The hubot was just arriving at Ondex’s mansion now, walking up the front steps …
Rahma heard a beep, signifying the arrival of a message. Tapping a key on the console in front of him, he created split-screen images and then viewed a communiqué from the young Eurikan Prime Minister, Grange Arthur. The man was offering to use shuttle diplomacy to resolve the ongoing GSA-Panasia tensions. Rahma scoffed at the idea, didn’t see how relations between the nations or their leaders could possibly be resolved short of war. The differences were simply too great, the mutual animosity too extreme. He would order an aide to respond negatively.
He then reviewed a report from the AOE Chief of Staff on his own military preparations that were being made, the movement and positioning of war machines and troops. In view of the apparent underground attack near Bostoner, there was no telling where or when the enemy might strike next. He had no doubt of a Panasian connection, but could not prove it yet.
Just then, he heard a rapping at the door—Dori Longet’s characteristic tap-tap-tap. Another busy morning. He took a gulp of strong coffee.
“Enter!” Rahma called out, but she was already opening the door before he said this, and entered carrying a valise. “This is under diplomatic seal,” she said, “straight from Premier Hashimoto himself. It’s been scanned and is not dangerous.”
“And the contents?”
“Just papers.”
Rahma waved a hand, and she broke the seal to open the valise, from which she removed a sheath of papers. She placed them on his desk.
“What is it now?” Rahma asked. Opening the sheath, he spread the contents on his desk. The papers had an unusual texture, rough to the touch. As he handled them he sniffed at an odd, difficult-to-identify odor, but it dissipated quickly and he put it out of his mind.
Then he nearly gagged at the sight of a color photograph of the lifeless body of an immense polar bear lying on ice, the throat of its long neck slit and bleeding. Dressed in Arctic gear, Hashimoto stood over the body, grinning and holding a bloody knife. There was a second, even more gruesome, photograph as well, showing the Panasian leader and a companion hacking off the legs of the bear, for some macabre, unknown purpose.
A short cover letter from Hashimoto read, “Knowing what an animal lover you are, I thought you might like these pictures of one of the last polar bears on Earth.”
“Damn him!” Rahma brushed his hand across the desktop, scattering the photographs and letter. That bastard was a constant irritation in his side, a burr that he could not seem to extract.
* * *
AS DORI LEFT the Chairman’s office with a sheath of papers under one arm, she saw Jade Ridell sitting in the waiting area, wearing a red halter top with a peace symbol on it, and a short skirt with a fringe. The two women glowered at each other.
Despite telling her parents she wasn’t concerned about Rahma’s other women, it was beginning to irritate her that Jade was sleeping with Rahma more than she was now. He seemed to be shifting his relationship with Dori to one that was almost pure business—with only occasional moments of intimacy. And even when those moments occurred, she sensed that he was losing his passion for her. He might not even be conscious of it yet, but she certainly was.
Later that day, she sent a message to her parents, letting them know the bad news.
* * *
EXASPERATED, THE BEARDED Chairman looked at the desk screen, which had only one set of images on it now. Artie sat on a settee in the eighteenth-century French parlor room of Arch Ondex’s home in the Berkeley hills. It had been an unannounced late-morning call, but Artie was Chairman Rahma’s emissary—an extension of the Chairman himself—and Ondex was taking overly long to appear. A gesture of disrespect. It was silent in the parlor, with a servant having left more than ten minutes ago to announce the visitor. Artie held a rolled parchment on his lap.
The Chairman could switch remote views, using different bodycams on the hubot. For a moment he focused on the antique Beauvais tapestry upholstery of the couch.
Tapping buttons on the console, Rahma wrote, “Do you see the loose golden threads in the upholstery?” His words appeared on the bottom of the desk screen.
“I see them,” Artie replied, looking down at the couch. More words on the screen, as the aide’s AI thoughts were transmitted.
“I want you to pull at those threads.”
“Pull at them? But this is a valuable antique.”
“My time is valuable, and the longer I’m made to wait, the larger the hole I want you to make. Simultaneously, I want you to grind your heels into the antique Aubusson rug beneath your feet—it dates back to the time of Louis XV. We’ve been here for twelve minutes, Artie, waiting! In eight minutes, go and find Ondex yourself. This is an urgent matter.”
“Yes, Master.” While Rahma looked on, his hubot pushed the parchment aside and started working at the upholstery and rug.
Ondex’s gaudy pink-and-white mansion was a relic of old San Francisco money, derived from the railroads, ships, and gold mines of the family’s titan of industry, R. Sibbington Ondex, and passed on from generation to generation. Eventually, after the fall of the United States, the regal old home was taken apart and reassembled in the Berkeley hills, on a commanding spot that provided a fine view of the blue waters of the bay and the reservation for humans.
To move the home before the greenforming of the San Francisco peninsula, the grand old edifice had been taken apart carefully, with the pieces numbered meticulously and later put back together at the new location. The house was saved because of the contributions to the Army of the Environment made by Arch Ondex, the oldest living male descendant of the late tycoon—and because the family had been environmentally and socially conscious for more than half a century, contributing large amounts of money to national parks and endowments for the poor. As a result, they were among a privileged few who were permitted to keep their generational family holdings, and to live outside the boundaries of the reservations.
In those heady days when the Green Revolution was just starting out, Arch Ondex had been a critical source of wealth and scientific technology that fueled the great victories of the ragtag populist army against Corporate forces. Now, despite the man’s aristocratic, condescending manner and other traits that the Chairman found grating, he always tried to keep in mind the earlier essential contributions.
During his administration, Rahma had also been forgiving when other members of his original cadre acted up. Kupi Landau and her recurrent outspokenness was a prime example, because he never knew what she would say next, or who would be on the receiving end of one of her insults. So far she had avoided the cardinal sin of speaking against the Chairman himself, but at one time or another she had criticized virtually every other leader of the GSA, including Director of Science Ondex and Sigourney von Wallis, Director of Relocation, the latter of whom she had accused of taking graft—a charge that remained unproven. It didn’t mean it wasn’t true, only that no one could obtain solid evidence against her yet.
In one sense Rahma didn’t like Kupi’s unpredictability, but in another he very much appreciated her candor, because she often made him think about important issues, especially about the excesses of leading politicians and purportedly green business people, an elite that she sometimes referred to colorfully as “limousine liberals.” Von Wallis, like Ondex, lived in a mansion, and so did almost all of the others.
Just before Rahma’s deadline, Ondex strode into the parlor in a red smoking jacket, a long wooden pipe in his mouth. He looked quite decadent. From the remote viewing position, Rahma glowered. As the head of SciO, this was one of the people who had benefited the most from green businesses, as correctly noted by Kupi. He also had a political stronghold, making him even more entrenched.
Her criticisms of him had led to one of Ondex’s tirades the year before, and an argument between him and Rahma over how best to handle her. In the end the Chairman had prevailed, saying he would handle it, and that Ondex should
go and wallow in his wealth. Of course the Chairman had done nothing to punish Kupi, and he didn’t think he ever would—not unless she did something a lot worse than speaking her mind.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Ondex said. According to Artie’s sensors he was smoking regular burley tobacco. The Director sat on the opposite end of the couch, placed his pipe on a holder beside him.
“You kept the Chairman waiting,” the hubot said, “not me.”
The Director of Science scowled, but took a tug on his pipe instead of responding. His lamb chop sideburns were not as bushy and wide as usual.
Artie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The Chairman has instructed me to notify you that he’s been having second thoughts about allowing you to keep your family mansion, where you live so much more comfortably than the average citizen. There are other family properties in question as well.”
Reddening, Ondex said, “He knows why we were allowed to keep our properties. The entire GSA Council voted for it, to reward our past service to the Earth. Your master cast one of those votes.”
Shaking his head, the hubot said, “Chairman Rahma says that your family has special privileges only as long as you contribute to the welfare of the Green States of America. You must always keep that in mind.”
“I have to listen to this, after everything I’ve done for the cause?”
“While you’ve been enjoying the high life, someone has been using SciO technology to develop military vehicles that burrow underground, and Splitter weapons.”
The elegant man leaned forward. “What do you mean, SciO technology? There is no proof of what you say!”
With a wave of one hand, Artie opened the confidential holo-report that he’d been authorized to show. From his remote vantage, Rahma watched with interest as Ondex read it and looked at pictures taken during the Bostoner attack.
Sweat broke out on Ondex’s brow and ran into his eyes. He wiped the moisture away several times, but couldn’t stop the flow. “This is not evidence. The attack aircraft did not use any Splitter weaponry.”
“No, but it was aboard.”
“That must be a mistake. How could the GSA operative who wrote this report know what secrets are contained in Splitter technology?”
“The information comes from a robotic soldier in the attack force, not from the GSA. The three aircraft were transported to the attack site in a military transport vehicle that burrowed thousands of kilometers underground.”
“Nonsense. It’s all inaccurate data and conjecture.” He smiled stiffly.
Artie leaned close, spoke his own thoughts. “Do you SciOs have a secret tunneling technology like that, something to go long distances underground at high speed and then cover up the tunnels behind them?”
“No, I don’t think…” He paused. “No, we have nothing like that.”
“It sounds like very advanced technology, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Absolutely, unless the attackers left behind false clues, and no technology like that exists at all.”
“Well, they sneaked up on us somehow, wouldn’t you say? If not by tunneling, then how did they do it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Surely with all of your scientific knowledge and wizardry, you SciOs can solve it. Chairman Rahma is the spiritual head of the Green States of America, and you are in charge of science.” Artie wagged a thick, humanlike forefinger. “This is not the Chairman’s failing. It’s a failing of your scientists to figure it out.”
“Need I remind you that the Army of the Environment is under Chairman Rahma’s control, not mine?”
“But you provide many of the key weapons, and the science to build them, and now we’ve been attacked by an unknown, dangerous enemy who may have SciO Splitter technology and the ability to transport military assets across long distances underground.” He opened the rolled parchment. “Chairman Rahma has decided to formally declare a State of National Emergency, enabling him to legally demand the full contribution of the SciOs. To begin with, he wants a list of all SciO research programs.”
“A State of National Emergency? This is preposterous! I’ve never heard of the technology that you’re—” He fell silent and looked away.
Accessing his internal data banks, Artie said, “After we defeated the Corporates and the GSA Charter was drawn up, the Chairman allowed you to keep your technological secrets, in return for which you agreed to enhance our military research and development capabilities if formally called upon to do so.”
Director Ondex grimaced.
“Well, he’s calling on you to do that right now,” Artie said, “in the State of National Emergency.” He handed the parchment to him.
Ondex gave the document a cursory glance, slapped it down on a table, where it curled back up. “But a list of all of our research programs? He’s not being reasonable.”
“Neither are our enemies—and the Chairman is not certain how many we have, or how advanced they are.”
Looking at one of the bodycams on Artie’s belt, Ondex said, “I know you’re eavesdropping on this meeting, Rahma Popal, and I’m going to level with you. Several years ago we had a top-secret vanishing tunnel program that was an offshoot of Janus Machine technology, but nothing came of it. The program was a complete failure, and the entire team of inventors committed suicide.”
From the Montana Valley Game Reserve, the GSA leader typed a response, which Artie received in his data banks and then passed along. “Chairman Rahma wants to know what vanishing tunnels are.”
“Well, the technology never worked, at least not on the scale needed to make it practical. In theory, it was supposed to be a system in which a tunneling machine split through the crust of the planet, propelling itself forward, while an earth- and rockforming system at the rear—like greenforming—closed the tunnel off, making it look like it was before.”
Hesitation, as Artie awaited another message. “My master wants to know what happened to the bodies of the suicides.”
“They’re in SciO crypts, beneath our Berkeley headquarters.”
Hesitation, as another message came in from Montana Valley. Receiving it, Artie spoke: “You control your employees from job to grave—and the Chairman knows why. You’re afraid someone will come up with a way to read human memories from cells and other genetic detritus, even after the employees are dead—and that would risk revealing SciO secrets. Hence, all of the remains are closely guarded.”
Ondex nodded, grudgingly. He chewed at one side of his mouth.
“It’s even rumored that living employees contain self-destruct mechanisms in their bodies to prevent anyone from gaining access to their cellular material.”
No response.
“You will exhume the bodies for government inspection,” Artie said. It was not a question.
“Inspection?”
Artie nodded. “The Chairman wants me to observe the exhumations and collect data.”
“That’s highly unusual.”
“It’s just the beginning. The Chairman has commanded me to stay with you until we get to the bottom of what looks like a major SciO technology leak. I am not to leave your side. Not until my master releases me.”
“Is that in the National Emergency document?”
“Section Four,” the hubot said. “Maybe you should read the whole thing.”
29
The relationship with the government of Panasia continues to slide. They are the primary suspect in the failed Bostoner attack, and in other transgressions against the sovereignty of the Green States of America. On both sides, forces are on high alert; nuclear missiles are aimed and ready to fire. How is this different from the international tensions when Corporates were running things on the American continents? Where is the sustainable peace we were promised by Chairman Rahma?
—Berkeley Free Radio, one of the dissident stations
IT WAS PAST midnight when Arch Ondex and the hubot took a clearplex-walled elevator down to the ninth level of the mausoleum. As they passed
each level of the subterranean facility, Artie saw long rows of crypts in all directions. Most were empty, because this was where the SciOs interred their dead, and the organization had only been in existence since shortly before the founding of the country. Every person who ever worked for the SciOs would be laid to rest here when they died, and in time it would become crowded with bodies—but for now it was sparsely populated.
“We never permit visitors,” Ondex said, “but under the circumstances, and considering the degree of trust the Chairman has placed in you, we are making an exception.”
“Thank you,” Artie said, though he knew the Director had little choice—unless he decided to contest the State of National Emergency. Artie was on his own here, without the overseeing eyes of the Chairman, due to the late hour and matters of national defense he had to deal with early the next morning. The hubot was video recording everything, though—and he would collect data for further tests.
The elevator stopped, and Ondex led the way out, then down a well-lit corridor. “The only occupied crypts are in this area. As you know, we require the interment of all employees here.” He looked back over his shoulder and smiled stiffly. “After they pass away, of course.”
“Naturally.” Artie also knew that the bodies were sealed in the crypts shortly after death, and never cremated because that was against the SciO belief system. Ironically, Ondex led an organization of scientists who had quasi-religious beliefs and secret rites.
Artie heard voices. He and Ondex rounded a turn, and ahead they saw a group of SciO security officers waiting beside a metal gate, accompanied by a tall, officious-looking woman in a white suit-dress.
“You may commence,” Ondex said, after introducing Artie to the woman, Dr. Mariah Kovacs. She was in charge of the DNA sampling that would be conducted today—information that would be passed on to Artie for further analysis. The Chairman needed to have the identities verified and then run searches for additional information through the Greenpol data system, all of which made sense. The SciOs and their paranoia about cellular memories had been overridden.
The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma Page 21
