“Do you know what this is, Mr Mills?” Niska asked, holding up a small vial.

“Perfume?” Hank managed to croak, his throat raw.

“Very amusing. You must continue. We must see how far you can keep being amusing, Mr Mills.” Niska nodded encouragingly. “I had high hopes of Captain Reynolds – do you think you could match him?”

Hank shuddered.

“So tell us,” Freya said, seeing the tremor going through the pilot’s body, glad to get Niska away from him.

“You have perhaps heard of Miranda.”

“Heard of it?” Hank let his head drop back against the metal frame. “Oh, just a bit.”

“Then you will understand what Reavers are. How they were created.”

Zoe looked at the vial and realisation struck like an axe into her spine. “Run-tse duh fuo-tsoo,” she breathed.

“Yes, yes,” Niska said, turning to her, delight on his old man‘s face. “Captain Reynolds chooses his crew carefully. You have intelligence.” He turned the vial to catch the light, the green fragments glittering like shards of emeralds. “G-32 Paxilon Hydrochlorate, to be precise.”

Freya stood straighter. “What the hell are you doing with that gos se?”

“Mr Donaldson and his principles, they needed someone who understands about pain. Inflicting. Causing. Finding the person beneath the skin. Me.”

“That’s a plus?” Hank shook his head. “You’re crazier than I’d heard.”

Niska just smiled benevolently at him. “Have you heard of the writings of Shan Yu?” he asked. “I would like to teach you.”

Zoe stiffened. “So this Pax,” she said, trying to draw his attention back. “Why? What would the Alliance want with more of this stuff?”

“Alliance?” Niska laughed. “Not quite. At least not what you might consider Alliance.”

Donaldson stepped forward uncomfortably. “Look, I really don’t think this is the kind of thing you should be discussing.”

“Why not?” Niska asked. “They are dead people.”

His words, said so normally, chilled them all.

“Well, dead or not, it’s not the sort of thing you should go talking about.”

“You want to control them.” Freya spoke quietly, slowly. “Control the Reavers.”

“Is not possible,” Niska tutted. “Too violent. But perhaps if we can create them, use a reduced dose, then they can be, how you say, manipulated. Think of the … applications.”

“My God.” Zoe shook her head, her mouth suddenly dry. “You can’t do this. Do you … have you seen what Reavers do?”

Niska shrugged. “Is not my problem. I am doing a job. A piece of work. It is the creation that amuses me.”

“And watching them kill,” Donaldson added, barely bothering to hide his loathing for this old man.

“That too.” Niska smiled. “I never tire of that.”

“You’re a sadist,” Freya spat.

“Perhaps. Your husband would know more of that than yourself.” He stepped closer again, touching one of the scars. “But perhaps not.” He ran his fingertips tenderly from one to another, as if joining them in his mind …

“So you’ve been experimenting on people?” Zoe asked.

“For a while,” Donaldson admitted, breaking his own rule. “Only we’ve not exactly been that successful yet. Not sure why. There doesn’t seem to be a reason for one man becoming a Reaver over another. It’s interesting.”

Zoe and Freya exchanged a quick glance. If Simon had been right, after the attack on Corvus, they knew that Reavers were the potential psychics amongst Miranda‘s population, but they were sure as hell not about to enlighten these madmen.

“Ain’t you afraid one of those damn things’ll break?” Hank asked, seeing the look, afraid Niska might have seen, and wanting to get their attention back to him. “Infect everyone here?”

Niska, though, seemed too intrigued by Freya’s scars to notice, his breath on her skin making her want to turn away, only there was nowhere to go. He picked up a blade from the table, using the point to run along her flesh.

“Antidote,” Donaldson said, tapping his pocket. “We all carry them.” He watched Niska trace the marks on the woman’s chest, and could take no more. “Leave her alone.”

Niska turned to look at him. “You are developing a conscience?”

“No. But this … this is … unnecessary.” He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his top lip.

“Perhaps to me it is necessary.”

“You’re not being paid to mutilate women.”

“No. Just to turn men into those who would.”

“That’s different.”

“Perhaps we are more alike than you would choose to believe.”

Donaldson glared at him in revulsion.

“An antidote,” Zoe murmured. “Then you mean you could have saved those …” She couldn’t speak for a moment, her mind replaying the sights on Miranda, all those millions of people just laying down and dying because they gave up eating, sleeping, breathing. Corpses as far as the eye could see …

Donaldson shook his head. “Ah, no. Actually not. This wasn’t developed until afterwards.”

“Besides,” Niska added, “is only effective within a few minutes, and not on the more… aggressive subjects.”

“We can’t stop the Reavers,” Donaldson said apologetically.

“No, but you want to control them.” Freya was glaring at him. The thoughts she’d picked up after Corvus, the satisfaction that the Reavers had been prevented from wiping out the town … she shivered.

“Enough,” Niska said, dropping the knife back onto the table. “Is not important. What we want, what we do … you will see soon enough.”

“See?”

“I think a little experiment. I think Mr Mills will be our test subject.” He nodded towards his torturer, who grinned and crossed to the metal frame. “Interesting, yes?”

“Leave him alone,” Zoe threatened.

“He means something to you?”

“He’s a member of my crew. Leave him alone.”

“Please, do not struggle so,” Niska said, tutting gently. “If this is successful, he will not be kept from you for very long. In fact, almost exactly the opposite.”

The torturer had loosened Hank’s restraints, and pulled the pilot towards the capsule standing waiting. He was fighting as much as he could, but what he’d been through had made him weaken, and he couldn’t stop his progress.

“What … what are you doing?” Freya asked, pulling at the manacles, the skin on her wrists tearing. She could feel the slow drip of blood down her forearms.

“A reduced quantity of Pax is used,” Donaldson explained. “Although lately I’ve been coming around to the conclusion that less is more.”

“We argue,” Niska said dismissively, watching his torturer push Hank inside. The door closed with a hiss. He turned back to the others. “But this is the question. Which will he be? When the door opens, will he lay down and die or tear your flesh for his feast?”

“You’re insane.” Zoe was struggling as much as Freya, with as little success, her eyes on Hank. He was leaning against the plastiglass, barely able to hold himself up.

Niska touched her face, patting her cheek. “We shall see. And if he is not, then I still have you.”

Zoe wanted to turn her head and bite his finger off. “He won’t kill us.”

“Then you will be next.” Niska handed the vial to his torturer, who went to the control console and dropped it into the waiting opening. There was a slight hum. “And if you too are not of the correct type, then I shall still have Mrs Reynolds to entertain me.”

Donaldson coughed. “That’s not our deal.”

“Our deal?” Niska turned to him. “I have to have something to occupy me until you find more subjects. And Captain Reynolds took something precious from me.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

to be continued