SWNOVELS Chapter Chapter Nine
Lucas Manning stood regally in the Golda Meir UN conference room as he addressed Group 2., the other half of the delegation. His counterpart delegates, Eurasia, America, Russia, Japan, and others, came to order as he continued.
‘– So yes, that was very interesting… the Arab world; the poor Muhammadan. I always like a good fight before a battle.’ He turned to the previous speaker, a middle-aged dark-skinned man, Rudyard Petrucci, delegate of the newly formed Persian Republic. ’As you are well aware, Rudi, I have spent a great deal of time wooing the Muslim and Arab nations. Their reasons for not being here is as always, they do not recognise the legality of this establishment. However, I feel I can speak for them, that it is in their best interest not to resurrect any petty boarder disputes at these, shall we say, trying times. And yes, it is well known that the Moslem ethic is, and I quote, “to project fundamentalism as the governing factor in reducing the world’s population and, in effect, the saviour of our planet’s resources.” And let me point out, they are not alone in this doctoring. These United Nations, back in 2013, officially designated October 31st as ‘Seven Billion Day’. In any event, it seemed too much of a coincidence that that day just happened to fall on Halloween, ‘The Festival of Death’. On that day we, the United Nations, estimated that the population of Earth would hit seven billion for the very first time. And instead of celebrating, the UNPF focused on using October 31st to raise awareness of ‘sustainability’ and ‘sustainable development’. In other words, we, the United Nations, were once again declaring that there were far too many people on the planet, and that we needed to take more direct measures to reduce fertility–’
‘So what precisely,’ interrupted Rudyard, quizzically, ‘is considered to be an ideal population for the Earth, by those pushing Sustainable Development?’ There was a short period of calm as the words were mulled over.
‘Well, there is much disagreement on this issue,’ said Manning, at length. ‘In the fourteenth century, one-third of Europe was wiped out by the Black Death plague – over eighty million people in four years.’ He stopped and picked up some papers from the desk and studied them. ‘So… is that what is planned? I don’t know… but there are, shall we say, factions that believe the Earth should have a mere 500 million people or less on it. For example, the first of the New Ten Commandments, the infamous Georgia Guidestones––I take it we have all heard of those––states the following: “Maintain humanity under 500 million in balance with nature.”’ He stopped again and waited. There was no comment. He smiled and continued. ‘My own birthday is October 31st … guess how many people are coming to the party… EIGHT billion! – The English.’
Smithson stood and cleared his throat. ‘Many happy returns, old man. Tell me, Lucas, what contingency plan, if any, do you suppose is in place for the procurement of this, shall we say, desired cull? Surely not another Black Death, or Ebola, or another super-aids virus, maybe?’ He looked around the group for comment, stopping at Manning.
Manning shrugged and shook his head dismissively, ’Don’t ask me, ‘old man’.’
The new, FerryCopter station, Route de Ferney, Geneva, was lost in silvery mist, it was raining the finest of rain. Manning stood with his umbrella up, waiting beneath one of the stark concrete pillars. He had walked all the way the from the UN building; he hadn’t wanted to leave any traceable record. This meeting with Abdul Aasif Hakeem, the democratically elected oil-magnet of the League of Moslem Nations, was to be clandestine. He tried not to look suspicious and at the same time tried not to be conspicuous by skulking, he failed in both.
At length, the obligatory black Mercedes slowed and stopped. Manning closed his umbrella, shook it off then got into the back of the chauffer-driven vehicle.
‘Greetings, Effendi,’ said Aasif, smiling, as the wet body plonked next to him.
‘Bollocks!’ replied Manning, ‘You said half an hour. I’ve been waiting for three-quarters. If anyone saw me, I’d be right in the shit.’
Aasif laughed. ‘What is a bollocks?’
‘Look it up in your directory, you have your QuickVision implant, don’t you?’
‘Of course, and the i-lobe, but I only use them for scheduled meetings. You British amaze me, you have the most beautiful language in the world, yet you pollute it with ugly unintelligible slang.’
‘I’m not bloody British, not yet.’
Aasif, a fat middle-aged dark-skinned man of jovial disposition, took off his sunglasses and looked at Manning. ‘Don’t hold your breath, Effendi!’ He said it, mockingly, through a broadening keyboard grin of white and gold teeth.
Manning returned a withering glare. ‘Can we drive? … I don’t want to be seen.’ He touched his ear, referring to Aasif’s QuickVision implant, ‘Do you want to take that out and use sign?’
‘No… Why? I have no secrets?’ Lucas gave a sneer and looked away. Aasif smiled. ‘And as I say, I only put the thing in for scheduled meetings… this meeting isn’t scheduled is it?’ He tapped on the glass partition, indicating to move off. Then he lent back in his seat and put his sunglasses back on, ‘Do you have any secrets, Effendi?’
‘N,o!’ said Manning, raising the last part of the single syllable, signifying indignation.
Aasif smiled again. ‘So, Lucas, you want to know if it is us. I must say I’m flattered that you think that we poor, third-world Arab League could be responsible; to hold such technology, to hack into worldwide computerland, bypassing the FussionCell watchdogs – It just cannot be done.’
‘Oh, so you have tried, then?’ Said Manning, vindictively.
‘Not our style, old man.’
‘What… to own up to it?’
‘Both. Not our style at all. Blow it up, if we could find it, yes. Airplanes into buildings, bombs into nightclubs may…be! But no, I don’t think so.’ He laughed his mocking laugh.
‘You don’t think so. How about outside the Arab League? You sure you don’t want to use sign?’
Aasif made the rude finger and laughed again. ‘Effendi, Lucas, we just need one more vote and the Arab world will join the Big Four… The Big Five.’ He put his hand up offering a gimme-five slap. Manning gave him another withering look and declined. Aasif continued, unabashed. ‘Do you think we would jeopardise that?’
‘Listen, I’ve spent four years trying to unite the Arab world, and–’
‘And you will, Lucas, you will! And you will broker unity in that rebel league also… you have the Arab voice. I’m depending on you to bring them into the fold. You will be our El Lawrence, old man.’
‘I’m not tall enough.’
‘Lawrence was only five-foot-five, effendi.’
‘I was referring to Peter O’Toole.’
Aasif smiled again. ‘Yes, we both want this. You want another term in office, and we––It’s no secret, since the coming of fusion-power, that our golden asset has lost its, shall we say, glister––we want aid! We make no secret of that. Aid until we can compete on a level playing field with you big boys. So, Lucas, it is not we. You are asking the wrong question; don’t ask who? Ask who could?’