Geneva

Download this story as a PDF

Around the entrance to the UN building in Geneva, small clusters of aides and politicians came and went at speed, rushing about on important international business.

At the edge of the square that led up to the building, Lord Robert Stanford of the People’s Freedom Society stood watching the activity. He hadn’t left the PFS since its foundation nearly twenty years ago, and hadn’t left the United Kingdom before that, so the market stalls selling exotic fruits, peculiar fashions and snatches of conversation he could hear spoken in foreign languages were alien to him; an exciting and refreshing experience.

However, he wasn’t here for sightseeing. He had an important role to play in the day’s events, to ensure the safety of his home and his people. He held one hand to his ear and spoke quietly.

‘Red leader, what progress?’

‘Red and Blue teams report their readiness; White team is in position. Green leader is taking control in five minutes. You’re up.’

‘Roger that. Yellow leader commencing operation.’ Stanford smiled grimly and drew his hand away from his ear to tap the face of his watch twice. He walked across the square and through the doors of the UN building. He strolled past the security guards and they paid him no mind, just as he had been told they would. He risked a glance down, holding up his hands for inspection; he could no longer see them, or any of the rest of his body, and another smile, this one warmer, crossed his lips. The battery on the device was limited, so he would need to move quickly.

‘Straight on for a hundred yards, then a left at the junction, first door on the right,’ he muttered to himself, repeating the directions he had been given earlier. He had been preparing for this moment for years; he had known as soon as he had taken office that this day would come. He moved quickly through the halls, clinging to the walls so that he didn’t collide with anyone and cause alarm.

After a few minutes he reached the door he was looking for; the stage entrance for the building’s main chamber, a red light above the door indicating that the UN was in session. A collection of the most powerful ambassadors in the world all in one place, today discussing Middle East trade sanctions. He grinned as he stepped into the chamber; economic prohibition was going to seem unimportant in a few moments. He walked quickly onto the stage and stood directly beside the chairperson, before tapping his watch again.

Silence quickly enveloped the chamber as the ambassadors all registered the man who had materialised in front of them. Perplexed by Stanford’s appearance, they nevertheless realised the security breach he represented, and the quiet was ruptured with angry protest.

‘Good morning,’ Stanford said into the Chair’s microphone. ‘My name is Robert Stanford. In the coming hours, you will become aware of the presence of a small nation state living within the territory of the United Kingdom, in the nuclear blast radius from the 2005 Oldbury power plant incident.’

The introduction had re-established the silence, so he carried on.

‘As the democratically elected leader of that state, I have come here today to answer your questions and to appeal to as many of you as possible for official recognition of our status as a state.’

‘Why should we not just arrest you?’ a voice shouted from the arrayed delegates; Stanford suspected it was the British Ambassador.

‘I had hoped we’d be able to avoid that for a little while, but since you asked, and I am here to answer questions, allow me to elucidate the third reason for my presence. I am here to warn you that we are not unarmed, and that we will brook no aggression towards our homeland or our citizens.’

‘I would point out that your homeland is within the territory of Great Britain, and as such you are in no position to issue such a warning. If this territory is viable as you claim, we will seize it back, peacefully or by force.’

‘If it must come to that,’ Stanford replied, levelly, ‘you will fail.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Oh really.’ Around the chamber, people dropped into view, two dozen soldiers carrying rifles. They stood to attention, facing the delegates. ‘Mr Ambassador. The aircraft carrier Ark-Royal is already under the control of my men, and the engines on its accompanying craft have been disabled on the border of my waters. The guards in this building have been subdued — without, you’ll note, any fuss whatsoever. As I said, Mr Ambassador, I will brook no aggression, and I strongly suggest that you advise your parliament of the same in the next few minutes.’

The doors to the House of Commons swung open, admitting three men in leather jackets, holding silver tasers in their hands. The guards, two sargeants at arms, drew their swords — the ceremonial weapons with which they were traditionally equipped — and stepped into the path of the advancing men. Bolts of electricity shot from the end of the intruders’ weapons, impacting on the bodies of the guards and causing them to fall unconscious.

‘Hi there!’ one of the men shouted in greeting to the packed parliament hall. ‘Don’t worry, your worst nightmares haven’t been realised; everything’s going to be absolutely fine. My name is James Cooke, and my role here is as a signal booster. For those of you who are interested, the latticework from which the roof of this building is constructed prevents signals being transmitted very easily through it at great distance.’ Cooke looked around the mostly terrified faces. ‘Not interested? Very well.’ He held one hand to his ear. ‘Yellow leader this is White leader, we are in position, please advise.’

On hearing Cooke’s voice, Stanford took a sweeping look around the chamber. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen; thanks to British architecture, I was unable to begin this little show in the fashion I would have liked, but now that we’re all here and gathered together, I’d like to welcome some new guests...’ Stanford spread his hands wide and a series of holographic projections appeared in the open centre of the room; the inside of the UK House of Commons, the floor of the US Senate, the Oval Office, and the EU Parliament Building; in each of them a similar state of confusion and disorder reigned, as everyone reacted to the twelve-foot high holographic projection of Stanford in the centre of their own chambers.

‘Good morning. My name is Lord Protector Robert Stanford of the People’s Freedom Society; we are a democratic nation state living within the nuclear fallout area around the city of Bristol in the UK. Today, the radiation that has shielded our existence since before our inception failed, prompting the British military to explore, both by land and by sea. We are a peaceful people, and we have seen enough hardship and violence to last a lifetime. However, we are also a proud and fiercely independent people. For this reason, my armed forces have disabled or taken control of all military hardware entering our territories; at this time this consists of two harrier fighter aircraft performing reconnaissance, an aircraft carrier, two destroyers and a number of armoured vehicles and personnel characters. No lives have been lost, although a number of military personnel will wake up in a couple of hours with nasty headaches.’

‘This is barbaric!’ the British ambassador shouted, a sentiment supported by general murmuring around the hall.

‘Barbarism is different to this, I’m sure,’ Stanford replied. ‘I am defending my land from an invading force, and I’ve done so in as peaceful a way as I can. I am fully prepared to leave it at that and begin peaceful relations with the international community. In the event that you are not willing to do the same, you may be able to beat us, but you will most certainly feel the cost of wiping out a nation of pacifists dearly. I will await your response.’

Geneva

Download this story as a PDF

Back to top