Mal wasn't sure whether Niska didn’t care about the scars, or if he in fact liked the effect it had on people. He suspected the latter. Maybe it was a side effect of the drug, but even after the things he’d seen, particularly during the war, he still couldn’t suppress a slight shudder of disgust.

The Alliance surgeons had done well, piecing Niska’s face back together, but that was all. There was little or no cosmetic work done to hide the suture lines, the obvious skin grafts. He looked like what he was, an experiment. No longer would he resemble a kindly old gentleman, someone’s grandfather or great uncle. Now children would run screaming from him.

But it was his voice, that was the most unearthly. It seemed to issue not from his mouth, but from a device strapped to his throat.

“Ah. You are perhaps studying the zloduch hlas balit ?” He touched his neck, careful to avoid the actual metalwork. “Is intriguing, but necessary. I think of it as a gift. From your wife.” He glanced between them. “And I perhaps apologise for her state. My men were not prepared for her to overcome the drug so fast. She is …unusual.”

“You could say that.”

Freya struggled against the restraints again. “Let me go and I’ll show you just how unusual I am.”

Niska reached out, patted her on the shoulder. She shook him off. “Patience, Mrs Reynolds. All in good time.” He turned towards Kaylee. “Although perhaps that will not be long enough for them both.”

---

“Is he totally insane?” Dillon asked, running a hand through his dark hair.

Zoe and Hank had brought the shuttle back, and now Serenity’s first mate was holding a council of war in the common area.

“We could have followed,” Alex added. “Hidden on board.”

“Niska isn’t stupid,” Zoe said shortly.

“I still don’t see why he didn’t tell us.” Dillon dropped onto the sofa, unable to stand any longer.

“Because.”

“That’s a ridiculous answer.”

“He didn’t want anyone else to die,” Hank explained quietly.

“So he walks into the li