The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma (27 page)

With considerable satisfaction, he watched the doctor and the security men trying to penetrate the shield with their hands and the butts of the rifles, pushing and pounding on it as hard as they could, without success. It didn't even flex for them, disrupted all attempts.

“I think we're finished for today,” Joss said, calmly, sensing that his voice was not blocked by the field. “I'll let you know if, and when, we will resume.”

He pointed a hand toward one corner of the room, mentally commanding a black wave of Splitter energy to fire and melt the surveillance camera there. Then, whirling, he did the same to three other cameras in the room, turning them into dark, dripping streaks on the walls.

The doctor and his companions left, grumbling as they stalked away.

It was a small victory for Joss, but he knew that the SciOs were likely to consider him even more strange after this, and more dangerous.

 

28

History speaks of this, if anyone cares to listen. Look at the American Revolution and the concept of equality for all men, or the Marxist ideal of a ruling proletariat, or the strict environmental canons of the Green States of America. No matter the laudatory ideals under which a government is formed, it always gravitates toward an oligarchy, a small ruling class that accumulates vast wealth from the system and lives in castles, palaces, chateaus, or villas, enjoying far more of the fruits of life than other people. There are no exceptions of note. Egocentric human interests invariably prevail.

—entry in one of Artie's data banks (analysis made in response to some of Kupi Landau's government criticisms)

IN HIS OFFICE
on the Montana Valley Game Reserve, the Chairman watched a desk screen that received images from bodycams on the hubot Artie. He turned the screen away from morning sunlight. With so many pressing details of national defense to tend to himself, Rahma had dispatched the loyal aide on an urgent matter, to meet with the Director of Science and question him about the evidence of SciO technology found at the site of the Bostoner attack. It was early evening, and Artie had flown to Berkeley on his boss's private jet,
AOE One
. Before leaving, Artie had made arrangements to project an avatar of himself back to Montana whenever he wished, so that he could check on the Extinct Animals Laboratory, and even perform tasks there remotely if needed.

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.”