The Gathering
The room was silent as the grave. Nobody around the oval table spoke a word. They didn’t even seem to breathe. There were no smiles on the faces of the gathered. They all had ideas on what they were here to discuss.
Leaders from every country in the New United Nations had gathered in this one room: The Chinese Emperor, King of the Restored Monarchy of England, the President of the USA and Chairman of the Sovereign Courts of West Russia were all around the table, plus many more. Yet there was one more person, one more leader, to arrive.
None of the assorted leaders were aware of where they were exactly. It would be too easy for one of them to decide not to turn up and nuke the rest if they had been given exact geographical coordinates. This was why they were all getting twitchy. Someone still had to turn up. The other thing that was on all their minds was: ‘Someone gathered us here, which means that someone knows the location of where we are. So who is it, and why do they want us here?’
Each person had his or her own personal theory on why they were there. Over the past few decades, society had collapsed. Problems such as the Euro Zone Debt Crisis and global warming of half a century ago seemed small in comparison to those of today. After all, global warming had resolved itself. Problems such as the ones that the wider world was now facing weren’t going to be so easy to dismiss.
The past twenty years had been a nightmare for each and every one of those around the table, in various ways. The Russians had broken out into civil war, resulting in a three-way split. Now, the leaders of the South, West and East Russian factions glared at each other hatefully from their places around the table. The United Kingdom had broken too, with Scotland collapsing soon after becoming independent and England being forced to reinstate the monarchy as the leading class. Italy had sold the Coliseum to an exceedingly rich Welshman in an effort to help clear its increasing level of debt. The USA had lost over three-quarters of its land to the advancing Canadian and Mexican armies. The Koreans had nuked each other and were now living in a nuclear winter. Every so often, stories reached the news about horrible mutations brought on by the radiation poisoning that had changed Korean citizen’s genes. None of the other countries did anything to help them out – they had enough problems as it was.
There was a bang as the door to the room opened, and the gathered rulers jumped. In the doorway stood an imposing, tall man with broad shoulders and a square head. He was African, and his smart uniform and short hair marked him out as one of the high ranking members of the African Army.
“General Adeoba Khali, leader of United Africa,” announced the doorman. The General saluted smartly and strode stiffly into the room. He quickly located the one free seat in the room, which sported a name tag. The name tag did, in fact, show his name. The seat was at the head of the table.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” began the General in a deep, booming voice. “I apologise most deeply for summoning you all like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.” He said it in such a way that made it obvious that he was not in the least bit sorry.
He continued, leaving no one time to protest. “We are here because we share a common problem, and that problem is -”
“The economy!” cried out the Sovereign Emperor of Japan.
“No, it is not. The problem is -”
“The climate!” called the Prime Minister of India. General Khali glared at him until the Prime Minister looked ready to spontaneously combust.
“Again, no. The very real threat facing us is -”
“Lack of food!” shouted the obese American President.
The General had had enough. He pulled out his handgun and shot him through the head without looking. The fat man looked momentarily shocked before his face was drowned in blood and brain fluids leaking from the gaping wound that had appeared in the centre of the President’s forehead.
The General holstered the weapon and looked around the room calmly. “Am I free to continue?” The assembled leaders all nodded vigorously. None of them wanted to suffer the same fate as the now useless lump of fat, skin and bone slumped in the seat between the West Russian and Iranian leaders.
“As I was saying before certain idiots” – he looked pointedly at the Indian PM and Emperor of Japan – “interrupted me, the very real threat that we face is none of those previously stated.”
“Then what is it?” asked the Iraqi leader.
“Overpopulation,” stated the General. A murmur rippled about the oval table.
“What can we do about it?” challenged the Saudi representative. “Unless you want us to send out the troops and decimate the population, there is nothing we can do.”
“Actually,” said the General, “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”
The room erupted into chaos. The King of England shot to his feet and began yelling across the table. The Russians began trading opinions across the table in a heated manner. The Iranian President shouted back at the King, and the two began to gain and lose leaders who sided with them.
The General began to take out his handgun again, and when the other leaders cottoned on to what he was doing, they sat down and fell into silence again. They really didn’t want to go the way of a certain morbidly obese president.
“Thank you,” he told the assembled crowd, his eyes telling them that he was in fact thinking the opposite. They were cold grey chips of flint, icy and unforgiving. They showed no mercy, and condemned whoever looked into them for long enough to a stay in a mental asylum.
It took a moment for the General to become aware of a trembling hand slowly reaching up into the air. “What is it?” he asked the short man in a black suit with a pink tie. He couldn’t remember who it was. Maybe he was the Irish Prime Minister.
“Um, well,” he began, “We can’t really, um, just kill innocent civilians, can, er, we? We’d lose face and the armies, uh, might refuse the orders.”
The General gave a slight smile and tapped the side of his large nose to show that he had thought this through already. “You are right, of course,” he told the quaking man. “This is why I have put together a little plan.”
As he said this, he heaved an enormous briefcase up onto the table. The clatter that it created as it hid the metal surface caused the East Russian Prime Minister to choke on her sparkling water, sputtering half of it onto the table. The other Russians eyed her pitifully, but made no offer of help.
There was an ominous double click as the catches on the case were opened, and the lid sprung open to face the rest of the table. The contents remained hidden to the others in the room, but not for long.
The General selected a file from the case and closed it with a bang. He put the case out of sight under the table, and laid the file on the smooth surface. Everyone craned their necks to see what it was.
On the table sat a beige, sand-coloured rectangle of cardboard. Carefully typed in the upper left-hand corner of the cover were the words: Project Overhaul. Next to them, in big red letters, was stamped ‘TOP SECRET’.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Project Overhaul,” he announced proudly. “Possibly the single most meticulously thought out plan to save the world from the growing threat of overpopulation ever compiled.” He picked up the file and flicked it open, selecting a group of papers held together by a bulldog clip. He replaced the folder on the table, removed the bulldog clip and began to pass around sheets of paper stapled together to each member of the New UN.
“As I speak, the project briefings are being handed out,” he told them. “I would advise you all to read them carefully, as the future of a large percentage of the population of Earth hangs in the balance here.”
The arranged leaders looked at each other nervously. General Khali noted with amusement that the Chinese Emperor seemed to be the most concerned of them all. Then again, I suppose he has the most to lose, thought the General. After all, his country alone is home to nearly two billion people. More than ten percent of the population of Earth.
“I would like to direct your attention to page one of the booklets,” he told them. “Bear with me as I run through the outline of the plan with you.”
Most of them looked sceptical. Some of them looked scared. The Canadians and the Mexicans looked like they were bored. They probably couldn’t wait to get home and start encroaching on the Americans once again. Seeing as their president was now dead, now would probably be a good time to again make war.
That shall change when they see the nature of my plan, thought the General with a smile. Soon, they will be my pawns in this game against the very nature of humanity. And using those pawns, I intend to win.
“We have tried all that we can: birth restriction laws, food rationing, closing the borders to immigrants, even the Population Ratification, which forbade any family containing more than twenty members within three generations. None of them have worked. I promise you that this will not join the failures of times gone by. Instead, it will stand tall as the only plan ever to have properly worked. People, I give you Project Overhaul.”
The room was silent as the grave. Nobody around the oval table spoke a word. They didn’t even seem to breathe. There were no smiles on the faces of the gathered. They all had ideas on what they were here to discuss.
Leaders from every country in the New United Nations had gathered in this one room: The Chinese Emperor, King of the Restored Monarchy of England, the President of the USA and Chairman of the Sovereign Courts of West Russia were all around the table, plus many more. Yet there was one more person, one more leader, to arrive.
None of the assorted leaders were aware of where they were exactly. It would be too easy for one of them to decide not to turn up and nuke the rest if they had been given exact geographical coordinates. This was why they were all getting twitchy. Someone still had to turn up. The other thing that was on all their minds was: ‘Someone gathered us here, which means that someone knows the location of where we are. So who is it, and why do they want us here?’
Each person had his or her own personal theory on why they were there. Over the past few decades, society had collapsed. Problems such as the Euro Zone Debt Crisis and global warming of half a century ago seemed small in comparison to those of today. After all, global warming had resolved itself. Problems such as the ones that the wider world was now facing weren’t going to be so easy to dismiss.
The past twenty years had been a nightmare for each and every one of those around the table, in various ways. The Russians had broken out into civil war, resulting in a three-way split. Now, the leaders of the South, West and East Russian factions glared at each other hatefully from their places around the table. The United Kingdom had broken too, with Scotland collapsing soon after becoming independent and England being forced to reinstate the monarchy as the leading class. Italy had sold the Coliseum to an exceedingly rich Welshman in an effort to help clear its increasing level of debt. The USA had lost over three-quarters of its land to the advancing Canadian and Mexican armies. The Koreans had nuked each other and were now living in a nuclear winter. Every so often, stories reached the news about horrible mutations brought on by the radiation poisoning that had changed Korean citizen’s genes. None of the other countries did anything to help them out – they had enough problems as it was.
There was a bang as the door to the room opened, and the gathered rulers jumped. In the doorway stood an imposing, tall man with broad shoulders and a square head. He was African, and his smart uniform and short hair marked him out as one of the high ranking members of the African Army.
“General Adeoba Khali, leader of United Africa,” announced the doorman. The General saluted smartly and strode stiffly into the room. He quickly located the one free seat in the room, which sported a name tag. The name tag did, in fact, show his name. The seat was at the head of the table.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” began the General in a deep, booming voice. “I apologise most deeply for summoning you all like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.” He said it in such a way that made it obvious that he was not in the least bit sorry.
He continued, leaving no one time to protest. “We are here because we share a common problem, and that problem is -”
“The economy!” cried out the Sovereign Emperor of Japan.
“No, it is not. The problem is -”
“The climate!” called the Prime Minister of India. General Khali glared at him until the Prime Minister looked ready to spontaneously combust.
“Again, no. The very real threat facing us is -”
“Lack of food!” shouted the obese American President.
The General had had enough. He pulled out his handgun and shot him through the head without looking. The fat man looked momentarily shocked before his face was drowned in blood and brain fluids leaking from the gaping wound that had appeared in the centre of the President’s forehead.
The General holstered the weapon and looked around the room calmly. “Am I free to continue?” The assembled leaders all nodded vigorously. None of them wanted to suffer the same fate as the now useless lump of fat, skin and bone slumped in the seat between the West Russian and Iranian leaders.
“As I was saying before certain idiots” – he looked pointedly at the Indian PM and Emperor of Japan – “interrupted me, the very real threat that we face is none of those previously stated.”
“Then what is it?” asked the Iraqi leader.
“Overpopulation,” stated the General. A murmur rippled about the oval table.
“What can we do about it?” challenged the Saudi representative. “Unless you want us to send out the troops and decimate the population, there is nothing we can do.”
“Actually,” said the General, “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”
The room erupted into chaos. The King of England shot to his feet and began yelling across the table. The Russians began trading opinions across the table in a heated manner. The Iranian President shouted back at the King, and the two began to gain and lose leaders who sided with them.
The General began to take out his handgun again, and when the other leaders cottoned on to what he was doing, they sat down and fell into silence again. They really didn’t want to go the way of a certain morbidly obese president.
“Thank you,” he told the assembled crowd, his eyes telling them that he was in fact thinking the opposite. They were cold grey chips of flint, icy and unforgiving. They showed no mercy, and condemned whoever looked into them for long enough to a stay in a mental asylum.
It took a moment for the General to become aware of a trembling hand slowly reaching up into the air. “What is it?” he asked the short man in a black suit with a pink tie. He couldn’t remember who it was. Maybe he was the Irish Prime Minister.
“Um, well,” he began, “We can’t really, um, just kill innocent civilians, can, er, we? We’d lose face and the armies, uh, might refuse the orders.”
The General gave a slight smile and tapped the side of his large nose to show that he had thought this through already. “You are right, of course,” he told the quaking man. “This is why I have put together a little plan.”
As he said this, he heaved an enormous briefcase up onto the table. The clatter that it created as it hid the metal surface caused the East Russian Prime Minister to choke on her sparkling water, sputtering half of it onto the table. The other Russians eyed her pitifully, but made no offer of help.
There was an ominous double click as the catches on the case were opened, and the lid sprung open to face the rest of the table. The contents remained hidden to the others in the room, but not for long.
The General selected a file from the case and closed it with a bang. He put the case out of sight under the table, and laid the file on the smooth surface. Everyone craned their necks to see what it was.
On the table sat a beige, sand-coloured rectangle of cardboard. Carefully typed in the upper left-hand corner of the cover were the words: Project Overhaul. Next to them, in big red letters, was stamped ‘TOP SECRET’.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Project Overhaul,” he announced proudly. “Possibly the single most meticulously thought out plan to save the world from the growing threat of overpopulation ever compiled.” He picked up the file and flicked it open, selecting a group of papers held together by a bulldog clip. He replaced the folder on the table, removed the bulldog clip and began to pass around sheets of paper stapled together to each member of the New UN.
“As I speak, the project briefings are being handed out,” he told them. “I would advise you all to read them carefully, as the future of a large percentage of the population of Earth hangs in the balance here.”
The arranged leaders looked at each other nervously. General Khali noted with amusement that the Chinese Emperor seemed to be the most concerned of them all. Then again, I suppose he has the most to lose, thought the General. After all, his country alone is home to nearly two billion people. More than ten percent of the population of Earth.
“I would like to direct your attention to page one of the booklets,” he told them. “Bear with me as I run through the outline of the plan with you.”
Most of them looked sceptical. Some of them looked scared. The Canadians and the Mexicans looked like they were bored. They probably couldn’t wait to get home and start encroaching on the Americans once again. Seeing as their president was now dead, now would probably be a good time to again make war.
That shall change when they see the nature of my plan, thought the General with a smile. Soon, they will be my pawns in this game against the very nature of humanity. And using those pawns, I intend to win.
“We have tried all that we can: birth restriction laws, food rationing, closing the borders to immigrants, even the Population Ratification, which forbade any family containing more than twenty members within three generations. None of them have worked. I promise you that this will not join the failures of times gone by. Instead, it will stand tall as the only plan ever to have properly worked. People, I give you Project Overhaul.”
* * *
The East Russian Prime Minister had her head in her hands. The Iranian Embassy had a calm look of acceptance on his face, as if it had been made quite clear that there was no alternative. The Koreans both looked very pale indeed, but that could be attributed to the radiation poisoning that they were both dying of.
“So,” asked the General. There was no apprehension in his voice. He knew that, even if he had to kill them all, there would only be one outcome to this meeting. “What do you think?”
Silence met him like a brick wall. No-one seemed willing to speak. They were all too shocked by what they had just heard. The first to speak was the Finnish President.
“You’re meaning to tell me that this is what we must do to save ourselves.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. But the General answered him just in case.
“Yes,” he said strongly. “There is no alternative. It means sacrificing a lot, but that is what we must do to save our beloved planet. Would you rather a large section of the population died or all of us?”
There was a murmur of agreement. The North Russian President cleared his throat and stood up. “You say that you have a venue in mind already. May I ask where?”
“Ah, but of course,” he said. “It’s right outside.” The General motioned towards the wall opposite, and the leaders all twisted in their chairs to see what was happening.
As if by magic, the wall slid to the side to reveal a sandy wilderness. Remote and lifeless, it looked like the surface of an alien world. Sand dunes rippled across the landscape, and winds blew granules across the desert like tumbleweed. No vegetation offered shelter against the hot sun, which blazed down on the wild land and heated the ground to burning temperatures.
“What is this place?” breathed the King of England. He had voiced the thoughts of every single man and woman in the room.
“The Sahara Desert,” said the General with a smile. “The remotest, least inhabited piece of land in Africa. It is huge, spanning millions of square kilometres. Basically, it’s the perfect place to lose someone.”
The wall closed again, and the people were momentarily blinded as their eyes attempted to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. After much blinking, the gathered were able to readopt their expressions of shock and horror.
“Just a minor thing,” said the King of England. “How exactly do you propose we sell this to the subjects, or voters or just people in general? They won’t work with us if we tell them what’s in store for them.”
“I’m leaving that to you,” said the General. He wasn’t going to do everything for them. “However, I would suggest creating a relocation initiative.”
“How does that work?” asked the Turkish President.
“Simple,” said the General. “You offer a place to start anew to the population. They’ll get a plot of land and some other goodies. Then you just wait for applicants to pour in.”
“This is evil,” whispered the Queen of France. Then, slightly louder: “It’s just plain evil. I’m not having it. You can count me out of your plan, General Khali.”
“Is there nothing I can do to convince you, your majesty?” asked the general in a concerned tone. He moved round the table so that he stood behind the Queen’s chair, and rested his hand upon her shoulder in a gesture of support.
“No, General, there is not,” she said, looking up into the imposing man’s face. “I find you disgusting, General. How could you even propose to take such actions against people? It’s inhuman, I -”
Too late the Queen realised her mistake as a huge hand grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air. He slammed her fragile form into the table. “You underestimate me, my lady,” he snarled, drawing in close to her terrified face. “As you can see, I am willing to sacrifice far more than you to save this world. Is your life the first I must take? Oh wait, I forgot. I killed the US President first.”
He pushed her into the table and used the force to get away from the scared woman. The Queen coughed and spluttered, holding her throat with her right hand. She looked at the General as if he were her worst nightmare. He gazed back with contempt.
“Does anyone else want to question my authority on this matter?” he demanded. “Because this is not a democracy. I am giving you an order. If anyone wishes to speak out against this, then I ask them to speak out now.”
Unsurprisingly, no one offered a different opinion.
“Then I am happy to say that you are all dismissed,” he said, glaring at them all. “You have your commands. Go forth, and complete them.”
Within five minutes, the room was empty but for the General and the corpse of the late American President.
“Well then,” whispered the General. “Let the games begin.”
The General unleashed a laugh that reverberated around the room. It was full of malice and evil, and spelt doom for ten percent of the population of the Earth.
My apologies to the Russians, the English, the Americans and the world for portraying it in such a way. But it must be done. It's called novelling. You kill some, you subdue some, you ridicule evryone. As Ian Hislop once said, "If you attack everyone mindlessly, then you're safe". I agree.
“So,” asked the General. There was no apprehension in his voice. He knew that, even if he had to kill them all, there would only be one outcome to this meeting. “What do you think?”
Silence met him like a brick wall. No-one seemed willing to speak. They were all too shocked by what they had just heard. The first to speak was the Finnish President.
“You’re meaning to tell me that this is what we must do to save ourselves.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. But the General answered him just in case.
“Yes,” he said strongly. “There is no alternative. It means sacrificing a lot, but that is what we must do to save our beloved planet. Would you rather a large section of the population died or all of us?”
There was a murmur of agreement. The North Russian President cleared his throat and stood up. “You say that you have a venue in mind already. May I ask where?”
“Ah, but of course,” he said. “It’s right outside.” The General motioned towards the wall opposite, and the leaders all twisted in their chairs to see what was happening.
As if by magic, the wall slid to the side to reveal a sandy wilderness. Remote and lifeless, it looked like the surface of an alien world. Sand dunes rippled across the landscape, and winds blew granules across the desert like tumbleweed. No vegetation offered shelter against the hot sun, which blazed down on the wild land and heated the ground to burning temperatures.
“What is this place?” breathed the King of England. He had voiced the thoughts of every single man and woman in the room.
“The Sahara Desert,” said the General with a smile. “The remotest, least inhabited piece of land in Africa. It is huge, spanning millions of square kilometres. Basically, it’s the perfect place to lose someone.”
The wall closed again, and the people were momentarily blinded as their eyes attempted to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. After much blinking, the gathered were able to readopt their expressions of shock and horror.
“Just a minor thing,” said the King of England. “How exactly do you propose we sell this to the subjects, or voters or just people in general? They won’t work with us if we tell them what’s in store for them.”
“I’m leaving that to you,” said the General. He wasn’t going to do everything for them. “However, I would suggest creating a relocation initiative.”
“How does that work?” asked the Turkish President.
“Simple,” said the General. “You offer a place to start anew to the population. They’ll get a plot of land and some other goodies. Then you just wait for applicants to pour in.”
“This is evil,” whispered the Queen of France. Then, slightly louder: “It’s just plain evil. I’m not having it. You can count me out of your plan, General Khali.”
“Is there nothing I can do to convince you, your majesty?” asked the general in a concerned tone. He moved round the table so that he stood behind the Queen’s chair, and rested his hand upon her shoulder in a gesture of support.
“No, General, there is not,” she said, looking up into the imposing man’s face. “I find you disgusting, General. How could you even propose to take such actions against people? It’s inhuman, I -”
Too late the Queen realised her mistake as a huge hand grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air. He slammed her fragile form into the table. “You underestimate me, my lady,” he snarled, drawing in close to her terrified face. “As you can see, I am willing to sacrifice far more than you to save this world. Is your life the first I must take? Oh wait, I forgot. I killed the US President first.”
He pushed her into the table and used the force to get away from the scared woman. The Queen coughed and spluttered, holding her throat with her right hand. She looked at the General as if he were her worst nightmare. He gazed back with contempt.
“Does anyone else want to question my authority on this matter?” he demanded. “Because this is not a democracy. I am giving you an order. If anyone wishes to speak out against this, then I ask them to speak out now.”
Unsurprisingly, no one offered a different opinion.
“Then I am happy to say that you are all dismissed,” he said, glaring at them all. “You have your commands. Go forth, and complete them.”
Within five minutes, the room was empty but for the General and the corpse of the late American President.
“Well then,” whispered the General. “Let the games begin.”
The General unleashed a laugh that reverberated around the room. It was full of malice and evil, and spelt doom for ten percent of the population of the Earth.
* * *
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