Read Civilly Disobedient (Calm Act Genesis Book 1) for Free Online Page A

lunch, she used a light hand on the spices. Mangal had a shaker of extra chili to stir into his food. I eagerly doled out some of the sweet cream-sauced korma and homemade cheese, my favorite of her repertoire.
    “Did you tell your team anything yet?” Mangal asked. “About the no-demonstrations rule.”
    “Not yet,” I said. “I postponed our section meeting to tomorrow, after meeting with Dan this afternoon. You?”
    “Great minds think alike,” Mangal agreed. “I love this cabbage. I love this time of year. To fresh food!”
    I grinned back and we clinked our water mugs.
    “You’re going to do something crazy. Aren’t you,” Mangal said flatly.
    “Define crazy,” I replied. “Poisoning our own air – that’s crazy. Spending our lunch hour cooped up in a cubicle when it’s gorgeous outside – that’s crazy, too.”
    Mangal glanced outside without enthusiasm. Our managerial-class cubicles featured windows onto a corridor, with a view of the real windows – quite a perk. Of course, from this angle, about all you could see of the great outdoors was a swatch of sky around other skyscrapers. Taking a walk after lunch sounded nice in theory. But strolling in downtown Stamford, amid the car exhaust fumes at street level, wasn’t appetizing at all. Shrubbery in concrete pots was about it for greenery. “Mmn,” he differed, returning his attention to the cole slaw.
    “To telecommuting,” I saluted him, raising my water glass again in challenge. He pursed his lips. “To seeing your son grow up, instead of spending three hours a day commuting,” I urged.
    He relented at that, and clinked glasses with me. “Let’s do it.”
    “I’ll talk to Trevor,” I offered. “You’ve got Cheng?” This was our standard division of labor. The systems manager Trevor had a knack for getting on Mangal’s nerves, by implying white superiority over the immigrants Mangal and Cheng. Cheng didn’t respect women much, in my experience.
    “Deal.”
    -oOo-
    “Alright, gang,” Dan said, convening the section head weekly meeting in his office. We’d already compared long weekends and completed the social bonding segment of the get-together. I wondered idly if anyone besides me was lying about what they’d done over the weekend. And if so, why.
    At any rate, it was time to get down to business.
    “So I’ve spoken to Human Resources,” Dan reported back to us. “There is no wiggle room in the new rule. Our people are not allowed to attend political rallies. First offense, stern reprimand. Second offense termination. They’re serious!”
    That really was serious. Offhand, I couldn’t think of another corporate infraction that merited getting fired after one warning.
    “Effective last week, actually,” Dan continued. “Good thing, too. You didn’t hear it from me, but Philadelphia was a blood bath.” He lowered his voice and looked meaningfully at us. “Sixty-three dead civilians, four cops, and a National Guardsman. Hundreds hospitalized. Millions in riot damage. It’s getting ugly out there.”
    I blinked, and narrowed my eyes. I did not know for a fact that this wasn’t true. There were shots fired in Fairmount Park while I was there, and plenty of stories among the demonstrators. And the streets outside the park had certainly seen violence. But stories from aggravated people tended to exaggerate, not understate.
    “Why wasn’t that on the news, Dan?” I challenged him.
    Dan didn’t meet my eye. “UNC is cooperating with federal requests to help defuse the public disorders. Without press coverage, there’s no point in disruptive mass demonstrations. Like Boston and Philadelphia. Voluntary cooperation.”
    Mangal attempted, “Don’t journalists have an obligation to –”
    Dan cut him off. “Are you a journalist? Mangal? This branch is computing support. We do websites. UNC News doesn’t ask us for input on the national news.” He frowned and let that sink in a moment. “Anyway. Back to the new