IT WAS A GRIM-FACED Captain Lane who paced the floor of their dungeon. There was anger in his eyes, and outrage, too. But beneath those surface emotions was a deeper one—fear! The dreadful, haunting fear of a powerless man, caught in a trap beyond his utmost devising.
“If there were only something we could do!” he raged savagely. “But we’re weaponless—helpless—we can’t even die fighting, like strong men. I’d rather we had all died in the Orestes than that this should happen. You and I, Mallory, a feast for such foul things. Dorothy—”
He stopped, shaken, sickened. Dorothy’s face was pale, but her voice was even.
“There is one thing he overlooked, Daddy. We still have the privilege of dying cleanly. Together. We can take off our suits. Here. Before they come for us.”
Lane nodded. He knew
