The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma (29 page)

Looking up at a surveillance cam, he said, “I'm not going to be your lab rat anymore, Dr. Mora, so I issue you fair warning. Stay out of my way and no one will be hurt.”

A woman's voice came over an intercom, the synthesized one he'd heard before. “Don't try anything foolish, Mr. Stuart.”

Ignoring the computerized warning, Joss rose to his feet and strode to the thick door that led to the hallway. He wondered if he was the only human awake in the research facility this early.

He corrected himself. The only
sentient
. With the altered, darkened color of his skin, and the green, vinelike scars on it, along with the odd powers he had acquired in the explosion, he wasn't sure exactly what to call himself, other than this.

Joss felt the gathering roar in his pulse, and wove a small force field between his fingertips. Then, enlarging the field, he wove a protective net of black light around himself—leaving small openings in the energy field at his fingertips.

Through the gaps he fired controlled blasts of Dark Energy. The heavy door melted away, and he strode through it into the corridor.

Alarm klaxons sounded, and through the net he saw white-uniformed security officers running toward him. “Stop!” one of them yelled.

To demonstrate his power, Joss blasted a hole in a wall near the officers without hitting them, and walked toward them because the exit was in that direction. Looking terrified, they moved out of his way.

As he marched past an open doorway, a medical technician appeared suddenly and fired a sedative gun, a volley of red, whisper-silent projectiles. All of them bounced harmlessly off Joss's threadlike shield.

Dr. Mora emerged ahead of him and stood in the middle of the hallway, his arms outstretched in a halting gesture. Medical attendants stood behind him. “We must work together!” he shouted to Joss. “Don't do this! We'll make a new arrangement!”

Joss ignored him and continued on, with his energy field repelling them, knocking them aside. He went past them, shouting, “I'm making my own arrangement.”

More people appeared, along with robots, but the energy barrier knocked them aside without the necessity of Joss taking conscious actions, or even sending mental commands. It was a repellent field, a disturbance area around his body that prevented anyone from getting too close to him. They couldn't penetrate the field to inject him, tie him up, or shoot projectiles through. The field prevented every attempt.

Defiantly, Joss marched out of the bleak gray building and onto the streets of the Berkeley Reservation for Humans. As he strode down the shaded sidewalk, he saw white-uniformed SciO security officers following him, and other people pointing, beginning to take notice of him.

Joss didn't understand what had happened to him in the explosion of the ReFac building, but his powers were obviously more than the “cute little talents” mentioned in government reports about him. He wasn't sure what to do with his paranormal skills, or what the purpose of his life was from this point on. He only knew that he would never return to SciO control again.

Then he shuddered, remembering that he had SciO technology immersed in his cells.

 

31

Joss Stuart was said to be an orphan, left in a bundle beneath an oak tree on a moonlit Pacific Northwest night. From low-hanging boughs above the crying infant, night birds called out, making so much racket that a man went to investigate. In a pool of moonlight, he found a child wrapped in rags and covered in leaves up to his neck, with only his head showing.

—a news report, “The Birth of Greenman”

AT AN ACCELERATED
pace, Joss walked down one sidewalk and then another in the forest of high-rise buildings, following signs that led to the Old Town district of the Berkeley Reservation. He had only a vague idea of why he was going there, an instinct that this was the direction to go because it was where the green movement began in earnest, and where he thought he might find some comfort.

Behind him, a gathering crowd followed, people shouting to one another, identifying him and commenting on the strange appearance of his skin and the net of black light around him, and what he'd done to break out of the SciO facility. To keep them at bay, he maintained the web of energy for half a meter around his body, which blocked anyone from touching him and repelled those few foolish individuals who got in front of him and attempted to block his path. He just kept going, giving anyone in his way a gentle nudge, trying not to hurt anybody. In the distance to the east, the sun was peeking around buildings.

Gradually Joss walked faster, and noticed that people needed to run to keep up with him. What would happen if he actually began to run? He inhaled a deep breath, continued walking rapidly as he thought about this question. He hesitated doing that, felt a fear of what he was becoming, and just wanted to get away from people and be alone so that he could
think
. Without being watched, he needed to consider everything that was happening to his body, with no inquisitive scientists taking readings on him, monitoring his every move, and recording his every word.

In various doorways and intersections he saw men and women in SciO robes watching him, using hand-held communication devices to report on his movements. These observers didn't try to interfere, didn't join the throngs.

He reached Old Town, where the buildings were much lower, vintage brick and wood frame houses featuring white pillars, sienna tile roofs, and ivy on the walls. Some had empty flagpoles where fraternity and sorority banners once flew, before the GSA declared all such organizations illegal and disbanded them. Government caretakers occupied some of these structures now, maintaining the neighborhood for historical purposes.

Almost a century ago, in the 1960s, there had been student revolts on these streets and on the nearby University of California campus, demanding free speech, world peace, and environmental protection. In those days the police had been called “pigs” by young protestors, and there had been open warfare between the two sides—but nothing on the scale of 2041–43 and the Corporate War, when more than four million people perished.

At an intersection, SciO security officers converged around Joss, but he broke free and hurried across the busy street, moving quickly around the myriad electric transportation vehicles—taxis and various sizes of buses. Just then a large truck rounded the corner and skidded, trying to avoid him. It happened quickly, and in the press of traffic Joss wasn't able to get out of the way. One of the front fenders hit him so hard that it lifted him into the air. He landed on the street uninjured, didn't feel anything and just rolled away, protected by the energy field around his body.

As he rose to his feet he heard a woman exclaim, “Did you see that? The man hit the pavement softly, and rolled away like a tumbleweed!”

SciO and Greenpol officers ran toward him from different directions, with the two agencies probably coordinating their efforts. Joss began running, and as he reached a busy thoroughfare it surprised him how fast he could go. On a long stretch of sidewalk, he was outpacing taxicabs on the street, even as he darted around pedestrians.

Joss rounded a corner, ran up a narrow street past a pea patch, where schoolchildren stood attentively while a female teacher read to them from
The Little Green Book
. Continuing on, he scrambled up steps to the top of a hill, where a number of elegant old private residences stood, like the structures he'd seen below, and all appeared to be very well maintained. He didn't see anyone as he ran along one street and another.

Hearing the throb of a helicopter, he hurried into a yard and vaulted over a wooden fence, reaching the backyard. Here the weeds were high and the white paint was peeling off the house. Peeking through a window, he saw the interior in shambles, with kitchen appliances torn out and debris scattered on the floor—indicating that the government only cared about the appearance of the properties from the street.

Still hearing the helicopter noise but not seeing the aircraft, he tried the kitchen door handle and the door squeaked open, scraping the sill and floor. Entering, he pushed it shut behind him. The helicopter noise grew louder, then diminished until he could not hear it any longer. Minutes passed, in which he stood in a shadowy doorway where he could not be seen from the air, listening and afraid to move.

Gradually, silence permeated his awareness, and complete stillness. But as he crossed the kitchen, he couldn't help making noise when his shoes crunched on broken glass, and the old fir floor squeaked. Joss inspected every corner of the house, from the low-ceilinged basement to the tattered bedrooms on the second story, where torn and stained mattresses were scattered on the floor, beside the remnants of nightstands and leaning dressers, with their drawers out and strewn around. He saw rat or mouse droppings everywhere, but selected one mattress and wiped it with a rag, including the floor around it. Then he lay down on it, using a rolled-up old robe for a pillow.

As he lay there he noticed that he'd been perspiring from the activity, and he was warm. Gradually, as minutes passed and he cooled down, he realized it was cold in the house, but he could tolerate it, and didn't care. He just wanted to be alone and away from prying eyes.

An hour passed in which he lay there, listening, waiting, and thinking. Despite the earlier helicopter noise, he didn't think anyone had seen him. It was probably a police aircraft checking the area, maybe looking for him or just doing a routine flyover.

Joss heaved a sigh of relief, and finally fell asleep.

*   *   *

HE DREAMED HE
was being chased across an immense industrial site that was still operating, with hundreds of stacks belching dark pollutants into the sky. He couldn't see his pursuers and didn't know who they were, but felt certain they would kill him if they caught up with him. Joss ran inside one of the large buildings, but to his amazement he found it was actually a ponderosa pine forest with streams and lakes. No machines and no people.

Knowing that this could not possibly be real, Joss tried to wake up, but found himself unable to do so. He saw himself from above, lying on the forest floor in a fetal position, sleeping. “Wake up!” he shouted to himself. “Wake up!” But his sleeping form did not move. He kept shouting, but gradually the words grew more and more distant, receding into the wilderness.

As he lay in the forest he heard a thrumming noise, an alien sound that grew louder as his own voice grew more distant. A machine noise, he decided, intruding on the beauty and solitude of the woods, threatening not only him but all other life that depended on this precious ecosystem. Moments later, he heard something accompanying the machine noise, voices and footfalls. He felt warmth on his face and sensed something drawing him toward it, lifting him.

The voices became shouts, and suddenly Joss sat straight up, squinting in bright beams of light. He blinked his eyes, and for several moments he couldn't focus. Noises clashed around him, unidentifiable in their cacophony. Something stung his arm, then his leg.

Joss realized he was on a mattress, then felt hands lifting him to his feet, and someone attempting to confine his wrists in a restraining device. SciO security officers! They filled the bedroom, some carrying powerful flashlights. It was nighttime.

He felt a little groggy, realized that the stinging had been sedative shots. Anger suffused him, and the grogginess subsided quickly. He pulled one hand free, and with it he wove a black net of energy around him that crackled in the air and pushed the intruders away. They grunted and struggled mightily against him, but ultimately the force field repelled them, leaving them cursing.

“There's no use trying to take me prisoner,” Joss said. “Didn't Doctor Mora tell you what I can do?”

One officer stepped forward, a woman in a tight uniform, with two silver bars on her glistening green helmet. “Before your recent unfortunate incidents, you were known for your loyalty to Chairman Rahma's government. If that's true and you weren't trying to deceive anyone, I'd like you to put yourself in our shoes, and in the shoes of the Chairman himself. If you do that, and you're honest, you can't help but see that we can't leave you here, can't let you stay on the run like this. Here in the Green States of America, every person must be accounted for. It is the law, a just and proper law.”

Joss hesitated, wished the explosion had never occurred, and that he was back in his old life with Kupi Landau, leading a Janus Machine crew and traveling around the GSA, doing good work.

“I just want my old life back,” he said.

“That's not possible, not since the explosion changed you.”

“I can still supervise a Janus Machine crew. Send me back to my crew and let me resume my old life. If you do that, in my spare time, when I'm not working, I'll try to be cooperative. I cooperated with Doctor Mora until I lost hope that I would ever be permitted to go free. The SciOs wanted to make me a test animal for the rest of my life, wanted to make
that
my career, in exchange for room and board in a velvet-lined prison. Well, that's not the career I want.”

“Let me understand what you're proposing,” she said. “If you're permitted to resume your old job with your old crew, you'll open yourself up to further SciO investigations?”

“Within reason. Look, Officer, I want to know what's happening to me too, but I won't be abused, won't permit anyone to run roughshod over me. I want you to take me straight to my J-Mac crew, wherever they are.”

“I'll be right back.” She left the room, returned fifteen minutes later. “We have a deal,” she said. “They're sending a copter to pick you up and transfer you to a private SciO jet. Your crew is in the Northwest Mexico Territory, near the Sonora Reservation for Humans.”

Joss didn't ask who gave her the permission. He only cared that an aircraft was being sent for him, and he would soon be away from this place.