Rachel watched Anya return from another turn outside, exhausted and shivering convulsively, her entire skin surface scaly with goose bumps and dotted with individual snowflakes. Rachel wished so much she could help with warming her friend, but she always had to head out as soon as Anya was back. She wished the guards would change the order around so Rachel wasn't always right after Anya.

The cold, once again, hit Rachel like a sledge hammer to the stomach. You'd think my body would get used to this, she moaned. Again, she found herself unable to breathe for the first fifteen or twenty seconds as she shuffle/hopped towards the trees. And then when her lungs started working once more, the air she drew in burned, unfairly chilling her inside directly along with her outside.

And this snow falling right on me, she thought, isn't helping at all.

They all had to go farther today, bypassing trees that probably still had piles of pine straw under them, because the straw was hidden under the snow. The wind had pushed the falling snow inward under the nearer trees. It was necessary to go twenty feet or so past the tree line before the trees themselves had blocked the snow sufficiently that the straw under them was uncovered.

Already shivering so badly that it was hard for her to direct her arms to gather straw, Rachel managed to scoop together enough to carry it to the bin. At least the physical activity helped warm her a little, making it slightly easier by the time she started on her second armload.

I hate this I hate this I hate this! ran the mantra through her mind.

When she finally deposited her third armload and the bell rang, she pushed the button in tense relief. Then an idea struck her.

She pulled the door open, and held it with her legs as she dropped to the ground to eat some snow. It looked perfectly ordinary, and no one would be surprised that she had suddenly realized how thirsty she was. At the same time she reached down with her hands in front of her knees and closed her right hand around a fistful of snow.

Rachel wasn't aware of any prohibition against bringing snow inside, nor of any reason why there would be. But she'd had bad experiences in discovering unanticipated rules before, and didn't want to take a chance on this one. So stealth was required.

Inside, as the nearest girls warmed her, rubbing their bodies up and down against hers, Rachel kept her right hand lightly closed around the snow, not wanting to compact it too badly. It stung her hand fiercely. She hoped it wouldn't melt too soon.

When her shivering was sufficiently under control, she smiled at the girl directly in front of her and said, "Spasiba." The women drifted away, and Rachel idly wandered closer to where Anya stood, trying not to look as though she was headed anywhere in particular.

The woman who went outside next after Rachel was now returning, and several women gathered around her for the warming. Rachel knew that, at this point, the guards' attention was always on the erotic display. They never seemed to get tired of it.

Rachel turned slightly, so that her hand was just in front of Anya, and opened it, looking down so that Anya herself would look down. The snow was still essentially loose, though most of it had leaked from her hand as water. Rachel said, very softly, "Snow."

Anya grinned open mouthed, as if she had never seen the substance before. Rachel knew, though, that it wasn't the simple sight of snow that was making Anya happy. Equally softly, Anya responded, "Sno." After a short pause, she looked up at Rachel and said, "Snyeg."

Oh, I never guessed it would be so close to the English word, Rachel thought. Rachel herself grinned, and tried the word out. "Snyeg." Anya beamed at her, and nodded her head.

Rachel wiped her hand on the front of her thigh. The snow broke into small particles and dropped to the floor to melt. She stood by Anya in silence, her hip against Anya's waist, until another half-frozen girl returned.

Rachel wasn't completely sure why it seemed so important to her that she and Anya build a vocabulary of random words in each other's language. She did know that, for some reason, she felt closer to Anya with each new word.

And Anya seemed so thrilled every time she learned a word. That's part of it too, Rachel told herself. I like making her happy.

But it had to be accurate. Rachel wanted Anya knowing correct meanings of English words, and Rachel herself correctly knowing the Russian equivalent. That was why she had to bring the snow inside. If she had just pointed outside and said "snow," Anya might have thought "snow" was trees. Or a passing bird. Or pine straw.

Last night, Rachel had been lucky enough to miss being chosen for rape, or for participation in the "game" afterward. But Anya hadn't been lucky. Rachel had buried a moan when she saw Matt stop in front of Anya's cell, and reach down to squeeze her breast. He gave the turn-around gesture. Rachel couldn't see Anya from behind her own cell bars, but she could hear the squeals of pain as Matt thrust in and out of her, and Rachel was sure he was using her anally. If Rachel had been free at that moment, she would have attacked Matt, not caring about the consequences. But she could do nothing but maintain her Present Breasts position against the bars, grinding her teeth.

Much later, after the games, after the guards had departed and the dogs, following their initial patrol, subsided into silence, Rachel could still hear Anya crying softly in her cell. Keeping as much control as she could of the jingling of her chains, Rachel had put her hands through the bars next to Anya's cell, tapping very lightly with her fingers. She could hear Anya sniffle one last time and sit up, and a minute later Anya's fingers met hers.

After a few minutes, Rachel had released Anya's hands, and wriggled all of the fingers of her right hand. Softly, she'd said, "Fingers."

Anya had actually giggled -- Rachel couldn't believe it -- and responded, "Fihngers," and a moment later, "Pwahltseh." Rachel repeated the word, and then curled in her middle finger to tap her palm, and taught Anya the word "hand." And learned the Russian word.

Then she had held Anya's hand again for awhile, until she heard Anya yawn and whisper, "Goood niyet, Retchell."

Rachel had drawn her hands back, lay down on the hard concrete and said softly, "Spakoinie nochye, Anya." Anya, Rachel thought, is the only thing here that will ever make me smile.

Remembering that now, Rachel thought: I'm probably thinking that someday we can have an actual conversation. Then there will be nothing separating us. Other than the guards who don't really like us talking at all.

Underneath the contentment of rubbing her hip against Anya's waist, Rachel was conscious, as she had been for several days now, of wanting more -- of wanting unrestrained physical intimacy. To hold Anya against her. To kiss her. To move against her as they both let their passions go.

Rachel examined the proposition that she might have been a lesbian all along. She didn't believe so, nor even think the term applied to her now. She tried to dig deeper.

She still didn't understand the need she felt when she was with Anya, never before having felt that type of attraction to any woman -- never, in fact, understanding what was going on in women who did feel that way. Rachel wasn't sure exactly when it had started. It seemed a little strange that Rachel didn't feel the same attraction to any of the other women here, all of whom shared with her the same fate as herself and Anya. But Anya was special somehow, and Rachel knew that, beyond sharing fate, she and Anya had also shared some very intense experiences in a brief span of time.

It was also true that what sex with men had turned into, and what it would remain for the rest of Rachel's life, was so repellent that the possibility of an alternative erotic outlet not involving men became more and more attractive by the day. Rachel knew she craved someone sweet, someone caring, someone who embodied what sexuality was meant to be. Rachel suspected that she'd had significantly fewer sexual experiences than most other girls at her school, and it was mainly because she had never lost contact with the romantic notion of sex, that sex should be lovemaking and not simply a hookup.

She knew she wanted much more with Anya than sex. Rachel tried to control her daydreams, of herself and Anya free of this place, eating breakfast together in a sunny kitchen, shopping for odds and ends to furnish their shared apartment, herself always speaking Russian to Anya and Anya always using English to respond, their friends laughing at how crazy that seemed... Rachel had to squash down those images, knowing they could never happen. But they always came back.

Yelena was biting her nails again as she watched the monitor in her own room.

On the screen, Marya lay on her bed, still asleep. The doctor had kept her anesthetized beyond the time it would have taken for the gas to wear off. For Marya, when she awoke, her most recent memory would be of the snakes climbing her legs.

Yelena found herself wishing Marya would never awaken. She felt instant shame for that thought, but wouldn't that be better, Yelena thought, than having that in her memory?

If she did remember it. If she wasn't catatonic, removed from all connection with the world of life and trapped in a nightmare of her own.

Marya's limbs were free of all restraints for the first time -- the steel bands around her wrists and ankles were gone. Even the collar was gone. The collar was no longer necessary, any more than the metal wrist bands were. If Marya's reaction to the snake pit wasn't enough to control her, then it was all over anyway.

The thought of Marya's missing collar reminded Yelena. She unstrapped the bands holding the red button, the controller for the collar, in her palm.

Marya's hair had been cut and styled within the last few hours; Yelena had held Marya's head up for the stylist, a very sweet old man. Marya had bangs in front now, halfway down her forehead, with the hair to the sides cut shorter than it had been, becoming longer towards the back, where it hung just off her shoulders. The old man had cut and styled Yelena's hair in the same way afterwards. He was working from an old picture of Yelena from her acting days in France. The style had been something of a signature for Yelena -- for Hélène, as she was known. One entertainment columnist in a Paris newspaper had termed it "mature, yet playful."

Yelena and Marya had already looked very similar. They looked still more so now.

If this doesn't work, thought Yelena, giving her nails another bite, they'll cut all my hair off, like that blonde girl I've been seeing by the general's office. They will keep me in chains like hers. And lead me by a leash down to that room, once a week or so, where I will watch them torture my daughter. Trying so hard to keep my eye on her in her agony, because if I look away I will be giving her still worse pain.

Yelena's attention had wandered, but her eyes were brought back to the monitor by a movement on the screen. She gasped. Marya was starting to stir.

Yelena felt a sudden need to use the toilet, but couldn't make herself move. Her eyes were fixed on the video images.

On the screen, Marya groaned, and curled herself into a ball. Yelena shook her head nervously. Not good. Not good at all.

A few minutes later, very tense minutes for Yelena, Marya seemed to come more fully alert. She raised her head slightly.

Suddenly Marya let out a blood-curdling scream. In a single movement, she whirled out of her fetal curl to a sitting position on the bed, then drew her legs towards her and began frantically brushing both hands down her shins.

Yelena found that her nails weren't enough. She started chewing on the ends of her fingers.

Marya stopped brushing her legs as suddenly as she'd started, her hands frozen in mid-air. She stared hard at her legs, as if daring a snake to appear.

She bounced up onto her knees, scanning the rest of the bed, and peeked carefully past the end of the bed, to the floor, slowly, ready to scream again if necessary. She crawled all around the edge of the mattress, her eyes intent on the floor. Biting her lip, she slowly edged her head past the side of the bed, bending it down to look underneath the bed. She turned her head slowly from side to side, making a complete scan of all of the floor area under the bed.

I guess this is good, Yelena told herself. At least she's moving. And she's terrified, but she doesn't seem to be hallucinating anything that isn't there. She's just trying to convince herself that she's safe.

Marya sat, scooting back against the headboard to lean against it. She suddenly seemed to realize her wrist bands were gone. She looked carefully at each wrist, as if she couldn't believe that the bands really weren't there, and reached out to run her fingertips over her ankles. And then reached back up to her neck, rubbing the skin where the collar had been.

Marya frowned suddenly and raised her hand up to her hair. She started to brush the bangs aside, and then her hand froze. She carefully restored the bangs, and almost sprang off the bed, but hesitated, giving the floor around and under the bed a second look. At last she bounced off the bed and ran to the makeup table, just within camera range, and looked at herself in its mirror. She looked at the floor around her again, obviously ready to leap back to the bed if necessary, then back at the mirror. For what seemed to Yelena like several minutes, Marya stared at her reflection, turning her head to different angles, testing her hair with her fingers but not changing it.

At last Marya nodded, her lips pressed tightly together, and returned to the bed to sit back against the headboard, with her arms folded below her breasts.

She understands, thought Yelena. She's familiar with the old photographs. She knows why her hair has been done like this.

Marya's face was expressionless. Yelena would have liked a little more help knowing what was going on inside her daughter.

Yelena suddenly realized Marya had just said something, too softly to be heard. Yelena leaned closer to the speaker, and made out a soft: "Hélène."

Marya said it louder now. "Hélène!"

Yelena gasped in realization. She's saying it like she's calling out for someone. She's not testing it out as her own name. She's calling it as my name! She's calling for me, by that name!

Yelena leapt from her seat and bolted for the door. She had it opened before she remembered.

She went to the table and reached for the pill bottle, shaking one of the tablets out into her hand. She threw it into her mouth, but stopped herself from swallowing it, biting down on it instead, crushing it to powder, her nose wrinkling at the bitter taste. She washed down the powder with a glass of water, testing her teeth with her tongue to make sure she'd swallowed all of it.

I hate that stuff, she told herself. I hate how it makes me act, how it makes me want Marya. I haven't had to take it for days, and I've been glad, but I need it now. It's crucial, now of all times.

She knew it wouldn't have time to start working by the time she reached Marya, but at least it would work a little sooner because of being crushed. She had to go now. Her daughter was calling for her.

Yelena opened the door, and heard Marya gasp. As soon as Yelena was fully visible to her in the doorway, Marya shouted "Hélène!!" and sprang from the bed, running to her mother, throwing her arms around her, kissing her, mouth wide open. Her throat made a sound a little bit like purring. She paused in kissing Yelena occasionally, just long enough to say a few words at a time. "I missed you... so much Hélène... I hate when... you leave... I want to... be with you... all the time..." She maintained the kiss for a time now, pushing her tongue into Yelena's mouth, sliding her hands, palms open, up and down Yelena's back, and now her right hand down to Yelena's buttock, massaging it softly. "I love you, Hélène. You'll always come back, won't you? I need you so much!" She plunged her tongue back into Yelena's mouth.

Yelena had to remind herself to start moving her arms on Marya's back as well. She felt torn in two, half of her almost crying in relief that Marya had been saved from the eternal agony of the assassin's torture, the other half appalled at what her daughter had become. Is there any of Marya left in there, she wondered? Am I holding an empty shell with Marya gone?

No, she told herself. Yelena could sense the tension in Marya, the taut, jumpy muscles, the trembling. She remembers everything that's been done to her, thought Yelena, and she's terrified of failing to behave as she must. Terrified of being put back in the snake pit.

It broke Yelena's heart.

Yelena was terrified as well. They have a hold on both of us, darling, Yelena told herself. We will both just do what we must.

She brushed her hand up Marya's side to cup her breast. Marya sighed in response.

In a breathy whisper, Marya said, "Make love to me, Hélène. I have to have you right now." She started pulling Yelena towards the bed.

I'm not ready, Yelena wailed within herself. The drug isn't working yet.

Without ceasing her caresses of Marya, Yelena said, "But let's go slow, Hélène darling. Make it last longer. I want to feel you against me as long as I can."

Marya reached the edge of the bed and slowly lay back onto it, pulling Yelena with her. Marya quickly rolled herself atop Yelena, squashing Yelena's breasts under her own, holding Yelena's head and forcing her tongue deeper than ever into Yelena's mouth. Pushing off with her toes Marya started a rocking motion, forward and back along Yelena's body.

Yelena, in a brief period when her mouth was free, said, "Shhh, shhh, Hélène dear, please go slowly."

"Of course, Hélène. I love that too." She rolled off to the side, pushed her right leg between Yelena's up to the thigh, and began kissing more gently, a soft smile on her lips.

Still Yelena sensed the tension in Marya, and imagined she always would. Marya seemed to flinch slightly every time Yelena's hand started doing something different -- changing, for example, from stroking Marya's back with open palm to holding her buttock and squeezing it. For every ten soft sighs of arousal from Marya, there would be one instant of defense, of wanting to get away.

Yelena felt her heart being shredded. As loathsome as it had been, Yelena now wished she could go back to sexually abusing a resistant girl. At least back then Marya, though horrified, had been able to be herself, reacting naturally and spontaneously. Now, thought Yelena, she's stuck in the trap herself, having to behave in a way that sickens her, knowing the unthinkable consequences of making a mistake.

Yelena moaned suddenly. She was feeling the tingling start. The drug was starting to take effect. Yelena knew she was about to lose control.

That's all right, she thought. I don't want to be in control. I don't want to be me anymore.

Just in time, it seemed, Yelena felt herself getting wet. Making a slick spot along Marya's thigh. There, Yelena thought, she can feel that. No doubt it's what she's been expecting.

I just told her to go slow, Yelena reminded herself. I need to try to do that.

Yelena moaned again and kissed Marya, then licked her neck, kissed her chin, her cheek, and then her mouth again.

Her need was growing quickly. She rolled Marya back on top of her and wrapped her legs around Marya's waist, using her heels to stroke Marya's buttocks. She rotated her hip to bring her sex into contact with Marya's mound, grinding against it, closing her eyes as the craving for sexual release built.

Yelena had just begun searching for a strategy to bring their lovemaking quickly to an end, but even as the thought was forming it began fading as Yelena fell more deeply under the influence of the drug. It was affecting her in the same way as before: besides inducing an intense need for erotic satisfaction, a need so powerful she would probably have directed it at a door frame if Marya had not been available, it made her a prisoner of the thrill, made her want the feelings of arousal to go on and on.

The tiny bit of rational Yelena that remained sought a solution in subterfuge, seeking to fool the sexual monster driving her. I know Marya is just pretending, she told the force controlling her. I want her to feel the excitement too.

Yelena reached across Marya's butt and curved her fingers inward towards her daughter's sex. She began stroking the soft, loose dry lips there.

Marya gasped, and Yelena knew Marya was genuinely startled by the sensation between her legs, but Yelena couldn't detect any evidence Marya found it arousing: she remained dry. But Marya got the message Yelena had hoped she would hear: that she should reciprocate.

Marya, still giving Yelena open-mouthed kisses and moaning, pushed her hand inward between their joined stomachs, reaching between Yelena's legs, and began brushing the side of her fingers back and forth across Yelena's sex. Yelena suspected Marya was encountering so much slickness there that she felt revulsion at the idea of pushing her fingers directly inside. But as always, the sensation, as it was, was enough for Yelena. Her excitement spiraled out of control, and shortly her body spasmed, as waves of orgasm shot outward from her crotch, fire and ice within her, very slowly ebbing to leave her spent and satisfied.

Marya took the opportunity and cried out, her body shaking. Yelena's fingers were well-positioned to know whether Marya's climax was real; they told her it was not. Marya sighed at last and relaxed atop her mother, letting her chin drop to rest on Yelena's shoulder, the side of her head rubbing against Yelena's.

And Yelena found herself in control once more, as the need impelled by the drug receded for the moment. Her soul felt enclosed in grimy walls of shame.

It's still rape, Yelena told herself despairingly. Marya is only participating under duress, terrified of what would happen to her if she didn't. I can easily blame what I did on the drug, I can blame it on the general, I can blame it on the doctor, I can blame it on Dimitri. But I am the one doing it. To my own daughter. I wish I could die.

But even dying would not help. They would torture Marya without me then, Yelena told herself. I can't bear the thought of leaving her alone to that fate.

I could kill Marya...

The thought stunned Yelena, repelled her. That's even worse, she pointed out to herself. Murdering my own child. Yelena pushed the thought away, furious at having let it into her head.

But she filed it away.

She turned and let Marya fall to the side on the bed, wrapping her arms tightly around her and pushing her leg between Marya's. As she cuddled with her daughter, she thought, now this feels nice. This is just love, not lust. And I do love her so much.

Marya began alternately kissing and licking Yelena's lips, a beatific smile on her face. Yelena responded in kind. Even while resting, she moaned to herself, we don't get to stop.

Rachel was worried. Boris wasn't back yet.

Each of the guards stepped out of the room occasionally. Rachel was sure it was a result of all that beer struggling to get out -- they had to take toilet breaks sometimes. All of the women also had to pee sometimes, and they did it by stepping a few paces off the track towards the trees and squatting for as brief a time as necessary, shivering all the while. The guards, of course, would want something less public.

The guards took slightly longer breaks as well, perhaps twenty minutes each, separately, in the middle of the day. That has to be for lunch, Rachel judged.

But Boris had left the room at some point while Rachel was outside, and had not reappeared through an entire cycle of the team -- Rachel had been out again, and was now standing again feeling Anya's warm skin next to her own. Still no Boris.

It wasn't that she was concerned for his safety or health. She hated him passionately, and part of her hoped he'd felt a heart attack coming on and hadn't made it to the doctor. But Boris was crucial to Rachel, as the only other person in the room who spoke English. At least none of the other women had shown any sign of being able to communicate with Rachel, other than Anya, whose knowledge of Rachel's language was inadequate in any but the most limited situations. Rachel had to have someone who could tell her what she was supposed to be doing before anybody got mad at her for not doing it.

Ah! There he was. Boris walked in the door, not looking at Rachel -- which means, Rachel told herself, either that whatever he was doing had nothing to do with me, or else that he was making a show of not looking so that she thought it didn't involve her. Rachel twisted her lip. That's a helpful insight, she told herself sarcastically. It seems I can't even commit to being paranoid.

Rachel turned back to see the latest girl come in from outside, and moved ahead to help with the rubbing.

The door opened after Yelena responded to the knock by inviting entry. It was lunch, brought by the same man who had done so before -- the one whose presence had set off the fight between Yelena and Marya that led to Marya's... treatment. Yelena understood that lunch would generally be brought in by a rotation of different men, but considering what had happened the last time, apparently Captain Vitalski was getting a second opportunity.

His second opportunity had come with a very different Marya.

Yelena winced. She had forgotten her intention of showing Marya how to use the baby oil to line her vaginal walls. She hoped the captain would be satisfied with oral sex.

Marya let go of Yelena and rolled off the bed and up to her feet in one motion. Yelena could see a coquettish smile on her face. The smile came and went over the next several minutes. Yelena could see a slight quiver of Marya's lips, the smile faltering, and then Marya would replenish it through an act of determination.

"I'm so glad you came back, Captain..." Marya hesitated for just an instant as she looked at his name tag to remind herself, "...Vitalski. I'm really sorry I was so rude to you before." She stood straighter. "Did you really mean it about my boobs being perfect?" She put her hands on the underside of her breasts, lifting them slightly as if offering them to him. "A friend of mine in school got a boob job, and hers still didn't end up bigger than mine. But mine are totally real." She took a step closer, making it obvious she wanted him to feel them.

Yelena knew the part about the boob job was true. Well, thought Yelena, that's a big part of acting. Drawing on real-life experiences.

When the captain smiled and eagerly covered her breasts with his hands, Marya, expecting the move, didn't flinch. She reached down with her right hand, palm forward, and used it to cover the captain's crotch. Yelena blinked in astonishment. She had assumed she would need to give Marya a little more in the way of coaching.

Yelena, even from the angle from which she was looking, could see a growing bulge in the captain's pants. Marya adjusted the shape of her hand to accommodate the changing outline of his crotch.

Marya purred, "I'm glad you're not too mad from before." She knelt now, and unbuckled the captain's trousers, lowered his zipper, and let the pants drop to the floor around his ankles. She teased his underpants down slowly, her index fingers on either side sliding under the elastic band from back to front and back again, taking them down by centimeters until his erection sprang free and the boxers fell the rest of the way to join his pants.

Not hesitating, Marya wrapped her fingers around the shaft, opened her mouth in a wide O and slid her lips past the head.

Part of Yelena's consciousness suggested to her that Marya had probably gone straight into oral sex because it was what she had been supposed to do the last time the captain was here. But the rest of her mind had nothing to say at all, and Yelena could only watch, dumbfounded.

With a start, she finally remembered what she had intended to do whenever Marya was with one of the men. She rolled up to a sitting position, put her right hand in her crotch, and started masturbating, moaning with evident growing arousal, while she played with her breast and nipple with her other hand. Marya should be able to see her at the edge of her vision.

Rational Yelena offered another mental comment: I could help Marya do better. She's trying, but I can see she's not very experienced. I'll give her some oral sex lessons. Among other things.

Marya moaned with satisfaction as she moved her lips back and forth around the shaft.

General Karozki sat back in his chair, tapping his pen on the arm of the chair. "So you think we can use this girl?"

Colonel Timochev, the general's chief of staff, nodded. "I think that's pretty clear. Sergeant Kodorov said it's very obvious a strong attachment has been formed."

"Do you trust Kodorov?"

"He gave a lot of specific details, sir. It wasn't just a vague feeling. They always stand touching each other -- he was sure they'd be holding hands if they weren't worried that would be too obvious. And he's fairly sure each has been trying to teach the other to speak her language. They greet each other in the morning, each in the other one's language. And the way they look at each other... he just thinks it stands out. Their eyes light up for each other. Or so he says."

"Could he be misinterpreting?"

"All I can tell you is he's a smart man, sir. Did you know he speaks English? He's the one who's been communicating with her."

The general leaned forward. "We don't make a place in the cell blocks for all the pretty girls sent here. Only the ones whose behavior we can control. I know you know that, I'm just summarizing." He paused for thought. "The guards are happier when the girls are controlled, rather than broken. We only keep the broken ones if we need them to control another girl." He smiled. "I was one of them, an ordinary guard, out there in the cell blocks, years ago. I loved it when I saw a girl who was boiling with resentment, with hate, but she couldn't do anything with it. It's the most... exquisite feeling to watch that. Much better than dealing with burned-out zombies. More satisfying sexually and in every other way." He frowned. "The American girl showed a lot of resistance very early on. We usually execute any girl who displays the independence she did. We only got her back under control when the other American happened to show up at just the right time. Now you're saying we might not need that one anymore."

"Yes, sir. I'm convinced."

The general leaned back. Tap, tap, tap.

He sat forward again. "Okay. Go ahead."

The colonel nodded. "Just process her normally?"

The general considered, then shook his head. "She was a spy. That calls for going back to the old tradition."

The colonel nodded again and stood. "Yes, sir. I'll take care of it."