Charles sat back at the head of the long table, grinning. They had done it! Their party had finally won the election, and had a solid if not extreme parliamentary majority. His cabinet had been pre-selected, so they were ready to go, and he, and they, all sat around the table, waiting for their first briefing from the quangos.
The last cabinet member had just seated themselves (Charlene Grant, Entertainment and Sport, mostly good for attracting young me to the party) when they walked in. They all looked like drones, but the head quango in spades. You would have thought he was a regency era butler.
“Good morning!” Charles said. “I suppose this is the briefing where you tell us that we will be totally unable to keep all of our election promises!”
“Yes, Sir,” the quango said.
“Well, we plan on doing so anyway. What is the problem? Lack of funds?”
“Yes, Sir, that is a problem. The debt to GDP ratio is quite unsustainable.”
“Well, what else? Run down military?”
“Yes, Sir. Three quarters of our ships are laid up for repairs, and the others are waiting their turn.”
“Well, what else? Health system?”
“Average wait thirteen months, Sir. There was a slight, and brief, downturn last month.”
“Infrastructure?”
“Truly horrendous, Sir. Train delays went up a full three minutes last year.”
“Well, is that it? Because we have plans to fix all that. Top of the line plans, radical change from the previous administrations!”
“Yes, Sir, we are aware. And no, Sir, that is not it.”
“Well, spit it out, man, what is it? Some horrible disease?”
“No, Sir. It might be better if it were.”
“Well?”
“There are no children, Sir. And haven’t been for a number of years.”
“Well, what of it? Don’t have any myself, as it turns out. Noisy beasts, children.”
“Yes, Sir. Quite. It can be distracting.”
“You have some yourself?”
“Yes, Sir. Seven.”
“Seven! Heavens, man, haven’t you heard of birth control?”
“Yes, Sir. We abstain.”
“Well if you abstain, how do you have all those children?”
“We abstain from birth control, sir.”
Charles stared. “Was that a joke?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Well, it was a jolly good one. Caught me quite by surprise. Abstain from birth control, eh? I’ll have to remember that one. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, you were saying we have no children. Well, what of it?”
“No children means no one to take the jobs, Sir.”
“We can import them! That’s what we’ve always done.”
“Yes, Sir, but those other countries, they aren’t having any children either.”
“Oh. Well, find other countries.”
“They aren’t having any either. Unless you wish to try to import Americans or Israelis.”
“What, no. Why would they come?”
“Exactly, Sir.”
“So, we will need to become more efficient.”
“And no children means no one to staff the military, either. Typically it is your young male who decides to become a soldier.”
“Recruit women!”
“There are no young women either, Sir.”
“Hmmm. It would seem hard to recruit older men.”
“Or older women, Sir. And new ideas, Sir.”
“We can’t recruit new ideas into the military?”
“Young people tend to produce the highest number of new ideas, Sir. So a lack of young people will tend to produce a stagnating society, and economy.”
“Well, bless my soul. Is there anything we can do with an older workforce? Anything thing that’s working?”
“The euthanasia clinics, Sir, are doing quite well. Their clientele is increasing each month. Although they have very little repeat business.”
(The above meme was created (by me) in reaction, if I remember correctly, to an ad or meme in favour of birth control, written during some winter snow event. I agreed with the words of their meme, if not in favour of the actual message they intended to convey. The post itself was written when I heard there was going to be a British only anthology of sci-fi, including dystopia. Hosted by Martin Grace . As an American I was excluded from participating, so I wrote my own story :) )
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Von
You write a British pomp so well Von!