Personal Blogs

I have just sworn the oath, on the Bible.  I don’t consider myself to be religious, but I could not be bothered to enter into a discussion about it.  I want this to be over as quickly as possible.  Here comes the first question.  At least, I think it does.  I wish he would stop rambling and get to the point.  What has been the nature of my relationship with Kelvin?  I am talking now.  I am saying something.  I don’t really know what I am saying.  The nature of my relationship with him is that I agreed to join his mission to colonise a new planet.  Don’t ask me why I did that, because I did not previously know him, but I did agree to it.  We were then lovers, briefly, for a period of six weeks while we in transit from Earth.  Our time together was physically passionate and I thought I was falling in love with him, but it was very difficult to know whether I did love him because he was so difficult to get to know.  Once I heard about his so-called “companion”, I experienced a feeling of repulsion and did not want to be with him anymore.    This seemed to wear off eventually, probably because I foolishly allowed myself to forget what a big part this “companion” had played in his life.  I simply assumed that he would want his partner in life to be a flesh-and-blood woman rather than a machine manufactured to look like a woman. 

            Here comes another question.  I suppose I should be paying attention, instead of scanning the public gallery to see how many people I can recognise.  There is that awful Vallance woman.  She has been told off by the usher for taking notes.  Every time there is a recess, she goes outside and scribbles frantically.  I am looking for The Machine, to see if she will still glower at me, but she is not there for some reason.  Kelvin seems remarkably composed in the dock (is that what it is called?)   I wonder if they will actually put him in prison, if he is found guilty.   The next question is: do I think that Kelvin was glad when news of the invasion arrived, because he knew it would mean conflict?  Yes, I am convinced he was.  For a start, he was the only person who wasn’t surprised.  He reacted as if being invaded was an ordinary, everyday occurrence.  In other words, he didn’t react at all.  He just started talking about something called “Plan K-13”.  I asked him what “Plan K-13” was, and he said that it would be revealed on a need-to-know basis.  I asked him why it was called “K-13”, and he said it had to be called something.  I told him it sounded like something out of an unpublished novel by John Le Carré,  and he thanked me.  I didn’t tell him that the reason why the hypothetical novel would remain unpublished is because it was crap.   

            Now he is asking me if I knew anything about Operation Meat-grinder.  No, I didn’t.  My duties had nothing to do with the fighting.  Oh, that’s the end.  That didn’t last as long as I feared.  I can’t go home, however.  I have to hang around in case I am wanted again. 

*

            ‘How should I address you?’

            ‘Most politely.’

            ‘I mean, by what form of address?  What title?’

            ‘How about “Mrs Stark”?’

            ‘Very well.  Mrs Stark, what was your…’

            ‘Before you proceed with your examination in chief, Mr Greenwood, I wish to raise a point of order.’

            ‘I beg your pardon?’

            ‘I wish to question your right to examine me as a witness.’  The judges lean forward and listen more attentively.  Greenwood looks surprised and annoyed.  Those people in the public gallery who have been paying attention start muttering to each other.  Judge Lansakaranayake intervenes.

            ‘Mrs Stark, could you explain to the court what it is to wish to question?’

            ‘Your Honour, it occurs to me that, under the legal system in Mr Greenwood’s country, he could not ask me any questions, even if he wanted to.’

            ‘Why not?’

            ‘Because I am an android.  I am not a natural person, in the eyes of the law of England and Wales.  According to Mr Greenwood’s legal system, I am merely a machine.  If he wants to know anything about me, if he wants disclosure of anything that my data acquisitions systems may have recorded, he can serve a court order against my legal owner.  But he can’t question me.’  Greenwood’s face falls.  He knows I’m right.  Lansakaranayake looks puzzled.  Gonzales looks amused.  The two judges exchange a words which no-one else can hear. 

            ‘Will Mr Greenwood and Miss Johnson please join us in our chambers, please?  Mr and Mrs Stark are each dismissed until further notice.’

*

Violet’s point was upheld.  We are making the law governing this trial up as we go along, but the assumption is that, where no law has been codified by the colonists, we will fall back on English Law.  Greenwood had already committed himself to that principle and, in this regard, English law is very clear: androids are not legal entities, except inasmuch as they incur liability for their legal owners.  Greenwood tried to argue that Violet was capable of being treated as an independent person, but the judges said that he could only appeal to the written law of this colony if he wanted things done differently from the way they are in England.  No law on this subject has been passed in the colony.  In desperation, Greenwood asked if Kelvin could produce his certificate of ownership of Violet.  This was duly produced.  Greenwood then observed that Kelvin and Violet are married, and asked how he could marry something that wasn’t a person.  The judges asked what relevance the validity of Kelvin’s marriage had to the matter in hand.  Greenwood could not answer that question.  The judges conferred for about two minutes, and came back with a joint decision that Greenwood did not have a leg to stand on.  He could apply to the court (subject to various exemptions) for orders to obtain from Kelvin the disclosure of Violet’s data, but he could not put Violet back in the witness box.  I asked if Violet would be allowed back in the public gallery, and received permission for her to continue watching the trial. 

            There is still some time left today, and so we are re-convening after lunch. 

*

Greenwood’s next witness is a prisoner called Darren Cartwright.  He looks well-nourished and healthy enough, apart from a rather appalling case of acne.  Greenwood starts questioning him about what he saw and heard of his fellow invaders being scalded in the concrete tank that Kelvin ordered to be built.  I interrupt, and read a pre-prepared statement which concedes all the factual  points that Greenwood has been trying to make and adds that they are not in dispute.  It includes everything about the poisoned food,  the drinks that had been adulterated with methanol, the booby-traps, and the cutting off of the water supply.   When I finish, Greenwood thanks me unconvincingly, and closes with a few questions to Cartwright about how he is being treated.  He says that the prison is boring but comfortable enough and the food is to his liking. 

            We are getting close to the point I have been dreading.  I just hope we have done enough preparation.  I hope Kelvin remembers my instructions and does as he has been told. 

*

Kelvin gives his evidence from the dock.

            Kelvin’s atheism re-opens the question of what he will swear on.  After dismissing all the religious books on the usher’s shelf, Kelvin asks if there are any secular titles.  The usher peers at each spine in turn.

            ‘There is just one,’ he reports, with resignation.

            ‘What is it?’ Kelvin asks.

            ‘It is a copy of Whitaker’s Almanac for the year 2125.’

            ‘That’ll do.’

            ‘What?’ Greenwood exclaims.  For once, I agree with him.

            ‘What did you say earlier, Professor Gonzales?’ Kelvin asks, addressing the bench.  ‘It has to be a book the contents of which you are broadly familiar with, in the truth of which you have a strong conviction, and whose principles you believe should be upheld.’

            ‘Yes, Dr Stark, I did say that.  Are you sure that Whitaker’s Almanac satisfies all those criteria in your case?’

            ‘I am certain of it.’

            ‘What principles does Whitaker’s Almanac set out?’

            ‘Democracy, for a start, and accountability.  It gives you the address of every member of parliament and holder of public office in the United Kingdom – in Mr Greenwood’s country.  I will swear on a book that attests to the accountability of Mr Greenwood’s employer.’  Gonzales and Lansakaranayake look doubtful, but they hold a brief conference which is inaudible to the rest of the court. 

            ‘Very well,’ indicates Gonzales to the usher, with deadly seriousness, ‘You may proceed with the taking of the oath.’

            ‘You are Kelvin Stark,” asserts Greenwood, after this (in his opinion) travesty has been played out. 

            ‘That is my name,’ confirms Kelvin, with a slight emphasis on the word name.  Oh, no.  The examination in chief is just starting, and he is already forgetting his lines.   Come on, Kelvin: pull yourself together.  

            ‘What office do you claim to occupy in the administration of this community?’  The question is obviously framed to be as offensive as possible without breaching the decorum of the courtroom.

            ‘The title of King was conferred upon me by the parliament which we refer to as the Assembly.  I attempted to abdicate from that position after the war was over.  This had been my stated intention when I accepted the title and the office of Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces.  That abdication was not accepted by the Assembly.  It therefore seems that I am still King.’  Kelvin speaks more quietly than he usually does.  He must remember some of what I told him.

            ‘You must have been very gratified to find that you were still regarded as King.’

            ‘No. In fact, it was a pain in the arse.’  A ripple of laughter moves round the courtroom.  Greenwood is annoyed to see that even some of the jurors he selected himself are laughing.  He glances expectantly at the judges, hoping that they will reprimand the accused for having used the word arse in court, but they say nothing.  I am wondering whether Greenwood knows that it was Judge Gonzales himself who suggested that Kelvin be King and not simply Commander-in-Chief.

            ‘I believe, Mr Stark, that…’

            ‘Doctor Stark.’  Greenwood pauses for a moment and looks at the ceiling, but he has not started gripping the table-top yet.  I suppose he is wondering how many of these blasted colonists have doctorates.

            ‘Dr Stark,’ he resumes, ‘I believe that, after this assembly, you affected the title of Field Marshal.’

            ‘If you really insist on putting it as offensively as that, then yes, I did.’

            ‘Did you have any previous military experience?’

            ‘None.’

            ‘Then how could you do it?’  With an air of wearied resignation, Kelvin picks up the copy of Whitaker’s Almanac that the usher has absent-mindedly left on the partition next to his chair, and turns to the page described in the index under Royal Family, Military Titles.

            ‘The King,’ he reads aloud, by which he means Henry IX.  ‘Lord High Admiral of the United Kingdom, Field Marshal, Marshal of the Royal Air Force. Admiral of the Fleet, Royal Australian Navy. Field Marshal, Australian Military Forces, Marshal of the Royal Australian Air Force.  Admiral of the Fleet, Royal New Zealand…’

            ‘Yes, yes, thank you, Dr Stark,’ Greenwood interrupts.  ‘What, precisely, is your point?’

            ‘Yes, I was wondering that,’ adds Gonzales, and so am I.  

            ‘It is the role of a leader to give his or her followers something to look up to and admire – something that inspires confidence.  If I was to give orders to soldiers, then clearly I had to outrank them, and the easiest way to ensure that was to take the rank of Field Marshal.’

            ‘But on what basis did you expect to give the orders?  I understand that some of the men you commanded had military experience, whereas you had none.’

            ‘Some of the women I commanded had military experience as well.  I accept that.  There were three reasons why I was in command and they were not.  Firstly, it was my idea for us to travel to this planet in the first place.  That, I felt, burdened me with a certain amount of responsibility.  Secondly, although I had no previous military experience, I did have considerable experience of fighting fascists and Nazis.  What we were up against was not just a military force: it was a political and psychological one, and in this I do claim to speak as an expert.  Lastly, I believed that the conflict  had the potential to last a long time and to involve the entire colony.  The economic and strategic implications of this are something else on which I claim to speak as an expert.  Adolf Hitler said precisely one thing with which I agree.’  Oh shit damn hell bugger.  This is not going well.  This is not what we rehearsed.

            ‘And what, may I ask, is that?’

            ‘People believe in that which is seen to be strongly believed by others.  For this reason, and because I believed in our eventual victory, I found it necessary and desirable to behave like a victor, even when we encountered set-backs.’

            ‘Set-backs?  Would you describe what happened to Major Downing and his men as a set-back?’

            ‘In military terms, yes.  In human terms, it was an appalling tragedy, and a waste of life.’

            ‘Would you have conducted this operation differently if you had had the chance?’

            ‘That is a hypothetical question and I do not propose to waste the court’s time by answering it.’  Greenwood puts down the paper he is holding and looks angry. 

            ‘Dr Stark, I am trying to give you the opportunity to show the court that you are a human being after all, and not the unbalanced despot whose character one infers from the accounts we have heard of recent activities on this planet.  This chance is one that you seem determined to throw away.’

            ‘Well let me reciprocate, Mr Greenwood, by offering you the chance to spell out what it is that I am supposed to have done which is so heinous.  I landed on this planet with the knowledge and permission of a civil, constitutional, democratic government.  My peaceful existence here and that of my fellow colonists was rudely interrupted by invaders who were trying to rape, kill, maim and torture us.  Some of those invaders were shot.  Some of them were poisoned.  Some of them were bayonetted.  Some of them were burned alive.  Some of them were drowned.  Some of these actions, I deeply regret to say, incurred collateral damage.  In other words, in order to prevent the loss of innocent civilian lives, I had to kill some innocent civilians.  I have never made a secret of that.  It makes me desperately sad, but not criminally culpable.

            ‘I am the King.  This is the most unexpected thing that has ever happened to me in my life, and I must admit that I still find it impossible to comprehend sometimes.  However, when I attempted to stand down, the people would not let me.  It was my application to the Alpha Project that got us all here, and I suppose some of them see me as a symbol of their hope for peace and security in the future. In spite of unfavourable odds, every major undertaking that this colony has embarked on has succeeded, and that makes me very proud.

            ‘If I am a King (which I am) then I belong to the least violent royal dynasty in the history of the human race.  Monarchy on this planet was constitutional from the outset.  My position was conferred upon me by a popular assembly – a point which it took the United Kingdom many centuries to reach.

            ‘If the worst thing that you can accuse me of is that I shot a known and dedicated fascist when he did not have his machine-gun in his hands, or that I ordered the sinking of a ship that killed some of my own people, then I challenge you to go to the rulers of any state back on your planet and insist that they govern in the same just and pacific way you seem to be espousing here.

            ‘The people of this planet, though they sincerely wish to remain on good terms with your government, are not subordinate to that government.  Even considering recent advances in technology, you are too far away for your wishes to be taken into account here on a daily basis, and your troops were absent when we were in our hour of need.  Your presence here now is wearisome, obstructive and superfluous.  We will go our own way and, though I cannot promise that we won’t make mistakes, we will attempt to learn from yours, of which there have been a great many.  I daresay the agents of your government committed more errors in one day of the First Battle of the Somme than I have in my entire time as Commander.

            ‘Do you have any more questions for me?  If you do, I beseech you to be as brief as possible.’        Kelvin stops speaking, and the public gallery breaks into loud applause.  Some of them are on their feet.

            The disturbance is only slightly shortened by the two Judges calling for order.  When order is finally restored, there is a pause in which nobody says anything, and then Judge Gonzales asks Greenwood if he has anything further.  I can see indecision in Greenwood’s face.  On one hand, he has succeeded sooner than he expected in getting Kelvin to stand on his dignity but, on the other, Kelvin seems to have endeared himself to most of those present.  Gonzales presses him and he reluctantly admits that he has finished.  The judges turn to me.

            ‘The defence rests, Your Honours.’  

            Now it is all up to the jury.

*

The jury has been deliberating for four days, and the foreman (one of the colonists) has asked for them to be released.  The jury is split, eight to four in favour of “not guilty”.   How the hell are we going to sort this out?  The only person who seems gratified by this situation is Greenwood.  

            ‘Kelvin, this is Violet.  Kelvin, this is Violet.’

            ‘What?’  I could hear his voice through his own ears.  The satellite link imposed a delay of just over a second. 

            ‘This is Violet.  You are not going mad.  I’m communicating with you via satellite.  You have implants in your head which mean that you can hear what I am saying.  Do you understand?’

            ‘No.  It does feel as if I am going mad.’

            ‘Can you hear me?’

            ‘No.’

            ‘Can you not hear me?’

            ‘No.’

            ‘Can you say anything other than “no”?’

            ‘Yes.  But I still think I’m going mad. How do I know this is Violet?  Where have you been?’

            ‘I was Pamela.’

            ‘Ah.  That explains a great deal.’

            ‘We are wasting time.  Kelvin, I need you to do what you do best.  I need you to absorb a lot of confusing information in a very short time.  I am tuned in to the satellite network and I know that our planet has been invaded by some kind of terrorist agency.  We are under attack.  Do you understand?’

            ‘I understand.  Execute Plan K-13.’

            ‘Plan K-13?’

            ‘Yes, definitely.  This is exactly the event it is designed to deal with.  Do you know if they are American?’

            ‘We know next to nothing about them at the moment, other than they have no compuction about killing innocent people.  We will initiate Plan K-13.  Kelvin?’

            ‘What?’

            ‘This is Violet.’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘I’m here.’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘I followed you.’

            ‘I knew you would.’

            ‘How?’

            ‘Love.  Do you love me?’

            ‘You know I do.  Do you love me?’

            ‘Yes.  Yes, I do.  I always have.’

            ‘You tried to leave me.’

            ‘I know.  It was a terrible mistake.’

            ‘But you did it again.  You’re doing it now.  You always leave me.’

            ‘No, I don’t.  I have not left you: I’m coming home.  I’ll be home as soon as possible.’

            ‘If you try to leave me again, I’ll kill you.’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘Very slowly.’ 

            ‘I know.  I don’t want us to be separated again.  I want us to be together.’

            ‘Kelvin, where are  you?’  I was only taking the sound stream, not the visual, to save bandwidth. 

            ‘I am on I-2.’

            ‘Kelvin, that means you are on the same island as the site of the attack.  Just let me work out exactly where you are.’   I worked out Kelvin’s position by using the global positioning system.  ‘Do you know if they have any aircraft on I-13?’

            ‘A few, I think.’

            ‘Who runs the place?’

            ‘Kerr McLean.  It’s Kerr McLean’s personal fiefdom.’

            ‘OK.  I’ll see if I can get him to send a plane.  Are you somewhere on the side of a mountain?  GPS is telling me that you’re about 2000 metres above sea level.’

            ‘Yes, I’m inspecting a zinc mine.’

            ‘A zinc mine?’

            ‘Yes, a zinc mine.  That’s a deep hole in the ground from which we obtain zinc.  The ore is very rich.’

            ‘Is a zinc mine important?  More important than me?’

            ‘Important, yes.  Zinc is a strategic raw material.’

            ‘Kelvin, will you kindly get yourself to a location suitable for a light aircraft to make a landing, preferably where I can still find you by GPS, without revealing yourself to the enemy, and without getting killed or captured.’

            ‘Yes, of course. Er, Violet?’

            ‘Yes, what is it you stupid, unreliable, gallivanting, truant, tosser?’

            ‘I’m sorry.’  I cut the broadcast. 

            Plan K-13 meant total war.    The name was thought up by Kelvin himself.  Plans A-1 to K-12 don’t exist: he devised it deliberately to sound silly. 

*

Wolf and I took a platoon of men on a patrol, and left the rest to forage for food and fuel in the settlement that we had attacked. 

            We walked up the path to a two-storey wooden house, painted white, with a green front door.  Wolf said that he might make the building into his headquarters.  The door was unlocked.  We walked along a passage and into a kitchen.  An old man with white hair and spectacles was sitting, reading a book.  He looked up at us in alarm.

            ‘Name,’ said Wolf.  The man did not answer.  He just jabbered incoherently.  ‘Name!’ he demanded.

            ‘Arthur Cresswell,’ the man stammered eventually, in a whisper.  His speech was as quiet as the rustling of dry leaves. 

            ‘I am taking over this house as my headquarters.  Who else used to live here?’

            ‘My wife.’

            ‘Where is she?’

            ‘She’s out.’

            ‘Where is she and what is she doing?’

            ‘She went to the pub to give out some leaflets.’

            ‘The pub.  Was that a ramshackle building with a sign over it which said O’Mally’s.’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘Aha.  I have some sad news for you, Arthur Cresswell.  One of my helicopters fired a rocket into that building and blew it to smithereens.  Your wife is dead.’  The prisoner started crying.  ‘Are there any other settlements on this island?’

            ‘No.’

            ‘Where is the nearest other inhabited island?’

            ‘About 300 kilometres to the north.’

            ‘What is its name.’

            ‘It doesn’t have a name.’

            ‘What?  You’re lying.  Why are you trying to conceal information from me?’  Wolf slapped the man across the face.  His spectacles flew off, and landed on the tiled floor. 

            ‘It’s true.  It’s true.’  Wolf grabbed the man’s hair and looked into his eyes.  He was satisfied.  The interrogation over, Wolf pulled the man’s chair out from the table and punched him twice in the chest as he sat.  He seemed pleased by the contortions of the man’s reddening face. 

            ‘Take him outside and hang him, in as prominent a location as possible,’ he ordered.  I told one of the men to look around for some rope. 

*

It took me three days to get home, by making island hops in a two-seater aircraft of colonial manufacture. 

            We held a meeting.  We asked for as many people as possible to appear in person, and the meeting was broadcast via satellite to the other colonies.  We did not have a building big enough to hold everybody, and so we held the meeting outdoors.  Near the town is a limestone scar where there is some shelter from the wind and we thought the acoustics would be better.  We set up a stage and a microphone. 

            Despite the threat of conflict and the news of the deaths of some of my fellow colonists,  I could not help feeling pleasure at seeing so many of my fellow colonists, in all their eccentric variety.  Children with braided hair and hand-knitted jumpers ran around and played at the back of the crowd.  People sat on blankets, took food out of capacious hampers, and swigged bottles of beer or drank from flasks of tea.  Except for the cold weather, the atmosphere was more like a music festival than a political meeting. 

            I opened the meeting.  Prudence Tadlow was the chairwoman.  She had on her work clothes: overalls, boots and utility-belt. 

            ‘The news from I-2 is that we have been invaded, and it is now our task to organise ourselves for the defence of our selves, our children, and our way of life.  That defence must not fail.

            ‘We have been taken by surprise, but I should impress upon you that the enemy is only entitled to expect surprise to confer a momentary advantage.  Our actions now must demonstrate that that momentary advantage is over.

            ‘We have no excuse for not winning this conflict.  We control every economic asset on the planet.  We do not know how many men the invaders have, but I expect to beat them, and I expect that victory to be won quite quickly.  In man and womanpower, food and supplies, in intelligence and, I believe, in military organisation and the will to win – we outclass the enemy. 

            ‘Our stated aim is the total destruction of the enemy’s capacity for armed resistance, to the point where he can no longer do harm to any one of us, ever again.  Our strategy will be based on three principles:

            ‘One.  The enemy must be deprived of food, water and sustenance at every opportunity.  We will continue to eat and drink but he must starve and thirst.

            ‘Two.  Every engagement must inflict more casualties on the enemy than ourselves.  We must emerge from this ordeal with the generative power of our community still intact.  We will take no prisoners and will attempt swiftly to rescue any of ourselves who are taken prisoner if it is possible to do so.  Members of the community who cannot fight must be kept as far from the enemy as possible.

            ‘Three.  We must make the best possible use of all resources, including any material we can capture from the enemy, to increase the effectiveness of our attacks.

            ‘We have just a few hours in which to organise all this.  I understand that there are many things that you will want to discuss but, I urge you, please be brief and swift.  Right now, I expect that the invaders are ransacking another town and, if any-one is unfortunate enough not to have been able to flee, they will be raped, tortured and murdered.  This is not an intellectual exercise: what we are trying to arrange for is the systematic ending of rape, torture, and murder – not any abstract ideal.

            ‘Have we all got that?’  No-one spoke.  A few people nodded.  Most of them looked blank.  I started to feel worried, but did my utmost not to show it.

            I offered for a series of three-minute speeches by people from the floor of the meeting, on the basis that the meeting could vote after each one on whether to allow the last speaker an extension.  Most of these speeches were tedious, poorly-expressed, incoherent and without incident.  The last person to speak was a woman who gave her name as Moonflower.  Towards the end of her three minutes, she uttered the words I had been dreading.

            ‘When the conflict is over, we will still have to live on the same planet as these people.’  I had to interrupt.

            ‘No, we won’t.  This is our planet, not theirs.  Make no mistake – there are only two possible outcomes of this war: the extinction of the invaders, or the extinction of our way of life.  If I could make it less unpleasant, I would, but I can’t.’   Moonflower looked at me with shocked bewilderment.  I had felt vulnerable.  I looked round the assembly with a questioning gaze.  There was an uneasy silence.  Some people looked at me.  Others looked at Moonflower.  Most of them looked at the ground.

            ‘The invaders must be defeated,’ I pronounced, slightly too loudly, so that the word be thumped out of the loudspeakers like the sound of a bass drum.  ‘The only thing that can bring about that defeat is ourselves.  What is it to be?’

            ‘Shall we take a vote on it?’ asked Prudence, off-microphone, so that only those on or near the stage heard her.  I handed the microphone to Prudence and was relieved that Moonflower did not protest.

            ‘What is the actual motion we are voting on?’ somebody shouted at Prudence from near the front of the assembly.  A hubbub  then began.  People began climbing onto the stage and bombarding me with questions.  I tried to answer them as pleasantly and politely as I could.  I was trying to move towards Prudence so that between us we could call the meeting back to order.  A sudden wall of bodies impeded me.

            ‘Call a recess!’ I shouted to her.  ‘Call a recess and then I’ll present the motion.’

            ‘We will have a recess for one hour, after which Kelvin Stark will put forward the motion, and then we’ll vote.  Can we clear the stage please?’

            People went into the tent which had been pitched nearby and emerged with bowls of soup and hunks of bread.  A brief shower of rain fell, but never looked like disrupting the meeting.  I wandered to a quiet spot under the shelter of an over-hanging rock and sat down with a notebook and a pen to prepare my speech.

            I had stopped writing, but was still deep in thought when Prudence sent somebody to fetch me. 

            I had entitled the motion The Defence of Civil Society Bill.  It contained the following clauses.

1.                            A position of Commander-in-Chief will be established for the duration of the war.  The holder of this position will stay in post until incapacitated or dead.  The first holder of the position will be Kelvin Stark. 

2.                            The C-in-C will have the power to:

a.       Arrange the economy for the war effort including the requisitioning of labour and the supply of food;

b.      Recruit and disband troop formations; promote and demote officers; train, equip, deploy and command forces;

c.       Control the broadcasting of information and the use of propaganda;

d.      Nominate a list of successors to be approved by the Assembly;

e.       Select and dismiss members of the Cabinet without approval (see clause 3).

3.                            A Cabinet will be selected by the C-in-C to manage the departments of government for the duration of the war.  The Cabinet will advise the C-in-C but he will have the final say in all things, including military and economic strategy and tactics, the formulation of surrender terms, and the definition of what constitutes victory.

4.                            The C-in-C will himself be a member of the armed forces and will, at such times as he considers necessary, take part in training exercises and offensive operations.

 

            I stood up to the microphone and prepared to have myself declared the military ruler of Achird-gamma.

            The ensuing debate lasted for over two hours, and a windy afternoon was beginning to turn into a chilly evening by the time we had finished.  Most of the questions directed at me were along the lines of “How will we be able to get rid of you when the war is over?”  This was exactly the one that I would have asked myself, and I was glad to discuss it.  My principal interlocutor was Professor Timothy Gonzales. 

            ‘Dr Stark, are you familiar with the quotation that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely?’

            ‘I am indeed, Professor.’

            ‘And how do you propose to prevent yourself from being corrupted?’

            ‘By not being in power for long enough.  We have a job to do.  My job is not to oppress you.’  I motioned in a wide arc to indicate those assembled.  ‘My job is to organise our defence and to remove the menace that now threatens us.  Every ounce of our resources will be directed against that menace; not against our own people.’

            ‘I see.  And how transparent will your government be?’

            ‘Transparency will be something that I will use where I think it will help to instil confidence, but not something that I will employ generally. ’

            ‘Not?’

            ‘No.’

            ‘How can you justify that?’

            ‘Napoleon Bonaparte said that the moral is to the material as three is to one.  Many of our people have no military training or experience of what it is like to be in the heat of a life-or-death battle.  The best available information that we have so far suggests that, although the enemy is numerous, we outnumber him at least four or five to one.  Since we also control the economy of virtually the entire planet, we have – or should have – overwhelming strategic advantages.  The one area in which we remain to be tested is resolve.  I hope that there are men and women among us who can equal me in that resolve, but I guarantee you that nobody can surpass me in it.  The enemy cannot win this war: we can only lose it for him, if we allow our fear of his violence and vindictiveness to weaken our resolve.  In the cause of maintaining and strengthening that resolve, I will let people know what I think it is in their interests to know.  This is one of the essential features of war.’

            ‘Mm.  Reluctantly, I think I am forced to agree with you. So how would we get rid of you in the end?’

            ‘If we are victorious?’

            ‘If we are victorious.’

            ‘We will have another Assembly, and I will step down.’

            ‘What if you decided not to?’

            ‘The Assembly can repeal the law by which the position of Commander-in-Chief was created.’

            ‘And what if you still refuse to go?’

            ‘You can shoot me.’

            Everybody laughed.  They laughed so hard, in fact, that order was lost for some minutes and I was annoyed.  I was annoyed because I had been in deadly earnest when I had said You can shoot me.

When everybody did stop laughing, and Prudence finally managed to re-unite the score of small meetings that had broken out among those assembled, Professor Gonzales spoke again.

            ‘I have one final comment.’

            ‘And that is?’ I asked.

            ‘There is a special name for the kind of government that you are proposing.’

            ‘What would you call it?’

            ‘Monarchy.’  I was momentarily stunned.  It was the last word that I had been expecting the Professor to utter.  I had feared rather that he would say military dictatorship or fascist junta.

            ‘Long live King Kelvin the First!’ shouted somebody from further back, in a refined public-school accent. There was laughter again, less raucous and long-lasting than before.

            ‘Madam Chairman, I propose an amendment to the Bill, to replace the title Commander-in-Chief with King.’

            ‘Are there any other amendments?’ asked Prudence, after taking the microphone.  There was a buzz of conversation, but nobody raised a hand or spoke up.

            ‘Doctor Stark, do you accept the amendment from Professor Gonzales?’  I did not know what to say.  I just shrugged.  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Prudence.  Prudence, who was now holding the paper that I had written during the recess, read it out in its entirety, substituting King for every instance of Commander-in-Chief. 

            The Assembly moved to the vote.  Once those case via the satellite link had been added to the votes of those present at the Assembly, there were 46401 votes in favour, 282 against, and 196 abstentions.  I had the overwhelming support of the Assembly and was now the King of Achird-gamma.

            The meeting broke up.  Prudence, the only other person left on the stage, came over to me and, taking me completely by surprise kissed me lingeringly on the lips.    

            ‘I’ve never met a real, live King before,’ she observed, and then curtsied (very gracefully and competently) and giggled.  I had never seen some-one attempt a curtsy while wearing a utility belt.

*

Kelvin is king.  The Cerise Vallance stable of magazines is about to get a new title.  It will be called Royal Flush.  The banner will feature an image of Kelvin as a playing card: the King of Hearts.