Big Damn Hero

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This novel is respectfully dedicated to the supremely talented artists, technicians and craftspeople who created the ’verse, peopled it with such memorable characters, and left us wanting more

So here’s how it is…

We’ve been flying for about a month on fumes and tears. Zoë and I are the ones hit hardest: we carried the coffin of Tracey Smith, our comrade-in-arms, out of Serenity and into the snowfall, where his folks stood in silence. We did not tell them that Tracey had run afoul of a gang of organ smugglers and taken refuge with us. Or that he had lied to us and nearly killed Kaylee, and that Zoë and I had both shot him mortally. As he died in our arms, he remembered when we were soldiers. We had fought on the right side, even if it was the losing one, and risked our lives to make sure everyone came back. Now he’s dead, and we told his folks that he was a war hero.

War does a lot of mean, miserable things to people. Makes ’em nurse grudges. Makes ’em swear vengeance. Makes ’em tell stories about how the Browncoats went down in defeat.

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