So.
Project Indigo.
You can hardly bear to sew these words into your quilt; you must.
A WMD that specifically targets a certain race. Its formula attacking a peculiarity of their genetic make-up. Preventing them from reproducing. Causing them, mysteriously, to die out. A generation or two is all it will take and then your people will be rid of them, they’ll be no more threat. The project so secretive that they’d never know what’s stopping their women from falling pregnant, they’ll just … vanish. A natural process. Humane. Clearing them peacefully from your earth. Breeding the stain out. They’ll wonder if it’s something they’re eating, their sexual practices, contaminated water, soil, pesticides, plastics; they’ll never know. But it’ll stop them multiplying like rabbits and eventually those left will abandon their cursed place; they’re superstitious, they’ll clear out. And your people will have their country back. So. Peace at last.
The audacity of it, the stun. You can hardly bear to write what you were once. Your hand is trembling.
And you’re the only one left with the key to activate it.
‘Thwart them all,’ Motl joked, long after he’d left the project. ‘Lodge your papers in the British Library so they’ll all have it, and no one will dare use it. Anyone could convert it for their own use. Imagine that. It’ll keep everyone in check.’
‘I wouldn’t trust a single one of them.’ You laughed. ‘They’ll all grab it. The world will stop.’
‘And what gives you the right to play God?’ His voice, suddenly bereft of any light. Your laughter stopped.
‘You don’t trust me, do you.’ A statement not a question.
‘No,’ he replied, flat. ‘I don’t. I think you’re dangerous.’
You shawled your arms around your shoulders, swiftly cold, wanting out. How well did you know him? How well did you know anyone? Everyone has a secret life.
And now. The only one left. You hold the key. You, alone, can activate it. You have to get your kids out, you have to get your husband back. You, alone, can activate it. You hold the key. You know what they want. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and once, long ago, you craved the glory so much.
The Lord is a man of war.