So this week I’m reading Anvil of Tears, by Erica Lindquist and Aron Christensen, in which the crew of a rustbucket spacecraft pick up a girl on the run from the Alliance and end up sheltering her and her brother from — oh wait, sorry, that’s “Firefly”. In Anvil of Tears, the girl is on the run from something called the Sisterhood, which is likely nefarious, though just how nefarious remains to be seen …
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For some reason I’m thinking of this old song now …
“Why did you bring Kessa here?” he asked. The captain rubbed his chin. “I can barely rely on you to come back to the Phoenix when we land. You’re loyal to nothing. Not even your pay, far as I can tell. You’re a wild bird, feral. Coldhand was right to ask you why you give two chips about Kessa, and you were right not to answer him. But now I’m asking.”
Normally this is of course where I would put in a few sentences from the book I’m working on, Television Man. But seeing as I’m all in a “Firefly” mood now, how about a few words from the captain of a different, yet similar, ship?
“I look out for me and mine. That don’t include you ‘less I conjure it does. Now you stuck a thorn in the Alliance’s paw. That tickles me a bit. But it also means I got to step twice as fast to avoid them and that means turning down plenty of jobs. Even honest ones. Put this crew together with the promise of work, which the Alliance makes harder every year. Come a day there won’t be room for naughty men like us to slip about at all. This job goes south, there well may not be another. So here is us, on the raggedy edge. Don’t push me, and I won’t push you.”
Important safety tip: He’s not kidding. Don’t push Mal.
Viscosity 