Dyson’s hairy knuckles rapped impatiently against the desk he sat at, although the noise against the wood was impossible to hear in the crowded parliament room. Insults, jokes, hoots, jeers and ideas slung back and forth from right and left. Dyson found himself very much trapped in a position, like Wilberforce and Clarkson, and Douglass before him. An individual trapped in the never-ending fight over the rights and freedom of another being. He narrowed his dark eyes at his opponent, an old government minister, and the King’s Secretary of Trade, called Carton. Carton stood, defiant towards the minority of abolitionists in parliament.
“I would also like to bring to the Parliament,” he announced, “the notion that even the mongrels themselves do not seem to dislike their position as slaves! Whereas in their homeland they are stricken with poverty, war, famine, and disease, we benevolent and virtuous slave-owners give them occupation, as well as the means to support themselves and their families. Even my lowest slave holds ownership over a flock of poultry and a fat sow!”
Carton turned from the Head of the Cabinet, pointing an accusing finger at Dyson.  “And this man,” Carton glared at Dyson, spittle flying from his mouth, “would rather see my beloved slaves homeless and disease ridden than working and healthy!” The otherwise silent group of representatives began yelling again, the few abolitionists flushed with embarrassment. The Head of the Cabinet slammed a fat fist against the wooden podium he sat at. “Order!” his boisterous voice called for. The Cabinet reluctantly quieted, and Dyson stood, buttoning his waistcoat.
“Members of the Parliament,” he began, placing his palms against his allotted desk. “I beg you to realize that we aren’t dealing with animals. These are living, sentient beings! Representative Cauldwell,” Dyson looked to a member sitting on the opposite side of the room, with the slave owners. “Is it not true that after a tour of the city’s ports, and after walking on very ships used to transport slaves, you issued Rites of Freedom for over half of the slaves on your property?”
“Er…” Cauldwell stammered, his cheeks finding a new shade of crimson. The people around him suddenly narrowed their eyes. He could feel them piercing him, like daggers. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say-“
Dyson slammed his fist against the wooden surface. “D--- it, answer me! Is it, or is it not true?! There are lives at stake!”
Cauldwell fell silent, as did the rest of the room. He felt the lump that began to rise in his throats. With a slow breath and shut eyes, he stood and murmured “yes,” before walking to cross the imaginary threshold that split the room between freedom and captivity.
Several of the slave owners jeered at him, calling him a hypocrite, a revolutionary, a traitor. One member called to have him hanged, drawn and quartered on the grounds of treason. Dyson suppressed a triumphant smirk. Suddenly, a foreboding voice rose from the back of the room. Deep and hearty, the Secretary of Agriculture and Farming, named Tuttle, called attention to himself.  “Gentlemen, I want to pose a question.” The room fell silent.
“Raise an arm,” he said, “if you enjoy fruits. Bananas and the like.”
Everyone, slave owner or abolitionist, rose a hand. Dyson kept his down, until he met Tuttle’s eyes. Reluctantly, he found his arm up in the air. Tuttle gave a half-smirk.
“And who,” he continued, “do you think grows those bananas? Collects them? Distributes them?”
Dyson’s eye widened, and he stood once more, turning to the Head of the Cabinet. “I think you’ll find Representative Tuttle’s words unimportant. What is important is that we’re dealing in li-“
Tuttle cut him off. “Yes, Representative Dyson, you’ve told us time and time again of the ‘lives at stake.’ However, my good friend, and Secretary of Trade, Representative Carton, has shown the Parliament that these ‘lives,’ as you call them, are happy, healthy, and busy. Busy, I tell you, collecting our food, refining our sugar, and creating our thread. The work of slaves provides our homes, our food, our clothing, and the weapons of our armies. We’re in the midst of a war. Would you like to introduce the grievances of famine and poverty to our already war-stricken society?”
Another representative shouted in support of Tuttle. Dyson said nothing. Tuttle continued.
“These slaves, they provide for us. They are our everything; our food, our homes, our livestock, our defenses. All because we’ve showed them the ways of civilization and modernization. And you’d seek to send them back to their hell, all because you claim they aren’t free?”
Dyson found a new refuge, burying his face into his palms.
“The tenants of our society and religion tell us to help those of lower place than us, and to be charitable. You’d rather we abandon our ideas and our beliefs, -“
“No,” Dyson retorted.
Tuttle continued, “- abandon the very values we hold true and dear to not only our hears –“
“No!”
“- but also our minds!” Tuttle spat the final words at Dyson.
He shook his head, eyes clenched shut to hold in tears. The Parliament once again whooped and jeered at him, throwing not only insults, but their water glasses as well. The Head of the Cabinet allowed the jeering to continue for several minutes, before slamming his fast onto the desk again.
“Then we’re decided?” his throaty voice inquired. Tuttle, who was still standing nodding. The Head of the Cabinet took a slow breath, before looking over the Parliament.
“All in favor to Representative Dyson’s abolition bill, raise your arms.”
Only a handful of members lifted their limbs. Dyson didn’t move his face from his palms.
“All in opposition of Representative Dyson’s bill?”
The rest of the Parliament lifted their arms. Everyone opposite of Dyson, everyone in support of Tuttle and Carton, everyone who held ownership over a slave, and even Representative Cauldwell.
“Very well,” the Head of the Cabinet said, reaching for his gavel. He raised it off the desk. “Then we’ve decided,” he slammed the gavel into the wooden surface, the sound penetrating Dyson’s ears like the final nail in a coffin. “The sale and trade of the Human race will continue, for the good of the Advanced Simian Species.”