“Yes,” said Tanzania. “You’re talking about ending the human race.”
“What end?” asked Zambia. “The human race is immortal now—that’s the whole problem. Making us all immortal men, some kind of idealized ubermensch, would assure that we have the benefits of immortality without the crippling overpopulation.”
“It’s really kind of a utopian ideal,” said Bangladesh. “An eternity of idealized supermen, with the time to really dig into our problems and solve them, without having to relearn history’s lessons with every new generation—”
“I don’t think it’s a utopia at all,” said India.
Nepal frowned. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not gay,” said India. “And if I’m going to live for a million years, at some point I’m going to want to have sex again.”
Estonia threw up his hands in disgust. “Seriously? That’s your issue here? We’re talking about the end of the human race—of changing that end into a utopian ideal—and all you can think about is sex?”
“It’s not all I think about,” said India, “but I assume I’m not the only one in the room who thinks about it occasionally. We’re all adults here. The people you want to save are human beings, and humans have sex. And in the world you’re proposing, all of that sex would be gay. Everywhere you turn, men and men and men.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” said Chad.
“Nothing wrong for other people?” asked France. “Or nothing wrong for you? Because he’s right, and that’s exactly what we’re discussing here: turning you, and me, and everyone else in the entire world into a gay man. Personally, I wouldn’t want to be a part of it.”
“Then the solution seems obvious,” said China.
“Come up with a different plan?” asked Lyle.
“Turn everyone into women,” said China.
And everyone fell silent again.
“An entire world of lesbians,” said Mexico.
“Immortal lesbians,” said Japan.
“However we do it,” said the Philippines, “the benefits are clear. We eliminate all prejudice, because everyone’s the same. There’s no racism, no class system, no oppression of any kind, because everyone is the same.”
Turning everyone the same reminded Lyle of the prison camp and its ten thousand Lyles. It didn’t fill him with confidence.
“Latinas have won more Miss Universe titles than any other group,” said Mexico. “Obviously the choice should come from us.”
“That’s not how we should choose this,” said Lyle.
“Latinas only win because the judges are biased,” said India. “Our models and actresses are more famous in more countries than anyone else’s.”
“They’re not more famous than ours,” said Chad.
“Too pale,” said Tanzania. “The most beautiful women are African.”
“Or African American,” said Chad. “America’s got everything.”
“The most beautiful women are Asian,” said Japan.
“America … concedes that point,” said Chad. “Let’s get one of those Korean girl groups, the pop stars.”
“Will you listen to yourselves?” Lyle shouted. “The world is ending, literally, right outside your doors, and you’re arguing over supermodels? A thousand different plans to save the world, and the only one you agree on is the one full of lesbian sex?”
“We are stopping a crippling overpopulation problem and ushering in a golden age,” said France. “Immortal supermodel lesbians are a necessary side effect, and wow, that sounds horrible when I try to explain it like that.”
“You’re disgusting,” said Lyle.
“We’re realists,” said Tanzania. “You’ve been in these meetings—you know what’s going on, and how impossible it is to solve. The world is determined to tear itself apart, and we don’t have the power or the influence or the resources to stop it. This plan doesn’t fix our present because nothing can fix our present, but it can fix our future.”
“How are you even going to carry this out?” asked Lyle. “Just … grab some poor girl’s DNA and flood the world with it? Turn everyone in Russia into Victoria Carver and Russia will still get conquered by Victoria. People will still be killed and oppressed by Victoria Carver, and the fact that they’re also Victoria Carver when it happens won’t make it a utopia.”
“Not immediately,” said Estonia, “but you have to give it time. The apocalypse will be terrible, but it will end. The differences that caused it will be forgotten because everyone who survives will be equal. The world will stabilize.”
“It’s not an ideal solution,” said Japan, “but we don’t have any ideal solutions left.”
“So you’re giving up,” said Lyle. “I can’t believe it.”
“Sometimes the paramedics can’t save everyone,” said Mexico. “It’s not giving up to call a dead body dead.”
“We’re not dead!” shouted Lyle.
“What do you want us to do!” cried Tanzania. “We’re not gods. You want us to stop the war? With what political leverage? You want us to win it? With what armies? The only weapon we have left is the one you created, Dr. Fontanelle, and we are trying to use it to build instead of destroy.”
Lyle fumed. “You’re using it to play out an adolescent fantasy with the lives of seven billion people!”
“Then give us a better idea!” yelled Samoa, rising to his full height, and the fury in his face made Lyle press back into his chair. “Everyone in this room has suggested solutions, even my staff has suggested solutions, but all you’ve done is shoot them down. You’re waiting for a good idea but there are none—nothing we come up with will make everyone happy, or solve every problem, or fill every need. Nothing good is left. We are choosing the lesser from an army of evils, and if our choice shocks you it is because even a lesser evil is monstrous. Forget the girls, forget the details, forget everything else: this monster is all we have. Give us a better one or leave us alone.”
Lyle looked at him, feeling his hands tremble, his palms sweaty. He looked at the others, at the room, at the high ceilings and the dark corners and the rows of empty tables stretching back into oblivion.
