[center][h1]The Sacrifice at Moriah[/h1]

[h2]In the Black on the way to Skyplex “Little Moriah”[/h2]

[h3]JP from [@Wanderingwolf] and [@little-bill] [/h3][/center]

There is a calm in open space–in nothing but the winking stars light years away that lulled the captain. Out in the black there was space to think, to plot a course, but Cal wasn’t considering bearings for the China Doll. Just like the Doll floating in the dead of space, Cal felt the same floating feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he didn’t like it. 

Hands folded at the back of his neck, boots resting on the console from the Captain’s chair, Strand considered his only viable anchor: the job ahead of them. Yuri had done a bang-up job with his requisitions, from the report Cal had carefully scrutinized. He was every bit the best first mate the Doll had ever seen. Yuri’s sense of no-nonsense felt like an extension of his own, he thought, nodding. Where they had differed on the pilot Cal had plucked from prison was an open issue, but Strand knew his mate would come around.

Speaking of, Boone had lumbered off for a break, saying something about Edina’s fare being mana from heaven. It had given the Captain time to drift and think. Which turned to stewing.

Cal asked the empty bridge, “Sam, you there?”

“Always, Cal,” the AI’s tone was comforting and chiding at the same time. “What can I do for you?”

“Take a gander at Little Moriah, for me? I wanna know about any surprises that might spring up–cause any delays.”

“What kind of delays are you worried about?” Came that lilting, Bostonian accent in response.

“Old friends, new enemies, a postmaster with a grudge, Alliance presence. That sort, shiny?”

“I’ll need some time to check all the variables,” Sam’s voice betrayed a digital cadence through the matter-of-fact response emanating from the bulkhead com.

Cal scratched the back of his neck, “Fine.”

The stars were blinking in a pinkish, red nebula out the viewport. “Feels like the calm before the storm,” he muttered to himself, hearing Boone approaching the bridge.

“Ahoy, cap’n.” Boone said, holding a small bundle of cookies with the bottom half of his shirt the way a child might carry more treats than they can hold. For all his stomping and looming, sometimes even Cal could briefly forget the massive pilot had just spent the better half of his life in a cell. The cookies themselves were pucks of powdered protein bars and malt-flavored syrup, but Boone seemed to think they were ambrosia the way he tucked them away. By now, Boone no longer wore the gray prison uniform he had arrived in – that had been ceremoniously jettisoned into the black weeks ago – but instead, a previous passenger’s polo shirt that had been left behind after being stretched and dyed pink in the laundry, and an old extra-large boilersuit that had been untouched in the back of the China Doll’s cargo bay for years.

“You want a cookie?” He asked, extending his shirt-basket towards the captain.


The Captain turned his head to regard the gigantic pilot; the blank expression on his face holding as his eyes darted from Boone’s eyes to his shirt and back again. A quick jerk of his head was all the response he offered. The man certainly had his quirks, as Cal and crew had begun to learn. A little bit of hoarding, a dash of disregard for his presentation–save that orientation toward the color pink–even a bit of humor which struck a strange chord, given the face of the comedian.

Strand abandoned his posture and set to scanning his console. In the display, the radar ping of Little Moriah rapidly gained size out on the edge of the screen, but nothing showed out the eyes of the China Doll. Cal turned a few knobs to dial in measurements before relaying to his pilot, “Looks like Little Moriah’s within range at one A.U. You ready to bring her in?” His glance and arched eyebrow said something akin to: ‘Put down the cookies and pick up the yoke’ but he let the question stand.

In contrast to Cal’s tone, a lilting, feminine voice echoed from the comm in Boone’s bulkhead, “We’re in range of comms with Little Moriah’s docking control, Boone. Have you hailed a station’s traffic controller in your simulations?” Her question sounded inquisitive with no subtext to indicate anything other than a genuine question.

Boone chuckled softly, a hint of nerves underlying his usual jolliness. "Of course, dear! If there’s one thing they made sure we knew at prison, it was protocol," he responded, nodding to his invisible copilot. His fingers danced over the console, years of simulated flight having etched basic control inputs such as engine checks and hailing frequencies into muscle memory – and for a man of Boone’s size, this left a great deal of room for such memories.

As he guided the China Doll closer towards Little Moriah, a shiver of nerves went down his spine like electricity. For all his expertise in flying the old Firefly, he had only needed to go through the motions of piloting aboard the China Doll until now, he realized. A virtual stationmaster only had so many responses, and a failure to respond correctly had only ever meant a restart – the crew had been in the black for too long to consider any kind of “restart” on a new pilot’s behalf, and that was if they had enough fuel to turn around and dock elsewhere, which was far from the case. The station was only breaking into view, and already, it loomed over Boone’s mind. 

“Mr. Cal, are you familiar with Moriah’s significance in the good book?” Boone asked, fixing his eyes on the skyplex in the distance.

“Can’t say that I am,” the Captain had his eyes glued to the console and bulkhead looking busy, shoulders tensing. Pursing his lips, Strand gave in, “But I reckon you’re gonna tell me anyhow…” 

“It’s a mountain on Earth-that-was where God tested Abraham’s faith, by having him bring his only child Isaac and telling him to sacrifice him.” Boone said matter-of-factly, his eyes fixing on the skyplex, “Abraham got as far as tying him down and raising the knife before God brought him a ram to sacrifice instead, to reward him for following even the commands he didn’t want to carry out. For not withholding anything from [i]Him[/i].”

Strand took a beat before replying, “Off your only son, huh? That’s a funny way to test a body. What happened to ‘God is good’?”
From the comm speaker to Strand’s left, “Religion, from my research, has little to do with logic and more to do with faith, Cal. Faith can be defined as belief in something for which there is no proof.” Her lilting accent dipped before continuing, “The parable Boone shared is designed to be uncomfortable and impossible to grasp so as to highlight the imperative for faith.”
“From that yarn I don’t cotton proof of a ‘good’ God.” Cal cocked his head and added, “Ram in the wrong place at the wrong time, maybe.” The Captain tipped his head back to take in the view of the skyplex, finally visible out the nose of the Doll. When he looked out into the deep of space, Cal didn’t see a benevolent or malevolent creator, testing folk and vetting them to be ‘good’ and ‘bad.’ He saw gray. The Black had a way of bleeding into all the corners of the ‘Verse. From where he sat, that just left shades of gray. 

Boone gave a weak shrug, placing the hailing communicator in his beefy hand. “He’s full of mysteries, cap’n. I think the mystery is part of the point in that tale, that he doesn’t ask any questions…” Boone trailed off, still staring at the incoming skyplex. “Let’s hope the stationmaster here follows suit.”

"Little Moriah Skyplex, this is the shipping vessel China Doll requesting permission to board," Boone hailed, his voice steady despite the anticipation coursing through him. “Do you copy, Little Moriah? This is the shipping vessel China Doll, requesting permission to board, over.”
There was a long pause of crackling static before a stern, no-nonsense voice responded. "This is Stationmaster Dao. Maintain course and speed for vessel scan. State your business and submit your docking code for verification. Over."
Boone glanced at Cal, who nodded in reassurance before he replied, "Stationmaster Dao, we're here for a routine resupply, and then we’ll be on our way. Transmitting docking code now, over."
After a tense more few moments, the crackling silence was broken up once again by the stationmaster.
"State the nature of your cargo, China Doll.”

"The [i]nature[/i] of our cargo?" Boone paused, squinting in disbelief. This was a question no simulated stationmaster had ever asked of him, and one he had no answer for but to stammer. Before Boone could utter a word, Cal smoothly stepped in, his voice projecting the confidence befitting a captain.

“Moriah, we’re laden with passengers, dry goods, and cattle; sending you the B.O.L. now.” Cal pressed a few buttons on the console with a glance at Boone. Placing one palm on the mute signal and making a show of wiping his chin with the other, he added to Boone, “Less questions this way. Less inspections, too, if they reckon we’re full of cow [i]la shi[/i].” He straightened, removing his palm from the console, and after a few moments the station master continued.

“Permission granted, China Doll. Proceed to docking bay three-zero-niner. Any deviation from your assigned path will result in immediate action," Stationmaster Dao's voice crackled over the comm. “Over and out.”
Boone acknowledged the instructions with a curt "Understood, Little Moriah. Proceeding to docking bay three-zero-niner, over and out." Boone clicked the hailing communicator and clipped it back into place on the console.“Thanks for that, Mr. Cal. Always time for an old dog like me to learn a new trick.”
“We got a few tricks to teach here on the Doll.” Cal lifted the comm at his left and held down the button, “Elias, we’re comin’ in to dock.” He let the button go, as an aside to Boone, “That’s so engineering can start down-cyclin’ and divert power to positional thrust.” He set the comm down and added, “Elias ain’t chatty, counta his condition, but his ears work fine, and he appreciates the heads up from the bridge.”

The Captain rose from his chair, sliding arms into his duster. “Now feel free to make the announcement on the shipwide comm that we’re dockin’. I’m off to make sure Yuri’s got our list all buttoned up, shiny?” He didn’t wait for the pilot’s response as he exited the bridge, taking the stairs two-at-a-time.

Boone gave a salutatory nod, taking up the comm one last time.

“Attention all crew and passengers, this is your pilot speaking. We've got about five minutes before we begin docking at Little Moriah Skyplex, please prepare for arrival and ensure all cargo is strapped down and all passengers are prepared for entering atmo. Thank you kindly!" Boone’s voice concluded over the intercom as he leaned back in his small seat, a sense of satisfaction evident in his expression. With a contented sigh, he allowed himself a moment to relax, feeling the gentle hum of the ship beneath him. [i]Perhaps we’ll find ourselves a nice ram on this Moriah too,[/i] he thought to himself.