The Little Green Book of Chairman Rahma Read Online Free PDF Page A

for launching attacks north and south, against both continents of the Green States of America.
    Long and tubular in shape, each armored voleer had Splitter tubes on the front to break open underground passageways, through which the machine would flow through soil and rock, compressing the debris and passing it to the rear, where built-in earthformers closed the tunnels behind. Vanishing tunnels, he called them, or VTs, giving him the advantage of surprise that enabled him to make guerrilla attacks and then disappear back into the ground.
    With his short-cropped hair, clean-shaven face, and suit-and-tie uniform bearing medals and braids of rank, the self-proclaimed general looked like the antithesis of his enemies. He loathed the long-hairs with every breath he took, and had laid careful plans to annihilate them. Bane called them “Tree Nazis” and any other insult that came to mind. He was always thinking of ways to bring them down, and not without reason. Despite acting as if they loved peace, they were actually homicidal hippies, operating under a pack mentality that caused them to run roughshod over anyone who dared to disagree with their radical environmental views. For the Chairman’s minions, there were no shades of interpretation or meaning. People were expected to accept his green doctrines one hundred percent, without questioning the slightest thing. In the alternative, nonbelievers were recycled.
    That had been the fate of most of Bane’s family, including his parents, siblings, and half of his cousins—all split into goo and dumped on the earth as if they were nothing but garbage. Because of his own high-level connections he’d escaped their fate, and had even taken a loyalty oath to Chairman Rahma that he didn’t actually believe. To keep up appearances, he’d worn a beard for a time and appeared to be a contributor to the new reality, while actually waiting for his chance to get even with the GSA government and its powerful supporters.
    He wasn’t proud of his self-serving actions, but they’d enabled him to stay alive, so that he could fight another day. Rahma had created the deadly laws under which people were recycled for the slightest perceived infraction, even based on the word of others who simply disliked them. Survival under such conditions often required ingenuity and cunning, in a society that seemed like a brutal experiment in social Darwinism, fostered by a madman.
    The path to Dylan Bane’s personal survival niche had been difficult for him, one in which he had been forced to compromise his most closely held principles. Now his old self no longer existed. It, like much of his family, had been murdered.
    For all of that, Bane would never forgive the Chairman, or anyone associated with him.
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    UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, the voleer-construction activities would have been quite loud in this immense underground chamber, but at the moment he had electronic noise suppressers and diverters in place, making it unnecessary for anyone to wear ear protection equipment. It was just one of several technological advantages Bane had, all of which were working in concert to get him to his goal. In addition, he had placed the facility beneath the central Mexican plateau of the Green States of America, where there were no densely populated reservations for humans and hardly any government-run facilities at all—just a few remote game reserves and eco-study outposts.
    He nodded to a female officer who stood at attention nearby, waiting for him. Young, prim, and proper in appearance, the shapely brunette wore a silver uniform that bore the image of a white shirt and a patterned blue tie on the front, except with lesser designations of rank than the General wore. A former mercenary solder who knew martial arts and how to use virtually any weapon, Marissa Chase was as tough and smart as she was gorgeous. And, though he hesitated to fully trust her