The meeting took place in the largest hall of the royal castle. The hall was packed. The king first gave the floor to the leading anti-dragonist scientist, a stern woman. She proceeded to explain how the proposed missile would work, and that, given the requested funding, it should be possible to complete the work in fifteen to twenty years. With even greater funding, it might be possible to do it in as little as twelve.
Next to speak was the king's chief moral advisor: "Let us grant that this woman is correct about the science, and that the project is technologically possible, although I don't think that it has been proven. Still, she desires that we get rid of the dragon. Presumably, she thinks she's got the tight not to be chewed up. How presumptuous. The finitude of human life is a blessing for every individual, whether they know it or not. Getting rid of the dragon would deflect us from realizing the aspirations to which our lives naturally point. It is debasing, yes debasing, for a person to want to continue their mediocre life for as long as possible without worrying about the higher questions of what life is for. But I tell you, the nature of the dragon is to eat humans, and our own nature is truly and nobly fulfilled only by being eaten by it!" The audience listened respectfully to this speaker. His phrases were so eloquent that it was hard to resist the feeling that some deep thoughts must lurk behind them, although nobody could quite grasp what they were.
The speaker next in line was a sage who was widely respected for his kindness and gentleness. As he strode to the podium, a small boy yelled out from the audience: "The dragon is bad!" The boy's parent turned bright red and began hushing the child, but the sage only said, "Let the boy speak." At first, the boy was too scared to move, but when he saw the genuinely friendly smile on the sage's face, he obediently followed him up to the podium. "I want my granny back," said the boy. "Did the dragon take your granny away?" "Yes," the boy said, tears welling up in his frightened eyes. "Granny promised that she would teach me how to bake gingerbread cookies for Christmas. Then those people in white clothes came and took Granny away to the dragon... The dragon is bad and it eats people ... I want my Granny back!"
There were several other speakers that evening, but the child's simple testimony had punctured the rhetorical balloon the king's ministers had tried to inflate. The people were backing the anti-dragonists, and by the end of the evening even the king had come to recognize the humanity of their cause. In his closing statement he simple said: "Let's do it!"
As the news spread, celebrations erupted in the street. The next morning, a billion people realized that their turn to be sent to the dragon would come before the missile would be completed. Dracocide became the number one priority. Mass rallies raised money for the project and urged the king to increase the level of state support. In his New Year address, he announced he would pass a bill to support the project at a high level of funding, saying, "I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of freeing the world from the ancient scourge of the dragon-tyrant."
Thus started a great race against time. An anti-dragon missile was simple in concept, but to make it required solution to a thousand technical problems. Test missiles were fired but fell dead to the ground or flew off in the wrong direction. Despite almost unlimited funding and round the clock work by the technicians, the king's deadline couldn't be met. But a prototype missile had been successfully test fired, and production of the shell from the composite material was underway. The launch date was set to the following year's New Year's Eve, exactly twelve years after the project's official inauguration.
A week before New year, the scientist who had earlier made the case for the project and was now its chief executive, came to the castle and requested an urgent audience with the king. The king excused himself to the dignitaries whom he was reluctantly entertaining at the Christmas dinner, and hurried off to meet her. As always of late, she looked pale and worn from her long working hours. This evening, however, the king detected a ray of relief in her eyes. She told him the shell had been loaded, everything had been triple checked, the missile had been deployed and they were ready to launch, and she asked the king to give his final go-ahead.
The king sank down into his throne and closed his eyes. He was thinking hard. By launching the projectile tonight, seven hundred thousand people would be saved. Yet if something went wrong, if the missile missed its target and hit the mountain instead, it would be a disaster. A new shell would have to be constructed, and the project would be set back by years. He sat there silently for almost an hour. Then he opened his eyes and said, "No. I want you to check and then re-check everything."
Next to speak was the king's chief moral advisor: "Let us grant that this woman is correct about the science, and that the project is technologically possible, although I don't think that it has been proven. Still, she desires that we get rid of the dragon. Presumably, she thinks she's got the tight not to be chewed up. How presumptuous. The finitude of human life is a blessing for every individual, whether they know it or not. Getting rid of the dragon would deflect us from realizing the aspirations to which our lives naturally point. It is debasing, yes debasing, for a person to want to continue their mediocre life for as long as possible without worrying about the higher questions of what life is for. But I tell you, the nature of the dragon is to eat humans, and our own nature is truly and nobly fulfilled only by being eaten by it!" The audience listened respectfully to this speaker. His phrases were so eloquent that it was hard to resist the feeling that some deep thoughts must lurk behind them, although nobody could quite grasp what they were.
The speaker next in line was a sage who was widely respected for his kindness and gentleness. As he strode to the podium, a small boy yelled out from the audience: "The dragon is bad!" The boy's parent turned bright red and began hushing the child, but the sage only said, "Let the boy speak." At first, the boy was too scared to move, but when he saw the genuinely friendly smile on the sage's face, he obediently followed him up to the podium. "I want my granny back," said the boy. "Did the dragon take your granny away?" "Yes," the boy said, tears welling up in his frightened eyes. "Granny promised that she would teach me how to bake gingerbread cookies for Christmas. Then those people in white clothes came and took Granny away to the dragon... The dragon is bad and it eats people ... I want my Granny back!"
There were several other speakers that evening, but the child's simple testimony had punctured the rhetorical balloon the king's ministers had tried to inflate. The people were backing the anti-dragonists, and by the end of the evening even the king had come to recognize the humanity of their cause. In his closing statement he simple said: "Let's do it!"
As the news spread, celebrations erupted in the street. The next morning, a billion people realized that their turn to be sent to the dragon would come before the missile would be completed. Dracocide became the number one priority. Mass rallies raised money for the project and urged the king to increase the level of state support. In his New Year address, he announced he would pass a bill to support the project at a high level of funding, saying, "I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of freeing the world from the ancient scourge of the dragon-tyrant."
Thus started a great race against time. An anti-dragon missile was simple in concept, but to make it required solution to a thousand technical problems. Test missiles were fired but fell dead to the ground or flew off in the wrong direction. Despite almost unlimited funding and round the clock work by the technicians, the king's deadline couldn't be met. But a prototype missile had been successfully test fired, and production of the shell from the composite material was underway. The launch date was set to the following year's New Year's Eve, exactly twelve years after the project's official inauguration.
A week before New year, the scientist who had earlier made the case for the project and was now its chief executive, came to the castle and requested an urgent audience with the king. The king excused himself to the dignitaries whom he was reluctantly entertaining at the Christmas dinner, and hurried off to meet her. As always of late, she looked pale and worn from her long working hours. This evening, however, the king detected a ray of relief in her eyes. She told him the shell had been loaded, everything had been triple checked, the missile had been deployed and they were ready to launch, and she asked the king to give his final go-ahead.
The king sank down into his throne and closed his eyes. He was thinking hard. By launching the projectile tonight, seven hundred thousand people would be saved. Yet if something went wrong, if the missile missed its target and hit the mountain instead, it would be a disaster. A new shell would have to be constructed, and the project would be set back by years. He sat there silently for almost an hour. Then he opened his eyes and said, "No. I want you to check and then re-check everything."
