the ones for employee use. Next to the list of rules posted about use of vehicles, "gotta like their little lists of rules, god I can't wait to get out of here," After a good brushing off of as much mud as he can he climbed into a hover where the designated pilot, or driver rather, was reading some exotic trash novella on his data pad.

"where too sir." He remembered, "uh, Rex."
The driver is not a soldier, calling him sir is quite out of order, and it's been pointed out on a few occasions.

"Once around the coast." He made a little twirl with his finger, unlocked the weapon allowed in the security vehicle, and left it on the rack. "then the town."
That would kill a couple hours to take them up to quitting time.

"Whisper mode?" the young lad asked, he did like playing sneaky with Mister Yangtree.

"Right." Rex smiled along with him. He relaxed as the hover sped out to the coast picked up speed and then the driver cut the engines and let the vehicle coast along quietly on its anti-grav, just a couple control jets to keep it pointed.

Yangtree pulled the binoculars from the rack, looked over the terrain, making note of anything he'd want to return and look at again in the middle of the night.





((OOC: working on the past tense.. I'm used to 3rd person present I guess. about the italics... use them for PC thoughts, and quoting others? ))

Another nice long and boring patrol had been completed.
*darn no mud smugglers to bring the wrath of Higgins down on behalf thereof.*
Rex half smirks, half grimaces as he gets out of the now parked Hover.

"So Rex, how'my doin? That just like it was in the war?"

"Not quite, it's a little more intense when some Browncoat on the ground might be about to step out from behind any tree and put a fire and forget rocket on your ass. But you're doing very well, nice bit of flying."

"yeah..." The pilot sounded excited about that.

Rex smiles politely
*lucky you're too young kid, you excitable GungHo types never seem to last long*
He headed for the Security Quarters, passes through the gate, strips down and begins cleaning his gear and himself.

With gear carried he entered the bunk dorm, one of the other guards has a local woman on the bed, they both seem oblivious to him as he walked about the room putting his gear away and getting dressed.

In the employee cantina he got a glass of the dark rich wine, and took a seat, pulled up the listing of ship manifests and Harbormaster Docket.

He finds a ship that's headed for Higgins Moon.
*maybe*

"The com on Yangtree's belt beeps*

"Yangtree, Higgins here. If you're not busy, I've got a little task that I'd like you to see to. Meet me at the swamp boxes in twenty."

*Bloody civilians; can't give an actual order.. 'am I busy?'*
He shows no discontent on his face though, merely smiles at a couple of mud machiners of some kind that overheard his comm go off.

He's not entirely certain of his status here, everyone gives him a fairly wide berth, he's probably seen as a left hand of the boss, but he's on payroll like everyone else, that's his loyalty. That and his honor.

Rex flicks his Comm on, "See you in twenty Magistrate." and then off.

Yangtree moves quickly without rushing, to his room where he suits up in clean gear. He doesn't like to show up unprepared. It's probably nothing, but he doesn't want to be arriving at the showdown without his pockets filled with anything he might need.

The ready clothes are an old habit: pack, pants, shirt, jacket and boots are always ready to go. In another environment it would include weapons, messkit and other assorted supplies.

Rex arrives at the swamp boxes in ten minutes, looks around for the remaining ten, or until Maggie Higgins arrives.

The swampboxes.
Designed for misery. There was no other word for it. Misery.

Jeno sat curled in the dark wooden cell, the stench of the swamp under his feet, the constant rustle of the rats in the thatch roofing overhead.

He had stopped counting the days. Stopped counting anything at all. For a while he'd wished he would come down with the pox and die, but that didn't happen. That gorram MedAcad vaccine must have actually worked.

When it became unbearable, he would close his eyes and dream of flying. He would dream of the Black- of the silent visual whispers of the stars past the viewscreen, of the hum of the engine behind him, thrumming through the yoke to his hands, the ship responding to each movement he made, as though they were lovers- partners in more than just flesh and steel.

But the rats would rustle, or the foreman would shove a bottle of Mudders Milk through the grate... and Jeno's eyes would open. Open to reality. Open onto his wrists. Untreated after Dr. Rainard Adelwulf had broken them with his rifle, the bones had healed poorly. He'd tried to set them himself, but between the pain and the lack of medical supplies, he had failed.

Instead of the stars and the cool mystery of the Black, it was constant pain that was his companion now. It hurt to move his hands, to turn his wrists. Even if he survived the incarceration, even if he was ever free again, Jeno knew that the dream would always just be a dream. His arms were crippled- He would never fly again.

Rex squatted near near the occupied box of Jeno, looking at the man within. A viscious punishment, but it works well here. Rough people are kept in line with a firm hand, tough rules; ones that are strictly enforced.

The idea of giving the prisoner a liter of water did not cross his mind.

Maybe this guy didn't know or sign on for the code of conduct Higgin's Moon operates under, but Rex did. And he wasn't about to throw it all away for helping some unknown creature boxed up for who knows what.

"You don't look so good, maybe the Magistrate will be letting you out soon."
Yangtree stands, that seems like a kindness to him, giving the man some degree of hope, false though it may be, *maybe, no reason to kill someone off like that, except as a lesson for everyone else.*




((OOC: Rex know why he's in there?))

The Magistrate made his way through what he considered the 'outback' of Cantontown. Normally, he wouldn't pass this way himself. The last time had been when... *ahem* ... Cobb ... had returned.

But the Black Islanders and Kate's little rebellion had set a poor example, and he felt it he needed to at least ensure that it would be handled ... appropriately.

"Yangtree. Glad you're here." Pulling out a ring of keys he tossed it to the mercenary, "I see you've already met the problem."

With a sniff of his nose that tried not to take in the swamp stench, Higgins gestured the box.

"This little swamp rat is Jeno. He worked for Kate How during her little 'uprising.' Through no fault of Jeno's here, How's people are rising to folk-legend status. Black Island may be destroyed, How banished for good... but the survivors love them, are starting to grandize them to heroes, if you can believe that."

The Magistrate's eyes narrowed to crystalline-lit slits, "I will not have another Jayne Cobb on my hands."

"Grab one of the hover-cruisers and take him up to the Black Hills Mines. Take the back-roads... I don't want a parade for the "hero". I want him laboring until he forgets his own name."

The Magistrage turned away, but spoke back in a low voice, "If you deem him unfit for labor, Well..."

A soft dark chuckle echoed over the swamp, "Then if he has an accident on the way, so much the better. For all of us."

Rex looks at Higgins.
Years of discipline save him again. Years of keeping his face from revealing internalized criticisms that would get him flogged out of the service prevent him from showing his contempt.

"You got it Magistrate." matter of fact, like he's been asked to drop of the dry cleaning.

He unlocks the swamp box,
*he'd like me to kill him then, but won't say it straight out, even though it would never get back to him. Weak willed chicken hearted dumpling.

Maggie Higgins,

the dumpling.*

Rex takes a set of cuffs as he reaches in and drags Jeno out by his upper arm.
*so some vague order to take him to the mines, maybe, if that's my judgement.*
Looking at Jeno's hands and arms, Rex knows the prisoner won't be any trouble, not unless he can run really fast. After days in the box though; not likely he'll be doing any running.

Rex pulls him a few steps from the box, leaving it open and unlocked. Turning away just for a second from the Magistrate, he give Jeno the quietest of battlefield whispers up against Jeno's ears, "keep your trap shut if you know what's good for you."

He turns back to Higgins.

"My contract's up tomorrow Magistrate, I'll drop by and thank you proper before I sign on for ship or what not." Friendly like, leave it open, *maybe he'll make me an offer I can't refuse*

"keep your trap shut if you know what's good for you."

The whispered order was almost a reassurance. Yangtree needn't have bothered. Jeno couldn't trust himself to find any words for the man who had incarcerated him, or for his lackeys - not ones that wouldn't get him instantly returned to the box.

Or worse, permanently to the swamp under it.

"My contract's up tomorrow Magistrate, I'll drop by and thank you proper before I sign on for ship or what not."

"See you do, son." Higgins headed back towards the compound, "I may just have a bonus for you."

Silent and resigned, Jeno climbed into the open hover-craft, and waited until they were out of the compound before speaking, guaging the man beside him with dark searching eyes.

"Marine, right?" Jeno asked softly, "I can tell. Used to fly you boys left and right during the war."

"Jeno." His quiet, respectful tone didn't alter as he introduced himself,"Formerly Corporal Vashon Jeno, Allied Naval, 42nd Fleet."

He started to extend his hand, then looked at it, and thought better of offering the weakened appendage to the soldier. "Not that it matters now. Just thought you aughta know the name of the man you're about to murder."



OOC: fyi- about a four hour ride to Black Hills Mines from CantonTown.

"See you do, son." Higgins headed back towards the compound, "I may just have a bonus for you."

*I'll hold my breathe on that one*
"Looking forward to it Magistrate." *maggie*

The prisoner moves well enough, pride maybe holding him up, at least in front of the Magistrate. He lets the man settle in, the hover isn't much but it's better than the swamp boxes.

Rex makes a quick stop next to his quarters and picks up his other ready bag, the one with overnight supplies, and the pistol. Authorized and all for a trip like this. He's not worred about Jeno though... it's the unknowns. He places the satchel next to the door, the pocket open so he can get to the gun, if he needs to.

As the hover is out of sight of the compound the prisoner speaks right up.

"Marine, right?" Jeno asked softly, "I can tell. Used to fly you boys left and right during the war."

Rex is sure the small tattoo isn't showing, and he is sure it wasn't, nor is it hardly ever, *sharp fellow, . .interesting..*

"Jeno." His quiet, respectful tone didn't alter as he introduced himself, "Formerly Corporal Vashon Jeno, Allied Naval, 42nd Fleet."

*formerly, hmm*
"Yangtree." He brings the hover up to 3/4 speed, not really trusting the old crates to much more. "Major Rex Yangtree, 13th Vanguard, 23rd Fleet; then the 33rd Marine Infantry, when there wasn't much left of the Indies in the black."

He started to extend his hand, then looked at it, and thought better of offering the weakened appendage to the soldier. "Not that it matters now. Just thought you aughta know the name of the man you're about to murder."

Rex isn't uncertain about shaking, he reaches his hand over, common courtesy, Veteran to Veteran. He's careful with the man's hands.

"It does matter." He lets the hover fly a bit. "and technically wouldn't be murder, Magistrate having legal authority for capital crime edicts." Rex glances over at Jeno, a rather dry smile on his face, part acid wit, part reminding Jeno and himself of just how this little run is going to end.

*is it?*

"and I'm undecided about the Magistrates orders, he was a little vague. Delivery to the mines though, wouldn't make much difference in the outcome, not with those hands of yours. Must be worse, being a flyer and having your livelyhood broken up in front of you like that."
*I know I'd blow my ruttin brains out than live like that; maybe I'm doing him a favor.*
He opens the storage panel, and hands him a pack of cigarettes, not his, but one of the drivers.
*if I do it*

He flies on, thinking it.

*why wouldn't I do it?*

*he's a veteran.*

*So.*

Rex shrugs in his seat, "give me one of those." and reaches for the cigarettes, lights up.

Why don't you believe,
you can hold your head up high?
If you believe,
You can take it if you try.

"Major Rex Yangtree, 13th Vanguard, 23rd Fleet; then the 33rd Marine Infantry, when there wasn't much left of the Indies in the black."

Jeno nodded, taking in the road and the close foliage along the road. He'd been in that box so long. Every color seemed to hurt his eyes. Every sound seemed to echo between his ears. But the clean air filled his lungs and he breathed it in, feeling that every fresh inhale would be worth it, no matter how few he had left. He turned his attention back to Yangtree's words as he continued.

"It does matter."

When you believe
You need fear no one.
When you believe, you will do what must be done.

"Thank you." Jeno's voice was clear, but his vision blurred suddenly. He hadn't realized how much would mean, that his name was known again, that someone might remember him. That moment of respect.

"and technically wouldn't be murder, Magistrate having legal authority for capital crime edicts."

"Capital crime." His dark head bowed for a moment, contemplating. Surely, he would regret this, "Is that what you believe? That killing an unarmed man, a weakened man, is justice for his crimes?"

"Forgive me," Thinking better of it for a moment, he raised his hands slightly, "but if I've so little time left, then the words won't have another chance to be said. I fought for Unification because I truly thought that it would end the injustices, that perhaps unification would bring civilization to the Rim."

"Naive. I know now. I was young and naive." Dark eyes glittered beneath the unruly mop of uncut hair as he glanced to Yangtree, "The Alliance doesn't care what happens out here. The plague killed my family, my friends. Everyone. Everything. And...in a funny way... I suppose it's killed me."

"and I'm undecided about the Magistrates orders, he was a little vague. Delivery to the mines though, wouldn't make much difference in the outcome, not with those hands of yours."

Jeno took the pack of smokes but didn't take one. Ironic, really. He never took up the habit because a flier has to take care of their lungs. You never knew when an accident might strip the air from a ship, leave you dragging out your last breaths from a bottle, making it last as long as possible. Now, when he knew he'd never fly again, there was no temptation.

"...Must be worse, being a flyer and having your livelyhood broken up in front of you like that."

You can't help the way your feeling
It's in your blood. It's in mine too.
You've been waiting for the healing.
Have you forgotten what pride means to you?

Slow dark fury, fury Jeno had left behind in the helpless sands of Black Island, raised it's ancient head, it's heartbeat syncing with his, and he shifted in his seat to eye Major Rex Langtree. "The hands I can live without. Hell, I could go back in that box and live happily until I rot of old age if I knew my wife and kids were alive and well and safe. Instead, I got to watch them die screaming in agony without so much as an aspirin to help. I know the story, the public one, that we were rebels, broke quarantine, shot Fess...that was an accident by the way... completely. I like Fess. Always have. He's a good kid." Jeno's dark eyes left Yangtree's face and shifted back to the road ahead, "And if I had it all to do over again... I would. So maybe you're justified in ending me."

"Maybe."


Don't let them buy your piece of heavens,
with dollars marked in years.
We'll always be the unforgiven.
when we send them home again.


lyrics: Dalriada: "In the Blood"

Rex sat, drove the hover, slower, smoked his rare cigarette.

*capital punishment
and justice; I guess you think a lot about justice sitting in a box for days and weeks.*

He's partly right, that's for sure. Magistrate Higgins hardly had any true legal authority to sentence anyone to death, at least without due process, which hardly applied here. But then there would be no justice on the Rim, without locals taking things into their own hands, due process on not.

It bad been so much easier in the war, part of-maybe most of, the reasons Rex Yangtree missed the war so much. There had been an order to it, what you should do; rules and regulations in part, and when those didn't work; military leadership principles honed to near perfection over the last three thousand years.

Peacetime. At least the Alliance had laws, and a process.
Legal and tidy, proven through the years;
perfect, hardly;
functional and just, for the most part.

It just wasn't out on the Rim.
*Should be, isn't.
But then if the Indies had won, who'd be the legal authority then.
Higgins? Probably.
So what's the difference then, really?

And what's it got to do with justice?*

"the way I figure it Corporal, Maggie Higgins made it clear you were not to blame, so strike one mark on the justice side in your favor. But he did clearly state his intentions and him being the de facto government on the premises, not to mention the source of my paycheck and otherwise potential source of yours truly in a swamp box of my own,

and given he did give clear orders for you to disappear and not show up to lend any moral support to the mudders or otherwise on Higgin's Moon. That, and be put to hard labor, which, figuratively or otherwise, I'd wager you got little choice on anyway if you're going to survive in the verse."

*listen to me, I sound like a rutting lawyer on one of those Justice Eternal wave shows*

Rex tosses the cigarette out of the hover into a small creek they are moving slowly above, thin sparse woods on both sides.

"So it's really a question then, how reassured I'd be that Vashon Jeno wouldn't ever turn up in the mind of Maggie Higgins as to why a specific Corporal of the 42nd isn't disposed of and is once again a mote in his eye."

The hover stops. A small three foot drop in the creek, a pleasant sounding miniature waterfall into a crystal clear pool of water. There's a small overhang of stone just up the bank. A few small fish swim in the pond, slipping in and out of the tiny creek channel leading out of the pool.

"Could be I'd be finding a ship soon off this rock, and if the crew could use a banged up pilot with a fondness for deep thoughts about justice and dark regrets about things past, I'll see if they'd head back this way looking for one.

"Of course if Maggie Higgins should think otherwise about former members of the 42nd, being active and a hindrence to him, then any return to look for Corporal Jeno would be with a much different outcome."

Rex takes the pistol out of the bag next to him. He sets the bag, the back pack next to Vashon.
The small pack pack has everything for a night in the bush, food, line, complete emergency camp gear, basically a survival pack, just in case he'd every get dumped.



More or less like how he's offering to dump Vashon Jeno.




((time elapsed, ... dropping Jeno a good couple hours away, in hover time.))

"So it's really a question then, how reassured I'd be that Vashon Jeno wouldn't ever turn up in the mind of Maggie Higgins as to why a specific Corporal of the 42nd isn't disposed of and is once again a mote in his eye."

As the hovercruiser came to rest, Jeno's ears became aware of sound of running water, the gentle trickle of the stream. It was beautiful here. Not the black sand beaches of Black Island, not home, but it was lovely.

It was a good place to die.

"Could be I'd be finding a ship soon off this rock, and if the crew could use a banged up pilot with a fondness for deep thoughts about justice and dark regrets about things past, I'll see if they'd head back this way looking for one.

Jeno blinked down at the survival pack. Did he mean that? Or was this meant to be a comfort? Give a broken man a moment of peace, a heartbeat of happiness, and take his life when he's smiling in the direction of freedom?

"Of course if Maggie Higgins should think otherwise about former members of the 42nd, being active and a hindrence to him, then any return to look for Corporal Jeno would be with a much different outcome."

Wind rustled through the trees, the burbling brook seeming louder than ever in the heartbeat that followed Yangtree's words.

Finally, tentatively, Jeno reached for the pack, his voice resonating quietly, "You'll never hear my voice, nor see my face again, Major Yangtree. Nor will that hun dahn ratbastard Higgins. I can disappear whole and alive as well as I could disappear dead and cold, I promise you."

As he stepped out of the cruiser, he hesitated, looking back, dark eyes burning with some emotion he could never express, "Thank you, but if I could dare, ask for one more favor?"

"If you get the chance, tell Fess I said I'm sorry."

Slowly, Jeno straightened and stepped away from the cruiser, not quite daring himself to turn his back. If the bullet was still going to come, he'd prefer to see it coming - with the illusions he'd regretted through his life, the illusion of freedom was not one he wanted to take to his death.

He watches Jeno go, picks up the gun, a smile crosses his face.
*maybe I could just go back to Canton, load up and take them all out, lone commando goes Amok huh. there's a lot of them, but I'd have surprise, the ammo locker, hardly anyone has a gun, *

the logistics plays out, what's where;
the operational aspects, it could work, but then;
someone would come and it'd be over.

He misses it, but he's not suicidal.

Thinking about that fantasy of a free for all, Rex looks at Jeno, hoping Jeno has not mistaken the sly smile on his own face for something else.

As Jeno stepped out of the cruiser, he hesitated, looking back, dark eyes burning with some emotion he could never express, "Thank you, but if I could dare, ask for one more favor?"

"If you get the chance, tell Fess I said I'm sorry."

*maybe*
"I'll do what I can."

He gives him a sharp snap salute from the driver's seat and slowly let's the hover drift aft from the direction he had come. No hurry to get back.

*why? am I getting soft? could be, he could be an asset, if I get a crew, an ally, or if things with Higgins... someone alive that owes you is better than ten men dead that don't... christ, some kinda of gangster code I'm living by now?*

He half dozed until late into the night, then headed the hover back to the hover pool. Didn't figure any explanation was owed to Higgins, the man didn't usually follow up to see if things get done, you get that way when you're used to having it your way most of the time.

Leaving the gun in his belt, he stops by the quartermaster shop, lets himself in and starts to replenish the supplies in another backpack; just like the one he'd give to Jeno. He didn't figure to go a night without it, never one night not being prepared, that's the night you might need it.

On his way back to his quarters, he notices Fess's light is on, considers delivering the message, but that might suggest ... might suggest exactly what happened. Fess may not be the horse's exit hole his father is, but Fess is loyal to him, and wouldn't let something that might need to be passed on, not get passed on.

In his room he prepares the pack, slips the pistol under his pillow and rolls over onto the bed. Leaves his boots on.

No reason.

There never is any more.

A reason.

In the morning, Rex goes over his gear, just like every morning.
Packs ready, gear ready, weapons locked and secured.

The employee chow hall won't be open for another hour, so he hits the upper trails around the mud fields. Near dawn he stops at a small rise, there aren't any large ones. Breathing hard from the run out, he watches for the first hint of light; steady breathing, slows as the sun comes up.

*do something else, give up this ridiculous ronin warrior looking for a war. there are no MORE WARs. not unless I start one, heh, merc work, playing heavy for the corps; a ship maybe, ruffians, still all that time in the black for what amounts to a shoot out or a fist fight. Piracy maybe... planning and tactics there. bloody rough.

they'd call me killer and ... not caring much about that...*

The sun is up, he looks off at another star, another system not so far, planets.

What then?

*All this discontent and no war.
why did god make soldiers for then?*

Rex didn't hurry to get a moment with Fess.

Took his time, wanted to make sure it would be private, but he did.
Standing on a porch of the canteen, Rex looked at him.

"Jeno... left a message for you Fess?"
He studied Fess's face a moment,
"Said to tell you he was sorry. Don't know what that means, but it came at a time.. when one is ... sincere."

there, that leaves things as Fess might heard them from daddy, or at least would sound like it, like I did him in. but... maybe not.

Rex shrugged. clever officerspeak careful with words isn't hardly his forte....
still, seemed like the right thing to do, passing on what are meant to sound like last words.

Fess glanced up from the stack of invoices in his hand, startled at the approach of the mercenary his father had hired. A practice that he was finding more and more loathable. But still, what could Yangtree want with him?

"Jeno... left a message for you Fess?"

Just the name sent a shard of pain through Fess's scarred chest. Kate and Jeno ... Desperate times demanded desperate measures, and although he knew, beyond a doubt, that Kate hadn't intended to hurt him that day, it was she who had pulled the trigger and delivered the wound that nearly killed him. Forgiving didn't come easy to Kate, but Fess had always liked Jeno, his calm, easygoing manner.

Wasn't him who'd pulled the trigger.

"Said to tell you he was sorry. Don't know what that means, but it came at a time.. when one is ... sincere."

So. Dad had ordered him executed. Good goin', Dad. Fess thought wryly, Kill one of the few decent men left on this rock. Soon there will be nothing but us, broken workers, and killers under your hire.

Fess met Rex's gaze evenly, his eyes blinking rapidly for a second behind his thick glasses. The mercenary was watching him closely. Looking for a reaction of some kind? Testing to see if he was as much a right hwun-dahn as his father? With a low voice that he hoped was even, Fess nodded, accusation as much for the mercenary who had carried out the orders as for the Magistrate who issued him, "He never had anything to be sorry about. I'm sorry I never told him myself."

He tossed the invoices to the tabletop with uncharacteristic carelessness, crossing his arms, "Yangtree? You ever do anything you regret?"

I knew it,
I should have just kept my mouth shut.

Rex turned and looked around, habit;
then down at the ground, looking like contemplation of a sort that wasn't the deep Fess was asking him to look in to.

do a kindness and the civilians want to talk and whine and philosophicate...

He gave an honest answer though, despite how it made him look, how it made a soldier look.

"Not how you imply. I was raised in a military family, a military school and a military barracks. You get it in your blood to do the thing the best way you can, with what you got, what you know at the time."

Rex looked back at Fess, "Looking at things later, only a fool couldn't see a better way to do things; a way to things would have turned out more with the result you wanted. It's hard enough finding that thing you'll do different next time, too hard to carry the regret for not doing it the first time."

Between him and his old man, if they could just be somewhere between the two of them; they'd be some kind of leader, even for a politico civvie.

"Man isn't made that can carry all that for long."
Rex's look hardened.
"It'll break you, then what good are you?"

Fess Higgins seemed to be a torn apart man. Always seemed to be on the edge of doing something to stand up to papa magistrata,

on the edge, men like that, always close, always so very very far.

He didn't understand them.
Always deliberating within,
not patience,
indecision. Which normally would be a decision in and of itself,

but not for these kind.

The constant process of deciding what they should do next.

He sighed.

"If you've nothing else boss, I'll go down to the worker's commons."
Rex had found that there was a certain way they looked at him now,
that he could tell if trouble was brewing or not.

Broken folks couldn't hide the fact of being close to their own edge.

and me?
where's the edge for me?
Not here.

He has socked away a good bit of cash, the Magistrate paid well for his services,
but enough is enough. The only edge is going to be on a ship, one that's already over the edge.

Rex figured no point in being picky, the first dark looking fly job will do.

"Looking at things later, only a fool couldn't see a better way to do things; a way to things would have turned out more with the result you wanted. It's hard enough finding that thing you'll do different next time, too hard to carry the regret for not doing it the first time."

Behind his thick glasses, Fess blinked owlishly. He hadn't expected such accuity from a - his mind murmured it as though by merely stating it he became an accomplice in Jeno's death- killer - and his own reaction surprised him.

"Man isn't made that can carry all that for long. It'll break you, then what good are you?"

The mans gaze was solid steel, echoing something in Fess, something that had been building for a long time. Since the day he'd defied his father and let Inara's ship go free, since her words had encouraged him to be his own man.

It had gone wrong on Black Island because he'd let his fury blind him. Rage as much at Kate as at his father. For a heartbeat his thoughts faltered, "What good are you?" None. Useless. But those were his fathers words. What he was hearing behind Yangtree's words was that he had something to offer. If he didn't let his regrets tear him down.

If he didn't let them break him.

"If you've nothing else boss, I'll go down to the worker's commons."

Fess's head shot up, and he met Yangtree's eye. "If you can swing by the med-hut, let Prokouriakof know we should have incoming in a day or two, I'd appreciate it. We still haven't heard from the transport, but I expect a wave at time."

Bright blue eyes darkened for a moment, perhaps only a trick of the light, but head was tilted and his words were deep with respect, "And Yangtree? It's just Fess."

"Rex." He answered plainly, half a nod and a smile for the gesture.
No point in getting all friendly, I'm leaving first chance.

"Cheer up Fess." He said as he walked away. Rex thought about that flicker of ambition in Higgins the younger, "You're a lot closer to the top than the bottom."

He's not sure how he intended that, a shot of guilt about being the boss's son, or another push. Guess that's for him to figure out.

Rex half considered staying as he walked through the worker's commons.
Fess could rally these people, he's actually liked by most of them.
But daddy would have to go.
That I could do, and anyone that don't want the new King, keep them down.
But that would be a betrayal wouldn't it. and this is Fess's play.

Rex nodded and chatted friendly to the workers taking their off day or milling around the commons. Not many, but things seemed calm. Nobody got nervous around him unless there was a reason, then he was a plague.
No plague today.

At the med-hut things seemed quiet enough.
He pulled a can of a tasteless medium cool drink from the cooler and sat down in the break area. Med Prokouriakof was busy with something or someone.

Lifting the ice-pack gently, Alex knelt down to take a look at the swollen ankle of a young girl. She had to be 16 or 17... Alex might have even called her cute if she wasn't wearing a permanent frown and covered in mud. He calmly grasped her lower calf and moved his fingers gently towards the joint, keeping an eye on her reactions and taking note of her pulse.

"Is nae broken, I am thinking, but you are definitely to not be working. Leetle talus ankle bone has much stress in it, and you are to be never walking again if stressing more."

Placing a fresh ice-pack over the ankle, he gently prodded her chin upwards so she was looking him in the eyes.

"You stay here until it no hurt much more, and we gonna get you some crutch for walking home. You stay there and no walk unless having to avoid dying. I senna wave to Higgy's Wiggys and say you are for no work for two week, and then light duty, at least two week affer that... no carry over ten pound and feet outta da mud. OUTTA da mud, O-kay? Then you come backa see me and we go from there."

The girl nodded consent, and he gave her a reassuring shoulder squeeze. With a smile he wandered over to his only other charge, an older man who had suffered heatstroke in the pits. The man began to sit up as he saw the medic standing over him, but Alex put a firm hand on his chest and eased him back to a laying position, kneeling beside the bed.

"You gonna be justa fine, but you needa be more careful for future, O-kay? You no work for tomorrow, but then you be taking new steps for not having heatstroke."

He changed out the ice pack on the man's forehead and gave him a new glass of salted sugar water. He had used his own rations of salt and sugar, but he knew the man's wife would make it up to him.

"From now on, you are wearing loose clothing and no more work in pit... try for to keeping mud from drying on skin, else you not sweat and have heatstroke, and no more milk in tha morning! No more milk, O-kay? I senna wave to Higgy's Wiggy's for extra water ration and early morning duty, for to avoid hot sun... You are to be staying here until feeling hungry, then you go home."

Alex gave the man a reassuring pat and stood, dusting his hands off. He meandered towards the supply closet to find some crutches and noticed the Mercenary in the break room. Easing himself into a leaning position against the door frame, he nodded to the man cordially.

'What can Alekzander be doing for you today?"


OOC>>Higgy's Wiggys is just Alex's pet name for the pit bosses

Doc Alex applied his medic trade...
"You stay here until it no hurt much more, and we gonna get you some crutch for walking home. You stay there and no walk unless having to avoid dying. I senna wave to Higgy's Wiggys and say you are for no work for two week, and then light duty, at least two week affer that... no carry over ten pound and feet outta da mud. OUTTA da mud, O-kay? Then you come backa see me and we go from there."

Four weeks!?
Yangtree looked at the girl, wondered for a second what she did to get that easy prescription.

Alekzander continued with an older man.
Rex held up the bottle of refreshment to the light, looking at the... what?.. that floated around in the pink colored liquid.
Vitamins I am sure.

"From now on, you are wearing loose clothing and no more work in pit... try for to keeping mud from drying on skin, else you not sweat and have heatstroke, and no more milk in tha morning! No more milk, O-kay? I senna wave to Higgy's Wiggy's for extra water ration and early morning duty, for to avoid hot sun... You are to be staying here until feeling hungry, then you go home."

Rex wondered if the Magistrate know about the reletive soft treatment Alekzander was provided.
No matter, not my job.
The Medic could have put them all on the sick list for all he cared.
... Still, it'd be nice to see how he'd respond if elder Higgy Wiggy came in and raised some hell..

Yangtree had read his record, it didn't sound like he'd be long for this moon.

"What can Alekzander be doing for you today?"

"Higgins the Younger says we have incoming in a day or two."
That meant indentured servants. Slaves by any other name.
In theory, voluntary. Right.

"Didn't say how many. We'll run them through like last time, that seemed to work better than let them congregate outside. Groups of three."

He sips the last of the drink.

"Higgins the Younger says we have incoming in a day or two."

Alex suddenly hoped he was talking about an incoming meteor or reaver invasion to wipe the mud heap from existence.

"Didn't say how many. We'll run them through like last time, that seemed to work better than let them congregate outside. Groups of three."

Slaves... more slaves. Alex was very nearly a slave himself under the iron boot of the Magistrate, who found any reason to fine him and garnish his wages. It was hard to think he had come to the moon willingly, only to be put in such a financial vise by Higgins that he could never hope to leave. All intentional, Alex was sure... at least he had the admiration of Higgins, if not the respect.

Alex didn't mind it the mudders themselves; many of them had come to know and trust him, and he was happier as a medic than blind muscle. Still, it would all have to end soon. By trickery of his own, or by sheer brute force, Alex was no man's lap dog for long.

"If we are to be waking slave this time, we will to be bringing them all in my hut... lay downa buncha beds and get them on feet soons... Mighta needa few wiggys for the rough ones. If not waking... then three-a-time will be working."

Alex eyed the man a bit suspiciously; he didn't know much about the man's past, but he exuded confidence and had the stance of a seasoned veteran. For no logical reason, Alex trusted him, though his choice to live on Higgin's moon was a constant challenge to that trust.

Forgetting the crutches for a minute, Alekzander scratched his elbow lazily and asked the man with feigned disinterest, "Are you much liking to be here on Higgy's moon?"

"no."

He eyed the empty bottle and looked out the window a minute,
a subconcious exam of the open ground, gauged the environment.

"My contract is up, I'm on day-to-day. The Magistrate figures to give me a bonus and a boost to resign, but unless this incoming is full of clowns and wannabees, I'm going to sign on or buy passage."

He looked at Aleksander, "time to find some honest soldier work."
Looked away. He's not like me, but he understands I think.
He'd be a good one to have, if I could get a unit built up. Find some actual Mercinary work.

He got up and sat the empty bottle with the others.

"If there is such a thing anymore."

"time to find some honest soldier work."

"If there is such a thing anymore."

"You are being me, in future, I think... I am not much liking to being here with no freedom. Higgys always breaking what I fix, and then to be making me fix again for so can breaking more. I fixit wrong, or cost too much... and he is making me pay myself instead. Is Khuynya. I am to be leave when finding first chance to get."

Giving the man a final nod, he wandered back out towards the supply storage to find crutches, pondering the complexities and implications of "honest" soldier work.








Khuynya = хуйня = BS

Rex headed outside as well, waited for Aleksander to come back, spoke quietly as he walked by. "Be ready to go when that ship comes in."

There's no reason the Magistrate would try to hold them, he's smarter than that. But still best to be ready.

Rex headed to one of the mud digging areas for the shift change. Watched the communication between the shifts. are they just shooting the bull, smoking and joking, or passing on trouble gossip and dangerous musings?

He met the eye square of anyone giving him a look.
Whatever his thoughts, he's the Magistrates man.
That's the job.

Admin Plot Progression

The combined effort of Reggie and The Breeze see the Jester safely to the ground, thrusters kicking up what dust on the moon hasn't already been converted into mud. She will make this run again, going where the coin will be best. It takes several minutes before the stirrings inside grow still, doors opening to reveal between fifty and sixty laborers, all on their feet and ready to go to work.

Amongst the mob of new workers stand various crew members. Some look wary, others seem tense without their weapons. All wear metaphorical masks, a necessity in their line of work, keeping them at a distance from those they transport., those they can never really see as human if they want to do the job. The Captain stands by the controls, arms crossed as his gaze shifts from his crew to his cargo to the expanse of Higgin's Moon. Slowly, he shifts to the middle of the floor, ready to meet whichever hired hands he must and more than ready to be rid of this cargo.

The ship's bad luck might be ending...or starting anew...

MED HUT

Alex was trying rather unsuccessfully to eat a dried protein supplement when the tinny voice of Magistrate Higgins suddenly eked smugly out of the comm unit on the wall, “Alex, we have cargo on the docks and you aren't there to greet them. Since you are neglecting to do your job, I am going to neglect paying you this week. Get down to the docks. NOW.”

Alex spit out the piece of go-se he had been chewing and picked up the microphone on top of the unit, clicking it on and drawling into it, “Righ’d away, Mudilo Higgin.”

He slammed the comm down a couple times without turning it off, and then tore the whole thing off of the wall, letting it crash to the floor with a dying buzz. It would be the third time he had broken the med-hut’s communications unit since taking up his position as medic among the mudders.

He meandered into the foyer and eyed one of his “assistants” who was snoring loudly, his mud-caked boots up on the counter. Swallowing a chunk of the food-like protein painfully, Alex grabbed him by the ankles and dumped him backwards out of his chair and onto the floor, the man awakening with a startled yell.

“I ahm go to docks for to get cargo… go to get extra adrenal shot and oh-two tank from supply depot… and uh, tell Mudilo we still need new adermal regenerate unit.”

Not waiting for acknowledgment, he left the man to pick himself up and walked out of the hut, strolling casually to the landing docks. Not waiting for permission, Alex stepped aboard the Atillian, finding himself in the center of a bedraggled throng of weary looking workers sprinkled with better dressed but equally weary looking crew members. At least the slaves were already awake... that would save him a lot of time and trouble.

Glancing back out the door, hoping Yangtree was hot on his heels, Alex turned and began talking to nobody and everybody at the same time. He added a little power to his voice and projected it into the crowd, "I am Medic Alekzander Vladimir Prokouriakof, and now you are all being welcome on Higgy's moon. Now, who is being in charge of you?"



Mudilo = Mуди́ло – Loosely translated into mother-f#!@er/moron

The stink of the moon was nothing new for Rahl; Higgin's Moon had always been a semi-regular stop for the cartels - the recent epidemic had merely increased business. Studying the cargo, the Captain's mind rested on his crew. He'd done all he could, merely telling Adam to keep quiet, stay close, and watch for trouble. The others had been informed of the rules, warned of the consequences to breaking the rules, and largely left to their own devices. As he constantly had to keep reminding himself, taking complete control would do more harm than good in the long run. Whether he viewed them as crew, as family, or not didn't matter so much just now. Now, he needed to see how they would work together.

Blue eyes strayed briefly to the cargo, a mass of humanity already broken that would meet their slow weathering here on Higgin's Moon. All were physically fit; they would last a good long while if they avoided meeting some violent end. As was the norm with Rahl, each member of the cargo was in good health and uninjured. It was a small point of pride - he delivered his goods ready to work whenever possible. He saw but didn't see the bowed heads, the smoldering hate in a few sets of eyes, didn't hear reactions to the stink, soft moans of disgust muffled by hands. They were cargo. They were laborers. They were money. Nothing more.

One last declaration to his crew, needed only because they were so green. "Don't move them out until I give the word." He didn't bother addressing the cargo, turning his attention to the world outside the ship. Any that tried to run this close to their final destination, any that managed one last burst of courage at the last minute, would be made to regret it. No matter the case, each of them would likely die here.

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts; the Captain looked up as strangers approached. Some had that look about them - the Magistrate's men. At first glance, one looked to be a mere annoyance...until he opened his mouth. "I am Medic Alekzander Vladimir Prokouriakof, and now you are all being welcome on Higgy's moon. Now, who is being in charge of you?" Medic. Rahl looked the stranger up and down, smiling. He surely didn't look the type to be one of the Magistrate's men. Satisfied, the Captain spoke, offering his hand.

"I'm Rahl, captain of this ship." Again, he studied the medic wondering to himself if there was a way... He pushed the thought aside. Cargo first, other business matters second. Perhaps he could mention it to the Magistrate later.

"I'm Rahl, captain of this ship."

Alex took the hand, shaking it firmly and looking the captain right in the eye.

"I am being chief medic for in charge of healthy slave worker. These cargo is good... all looking very healthy, thassa make my job a lot easy. We gonna march them off to med hut for physicals and then one of higgy's wiggy's will be assigning duties and rations and all these things."

He spoke loud enough for everyone to hear glancing around at the other faces. Everyone seemed to be in remarkably good health, including the crew. Alex was impressed.


"I know you are wanting monies and probably to be getting away from these... how you say... sheet-heap... One of higgy's pizda will come for to pay soon and you can be going. Can we be lining evabody up with childrens and women first?"

Alex glanced over his shoulder once more, wondering just who was supposed to be paying for this lot.


Pizda = пизда = impolite word for female genitalia (“cunt”)

Rex Yangtree stood nearby. He watched the Medic move in, too fast and too hurried. Yangtree had men nearby, men he had in place to ensure there would be no serious trouble. They stood fast.

Good.

He walked toward the cargo door, looking back only for a moment, for Magistrate Big or Little Junior.

Peered inside, the cargo seemed in order.
The crew seemed in control.
Alekzander... agitated.
But he did the job.

It's looked good.

He waited.

. .

Looked for the Captain.
Narrowed his eyes, gun was on his hip, stun rod hung from his belt,
but for all other purposes, it looked like he was just standing around on a street corner in the core; just another guy that stood and waited for something to happen.

go smooth,

and get me off this dingleberry of mud

The Breeze made a half-hearted attempt to keep up with the conversation from her casual slouch against the hull, but there wasn't much to hear, honestly, besides Cap making with the friendly to Higgins's new little bitch.

She had no clue where Higgy had dug this one up from, but he looked positively ruttable. Still, she couldn't help but wonder where that crome-dome doc had buggered off to. She'd been cute, in her own way, and The Breeze had whiled away many a boring hour with the pleasant thought of what would happen to that perpetual scowl if she jumped into ol' Wynnie's lap and started humping.

"Can we be lining evabody up with childrens and women first?" Bajeezus, he even had the voice of a cortex announcer. One o' them foreign channels, of course, though. The Spanglish one, way he sounded.

"Shi," she replied shortly, still stinging from her conversation with Rahl, and moved to take up position slightly behind and to the left of Maynard. Sure, Gimpy looked capable, but he had one arm, for rutt's sake. One of the little scraggly ones could run right past him if he had his head up his ass.

She spotted Evan sandwhiched in between two exhausted looking woman as she started to move the cargo along (with the occasional slap on the ass for enouragement), and it looked like he'd seen her, too, because he brightened and tried to catch her eye with a few frantic hand gestures. Her gaze moved right over him without pause, looking without seeing.

She turned away before he had time to respond, and dropped back until the only faces in sight were ones she didn't know, faces she forgot about as soon as she looked at them.

She took a long draught from a flask of Mudder's Milk on her belt that she'd saved from their last go-round this way, and nearly gagged. She'd forgotten how gawdawful it tasted. She horked it up in the back of her throat and spat the thick wad of pleghmy fermented bread in the direction of the cargo- a bit of casual, unthinking cruelty, the kind that was only possible once you'd started to see the slaves as human-shaped herd animals instead of human beings. Like sheep standing on their hind legs. This place's a gorram sty, she thought with a nasty sneer, and not for the first time. Even the booze tasted like dirtpipe milkshakes, only way less satisfying. Higgins was too stingy with his coin by half for any of Cap's victories in the bargaining department to taste anywhere near as good.

If her hands trembled a bit on the flask, she put it down to the smell.

Shi: affirmative/yes

Reggie stepped out from the ship under the auspices of stretching his legs, tapping the back end of a cigarette pack rhythmically until it released one of it's occupants. Finding a large rock about twenty yards distance from the ship, Reggie pulled the cigarette out of the carton with his mouth and sparked it. He stared back impassively at the assemblage, acknowledging the cautious glances of some of the armed men from their greeting party. Just wait a bit, he thought. Be borin' as possible.

When they had lost interest in him, Reggie gently shook his left pant leg. The clear blob of nitrogel slid down his leg and rested on his foot, the small detonator nestled, like a fly in amber, in the center. He slid it off of his foot, resting it out of site against the boulder. One tap of a button on his Corepad would set the detonator off. An explosion just large enough to raise a ruckus; a distraction if they needed it. He only regretted not havin' told The Breeze that he had somethin' powerful in his pants for her. Course, the girl was liable to reach down and grab it, blowin' 'em all to Kingdom Come.

He glanced back at Shannon and Myra, similarly instructed with depositing the globes discretely. Best to get this out of the way quickly, less the Cap'n came up with specific orders for them. Things were smooth, so far. The man with the rutted up way of talkin' had 'em herdin' the popsicles around and was giving them the once over. Reggie noticed the stowaway amongst them, his eyes wide with the horrific realization of his predicament. Too ruttin' funny. Picked the wrong ship, Slick.

He rejoined the group, sidling up next to The Breeze, who was choking on whatever go-se she was drinking. He pulled his whiskey flask from his inner jacket pocket and handed it to her absently.

"Don't know about you, but I can't take all this ruttin' excitement."

If he wanted anything done ... done right, that is, he had to see it done himself.

The days of standing back and letting his foreman handle these transactions had gone away during the days following the plague. Sister Catherine had been right about one thing- These were his people, his responsibility.

Holding the black briefcase in his left hand, Magistrate Higgins approached the black hulk of The Atillian with a steady stride and a friendly smile. He wore workboots, khaki pants and shirts, and a brimmed khaki hat- work attire, yet, but polished, clean- Mud Free.

With a long glare, he caught Yangtree's eye and then tilted his gaze down his nose at that unpronouncable doctor. With a crisp voice, he addressed the assembled crew of the ship, "Atillian! Always a pleasure doing business."

"Rahl?" A barren glance around detected the captain, and Higgins gestured him forward before turning to march up and down the assembled workers.

"There are more women than last time. And this batch doesn't look as sturdy as the previous ones." He paused next to the skinny dark haired one, unaware that the stowaway had replaced a far stronger, sturdier worker, "And that one... looks sickly."

"Captain." Higgins grunted the title with begrudged respect, "I'm not paying full for these. Half is more than adequate. And... Tell Silko I expect quality in the future."

He held out the case of cash to Yangtree, "Remove half of that."