The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma

by Brian Herbert

  “We stay in touch, but I don’t see him much anymore. I’m an agnostic, but after my aunt died, I got ahold of a black-market Bible and gave it to him.”

  “Good for you. That was a brave thing to do.”

  “Maybe, but I needed to do it.”

  “My mother was a flower child,” Evana said. “She lived with Rahma Popal, a few years before he was involved with the Berkeley Eight and the Corporate War. He’s had relations with a lot of women, and fathered an uncounted number of children.”

  “So I’ve heard. I doubt if there are very many children like you, though. You’re one of a kind.”

  “We’re individuals, both of us, not types!”

  “That’s right!”

  “With all of my brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles, can you imagine what my family reunion would look like? It would be complete pandemonium.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asked. The trail was so steep downward that even she had to slow considerably to keep her footing. She helped him down a difficult, slippery section of small, loose rocks.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “People are superficial, concealing what they’re really like. It takes time to figure them out.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight, either. But I think I could fall in love with you.”

  “Don’t be silly. You don’t even know me.” He felt a chill of pleasure run down his spine, and thought he might be blushing. She looked back at him, but if she noticed, she didn’t say so.

  “Maybe you’re right. Oh well, I only said I could fall in love with you. I didn’t say that I already have.”

  Joss fell silent as they made their way back down the hill to the meadow, and into the forest settlement. With Evana’s bold declaration, he wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. He wished he had met her under more normal circumstances.

  Normal, he thought bitterly. He didn’t know what that meant any longer. He longed for the way things used to be, before the ReFac explosion, even before Chairman Rahma and his zealots took over the Americas.

  As they entered the village, Joss saw Kupi speaking with the white-bearded tribal leader, Mord Pelley, standing with a number of villagers.

  “There they are!” someone shouted.

  “What’s the matter?” Evana asked.

  Kupi glared at Evana, didn’t say anything. Then she looked at Joss disapprovingly. Joss moved away from Evana, stood nearer to Kupi.

  “Terrible,” Mord said. “Theo Garcia has been murdered.”

  “What?” Evana said. “We were just with him and Zeke, until they got tired and went back.”

  “Zeke stabbed him to death.”

  “How could that be?” Evana asked.

  “Fifteen minutes ago we found Garcia in the meadow, bleeding from a knife wound to the stomach. He said Zeke Ambrose did it. Then, gasping, he said, ‘Zeke is not what he—’ and then he died.”

  “What did he mean by that?”

  “We don’t know. But it could be that Ambrose is not what he appears to be, that he’s an operative of some sort, planted by the GSA or the Corporates.”

  While Joss and Evana tried to comprehend what had just occurred, Mord Pelley spoke with the anarchist Acky Sommers and other men who were coordinating an effort to find the fugitive, tracking his localized transponder. The men departed quickly.

  Then the old man gazed at the villagers who were gathering around him as the awful news spread. “I’m afraid our tribe has been compromised,” he said.

  45

  We suspect that Dylan Bane is using the vanishing tunnel technology to carry out highly lucrative robberies and burglaries in Eurika and Panasia. Police reports from overseas indicate that witnesses have seen small tunneling machines pop up out of the ground, with one or two armed men aboard each craft who carry out a quick crime caper and then escape like gophers. Somehow Bane is getting the mini-craft overseas and using them for criminal moneymaking activities—in areas he considers easier pickings than the GSA police state. This suggests that he might have important overseas allies.

  —a confidential Greenpol report

  “I HAVE FAIRLY good news for you,” Director Ondex said.

  “That’s an odd way of putting it,” Rahma said.

  At midday, the gray-bearded Chairman and the tall, patrician Director walked through the immense aviary and greenhouse complex, atmospherically controlled zones that were filled with endangered birds and plants from all over the world. Exotic birds swooped low overhead and called out to one another, a loud, screeching cacophony.

  “Our first vanishing tunnel machines are close to readiness.”

  “How close?” The Chairman coughed, had been feeling increasingly run-down in the past few days. He had resisted efforts by Dr. Tatanka to treat him, hoping to beat whatever it was on his own. He had always considered himself a specimen of health, and rarely got sick. But he thought he had the flu now. According to the doctor, it was probably an Asian variety that was going around, and she worried whether he could beat it without her help.

  Continuing to cough, Rahma wondered how such a virus could have found its way across the seas, considering the terrible state of relations between the GSA and the Panasians. Maybe it was a new weapon, a way of infecting the populace. Whatever it was made him thirsty, and he was drinking a lot of fluids.

  Suddenly he remembered the sealed diplomatic valise containing a letter and offensive photographs that he’d received from Hashimoto. Sealed valise, with an odd odor inside that dissipated quickly. He cursed, and clenched his teeth. Had the outrageous leader found a way of transmitting the illness to him through contact with those papers? Too late to do anything about that now, except to call Valerie Tatanka and let her treat him. But what if it was something really insidious, something incurable that Panasian scientists had discovered?

  “We’ll be ready in a few weeks,” Ondex said, finally answering the vanishing tunnel question. “Perhaps five or six at the most, and we’ll be loading the machines with military personnel and hardware.”

  “We don’t exactly know where to hit the enemy, though, do we? And we aren’t sure if Bane is acting on his own, or if he is allied with another force: the Corporates, the Panasians, the Eurikans, or a combination thereof. Maybe one we don’t even know about.”

  “I strongly suspect it’s the Panasians,” Ondex said. “In order to obtain raw materials and other necessary components for our technology, we have extensive operations—and our own SciO operatives—overseas. We have developed new circumstantial evidence—strong circumstantial evidence—that Bane has been relying on the Panasians for financial support, and perhaps for more than that.”

  “Any Corporate involvement?”

  “We suspect so, coming from elements that relocated overseas after we drove them out of the Americas. But the new evidence points most directly at the Panasian government. We’re providing this information to the AOE chiefs of staff right now.”

  “What about the crime capers Bane has been carrying out overseas, including in Panasia? Their government lets him do that?”

  “Sure, to throw us off. The Panasians have to be his chief benefactor.”

  “I thought so, I thought so! That Hashimoto needs to be exterminated, but how to do it…”

  “I have something more that will interest you, Mr. Chairman,” he interjected. “Perhaps I might have told you about it earlier, but there is no harm done. In fact, I think you will be pleased.”

  “Very little I hear from you ever pleases me, but very well. Let’s hear it.” Rahma paused to look closely at an intensely red African orchid that looked too large for the slender stem supporting it.

  “Our researchers have been busy. Last year we developed a powerful new splitting and greenforming machine that can be fired from a satellite. We call it the SJM, for Satellite Janus Machine.”

  The Chairman arched his eyebrows as he looked at the
aristocratic man. “How powerful?”

  “With one satellite-launched weapon, we could spread Black Thunder all across Asia and the Pacific, destroying the entire Panasian nation before they could make a nuclear response, and greenforming over the land afterward. Or, we could do the same to Eurika—but as I said, the Panasians are our more likely foe.”

  Rahma sucked in his breath. “When can you make it available to us?”

  “It is theoretically functional as we speak, but hasn’t been fully tested.”

  “How on Earth do you test something like that?”

  “Well, we’ve run through all of the laboratory projections, and every time the thing causes huge theoretical devastation, and then seeds the entire disturbed area—millions of square kilometers. For obvious reasons we can’t perform real tests, but we’re still certain it will work. Keep in mind that these important new developments—the vanishing tunnels and satellite weapons—are derivations of Janus Machine technology. Think of tributaries from a great river of technology, or branches from a tree. We keep finding new applications, new possibilities that stem from the core of knowledge.”

  The Chairman nodded.

  Continuing, Ondex said, “We’ve had the satellite in geostationary orbit over our northern continent for six months, having slipped it seamlessly into the place of a GSA communications satellite and then putting the comm-system back online with hardly a moment of down time, only a few seconds that didn’t alarm anyone on the ground. And our orbiter has a bonus feature.”

  “You SciOs and your damned secrets.”

  “Don’t get excited. We’re on the same side.”

  “Sometimes I wonder. You were supposed to have notified me of the new technology before putting it online.”

  “I know, but there are good reasons why that didn’t happen. Reasons I can’t go into.”

  Rahma muttered an expletive, and broke into a fit of coughing before finally stopping.

  Waiting for his discomfort to subside, Ondex said, “As is customary, we SciOs will keep the secret of the orbital weaponry technology, but we are turning over the operation of the machine to the GSA government.”

  “You have perverted the proper lines of authority, Arch.” Rahma’s eyes burned from the sickness, were red and watery.

  “My SciOs have a monopoly on the technology. You signed the GSA Charter guaranteeing that.”

  “I wish I hadn’t.” Rahma thought about how these Science Overseers were a two-edged sword. Up to now they had been helpful to the GSA, but what if they ever turned against him, and the greenocracy he had established? He realized that he could not worry about that now. There were too many pressures on him, and he had a limited number of choices.

  “Think of the SJM as a big brother of the smaller J-Macs,” Ondex said. “It will be one more technological advantage for the GSA, enabling you to attain the ecological utopia that you so urgently desire.”

  “Is a pre-emptive strike against the Panasians possible now?” Rahma asked. “Theoretically, I mean?”

  “This has been developed as a defensive weapon, not an offensive one. With that in mind, its operation will be turned over to the NDS, our Nonhuman Defense System. They will make any decision to use the weapon, or not use it.” He paused. “The robotic NDS technology is, of course, something my SciOs developed at your urging, because you were afraid that humans might make emotional, illogical attacks—resulting in a massive retaliation that would destroy the good work you have done.”

  “Yes, yes, that is correct. I could still override their decision, though, if I wish to do so?”

  Hesitation. “You could, pursuant to the requirements of the GSA Charter. You would need to have extraordinary justification, though, beyond any personal animosity you might have toward Hashimoto.”

  “Yes, yes, you are right.”

  Director Ondex looked at the Chairman intensely. “Am I making the right decision here, Rahma? You won’t abuse this power, will you?”

  Rahma put on his most indignant expression. “I’m not crazy, Arch!” At the moment, he felt considerable affection toward his old revolutionary ally, and thought he shouldn’t have criticized the man so much for his highbrow manners and lavish lifestyle. The production of this incredible new technology suggested that there were good reasons to tolerate such behavior, and perhaps even to encourage it. By their very nature, humans naturally wanted perks for themselves, rewards for their work. He didn’t like it, but he had to accept it.

  “You’ve done an excellent job as Director of Science, my friend,” Rahma said. “I’m sorry that I haven’t praised you more.”

  The two men clasped hands in the strongest handshake they’d shared in years.

  “I’ll turn the weapon over to the NDS in the morning,” Ondex said.

  “Right. I’ll expect my package of operating data as well, so that I can get my own staff up to speed on contingencies.”

  “Of course.”

  The men said their goodbyes and even shared a water pipe of juana, as if it were a peace pipe between them. Ondex left soon afterward.

  Alone now, the Chairman fingered the golden peace-symbol pendant around his neck. With all the weapons at his disposal and the tens of millions of people he’d put to death, some of his critics said it was disingenuous for him to wear this adornment—his vociferous enemies overseas said that, and the whispering citizens who were afraid to face him. Maybe they were right, because at this moment Rahma felt like firing on the entire Panasian nation and wiping it off the face of the Earth.

  He sighed, knew he didn’t really want to do anything like that. Rahma would continue to make every effort to maintain the peace, trying to downplay the personal animosity he felt toward Hashimoto. That could help to defuse things. In addition, the SciOs just might get their own vanishing tunnel technology up and running in time, enough to discourage Bane and his allies, preventing them from making a larger attack.…

  * * *

  THAT EVENING, ARTIE hurried into the communal dining yurt and caught up with Rahma before he sat down for his evening meal. A number of the Chairman’s favorite women were taking seats around the large table, along with a handful of government workers who had done well enough to merit a supper with the GSA leader.

  “Sir,” the hubot said, “perhaps we should speak privately … with your permission.”

  Rahma nodded, and led the way to an alcove.

  “We just received a strong lead on the whereabouts of the fugitive Joss Stuart. He and Kupi Landau have taken up residence in a forest southeast of the Seattle Reservation, with people who have managed to use electronic devices to avoid detection. Among them is one of your children, a young woman named Evana.”

  The Chairman nodded. He had so many offspring that he could not keep track of them. The name meant nothing to him, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever met her.

  “This particular tribe is a gold mine of fugitives, sir. It’s led by the notorious eco-criminal Mord Pelley.”

  “I know that name,” Rahma said. The ex–ranch owner had long been one of the most wanted criminals in the GSA.

  “A member decided to turn against the group and report it to Greenpol,” the hubot said. “The man is telling everything he knows about a tribe of people living in the wilderness, a group that uses veiling technology we haven’t been able to penetrate. Greenpol is tracking them in a new way, with robots that can actually pick up fresh scents. As you know, it’s illegal to use dogs for that.”

  “Yes, yes.” Rahma scowled. It was an animal rights issue that he had not been able to reach agreement on with powerful special-interest groups, something he had been intending to deal with when he got more time. The new robots would make that unnecessary.

  “Stuart hasn’t been captured yet?” he asked.

  Artie hesitated as he accessed internal information. “No, the police robots are leaving right about now, and they’ll get him. They’ve captured other fugitives in the wilderness. Greenpol has tripled the force, b
ecause of Stuart’s powers.”

  “Keep me advised. This is important.”

  The hubot saluted with the sign of the sacred tree, then hurried off.

  46

  A thing imagined can take on its own reality.

  —Rahma Popal, two years before his fame

  THE DAWN PEOPLE didn’t know for certain if Zeke Ambrose would reveal their location, but they had to assume he would. He’d been behaving erratically recently, and villagers had seen him arguing with his friend Theo Garcia, though no one knew what it had been about.

  Only hours after the death of Garcia and the disappearance of his presumed killer, trackers had found Ambrose’s transponder discarded in the woods. Out of an abundance of caution, Mord Pelley had immediately ordered the tribe to pack up and leave the village site they had occupied for nearly three years. This was not without hardship, but the downside was dire, if what they feared came to pass. Acky Sommers and his small group of anarchists would accompany them.

  So, more than two hundred people set off into the deep forest behind an old woodsman named Willem Mantle, a man who knew his way around in those parts better than anyone else. Evana (wearing boots now) and Mord Pelley hiked near the front, as did Joss and Kupi. Going uphill for the most part, they traveled single-file on game trails, or spread out to bushwhack their way across rough areas of devil’s club and other thick underbrush, climbing until finally reaching a network of old forest-service logging roads that had not yet been greenformed.

  The younger men and women carried backpacks filled with essential items, including small hand tools, shovels, and picks. The tribe and anarchists also took their security system with them, preventing outsiders from detecting their presence. Everyone, including Joss and Kupi, wore the transponders that linked them to the veiling network, generating an electronic blanket over the entire group. The anarchists were all heavily armed, as were many of Mord Pelley’s men. Joss counted four children on the trek with them, two boys of around eight or nine years old and a couple of girls who appeared to be almost teens.