What’S It Going to Take?

By Darrel Forrest

The human race has taken a wrong turn sometime in the past million years. But from within the dark realty that face most there is a deeply entrenched hope, that we can turn things around.

The world is now drowning in constant conflict, as individuals, societies, and governments each fight to keep a hold on what they believe is theirs. World leaders seem intent on maintaining their borders as humanity faces the prospect of extinction. The worlds financial future is perilous at best. Society stands at the precipice looking into the abyss of its own demise. The world population has peaked and appears to be decreasing at an alarming rate.

Just after the turn of the twenty-first century, an ancient parchment comes to light that throws doubt over the origins of the Christian church. One man has been tasked to awaken the world from its ego-induced slumber.

Brayden, a young man separated from contemporary society may hold the answers. In the countless hours he has to himself, he has dedicated his life to learning the real reasons humanity had created such a hopeless future as a race. With the help of his spirit guide, he hopes to find the way to free humanity from its self-imposed fate.

Will we listen in time to avert the inevitable? What will it take for us to realize the mistakes of our ways? Can we ever live in peace?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Jan 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452502724

Darrel Forrest

Darrel Forrest is an ex-banker who became disillusioned with the greed and egos dominating finance and, so it seemed, the world. Convinced life consisted of more than participation in the endless material pursuits and the satisfaction of ego, he has spent much of his life investigating the truths hidden by the clouds of ego.

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Copyright © 2012 by Darrel Forrest.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Proof Reading, [e-mail].

Cover art: Peter Forrest

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Balboa Press rev. date: 08/15/2013

CONTENTS

Introduction

Remember

Note

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Part 2

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Postscript

INTRODUCTION

Human history is a collection of stories, some told for enjoyment, some for learning, others intertwined with morals and meaning to guide us through our lives. Storytelling has, through the ages, been an enjoyable way to send messages – attempts to provide tangibility to the esoteric. I have chosen to deliver my plea via story for just such a reason. This is not seasoned prose with deep character development, it is not plot intensive, neither is it artistic. It is a string of words designed to give you one person’s viewpoint of life here. It is an attempt to relay a message that must be heard if we are to sustain as a race. Nothing more, nothing less. My hope is that one or two other people may find meaning in our real purpose as human beings. If not, it doesn’t matter, as my investigation has given me more understanding than I could have ever dreamed.

I do not imply that the spiritual angle with which I tell the story is reality, nor is it necessarily the basis of my beliefs. Frankly whatever they may be is probably irrelevant.

I have not always written with succinct clarity, but rather I have, at times, chosen the long-worded approach to insist that one looks at things from a different perspective.

One wish I have is for us to stop and think that maybe we should be giving thought to an alternate reality, one which contradicts the one we have been living, even if, after scrutiny, it only serves to reassert that way.

REMEMBER

Do not be afraid for ONLY great things are to come; discomfort is temporary and can never hurt our essence. For the sake of our humanity it is wise to remember it is always darkest before dawn.

For those of you who have sought self-reliance as your effort to reduce the drain on our planet, soon you will see the wisdom in your ways. If you believe that to reduce your impact on the consumer cycle and withdraw actually connects you firmly with your fellow human, then it is time to test your mettle; you have chosen wisely, but our mortal nature may have you questioning your decisions. Stay the course. There is no need for faith, just know the undeniable truth that we are all one essence from one source.

Welcome this our last journey back to source. We all must travel on this path, do it in style, live there before the final journey begins.

Welcome death, for without it there is no life.

The path to

enlightenment is but a

single step, how long

we wait on the stoop

before we take it, or

how far away we step

from it before we

embrace the reality of

it, is entirely up to us.

NOTE

The International Centre for the Exploration into Population and its Impact on Planet Earth – ICEPIPE – was formed in 1995 out of a need for unbiased research into the many claims concerning population growth and its effect on the planet including, but not restricted to, environmental, biological and economic issues. ICEPIPE was funded via the signing of an agreement by member nations, which guaranteed a fee payable based on each member country’s GDP. A payment was mandated once a country’s GDP per capita reached a predefined level. Amazingly, everyone paid on time and, as most of the past fifteen years had seen economic growth, ICEPIPE’s coffers were bulging. It could afford to hire and train the best people in the world – and it did.

The BRC is the Biennial Report to Committee. The executive committee consists of nine permanent members: Australia, the country responsible for proposing the institute, China, Egypt, the Euro Zone, India, Singapore (where the institute is based), the UK, Japan and the USA. Other funding member countries were welcome to send their representatives to the BRC and were given equal voice when raising any issues or presenting questions. The permanent members were there to provide stability and on the whole it worked as no one country could influence neither spending nor the direction the institute took. The director of the facility had unparalleled power to approve or deny a research request and in Professor Peter Crozier the institute had found a man so far beyond reproach that no one ever doubted the integrity of ICEPIPE.

PART 1

Meet Brayden

Just after the turn of the 21st century

Chapter 1

Queensland, Australia

Brayden awoke with a flash of realisation that, once again, he had slumbered for days. How many times had it been? His case file at the psychiatric hospital contained many of the details. Looking around his room, he saw he was alone. The vigour he felt upon waking fully refreshed and recharged was overtaken by the memory of why he slept; he rolled on to his side and, pulling his knees to his chest, he started to cry. What had been the catalyst this time? What collection of world sorrow had built up inside of him until it was too much for him to face the world another day? Why had he again fallen into the seemingly endless sleep?

His eyes came to rest on the story written on his wall, a wall that was covered in his handwriting, consisting of small, descriptive notes concerning world events and people’s responses to them. Each block of writing connected to others weaving a map through the discourse, most of which seemed to end with a large X written over the last extension of each path. He glanced across to another wall filled floor to ceiling with volume after volume of books. Mostly anthropological or spiritual in content, he had spent countless hours poring over these accounts of human behaviour to deduce the most likely outcomes of the many calamities that encroached on our spirituality. In each and every travesty he saw in the world, he tried to look as deeply as possible, more deeply than most, for the real reasons behind how we had arrived where we are as a race today.

‘I can’t do it.’

‘You can.’

He looked around to see where the voice came from, but he was still alone.

‘Leave me alone.’

‘OK, goodbye.’

‘No, I don’t mean that, don’t go.’ He sobbed. ‘I just can’t take this world any more. I am not meant to be here. I don’t fit here, there must have been a mistake me coming here.’

‘There has been no mistake, just remember!’

‘Remember what?’

‘Why you are here.’

‘I know, but I can’t do it. It hurts too much and they are nearly all asleep. Nobody sees the effect of the way they are.’

‘You expect too much. Your endeavour, it is like water on a stone. The only way it will ever get through is if the water never stops flowing, until one day it breaks through and things will never be the same again. The water is almost through, stopping now will show all previous effort to be in vain. You must remember that until the very second that the water breaks through, everything remains unchanged. Paths remain trodden, attitudes prevail, then one day everything changes, either for the one or for the many, but change it will.

Brayden stretched his body out again and lay on his back.

‘All previous efforts have been in vain, nobody has gotten the message anyone has tried to deliver, almost everyone has missed the message despite how clearly it was delivered. Besides, you have said it doesn’t really matter if we all leave while asleep.’

‘That is not the point, is it? You chose to be here to do this. You were not forced and you asked that there be no way out for you should you, once again, be confronted by obstacles that intimidate you, no way by your own hand, that is – it won’t be allowed to happen that way.’ Brayden knew all too well the truth of what his spirit guide was telling him. He had indeed chosen this life, just as we all choose our lives and the challenges that come with them. He must keep his mind focused on his purpose. His spirit guide alluded to his notions of suicide that would engulf his body just prior to entering the long, deep sleeps. He had started to wonder whether the sleeping was divine intervention designed to prevent him from following through on his negative wishes. For now he just saw it as a way of coping. He would spend weeks, months, sometimes years trying to understand the problems of the world and try with all his attention to trace the origins of those problems. Somewhere along his journey he would become consumed with the sadness of the world and the hopelessness apparent for most as they continued to divide themselves to the detriment of racial wellbeing. He would be unable to continue and would fall into a long and restless sleep, staying that way for however long it took for his essence to dissipate the sadness and heal his core. He knew there must be no more thoughts of copping out, but he found the pain so hard to deal with when all he saw around him was a race of divided individuals, all trying to keep others at arm’s length from them and their possessions and ideals by any means necessary.

‘But the pain is unbearable, Morkah, it chokes me when I see all we do to ourselves. Every time I hear a news report, or see a headline, even sitting on the bus, all I see and hear is the result of the ego ruling – ruining – our lives. We actually believe everything we do is what we really need and want. The origin of the problem is so obscured by our coping that we don’t even remember what we are supposed to be doing. Very few are even remotely aware of how much we are controlled, how we are so imprisoned by our egos.’

Morkah was Brayden’s spirit guide, that entity not unlike the often spoken of guardian angel that accompanies us wherever we go and is with us whatever we do. Sadly, most people are no longer aware of their guide being with them and miss out on the superpower-like attributes an open connection with one’s guide brings.

‘The age has arrived, the message will soon be received differently. You have work to do. There are others doing it as well, but few seem to have remembered quite as clearly as you, that is what causes you the pain – you experience the pain endemic to your race brought about by its unconsciousness. You are right that we have said it makes no difference if you do it or not, but you will be here for much of what remains, so you can do it or you can increase your sensitivity to the sorrow you feel by ignoring your purpose.’

‘What are you saying? Things will be different now? How? Much of what remains, what does that mean?’

‘In time, in time.’

‘But I don’t know how any more.’

‘You have already been doing it, you are just unaware because of the arrogance of the ego. Continue with how you have been living. The return has begun, there is no turning back.’

‘What do you mean, the return?’

His spirit guide moved from dominating his consciousness to the familiar place of support just behind him. The conversation was over. There was no more information coming, for now at least.

For most of his life he had listened to the voices, followed the advice and put into practice a way of living that remained connected with his – everyone’s – purpose. The further the human race wandered off into their own future the larger the disconnect, the wider the divide between its created reality and the truth became, and his way of existing within it became at odds with almost all commonly held beliefs about society.

Brayden wondered what was meant by ‘the return’; he must ponder that, he thought, and ask the universe for answers.

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Out in the hallway Brayden’s mother spoke with Dr Longley, the psychiatric hospital director. A family friend, she was always amenable to requests for a house call. She wore a perpetual frown as she continually struggled to come to terms with these persistent events. Most of the time, 90 per cent of it by his doctor’s measure, was spent functioning relatively normally despite his constant unorthodoxy of thought. He was intelligent, reasonably confident, caring and helpful, and, despite his reclusive nature, very good in social situations. The past few years had seen him spending more time at the psychiatric hospital due to the increase in episodes.

As he lived at home with his mother, she saw the unmistakable signs in Brayden that would invariably lead to those episodes. As aware of the need to allow him to live his own life she was, she could not help but wallow in the hopelessness she sometimes felt.

‘He’s not crazy, but he is definitely his father’s son,’ she insisted. ‘He never could accept reality either. He just feels a lot of compassion for the people that suffer in the world. All unnecessarily, he says.’

‘Elaine, his sense of reality deviates significantly from the norm. He really should spend some extended time at the hospital so we can investigate more thoroughly.’

‘Because he thinks differently you want to lock him up like a common criminal?’

‘He thinks he can save the world and every time it gets too much he falls into a sleep that can last for a week. I am not saying he is crazy… others might.’

‘Well, I don’t see that as a good enough reason to want to lock him up.’

‘We don’t want to lock him up, he always has a free rein while he is at the hospital and, if I was to be brutally honest and off the record, he is helpful to the other patients there. He listens to them with an ear none of the trained staff could offer, which he seems to enjoy a great deal. It’s always very therapeutic for him.’

Elaine could not argue with that logic. It was true Brayden did enjoy spending time with the people at the hospital. It most often put him in high spirits. He felt he was effective there, able to connect with people who, due to whichever of the labels they had been given, didn’t quite fit the expected parameters society said they must.

‘If he is so helpful why don’t you put him on the staff and pay him a salary?’ It was said with a hint of humour, as she knew Brayden would never take the money if it were offered. All she wanted was for him to be left well alone.

‘I think we more than adequately recognise the economic benefit he brings; the service we offer him is free, yes, we benefit as I said and also by what we can learn from studying him, but nonetheless it is a significant saving to him.’ Dr. Longley had visited this routine a number of times with Elaine and it was plain to see that her heart ached from not knowing what to do for her son. There was no doubt the understanding ear Brayden lent to the other patients had eased the difficult environment of the facility immensely. ‘If you will excuse me, Elaine, I need to speak with him now he is awake.’

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‘That was quick,’ said Dr Longley ‘It didn’t take you long to fill up this time, did it?’ Direct, yet delivered with compassion.

‘Do you blame me?’ Brayden gazed out of the window and the tears flowed again. ‘Why do we hate each other so, why do we choose to remain separate?’

‘Why do you let the world constantly settle on your shoulders?’

‘I don’t let it settle there, I am just saddened when I see most waste their opportunity here. I feel I am in the wrong place or wrong time.’’

Dr Longley thought about Brayden’s insistence that he didn’t let it settle. Objectively, Brayden was off base, though a challenge was not appropriate at the moment.

‘Your mother tells me you are just like your father. He used to worry about the world constantly, wanting people to change the way they thought and becoming despondent when it all became too much for him to deal with.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that, I was just a boy when he disappeared.’ Not entirely true, as Brayden had read through his father’s journals many times and saw in them a similarity to his own perspectives, gaining extensive insight into his nature.

‘I know we have spoken about this before, but can you tell me more about how it feels when you become saddened?’

‘It is overwhelming, I am hit with a feeling that stems from a want inside of me. It is an, if only they . . . type of thing. Like, if only they knew why they did that, maybe they would do it differently and skip the heartache they create, if only they remembered why they were here, the bigger picture would be clear to them.’

‘That seems awfully academic, Brayden. I think you might be sidestepping my question. What you describe is a yearning, which is the result of something else.’

‘OK, I see suffering in the world, I feel the pain that other people experience. Literally, I actually feel the pain I perceive others are feeling in their suffering. Pain that is only possible when people turn their backs on one another, when they could do so much more. When there is no need for anyone to be suffering in the first place. The pain builds so much that all I want to do is end it and leave this world. Once I get to that point I sleep.’

‘By end it, do you mean…’

‘Yes. Suicide.’

‘Have you ever thought you might be wrong?’ That was a challenge, but with a slightly different tack, and it was the question on the mind of every professional who had encountered Brayden. Many of his thoughts, ramblings and writings held an eternal, almost utopian logic if only you could remove the need to function in contemporary society. That factor was the medical profession’s diagnosis; it was his disconnect with reality, they thought, that caused him to come up against his willingness to live. How could you function outside of society? Such a question was loaded with danger, but there never seemed a right time to ask it, so now was as good as ever.

Brayden slowly turned his head from gazing out the window and stared into the eyes of his doctor. After a long and penetrating pause he answered.

‘You may be surprised to hear that I ask myself that question every day.’ The doctor was indeed surprised.

‘And?’

‘There are only two possible states that exist and they are not right and wrong. All decisions and actions fall under the state of optimal and anything less than optimal, of which there are many degrees.’

‘Optimal? For what?’

‘All in relation to our purpose for being here. We act for our purpose or not for it, that’s all. Anything not for our purpose is less than optimal, not wrong.’

‘And you think you’re acting optimally?’

If pressed further Brayden would say he thought his path was just as right or optimal as the path of one who chose to stay firmly entrenched in the society we had created, or just as wrong. Ultimately, though, it mattered little who was right or wrong. Braden’s sorrow rose from seeing the world function as a whole mess of disconnected individuals and the horror that flowed from it. So, rightly or wrongly, he felt he could see with utmost clarity the whys that so many people had trouble seeing. A collection of stories that clearly expressed the unwillingness of the population to accept blame for their circumstances gathered on his shoulders until he could no longer bear it.

‘Well, objectively it is hard to answer that, although I suspect there is method in the madness, but it is not a matter of whether I think I am acting optimally, but rather whether the human race is or not, and in my mind the current state of the world indicates that there is a whole heap of less than optimal decision-making going on. You needn’t worry though; there won’t be any more episodes’

‘Why do you say that?’ Dr Longley was surprised to hear this. It indicated a person far more in control of their senses than Brayden normally seemed to indicate during these episodes. Was this a change that was real? Only time could reveal the truth.

‘I was told that I need to stay here.’

‘By whom?’

‘My spirit guides.’

‘The voices?’

Brayden rolled his eyes.

‘Yes, the voices.’

‘Do they talk to you about suicide?’

‘No, of course not. Don’t try and place me into one of your labelled boxes, I have warned you about that, they are my thoughts, it became too painful again.’ Though he snapped it was with a soft and compassionate voice.

‘Then how can you be sure it won’t happen again?’

‘Because I trust my guides and this is the first time I have been told to stop wasting my time with it. I will have to find ways to deal with the pain, and when I do I suspect I won’t be having such long sleeps. Any suggestions?’

‘We will have to discuss it more when you feel better.’

‘I was joking, Doc, I won’t be letting you medicate me or anything like that. I’ll figure it out myself.’

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By his own admission, Brayden would periodically give up on life. Months would pass without a sign or warning that he was approaching his fill of the calamity the world preferred to exist with. One was unable to distinguish him from the everyday person between episodes. He refused medication, but was always open to discuss what was on his mind. For the psychiatrists and therapists tasked with analysing him it was hard work. Never was there a simple conversation about the typical clinical-type depression factors, every conversation started and ended with a central focus. Brayden observed life in all its complexities and was completely unable to compartmentalise the myriad events taking place in the world at any given time. Everything was related and everyone was connected. An atrocity committed in South America was inexplicably linked to a person off to work in Australia, which was linked to someone’s action in Europe. Everything the human race did today, he had to sadly admit, was for the pursuit of pleasure (or if not, then the avoidance of pain or discomfort) and this, he was convinced, was the cause of almost everything damaging that happened in the world today, a cause brought about by the attachment of the ego.

The doctors just couldn’t work him out, each time one of them thought they were on to something he detoured and lost them – not his intention, that he was very clear about – he simply tried to lead them toward the understanding he had or give them a glimpse of what he saw. But none could smooth their brow long enough to see what he could see so clearly, each being so conditioned into the mainstream by the process we mistakenly label education.

Brayden was obsessed with the world living in an unconscious state and spent time observing the results of such; he read mountains of books depicting the human response over the course of history in an endeavour to predict the most logical outcome of current behaviour. He would talk to the other patients, the staff and anyone else who asked about it. He wished to place in their minds the seed of consciousness. He knew our planet could not hope to achieve much in the way of spiritual gain when we turn our backs on so much suffering. Suffering that, ironically, exists because we turn our backs.

Brayden had confessed that he could not even sit and contemplate his own pleasure while another was suffering unnecessarily, with so many people indulging themselves continuously at the expense of the majority of the planet who, he often thought, could not think beyond the constant battle of trying to keep their head above water. And the former was the catalyst for the latter.

Now, looking at his walls covered with the events of the day, events that followed logical progressions based on his research and observations, there would be many paths initially, but the finer he studied the detail the less likely most outcomes became. What he was left with was a grim picture, one of hopelessness and despair from a human perspective. An imminent future that made a mockery of the intelligence we possessed. Blinded by our own self-importance as a species, we could not see what was staring us right in the face. The attitude of, if I’m OK, then all is OK, was pervasive and those not OK were held at arm’s length. No one seemed aware that while even a single human being suffered unnecessarily the entire species suffered incalculable damage.

Lying on his bed, contemplating why the world lived in such fear, Brayden could not see past the mess of circles that people create around themselves, the good, the bad, the altruistic, the selfish. An endless vertigo of whirling spheres intersecting some, bouncing off others, never allowing another person to venture inside for too long. The seemingly innocuous comments thrown from one sphere to another, each a brick to build the wall higher between one and another. The blame, the self-promotion, the endless building of the victor’s story, and the desire, oh the desire, the worst of it all. A wave of pain again started to wash over him as he lay there just wondering if, ever, people could get it right. If ever they could truly step out of their shoes and see how destructive their ill-advised conformity was. He rolled into his side and again the pain grew within his gut; holding his hands to his face to hold back the tears, he ached now, the pain became unbearable and he rocked from side to side attempting to dull it. He rolled off the bed on to the floor and wanted out again, despite the warning from his guides being still fresh in his mind. The only consolation he felt was that if he could assume just some of the pain of another he would remove some of their suffering, even if just for a moment.

‘You have to help me, Daddy.’ He pleaded with his guides, one of whom was his late father, for the strength that – although he knew he possessed – was often far from sight.

‘All you need is right in front of you, you know that son, the time has come for your final task. Stand tall, there is a superhero at your side at all times, don’t let her grow bored.’

Rarely offering compassion as a crutch, his guides would turn his focus to his bootstraps. ‘Get up,’ they would say, ‘there will always be time for rest, but now is not that time.’

Meet Alistair

Present Day

Chapter 2

ICEPIPE, Singapore

The senior research team members were unable to focus on anything besides the imminent arrival of the Institute’s director. After weeks of verification the time had arrived to make him aware of their discovery. Alistair, the team leader, was excited about the scenario but equally anxious as he was fearful of the unknown potential it held.

‘He’s here,’ Jamie, the professor’s PA, announced to Alistair via chat. The word filtered through the team in an instant and each jumped out of their chairs to join Alistair in the corridor. Well known for his excitability, Alistair, bypassing the greeting, hurled a statement at the director that was unintelligible to the rest.

‘What do you mean, the population decreased?’ Professor Crozier responded.

‘Just that, sir, given the data we have received and allowing for the standard margin for error, last month the population of Earth is projected to have decreased.’ Alistair put it as succinctly as he could.

‘Well, check the data and find the error.’ Professor Crozier was not amused by this seemingly premature outburst.

‘Sir, we’ve done that, over and over. We received the latest data point some months ago and have been checking for errors ever since and that’s the problem.’ Alistair fumbled through the pile of papers he had clutched to his chest as they marched along the corridor toward the professor’s office.

‘Here.’

He thrust the spreadsheet in front of Professor Crozier and stopped. ‘There is no error.’

Professor Crozier stumbled on Alistair’s words then saw with disbelief what the data implied. He turned to his colleague determined to remain pragmatic.

‘Alistair, let’s be clear, many of the data collection methods we must rely upon are far from accurate. This has to be an anomaly and I expect you have an explanation for it, yes?’

‘Yes, sir, I know and we constantly make adjustments to the output to counter that, but as you know, much of the base line data we collect is very accurate, subject to revision, yes, but verifiable. It is only those data we receive second or third-hand that can occasionally be of dubious accuracy, and we have many fail-safes before we allow that data into the models.’ Alistair was sure of his information and felt somewhat offended that the professor’s first action was to lay blame, despite the news being significant.

‘You do realise what you are suggesting, don’t you?’ said the professor.

‘Technically, sir, the data is suggesting it. I too am having difficulty believing it, but we have made hundreds of phone calls to various hospitals and state data-collection agencies asking them to check their data and resubmit their upload, which they have done. Sir – ’ Alistair stopped himself. He knew what he was about to say was of such magnitude that it could change the course of history. If he were wrong it would certainly change his career aspirations. He knew, however, that he was right and his appearance could attest to the hours he had spent verifying the data. His untucked shirt carried the evidence of his last few meals, his tie hung loose, his hair was a mess and his eyes bloodshot. He continued.

‘On 27 March there were no live births recorded in any Australian hospital.’

The silence immediately dominated and Alistair could sense the disbelief roll in like a thick fog, quickly engulfing the small group.

Professor Crozier stared disbelievingly at Alistair and removed his glasses as he prepared his retort.

‘Alistair, you are one of the finest research statisticians I have had the pleasure to work with. These spreadsheets,’ shaking them vigorously, then slapping them on his hand, ‘these spreadsheets express an event approaching cataclysmic. What are you not telling me? If a single data point is out of whack with the others in the set, that is an anomaly, but this,’ again he shook the paper, ‘is a major shift in trend. It’s a reversal, for God’s sake, how can that be possible? How can we not have seen this coming? How can what you have told me produce this?’

The professor knew exactly how the data must have been arrived at in order to produce the projections he was looking at. He just didn’t want to believe it and was fighting against his intuition. Juggling between incomplete data and the increasing knowledge in his mind about the letters he had been receiving, he felt a panic grow.

Gloria, the lead statistician, came forward to back up her boss.

‘This incident is not isolated to Australia, sir. We still need to complete verification but there appears to be about a dozen countries reporting at least one day in March where no live births were recorded.’

‘Can you explain it?’ the professor asked. ‘Was there a possible reason to delay birth? A new subsidy in effect?’ He was fishing for an explanation. Crozier knew this was ludicrous and Alistair’s response showed he knew it too.

‘Sir?’

‘OK, OK. I know that could account for a drop compared with the average, but to zero? I know it’s not likely or even possible. In fact, I doubt that statistically it is possible given current data. What is the probability of this event occurring by chance?’

‘You are right, sir, it looks like it is entirely improbable. There hasn’t been a day since record keeping began where there were no births in the entire country. State record keeping has not been that granular, but our work has attempted to correct this. For comparison, in the past ten years there have been only six days with zero live births in the Northern Territory, but this is due to its relatively low population.’ Alistair replied.

Gloria felt a need to add more information, hoping to make the professor comfortable that they had done all the checking required prior to raising this with him.

‘Professor, it appears that generally births across the globe have been at a fraction of the mean. And it appears this started at least three months prior to the latest data point. It is just the most recent information that has suggested the population has entered a negative growth phase,’ she said.

‘So you think it is a phase?’ asked the professor.

‘It’s too soon to determine that, sir, it was just an expression.’

‘But you seem to think it is not too soon to call population in decline.’

‘No, sir, I don’t. The evidence suggests that population change during March averaged a decline of twenty-eight people per minute. As you are well aware, global population has been growing at a relatively steady pace of around one hundred and fifty people per minute for more than a decade. We are confident of the birth data and reasonably confident of the normal death data. We have used long run assumptive processing for the unknown factoring of unverifiable deaths. There were no official updates from war zones or disaster zones.’’

‘OK, I have heard enough. Accurate it may be, but we need to remain objective. Alistair, can you pull together individual birth, death and then aggregate distributions for those countries reporting zero live births? Can you do this for daily and monthly observations for the past thirty years?’

‘Yes, sir!’

‘Good, that may give us a clue to the meaning of this.’ The professor’s mind continued to go back to the letters he had been receiving and he tried to find ways to ignore their message, believing, or was it hoping, that the common sense and logic found via science would eventually provide a satisfactory explanation to all of this.

‘OK, first thing tomorrow morning, briefing room, all of you. Now go and get some sleep. You all look like a mess.’

Each of them nodded their agreement. Exhausted, they turned to head back to the lab. Gloria glanced back to see the professor turn into his office. She looked at Alistair, bewildered.

‘Is it just me or did he take that better than we expected?’

‘Mmm, strangely out of character, his surprise didn’t seem genuine either. It was almost as if he was expecting it,’ Alistair agreed.

‘One more thing,’ Crozier growled as he stuck his head out of his door and threw the words down the corridor.

‘Lock down, not a word. That’s an order!’

Chapter 3

ICEPIPE, Singapore

Crozier slumped into his chair; it was at moments like these he wished he hadn’t quit smoking. The sense of calm it brought would be welcome now. Instead he chose to confront the situation. He sat himself up, correcting his posture, and with both feet firmly planted on the floor he placed his hands, palm down, on his thighs, his elbows resting on the arm rests. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, held it a few seconds, then exhaled. He continued this until he had found a smooth rhythm, which he held for about ten minutes. Finally, he opened his eyes and welcomed the smile that grew to grace his face.

Feeling measurably more composed he stood and went to his bookshelf. Reaching to the top shelf he removed a tattered red book, the contents bulging from him having placed a number of letters throughout it, the spine straining from accommodating them, and laid it on his desk. He fingered through the book until he found the most recent letter dated about six months ago. Pulling his reading glasses from his shirt pocket he prepared to read again the letter that, today, started to make sense.

Who the letter writer might be he could not even imagine. Each letter had arrived from Australia, each postmarked in a different town in Queensland, but he had deduced from the substance and form of each, that the writer of them all was the same person, someone who simply did not wish to be identified. He had long stopped wondering about the writer’s identity and more recently had