Far Edge of Darkness

"Yes," she whispered, voice choked down by horror. "Oh, Rufus..."

"Don't. Please."

A man's pride'll make him push you away when he needs you most. Never let on, if you pity him... . She didn't have a face to match the half-remembered voice, but knew the unknown woman was important to her. Important and very, very wise. Again, an overwhelming sense of loss crushed her spirits.

Outside her cell, Rufus was turning away, closing her out of his own private hell. She had to draw him back before it was too late. "You're afraid he'll kill her if you run?" She managed that in an almost normal whisper.

He nodded mutely. Then, driving pain straight through her heart, he muttered, "He's already had six of the children he forced me to sire exposed to die. Deformed," he choked out. "Lead poisoning, I think. Most of 'em... most of 'em were born months too early, anyway."

There wasn't a single thing Aelia could say in answer to that. He seemed to understand her shaken silence.

She finally found her voice, although she scarcely recognized it. "Rufus? How... how old is she? Your little girl?"

"Lucania?" His already scarred features twisted in pain. "Not even a year old yet. She was the first one born."

Four years since he's been enslaved, then.

Rufus managed to choke out. "He's threatening to sell Lucania. Just to watch my face when she goes. He—"

Rufus halted. Aelia thought she knew why. Bericus was a monster. But she had no answers to give him. With her entire past a great, black void, there was nothing she could even think to say.

Without looking at Aelia through the ventilation hole, Rufus growled (voice deadly), "I think I'd almost rather kill her myself than watch what Bericus is capable of doing to her."

Aelia shivered. She didn't know what would drive a man to that kind of desperation—and was terrified Bericus was going to educate her, all too quickly.

The chains at his wrists clanked faintly. He glanced up, trying to catch her eye through the air hole. "You must realize, not only can I not save her, I can't possibly stop him from raping you. Or even me," he added bitterly, "if he decides that would whet his appetite."

Somehow, the idea of Rufus being held down and buggered was worse, even, than the thought that Bericus would rape her. She wanted to hurt Bericus, badly, for what he pla

An image had come into her mind of a long, narrow shape propped in a bedroom corner, next to a wooden rack over which colorful quilts had been draped. Grandmother's room.... Her fingers twitched, wanting the rifle... .

Then the memory was gone. Only a throbbing headache lingered in its wake. She groaned aloud and scrubbed at her brow with the heels of both hands. "I've got to remember!"

Outside her cell, Rufus swung around unexpectedly. "I must go," he whispered. "Xanthus is yelling for me."

The strain in his voice came through despite the thick wooden panels separating them.

"Rufus—"

He paused without looking in her direction.

"Be careful."

He lifted his head a fraction, indicating agreement, then levered himself awkwardly to his feet and hobbled beyond her line of sight. The chains at his ankles rattled above the low groans of rowers and creak of oars in ungreased oarlocks. She sagged back against the wall and shut her eyes.

Please, don't let that bastard hurt him again... .

Whatever Xanthus had in store for Rufus, it would be mild compared with what Bericus would do to him. She thumped a fist against the planks and did some swearing of her own.

Somehow, they would survive this.

They had to. Rufus' fear was understandable, but Aelia would never give up on the hope of escape—for both of them. And neither could escape without help from the other. She would bide her time as long as she must.

But she was going to get out of this.

And Rufus and his kid were coming with her, whether they liked it or not.

Francisco's dissatisfaction came to a boil after watching Dan interrogate their intruder. The whole affair disturbed him, particularly Dan's order to drug McKee—and his insistence on finishing the interrogation alone. Francisco had trusted Dan Collins for a lot of years—ever since that rainy night in high school ROTC, multiple years and a seeming lifetime ago, when Dan had saved Francisco from drowning during a flash flood. He'd been more than pleased when their careers had brought them together again, after years spent in different parts of the world.

Francisco had never disobeyed a commander's orders. And Dan Collins was an extremely able commanding officer. Had been, anyway, during their first several months up here. But during the last three or four months, Francisco had grown more and more uneasy. The McKee affair brought home just how sharply Dan had changed. The Dan Collins he'd known would never have chained a man to a chair and tortured him.

All day it had gnawed at him, during his entire duty shift, afterward at the officer's club, where he found faces he didn't know and missed others that should have been there. Some of those new faces had dark, watchful eyes. He'd found himself wanting to glance over his shoulder, as though a two-way mirror had been slipped in without his noticing it. Francisco had left early, aware that the officers he did know were also subdued, not quite themselves, prone to fits of silence and uneasy glances at the strangers.

The whole day left a taste like skunk oil in his mouth. He didn't want more mysteries. He wanted answers. So, after staring at the dark ceiling in his quarters for about six hours, Francisco gave up. He got dressed and drove back to his office to start finding them. He started by pulling medical records on base perso

He had medical records for only 359. Who were the others? And why didn't he have files on them? A hundred sixty-eight discrepancies? That was more than a few too many to explain away by clerical error.

Then there was the very odd matter of several officers who had failed to report back to duty after weekend leaves. Wilkie and Gugliano had been killed in traffic accidents. Under ordinary circumstances, that wouldn't have aroused his suspicions. But two hit-and-runs in an area with a human population density lower than that of bald eagles... They'd occurred less than a month apart, too. That had started more sinister alarms ringing in the back of Francisco's head.

Another young officer, Jack Tozer, had supposedly rotated out to Korea. Again, nothing untoward in that simple fact. Except Francisco still had Tozer's medical records. That had merited further checking into. He'd searched everywhere, but had discovered no trace of a request to transfer them. He'd been so busy with a rash of illnesses and injuries, he hadn't found time, before, to find that odd.

He did now.

Francisco leaned back in his chair and frowned at Lieutenant Tozer's medical history, then dug through the piles until he found the phone book. St. Louis, where officers' records were kept, should be able to confirm Tozer's transfer and let him know where to forward the records.

When he dialed to send out a fax request, Francisco got a recording. "All circuits are busy. Please hang up and try your call again later. If you need assistance... "

Thoughtfully, he cradled the receiver and leaned back once more in his chair. It creaked slightly, gunshot loud in the stillness of early morning. Who could be tying up all the circuits at this hour? Francisco checked his watch. It was barely 5:00 a.m. He tried an intrabase call, dialing at random. It went through without difficulty.