Kupi sighed and fell silent for several moments as she put on her clothing, a black blouse and trousers. Then she made sure no one else could hear and said to Joss, “Look, there’s something I just learned this morning, before going on shift. I have a SciO friend, a contact deep within the organization. He risked his life doing what he did, but he had a letter delivered to my hotel room on biode paper, the kind you open up and read and it crumbles to dust seconds afterward. He didn’t sign it or use his name anywhere, but I know it was from him. It had to be.”
“Who are you talking about? An anarchist? There are anarchists in SciO?”
“It doesn’t matter who my friend is, and besides, I know a lot of non-anarchists. You’re one. It only matters what he said, and he’s giving us a heads-up that the SciOs are going to try to take you into their full custody again.”
Joss glowered. “I don’t think they can because of my protective net, and my other powers. I blasted away doors and walls and walked out of their facility, and they couldn’t stop me or get close to me. But why would they even try to recapture me? I’m already cooperating with them a couple of times a week.”
She shrugged. “Maybe they don’t want to play nice with you anymore. Anyway, at your next session with Dr. Mora they’re planning to rush you with a force of robots and overwhelm you, preventing you from escaping through sheer numbers, robots that keep coming at you—by the hundreds and even thousands, if necessary. They don’t think you can maintain the energy required for your defensive net indefinitely, and they plan to block you from moving and then close in on you with sedatives when you weaken and your shield goes down.”
Glancing at his implanted chrono, he said, “That means sixty-eight hours from now, a little under three days. If the information is right, their plan could work. My energy has to come from somewhere, and logic says it can’t be infinite. Logic and the laws of physics, however they come into play in my case.”
“Or are other laws at work that we don’t understand?” she wondered. “Has something paranormal happened to you, unexplainable by science?”
Shaking his head, Joss said, “There must be a plausible scientific explanation, linked to the explosion.”
“Well, anyway, they intend to make their move, and you need to decide what to do about it.”
“What if the information is wrong?”
“Can you risk that? Do you want to risk that? Maybe you don’t care, if you just want to give up your body for science or whatever, but I just thought you’d like to know.”
“And I appreciate that.” Joss considered the revelation as he got into his own clothing, then said, “Kupi, for some time now you’ve been on the fringe of acceptability with the government due to your comments, and it’s only a matter of time before you go over the line and the authorities take you in. That might already be in the works, with Greenpol intending to arrest you when the SciOs get me. It could be coordinated between the two agencies, for all we know. But however it plays out, it’s only a matter of time before they get both of us.”
“You’re probably right.”
“For different reasons, neither one of us fits into the system anymore.” Joss pulled on his trousers. “Look, I don’t want you to make more out of what I’m about to say than you should, because I’ve already told you that I don’t think we can continue as a couple. You must accept that, and I think you have. I still want us to be friends. Very good friends. I want the best for you, Kupi.”
Her eyes misted over. “And I want the best for you. Most of all, forgetting my own welfare for a moment, I want you to be safe, and I’m very worried about what those SciO bastards intend for you.”
He nodded, envisioned himself doped up on sedatives and confined in an impregnable facility, with white-robed lab technicians probing and picking at every part of his body, no longer needing his cooperation for their endless, intrusive experiments.
“Now I’m going to suggest something radical,” Joss said. “I think both of us need to vanish from the system. Not as lovers, but as friends. As survivors.”
Kupi looked at him quizzically.
“Remember we were on that eco-tourism flight over the Columbia River gorge, and you told me about renegades living in the forest, surviving off the land?”
“Sure, the forest people—anarchists, religionists, and others. I told you it sounded idyllic, a simple, happy life, but you weren’t so certain.” She narrowed her gaze. “You aren’t thinking of—” Her voice trailed off.
Joss chewed on his lower lip, made a face as he tried to envision what it might be like to live in the wilderness, away from the comforts of the life he’d known all his life. But away from the stresses too, and the dangers. He was at an important decision point in his life, a point where he needed to regain control over it as much as he could.
“Can you get in touch with any renegades in the woods?” Joss asked, trying to overcome his apprehension. “Could they help us break out of the grid and disappear? We’re slaves here, and we need to break free.”
A moment’s hesitation. Then: “I like your idea, your bravery, and your willingness to try something new. Yes, I’m sure I can find someone to help us, Joss.”
“But what about the computer chips in our brains that the government uses to track us by satellite?”
She smiled. “There are ways to either get rid of them or disable them. I have friends who know how.”
He took her hands, and held on tight. “All right,” Joss said softly. “We’re going.”
42
Anarchists are the most misunderstood of people. They do not operate with the usual motivations of human beings, the customary systems of rewards. They have their own off-the-beaten-path goals and value systems. They find niches in which to survive, because ultimately that is what they do best. They survive.
—Chairman Rahma Popal
SOUPY GREEN DARKNESS surrounded them.
Joss and Kupi moved through the night like ninja fighters, wearing hooded black outfits and night-vision goggles that had been provided for them, following a shadow-shape in the green murk, made that way by light enhancers in the goggles. An anarchist from the forest had come to get them, a bearded young man who introduced himself as Acky Sommers.
It occurred to Joss that this could be a SciO trap, designed to lure them to a place where they could neutralize his powers and capture him. His senses were on full alert as he listened to every sound while peering through the goggles, watching for slight movements around the perimeter that might indicate attackers.
The darkness was a double-edged sword, he realized, concealing him to a degree but also enabling potential attackers to hide. The young anarchist had not said much, only a few whispered instructions as he met Joss and Kupi outside the Sonora hotel where they had been staying with their crew. Wearing ordinary clothing and carrying a valise, he had passed a hand-held electronic device over their brains quickly, to disable the tracking chips in their cerebral cortexes. Then he led the way through shadowy side streets to a doorway in a high wall, where he used an electronic key to go through, emerging into the night outside the reservation for humans. There he opened the valise and distributed dark clothing and goggles.
Now the trio ran across a sandy expanse toward a rock outcropping. As they reached the rock and ran around one side, Joss saw an aircraft waiting in the murky greenness, glistening ever so faintly. It had articulated wings that drooped slightly, like the ornithopter that Joss and Kupi had taken on the eco-tourism flight over the Columbia River gorge. But this one was longer and sleeker.
They climbed inside and took up positions on a three-person power-station strip inside the bubble cockpit, with Joss at the rear. At Acky’s direction, they left their goggles on.
“We won’t have to work too hard,” he promised, looking back from the forward station, where he also had the piloting controls. “This thing has whisper-quiet motors and enough remaining solar charge to fly us all the way, perhaps with only a small boost fro
m us when we feel like moving around and expending a little energy. I flew it here on my own, working moderately at the controls, and only used a quarter of the available charge.”
“I’m assuming we need to get there in darkness,” Joss said. “It’s a long way to the Pacific Northwest. Are we going to set down somewhere and conceal ourselves during daylight hours?”
“Not necessary. We’ll make it all the way before dawn. I guess I forgot to mention that the wingspan becomes short when we reach two thousand meters and the solar jet assist kicks in. This is an advanced craft that my people stole from the SciOs, but it’s like a lot of their stuff. It has sealed compartments that we don’t dare touch. We figured out as much as we could without tampering with the internal systems, and everything seems to be well built.”
“Let’s hope it’s good enough to get us where we want to go,” Joss said, “and that it has no tracking system to report where we are.”
“No problem on either count. It has anarchist-designed stealth technology that we’ve set with our own codes. So far no one has been able to detect the craft; when we fly, we’re as invisible to outsiders as air.”
“Anarchist-designed?” Joss said. “Anarchist technology?”
“We were front-line fighters in the Corporate War,” he said, “but it’s also a little-known fact that our members include scientists and other people who worked in Corporate labs, and later in SciO facilities, before opting out of the system and escaping from hit men who were sent after them.”
“Geniuses who don’t fit in?” Joss said.
“You could say that.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Kupi said, as the plane rolled along the hard ground and soared into the air like a large butterfly. The three of them worked smoothly at the stations, providing a flow of energy to the articulated wings, reducing the need for reserve power.
Joss felt a new sense of excitement, and of hope.
* * *
AFTER FIVE AND a half hours, Acky announced, “We’re here.”
They had removed their night-vision goggles a few minutes ago. Dawn was just beginning to break, with the eastern horizon glowing golden over the mountains, putting them in profile.
The aircraft had flown in starlit darkness over the vast northwest greenbelt of the Green States of America, periodically passing over reservations for humans that were only dimly illuminated in order to conserve energy.
“That’s Mount St. Helens,” Acky said now, pointing. “It had a big blow eighty-three years ago.” Joss and Kupi had briefly discussed the same thing on their earlier eco-tourism flight.
The aircraft slowed, and Joss heard a smooth whir as the wings extended farther out on either side, with flaps down. He and his companions worked the power stations slowly, and the craft descended.
“I’ll take it from here,” Acky said when they were a couple hundred meters above the ground.
Below, Joss saw a grassy meadow in the midst of tall evergreens. The pilot circled the meadow several times, slowing and going lower, then pushed the hand bar of the power station forward and landed on a surface that was only a little bumpy.
As Joss stepped out in the gray light of dawn he saw people running toward them from all directions, emerging from the woods. Men and women, they were dressed in heavy coats, bundled against the early morning chill. He was surprised to see what looked like fur coats on some of the people, and fur collars on other garments. Even the use of artificial fur was verboten in GSA society, and he’d only seen pictures in history books of people wearing such grotesque products, complete with long dissertations about why it was immoral to kill animals for any purpose. But Joss would say nothing of his feelings; he needed to make his way in a new reality.
These looked like wild humans, with lean, dirty faces and unkempt hair. The men’s beards were long and untrimmed. All of them wore small patches on their arms or lapels, showing the golden image of a sun cut in half by the horizon.
“I’m leaving you here,” Acky said, as he got back into the plane. “These are not my people.” He looked at Kupi.
“Thanks for everything,” she said.
Acky nodded. He taxied the plane around for the longest takeoff route, then gathered speed down the middle and lifted off.
“He doesn’t have far to go,” a white-bearded old man said. “We all share these woods.” Small and wrinkled, with a mane of white hair, he introduced himself as Mord Pelley, saying he was the tribal leader of the Dawn People.
The man’s name sounded familiar to Joss, but he couldn’t quite place it. He heard a low but distinct buzzing sound, like a hive of bees around them, and asked about it.
“Something we got from the Black Shirts,” Pelley replied, “a localized transponder system that veils heat, visual, and sound signatures, making us virtually undetectable to outsiders. But when it’s dark we still use night-vision goggles instead of lights, and remain silent, just to play it safe. The system is mechanical, after all, and could fail.”
The old man led the way into the forest. “These woods are full of tribes like ours, and of smaller nests of anarchists, with all of us working in networks for our mutual survival. Each group is limited in size because of the limitations of the veiling transponders, protecting no more than around two hundred and fifty persons. Each group has its own codes and signal frequency, which we share with the ten anarchists in Acky’s group. There could be as many as three hundred thousand people living in the wilds of North and South America, undetected by GSA authorities.”
Joss let out a whistle of surprise.
“All with veiling technology?” Kupi asked.
“Hardly,” Pelley said, shaking his head. “Lots of people get captured by the authorities, but my tribe has electronic and manual systems to deal with various eventualities. Here’s one of the ways we protect ourselves.” He handed tiny veiling transponders to Joss and Kupi and showed them how to clip them onto their earlobes. Joss felt only a little pressure in his ears as he secured his, a sensation that soon dissipated.
“Think of the anarchists as our security forces,” Pelley said, as he inspected the two transponders. “They’re really quite good at it.”
“In more ways than I realized,” Joss said.
“We have two hundred and twenty-seven people in the tribe,” Mord Pelley said. “Plus two, for as long as you wish to remain. You come highly recommended by our Black Shirt friends.”
43
What are the limits of human endurance?
Sometimes I think my mission in life is to find out.
—Mord Pelley, to his tribe
PREVIOUSLY, JOSS STUART had only heard rumors about this alternative way of living, a realm he had not been certain actually existed. Just the same, he had occasionally imagined what it might be like to be in the wilderness all the time, how different it would be from the confines and strict rules of the reservations for humans, and from his life on a J-Mac crew. But in the end he always came back to the same conclusion, that it wasn’t suitable to him.
Now, faced with the reality of the alternative domain, he would have a chance to find out for sure. He didn’t seem to have any better choices.
“This is the real green life,” Mord Pelley said. “Unlike anything you’ve experienced before.”
“I can see that,” Joss said, as he and Kupi followed the elderly man through a compound of simple lean-to structures and tree houses that were accessible by primitive stairs, rope ladders, and rope baskets. There were even rough-hewn rock stairways leading down to underground habitats, storage chambers, and worship rooms, with covered entrances topside. It looked as if everyone in the settlement had come out to see the newcomers, young and old alike. He noted a handful of children playing games, and dogs that walked the perimeter of the compound, as if on guard duty.
After racking his brain, Joss suddenly remembered where he’d heard the name Mord Pelley. The man was a notorious eco-criminal, a wanted fugitive who had disappeared nine or
ten years ago. Joss caught his breath. In his earlier career as an eco-cop, he had busted people like him for violating the morals and sacred-Earth principles of the GSA. This man had been a trusted contributor to the Green Revolution, before running afoul of the Chairman.
Pelley led the way to a pair of open-air structures, lean-tos made of tied-together branches and cedar-bough roofs, with pine-needle floors. “We built these for you when we heard you were coming. It will be your obligation to contribute to the work of constructing future habitats, and to perform other tasks that are necessary for the continued existence of our community. Later, if you prefer to live underground you can, but most people like it topside, especially when they first arrive.”
Joss and Kupi nodded. Then she said, “As I told you in my message, my companion has special talents.”
“Yes,” Pelley said, looking at Joss. “I had already received some information on you from other sources. It is most interesting to meet you in the flesh.”
“And you,” Joss said, without revealing what he knew about the fugitive. He noticed people coming in for a closer look. For a moment he caught the gaze of an exceptionally attractive young brunette as she pushed her way past other tribal members.
“Joss’s ability to greenform without equipment could be used for gardens,” Kupi suggested, “or for other plants you might need around here.” She looked at Joss. “Could you create vegetable gardens?”
“Maybe,” Joss said. “I haven’t tried yet.”
“It’s too late in the season,” Pelley said.
“I forgot about that,” Kupi said.
The old man looked at the sky, turning his dark eyes heavenward. “The weather is turning colder at night, though the days are still warm. We’re expecting a storm system soon, and lots of rain.” He pointed at men digging a drainage ditch around the settlement. “In addition to the old standby of holding our fingers up to the wind, we have developed alternative methods of predicting weather, based on patterns of plant growth as well as animal and bird behavior.”
The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma Page 29
