It was the best he could do. The room felt cold. It was huge, and set in a palace in the middle of a desert nation, with the windows open and fans blowing air to keep sweat to a minimum. Still, he was cold.

Important people at the long table. Ministers of war, treasury, culture, intelligence; generals of land and air; diplomats from friendly nations or cultural figures; their aides; and him at the head. All here to discuss a new resistance, rebels, their families, their territories, and how to kill them all.

The generals had a good plan. The ministers and everyone approved it. It would work, and a week from now, the rebellion would be gone. Until the next one.

They were waiting for him to agree. Thousands dead, if he nodded. He could say no, but these people were the military, the money, and the propaganda. They didn’t want him to say no. Say no, and they nod, leave, and in a month someone else would be in his seat and nod.

Hesitation was the most he could give them. Hesitation would give the innocent thousands a few more minutes.

“Tell me the plan again,” he said.