The robotic laboratory technicians were reporting single glides of more than two kilometers. In one series the wolf climbed seven trees, with an equal number of glides that carried it almost twenty kilometers before it turned around and performed additional tree-launched glides, finally returning to the ceiling hatch and descending to the floor of the forest habitat.
Though the glidewolf nibbled on fir and cedar needles, bark, leaves, and other edibles out in the evergreen forest and surrounding areas, it always returned to the habitat to consume the eucalyptus diet it preferred. Artie had mixed feelings about this, liking the fact that the animal came back, but worried that it would not be able to adapt to the environment in this region. Perhaps, the lab technicians suggested, it should be relocated to a climate where its favorite trees grew in abundance—but this did not seem practical under the circumstances. For the foreseeable future, with all of the other pressing issues requiring the attention of Artie on behalf of the Chairman, the hubot didn’t have the staff, time, or resources to perform his extinct animal studies anyplace but here.
Now Artie had another thought. Perhaps they could force adaptation, by cutting back on what the creature ate in its habitat. He would give that more consideration.
On the way out to the slidewalk that would transport him to the elevator bank, he stepped to one side to allow half a dozen robots to enter, followed by carts filled with broad-leafed plants that were being added to the dodo bird habitat.
As he watched them work, he realized he had not been thinking much about the other animals in the habitat for several weeks. Each time he came, he went straight to the glidewolf habitat and focused on how she was doing. On a regular basis the robots reported to him by electronic streaming, but he really needed to see what was going on firsthand.
He wondered if he should respond to a question that had come up about growing another marsupial wolf in the laboratory, a male to keep the female company. His robotic assistants had asked him about this the day before, and Artie had not replied, though he knew it was a logical next step to take.
Now he went off to one side and sat down. Taking a moment, he accessed his internal data banks, where he stored complete records of all extinct animal projects in the laboratory—with some of the information under deep encryption, such as the quarter of one percent he had secretly added to the genetic mix of the glidewolf, after making educated guesses and assumptions. With his computerized mind, it seemed to Artie that he should have perfect access to every one of the steps he’d taken to grow the glidewolf in the laboratory, just like the records he had for the genetically pure dodo birds, Labrador ducks, and a number of other formerly extinct species that he and his robotic assistants had brought back to life. But when he tried to access the information on the glidewolf, he was able to retrieve everything except for the deep encryption on what he had added to the mix.
Surprised, he tried different ways of retrieving the data, without success. Then, confounding him even more, when he attempted to access separate backup files where he’d stored all data, he discovered that the same deep encryption was also gone—evidence of some sort of contamination in the information. Everything else was there in both his internal and backup files, but not the quarter of one percent on the glidewolf. Not even the robots connected to him electronically had the data or knew he was trying to access it now, because he had the superior capability of releasing only the information that he wanted them to know.
As he stood up, a stark realization came over him: The animal he’d created was one of a kind, and seemed fated to never have a companion like it. This creature was not genetically identical to anything that had ever lived on the planet, and could never be replicated.
He would just tell his assistants no, without explanation.
15
To keep us together as a society, it is best to have an enemy. We are the in-group, and they are the out-group. No matter how you look at it, even from the opposite point of reference—theirs—the leadership of each side consolidates its power because of a threat from the other. Why, then, would either of us want to annihilate our sworn enemy? On a certain level it makes no sense, does it? We thrive because they thrive, and vice versa. It is a form of détente, in which we define each other’s existence. This presumes, however, that each side is sane.
—Chairman Rahma Popal, private observations
THE AUTHORIZED ECO-TOURISM flight was physically demanding, but Joss had anticipated that. After long days on the road and two weeks of recovery at home, he needed the exercise, and Kupi had said that she looked forward to it as well. Now she seemed less certain, as she wheezed and panted at the power station next to his, struggling to keep up with his level of exertion.
For both of them this was like a gym in the sky, with their legs turning high-gear-ratio bicycle cranks and their arms moving forward and back in a rowing motion. Their coordinated physical exertion caused the ornithopter’s articulated wings to flap and the craft to fly over treetops and lakes south of the Seattle Reservation for Humans.
On a sunny autumn morning they crossed over a small town, on the outskirts of which sat a structure that looked like a huge elm-tree seed, the characteristic architecture of a SciO Recharge Facility, or ReFac. This suggested that there were one or more Janus Machines nearby as well.
As Joss and Kupi flew over the broad Columbia River gorge, featuring spectacular canyon views, he realized that in one sense the two of them were utilizing a primitive means of propulsion. In another, though, it was a reasonably advanced example of low-carbon-footprint green technology, with ergonomic fittings and efficient gear ratios that transmitted energy equally to the wings and flapped them with the natural motions of a large, graceful bird, propelling the craft smoothly and rapidly through the sky, without the need for a polluting engine.
The pair didn’t have to operate flight controls; that part was automated, based on settings they made before taking off. Now they just needed to pedal and row long enough to get them where they wanted to go. Instruments in front of Joss showed the distance traveled, the speed, and where they were.
For several moments the two of them stopped exerting themselves at all, leaving the aircraft to glide on warm air currents, floating aimlessly over the chiseled landscape, maintaining elevation with backup systems. Joss looked at a navigation screen that named the mountains and other features in the region, but he glossed over them in his mind. Out here, names did not matter. The pair could slack off for twenty minutes at a time, relaxing and talking while the onboard systems kept the wings flapping, utilizing stored power generated by their efforts. Any longer than that, and the ornithopter’s automated systems would give them the option of resuming their efforts immediately, or flying them back to their home reservation on solar-reserve battery power.
Joss considered how to bring up the subject he’d wanted to discuss with Kupi, their increasingly awkward relationship. He couldn’t quite frame the words.
“It’s so quiet and peaceful up here,” Kupi said, interrupting his thoughts. “Don’t you ever wish you could get away from the J-Mac crew and just live in the wilderness?”
“You mean like those renegade forest people we’ve heard about?”
“Yes, it has a romantic sound, doesn’t it, a free and easy life? Logically, people shouldn’t be able to elude detection by the GSA government, because the authorities have such sophisticated scanning and search devices. But between you and me, Joss, there are renegades living in the woods anyway, using electronic scramblers and other methods to keep from being discovered. I have friends in touch with me by various means, so I know this is true.”
“Anarchists, presumably?”
“Some are, but others have been persecuted for their religious beliefs, because they follow Christianity, Judaism, Islam, and other banned religions. In the wilderness, they are free to worship as they please.”
“People are out there living the high life, eating berries, leaves, grub worms, and red ants?”
She made a face. “If I lived in the woods I’d rather fish and hunt. Just think of it, Joss, we could eat meat whenever we feel like it.”
“Yeah, as long as we can knock it off the hoof.”
Kupi stared out a side window. “No rules except one: survive. I like the sound of it.”
“You would, Kupi, being an anarchist. You say there are people out in the woods, hiding and living off the land. But what if there were so many anarchists out there that they needed to form rules in order to keep from bumping into each other and having problems? What if the anarchists found they needed—I hate to say it—some form of government, or just a police force?”
She smiled. “You seek to trap me with your logic, but you’re extrapolating too far, setting up a preposterous scenario. Yes, there are anarchists living in the woods at this very moment, beyond GSA control, but there are not so many that they would consider forming governmental or quasi-governmental entities. True anarchists would rather die first.”
“And are you a true anarchist?”
She reddened. “Perhaps not, but if I am not pure I am not alone in having flaws. There are, admittedly, certain attractive elements to the lives that you and I lead. I must admit that I get a major rush whenever I fire Black Thunder!”
“And when we run out of areas to split and greenform? What will you do then?”
“What any good anarchist would do. I’ll just fade to black.”
“Meaning?”
“I haven’t thought it through completely.”
“How about our relationship? Have you thought that through completely?”
Kupi swung out of her power station and leaned over Joss, kissing him on the neck and moving around to his mouth. “What’s to think about?” she asked.
“A lot,” he said. “Sometimes I think we’re too different to last.”
“Then live for today, my love.” She kissed him passionately.
He pulled away and looked at her, feeling his mounting desire, but trying to suppress it. “What about tomorrow?”
“We’re back to work tomorrow, Joss. You know that. We’re taking a train to the Berkeley Reservation, the glorious capital of Rahma’s counterculture revolution.”
“You know I’m talking about more than that; I’m talking about all of the tomorrows in our lives.”
“How romantic, and poetic. So, you want to talk about our relationship, eh? I thought that men were terrified of the ‘r’ word, but here you are bringing it up.”
“I just want to know where we stand.”
She smiled, and it struck him how much younger than forty-five she looked. In her early thirties like him, he thought, as she nuzzled against him and breathed hot air on his ear.
Trying to resist her advances, Joss said, “If you don’t want to talk, think about this. In seventeen minutes, the ship’s computer will demand that we resume our power output, or it will fly us back to the reservation.”
“It took us an hour to get here,” she said, unbuttoning her blouse and revealing her bra. As always, her underclothes were black.
“That was with us propelling the plane. Without us, the return speed could be faster.”
“Then we’d better hurry up,” she said, loosening his belt and pulling off his trousers and shoes.
He felt too weak to resist her, at least physically. Moment by moment, Joss found her animal nature consuming him, taking him over completely. And without another word, they tumbled onto the deck. Their lovemaking was better than ever before, feral and spontaneous.
Joss had not been able to find the right words, didn’t want to hurt her. But afterward, looking into her brown eyes and seeing the pain and sadness there, he realized that she understood what he’d been trying to say anyway. Their passion was only delaying the inevitable.
16
Corporate religious fanatics have called us amoral, but that is not correct. It’s just that we have a different moral compass from theirs, and the two do not point in the same direction. Our goals are selfless; theirs are self-serving.
—Chairman Rahma, The Little Green Book
IT WAS A chilly, damp morning on the game reserve, with lacy mists lingering over the ground and the grazing animals. Rahma Popal had been up since dawn three hours ago, when he and Dori Longet had made love and watched the play of colors across the hills to the east. Afterward she had gone over his daily schedule with him, preparing him for the business of the day. Then she went to breakfast with her parents, who were allowed to visit her on occasion. He’d seen them walking toward the communal dining area.
As the Chairman strode to the central meeting yurt he wore one of his simpler robes, a plain brown garment with a white peace symbol on the lapel. His advisers didn’t like him to dress in this manner, without the trappings of high office or impressive government sigils, but he didn’t care what they said. The Green States of America was really a separate entity from him, and it had its own energy, its own momentum. To keep himself sane and free of hubris, and to avoid being consumed by the GSA, the Chairman had developed a habit of dipping in and out of its various structures and formalities.
In doing this he sometimes thought of his former girlfriend from the revolutionary days, Kupi Landau, the fiery anarchist who used to dream of separating herself entirely from the cruel societal games that humans liked to play, and all of the attendant configurations, whether petty or significant. Since their amicable breakup almost twenty years ago, he’d been monitoring her progress with various reports that came in on her, and often he worried over her well-being. She was so outspoken! Even so, despite all, he still cared about her, albeit in his own way. Rahma cared about all of his women, whether they were still living with him or not.
In the past year he’d received numerous reports about Kupi’s personal behavior, with some of the most interesting specifics coming from Andruw Twitty, the roommate of her present boyfriend. Chairman Rahma had never met Twitty personally, only by avatar projection whenever the young man passed along secondhand information, things that Kupi’s boyfriend had purportedly said about her. But Rahma knew Twitty’s parents, and remembered their valuable contributions to the victory over the Corporates, when they firebombed a key enemy military building. They held administrative positions now with the GSA’s important Quality Control Division, responsible for ensuring that products were manufactured according to strict green guidelines.
Twitty was one of the informants scheduled to report to Rahma this morning, with the topic being the activities of anarchists who worked for the GSA government. Though all Black Shirts had promised loyalty to the government and its philosophical underpinnings, they still needed constant monitoring, because of the naturally rebellious nature of their kind.
Strolling across the grass to the meeting yurt, Rahma saw Artie out in front, talking with yellow-uniformed hubots on the security force as they ran electronics over the building and around the grounds, constantly looking for breaches. It was just routine, one of the periodic checks that they performed in cooperation with the special Greenpol police who had been assigned to guard him. The hubots were very good about details.
“No problems, Master,” Artie said.
“Very good.” The Chairman swept by him and entered the yurt, where he sat cross-legged on the wooden floor at the center of a large room. Waving his hands in readiness, he began to see the avatars of men and women appear out of the ether and take seats in a half circle facing him. He counted eight realistic apparitions.
This morning he would take their reports in the alphabetical order of their surnames, a diversion he’d decided upon at the last moment. All informants were not given the honor of being in his presence in this manner. There were thousands of them who sent in information on a regular basis, but through a culling process handled by his subordinates, these were the ones he would see today, on a particular topic. Some, if their information proved useful, would receive monetary rewards or other perks.
And, though he could see th
eir projected faces and they could see him whenever he addressed them separately, the EVR system had been set up so that none of the informants could see the others, and they could not hear one another’s words, or the Chairman speaking to the others. For Rahma’s convenience, the eight of them seemed to be sitting together as simultaneous visitors, but in reality he carried on compartmentalized, private conversations with each of them. It was enhanced virtual reality, customized for the Chairman’s purposes.
* * *
IN THE DINING yurt, Dori and her parents selected from the buffet of organic vegan foods. She noticed that her father avoided the fresh cherry tomatoes, as he always did, opting instead for a synthetic Montana omelet and a large glass of papaya juice. Pierre Longet was a successful businessman, selling small, highly efficient solar collectors that were exported to rural areas of Eurika, for the use of farmers and villagers who did not have access to centralized power grids.
A small, stout man with a high forehead and thin white hair, he was always quiet, and allowed his wife to dominate conversations. This often frustrated Dori, because she enjoyed being with him, and often had to go out of her way to draw him out. He had a wealth of interesting stories that had been told to him by his old-country French grandparents, and he had a way of bringing old events back to life with words—if Dori could only squeeze them out of him.
Now she listened while her mother went on a complaining binge, as she sometimes did, especially when she didn’t get a good night’s sleep—which was the case with her now because she’d had to rise early to catch the maglev train from the Missoula Reservation. Out of earshot of any other diners she’d been criticizing the buffet selection, the cool temperature in the yurt, and even the slight wilting of wildflowers in vases on the tables.
They selected a corner table, well away from others in the large room, where they could talk privately. Kristine Longet removed her heavy coat and laid it over an extra chair. Simulated gold bracelets encircled her wrists. As she sat down she looked across the table at Dori and said, “An awful, impertinent serviceman came to our apartment the other day to work on our cleaning bot. He actually had the temerity to try to shake my hand. And do you know why?”
The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma Page 12
