He continued. “It’s only two people, and given the weather forecast, it’s unlikely that they’ll even make it through the week. How much trouble could they cause? I vote that we let them go and focus our efforts instead on reaching our goals for the collective. It’s been years since the deliberations have made any real progress and –”
The Doctor cut off his remarks with one biting look. “Only two people? And what traits might those two people be carrying that are essential to our race? Do you presume to know why they were chosen for Paragon? Presume to decide who here is expendable?”
“N-n-no… I just…” He took a moment to compose himself. “We’re supposed to be working toward a true communist society, and every day that the Ruling Class remains in power, we are one more step away from achieving that goal. The only reason the rebellion thrives today is due to the continued existence of the Ruling Class, so to me it seems that recapturing a couple of rebels is treating the symptom, not the cause. Let them go, and instead let’s put our energies towards facilitating the deliberation process, thereby hastening the birth of the ideal society that was the entire reason for this whole undertaking.”
The Doctor’s silver hair glinted in the sharp artificial light as he devoted his entire head to the effort of rolling his eyes. “Save your pretty rhetoric, Ben. There won’t be any society if we don’t have the genes to support one.”
The Developer nodded vigorously in agreement. “He’s right. The algorithm was very specific in who was selected, and we need to trust that everyone here deserved to be chosen. Otherwise, what was the point of everything we did?”
Everyone took a moment to digest his last comment. They had agreed from the beginning that sacrifices would be needed to make this work, and indeed those sacrifices had been huge – the biggest the world had ever seen. But they had only agreed to the plan knowing that it was the only way to do this right, and that everyone would benefit in the end. Everyone who was left, anyway.
“So what are you suggesting?” The Draftsman – the oldest and most levelheaded of the group – spoke, as always, in a steady, reasoned tone, absentmindedly stroking his paunch.
Before the Developer could respond, the General chimed in with a suggestion of his own, his raspy voice filled with retribution. “We have the girl, the one that helped them escape. I say we make an example of her, send a message to the rebels that we won’t tolerate their insubordination any longer.” As he rubbed the scar across his lips, he muttered, “Stupid bitch.”
The Draftsman wondered if he was referring to the girl or to the rebel leader, but either way, he dismissed his comments as bluster. Over the years he’d come to despise the General’s deep insecurities, and his resulting tendency to overcompensate. It was a shame, really – the man had a magnificent reserve of military knowledge, but his personal flaws marred his usefulness considerably. And at least the rest of them had actually achieved the titles they’d chosen for themselves – the General had never earned that rank at all, he’d just christened himself upon finding that he had the power to do so. To say that the Draftsman found the General trying was an understatement indeed. But much to the Draftsman’s chagrin, the others had not yet come to the same conclusion.
The Developer, in fact, seemed to be seriously considering a show of force. Shaking his head, he reflected, “If only we knew where Regina Green were hiding… we could drop the girl’s head right at her front door.”
“That’s sick!” the Economist blurted, appalled.
The Doctor once again shot him down. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t agreed to worse.”
As barbaric as it was, the Draftsman had to admit that the Doctor spoke the truth. “Eugene has a point there – we’ve all agreed to worse. ‘The ends justify the means’ has been a de facto tenet of our philosophy…”
“Thank you, Pascal.” The withering glare subsided from the Doctor’s face. “Now, as I said before, I don’t like the idea of tinkering with the algorithm’s selections, but in this one case, I suppose we could make an exception. After all, she wasn’t part of the original results set to begin with.”
Chastised, the Economist held his tongue while the others nodded in agreement.
The Developer stood, signaling that the meeting had come to a close. “Then it’s decided. We’ll use the girl to send a message. Given that we don’t know Regina’s location, everyone think about what might be our most effective strategy and we’ll reconvene in the morning to finalize the plan. And remember, as distasteful as this might be, the rebels haven’t left us much choice.”
He held his right fist at his shoulder in the customary gesture, and the others stood and followed suit. “For Paragon,” he stated, accompanying the sentiment with an almost imperceptible nod of the head.
The room echoed in unison as the men added their response, each earnestly believing the mantra in his own way. “For Paragon, always.”
Stitch (Stitch Trilogy, Book 1) Page 24