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No, the problem was simply that he hadn't caught up with the reality of his new position. So, after a time, he stopped worrying about what he was going to do, and simply concentrated on who he was going to do it with.

"This isn't going to work, folks," he said forcefully at one point. "You've already nominated a hundred people for the committee, and I don't doubt half of them will get elected. I've got no problem with that-but I'm still going to need a working committee to actually help me out. Fifty people can't get anything done. I need a-a-"

He groped for the right term. Melissa Mailey provided it: "You need a cabinet."

He gave her a sour glance, but she responded with nothing but a cheerful smile. "Yeah, Melissa. Uh, right. A cabinet." He decided not to argue the point at the moment. Remember, Mike-it's just a temporary committee.

Mike scanned the crowd. "I'm willing to pick the-uh, cabinet-out of the people elected to the committee." Half-desperately: "But there are some people I've just got to have."

A loud male voice came from the stands: "Who, Mike? Hell, just name them now! We can vote in your cabinet right here!"

Mike decided to accept that proposal as a motion. And the crowd's roar of approval as a second. All in favor? The ayes have it.

The gymnasium, for the first time, became silent. Mike's eyes scanned the crowd.

His first selections came automatically, almost without thought.

"Frank Jackson." Several dozen coal miners whistled.

"Ed Piazza." Hundreds of voices applauded-many of them teenagers from the high school. Mike felt a moment's whimsical humor. Not too many principals in this world would get that kind of applause. Most would have gotten nothing but raspberries.

His eyes fell on the teachers sitting next to Piazza. Mike's face broke into a grin. "Melissa Mailey." The history teacher's prim, middle-aged face broke into a moue of surprise. Ah, sweet revenge. "And Greg Ferrara." The younger science teacher simply nodded in acknowledgment.

"Henry Dreeson." The mayor started to protest. "Shut up, Henry! You're not weaseling out of this!" A laugh rippled through the gym. "And Dan Frost, of course, when he's up and about."

Mike's mind was settling into the groove. Okay. We need production people, too. Start with the power plant. That's the key to everything.

"Bill Porter." The power-plant manager's face creased into a worried frown, but he made no other protest. Machine shops. Critical. I'd rather work with Ollie, but his shop's the smallest. "Nat Davis."

Need a farmer. The best one around is- Mike spotted the short, elderly figure he was looking for. "Willie Ray Hudson."

His eyes moved on, scanning the sea of faces. Mike was relaxed, now. He was accustomed to thinking on his feet, under public scrutiny.

Need some diversity, too. Nip that in-group crap right in the bud. Out-of-town and- He spotted the face he was looking for. Which was not hard, since the face stood out in the crowd. "Dr. James Nichols."

Okay. Who else? Like all union officials, Mike was no stranger to politicking. It would be a mistake if his cabinet appeared too cozy and cliquish. I need an enemy. In appearance, at least.

His gaze fell on John Simpson, still glaring at him. The gaze slid by without a halt. No appearance there. I don't need an endless brawl.

When Mike's eyes came to a burly, middle-aged man sitting not too far from Simpson, he had to force himself not to break into a grin. Perfect!

"And Quentin Underwood," he announced loudly. The name brought instant silence to the gym. Utter, complete silence. Followed, a second later, by Darryl's loud "Boo!"

And, a second later, by Harry Lefferts' even louder bellow: "Treason! I say 'treason!' Mr. Chairman, what's the procedure for impeaching your sorry ass?"

That produced a gale of laughter, which went on for at least a minute. Throughout, the newly elected chairman of the emergency committee exchanged a challenging stare-fading into a mutual nod of recognition-with the manager of the coal mine in which he had formerly worked as a miner.

Mike was satisfied. He's a stubborn, pig-headed son of a bitch, pure and simple. But nobody ever said he was stupid, or didn't know how to get things done.

Henry Dreeson's voice came from behind him. "Anybody else, Mike?"

Mike was about to shake his head, when a new thought came. And there are the people outside. Thousands and thousands of them.