Logan smiled at him, baring his teeth.
"I think you should reconsider," he said. "I know what I'm capable of handling. Life could get very unpleasant for you if you refuse to help me with this."
Bragan shrugged.
"Life is already very unpleasant for me," he said. "And you can't force me to do anything. Remember, if I don't like you all I have to do is agree to the surgery. You have no way of controlling what I do inside that tent. I could have you dead in seconds, and don't think I wouldn't do it. No anesthetic, no surgery."
"What about the girl?" Logan asked suddenly. "She seems to like you. Can you convince her you need pain medication for Jess?"
"I do need pain medication for Jess," Bragan said. "And I've already asked her about it. She says she can't help, but I'll keep working on it."
"Do that," Logan said. "And be prepared. If we're going to do this, you'll have to operate on all the men eventually. And we'll have to do as many as possible before the escape attempt. I'm starting to put a plan together, but we'll need Jess on the outside to help us. That means we have less than two weeks to pull this off…"
* * * * *
Third cycle after the mine collapse
Beth brushed out her hair and braided it quickly before leaving her room. It was strange, getting used to her new schedule. She was waking up just as everyone else got ready to sleep. But in many ways she enjoyed that. The less she saw of her father, for one, the better.
She was early, but she needed to get breakfast for the slaves before they left for the mine. Fortunately she wasn't responsible for actually cooking it—that was done in the communal kitchen which served most of the station. Still, carting enough food for a hundred men took quite a bit of time. She was also eager to check on her patient. Would he show any improvement after resting?
For the past three days she had checked him carefully each morning, wishing desperately to see some sign that he might wake up. He was getting painfully dehydrated; at least that's what Bragan told her. She actually thought he was looking quite well, given his situation. According to Bragan, there was little hope for him if he didn't wake up within the next day. Her hands trembled momentarily as she raised a hand to open the apartment door. If the man died, would Boze have her killed immediately? She glanced around the room. It was bare, gray, anything but comfortable. At the same time, it was her home. Would this be the last time she saw it?
As she stood there, a woman padded softly out of Boze's room toward the fresher. It was Moriah, a young widow who worked in the kitchens. Beth stared at her, shocked by her presence. What had she been doing there?
Moriah seemed equally horrified to see Beth. She was caught, and she knew it. Regardless of Boze's stature as station leader, Moriah's punishment for being caught in his apartment would be terrible if she were discovered. Beth tried to think of why the woman would do such a foolish thing. Moriah raised one hand tentatively, pushing a lock of black hair behind one ear. She fingered the side of her neck softly, and then Bethany saw it. An ugly bruise, red and new, circled Moriah's throat. A wave of nausea came over as she realized Boze had forced the girl.
Walking quickly across room, she silently took Moriah into her arms. The woman trembled; silent sobs shook her body.
"He says I have to marry him," she whispered into Beth's shoulder. "I don't have a choice. He says I could be pregnant already, and if that happens while I'm unmarried we all know what will happen to me."
There was nothing to say, so Bethany simply held her a moment longer. Then Moriah pushed away from her and wiped her eyes.
"We need to get to the kitchens," she said. "I'm supposed to help prepare the slaves' meal tonight. If I'm late, someone might suspect. Will you help me leave? If you can check the corridor to make sure no one is out there, I can slip away…"
"Of course," Bethany said quickly. "I'll check for you."
They crept softly across the room, and Bethany opened the door. She stepped out into the corridor and looked carefully each way. No one.
"It's safe to come out," she whispered, and Moriah crept out behind her. Quickly, the younger woman scuttled down the hallway toward her own apartments. She had a child, a daughter less than a year old, Bethany remembered. Hopefully someone she could trust had been with her. Another wave of nausea came over her as she realized it was entirely possible that Moriah had been forced to leave the baby all alone. Forced to do so by Bose, her own father.
She started toward the slave complex to pick up the food carts. It was better not to think about these things. They were entirely out of her control. The day guards were still on duty, lounging outside the main entrance to the complex. The men had been locked in the barracks the cycle before, so there was no reason to leave anyone stationed in the main room or the mine. The two men opened the locked and barricaded doors for her without comment, closing them behind her with a loud, clanging noise.
She made her way quickly down the short corridor into the main room. To one side was the tunnel leading to the mines, but all she could think of was checking on the slave. Opening the storage room door, she flicked on the light and moved quickly to his pallet. Bragan groaned, rolling over to cover his eyes with his arm.
"Couldn't you knock first?" he moaned.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to startle you. How is he doing this cycle?"
"He's fine," Bragan muttered. "I'm going back to sleep. I've still got several minutes before I need to be up and I'm going to use them."
She nodded, and stepped over the sleeping man to check on the slave. His name was Jess, she reminded herself. Bragan had told her the cycle before. Calling him by name was infinitely better than "the slave". He was lying in the same position she had left him, looking so weak and pale that it scared her.
How could he still be alive? He hadn't had any food or water for days, yet when she checked his pulse; it was still strong. She gave a sigh of relief for that—she had at least one more day to live. She shook her head, clearing away the morbid thoughts, then stood and left the storeroom.
There was no time to waste. She had to get the carts to the main kitchen. They would wake the slaves in less than an hour, and the food had to be ready for them. Pushing the first of the three large carts, she made her way back through the main room and down the corridor. The guards let her back through the re-enforced doors, and she walked briskly toward the communal kitchen area.
Unlike her father's apartment or the slave complex, the kitchen was a sea of activity. All around her, women and young girls were chatting and laughing together as they cleaned up from the last meal of the day. The kitchen was usually like this, at least as long as the kitchen supervisor, a stern and humorless woman named Magda, wasn't around. She usually left just as the evening meal was being served. For many of the women—Bethany included—hours spent in the kitchen following that meal were the most pleasant on the station.