Civilly Disobedient (Calm Act Genesis Book 1) Read Free

Bea?” He gestured, and I scooted to the window seat. He sat and leaned toward me to ask, “You’re the Bea Smith who signed up Wednesday night, right?”
    “Ah, yes,” I agreed. “I have a little employer problem, you see. They don’t think I should go to the rally in Philly. I hope I’m not taking a seat from someone else?”
    Of course I wasn’t. The bus had half a dozen empty seats. And eighty bucks was more than generous for gas money.
    “Really? What employer is that?” We both laughed. “You’d probably rather not say.”
    “Yeah. No,” I agreed. “But, my real name is Dee, not Bea.”
    “Alright. What draws you to Weather Vane, Dee? Philadelphia, anyway.”
    “I’m not very political,” I replied, feeling foolish. “I guess free speech and surveillance are hot buttons with me. The velvet fascism thing. I mean, even this. I couldn’t take a train to Philadelphia because of my job spying on me. Can’t use public transportation without ID. I appreciate the ride. I’m also very concerned about climate change.”
    He nodded, looking amused. “Kind of a political tourist, huh?”
    Hogan launched into telling me about Weather Vane and its agenda. Philadelphia wasn’t a one-issue rally. About a dozen activist groups were spear-heading the thing, that just seemed to keep mushrooming. They now hoped for over a quarter million demonstrators this weekend, complaining about everything from free speech, to the cost of living, getting rid of the strangle-hold of the two-party system, racism, and a half-dozen other perennial American discontents that just seemed to get worse every year, never better.
    Weather Vane’s angle was climate change and the risk of irrevocable environmental damage. Hogan laid out his case. The drought in the high plains, now in its third year and getting scary. He claimed it was developing into another full-blown Dust Bowl, and the aquifers were running dry. The desert southwest and California had been in severe drought even longer, with fires raging out of control. That was what drove our food prices soaring, even before the new GMO blight.
    Here in the rainy zones, storms kept getting worse. The cost of storm damage was mounting exponentially, while Federal and state disaster relief budgets groaned under the onslaught. Overseas, the Middle Eastern wars were getting worse all the time. The news and political rhetoric focused on terrorism. But underneath was a dire drought in a severely overpopulated region.
    Hogan spoke well. He had charisma, his facts were in order, and he presented a compelling case, with the eyes of a zealot and a trustworthy smile.
    “We need a complete national pivot,” he concluded. “No more business as usual. There isn’t time left for incremental change. Climate change is completely out of control, and we need to stop carbon emissions now . Get our economy on a carbon-free footing. Before it’s too late.”
    “I agree,” I replied weakly. “But…”
    “Our politicians are owned by the corporations,” Hogan said. “So it’s business as usual while the planet is destroyed. But this is still a democracy. We have to make ourselves heard before it’s too late.”
    I sighed. “Well, I’ll count as one more warm body at a demonstration. But there are millions of people yelling, Hogan. And they demand a hundred different things.”
    “But climate change is the root cause of all the yelling,” he claimed.
    I shrugged. “Preaching to the choir.” He smiled bashfully and nodded assent. “Hogan, I don’t disagree with what you’re saying. And I’m here. Today that’s all I can do. You know?”
    “Yeah,” he agreed. “Thanks for showing up, Dee.” He squeezed my shoulder as he rose, and moved on to chat with the next person on the bus.
    I ignored my paperback and looked out the window. After an early start, we were approaching New York City around 8 a.m. on Saturday. Traffic was backed up for thirty miles in every direction. The other