The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma (23 page)

To get him there they'd injected him with sedatives and strapped him to a gurney, then transported him across the Berkeley Reservation by ambulance. He'd been conscious all the way, had just lain there watching the doctors and medical research assistants assigned to him, two of each. When they saw that his eyes remained open and his pulse actually
accelerated
with additional sedative injections, they'd become alarmed and whispered among themselves.

“I don't know why the drugs have an opposite effect on me,” Joss had said to them, “but you don't need to worry. I don't intend to resist; I want to know what's happening to me as much as you do.” His words were very rapid, as if linked to his amped-up pulse.

One of the assistants had moved closer to him in the ambulance, and she'd smiled at him. “That's good,” she'd said, “because we only want to help you.”

Joss had smiled at her in return, and nodded. He'd considered asking her to remove the restraint straps, but knew she wouldn't do that, because they'd think it was a trick on his part. Maybe he could remove them himself anyway, but he hadn't wanted to try because he feared injuring or killing someone, or upsetting people even more.

The raw violence he'd displayed in the hospital room suggested that he had some variation of SciO Splitter power, and he might employ it to get free. But first he needed to understand more about controlling the power, if that was possible, and more about his altered body. So, for the rest of the ambulance ride he'd fallen silent and tried to calm himself, taking deep and regular breaths. After a few minutes he'd heard the research assistant saying that his pulse was slowing, returning to normal.

They'd wheeled him into another building, this one gray and bleak, and down to what appeared to be a series of windowless, bombproof bunkers. They passed white-robed men and women in the corridors and rooms, along with heavily armed SciO security officers in white uniforms. The obvious SciO presence gave Joss a sinking sensation, and a realization that the mysterious organization was undoubtedly more concerned about the leakage of its secrets than it was about him.

As he'd thought about this, he'd realized that maybe it didn't matter so much who had taken him into custody. Whatever happened in the ReFac explosion needed to be figured out, and who was more qualified to do that than the SciOs? After all, Chairman Rahma trusted them, and Joss revered the man. Yes, Joss decided, he would cooperate because his beloved Chairman would want him to.…

After getting him into the security cell, the original doctors and medical assistants had not reappeared; instead, the patient had been handed off to another set of medical personnel who wore SciO robes.

Then, tending to him for an hour, taking their samples and such, the new group left and a tall man entered the room, wearing a white robe with gilded trim. He had glittering blue eyes. “I am Dr. Mora,” he said, “Chief of the Dark Energy research division.” He leaned over the gurney and spoke in a low tone. “You know what Dark Energy is?”

Joss felt his pulse quicken, and his words came quickly, as if linked: “Only in general. I've heard that's the SciO term for it, and I've seen Kupi Landau use it on jobsites.”

“Ah yes, well, we seem to have an interesting situation here. We've analyzed the audiovisual records of your …
event
in the hospital, shall we call it? Yes, your event. It seems, Mr. Stuart, that you have captured some small amount of Dark Energy in your own body. To be honest with you, we aren't certain how that could happen. You'd like to know yourself, wouldn't you?”

“Very much. I don't want to cause harm with it.” His heart pounded inside his chest.

“And we appreciate that. You are known to be a loyal subject of the Green States of America, so if something like this had to happen to anyone, we're pleased that you're the one involved, and not someone who could cause trouble.”

“I don't want to cause trouble.” As before, Joss tried to calm himself by controlling his breathing, and this time he felt his pulse slow in a matter of only a few seconds.

I'm getting better at this
, he thought.

Dr. Mora placed a hand on the straps that held Joss to the gurney, and said, “I'm going to loosen these, so that you can move around more freely in this chamber. Even with the Dark Energy that you seem to possess, it is not strong enough to break out of here, so don't even think about trying. The most powerful atomic bomb could be set off right on top of us, and it wouldn't break through.”

That sounded impossible to Joss, but the SciOs had amazing technological abilities. He nodded, watched as the doctor released the straps and then helped him off the gurney and onto his feet. Joss wore a torn hospital gown that did not cover him very well.

“There,” Dr. Mora said. “Isn't that better? You'll find that this chamber is connected to two others that have been provided for your use, one of which is a private sitting and entertainment chamber, and the other your own dining area and automated kitchen alcove. You also have access to a private bathroom that has a soaking tub and a shower—both with recycled water, of course.”

“Thank you. I'd like to start out by getting cleaned up. Do I have to wear gowns like this?”

“No. We'll bring fresh clothes for you. Consider this your own suite of rooms. One more thing. Gradually, as soon as we figure out how best to accomplish it, we'd like to conduct a series of controlled experiments with your power … assuming you still have it, that is.”

“Would you like me to find out right now?”

“Ah no, not just yet.”

*   *   *

OUT OF AN
abundance of caution and patriotism, Joss had accepted the arrangement at first. But as days passed, and the medical personnel came and went, he began to feel as if he had no privacy, not even in the adjoining, completely enclosed bathroom. Though he saw no obvious detection devices in there, he presumed that someone was collecting his urine and stool samples, and even the saliva from brushing his teeth. He suspected they had cameras somewhere in the bathroom as well, to watch his every activity and see just how alien he had become.

Alien
.

He'd heard the medical staff using that word several times, including Dr. Mora. And, though Joss had not objected, it didn't seem to correctly describe him—at least not in the extraterrestrial sense. Not even if he
had
become the hybrid that two of the doctors had mentioned in his presence, because he was a composite of human and plant cellular material from Earth, and of the Splitter power that the SciOs developed on Earth as well—the Dark Energy component. Presumably the SciOs had not gone off-planet for such technology, because the Green States of America had scrapped the space program as “wasteful spending,” but with the SciOs one could never be certain. They might even have their own secret space program, for all Joss knew.

Alien? Perhaps it is true.…

Still, the Chairman trusted them, and Joss tried to keep that in mind, despite being treated like a prisoner, reminiscent of the way animals used to be treated when it was legal to confine and use them for medical purposes.

Joss couldn't help but notice the changes in his own body, and not just in the light black color of his skin, and the vinelike green scars that traversed the epidermal surfaces, wrapping around his arms, legs, and torso. (One even crossed his forehead and ran down the side of his face to his neck.) Whenever he didn't pay attention, his pulse seemed to quicken on its own, and he would find himself walking around the bunker very rapidly, eating quickly, talking fast, doing everything at a heightened pace. He had to keep slowing himself down consciously. It was this way when he went to bed as well, as he found his mind racing while he lay there, and his heart pounding inside his chest, until he focused and put himself to sleep by sheer willpower.

One morning while Joss was shaving with a straight razor, taking great care to move slowly and not cut himself, he suddenly put down the razor and went into the entertainment chamber, where he knew his handlers had installed surveillance cameras, because he could see them high in every corner.

He placed a videobook on the floor. Then, gradually and cautiously, he raised his left hand and pointed the fingers at the book. It was a particularly dull story anyway, one that was of no interest to him, and he'd set it aside, intending to ask for it to be removed. Perhaps he could take care of that little chore himself. The fingers darkened and glowed. He felt his metabolism rising and heard a gathering roar in his ears, like the mounting power of the Splitter on Janus Machine No. 129.

Joss heard a man's voice on the speaker system: “Don't do that!” But it was too late.

He took a deep breath to slow his pulse a little, and focused a small degree of animosity on the videobook. To his amazement, thin streaks of black light darted from his fingertips, but did not reach their target. Instead, like threads floating in the air, they hovered right over it. He sensed that they were under his control—or that they could be, if he handled this right.

Now Joss intensified his feigned animosity toward the book, which raised his pulse again. He saw the black threads thicken and cover the target, melting it into a small heap of yellow gunk. The remaining strands of Dark Energy crackled in the air and vanished.

Interesting
, Joss thought, ignoring the SciOs who gathered around him and protested. Previously, streaks of black light had shot out of his fingers involuntarily and caused damage, like the waves from hand-held Splitter guns, which were small versions of the waves that resulted whenever Kupi Landau fired the powerful Splitter on the Janus Machine. It was a matter of scale, and he seemed to have a minuscule version of the remarkable energy in his body.

And he
could
control it. But what degree of dominion did he have over it, and why had it occurred without his volition the first time, in the hospital room?

Why too, did the power seem to come only from his left hand? (He was right-handed, after all.) Then, as he wondered this, the fingers of his right hand began to darken, as if sending him a message. Moments later they returned to normal coloration.

“There,” Joss said, looking around and meeting the disapproving gaze of Dr. Mora. “Our first controlled experiment. I'd call it a success, wouldn't you?”

“Perhaps,” Mora said, nodding.

“Let me experiment a little on my own,” Joss said. “My mind is directly linked to the Dark Energy, and I think I can fire it whenever I want to, if I decide to do so.” He moved one hand around in the air slowly, causing black threads of light to appear and linger, before vanishing.

The SciOs moved back a ways, but everyone in the room seemed to know that there might be no safe distance from Joss, if he ever became upset and turned his rage against them.

“I'm able to control it by focusing on my emotions,” Joss said, “playing them up and down.”

“Ah yes, that's interesting,” Dr. Mora said.

“Without volition, I do tend to make sudden movements,” Joss said, “so everyone near me should bear that in mind. If I'm not completely focused on what I want to do, if I don't plan every movement, something really bad could happen.”

Dr. Mora pursed his lips. “Shall we all sign forms agreeing not to pursue legal action against you?”

Joss smiled. Then, motioning the SciOs back, he sat on the floor, raised both of his hands in the air, and moved them around to create circles and ovals of black thread, then caused them to dart this way and that. Now the threads thickened in the air, and were visible for considerably longer before fading slowly when he let go, like the contrails of a jet. After practicing for a while, he found that he was able to adjust the thickness of the strands at will, by alternately increasing and diminishing the output of energy.…

That night Joss awoke from a peculiar dream, one that suggested variations on what he'd already discovered about his own body and the strange power it contained. He rose from his bed and flipped on a light.

Could those new variations be possible, more than just a dream?

This time, instead of using his hands, he waved both feet in the air, trying to generate power from his toes, as the dream had suggested he could do. Nothing happened. He felt a surge of anger at his own naiveté, thinking a dream could foreshadow or mirror reality. What utter foolishness!

He turned toward the bed, when suddenly the fingers of both hands glowed black and stiffened—little Splitter barrels.

Focusing on his fingers and adjusting his emotions like a control panel—moderating anger with serenity to find balance points—he formed strands of energy around his hands, hovering in the air. Then, with a mental command, he made them coalesce and used them like a black laser to slice a small hole in one thick wall, all the way through to the corridor. Next he tried another experiment, using more mental intensity to create a larger hole.

It worked both times. The dream had not been at all accurate, but the startling nature of it had caused him to awaken, and to discover something new he could do.

Finally, leaving the two holes in place, he withdrew, turned off the light, and returned to bed. This time, when he tried to calm himself to go to sleep, he had much more difficulty, before finally succeeding.

So many thoughts insisted on racing through his mind, so many astounding possibilities.…

 

24

There is an undercurrent of suspicion spanning both continents of the Green States of America, a rumor that the SciOs are only fair-weather allies of this nation and could betray us all. But evidence is lacking.

—a confidential Greenpol report

THREE MORE DAYS
passed in confinement, and Joss was feeling less and less cooperative. Though he was patriotic and dedicated to the ideals of the revolution, it was beginning to look as if he had exchanged his privileged, interesting career as a greenformer for something far worse. He was living in a velvet-lined cage as a glorified lab rat. Yes, a lab rat. He longed for a return to his old life—to his friends, family, and co-workers. It all seemed far away and long gone, irretrievable.