[b]House of Representatives United States Capitol Washington DC[/b] "The gentleman from California is recognized." Congressman Harlan Lewis gripped the small lectern set up in the House chamber. The chamber was a ghost town at a quarter past one in the afternoon, everyone except the non-partisan clerical employees were still taking their usual long lunches. The laxness around both the House and Senate was typical in the height of summer when there were no big bills looming. After pushing for the nationalization of NEWI, the White House was mum on the rest of its legislative agenda. Congress knew a fight was coming, but they expected it from the Democratic president. Nobody had any idea that Republican Harlan Lewis would be the one to ignite it. The recent election marked Lewis' third successful reelection campaign. California's 9th District was an easy win for any Republican candidate. It was mostly white and mostly middle class. Even the big Hispanic population in the district had comfortable incomes and conservative ideals. Even during the Socialist years they sent Republicans to Congress. The voters in his district didn't care about pork barrel or appropriations, they just wanted someone with an R next to their name on the ballot, someone to keep their taxes down. The most remarkable thing about Lewis' six years in Congress so far had been sponsoring a resolution naming a bridge in his state after early California Senator John C. Fremont. "Mr. Speaker," Lewis said to the junior congressman who acted as speaker pro tem when Clay Foulke wasn't on the floor. "Ladies and gentlemen of the House I'd like to introduce an appropriations bill for consideration. This bill will authorize the United States government to provide foreign aid to the people and citizens of Ethiopia. The purpose of this bill is not to assist the government and military engaged in war with the Spanish Republic, but the families who are being forced to flee their homes under threat of loss of life and property." The half-dozen clerks sitting at the triple dais stirred at Lewis' announcement. The speaker pro tem raised an eyebrow at the congressman before whispering to a clerk beside him. The clerk scuttled off in a hurry while the speaker nodded. "Bill will be formally introduced as House Resolution 2601 and will be referred to the House Appropriations Committee." The clerk banged the gavel and Lewis walked from the lectern with shaky legs. [center]*****[/center] "Who the fuck is Harlan Lewis?" Clay Foulke snarled as he stalked out of his office and down a capitol corridor. Dwight Hayes, the Democratic Majority Leader, ran after Clay in a desperate rush and called after him. Clay couldn't hear Hayes' voice over the sound of his own pulse. They had been in Clay's office just moments earlier, having a post-lunch confab with the democratic leadership and a few heads of the various democratic caucuses that made up the House Democrats. They were in the middle of their bull session when a secretary came in with a scrap of paper that had the news scribbled on it. The Republicans. The fucking Republicans. As Speaker, Clay could control his own party through clout with the Appropriations Committee and congressional committee assignments. A lot of what made him keep the Democrats in line didn't work with the Republicans. They were the minority party. They couldn't be bought with promises of plumb assignments since they wouldn't have a chance to really influence committee decisions. Earmarking money for their home district didn't work either, since they could make political hay out of fighting the big bad Democrats who were neglecting their constituents in a shoddy showing of partisan politics. "Clay!" Hayes called out as he ran as fast as his chubby body could carry him. He caught up and placed a beefy hand on Clay's neck, guiding him gently down the corridor and into a nook off to the side of the hallway. Clay continued to fume while Hayes looked around to make sure nobody was in earshot before speaking. "This is what we wanted," he said softly. "This is what the White House wants, right?" "Not like this," Clay hissed. "The president was going to ask Congress to allocate funds first. This guy, this Lewis guy, he threw a monkey wrench into the whole goddamn thing. The Republicans have the initiative now, they're--" "In the minority," Hayes said with a slight grin. "They could introduce a House bill calling for the US to be reabsorbed the UK and it won't make a bit of goddamn difference without the votes. It's their bill, but it's [i]our[/i] Congress, Mr. Speaker. The Senate is another ballgame, but we can get that bill through committee without breaking a sweat and with a Republican author it'll be a landslide vote on the House floor." Clay crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the nook where they were sequestered and sigh. "You're right. I still don't like it, but you're right. The White House won't like it, though." "Who cares? The president needs to learn that we pass legislation, not him." Clay shrugged Hayes off and started back down the hallway, this time slower and a lot less furious. "Where you going?" Hayes called after Clay. "To find Harlan Lewis and scare the shit out of him," Clay said with a wry smile. [center]*****[/center] [b]Nashville, Tennessee[/b] "It's been a long time coming, but I know a change is gonna come." The crowd chanted and sang their song as they marched towards the Tennessee state capitol. Unlike the march in Jackson months ago, this march was calm and orderly. The police presence was large but passive, staying on the sidewalks and protecting the black protesters against white counter-protestors. On the state capitol's fifth floor, Vice President Russell Reed watched the protest from the large window in the governor's office. "Agitation is what it is!" Russell turned to face Tennessee governor Jimmy Fogle. Fogle was tall, lean, and bald with a prominent hook nose. He had at least four inches on Russell and loved to get in close to anybody he wanted to intimidate or cajole. "They just want to start trouble," Fogle said with a finger pointed towards the oncoming protestors. "They want the police to beat their asses and make us look like a bunch of mindless thugs. They're all communist, Russ. We give into the blacks, won't be long before we're giving in to Beijing." Russell turned back to the window. He saw the black man with glasses at the front of the group. The FCB and a host of other law agencies briefed Russell on the man known as the Ethiopian. Despite all the information, this was the first time Russell laid eyes on the man. he was surprised at his age. He was young, not much older than Russell's own sons. The stories being told about this young man made it seem he was hardened anarchist. Russell saw the fire and the passion, but he saw that in all the those marching towards the capital. "You don't think it's time?" "Time for what?" Fogle asked. "For them to have what they were promised so long ago." "They got it," Fogle spat. "They just don't know how to use it. They wanna whine about segregation and Jim Crow when they've never had it better before!" Russell's mind went back in time. He focused on a middle aged man in the crowd. He had bruises and cuts on his face. Battlescars. The man marched beside a young woman who had to be his daughter. They held hands and the man sung the protest song through a wired shut mouth. "I'm from Georgia," he said softly. "Lavonia. That's my hometown in Georgia. I always remember he dilapidated outhouses they labelled "COLOREDS ONLY" while the "WHITES ONLY" outhouses were kept spotless. I was just ten years old when the town organized a lynch mob to go after a black man in nearby Danielsville. He had the audacity to steal a chicken from a white farm. This was during the height of the Depression and he stole the chicken to feed his six children. They tied him to the bumper of a car and drug him through town slowly, screaming his head off while white men, women, and children threw rocks at him. They stoned him to death for doing something a white man would have been simply fined for." Russell turned his gaze from the window and looked up at Fogle, narrowing his eyes. "Oh, yeah. They've never had it better." "Russ--" "When you address me, you address my title. Vice President of the United States. I think we're done here." Russell headed out of the governor's office before Fogle could muster a response. [center]*****[/center] "It's been a long time coming, but I know a change is gonna come," James Calhoun said through clamped shut teeth. His broken jaw was getting better, but he still needed the wire and the mesh to keep it in place as it finished healing. His daughter Sarah made up for his handicap by singing twice as loud as they marched. They were just a few people back from Isiah Wolde himself, holding hands and staying together in the jostling crowd that marched towards the state house. The crowd was still mostly black, but plenty of white people were starting to join the crowd. Most of them were impassioned northerners, a few were from the south but they were few and far between. Along with their usual signs promoting equal rights for blacks, there was plenty of Ethiopian imagery. Sarah and Wolde were among the countless who wore Ethiopian flag pins. A few people in the crowd waved Ethiopian flags and held up anti-Spanish signs. James felt a surge of pride at the rally. They were finally making a stand on something and being allowed to protest. Along with showing the world they would stand and be counted, they also showed that they stood with their brothers and sisters in Africa. Their problems were vastly different, but at the heart of it they were both fighting a struggle for freedom and self-determination. The doors to the state house opened as the crowd approached. A line of state troopers with riot shields were already there waiting for them to cross some imaginary line. While James was nervous of a repeat of Jackson, news people gathered on the sidewalk made the possibility a dim one. Tennessee didn't want to become the new Mississippi. From the open doors, a half dozen men in black suits marched out followed by someone James didn't recognize. He was a white man with dark hair and a navy colored suit. He waved at the crowd, the men in suits followed him and formed a protective barrier past the state troopers. The guards helped the man navigate the crowd until he was face to face with Wolde himself. James was jostled back by security, but still close enough to overhear the conversation. "Isiah Wolde," he asked with a thick southern accent. He held his hand out for Wolde. "I'm Vice President Russell Reed. President Norman sent me here to speak to you." Wolde nodded and shook Reed's hand. "About time you showed up, Mr. Vice President."