deluded but calm and rational people, who felt Red China would successfully carry off its land
invasion of Southern California."
"If Southern California hadn't seceded from the Union in nineteen-eighty, things wouldn't have
happened as they did."
"The President of the United States, even though his country was falling apart, should have
supported us," said Weeman. "Had the Junta not been formed, merging our best Southern California
military and industrial brainpower into one dedicated and loyal ruling think tank, there would
have been black days for the Republic. You, a man in his middle or late twenties, don't remember
those bad times."
"Probably not." Hecker returned and sat next to the Therapist-in-Chief. "I have a contact point to
be at by tonight."
"This has been, thanks to younger residents of the Republic such as yourself, Sergeant Hecker,
rightly christened the `Age of Anxiety'." Weeman twined his stubby fingers in the swatch of beard
beneath his chin. "Myself, Sergeant Hecker, I favor the conspiracy theory to explain the riots.
These most recent suburban riots-- there's a strange and fascinating quality to them." He freed
his fingers from his facial hair and indicated the burning and fighting below. "Social
repressions, supposed injustices and unlawful restraints, don't invoke the kind of mania we're
witnessing at this moment, Sergeant Hecker. A thoughtful examination of the sweeping panorama of
riot history tells us that citizens in comfortable one-hundred-thousand-dollar homes in landscaped
and secured areas should not loot and burn. They're not blacks, are they, most of them?" He
bundled the microfilm cards and tossed them across to Hecker. "The classic riots in the United
States and, especially because of our near-tropic climate, in Southern California, have
traditionally been the work of militant black men, Sergeant Hecker. And sometimes the fiery
Mexican-American. Though you may not be aware, at this remote place in time, of that."
"We studied those riots in school," said Hecker. He thumbed through the cards, holding them next
up to the overhead lights in turn. "Most of this information on the Kendry family we have in our
Social Wing files. I thought you had some extra stuff that couldn't be trusted to transmission."
Weeman drew a last card from beneath his narrow thigh. "Some background material on Jane Kendry.
Tests and projections done during the brief period when she was a ward of the Rehab system. What
exactly is your mission for S.W., Sergeant?"
Hecker took the new card in one big-knuckled hand, walked to a wall microfilm reader and inserted
the card. "You were told that when the Social Wing requested this interview."
"That story wasn't a cover then? Somebody in the Kendry clan has sent the Social Wing word that
they have information on the cause of the riots?"
"The nature of the information sent and the procedures suggested tend to indicate the Kendry
family or some of their followers may be involved," Hecker said. The-young face of a lean, intense
girl rolled into view on the screen of the reader. She had smooth, tan skin, hair of a red-gold
color, long. "Jane Kendry," muttered Hecker to himself.
"Seven years ago," said Weeman. "She was fifteen then, coltish. Her wild father and a bunch of the
clan broke her out of a minimum-security Rehab Center down near the Laguna Sector. Lovely marine
view there. She's a quirky girl, and I believe that it is Jane Kendry who runs that band of
guerrillas, that growing band of guerrillas. Her father, old Jess, is in his middle sixties now,
ridden with addictions and badly healed wounds. At first the guerrillas were all Kendry family,
but in recent years the ranks have been swollen with other types of dissidents and anarchists.
Jane is a tough girl, Sergeant Hecker, and you won't find that hopeful look the picture there
shows us. Not any more with Jane Kendry. Is she your contact?"
"I don't know," said Hecker. "Our information isn't that specific. We have a contact point fairly
close to one of the unsecured towns the Kendrys are thought to sometimes operate in. There's a
safe-conduct pass of sorts. I came here to fill myself in on the Kendrys more thoroughly."
Therapist-in-Chief Weeman rose up behind Hecker. "You look quite unlike a policeman, even a Social
Wing one, in your civilian clothes." He flickered a sequence of toggles and the view windows
blanked, the monitor screens died. "Listen to me now, Sergeant Hecker. I worked on the Kendry
girl's case down there in Laguna Sector seven years ago. I liked her and felt I was reaching her.
We could work together on her problems and conflicts. Then those wild men came in and smashed
things and wrenched her away."
Hecker stopped reading the micro file. "So?"
"I have authority to bring her in for rehabilitation," he said, moving closer to the Social Wing
sergeant. "If she wishes, we can help her. Fit her back into the legitimate processes of the
Republic of Southern California. She's a girl with fascinating potential."
"She may not want back in. Her exile is probably voluntary."
"We often think that, Sergeant, and we are often wrong," said the therapist. "If you see Jane
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