"So that's it for me," Stephanie said. "I did not expect this. And Jackson's right, too. I've got nowhere to go, there's nothing for me to do except go down there and hand myself over to those people from--whatever corporation it was--so they can take me off and kill me."

"What's to stop you," Mindy asked, "from just getting in your car, getting on I-95, and heading south to join up with the rebel column?"

Stephanie shook her head. "You know that won't work," she replied. "Could you do that? Could you just get in a car and run rather than fighting a match? You know you can't. They have you marked. There're so many highway patrol types in Virginia right now I wouldn't even get as far as Richmond."

"Mm," Mindy commented. "All true. And besides that, I dunno if you've heard but they've got roadblocks set on all the roads in and out of DC. Everyone's being checked. They don't want saboteurs sneaking in here and they sure as fuck don't want anybody high-up sneaking out to join up with Melanie."

"No. That I hadn't heard."

Mindy grinned. "Guess it's just hopeless, then. You're just gonna have to go give yourself up."

Stephanie raised her head and glared at her. She was not being very sympathetic, considering. "That is," she said coldly, "what I just said."

"Sounds fucked up when I say it, doesn't it?" She waved a hand to silence a reply. "Sounds fucked up when you say it too. Because it isn't gonna happen."

She looked blank. "It isn't?"

"Of course not!" Mindy said with a laugh. "You're one of us. You have been for years. You think we're just gonna sit here and let them fucking take you off and kill you?"

"I--"

"We have our ways. And our places, too. Places even you don't know about; hell, we've got places I don't know about! Besides, we've been talking about all this, all of us, since you came down here and gave us the word about the war, about Melanie."

"I--"

"Never mind. The games are over, you know. What you need to do now is go back to your place and get some clothes and stuff, then come back here so we can take you someplace safe."

"But--that'll make you outlaws, you'll be aiding a felon, that carries the death penalty..."

"You are not thinking straight, Stephanie. I said the fucking games are over. Every gladiator who's got any interest in being a law-abiding citizen is gone. The rest of us--well, the rest of us aren't with Melanie marching up through Florida, but we're with her. What we've been discussing is whether we can do more good here--right in the heart of DC--or whether we want to break out and head for Florida. To me, going to Florida don't make a whole lot of sense considering that they're all coming here." The ex-tennis player looked at Stephanie with narrowed eyes. "Now. You want to tell me about your connections to Melanie?"

Confused, Stephanie frowned. "I don't have any connections to Melanie."

"Oh yes you do. You told me about it years ago. Your Internet group."

"Oh, well, yes, I do have connections with them."

"And isn't this guy you used to talk about--'Cochise'--isn't he one of the leaders of the revolution?"

Stephanie nodded. "Harry Littlebird. My understanding is that he is, yes."

"And aren't you in constant contact with him?"

"No. He hasn't been in chat for a while. His daughter Eileen--'Pocahontas'--she keeps us updated."

Mindy grinned. "Well, your job, Stephanie--if you want it--is to get back up with these people and tell them who we are, where we are, and what we can do. Then find out what they want us to do. We are, after all, trained killers. We know how to do that."

Stephanie studied her friend's eyes. "You mean like an assassin corps--something like that, a fifth column..."

"Seems like the way we can contribute the most."

"But Mindy--you're trained with swords and tridents--that isn't going to be of much help when you're talking about police and National Guardsmen with submachine guns."

"Assassins and saboteurs," the former tennis star pointed out, "do not confront lines of soldiers directly. We don't plan to either. We come from a lot of different walks of life, Stephanie. We have people here who know how to use explosives, for instance. We figure we can do a lot of things, like take out some key people or take down communication centers. You're going to be an outlaw yourself after nine tomorrow, a woman with a price on her head. Interested in joining up with us?"

Finally, Stephanie grinned. "Do I have a choice?"

"Well, sure. We can hide you and you can do jack shit."

"Not my style," Stephanie told her. Suddenly energized, she rose from her chair. "I need to go," she said. "Get some clothes, and get my computer. You have a place I can hook it up to the Net?"

"If we didn't," Mindy said, "we'd steal one."
 
 

By four o'clock that afternoon, Stephanie, assisted by Mindy, had packed a couple of small bags containing some of her more practical clothes, leaving behind the almost-party dresses and heels she'd worn to work every day for the past nine years. Almost the only other thing she was bringing was her personal computer--fortunately a laptop, unfortunately not capable of connecting by wireless to the secure government WAN she'd always used.

Not that that mattered very much, she told herself as she slipped behind the wheel of her car and started the engine. She could not imagine that her personal password to that WAN wouldn't be disabled by tomorrow afternoon, if indeed it was still valid now.

Driving through the downtown area, both were struck by how much things had changed in just a few hours. Presuming that TV and radio reporting of the events in Florida would be one-sided, they had paid little attention. Now, driving along almost-deserted New York Avenue--which should have, at this time of day on a weekday, been bustling--they wondered if they'd missed something they should have heard. The feeling was intensified when a convoy of soldiers, fully armed, roared by headed toward the Mall.

"I think I did hear something about a curfew," Stephanie said.

"At four-thirty in the afternoon?" Mindy wondered. "Not possible. Maybe at night, but not now. Can't be."

"Well, the club isn't far. Maybe we'll make it without incident."

"It still could be a problem. We have to ditch your car. They know quite well about your associations with us, and the club is going to be one of the first places they check. If your car is there, we're going to have a fucking hard time saying we haven't seen you."

Not five more minutes had passed when Stephanie's hopes that they'd make the trip "without incident" were dashed. Up ahead, the traffic lights had been turned off; a uniformed officer stood in the middle of the street, and with the classic hand gesture he ordered them to stop. Off to the side sat two other police cars, officers visible inside. When they stopped, the man directing traffic came around to the window.

"Afternoon, ladies," he said politely. He was a young man with what appeared to be a guileless, boyish face. "Can I assume," he went on, "that you haven't heard about the curfews?"

"No," Stephanie said. "We haven't."

"Well, for the time being, only official-business vehicles are allowed on the streets from four in the afternoon until ten in the morning."

"Oh," Stephanie said. "No, I haven't heard." She glanced at Mindy. "Looks I'm going to be sleeping over at your place tonight, doesn't it? If I can't drive home..."

"That would be best." He paused. "May I see your license, please? We're supposed to check everyone."

"Oh, certainly." She pulled out her license and handed it to him. "Stephanie Wilson," he murmured, looking at it. "Stephanie Wilson, just heard that name..." He frowned. "Just a moment, ladies. Just stay here, I'll be right back." He walked away a short distance, just out of earshot, pulled a cell phone or radio from his belt, and began talking--holding Stephanie's license up as he did.

"Looks like trouble," Mindy muttered.

"Shouldn't be," Stephanie said with a confidence she did not feel. "I'm supposed to be free until nine AM tomorrow morning."

The officer came back. He looked troubled. "You," he said to Stephanie, "are supposed to surrender yourself to--to somebody or another, all I get is 'duly-appointed authority'--at nine AM tomorrow morning."

Stephanie sighed. No point in lying. "Yes," she answered. "That's right. I--"

"The report says," the officer went on, "that you're supposed to surrender yourself so you can be executed."

She pursed her lips tightly. "That's right too."

He frowned again. "You gonna do that?"

"I obey the law, officer," she answered.

"That's not an answer."

"Yes, then. Yes! I plan to do that! The right to execute me has been sold to the Gallagher Corporation, all nice and legal. I'm supposed to go down and let them take custody of me, tomorrow morning. I don't have a lot of choice. If I don't, I'll be taken by force. In spite of my conviction I'm not a criminal, I don't know how to run from the law and there's no use in me trying."

He stroked his chin. "So you're really gonna do it."

She sighed again. "Yes, officer. I am. Now can we go? As you know now, I don't have very many hours of freedom--or even life--left to me. I don't much like wasting them here."

He glanced back at the other police cars, almost furtively. "Look," he said. "Let me give you some quick advice."

"Advice?"

"Yeah. Listen: actually, I'm supposed to take you into custody, right now. You can't get to where you're supposed to be, legally, by nine AM. Because of the curfew."

Damn, Stephanie thought. Now what are we going to do?

"But I'm not gonna do that."

She blinked. "You're not?"

"No. Now listen, and listen good: as far as the department is concerned I never saw you. I didn't report it, that was an automated system I was talking to. And my advice is this: forget about going down there tomorrow. It's gonna be days, maybe weeks, maybe months before anybody's gonna have time to come looking for you. Maybe never, it depends on how the war goes." He glanced at the other police cars again. "You go do what you're supposed to do, they'll kill you and that's that. Screw 'em. They probably framed you anyway."

She gave him a wondering look. "As a matter of fact," she told him, "they did."

"I believe it. I've seen a shitload of it, and I've only been on the force eighteen months." He dug in his shirt pocket and came up with a card. "Look, that's my phone. You need help, you call me. I'll do what I can. I hate this shit, I hate it. I wouldn't have stayed on the force much longer anyway." He sighed. "And if you don't get an answer," he added, "then you can figure I've gone to Florida. To join up with Melanie." He waved at them. "Go," he said. "Go up here, go right, then left. Six blocks, come back to New York. You'll dodge the next roadblock that way."

Stephanie gave him a smile; she resisted the urge to touch his hand, lest the other officers see it. He stepped back, and they drove on.

"You find allies these days," Mindy commented, "in the damndest places."