- Joined
- Apr 3, 2007
- Messages
- 473
Ko-I-Noor
". . . And it is with greatest respect to all members of our cabinet that we have chosen to hold our meeting outside the hallowed halls of parliament, instead, the Ministry of the Interior provides us the privacy we require. This discussion is classified as highly confidential, not a word of this meeting may leave this room . . ." So it is said by Colonel Idriss Ould Mozadegh, Minister of the Interior to his fellow cabinet members. Only one person was not present at the meeting: General Mahmoud Reza Khan, eternal warden of the revolution, the self-styled dictator, protector, guardian, warden, custodian, et al, of the revolution. Some cabinet members breath a sigh of relief, hidden from each other, but everybody knew of each other's discrete happiness at Reza Khan being away, out of the capital. The past years his behavior has become unstable, deprived of his earlier talent to reason and reach compromises with his neighboring countries and Carentania. Nobody knows the real reason; foreign experts say 'power has gone to his head', but all members of cabinet know it. Some citizens feel everything is wrong about Reza Khan; his weakness is beginning to show and manifest itself onto the world stage. Erratic foreign policy, reckless domestic policy, people are beginning to stirr. Theory and method no longer adds up to become reality. What worked flawlessly in the year 2000 is becoming a millstone hanging around the neck of the government; unrest is spreading despite control of the printing press, media, a ban on internet, the struggle against information is being intensified yet the government is slowly - but surely - losing its grip. The second our enemies know this, they will exploit these weaknesses.
The grand meeting hall of the Ministry of the Interior used to serve as a ballroom for the Shah and his family. Dance lessons for his children, friends and family were a daily pastime - the marble floor, the ornaments on the walls and ceilings, silk curtains, gemstone encrusted statuettes of deceased family members, paintings of heroic battles of a distant past graced the room. In the middle was a large table of the finest tropical wood, laid with patterns of vines, trees and Persian poems. Around the table all members of cabinet sat, sipping from cups of tea or coffee. Some Assyrian Christians and Jews added, when they believed nobody was watching, added a few drops of gin or whiskey to their drinks. Nobody seemed to bother, more important matters had to be dealt with.
"Gentlemen, this is getting us nowhere. How many times have we tried to talk reason to [General Mahmoud Reza] Khan? All he cares for his sniffing ether, watching action movies, go to bed around 3 in the morning, sleep until early afternoon and go back to sniffing ether and signing death penalties. The man can no longer be trusted. He is becoming a burden, foreign diplomats hate him, everybody around him hates him and we, let's be honest for a moment shall we? We thoroughly hate him, could drink his blood, I am saying, yes my dear colleagues, we hate him more than any other person. Whatever he's done in the past is no match for what he's doing today. You know how much effort we have put into our relations with Hajr and Franken? And how a single stroke of his cursed pen threatens all of that? Was anyone aware of his latest bout of madness when he ordered the embassy drama?" People remained silent, Félix Taxil, Minister of Security continued.
"That's what I thought. Never before have we been this close to war. We can no longer deny what's being hurled at us, people are rumbling. Discontent is spreading on the countryside. Our city permits no longer lure people to self-sacrifice and patriotism. Religious fundamentalism is on the increase as a counterbalance to our socialism. We must root out this pest before it gains a firm foothold in our cities. So far our secret agents have only witnessed it first hand on the countryside."
"May I interject, monsieur Taxíl?, Mohammed Esmail Zhaleh, chairman of the committee of Mining & Agriculture, asked. Of course you may, Taxíl replied. "Dear colleagues, our true problem does not lie with the weakness and, if I may speak so freely, insanity of Khan. He can be dealt with. Our friends in Nürnberg and Al A'raf will definitely support a coup d'etat against him. As long as their interests in our mining sector remain undamaged, they won't object. I have assurances from Eskander Laleh, director-general of the Union Minière that such actions against Khan will be met with praise by our foreign benefactors. However, our most pressing concern is the following and we cannot linger going forward. Should we shirk on this most pressing topic, our downfall is close at hand. Our cities lay in a miasma of backwards rural areas. Only our mining towns and collective farms stand as beacons of progress in those damned regions. Chefferies aren't recognized as authority and people ignore our 1-child policy. Ten to twelve children a household are common. Need I tell you, gentlemen, that this is putting extreme pressure on our food supplies and rationing system?"
"Then what do you suggest, monsieur Zhaleh?", Mozadegh interrupted to ask the most obvious. Zhaleh paused for a second, stared at the stale, cold faces of his colleagues, looked down on a piece of paper stood up and rang a small bell for a servant. "Dear gentlemen, I am sure Allah or the Lord, in whomever you believe, won't object to a glass of some whiskey before I continue. Some people grumbled but did not object. From a secret drinks cabinet a bottle of finely aged whiskey was taken and crystal classes, still bearing the Imperial coat of arms, were given to all people present. Drinks were poured and cigarettes were shared. This was going to be a long day.
"Gentlemen, Reza Khan has used his power of madness to obstruct all research into our food situation. I have carried out my own, personal research in absolute secrecy. I am probably a traitor in the eyes of Khan, but it had to be done. Cities are still well stocked but a potential catastrophe is looming. International boycotts and embargoes are starting to bite deep. Kahn's latest brink of madness was the final drop and I must say, that we cannot salvage this situation without extreme measures. Whatever must be done to rescue ourselves and our cities from the fires of a fundamentalist revolution, we must seriously consider it. And implement these measures to combat all ill effects that will eventually lead to revolution against us."
"How bad is it?" A voice out of nowhere, the most difficult question raised so far. Everybody look at each other, none could distill who asked it. Some even looked at the servants and they looked desperately the other way. Nobody knew. "How bad it is? Well, gentlemen... Ehm..." He paused, took a firm sip of his whiskey, and another, a deep sigh, and a tear came to his desperate eyes. "You see, well, gentlemen, I must say that... We have until september when shortages reach the cities. Our auxiliary police is already seizing food supplies from the poorest countryside areas in south central provinces and shipping it to the cities. We cannot intensify our collective farms lest we exhaust the soil. Harvest will be done at earliest in September. We have too many mouths to feed. I am terribly afraid unrest won't stem from foreign agitation, meddling by Engellex or any other intrusive nation. Or even Kahn's erratic behavior. Our food chain is being threatened. Our birthrates are too high, there are too many children. Ten million citizens do not have access to sufficient sources of food or fresh, clean water. Ten million potential troublemakers! Hungry, angry and nothing to lose. I implore you all, do not mention any of this even to your closest advisors. We must reach a solution, here and now, today."
Around the table, people stared in disbelief. No one could have imaged the situation was so severe. A drastic measure from an autocratic regime will inevitably lead to death, but this was accepted, albeit with strong reservations. Taxíl stood up and his impressive figure, a tall man he is, looked as if he were made of gelatine. If citizens would become aware of these dramatic facts, some individuals of questionable origin would instigate a riot instantaneously, threatening the very existence of the regime. Taxíl stood there. Idriss Ould Mozadegh sat next to him, looked up, hoping for a miracle. But Taxíl is not a miracleworker, he is a pragmatic bureaucrat with a nose for extreme solutions. Mozadegh knows a heavy scent of death is in the air. Taxíl wiped his spectacles clean and made the decision any despotic regime would make - everybody present was in awe.
"We must engineer massive food scarcity. Casulties on the destitute countryside will be random picks by destiny. All we can do is think on the grandest scale; anything less than complete cleansing by malnutrition is failure. We are talking about the south-central provinces, that is north of Ko-I-Noor in the middle of the poorest regions of country. Never has it ever been quiet and tranquil there, the threat of riot and uprising is omnipresent. I suggest we start confiscating all food supplies from all non-collective farming cooperatives, ship it off to our cities and pray our favorite deity they will die quick enough before they can stage subversive activities fuelled by illegal printing presses, word-to-mouth rebellion or anything that might spur the spirit of revolution. We can always speed up their ultimate fate by spreading contaminated drinking water, dress our auxiliary police forces as Emirate Mujahideen fighters or even Loyalist White Guards. This campaign of terror will draw foreign attention but we must consider this: we face an existential crisis. Never before have we been faced by this most appalling threat to our regime. We cannot wait around, dear gentlemen, action we need and action it shall be. Decisive action - hereafter is no turning back."
None of the cabinet members said a thing. It was exactly this silence that meant complete approval without reservations.
". . . And it is with greatest respect to all members of our cabinet that we have chosen to hold our meeting outside the hallowed halls of parliament, instead, the Ministry of the Interior provides us the privacy we require. This discussion is classified as highly confidential, not a word of this meeting may leave this room . . ." So it is said by Colonel Idriss Ould Mozadegh, Minister of the Interior to his fellow cabinet members. Only one person was not present at the meeting: General Mahmoud Reza Khan, eternal warden of the revolution, the self-styled dictator, protector, guardian, warden, custodian, et al, of the revolution. Some cabinet members breath a sigh of relief, hidden from each other, but everybody knew of each other's discrete happiness at Reza Khan being away, out of the capital. The past years his behavior has become unstable, deprived of his earlier talent to reason and reach compromises with his neighboring countries and Carentania. Nobody knows the real reason; foreign experts say 'power has gone to his head', but all members of cabinet know it. Some citizens feel everything is wrong about Reza Khan; his weakness is beginning to show and manifest itself onto the world stage. Erratic foreign policy, reckless domestic policy, people are beginning to stirr. Theory and method no longer adds up to become reality. What worked flawlessly in the year 2000 is becoming a millstone hanging around the neck of the government; unrest is spreading despite control of the printing press, media, a ban on internet, the struggle against information is being intensified yet the government is slowly - but surely - losing its grip. The second our enemies know this, they will exploit these weaknesses.
The grand meeting hall of the Ministry of the Interior used to serve as a ballroom for the Shah and his family. Dance lessons for his children, friends and family were a daily pastime - the marble floor, the ornaments on the walls and ceilings, silk curtains, gemstone encrusted statuettes of deceased family members, paintings of heroic battles of a distant past graced the room. In the middle was a large table of the finest tropical wood, laid with patterns of vines, trees and Persian poems. Around the table all members of cabinet sat, sipping from cups of tea or coffee. Some Assyrian Christians and Jews added, when they believed nobody was watching, added a few drops of gin or whiskey to their drinks. Nobody seemed to bother, more important matters had to be dealt with.
"Gentlemen, this is getting us nowhere. How many times have we tried to talk reason to [General Mahmoud Reza] Khan? All he cares for his sniffing ether, watching action movies, go to bed around 3 in the morning, sleep until early afternoon and go back to sniffing ether and signing death penalties. The man can no longer be trusted. He is becoming a burden, foreign diplomats hate him, everybody around him hates him and we, let's be honest for a moment shall we? We thoroughly hate him, could drink his blood, I am saying, yes my dear colleagues, we hate him more than any other person. Whatever he's done in the past is no match for what he's doing today. You know how much effort we have put into our relations with Hajr and Franken? And how a single stroke of his cursed pen threatens all of that? Was anyone aware of his latest bout of madness when he ordered the embassy drama?" People remained silent, Félix Taxil, Minister of Security continued.
"That's what I thought. Never before have we been this close to war. We can no longer deny what's being hurled at us, people are rumbling. Discontent is spreading on the countryside. Our city permits no longer lure people to self-sacrifice and patriotism. Religious fundamentalism is on the increase as a counterbalance to our socialism. We must root out this pest before it gains a firm foothold in our cities. So far our secret agents have only witnessed it first hand on the countryside."
"May I interject, monsieur Taxíl?, Mohammed Esmail Zhaleh, chairman of the committee of Mining & Agriculture, asked. Of course you may, Taxíl replied. "Dear colleagues, our true problem does not lie with the weakness and, if I may speak so freely, insanity of Khan. He can be dealt with. Our friends in Nürnberg and Al A'raf will definitely support a coup d'etat against him. As long as their interests in our mining sector remain undamaged, they won't object. I have assurances from Eskander Laleh, director-general of the Union Minière that such actions against Khan will be met with praise by our foreign benefactors. However, our most pressing concern is the following and we cannot linger going forward. Should we shirk on this most pressing topic, our downfall is close at hand. Our cities lay in a miasma of backwards rural areas. Only our mining towns and collective farms stand as beacons of progress in those damned regions. Chefferies aren't recognized as authority and people ignore our 1-child policy. Ten to twelve children a household are common. Need I tell you, gentlemen, that this is putting extreme pressure on our food supplies and rationing system?"
"Then what do you suggest, monsieur Zhaleh?", Mozadegh interrupted to ask the most obvious. Zhaleh paused for a second, stared at the stale, cold faces of his colleagues, looked down on a piece of paper stood up and rang a small bell for a servant. "Dear gentlemen, I am sure Allah or the Lord, in whomever you believe, won't object to a glass of some whiskey before I continue. Some people grumbled but did not object. From a secret drinks cabinet a bottle of finely aged whiskey was taken and crystal classes, still bearing the Imperial coat of arms, were given to all people present. Drinks were poured and cigarettes were shared. This was going to be a long day.
"Gentlemen, Reza Khan has used his power of madness to obstruct all research into our food situation. I have carried out my own, personal research in absolute secrecy. I am probably a traitor in the eyes of Khan, but it had to be done. Cities are still well stocked but a potential catastrophe is looming. International boycotts and embargoes are starting to bite deep. Kahn's latest brink of madness was the final drop and I must say, that we cannot salvage this situation without extreme measures. Whatever must be done to rescue ourselves and our cities from the fires of a fundamentalist revolution, we must seriously consider it. And implement these measures to combat all ill effects that will eventually lead to revolution against us."
"How bad is it?" A voice out of nowhere, the most difficult question raised so far. Everybody look at each other, none could distill who asked it. Some even looked at the servants and they looked desperately the other way. Nobody knew. "How bad it is? Well, gentlemen... Ehm..." He paused, took a firm sip of his whiskey, and another, a deep sigh, and a tear came to his desperate eyes. "You see, well, gentlemen, I must say that... We have until september when shortages reach the cities. Our auxiliary police is already seizing food supplies from the poorest countryside areas in south central provinces and shipping it to the cities. We cannot intensify our collective farms lest we exhaust the soil. Harvest will be done at earliest in September. We have too many mouths to feed. I am terribly afraid unrest won't stem from foreign agitation, meddling by Engellex or any other intrusive nation. Or even Kahn's erratic behavior. Our food chain is being threatened. Our birthrates are too high, there are too many children. Ten million citizens do not have access to sufficient sources of food or fresh, clean water. Ten million potential troublemakers! Hungry, angry and nothing to lose. I implore you all, do not mention any of this even to your closest advisors. We must reach a solution, here and now, today."
Around the table, people stared in disbelief. No one could have imaged the situation was so severe. A drastic measure from an autocratic regime will inevitably lead to death, but this was accepted, albeit with strong reservations. Taxíl stood up and his impressive figure, a tall man he is, looked as if he were made of gelatine. If citizens would become aware of these dramatic facts, some individuals of questionable origin would instigate a riot instantaneously, threatening the very existence of the regime. Taxíl stood there. Idriss Ould Mozadegh sat next to him, looked up, hoping for a miracle. But Taxíl is not a miracleworker, he is a pragmatic bureaucrat with a nose for extreme solutions. Mozadegh knows a heavy scent of death is in the air. Taxíl wiped his spectacles clean and made the decision any despotic regime would make - everybody present was in awe.
"We must engineer massive food scarcity. Casulties on the destitute countryside will be random picks by destiny. All we can do is think on the grandest scale; anything less than complete cleansing by malnutrition is failure. We are talking about the south-central provinces, that is north of Ko-I-Noor in the middle of the poorest regions of country. Never has it ever been quiet and tranquil there, the threat of riot and uprising is omnipresent. I suggest we start confiscating all food supplies from all non-collective farming cooperatives, ship it off to our cities and pray our favorite deity they will die quick enough before they can stage subversive activities fuelled by illegal printing presses, word-to-mouth rebellion or anything that might spur the spirit of revolution. We can always speed up their ultimate fate by spreading contaminated drinking water, dress our auxiliary police forces as Emirate Mujahideen fighters or even Loyalist White Guards. This campaign of terror will draw foreign attention but we must consider this: we face an existential crisis. Never before have we been faced by this most appalling threat to our regime. We cannot wait around, dear gentlemen, action we need and action it shall be. Decisive action - hereafter is no turning back."
None of the cabinet members said a thing. It was exactly this silence that meant complete approval without reservations.
