by Jeff S.
AS House
Present
THE SILENCE
BY
JEFF S
Copyright
Copyright: Published in the Jeff S./ © Jeff S.
Published : 09 June 2016
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Table of Contents
AS House
Present
Copyright
Table of Content
COLLECTION I
Chapter 1: Grandfather's Dream
Chapter 2: Killing the African Dream
Chapter 3: Vulnerable Moment
Chapter 4: Leverage to Move the World
Chapter 5: Creating a Climate of Fear
Chapter 6: Tragedy in Paris
Chapter 7: Ancient History
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COLLECTION I
Chapter 1: Grandfather's Dream
Because I had been borne into power, I understood the need to do difficult things, but a boy of ten cannot fully appreciate high crimes without first becoming a psychopath or by shedding at least some of his humanity. My first ten years had enjoyed a relative innocence that quickly evaporated on that day so long ago.
When first I learned of the things grandfather Rutger had planned for our family, I became shocked and dismayed. The feelings had swept over me with such ferocity, I felt as though I might not survive. My young mind had swallowed a mountain of evil and would either choke on it, or grow to accommodate its enormity. But such accommodation would destroy the young man I might otherwise have become.
Nothing had prepared me for the transition I was about to suffer. I had never seen any of the domestic help mistreated or even berated, so my new reality seemed entirely new and unreal. Always, the help had been beneath us, but there seemed to have been an unspoken agreement—a level of cooperation that felt natural. My new understanding felt like a betrayal of that tacit agreement. I discovered that the trust given to us by those who worked for us was undeserved. Yet, my grandfather took the time to help me overcome my more naive prejudices.
I remember that afternoon like it was yesterday. My life changed during that meeting. The reason I had been chosen was simple. Rutger van Eyck's only son had died from cancer, and I was my father's only son. That made me my grandfather's sole male heir. I guess he figured that ten was old enough to start learning. Though I did not understand all of what happened that day, it acclimated me—molded me—so that I would be better prepared to learn the wicked trade in store for my adult life.
Around us, dark wood and walls of books made the room gloomy, despite the daylight streaming in through one of the windows. The long mahogany table in the center accommodated twelve. No one had yet arrived, so that left grandfather and me alone.
"What is kindness?" he asked. He sat at the head of the table, as I suspected he always had.
I shrugged, attempting to sit more straight in the chair next to his. In the past, I had usually given the wrong answers to all his questions. My gesture gave me time to think, but even then, I felt uncertain. My mother and I had lived with my grandfather for the last several months, ever since my father had died. Until this day, it had all felt like torture. Everything I said or did had been criticized. It seemed I could do nothing right.
My grandfather did not wait any longer for an answer. "If the owner of a company has an employee who makes a costly mistake, he may think that forgiving that mistake is an act of kindness. But then, if the same employee makes more costly mistakes, then the owner begins to realize that he has made the wrong decision. What if he then loses all of his customers. Then everyone who works for him will lose their jobs. Is that kindness?"
I shook my head slowly. Though I was fairly certain my answer was right, I had been wrong so many times up until then, I had grown suspicious of my own certainty. But that day, I learned that I could be right. I also gained a glimmer of the humility required to learn new things. The trick questions that had tortured me before that day had prepared me to listen beyond my first right answer. It had made me think about a dimension greater than right and wrong. If I was right, I needed to understand why I was right. Being right, by itself, had no lasting value.
"Very good, John," said my grandfather Rutger. "Upon what attribute is the greatest kindness based?"
At this point, I was still reticent to answer. I wanted very much to please my grandfather, not so much out of any love I had for him, but more out of a desire to keep the torture at bay. "Kindness is based on love." My voice remained soft, the words uttered slowly, while I looked for a reaction after each syllable.
My grandfather gave one short nod and said, "A husband can love his wife more than anything, but still fail to protect her from a band of robbers. Both of them could end up dead."
I remember having looked around the room, not at anything in particular, but instead searching, inwardly, in my own mind for answers that seemed to be emerging from the dimness of my untrained intellect. "Could it be strength that is the basis?"
"And strength," my grandfather shrugged, and stood, "can do nothing to prevent clever men from stealing a family's property and fortune, especially when the theft is done without their knowledge." He walked to one of his many bookshelves and ran his finger along the lip of the shelf.
"What about wisdom?" I asked.
He stopped and turned. His eyes narrowed slightly and lips tightened, edging upward toward a trivial smile. "Wisdom. Yes, that's it."
"Okay, grandfather. I understand."
"Do you?" he asked. "What if you could save your family, but you had to give up on the lives of everyone else on the planet? What if, when you tried to save the whole of humanity, you lost not only your family, but everyone else as well?"
"Given those two choices," I said with mock confidence, "I would choose my family."
"Why?"
"Because, I would want someone to survive." And that had been the extent of my understanding.
"Now, answer this," said my grandfather. "What if there were two families, one far wiser than our own, and only one family could survive?"
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. I could sense the trick was again upon me. I needed to think more prudently to find the required answer. My first inclination was to have the wiser family survive. But suddenly, I realized that my grandfather and his grandfather before him—the great Willem van Eyck—had not built an empire by taking the easiest answer.
I looked up at my grandfather and studied his face. Behind the neutral façade stood a fierce determination. I could see it in his eyes, almost as if he were willing me to know the answer. In that moment, I found myself asking, "If I were Willem van Eyck, who wou
ld I want to win?"
My answer came slowly. "I would want," I said and paused, "the wisest family to survive. But—"
For several long moments, my grandfather seemed to hold his breath. I did not want him to suffocate, so I finished my answer quickly. "But first, I would have our family become the wisest."
The nod was barely perceptible, as was the smile. He did not look at me. In fact, it seemed that he was ignoring me. He pulled out his cell phone, punched two buttons for quick-dial and said, "Send them in."
My grandfather again took his seat at the head of the table. I took the seat next to him, but was promptly escorted by grandfather's aide to a chair next to the wall, between two sets of bookshelves. The aide took a chair at the opposite wall and the meeting secretary pulled a chair close to the table in order to transcribe everything that was said.
"First order of business," said grandfather Rutger. "Population control. This is getting entirely out of hand."
Chapter 2: Killing the African Dream
"We're making progress," said Edward Winterstone, three seats down on my grandfather's right. He was a slender man, but with strong hands and a hawk-like nose that made him seem both powerful and menacing. "Tensions have escalated in the Middle East. We've also stirred up greater animosity in Southeast Asia. Riots in Brazil have brought the country to the boiling point. I've let our central bank, there, know to tighten money even more. That should help the poorest explode. We could have martial law there by the end of the year."
"Good," said grandfather. He raised his right hand, fingers open, palm up, and shook it as if asking to receive something of value. "We need to test other methods of reducing the population. For example, we need to find out how people will react to vaccine deaths. We can't do this in the developed world. That would spoil our upcoming programs. It's important we find out the ways people react so we can anticipate their behavior elsewhere. We need to develop plausible responses so that herds of people are more easily managed toward their extermination."
Grandfather noticed one of his advisors sigh heavily. I noticed it, too, and wondered what it meant.
"Problem, Geoffrey?"
"No, sir," Geoffrey Still shook his head. He seemed to be the oldest of my grandfather's advisors, almost as old as Rutger himself. "It all makes sense, but it seems such a tragedy."
Grandfather glanced in my direction. "You all may have noticed our visitor—my grandson, John. For his benefit, I'll reiterate our reasoning. Perhaps this will also put our tragedy into its proper perspective. Our world cannot sustain an ever-increasing population. Resources are finite. Properly managing our world can only be done with the proper complement of help. We need every individual to be adequately skilled for maximum contribution. Everyone else must be let go. Regrettable, but necessary. At current levels, that means six-point-eight billion must be terminated. This is not an easy task. People resist being killed or sterilized. We must make it seem palatable or desirable, if not for the victims, at least to those who currently have power."
I shifted in my chair. The hard seat had started to attack my tailbone.
"Question, young Mr. van Eyck?"
Suddenly, all eyes were turned in my direction. Did I have a question? "Yes, sir," I said, but felt it to be the wrong answer. My mind had thought to acknowledge his attention on me, rather than to answer his question. The way it came out, though, left me dangling.
I attempted to sit straighter in my chair as gravity had caused me to slump a bit. I had answered in the affirmative, but now could not think of a question to ask. Panic shot through me. With everyone looking at me, thinking had become more difficult. What was it we were talking about? I licked my lips and then pursed them tightly to keep them from quivering. Population? What about population? What question could I ask. Finally, I said, "Population. Why is it such a problem?"
"Anyone?" My grandfather looked to his advisors.
"Population would stabilize," said Barton Carstairs, "at such a high level that everyone would have a very poor lifestyle—one of poverty and misery. Population tends to be self-regulating when prosperity is reached, but we cannot reach that economic level for everyone, starting from our current population levels. Ultimately, the real problem is the chaotic nature of civilization. Without proper controls, wars become inevitable. Wars, of course, are destructive to civilization and its progress. We cannot eliminate this destructive nature, unless we gain absolute control. So, we lie a little about population being a problem in order to fix a far larger problem. We use the population problem in order to achieve more control, just as we use wars, disease and even terrorism to gain more leverage."
Again, grandfather turned to me. "Can you give us an example of population and poverty?"
My cheeks felt hot. Why me? Why are you asking me instead of your advisors? Then I remembered my breakfast. "This morning I had one slice of toast." I looked to the advisors, gauging their expressions, hoping that my example would not seem too childish. "I thought that the one piece would keep me until lunch. But if I had to share that one piece of toast with everyone here, I would feel very hungry right now."
My grandfather laughed loudly. His head leaned back and shook from side to side. Then he looked at me, chuckling some more and nodding. "Perfect."
"If we stand by," he continued, "and do nothing, everyone will suffer, including our grandchildren." He looked again in my direction and raised his eyebrows, then narrowed his eyes with what seemed to be a secret communication. "We are the most well-equipped to manage the world. It is our duty to lead humanity toward a brighter future. Currently, humanity is like a young man suffering from obesity. We have to trim the fat, even if that means cutting it out by force. If we don't, then civilization may not last."
Now, my grandfather seemed to sit up straighter. "Now, back to population and vaccines. How can we create a delivery program? Where do we test it out?"
"Africa," said Bob Lanark. He was the most heavily built of grandfather's advisors. He moved as though he had plenty of muscle, but he also had an abundance of padding on top of it all. Looking at him, I remembered my grandfather's analogy moments before about an obese young man. I found myself imagining Mr. Lanark being strapped down and chunks of him being carved away by the others at this table.
"A charity," Lanark continued, "would seem appropriate. Perhaps we could have one of our associate families contribute to the cause. Dorman and his wife might be perfect for this." He was, of course, talking about the multibillionaire software guru, Bill Dorman and his wife, Mindy.
"All right," said grandfather. "Dorman is still managing his software empire. Let's get him to retire. Have him and his wife create a foundation in their names. Vaccination will be one of their interests, helping poor African children against the diseases of darkest Africa."
"That should play well in the press," said Geoffrey Still. "Until now, Dorman has been seen, by his critics, as a selfish bastard. This could help with his image and increase his value for future programs."
"Okay," said my grandfather. "Any objections?"
Chapter 3: Vulnerable Moment
Three weeks later, the Bill and Mindy Dorman Foundation was established as a philanthropic endeavor. Bill Dorman put into motion a plan for his own retirement and the succession of power to one of his current executives. Over the following year, the now middle-aged software tycoon had several meetings with Rutger van Eyck and just as many with scientists, doctors and administrators in the vaccine industry.
The year after, Bill Dorman and his wife gave numerous interviews with the press to discuss their aims. For the first few months, Bill Dorman had to overcome public skepticism regarding his intentions. Most of that skepticism was driven by private suggestions to the news media by their owners—Rutger van Eyck and his rich friends. Thus, they were able to control the real public sentiment and redirect it toward acceptance of the humble and generous Dorman family.
Nearly three years after receiving their new calling, Bill and Mindy Dor
man were now on their way to Africa to deliver two hundred and eighty thousand doses of vaccine to Ghana. Out the left side of the plane, Bill could see the coastline along the Gulf of Guinea. Squeezing up against the glass, he could make out the sprawling metropolis of Accra up ahead.
"Min," he half turned, "come take a look."
Mindy Dorman took a quick glance at the landscape below. "Yes, I see. Not very dark."
"Darkest Africa," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Yes, I see what you mean. Not very dark, indeed."
"We need to be careful," she said, brushing lint off of her dress. "Damned careful."
"Of course," he said, flashing her his boyish grin. "I'm always careful. But sometimes you have to break eggs in order to make an omelet."
"That again?" she asked, taking her seat. "Cute quips won't save you from disaster. Your last interview didn't go as well as it should have."
"What do you mean?" he asked. "I thought—"
"It doesn't matter what you thought," she replied and glared at him, eyes narrowing with concern. "You said that vaccines will help us control the dangerous population levels of our world. Some people read between the lines and saw your true intent. We have to steer clear of revealing that intent."
"But we can explain—"
"Explain nothing," she replied, cutting him off. "Population is too great, yes. We need to reduce the population. But vaccines are supposed to heal people, not reduce population levels. When people start dying, they're going to go back to your words and indict you with them. One mistake could cost us our lives. You're playing in a new league, now. Mistakes can be deadly."
"Min," he said, tightening his brow, "You're overreacting. Everything will be just fine."
Mindy let out a sharp breath and shook her head. "Let us hope so." She turned and nodded slightly toward the approaching co-pilot.