Degan woke to the sound of rolling wheels and grinding asphalt. As he sat up and placed his hand to his right he felt only the empty sleeping-sack beside him; Millie had gone, and so, by the sounds of it, had most of Nova Femen.

The air was hot and sticky inside the tent. Degan smacked his jaws together, trying to work out some of the sandy residue. When his eyes adjusted to the merciless desert light he saw a pair of tin cans sitting between the two flaps of the tent entrance, and sitting on top of those was a folded note.

Dear Degan, it read, and he heard it in Millie's voice;

You don't need to come with us. We could use you, sure, but its dangerous for a lot of reasons. After last night... I think I need to give you the chance to go back to Ekpow, if you want to. If you don't want to that's fine, but I guess we'll see.

We are going to Houston. There's a car with a full tank of gas left behind for you, some food and water and a glock if you need it. I had to fight the girls to let me do it. They think you'll turn us in. I don't think you will.

Millie

Degan read and re-read the note a few times. He wasn't sure what to feel. Maybe she was doing him a favour, and maybe in all the normal senses he should be grateful to her for giving him the chance. How she wasn't strung up by her own Femen militia just for thinking it, he had no idea. It was a big risk by a brave girl. 

The sun was coming up fast when he poked his head out of the tent. The sky was cloudless and the ground firm and arid. A few disturbed patches lay all around him where the Nova girls had packed up their tents, not even leaving so much as an empty sports drink bottle behind. No evidence. Clean cut. If anyone came by it would just look as though he were some kind of survivalist roughing it in the wilderness. The gore-tex uniform he wore and the black outfitted Jeep probably gave the game away, though. And what was the glock for, cougars?

Degan stood in the middle of the former ring of tents watching the sun rise over the great jagged rock to the West. He took a few deep breaths, scratching his chin through a short but dense beard. 

Without thinking it over any further Degan pulled down the tent, threw everything into the back of the car and jumped into the driver's seat. Sheilded from the sun, the interior was still cool. He hecked the back seats, imagining some militia bitch might jump up and strangle him. There was no-one there. Somehow now that he had shut the door, everything seemed way too silent. He flicked on the aircon just to make some noise.

As soon as the battery came to life he saw a real-time GPS display appear on the dashboard. 

'Where would you like to go?' asked the dispassionate female voice.

Drive to the nearest airport, dump the car, get on the first flight to anywhere near Ekpow and trek the rest of the way. 

He wrapped his hands around the cool faux-leather on the steering wheel, turned the key and let the engine roar to life, pulling out of neutral into first gear.

'Where would you like to go?' insisted the GPS.

'Houston.' said Degan.

The suite had been in lockdown overnight. Two armed marines guarded the only doorway in or out of the President's temporary residence, a grand series of high-ceilinged rooms and, so he had been told, new bulletproof windows. A reliable aide had told Hobart that, for any radicals to get their hands on him, he would have to walk out onto the balcony and paint a target on his head. As reassuring as that had been overnight, he was about to do just that.

Laura was dressing herself in the parlour room, adjacent to the kitchenette where he was making himself bacon. The smell of it was enough to make him forget everything else for a few minutes. Bacon, fresh coffee and an azure sky just visible through the two-inch-thick windows. Things could be worse, he told himself.

His bliss was interrupted by a knock at the door. A marine let himself in, stood to attention and said, 'Mr. President, I hope you slept well Sir.'

'I did, thank you John.' Hobart held aloft the coffee jug. 'Can I fix you a cup?'

'No thank you Sir.' The shaven-headed marine answered mechanically, shoulders straight and back facing the wall. 'The visitor you were expecting is here, Sir.'

Hobart waved his hand back and forth with a cup in his mouth. John the Marine stamped his foot, gave a salute and then stepped back outside. Wilkes entered a moment later.

'Good to see you, Mr. President.'

Wilkes was wearing a suit, the first time Hobart had ever seen him do such a thing. He looked like a lion in leopard skin. 

'Welcome to the Marigold,' Hobart gestured towards the lounge area. 'Coffee?'

'No, thank you. Not a caffeine man.' Wilkes sat comfortably on the luxurious armchair beside the window, the one clearly singled out for the President to chair a meeting of officials, should he need to. Hobart opened his mouth and then closed it, thinking better of arguing. He sat where his Chief of Staff would likely sit.

'So,' Hobart said, putting his cup down more loudly than was necessary, 'you have something for me?'

'I actually thought the opposite.' Wilkes pointed towards the parlour room where the sound of a hairdryer could be heard.

'Ah, Laura. You can guarantee it? What you promised, I mean?'

'That she will not be treated like any other inferior female who passes through my gates? At least for old times' sake, Hobes, I think I can.'

Hobart nodded solemnly. Wilkes tilted his head to the side.

'You're sure you're ready to do it?'

'They've told me eleven different ways how secure this whole thing is. Snipers on every roof, motorcade is flanked, decoys should I need them-'

'I mean, are you ready to send your wife - or whatever she is - to Ekpow?'

'Oh,' Hobart shrugged, 'yeah, sure.'

'Good.' Wilkes clapped his hand on the seat-rest. 'As for today's events, I guess the Secret Service have you covered. And a man with your instincts, Mr. President, I doubt you have much to worry about.'

'But you said, on the phone,' Hobart pressed him, feeling a tension building in his gut, 'you said that Nova Femen had some kind of... operation? Near Houston, I mean.'

Wilkes met Hobart's eyes with that indiscernible quality of blankness that both infuriated and impressed Hobart whenever he saw it.

'Its nothing to worry about.' Wilkes finally said with a reassuring smile. 'A few stupid women with guns they can barely lift? Chances are they're more a danger to themselves than to you. Let's just hope they get lost on the road and blow their engines trying to pull off a three-point-turn.'

Hobart sniffed out a laugh, the best he could manage. 

'Seems like we should be... I don't know. Tracking them?'

'And we are. If they get anywhere near the city, we will bring them to justice. I have Vaglocks with their names on them. Speaking of which...'

Wilkes gestured towards the door. A pair of black-masked and kevlar-clad Arrowhead stormtroopers promptly entered and stood to attention. 

'You're using Arrowheads now?' Hobart asked incredulously.

'Good, aren't they?' Wilkes said to Hobart, 'I'm finding them more and more useful every day. Its in the parlour.' He added in their direction. Immediately they marched into the adjacent room and pulled Laura into the living area with half-dry hair in nothing but a towel. Laura did not scream at all but followed in silence. One of the Arrowheads read out a statement as they pulled her towel away and cuffed her wrists behind her naked body.

'You are hereby relieved of any rights or freedoms under the Female Control Act. You are not entitled to trial, appeal or parole.'

The short reading of rights - or non-rights - was followed with a sharp stab of an electrode stick into Laura's side. She did scream then, only in pain, and when it was over she closed her mouth and kept her eyes on the ground.

'Thanks guys,' Wilkes said to the Arrowheads, 'put her with the others.'

Hobart watched Laura being led through the doors and then she was gone. 

'Others?' He asked Wilkes asbently.

'We're cleaning up Houston.' Wilkes announced. 'The Arrowheads have seen a five-hundred-percent increase in recruitment since you passed the FCA. We're almost done building our biggest compound just outside of town, and today every office block and place of business will be purged of females. Housewives will be the last to go, a week from now.'

'Seems you have it all figured out.' Hobart said flatly, finishing his now tepid coffee.

'Mmm.' Said Wilkes.