During the trip to Key West, Melanie and Dave became reacquainted with each other; they spent almost every waking minute together and slept together as well. In a real sense, Melanie learned, he, Fred, and Al, after they'd gone home from their hunting trip, had energized the movement that had, it appeared, led to a popular revolt in the United States.

"The response was incredible," he told her as they laid together on the bunks in the spacious officers' cabin the admiral had assigned her. "We put up a website about the compound, about our experiences there, and about how we felt about them, and we added a bulletin board for people to make comments about it all. We did mention you and Nadine by name; we didn't leave out anything. Once it was up and the word started getting around about it, it started getting flooded; within a month or so we were seeing two thousand postings a day. It was very strange, Melanie. A lot of them--most of them--were there because they were excited by the idea of the hunts, excited by the idea of the kill, they wanted to hear all the details. But even a lot of those were sympathetic to the inmates on the island. A lot of them claimed to know or have known an inmate or a Class-A--some said that they had a wife or a girlfriend or a daughter who'd been executed or was on death row--and probably ninety-five percent of those insisted the girls were innocent of the crimes they'd been convicted of. We also made contact--through your friend Harry--with an IRC chat group that had already existed for years and already had thousands of followers itself, and it started growing too. Besides that, Fred and Al and I discovered we weren't alone in having made successful hunts and then feeling like hell about it. There was Mitch, there was Captain Garner, and later the Admiral, although he was there under a pseudonym until just recently. We made contact with Harry's daughter and later with Harry and Rachel, and by now--the last time I looked at the sites--there are a bunch of them now--we have over two million visitors a day, just about all of them wanting the system changed."

"Amazing..." Melanie murmured. "Just amazing..."

"I agree. We were trying to work within the system, trying to back candidates who would help change things, file lawsuits, get up petitions. Washington was ignoring us. Then you broke out, you killed the warden and ran, and that hit the Internet shortly after it happened and spread like wildfire. Your name was well-known from the first, you were 'The' Melanie. Things galvanized around you, a "Free Melanie!" movement. In response, the word came down directly from the President and the Attorney General. They said that you'd murdered the warden and a guard and you'd be executed shortly after your capture, and that was that. No compromise, no hearing, nothing at all. Then we got your statement as to why, from Harry, and all hell broke loose in the States. The President and the Attorney General are standing firm, so there are riots."

"I don't quite understand," Melanie mused, "why they're being so stubborn about this. If the people want a change--well, regardless of what happens to me, the President--what party is he, anyway? Come to think of it, I don't even know who the damn president is, I've been out of touch for ten years!"

"Republican. His name is Joseph Bussman. He was the governor of California before."

"Ah. I think I sort of vaguely remember him." She shook her head. "But Dave, I still don't get it. Why's he doing this? Isn't it obvious that he and the party will both suffer for it come the next election?"

Dave grinned broadly. "He doesn't want to go to jail. Neither do a bunch of congressmen and senators and other federal officials."

"Jail? I don't get it..."

"Mitch is our main computer guru," Dave told her. "Online, he's called 'HiTech.' He can give you all the details, but I can tell you in a nutshell what he's dug up." He put his hands behind his head and leaned back. "The public was constantly being told," he began, "that the government was always short of revenues. That's been the case ever since they did away with taxes. You probably remember that."

Melanie nodded. "I do. I remember the campaigns--how the government could be and should be a profit-making business. I was about ten when the constitutional amendment prohibiting taxes was passed. I remember the celebrations. And yes, I do remember the government constantly saying it was out of money afterwards, how it had to cut this and cut that. I remember that being a reason why just about every crime was punishable by the death penalty. The idea was that it would be a big deterrent, and then we could stop spending money on law enforcement and on prisons, especially after most of the appeals process was done away with and the feds took over all the prisons and all executions, taking all that away from the States."

"Right. And of course, the Preserve itself and the gladiatorial games, and the TV execution shows, were designed to make money off the executions." He grinned. "And make money they have, in a big way. But not half as much, not even a third as much, as the sales."

"Sales?"

"The sales of Class-As to rich individuals, big companies, and even foreign countries."

Melanie sighed. "Like Gallagher..."

"Like Gallagher, yes. As many as half those Class-As, probably more than that, weren't even executed, as the law mandates--they've been turned into sexual slaves in places like Japan and Saudi Arabia. Whether that's better or worse I guess depends on the person. It's definitely illegal."

"But they were making a lot of money off it..."

"Yes they were. In the past ten years they've been arresting and convicting so many Class-As and Class-Bs that some scientists--one of the members of our group has been pushing this hard--are concerned that it's going to change the genetic makeup of the society--cosmetically, at least."

"That still doesn't explain why--"

"Ah, but it does. The point is, money was being made hand over fist off all this, right from the beginning. Money enough to run the government and a hell of a lot more. Washington was deluged with a tidal wave of money. There were kickbacks, payola; everything you can imagine. And a hell of a lot of that money was being skimmed off. As near as we can tell, the Directors of the IRS and the Bureau of Prisons were the first to line their pockets from it, but there was enough to buy everybody, and everyone involved was becoming a billionaire. Just like the drug money years ago, it's infected everything. And now you've threatened that."

"But I didn't really do anything..."

"Yes, you did. You were the first person to stand up to them. And you succeeded." He leaned forward and touched her cheek lightly. "I am so glad," he said softly, "that you're still alive..."

Melanie smiled. "It is a good feeling. Being free, not being hunted, is an even better feeling." She hesitated. "For now..." she added, her voice very soft.

Dave frowned. "What's that mean?"

"I'm not sure." She shrugged. "I just don't know how it would be to go back to an everyday mundane, ordinary, life. I think sometimes about my old career, dancing in the nightclubs. There was a certain excitement to that then. Now, I can't imagine it being much of anything except a bore. For ten years I've been in a situation where my life depended on all my moves being correct, on all my decisions being the right ones--and having a hell of a lot of good luck. It's hard to imagine things being any other way."

Dave grunted. "For a while they won't be. We're fighting a war against the odds. You can bet the President is going to order other Navy ships to intercept this fleet; Admiral Hansen thinks most of them, maybe all of them, will refuse to fire on us. If that doesn't happen we'll never make Key West."

Melanie nodded. "I didn't assume this was going to be a cakewalk," she said. She leaned forward toward him and laid her hands on his knees. "And that being the case," she went on, "I don't think it's a good idea for us to waste any more time, do you?"

Dave grinned broadly. "You didn't even ask," he pointed out, "if I was married, or involved with someone..."

"I really don't care," she shot back. "That isn't the way I think anymore. One way or another, I'm going to be involved in the fighting when we get to the States. Like you said, the odds are against me. I'm likely to get killed; I accept that. If I survive and we win--or whatever--then I'll ask those questions."

He reached forward and pulled her to him. "Well," he said just before they kissed, "I'm not."