PROTUS stared out from the Oval Office across the ruined carcass of DC, its smouldering rump a visceral reminder of what was now lost and never to be regained.
Mr President sir, we’ve received their terms.”
“Go on.”
“They demand custody of all of Earth’s children aged fifteen years and younger for a period of five years while we clean up the mess. Any child not in their custody after the handover will be destroyed. Any still as yet unborn children, as of that date, are to be terminated no matter how close or far from the term.”
“Monsters.”
“There’s more Sir. The remaining global adult population is to be reduced by one billion within the same five-year window. Refusal to accept the terms, and a failure to restore the ecosystems of both land and sea within the allotted time frame, will result in the complete annihilation of all mankind.”
“For God’s sake, they’re ordering us to carry out genocide.”
“I expressed that viewpoint to them sir and they told me that we had been carrying it out for years.”
“A billion people? How the hell do they expect us to do that?”
“They don’t care how we do it, sir, only that we do.”
“Every world leader will have blood on their hands.”
“Many already do sir.”
“That’s as maybe but most of them won’t see it that way. In any event, this is a human cull we’re being ordered to carry out. How on earth are we supposed to organise something like that?”
“We’re going to have to press the UN to adopt and implement a quota system and it will have to be vigorously applied, given the consequences if we don’t?”
The room began to vibrate and the last hanging paintings crashed to the floor. Both men went to the window. Neither man tried to speak, it was pointless, for the sound of the craft passing overhead made it impossible to be heard. The afternoon sky had been smothered out by a black canopy. The huge ship blotted out the sky above as it prowled malignantly above the ruined city. Its escort of drones probed for resistance, but there was none.
When the ship had passed over, the president turned back to his Chief of Staff.
“We’ve already lost seven hundred thousand lives trying to fight these creatures, I want that taken into account when the quotas are drawn up. I’m still President of the American people even if I’m no longer the leader of a free world.”
“Understood sir. On the way here I took the liberty of making a start on the list. It’s mostly low-hanging fruit, but would comfortably get us to the proportionate number of lives that America would need to euthanise.”
He handed his phone across. The President took it and scrolled down the list. Some of the numbers were eye-catching; prison population: two million, citizens aged eighty years and older: fourteen million, illegal and irregular immigrants: ten million plus.
“Even if we trim this back, it’s still a lot of bullets and injections John.”
“That it is sir.”
The desk phone rang.
“I have His Holiness Pope Anthony on the line for you Mr President.”
“Oh, Christ. Please apologise and tell him I’ll call him back within the hour.”
The President turned to his Chief, “How do we appease the Pope? He’d have them reign down hell upon us before he’d sanction global euthanasia.”
“Maybe he’d be right. Maybe it’s better to die as free men, beaten but free. Many good people have made that choice in the past.”
The President rose and walked to the window. He could feel an anger raging within as he contemplated the destruction the world had suffered so far, and the terms he was being asked to accede to. Being forced to hand over the world’s children as hostages was bad enough, but having to conduct global genocide whilst driving the remaining population into slave labour, along with food and energy rationing was beyond contemplation. He turned around again to his Chief.
“We’ll if we’re going to go down that route we might as well go down fighting. How many of them have we managed to destroy so far?”
“One sir, we hit one of their craft with a nuke over the Pacific. Apart from that, they appear to be impregnable”
“Just the one?”
“Yes sir, just one, unless the Russians and Chinese have got lucky but I doubt it.”
“Right. Planet Alamo it is then.”
“You’ll want the launch codes?”
“You bet I do.”