A state of disobedience

Austin, Texas

Juanita sat patiently while the studio makeup man applied a few finishing touches. Holding very still, she attempted to make some order out of the chaos of jumbled thoughts and psychic agonies running through her mind.

The word had gone out over the airwaves, via telephone, and on the Internet, that there would be a major address by the governor. Of course, that word had gone out before her house was bombed and before she was listed as missing and presumed dead.

I'll just have to hope for the best, she thought as the makeup man stepped back, inspected, and turned and departed.

In moments, the studio chief began a verbal countdown, ending with, 'You're live, Governor.'

Across Austin, across Texas, and even across the world, people watched their screens and monitors as the olive skinned-woman lifted her face to the camera.

'Rumors of my death,' she began, wearing a somewhat strained and forced smile, 'have been greatly exaggerated.'

* * *

Washington, DC

'The bitch is still alive,' fumed Carroll, using a remote control to turn on the television in Willi's office and bring up the right channel.

'That's not possible. You assured me she was dead.'

'Yeah, well,' drawled Carroll, 'I was misinformed.'

All present turned their eyes to the television screen where Juanita Seguin was just finishing up her speech.

'She's assembling a mass of people to march against 3^rd Corps,' announced Carroll for those present who had missed that part. 'And we don't have any law enforcement people right with that Corps.'

'None?' asked Rottemeyer.

'None. The force we would have had there, the Presidential Guard, is scattered to the winds. One group, the one we sent to Camp Pendleton in California is effectively destroyed. The others are in bad shape after taking back the currency facility. Most of the rest are tied down policing the supply routes and controlling the major cities. The Environmental Protection Police are knee-deep in alligators in Houston. The SGRPC are for the most part incarcerated and awaiting trial in New Mexico. The FBI was stretched just to provide a force for Dallas.

'Third Corps is on its own. And, given events, I don't know if you can trust them.'

Rottemeyer pushed a button on her desk intercom. 'I need to speak with Harold Forsythe.'

* * *

State House, Austin, Texas

'The President for you, sir,' announced a flunky.

Forsythe took the cell phone, answering happily, 'Forsythe here, Madam President . . . ah, yes, we've heard rumors to that effect . . . no, Willi, I haven't seen a television lately . . . Yes, yes . . . I'll certainly talk to the military commander here, Madam President. . . .'

Handing the cell phone back to his flunky, Forsythe pondered the information he had just received from Rottemeyer. A mass march? Here? Against the Army's guns? What could they hope to prove by it?

* * *

The Texas Rangers had been the first to arrive at the rally point, an intersection of First Street, SW, and Oltorf. They first cleared the immediate neighboring buildings and then radioed for the Public Address people to bring in the microphones and loudspeakers. Juanita and Jack showed up just as the last connection was being made between microphone, amplifiers, and speakers.

The people began to assemble to hear the governor moments later. Businesses had closed in anticipation of the coming occupation. There were many people available, from all stations and walks of life. Of those available, many came. They came from poor barrios where spoken English was a rarity. They came from upper-crust mansions along the river. They came from everywhere in between as well.

Juanita had never said what she wanted them for. All that her recent TV and radio broadcast had conveyed was that she wanted to speak to them. Many assumed it was to lay down her mantle as governor. Some came, indeed, as a last gesture of respect for what Juanita had tried to do, even if she had, as she apparently had, failed.

The crowd was solemn. Solemnly, the recently widowed Juanita Seguin mounted some steps to address them.

Before beginning to speak, Juanita looked to the north, trying vainly to discern the thin pillar of smoke that she knew arose above the ashes of her husband, her son and many of her friends, aides and co-workers. The crowd followed the governor's gaze as if they knew what she was thinking and for what she was looking. Some of them may have known what she was thinking. All knew, in their hearts, what she was feeling.

'My husband is up there,' Juanita began, pointing north across Town Lake. 'My son, Mario, as well. I intend to go there now, whatever or whoever bars my way, and see to their bodies.'

'The Rangers are coming with me.' Juanita glanced over at Nagy, who nodded a firm agreement. 'The Forty-