The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma Read Free Page B

in the welcome, green reality of his own game reserve in the Rocky Mountain Territory.
    He slipped out of his survival suit, tossed it to one of his many administrative assistants, a robot who stood nearby, anticipating his master’s “return.” Zeebik stood as tall as a man, with a flat-screen face that bore the image of a stern human officer with narrow little eyes and dark, overhanging brows, a countenance Rahma had chosen from historical military archives. The image was locked in place; once the selection was made, he could not alter it.
    â€œHolo-net report just came in,” Zeebik said, in a resonant voice the Chairman had also chosen from historical records. “The Black Shirts recycled four hundred twenty-seven eco-criminals this morning—polluters, tree cutters, animal poachers—the usual.” The robot was referring to black-uniformed anarchists by a common term they liked to use in describing themselves, harking back to the legendary days of the revolution when the violent Black Shirts were an important part of the victory. Following the defeat of the Corporates, these anarchists were formally organized into an army division known as the Revolutionary Guard—front-line defenders of the revolution.
    For a couple of minutes, Rahma scanned little holo-images of the executions, death sentences that were primarily carried out by anarchists with Splitter rifles, turning the victims into macabre heaps of goo. Two of the criminals received a special brand of punishment, befitting the severity of their crimes. A husband and wife, they had been trusted members of the government who had forsaken their vows and turned over state secrets to the Panasians. (Even that was considered an “eco-crime” under one definition, because it threatened the Green States of America.) He watched as black-uniformed anarchists strapped them to posts in the middle of a beautiful, flower-covered field, and then opened wounds on their bodies, so that they bled profusely. The victims writhed and tried to shout, but their mouths were gagged.
    Moments later, the pair was swarmed by powerful carrion birds—vultures, owls, and eagles that had been trained for this purpose. A vulture ripped the gag loose from the female, and Rahma heard her high-pitched screams of terror. Sharp talons and beaks gouged out her eyes, and she slumped at the post, bleeding from the orifices. Beside her, the traitorous husband’s face was already gone, a bloody pulp of torn flesh, and soon hers was as well. The birds kept attacking, tearing at flesh and feeding, finally leaving the ripped-apart bodies and flying off, their bellies full.
    The Chairman rubbed his gray beard, nodded somberly. He had ordered the mass executions before going on the EVR rescue mission, and the decision had made his heart heavy. But it had been necessary, one of many he’d made—for the sake of the planet, he could not afford to be lenient. He hated having to kill people, but it was either that or let them kill the planet, which he could not allow.
    His gaze lingered on the gory scene, and he reminded himself of what his followers often said about him, that he was a good and kind man. However, no matter the justification, he didn’t feel that way at the moment.
    Sadly, he switched off the viewer.

 
    3

    The Green States of America is protected by the NDS, the Nonhuman Defense System. Operated entirely by robots that analyze data and make judgments, the network has control over an array of small but powerful defensive and offensive missiles. Our revered Chairman Rahma Popal, may he live in eternal greenness, does not trust human beings with this critical assignment, fearing they might make pre-emptive strikes for emotional, illogical reasons—strikes that could result in retaliatory measures that would destroy much of the important environmental work he has done.
    â€”Ticker History, a continuous data feed to schools
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