The young man smiled. “Why don’t we give your identification software a moment to whisper the answer to you.”
Kronski thumbed ENTER, the computer captured an image, and five seconds later it plucked membership details from the Extinctionists’ file.
Malachy Pasteur. Young French-Irish heir to an abattoir empire. Made a sizeable donation to the Extinctionists’coffers. His first conference. As with all attendees, Pasteur was thoroughly vetted before his invitation was issued. A valuable addition to the ranks.
Kronski was all charm.
“Mr. Pasteur. We are delighted to welcome you to Morocco. But tell me, why would you wish to defend this creature? Her fate is almost certainly sealed.”
The young man walked briskly to the podium. “I enjoy a challenge. It is a mental exercise.”
“Defending vermin is an exercise?”
“Especially vermin,” retorted Pasteur, lifting the lid on his laptop. “It is easy to defend a servile, useful animal like the common cow. But this? This will be a hard-fought battle.”
“A pity to be crushed in battle so young,” said Kronski, his lower lip hanging with mock sympathy.
Pasteur drummed his fingers on the podium. “I have always liked your style, Dr. Kronski. Your commitment to the ideals of Extinctionism. For years I have followed your career, since I was a boy in Dublin, in fact. Lately, however, I feel that the organization has lost its way, and I am not the only one with this feeling.”
Kronski ground his teeth. So that was it. A naked challenge to his leadership.
“Be careful what you say, Pasteur. You tread on dangerous ground.”
Pasteur glanced at the floor below him where ice water still sloshed in the pit beneath. “You mean I could sleep with the fishes? You would kill me, Doctor? A mere boy? I don’t think that would bolster your credibility much.”
He’s right, fumed Kronski. I can’t kill him. I must win this trial.
The doctor forced his mouth to smile. “I don’t kill humans,” he said. “Just animals. Like the animal in this cage.”
Kronski’s many supporters applauded, but that still left many silent.
I was wrong to come here, Kronski realized. It is too remote. Nowhere for private jets to land. Next year I will find somewhere in Europe. I will announce the move as soon as I crush this whelp.
“Allow me to explain the rules,” continued Kronski, thinking, Explaining the rules puts me in charge and gives me the upper hand, psychologically speaking.
“No need,” said Pasteur brusquely. “I have read several transcripts. The prosecutor puts his case, the defender puts his case. A few minutes of lively debate, then each table votes. Simple. Can we please proceed, Doctor. No one here appreciates their time being wasted.”
Clever, young man. Putting yourself on the same side as the jury. No matter. I know these people, and they will never acquit a beast, no matter how pretty she is.
“Very well. We shall proceed.” He selected a document on his desktop. His opening statement. Kronski knew it by heart, but it was comforting to have the words easily accessible.
“People say that we Extinctionists hate animals,” began Kronski. “But this is not the case. We do not hate poor dumb animals; rather, we love humans. We love humans and will do whatever it takes to ensure that we, as a race, survive for as long as possible. This planet has limited resources, and I, for one, say we should hoard them for ourselves. Why should humans starve when dumb animals grow fat? Why should humans freeze when beasts lie toasty warm in their coats of fur?”
Malachy Pasteur made a noise somewhere between a cough and a chuckle. “Really, Dr. Kronski, I have read several variations on this speech. Every year, it seems, you trot out the same simplistic arguments. Can we please focus on the creature before us tonight?”
A tittering ripple spread among the banquet guests, and Kronski had to struggle to contain his temper. It seemed he had a battle on his hands. Very well, then.
“Most amusing, boy. I was going to take it easy on you, but now the gloves are off.”
“We are delighted to hear it.”
We? We?
Pasteur was swinging the Extinctionists his way without their even knowing it.
Kronski summoned every last drop of charisma from inside himself, flashing back to his youth, to those long summer days spent watching his evangelist daddy whip up the crowds inside a canvas tent.
He raised his arms high, each finger bent back until the tendons strained.
“This is not what we are about, people,” he thundered. “We did not travel all this way for some petty verbal sparring. This is what the Extinctionists are about.” Kronski pointed a rigid finger at Holly. “Ridding our planet of creatures like this.”
Kronski shot a sideways glance at Pasteur, who was leaning chin on hands, a bemused look on his face. Standard opposition behavior.
“We have a new species here, friends. A dangerous species. It can make itself invisible, it can hypnotize through speech. It was armed.”