MR PRESIDENT

** Togo (Africa), 2078 **

"Who would have believed it? The wretched of the Earth save the rich countries with their old cuckoo clocks?" An old man asks in Mina language.

Slouched on a leather lounge chair, the man's head tilts against the back of the chair in a very uncomfortable position, which gives his voice the same intonation as a moan. The old man looks at the ceiling as if he has asked it his question. He takes a deep breath before straightening up to tug on his jacket. He is elegantly dressed: sky blue shirt, black suit, well-polished brown shoes. He stares intensely at the young woman sitting on an armchair by his side. She is looking at him silently. The gaze of the septuagenarian is intense and seems at the same time lost in the depths of his memory as a young man.

"Mr. President," the young woman says calmly in Mina language before smiling compassionately at the old man. "You tell me the same story exactly to the wording at each session. I would like to help you, but you also have to give me the means to do so."

The man gives a tender smile to the young woman as if she was a child. He is looking for his words; words that a child of her age could understand. How can he possibly tell her that everything she has ever been told about human beings is just a tale, a web of lies, a mirage? He doesn't want to scare her, just warn her of the danger that still lays ahead for all of them. He knows far too well that men still haven't learnt anything and therefore, the lesson will have to be taken up once again sooner or later; soon. His gaze blurs. She is too young, just like him at that time. The president rubs his neck and pushes away the tears that come to his eyes by shaking his head. A few minutes pass. Silence fills the large room as the old man slowly starts to rub his hands together looking at them as if they didn't belong to him.

"I was 25," the president says softly, looking up at the young woman who is still smiling at him. She knows this story by heart from having heard it hundreds of times from the mouth of the president of her country and in history e-books as well...

Artificial intelligence, biotechnology, and robotics had transformed the rich modern world into a small paradise. Everything was sophisticated, predictable, fast, beautiful and easy mainly for the lucky residents of paradise. Successive Pandemics and natural disasters had terrorised the world population a few years earlier. They were ready to accept anything to live on the remaining surface of the world. Survive no matter what at any cost. It took them less than ten years to tip everything on one side thanks to technology. Finally, the man of the modern world was truly the sole master of the human world. They had control of everything over everyone. It lasted a few years, then...

The toys of the masters of the human world took over, but not quite as men would have imagined: a war between machines and men. No, those machines would do much better than their creator: sophisticated, predictable, fast, beautiful and easy as they had been designed to do everything. Overnight, entire countries and continents found themselves under the total control of an intelligent, half-biological, half-robot system; a perfect system. The only ones spared: the poor countries left at the gates of paradise years before that. For them, there had never been profusion of artificial intelligence, biotechnology and robotics at home, in the office, in schools, hospitals and other public places. For them, everything had always been: primitive, uncertain, slow, ugly, and difficult.

The latter waited a long time thinking that the residents of paradise would eventually come out of their smart cage to share their spoils. Then, months and years having passed, they finally understood that they had to become the master of their own fate, relying on their sole intelligence. So, by virtue of what, they came together in all humility. They talked to each other a lot like they hadn't talked for almost three centuries. They developed the tools and infrastructures necessary for their autonomy based on principles, aspirations, and values ​​that were theirs. They would no longer wait, hands raised, for crumbs to fall off paradise. They knew that this time, the crumbs wouldn't fall from up there: paradise. The system, which had once nourished their pride as men while taking away their human dignity, had finally decided to let them down without compassion or remorse.

In a very short time, poor countries were no longer poor. The scale on which they had been measured for centuries no longer existed. With the disappearance of the ladder of paradise, followed the disappearance of hell. They were no longer not enough nor too much. They simply were. Together, they had regained pride, confidence, and dignity without having to take them away from anyone else. Together, they no longer wanted to fight to compete with each other to win a seat in paradise.

However, despite their new redemption, they remained men with the original curiosity of small children. So, they put on their military clothes and got into their old cuckoo clocks to see what was happening where a supposedly intelligent, biological, and robotic system was holding the great powers of the world captive. They took some weapons, just in case! They chose to go and see the smart system in Europe since the continent was closest to theirs. Ideal for a quick escape.

They arrived in a big city that was clean and orderly. A few buses were coming and going on almost empty roads; the passengers were all very old and seemed to be accompanied by men and women with strange gaze; cattle and wild animals roamed freely taking advantage of nature which enjoyed all the space left by the few buildings planted here and there. No ruins, no rubble, no corpses lying on the ground, no signs of a war or violence.

In the middle of the city, a huge park with a large swimming pool where elderlies were having fun like the children they used to be a very long time ago. Some were sitting at tables, others on benches. Their frail small wrinkled bodies moved slowly, but surely. Their smile was big and genuine while their gaze no longer judged the world. Like guardian angels, men and women with strange gaze were standing by their side. They noticed us right away with our colourful uniforms, our young black faces, guns hanging from our shoulders. They weren't afraid. They weren't surprised either. It was as if they had been waiting for us.

"I'd never seen cyborgs in my life," the president continues, staring into the distance. "I didn't immediately realise they weren't human. I'm talking about the ones with the weird gaze, of course. The others were human. Some had rather sophisticated prosthetic limbs, but they were humans. They seemed so happy. This place seemed so peaceful and serene. Really! Then, we walked towards one of the old men sitting on a bench to ask him where the others were (the younger men and women, and the children). Without saying a word, he pointed his old wrinkled finger at what looked like a large glass stadium."

"You don't want to see what's going on in there," he said gravely. "We can hear them sometimes. Leave us alone and go back where you came from." He paused for a moment before continuing calmly. "It's almost over anyway. Look at us. It's almost over."

We didn't listen to him and started heading towards the building. No one tried to stop us either by word or by force. The intelligent system had well learnt the logic of the masters of paradise. It knew their fears and desires since it had been conceived out of them. It knew it didn't need to invent some very powerful weapon to exterminate them. It was as efficient to simply confine them with meagre resources in a small corner of the world with an unobstructed view of everything they didn't have access to, and let them kill each other for it. The weakest would fall first, the strongest would become even stronger and bring down the rest until the last. But, ...

"Why spare the old ones and not the women and the children?" The young woman interrupts the president at the exact moment when he always asks this question.

"Yes..." the president sighs breathlessly. "Why?" he asks, raising his voice, and turning a questioning look at the young woman. He finds it hard to hold back the restlessness in his hands which he places first on his thigh, then on the lounge chair, next on the glass of water placed on the table in front of him, and finally on his heart beating too fast.

"You've never told me what you saw... tell me what you saw through the window of the stadium... the younger men, the women, and the children," the young woman asks softly, leaning towards the president.

Silence returns to the room like a shadow, heavier and heavier. The old man slouches again on the lounge chair as if to let his whole body be swallowed up in matter. He gazes at the ceiling for awhile, allowing his memory to come back, but he still doesn't have the words; the words that a child of her age would understand and forgive.

He looked at these people. He watched them suffer their vulnerable mortal condition through a large window. They looked like the animals they massively slaughtered before eating them in large quantities. Little of everything, a lot of nothing. Men, women, children screaming behind the big glass and him and his comrades with the cyborgs standing on the other side. We stood there watching as if these people were just actors in a movie on a giant screen. There was no harm in watching while we stayed on the other side. The cyborgs at our side watched motionless, their faces peaceful and imperturbable, their gaze lifeless and without compassion for those men, women, and children on the other side. Yes, I watched too.

I know! You're wondering what the common denominator between the six characters is

Stay inquisitive and keep reading ...