If Harold was surprised by the violence and prejudice in the Alliance recruiting station, he didn't show it a bit. Ice floated equally well on water or blood, after all. And he was ice now.
The recruiter looked at him for half a second and gestured to the desk in the opposite corner of the room. "You'll want officer training. Go sign up over there."
Just the walk to the desk was hazardous- the lowest of the low were signing up, dealing with the devil for more security, better pay and probably just about the same food they had on the streets. Harold had left the transport ship- he couldn't remember the name and it was irrelevant- armed as heavily as he would ever be, with a pair of knives, a small automatic handgun, and a rifle slung over his shoulder. He'd already defended himself from robbers and pickpockets twice; it was only luck that had let him walk away without killing anyone, though he suspected the man whose nose he had sliced would have a permanent and prominent scar.
The recruiter smiled at him. He wasn't nearly as busy as his comrades signing on the rabble. "What's your name, son?"
"Doctor Harold Black." Harold replied frostily, and nearly laughed inside when the man recoiled. He was scary, knew it, and took no pains to hide it.
"A doctor?" The man asked, narrowing his eyes. "Now what would a nice doctor like yourself-" he eyed the young man's guns and visibly decided not to comment, "want to be signing up for?"
"Revenge." Harold said, and the grim smile that accompanied his words actually left the other man shaking. This was too easy.
"If you're an officer, you have to submit to occasional polygraph tests as well as attend psychoanalysis sessions. You will be trained to be the best of the best in whatever field you choose. You will command other men and be responsible for their actions as much as yours. Do you still want to join up?" The recruiter plowed gamely on, eager to finish this interview and find solace in an unspecified alcoholic beverage.
"Yes," Harold said, and pressed his thumb to the recording plate. "Doctor Harold Black." He told it, and it obediently repeated his name. He was now an officer of the Alliance.
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"I don't like taking that sort on." The recruiter told his superior, nursing the cold beer that was the strongest thing he could legally drink while nominally on duty. "He's a fanatic- you feel like every breath you take in his presence is by his express permission, and he could withhold that permission just to see what colors you turn. It's scary."
"We'll have the new Reader check him, but he sounds perfect for a new mission that just came down the line." The superior said smugly. "Don't worry, you won't have to deal with him for long."
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The Reader took one look at Harold and screamed. She kept screaming until she was forcibly removed from the room. Harold looked on with perfect indifference.
"So, Doctor Black, you can do pretty much anything you like within the Alliance military." The slightly shaken superior said. He hadn't believed the recruiter... now he wished he'd fortified himself with a beer as well. "Honestly, though, we just received orders for a new mission. There's a rouge vessel in land-lock at Portsmuth Docks. It's believed to be carrying two fugitives- a brother and a sister. Simon and River Tam."
"And?" Harold snapped. "What's the mission?" The superior sat back, sweating now.
"I can't tell you more without you going through the polygraph and psychoanalysis sessions."
"Very well." Harold stood. "Hurry up, then."
The superior found himself nearly running away to set up the tests.
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"What's your name?" The polygraph operator asked, fiddling with some dials.
"Harold Black."
"Occupation?" He flicked a few switches and turned the readout screen so that Harold couldn't see it.
"Doctor."
"Like physician type doctor?" The operator's eyes flicked to the guns the man had carried when he first entered the room.
"Yes."
"Okay then... I'm going to ask you some questions. You just relax and answer them, okay?" The operator got out a slightly modified list of questions- the superior had wanted some changes to the standard list to check to see if the subject would be okay for a specific mission. "Do you have any reason to dislike the Alliance military or political institutions?"
"Far from it." Harold answered, sounding vaguely amused of all things. The operator frowned- he'd gotten a slight twitch in the readout.
"Could you elaborate?" He asked, frowning and shifting so that he could see both the subject's face and the readout.
"No."
"You won't elaborate?" The operator asked, surprised.
"I have no reason to dislike the Alliance or anything it does." The subject clarified. The operator nodded. That was true, according to his machine.
The questioning continued until the operator was throughly confused. The subject was giving contradictory readings and seemed to find the whole thing funny, in a remote and frigid way.
"Okay- I think we're done here. You can head back to the barracks and then head over to the mess hall for chow."
"Good." Harold said, and began detaching himself from the polygraph machine. The operator looked on in sudden doubt, but shook his head and helped him free himself.
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The mess hall was an ordeal that Harold would not willingly have undergone. He had fended off two attempted robberies and four propositions to "have some fun tonight" before he shot the next person that approached him in the foot. After that nobody went near him and he finished his meal in relative peace.
He turned in his tray and utensils and went back to his room, only to find it had been throughly searched in his absence. He snorted in disgust- that was just unprofessional- and set about cleaning his weapons, ignoring the mess his few possessions were in.
That night he slept with his back against the door, a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, ready and willing to use either.
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The next morning found Harold cleaning his weapons again and dressed in a crisp, starched uniform in neutral gray. After he set the greasy rag aside, he shouldered the rifle, holstered the gun, and slid the knives into his new boots. Armed and armored, he didn't have nearly so much trouble in the mess hall. It seemed the story of his cold-blooded shooting had spread- again everyone was staying away, despite the fact that many if not most of the faces were unfamiliar to him. Either that or he was so forbidding that the fools were staying away out of sheer instinct; if Harold could have been grateful for anything he might have been grateful for that. He didn't actually want to shoot them- it was messy. And loud. In fact, the next time he'd just break the neck of anyone who approached instead of shooting them.
He allowed himself a small smile as he ate the truly terrible 'food'. Things were going well.
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"Doctor Harold Black?" A voice called, and Harold looked up from the chair in the bland waiting room. "The doctor will see you now." He nodded without speaking and entered the spacious corner office.
"Dr. Black, how are we today?" The psychoanalyst rolled the syllables around her mouth like fine wine.
"We? We are fine, we presume. We are inconvenienced by this pointless charade, however." Harold glared, and the psychoanalyst sat up straight for once with her hand over the security call button. "Don't presume to patronize me, ma'am."
"Very well, young man. No need to get upset." She soothed, making a mental note. Highly hostile towards authority figures. "Do you know why you're here?"
"Because of an outdated policy of pesudo-Freudian psychoanalysis- no, that's why you're here. Me, I'm here because I want to join the Alliance military." An inappropriate sense of humor and a lack of accommodation to military regulations.
"Why do you want to join the Alliance military?" She asked, reaching for a recording pad. She didn't usually use one, but she would probably want to be able to play back this conversation later.
"I want to join, ma'am, because-" he hesitated for a split second; the psychoanalyst noted, "because I am ambitious."
"Ambitious? How so?" She asked, actually interested despite herself.
"Ambitious enough that I want the power that the Alliance has and has not used." Probably a sociopath, a madman or fanatic. The perfect makings for an Operative, but too strong-willed to be a leashed dog. A dangerous man.
"Power?" She asked. "Power we have but haven't used?"
"Power indeed- the power of control. Control of people, control of lives- power is said to be the ultimate aphrodisiac, is it not?" He smiled in a way that left his eyes cold and madness plain to see. Well educated and intelligent, but emotionally distant. And insane.
"It is." She agreed. "I think we're done here. If you would be so kind-" She offered another recording pad, and he pressed his thumb against it. "Doctor Harold Black." It chimed at them. Perfect for deep cover operations. Judging from the reaction I'm told our Reader had to him, he'll be able to flush out River Tam with ease. He must never been given power, but he will be a great asset.
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The man banged on the door set into Serenity's cargo bay with the butt of his gun. Harold nearly winced at the mistreatment of a good weapon and snapped something at the man that made him shrink away and try to hide behind his comrades. He waited impatiently until the door was opened and then strode aboard past the woman holding it without waiting for an invitation.
"Captian Malcolm Reynolds?" He asked, staring around icily. He could hear a few gasps from the crew and the girl holding a wrench dropped it with a clang.
"I'm Captian Reynolds. How can I help you?" A man stepped forward, dressed in ratty suspenders and carrying a gun at his hip.
"You will provide me with lodgings and passage to where ever I request, whenever I request it. If you are hiding the Tam siblings, which I strongly suspect you are, they will not be able to hide from me forever, so you might want to surrender them now in return for clemency."
"We don't have any siblings on board, sir." The Captain answered. "Unless, of course, you brought 'em along with your fine crew-"
"Shut up." Harold said. "In return for my free passage, I will doctor your crew. I will be reporting regularly to the Alliance; your movements will be mostly unhindered."
"Uh... that sounds like an okay deal." The Captain shrugged. "We'll cooperate with the Alliance to the fullest, of course."
"Indeed." Harold replied, waving his escort away. "I have my baggage with me. We can leave immediately."
The crew waited, frozen, until Zoe shut the door behind the last slightly bewildered Alliance soldier. River ran forward, stopping outside of arm's length of the doctor. "Simon?" She whispered.
"River." He answered with a happy grin, and fell over at her feet.