Temple shook his head. "They don't have to. They meet their quota this way."
"I'm scared."
"You and everyone else in North America, Steffy."
She was trembling against him. "It's cold for June."
"It's warm in here." He kissed her moist eyes, her nose, her lips.
"Oh God, Kit. Five minutes."
"Five minutes to freedom," he said jauntily. He did not feel that way at all. Apprehension clutched at his chest with tight, painful fingers, almost making it difficult for him to breathe.
"Turn it on, Kit."
He dialed the telio in time to see the announcer's insincere smile. Smile seventeen, Kit thought wryly. Patriotic sacrifice.
"Every seven-hundred eighty days," said the announcer, "two-hundred of Center City's young men are selected to serve their country for an indeterminate period regulated rigidly by a rotation system."