The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma

by Brian Herbert

  Artindale also came up with a variety of chemical solutions in which to nourish and grow the cells, and developed charts of various ingredients to add or subtract, depending upon cellular reactions. In some cases there were inadequate cellular samples with which to begin the process, so Artindale developed what he called “educated assumptions,” which were used to generate artificial cellular materials, and to build creatures that he said would “closely approximate” extinct life-forms, matching all but an infinitesimal percentage of characteristics and traits. This was something Artie knew, having gleaned it from the technical electronic files left by his mentor, but it was not anything Rahma would be pleased to know—because it suggested a certain lack of genetic authenticity and purity.

  All of the thirty-seven resurrected species, some involving adult pairs with offspring, and some individual adults, were comparatively recent extinctions from a historical standpoint, having come to the terminus of their genetic lineage between 1582 and 2036. He had decided to focus on this time period because, as a general rule, there was more data on comparatively recent species that had gone extinct. Glanno Artindale, and in turn Artie, could have gone back further if they wished, but the more recent species they’d brought back were more than enough to keep Artie and his team busy. On occasion, the hubot found evidence of likely candidates for resurrection that were much more ancient (but only if a wealth of intriguing information was available), yet he always set them aside for future research teams to work on.

  This time Artie tinkered in the laboratory for around half an hour, supervising the assistants, answering their questions, making his own settings on the controls. He was about to enter the complex of habitats and walk around inside when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

  “Oh, there you are,” Rahma said, as he came up beside the hubot. “Are you about finished here? I have important things for you to do.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Artie said, with a smile.

  Just then, a large gray-and-white bird emerged from the jungle section and strutted slowly around the mango and papaya trees, pausing to eat fruit that had fallen to the ground.

  “The dodo bird!” Rahma exclaimed.

  “Our one and only,” Artie said. “The legendary flightless pigeon.” It was far and away the most popular of the creatures in his menagerie.

  The legendary bird’s wings were quite small in relation to the size of its body, preventing it from flying. Rahma knew this was one of the reasons it had gone extinct on the island in the Indian Ocean where it lived, because over generations it became accustomed to a comfortable existence foraging on the ground, where food was plentiful. Until the arrival of humans and other predators (brought by humans) that hunted the dodo birds down with ease, and made them extinct.

  The fat male bird stared at them for several long moments, showing no fear or aggression. It made a clucking sound, then waddled back into the thick undergrowth.

  “We’re growing a girlfriend for him in the laboratory,” Artie said, “and hopefully they’ll like each other.”

  “You have more than thirty species here, right?” Rahma said, “but only two have successfully bred with their own kind so far? The Labrador ducks and a species of mouse?”

  “That’s still the case, sir. The two species you mentioned are doing well; others are not, and I’m afraid they can only be grown in the laboratory. For those that have not bred yet, we’ve been adjusting breeding conditions, and in a few cases we’re growing more of them in the lab in the hope that they will eventually breed.”

  “And if they won’t?”

  “Then they’re doomed to eventual extinction.” He paused. “They’ll go extinct for a second time.”

  “How sad,” Rahma said.

  “It is that, sir. As you know, this is a potentially huge-scale project, and very time-consuming, so I’ve backed off on generating new species in order to keep the operation small enough to manage.”

  “Wise decision. I was wondering if you were going to blow out of this habitat, and start asking for funds to expand.”

  “My department can always use additional funds, Chairman. Oh, remember a few weeks ago when I mentioned a new species?”

  “Yes, you said you had a small marsupial, a juvenile.”

  “That’s right,” Artie said. “It is growing faster than anticipated, and is already half of what we think its adult size will be.” He walked to a window and pointed into an enclosure that was physically walled off from the other habitat sections, with clearplex partition walls.

  Rahma moved to his side, looked in. His eyes widened. “What the hell is that?”

  Artie took several moments before replying. The enclosure was forested with kentia pines, palms, a variety of eucalyptus, and a dense undergrowth of shrubs and ferns. On the lower branch of a eucalyptus tree, the marsupial lay on its nest of twigs and leaves. Around the size of a small dog, it stared at Rahma with pale yellow eyes, its batlike wings folded over its body like a tent. The snout was long and pointed, and the thin lips separated slightly, showing large, razor-sharp incisors and canine teeth. The animal had reddish brown fur and a white streak down the center of its face.

  “A marsupial wolf,” Artie said. “A female.”

  “It can fly? It sure looks like it.”

  “It’s more of a glider. After scampering up trees she launches herself from high points like a flying squirrel or fox. She can also catch currents of wind and lift off from the ground. I call her a glidewolf.”

  “She’s also a marsupial, with a pouch?’

  “That she is. You’re looking at a rather complex creature that went extinct around the year 1700 on Lord Howe Island, a crescent-shaped volcanic isle halfway between Australia and New Zealand—at least that’s where the skeletal remains were found, buried under lava. The trouble is, since the creature glides, it could have come from a different island, or even from the Australian mainland. It’s small now but is still growing, so in its adult form it might glide for great distances, riding air currents and perhaps even setting down on the water until the wind picks up again, then taking off by lifting its wings to the wind. It’s semi-nocturnal, doing most of its feeding at night. But it doesn’t sleep all day, like fully nocturnal creatures. Instead, it has a great deal of sustained energy, and is often quite active during daylight hours.”

  Artie watched as the Chairman considered this information. The hubot had omitted certain details in describing the production of this creature to him, such as the amount of educated guesswork he’d had to do to produce it—conjecture that amounted to a quarter of one percent of the genetic mix—information that would trouble Rahma, and which he didn’t need to know. Even Artie’s assistants didn’t know about this genetic impurity (despite their electronic linkage with him), because he had the ability to conceal information from them, connecting with them only when he wanted to do so, and then transmitting only limited data.

  “Do the wings flap?” Rahma asked.

  “Only a little, which seem more like adjustments for gliding. When the creature is airborne and its wings are extended, the tail lifts and becomes a rudder for steering. It’s quite an interesting life-form, very unique.”

  Obviously intrigued, Rahma asked, “Can I go inside for a closer look? It’s not dangerous, is it?”

  Opening the door, Artie said, “The glidewolf is not carnivorous, that we know for certain. But we’re experimenting with her diet, putting various plants inside for her to eat. She seems to have a preference for the leaves, bark, and branches of eucalyptus trees, rather than anything from palms or other plants that are native to Lord Howe Island. Perhaps eucalyptus trees once grew there in abundance and then died off from a blight of some sort, and the creature lost the food it preferred. One thing in its favor, though—this one doesn’t seem to be a fussy eater, a trait that has led to the demise of other species. The glidewolf seems to be highly adaptable, which bodes well for its survival.”

  “But it still we
nt extinct.”

  “That it did.” Artie led the way inside, walking over a groundcover littered with leaves and sticks, crunching the debris underfoot. Rahma followed. When they reached the branch on which the marsupial lay, the creature hardly moved. It stared at the hubot, an inquisitive gleam in its pale eyes. Artie heard a low hum coming from the animal, and a series of barely audible clicks. His lab assistants had been studying the intriguing vocalizations, but had not yet established clear patterns.

  The marsupial’s wings were thin and tentlike, with lines of thick cartilage where they folded. In recent days Artie had been noticing that the creature shifted its wings around depending not only upon when it intended to glide, but upon its moods. Now the glidewolf was doing something it had done with him previously—leaning toward Rahma and extending a wing over him, using the appendage to draw the Chairman closer.

  “She likes you,” Artie said, watching as Rahma nuzzled nervously and uncomfortably against the breast of the glidewolf, and the outside of its marsupial pouch.

  “It does seem that way. I … I think I feel its heartbeat. Yes, I’m certain I do.” Finally the Chairman pulled free and stood a distance away, looking at the animal with a bemused expression on his bearded face.

  “Master, I’d like your permission to release her into the wild for experiments, to see what else she might want to eat. She’s not carnivorous, so there’d be no danger to other animal species—and I’m confident she could elude any predators out there, or match them in a fight. Look at those claws and teeth.”

  “You want to release her onto the game reserve?”

  The hubot nodded. “With an electronic tracker attached, of course, and a videocam to record everything she does.”

  “And if she causes trouble with the ecosystem?”

  “One creature? How could she? If we see anything we don’t like, we just follow the tracking device, sedate the animal, and bring her back.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “We need to do scientific research, and I get the feeling that the glidewolf requires a larger territory than we can provide down here.”

  “I didn’t notice any eucalyptus trees growing out there.”

  “Such trees prefer lower elevations, and coastal regions. But the creature seems to be adaptable, as I said. Maybe she will find something else to eat.”

  “All right. In the name of science.” The Chairman moved toward the doorway. “Now, in case it slipped your mind, we have a visitor due in a few minutes.”

  “I didn’t forget,” Artie said. “I have an internal clock, remember?”

  “Right. You’re all machine, except for your eyes and your simulated programs.”

  * * *

  AT THE MAIN level of the administration building, Rahma and the hubot strode up a spiral ramp to the third floor. Women in long flower-print dresses and peace-symbol necklaces greeted the Chairman as he made his way past the cubicles and bamboo desks of the outer offices.

  In the waiting area outside Rahma’s office, a tall man in an elegant white robe rose from a chair and bowed slightly. “Your Eminence,” he said. His bushy lamb-chop sideburns made his face look wider than it really was.

  Chairman Rahma glanced at him coolly, then strode toward the office without saying anything.

  Arch Ondex, the Director of Science for the Green States of America, was second in command behind the Chairman, but by some measures he held the most power of the two men, because he led the SciOs and controlled their secret, essential technology. A member of the Berkeley Eight revolutionary committee, Ondex’s scientific contributions had been crucial in defeating the powerful Corporate armies, while Rahma Popal had been the inspirational leader, the one who envisioned the best path to follow and led the raging mobs to victory.

  The Chairman entered his office, with Ondex right behind him. Pompous and overbearing, the Director came from a wealthy Bay Area family that had been allowed to keep its fortune after the Corporate War because of its longtime record of endowments for the environment and for poor people. Unfortunately, Ondex and the Chairman only tolerated each other, and just barely, sometimes seeming to come close to blows. They had an uneasy alliance of common interests, knowing that one of them could not exist without the other.

  As Artie remained outside and closed the office door, Ondex slipped into a deep-cushion visitor’s chair, beneath a sign on the wall that read “All for Green and Green for All.”

  Intentionally ignoring the man for the moment, Rahma Popal walked to a large window of his office and gazed out on the remarkable, calming beauty of the greensward, with its arrangement of wetlands and irrigated grazing lands. In the foreground he saw wranglers working with small, energetic dogs to keep a herd of elk away from the unfenced compound of buildings. In the distance buffalo grazed on the grass, a timeless scene of pastoral serenity. Above them a platform floated low in the air without touching the fragile habitats or disturbing the birds or animals, with a crew onboard collecting information on the wildlife.

  “You think to drive me a little mad, eh?” Ondex said, “with your attitude and outright disrespect?”

  “My contempt for you does not go beyond this office,” said the Chairman, still keeping his back to him.

  “It’s too bad you feel that way toward me, because I’ve never felt that way about you, Rahma. Perhaps it is my manner that irritates you more than anything else? But I can’t help how I speak or carry myself. Woe is me, I was born into great wealth, and these things were ingrained in me from an early age.”

  Rahma turned to face him. “Is that an apology for your rude, condescending demeanor?”

  Ondex smiled tightly. “Only an explanation. Might I suggest that we set aside our personal discomforts for the good of the nation, for the critical matters that we must handle with efficiency?”

  The Chairman nodded somberly and exchanged the sign of the sacred tree with him—each man saluting with spread, bent fingers that represented tree roots. (It was an exchange that the Berkeley Eight had developed during the Green Revolution.) Then Rahma asked, “Well, what is it this time?”

  “You heard about the most recent guerrilla attack, just outside the Bostoner Preserve? The Corporates are at it again.”

  “Yes, yes, most of the attackers were killed, and of the two that were captured, one died in interrogation and the other slipped into a coma from his injuries, both without revealing anything. AOE special agents are doing what they can to find out what happened.”

  “But how do you plan to prevent future attacks?”

  “I don’t have the intelligence reports back yet, but you SciOs provide science to the government, including some military technology. Why don’t you put your researchers on the task?”

  “We are a scientific organization, not a military one. This is a national defense matter.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Ondex bristled. “You are supposed to be the inspirational and strategic leader of the GSA. In contrast, I lead a group of scientists, nerdy technicians who provide environmental and law-enforcement technology. It is your responsibility to use the J-Macs to improve the environment, and to protect our nation with conventional and nuclear military forces. And need I remind you, the GSA Charter lays out our lines of authority quite clearly.”

  “But I have one hand tied behind my back because of your paranoid secrecy and the self-destruct, non-tamper mechanisms on SciO equipment. You have secret information that you won’t share with me. Maybe your laboratories could find evidence of who’s behind the guerrilla attacks and prevent them from doing it again.”

  Ondex shook his head. “National security is your responsibility. Don’t try to twist things and make it mine.”

  “You SciOs are so very clever. Surely, some device in your bag of tricks can ferret out these bad guys, these terrorists.”

  “Our bag of tricks, as you call it, saved you and your hippie army from annihilation, when we used Splitter Cannons to tear through en
emy forces.”

  “That was only part of the reason we won. Your Splitter Cannons were only short-range, and we didn’t have nuclear weapons then, while the Corporates and their captive governments did. But we had numbers on our side, tens of millions of common people hitting the streets in mob armies on two continents, bolstered by many more who left the Corporate militias and government forces and joined us. It was a grassroots movement, a groundswell that would not have been possible without my leadership.”

  “And the rest of us on the revolutionary council, we did nothing?”

  “I didn’t say that. It was a team effort, I’ll admit that. But don’t try to overstate your contribution.”

  “That goes both ways, Comrade Chairman. Now we have nuclear weapons to defend our nation, but they are of no use against the Corporate guerrillas. You understand, don’t you, that the guerrilla attacks are probes designed to test our defenses and responses?”

  “That is but one option. There are others. Intelligence reports indicate that there are different Corporate groups operating in the GSA without strong overseas sponsors. They are not one cohesive unit, and have no unified plan.”

  “But environmental sabotages seem to go hand in hand with military attacks, the way our enemies also spread eco-cancers through the areas we have greenformed—nasty blights and viruses that cause plants and animals to die, not to mention the forest fires they keep setting.”

  “Only minor inconveniences. We can greenform faster than they can sabotage. There are countermeasures to eco-cancers, and ways to put out the forest fires quickly. Besides,” the Chairman added with a smile, “those problems keep our people working, and keep us unified against the terrorists.”

  “Just as long as the opposition forces don’t get too strong.”