The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma (37 page)

“One who both destroys and reseeds?” Ondex said.

“Why not?” the Chairman said. “My old friend Kupi Landau sent me a message yesterday, drawing a parallel between Joss's powers and those of a Hindu god. Perhaps there are gods of the Earth—Gaia, Shiva, Mother Nature, whatever you wish to call them—and maybe Stuart is a genetic reaction to the historical excesses of human beings on this planet, a mutation that will change the course of humankind. Think of it, gentlemen! Maybe he's destined to breed and create more of his kind naturally, and with their powers, as limited as they may be, the new race might still dominate other humans and change how they treat the planet.”

Although Rahma did not express reservations about such a superbreed now, he still felt them. In Stuart and in SciO machines, the power to destroy seemed more dominant than the power to create; evil seemed stronger than good, more ferocious.

“A new race? What a mesmerizing thought,” Karlos Hansen said. He looked around. “Where's that cute serving girl? I'd like another snort.”

“Enough for now,” Rahma said. Looking at Ondex, he said, “As far as I know, you haven't done any experiments to see if Stuart can breed with an ordinary human woman. Is that correct?”

“We're looking into it.” Ondex looked wary.

“Well, what's taking so long? I've been busy with other matters, or I would have asked you sooner.” Rahma wanted to know if the new race would succeed; he felt a compulsion to know.

“We're discussing the possibilities, but we haven't decided how best to go about it—either mating Stuart with one or more females, or taking sperm samples and performing in vitro fertilization. Optimally we'd like to reproduce a female version of what happened to him in the ReFac explosion, for the best chance of reproducing more of the same type. There are numerous options, and we're taking it slowly and carefully, always seeking to avoid injury to Stuart himself. Fortunately, he is a healthy young man.”

“I presume you've extracted sperm cells from him?”

“We have, but as far as we can tell they are normal human cells, oddly uncontaminated. Perhaps, though, the secret of whatever he has become is buried very, very deep within them.”

“Just think of it,” the Chairman said. “A sustainable human race that could live in harmony with the environment. Now that would be something!”
If good triumphs over evil
, he thought.

“Greenmen and Greenwomen,” General Preda said. “And little kids, whole families with vines on their skin. Maybe the new race could be grown in the ground, like ivy, or potatoes.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Rahma snapped. And to Ondex, he said, “Why don't you call for female volunteers to mate with him now, and others to be put into ReFac building explosions, in an attempt to create female versions? As a third line of attack on the problem, do the in vitro fertilizations. I'm surprised you aren't exploring all of the options now.”

“I can see why you feel that way,” Ondex said, “but we've had our hands full with Stuart. He has not been the most cooperative subject.”

“So I've heard, but you have large resources. In any event, why treat him with kid gloves? Why not take him prisoner in a show of force? Use a hundred men if you have to. His powers are limited, as we know. Use some of General Preda's armored vehicles and whatever tranquilizer weapons you need.”

“We tried to tranquilize him,” Ondex said, “but he spun that defensive net around himself, that force field.”

“There must be a way to penetrate the field!”

“Maybe, but we don't want to hurt him, or kill him.”

“I agree, but keep looking for openings, and be aggressive. There must be some way of taking control of him. With all of your SciO resources, you should be able to come up with a way. In the meantime, use the sperm samples you have in vitro.”

“All right, but first I'm going to ask him for his cooperation and see how he reacts to the suggestion of mating him.”

“Give him some of the women in your harem, Rahma,” Preda said, “maybe that serving wench. You've got some nubile nymphs of the forest around here, from what I've seen.”

Chairman Rahma shook his head. The General must have consumed extra portions of whichever drug he selected, despite Rahma's ongoing prohibition against getting high on duty. But instead of scolding him this time, Rahma continued to focus on Ondex and said: “I want you to think of every possible way of figuring out what happened to Joss Stuart in that explosion. Study his brain patterns, the way he moves, the skin conditions where splitting and greenforming beams exit, everything.”

“We're doing all that,” Ondex said, “and more. We have eighty lab technicians analyzing his blood, and more going over other samples and audiovisuals, and it's all very baffling. With the exception of the pigmentation and scarring of his skin, and certain chemical changes, his organs and other body functions seem to be functioning normally, giving us no indication of where his powers come from. The plant cells and other alien elements are in there with his human cellular material, in his blood, muscles, and bones—and they're all getting along just fine.”

“A whole race of Joss Stuarts,” Rahma said, nodding as he imagined the wondrous possibilities. “That could really be something. But I wouldn't want them as independent and defiant as he is. That part would have to be subdued, for the greater good. And as for the violent side, the Splitter side, we must find a way of dealing with that, too—just as we have subdued the anarchists and put them to good use for our cause.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Ondex promised.

 

41

Life is a keyhole for peering into the universe.

—Jamadi Sukar, one of the pre-revolution green prophets

JOSS AND KUPI
sat by a sunny mineral pool, not far from a job they had just completed, cleaning up an old, deserted town and resort site and returning it to nature. The water was warm on his bare feet and legs, heated by underground thermal activity. The pair was taking a much-deserved break late in the afternoon, after working hard for several long days. They wore no clothing, nor did the other five members of the crew who were with them, scattered around the perimeter of the pool.

A century and a half ago, this area in northern Mexico had been a popular destination for people seeking the health benefits of mineral springs. At one time there had been an elegant Spanish-style hotel on the other side of the network of pools, serviced by a passenger rail line, though all of that had long since been abandoned, leaving a falling-down ghost town, torn-up tracks, and rusting old rail cars. But the mineral springs remained much as they used to be. Some of the rocks around the pool had ornate or simple graffiti carved into them, the names of lovers who had passed this way and perhaps hoped to return one day and find where they had made their pledge of fidelity to each other.

“A Splitter rifle could clean off the graffiti,” Joss said, running a finger over the rough edges, “but I kind of like the idea of leaving it like it is. Technically, we might be in violation for doing that, but I can't see where the carved hearts and poems of lovers hurt anything. These are petroglyphs, not that Chairman Rahma cares about archaeology or human history, but I'm making an on-site judgment and I say leave them.”

“Well, aren't you getting decisive,” Kupi said, with a smile. “And brave.” She stood up and began to dress.

“I just think environmentalism can get ridiculous at times.”

With a nod, she said, “Tomorrow we're supposed to clean up the rest of the rail line, including the old cars and the tracks. As an anarchist, I enjoy using the Splitter, but I agree my job can get silly sometimes. I can't see what the tracks are hurting out here in the middle of nowhere. I mean, weeds, shrubs, and trees are growing all over them, and the tracks can barely be seen.”

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