Zurich,
other than that the flight was pleasant.”
Danzig turned, faced the group and nodded at
the new arrival. “I would like you to meet Doctor Hans
Bosch.”
“I am so very pleased to meet all of you,” Bosch
said in an even heavier German accent than Danzig’s. “I
assume Paul has had sufficient time to acquaint you with
the seriousness of our situation?”
“I have briefed them on the involvement of Campion
and Moreau, and the introduction of the virus – yes.”
“And of the food situation also, I trust?”
“Of course . . . of that as well.”
“Very good,” the gray haired man said as he settled
into a chair. He placed an attaché case alongside Danzig’s,
opened it and gestured at the case: “United Nations figures
predict the world population will peak in excess of nine
billion people in the year 2075. The over-population
process is moving at an unsustainable rate of acceleration.
Discounting natural disasters we will outgrow this planet
in very short time. There will be insufficient food and too
few resources if the population explosion is left unabated.
We have conclusively established the fact that mankind’s
numbers must be forced into decline in order to maintain
parity with productivity.”
Sam groaned, “And how do your people see this
forced decline happening?”
“In a most unpleasant way I am afraid. You must
understand, Mr. Ridkin, there have been more people added
to our planet in the past fifty years than since the dawn of
creation. We cannot allow this growth rate to continue.”
Sam jumped to his feet, his eyes darting upward,
flickering across the ceiling as he searched for words. “Are
you suggesting we annihilate the excess, that we do another
of your 14th century culls?”
Blake shuffled about, sat on the edge of his chair
and wondered how long it would be before Sam’s blood
pressure peaked.
Bosch’s tone was insolent. “The cull was absolutely
necessary. How long do you believe man can endure the
destruction of the environment? The documentation of the
ruination of our oceans, our lands and the reckless pollution
of our skies is everywhere, yet still goes unheeded. We are
unable to keep up with the demand. We simply cannot feed
all of those people. Demand has exceeded the limits of the
carrying capacity of our planet.”
“We’ve got plenty of grain,” Blake retorted.
“Production numbers are up. So what’s the real deal
here?”
Bosch made a negative gesture and frowned. “Quite
correct, however the government sources are too quick to
optimistically inform us of grain surplus. Unfortunately the
same statisticians discount the effect of overpopulation on
those figures.” He reached in the attaché case and pulled
a folder. “Even though there is an increase in production,
we have an even greater growth in the number of people,”
and he waved the folder at Blake. “War, global warming,
topsoil deterioration, disease and other factors all play a
part in the balance of population.”
Dal interjected, “So why not let it play out that
way?”
Danzig read their faces, took in their level of discomfort. He needed a closing line, a line that would place an
indelible exclamation mark at the conclusion of his delivery.
“Unfortunately we cannot leave it to chance.” He wandered
to the window and scrutinized Wilshire Boulevard. “Look
at them,” he scoffed, “fighting for their piece of ‘the home
of the brave.’ Why do they go through this torture each
day? They work to earn a living, receive a salary and then
hand over a part of their earnings in taxes, taxes that pay the
‘ government of the people ’.” Danzig tapped on the window,
made a tsk, tsk sound, pointed, turned away from the traffic
and drifted to the table. “We were once on a precipitous
ride into the uncertainties of the present, however we are
now able to travel back in time and avail ourselves of the
opportunity to improve our
other than that the flight was pleasant.”
Danzig turned, faced the group and nodded at
the new arrival. “I would like you to meet Doctor Hans
Bosch.”
“I am so very pleased to meet all of you,” Bosch
said in an even heavier German accent than Danzig’s. “I
assume Paul has had sufficient time to acquaint you with
the seriousness of our situation?”
“I have briefed them on the involvement of Campion
and Moreau, and the introduction of the virus – yes.”
“And of the food situation also, I trust?”
“Of course . . . of that as well.”
“Very good,” the gray haired man said as he settled
into a chair. He placed an attaché case alongside Danzig’s,
opened it and gestured at the case: “United Nations figures
predict the world population will peak in excess of nine
billion people in the year 2075. The over-population
process is moving at an unsustainable rate of acceleration.
Discounting natural disasters we will outgrow this planet
in very short time. There will be insufficient food and too
few resources if the population explosion is left unabated.
We have conclusively established the fact that mankind’s
numbers must be forced into decline in order to maintain
parity with productivity.”
Sam groaned, “And how do your people see this
forced decline happening?”
“In a most unpleasant way I am afraid. You must
understand, Mr. Ridkin, there have been more people added
to our planet in the past fifty years than since the dawn of
creation. We cannot allow this growth rate to continue.”
Sam jumped to his feet, his eyes darting upward,
flickering across the ceiling as he searched for words. “Are
you suggesting we annihilate the excess, that we do another
of your 14th century culls?”
Blake shuffled about, sat on the edge of his chair
and wondered how long it would be before Sam’s blood
pressure peaked.
Bosch’s tone was insolent. “The cull was absolutely
necessary. How long do you believe man can endure the
destruction of the environment? The documentation of the
ruination of our oceans, our lands and the reckless pollution
of our skies is everywhere, yet still goes unheeded. We are
unable to keep up with the demand. We simply cannot feed
all of those people. Demand has exceeded the limits of the
carrying capacity of our planet.”
“We’ve got plenty of grain,” Blake retorted.
“Production numbers are up. So what’s the real deal
here?”
Bosch made a negative gesture and frowned. “Quite
correct, however the government sources are too quick to
optimistically inform us of grain surplus. Unfortunately the
same statisticians discount the effect of overpopulation on
those figures.” He reached in the attaché case and pulled
a folder. “Even though there is an increase in production,
we have an even greater growth in the number of people,”
and he waved the folder at Blake. “War, global warming,
topsoil deterioration, disease and other factors all play a
part in the balance of population.”
Dal interjected, “So why not let it play out that
way?”
Danzig read their faces, took in their level of discomfort. He needed a closing line, a line that would place an
indelible exclamation mark at the conclusion of his delivery.
“Unfortunately we cannot leave it to chance.” He wandered
to the window and scrutinized Wilshire Boulevard. “Look
at them,” he scoffed, “fighting for their piece of ‘the home
of the brave.’ Why do they go through this torture each
day? They work to earn a living, receive a salary and then
hand over a part of their earnings in taxes, taxes that pay the
‘ government of the people ’.” Danzig tapped on the window,
made a tsk, tsk sound, pointed, turned away from the traffic
and drifted to the table. “We were once on a precipitous
ride into the uncertainties of the present, however we are
now able to travel back in time and avail ourselves of the
opportunity to improve our
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