Ivar kept his face passive. Gravel had allowed nothing, but fought Ivar every step of the way. The man had wanted this year’s summit to take place in Zurich, home of the club’s new international secretariat. But Ivar had outmanipulated the secretary-general, coaxing the summit to Oslo, mostly because of a special excursion Ivar had arranged, scheduled for the last day of the conference, a trip limited to the top tier involved in the summit organization.
“As secretary-general of the Club of Rome,” Antonio pressed, “I think it’s only fitting that I accompany the VIPs who are heading to Spitsbergen.”
“I understand, but I’m afraid that’s not possible, Antonio. You understand the sensitive nature of where we’re headed. If it were just me, I’d of course welcome your company, but it was the Norwegian government that limited the number of visitors to Svalbard.”
“But…” As Antonio struggled to find a suitable argument, the raw desire shone from his face.
Ivar let him stew. It had cost Viatus a mint to arrange a fleet of corporate jets to fly the elite of the conference to the remote Norwegian island of Spitsbergen in the Arctic Ocean. The goal of the trip was a private tour of the Svalbard Global Seed Vault. The vast underground seed bank had been established to store and preserve the seeds of the world, specifically crop seeds. It had been buried in that perpetually frozen and inhospitable place in case of a global disaster—natural or otherwise. If such an event should ever transpire, the frozen and buried seeds would be preserved for a future world.
It was why Svalbard had earned the nickname the Doomsday Vault.
“But…I think on such a trip,” Antonio continued, “the executive board of the Club of Rome should show a united front. Food security is so vital today.”
Ivar forced his eyes not to roll. He knew that Antonio Gravel’s desire had nothing to do with food security, but everything to do with his aspiration to rub elbows with the next generation’s world leaders.
“You’re right about food security,” Ivar conceded. “In fact, that very topic will be the focus of my keynote speech.”
Ivar intended to use his keynote to swing the Club of Rome’s resources in a new direction. It was a time for true action. Still, he read Antonio’s darkening expression. Anger had replaced the man’s coddling tones.
“Speaking of your speech,” Antonio said bitterly, “I obtained an early draft and read it.”
Ivar stopped and turned to the man. “You read my speech?” No one was supposed to know its content. “Where did you get it?”
Antonio dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you can’t give such a speech and still expect to represent the Club of Rome. I’ve brought the matter up with Copresident Boutha. And he concurs. Now is not the time to broadcast warnings of imminent world collapse. It’s…it’s irresponsible.”
Blood burned the chill from Ivar’s face. “Then when is that time?” he asked, working his tight jaw. “When the world has slid into chaos and ninety percent of its population is dead?”
Antonio shook his head. “That’s what I’m talking about. You’ll make the club look like madmen and doomsayers. We won’t tolerate it.”
“Tolerate it? The core of my speech comes from the Club of Rome’s own published report.”
“Yes, I know. The Limits to Growth. You cite it often enough in your speech. That was written back in 1972.”
“And it’s even more timely today. The report outlines in great detail the collapse that the world is currently barreling straight for.”
Ivar had studied The Limits to Growth in great detail, mapping out its charts and data. The report modeled the future of the world, where population continued to grow exponentially while food production only grew arithmetically. Eventually the population would outstrip its ability to produce food to sustain itself. It would hit such a point like a locomotive and overshoot it. Once that happened, chaos, starvation, and war would ensue, with the end result being the annihilation of mankind. Even the most conservative models showed that 90 percent of the world population would die as a result. The studies had been repeated elsewhere with the same dire results.
Antonio shrugged, dismissing the entire matter. Ivar balled a fist and came close to breaking the man’s nose.
“That speech,” Antonio said, oblivious to the danger. “What you’re advocating is radical population control. It will never be stomached.”
“It must be,” Ivar argued. “There’s no way we can dodge what’s coming. The world has gone from four billion to six billion in only two decades. And it shows no signs of slowing. We’ll be at nine billion in another twenty years. And even now, the world is running out of arable farmland, global warming is wreaking havoc, and our oceans are dying. We will hit that overshoot point sooner than anyone is expecting.”
Ivar grabbed Antonio’s arm, letting his passion show. “But we can mitigate its impact by planning now. There is only one way to avoid complete worldwide collapse—and that’s to slowly and steadily lower the human biomass of this planet before we hit that overshoot point. The future of mankind depends on it.”
“We’ll manage just fine,” Antonio said. “Or don’t you have faith in your own research? Aren’t the GM foods your corporation is patenting supposed to open new lands, produce greater yields?”
“But even that will only buy us a small window of time.”
Antonio glanced at his watch. “Speaking of time, I must be going. I’ve delivered Boutha’s message. You’ll have to adjust your speech accordingly if you wish to deliver the keynote.”
Ivar watched the man stride off toward the drawbridge that spanned the Kirkegata entrance.
Standing in the courtyard, Ivar remained as rain began to drizzle out of the sky, the first portent of a greater deluge. He let the icy drops cool the pounding of his heart. He would address these matters with the copresident of the club later. Perhaps he should temper his rhetoric. Maybe it was better to use a more gentle hand on the rudder that steered the world’s fate.
Calmed again and resolute, he headed across the courtyard toward the bulk of Akershus Church with its large rosette window. He was already late for the meeting. Within the Club of Rome, Ivar had gathered like-minded men and women, those willing to make hard choices, to stand by their convictions. While Antonio and the two copresidents might be the figureheads of the Club of Rome, Ivar Karlsen and his inner cabal kept their own pact, a club within the club—a heart of iron, beating with the hope of the planet.