Sasha tried to think of anything other than how thirsty she was, but she couldn't project her thoughts beyond the small chamber in which she and her sister were imprisoned.

The humiliation and anger of being forced to relieve her overfull bladder into the hole behind her, able only to reach the hole by sitting on the metal ring above it and releasing her stream in full view of the cameras focused on her, still surged through her. If there had been only one camera, she might have seated herself in such a way as to hide this private bodily function from it, but she couldn't hide from all of them. She'd wondered how many men were watching when she did it. She was glad she didn't know.

But more painful still had been watching Tasha's shame at being forced to pee like an animal, into the hole below her crotch. It almost surprised Sasha that Tasha could have any wastes, with so much of the food she was constantly sucking in going straight to her breasts.

Sasha hid a sigh as Tasha began whining once more, her signal that her breasts needed emptying. Sasha had already milked her sister three times, but Tasha's metabolism, skewed by whatever drugs or hormones she was ingesting steadily through the nipple in her mouth, created far more milk than any normal lactating mother.

Sasha wondered, for the hundredth time, how long it would be before the men in charge tired of this disgusting game and let the two of them go. Sasha had been brought here without breakfast, and she had an intense headache from hunger as well as being parched.

As she knelt once again in front of Tasha and reached for her left breast, Sasha again forced down the thought that had slowly built over the hours: how inviting Tasha's milk looked, and how easy it would be to quench her raging thirst. But as powerless as she was, she could at least spare her sister that embarrassment.

Suddenly Sasha gasped and sat back on her heels. No!

As soon as the thought formed fully in her mind, she knew it was inescapably true.

No one would be coming to feed her. There was no need. She had what she needed to survive, right in front of her. And Sasha knew, from her two weeks of experience, that this was the way of this place. That they loved finding ways to put pressure on the inmates to do things they could never have imagined doing.

I don't have to, Sasha told herself. I have a choice. If I can summon the willpower, I could let myself die of thirst and starvation. But...

That would leave Tasha alone. Alone for treatment that Sasha knew, from experience, could easily be much worse than Tasha was suffering at present.

Sasha had already blushed enough in the past hours. She'd thought she was done with that. But now her face suddenly burned hotter than ever before. Her ears, her forehead, her cheeks felt on fire.

She looked at Tasha, who was watching her with a puzzled expression.

Not sure how to start, Sasha gestured vaguely at nothing. At last she said, "Tasha, I... They're... I haven't eaten since last night. And I... I'm pretty sure they're not going to feed me in here. Because... because..."

She looked away from her sister, and whispered hoarsely, "If I could... It's the only..." She gestured helplessly at Tasha's breasts.

She forced herself to look back at her sister. Tasha's face was now as bright red as Sasha imagined her own must be. As inarticulate as Sasha had been, Tasha had obviously understood her.

Tasha blinked slowly, and then nodded.

Sasha reached out and stroked the side of Tasha's head, then leaned in to kiss her cheek. More choked than ever, she said, "I'm so sorry, so sorry I got you into this."

She lay on the floor in front of Tasha and turned onto her back. Scooting in underneath Tasha, she felt the nipple of one enormous breast, Tasha's left, brush her lips.

She sucked for a time, but couldn't seem to get the milk to flow by suction alone. It must be possible, she thought. Babies can do it.

She raised her legs, drawing her knees back, bringing her feet towards her to make enough slack in the chain so she could bring her hands up to Tasha's breast. She groaned at yet another humiliating realization: now the cameras had a perfect view of her sex.

Sasha's thirst beat aside all such concerns.

Squeezing with her hands, Sasha managed to start the flow of milk. Desperately, she sucked and swallowed.

Rachel twisted her hips quickly as another muscle cramp hit her, in her lower back this time. Gradually she found a way to stretch the stricken muscle and felt its tightness ease over the span of about a minute. As the pain dissipated, she was left trying to catch her breath.

She was sure she had been alone in the dark for hours now, since the clean-up girls with their guard had left. But the belief was growing in her that it had actually been days, and that she had been left here to die of thirst and starvation. The thirst would get her first. Already she could think of little else than a long, cool drink from a glass.

Her heart began thundering suddenly. Could they execute her this way? Simply leaving her alone to starve?

Don't panic, Rachel. You know they'll come back. Fifteen other girls live in this room. They're just working through the day, but they'll be back at night.

Rachel jerked against the chains once more, as the thought of the prisoners reminded her that the guards would return as well. She moaned at the thought of what the guards would do to her.

She addressed a desperate brain-wave message to her government: Get me out of here! You've had plenty of time! If there are negotiations, hurry them up!

She squeaked as a cramp hit her right calf muscle. She pushed down hard on her toes, bending her ankle, stretching out the leg muscle. Slowly, the pain eased.

As Marya began stirring, Yelena tightened her arms around her and kissed her. Marya sputtered, turning her head away.

Marya said in a forlorn voice, "Mom, you have to stop this. You're... not really seeing things right. You made up some stuff in your head." She bit her lip, obviously fearing the shock.

Yelena sighed and smiled, "Hélène, darling, we talked about this. You must know, inside, that it's you that got some wrong ideas. And that's my fault. But you know I made you, and now you know why. It's just going to take some time to chase all those thoughts of Marya away."

Marya opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She clearly saw no point in beating the same unconscious horse. Maybe the horse will wake up later, she told herself, and I can try again.

Yelena sighed again. "Hélène, if you can just accept who you are, we can be so good together! When you do, when you know you're Hélène, you'll be as much in love with me as I am with you! When I have to leave the room to see to something, you can run to me when I come back and kiss me, and say how much you missed being in my arms. When we fall asleep together, like we just did, if you're the one who wakes up first you can kiss me awake, and start the lovemaking. Sometimes you'll take the lead and be on top, and sometimes I will." Yelena closed her eyes and smiled, as if visualizing the mutual love, the mutual need for each other's body.

Behind Marya's back, Yelena made a hand signal that she knew the cameras would pick up. It should take them just a few minutes, she thought. To Marya, she said, "Kiss me, Hélène. Just a soft kiss, no tongue. You can see how good it feels."

"Mom... I told you, women don't... do anything for me. I'm sorry. And you're my mother!" Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. "I do love you. But I just... It isn't... It doesn't..." She struggled to find a way to resist Yelena without incurring punishment.

Yelena shook her head and smiled. "Hélène, Hélène... You've played with yourself, haven't you? You do it because you get pleasure out of it. And everyone does that. It's not about being gay."

Marya's face, inevitably, went deep red at hearing her own masturbation discussed by her mother. "But that isn't the same. Really, it's not."

Yelena said gently, patiently, "But it is the same. It is for us. I'm you. Playing with me is playing with yourself. Kiss me, Hélène dear. You'll see how good it feels." She waited, her face close to her daughter's.

Marya bit her lip, and leaned forward just enough to touch her lips against Yelena's. Yelena put her hands on the side of Marya's head, very gently, not pulling, and moved her lips just slightly, rubbing them against Marya's. She sighed audibly.

It is lucky, thought Yelena, the drug is starting to wear off. And that I had an orgasm earlier. Yelena had decided to try being less aggressive, to pull Marya, very gradually and gently, towards a sexual relationship. It made Yelena herself feel just a little better about what she was doing. Though she knew if it didn't work, she would have to go back to attacking. One way or another, there needed to be plenty of sex on camera.

Marya jumped and gasped at the sound of the knock on the door. Yelena, expecting it, did not. She called out loudly, "Come in!"

The door opened, and a captain -- all officers Yelena saw when she was with Marya would wear insigniae of rank, with which Yelena was very familiar, and a name tag, so that Yelena could address them in a way that made it appear to Marya that Yelena knew them, in keeping with her cover story -- pushed a cart laden with covered serving dishes, plates, utensils, carafes, and glasses into the room.

Yelena sat up, letting go of Marya, and smiled. She was about to speak when she felt Marya stirring behind her, with a gasp. Marya had sat up quickly, awkwardly due to her restraints, and pulled her legs up tight against her, her bare breasts hidden behind her knees, her exposed lower private parts behind her ankles. Her face was as red as a beet.

As the captain pushed the cart in front of the couch at Yelena's direction and stood back, against the wall, taking a relaxed stance with his hands clasped behind his back, Marya whispered tightly, "Mom, make him go away!"

Yelena rolled her eyes. "Hélène, stop that! You should be proud of your body! Come," she gestured with her hand, "Stand up. I want you to show yourself to Captain Vitalski."

Marya, looking terrified, shook her head in tiny back and forth movements.

Yelena spoke more sharply. "Hélène! You're being rude to the captain. Stand up now." She held up her left hand, palm outward. Marya could see the button Yelena pushed to activate Marya's collar.

Marya's eyes went wide, understanding the threat. With a soft whimper, she slowly put her legs down, as if carefully bending rusty hinges, and, as Yelena made a get-up gesture with her hand, she slowly stood, facing the captain, her eyes closed tight.

"Open your eyes, Hélène dear. And stand up straighter."

Making the whimpering sound again, Marya complied. With her hands trapped behind her, there was no question of trying to hide anything.

"Put your shoulders back, honey. I want him to see how wonderful your breasts are. I'm proud of your breasts. You should be too. Aren't they fine, Captain?"

Marya, taking shallow breaths quickly in and out, with a stunned look on her still-redder face, made a tiny squeaking noise as Captain Vitalski replied, "Just perfect, Ma'am."

Yelena smiled. "I think so too. Come sit by me, Hélène dear, and eat. You must be starving."

Marya sat quickly, and looked at the tray in front of her. "Mo... Hélène, could you undo my hands so I can eat? Please?"

Yelena uncovered one of the serving plates, and closed her eyes as she inhaled the aroma. "Nonsense, darling. Let me feed you, just like I used to."

"Mom, that was when I was..." She stopped in mid-protest. "Yes, Hélène. Thank you."

Marya sat, staring straight ahead with a hopeless expression as Yelena held forkfuls and spoonfuls of the various lunch offerings and held drink up to her lips. In between, Yelena consumed her own lunch as well. At last she patted Marya's lips with a napkin and sat back when Captain Vitalski pulled the cart out of the way.

Yelena nodded at the captain, then fought down her inner self, fending off the attempt to take over from Bad Mother. Bad Mother had to remain in charge here, but it was hard, so hard. Bad Mother continued the necessary dialogue. "Oh, just a minute, Captain. Why don't you unbutton your pants? Hélène dear, kneel down in front of him and show him how you thank him for the meal."

Marya's mouth flew open, and the squeak of shock she emitted was almost beyond the range of human hearing. She sat frozen as the captain brought an already-hard-and-growing erection out of his pants and stood, waiting.

Marya closed her mouth suddenly, still breathing rapidly but through her nose this time. With a note in her voice Yelena hadn't expected, after her recent submissiveness, Marya said, "Mom, what are you doing?"

Hesitating for a moment, Yelena started, "Hélène..."

Marya snapped at her, "Don't! Don't call me that! Is this... Is this how you got the 'loyalty' of all these men helping you? By pimping out your own daughter to them?"

Yelena blinked. She had thought such a discussion might arise at some point, though she hadn't been prepared for it right this minute, with Marya having seemed so cowed up to now. She reminded herself, no denial, no denial. "One of the ways, yes. It's for us, Hélène. So we can be together..."

"Oh, you're doing it for me, are you? When did I get any say in this?"

I can stay in control, Yelena told herself. She's forgetting, I'll remind her. She held up the palm of her left hand, showing the button once more.

Marya shouted, "Do it! I don't care! It can't hurt me any worse than knowing you think I'm your whore!"

Yelena went numb with terror. She had worked so hard, violating every standard of decency to try to save Marya from a much, much worse fate. She felt sure Marya was ruining it all now in an unanticipated outbreak of stubbornness. Yelena had such a vivid memory of that other woman, the assassin -- not even a successful assassin, a failed one, to her misfortune -- suffering day after day of unspeakable agony, never to end in the remaining years of her life... Is that going to happen to Marya now? Have I failed her?

We have to take a time out here, Yelena decided. This can't go on, it will only get worse, and I have no clue what to do. I need some advice.

She clenched her fist, pressing the button, and heard the now-familiar squeal from Marya. As Marya sank back against the cushions, Yelena said, "Captain, will you be a dear and help me get her to the bed?"

Rachel's whole body spasmed as the drawbridge was suddenly outlined in light again. She knew what was about to happen to her would be much worse than before, and there was the added horror that she knew what was coming. At least, she told herself, they didn't leave me here to die. Though I might end up wishing they had.

The thought that the opening of the door signaled rescue was far from her mind. Her optimism about the U.S. government intervening and taking her away from all this had waned after the assault on her earlier.

She squeezed her eyes closed, as before, when the lights came on. Able to squint through them a minute later, she saw something she'd seen from a different vantage last night: a line of women, their collars connected by chains, shuffling into the room. Eight of them, flanked by three guards. As they had last night, they marched into the aisle between cells, with the difference that Rachel was getting far more attention than last night. The women regarded her emotionlessly, but the guards were grinning at each other and exchanging comments interspersed with laughs. Rachel started whimpering again.

An analytic part of her mind wondered why she was bothering to make the sounds she was. Did she really imagine the guards would feel sorry for her, as if she were a sad lost puppy? She knew better. Regardless, she was unable to stop.

The women were released from the chains connecting their collars, though of course not from their individual sets of restraints, and one by one ducked down into their cells, in the row across from Rachel.

Before the last of them had been locked into her cell, the second group of eight women, with their three guards, crossed the bridge and entered the room. Rachel recognized the woman she had replaced in Alina's room, directly in front of the little pixie girl she remembered from last night.

Rachel also saw, among the three guards entering now with the eight women, the one who had brought her here from Alina's room. The one she'd seen whipping the girl last night. He had not given Rachel his name. She assigned him the name Boris, the first Russian name she could think of.

With a full complement of sixteen women in the room, Rachel wondered where she herself was going to stay. She wondered, with mounting horror, whether she'd have to stay chained up as she was all through the night, and then be left alone again in the dark all the next day. And every day. Conveniently posed for guards to make use of, over and over.

As the guards unlocked the women, Boris spoke to the one from Alina's room. Her face suddenly brightened, and Rachel saw something she thought must be very rare here: tears of joy from the girl. With a shaky grin on her face, she was nodding her head almost violently to whatever Boris was telling her. She spoke briefly, repeating the words "da" and something that sounded like "spasiba" several times. Rachel knew "da" meant yes; considering the situation, and the earnest emotional weight behind the word, Rachel decided "spasiba" must mean "thank you," or something equivalent. Boris spoke to one of the other guards, who nodded and led the woman out of the room.

Obviously, Rachel told herself, she's getting a second chance at working in Alina's room. I wish, wish, wish, wish I could get that.

Boris looked at Rachel with a menacing grin, and said, "Now you take her place here."

Rachel had already figured that out.

Along the row of cells, the barred doors were being opened, and the women were distributing themselves into them. Opening the door immediately to Rachel's left carried Rachel's ankle, its cuff locked to one of the bars, outward with it, and Rachel felt the ache of muscles suddenly moving in a direction they hadn't been allowed to go for hours -- but only for a few seconds, as the occupant of the cell crawled into it. The door was then swung closed and locked, and Rachel's leg was swung back to where it had been.

The door on the other side couldn't be opened at all without releasing Rachel: the latch was directly in front of her knee. The pixie girl stood uncertainly, nodding blankly when a guard said something to her, probably something like "Just stand there for now." The girl stood submissively, her cuffed hands folded in front of her. It looked to Rachel as though some of the whip marks on the girl's skin had faded a bit. She still had far more fresh ones than any other girl. Rachel hoped, for the girl's sake, that the fading of the bruises meant she had got through today okay, and that her whipping was just a one-time thing.

The food cart was brought down the aisle, and bowls of the meat-vegetable mix and of milk were slid into each cell.

The guard in charge of the cart looked uncertainly into the two unoccupied cells, and nodded when Boris spoke to him. He put two bowls of food, and two of milk, on the roof of the pixie girl's cell and pushed the cart out of the room.

When Boris reached behind Rachel's head to unbuckle the straps holding Rachel's gag, she sighed in relief. At least, she observed, they're going to feed me. She worked her jaw side to side, up and down, and blew out past her lips, trying to work out the aches.

Boris spoke to the pixie girl, who blinked in surprise and nodded. She then surprised Rachel by climbing onto the roof of the cell. It was very awkward for her, bound as she was, and required several attempts before finally, while gripping the front edge of the roof with her joined hands, she was able to boost her legs up and over the edge. She then wriggled, with difficulty, into a position more or less in front of Rachel. Drawing her legs in to free up the chain that had held her hands at her waist, she reached for one of the food bowls and scooped some of the mix into her hand.

Rachel found it hard to know where to look. The girl's exposed sex was right in front of her eyes. She had to remind herself that the girl had probably lost any sense that any part of her body was private anymore.

In any case, Rachel couldn't look at the dry food being offered to her until her thirst was taken care of. She pointed her chin towards the milk bowl and said, "Could I have some of that first?"

The girl shot a look of pure astonishment at Boris, her jaw dropping, no doubt in reaction to Rachel's English. Boris laughed, said something to the girl, then said to Rachel, "I say her you are not from here."

He had, it appeared, perhaps also told her Rachel wanted the milk, or perhaps the girl had figured it out. The girl lifted the nearer milk bowl and carefully tilted it in front of Rachel's mouth, saying something softly in Russian in a sweet voice, the first words Rachel had heard her speak.

As the girl tipped the contents of the bowl into Rachel's mouth, Rachel swallowed convulsively, feeling passionately relieved. After a few swallows, the girl backed the bowl away and reached for the food mix again. Rachel looked up at her and, putting all her heart into it, said "Thank you," and, after a moment's thought to recall the word, said "Spasiba."

The girl's sudden grin was an instant burst of sunshine, and Rachel felt lucky to have ever seen that face so happy. It probably, Rachel though, hasn't looked that way in all the time she's been here. The girl now directed some rapid-fire Russian at Rachel, who could only look at her blankly until Boris said something, and the girl's grin vanished and she nodded. Rachel hoped Boris had said nothing more threatening than "Just shut up and feed her."

The girl's reaction to her thanks, Rachel thought, made perfect sense, and was a painful commentary on the emptiness of life for prisoners in this place. There were, Rachel thought, just so few opportunities for one woman to help another here, or to hear any expression of gratitude.

Rachel completed her meal, alternately eating directly from the girl's hand and getting drinks from the bowl. It felt truly strange to lick another woman's palm for food, but Rachel had been hungry enough that she didn't care. When all the food and milk was gone, Rachel looked at the girl and said "Spasiba" again. The girl gave her another sweet smile and just nodded this time.

The girl, awkwardly again, maneuvered herself off the cell roof, took the remaining food and drink bowls and retreated behind Rachel, sitting on the floor in front of the other row of cells to take her own meal. A discussion started among the guards, including the sixth who had returned from taking the other woman to Alina's room. The discussion was punctuated by laughs, and by gestures and looks directed at Rachel, and she began shivering. This is it, she thought, this is definitely it.

Yelena, the doctor, and General Karozki sat in the chairs in the doctor's cluttered office. All very civilized, Yelena thought bitterly, except for one thing. "Couldn't I at least wear clothes when it's just us? When Marya, and the rest of your staff, can't see me?"

The general said briefly, "No." He didn't seem to feel any elaboration was required.

Yelena looked glumly at the monitor. On the screen, Marya's nude body was stretched in its original spread-eagle position on the bed, complete with the blinding hood and its gag. Though Marya must know she couldn't free herself, she was astonishingly persistent, yanking at the chains holding her arms and legs, with gagged grunts of both effort and anger, turning her head from side to side as if struggling to see. "Could you... put her to sleep? An anesthetic? I know you do that with that other woman. In between her sessions."

The doctor started to speak, but the general interrupted him. "Not for the time being. I want her to be conscious of the straits she is in. A few more hours, perhaps. We'll have to feed her and evacuate her wastes eventually. We can put her to sleep for that."

Yelena's lip curled. She could see the spreading yellowish stain around Marya's crotch. She's already, thought Yelena, getting rid of some of those wastes as we speak.

Yelena worked to clear the anger from her mind. It won't help here, she told herself. Neither will begging. I need to be in my best analytical frame of mind to save Marya. "I'm not giving up. You shouldn't want to either. I know my husband. He would be much happier with the original plan."

The general nodded. "I'm sure he would. And we're still here talking, aren't we?"

Yelena sighed in some relief. That, at least, was a point in Marya's favor. "Okay, look. I can still keep... treating Marya the way I have been. Couldn't it just be enough for her to suffer the sexual assaults? From me, from your men?" The men, to this point, had not had their chance at Marya yet. But they would.

Yelena's heart sank as the general immediately shook his head. "That is the status at present, but the president will not accept that as a final mode of operation. It is just a transitional stage. Eventually she must offer herself, as if willingly, even eagerly." He looked to the ceiling for a way to state the case. "For a person -- a woman -- to suffer repeated sexual violation, is obviously a trauma to the emotions, threatening permanent damage to emotional stability. But while being a helpless victim is indeed a heavy punishment in an emotional sense, it is almost the opposite in a moral sense. To be a victim establishes one on the moral high ground. The one victimized thinks of her tormentors, 'I am a better person than they are. I would not do this to someone. I am the good person here, they are the evil ones.'

"If, on the other hand, the victim is forced to collaborate in her own humiliation, that is quite a different thing. One feels... soiled. It is devastating in every sense, not only emotional." He looked down from the ceiling and directly at Yelena. "I'm sure you understand what I'm saying."

Yelena sucked in a quick breath. Yes, she thought. To collaborate in my own humiliation. To be forced to choose actions that all the civilized world labels as sick, twisted, evil. I was trapped into making a choice, but still, it was my choice. I decided. I chose to rape my own daughter, to violate all trust she ever had in me, and Marya can never, ever know why I did. She can never understand.

And as a result, I feel as if I am swimming in my own shit. I did this.

She said, shakily, "And so it is essential that Marya should choose..." She couldn't make herself complete the thought.

She looked at her daughter on the television screen again. "And if she doesn't... No, never mind. I know what happens if she doesn't. But not yet! There's no reason to give up yet."

She thought of her own experience. "You found the... key, for my own decision. You found the buttons to push. You knew I would make the choice I've made, and you knew how to make that happen. You haven't found... we haven't found the key to Marya yet. But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist! It only means we haven't found it."

The doctor smiled, and spoke at last. "That's rather a scientist's point of view. I agree with you. That the key has not been found doesn't mean it can't be. Though I'm sure we will not be allowed to look for it forever." He looked at the general, who shook his head.

The doctor looked back at Yelena. "For the time being, I see no reason to discontinue our efforts. Let me do some thinking. We might meet again..." He looked at his watch. "After dinner?"

The general nodded and stood.

Back in her room minutes later, Yelena watched Marya on her own monitor for several minutes. It wasn't quite like the time before. Only rarely, this time, did Marya subside in her struggles. She resumed after a short break each time. Her bare skin glistened, soaked in sweat, but she didn't seem to get tired. Only more angry.

Yelena collapsed on the bed, sobbing.