The human delegation arrived at the marble pantheon in the sky to little fanfare. The delegation was comprised of the leaders of the G8 countries. The conference at the sky pantheon was the result of an arduous process undertaken by the humans. After all, the messages in the clouds weren’t exactly forthcoming with the name of the individual who would accept payment for the new membership. The members of the delegation couldn’t help but feel a bit slighted.

“They have the audacity to cap our data allowance and don’t even deign to welcome us with a spot of tea?” Complained the British PM.

“Where I come from there’s such a thing we call ‘southern hospitality’,” said the U.S. President, “and this ain’t it.”

“Oh what is the point of it all?” Said the French President. “They know they have us by the…how you say? Balls. We are a captive audience. They set the price, we pay it. They know there is no need for red carpets or fresh coffee.”

That each of these leaders weren’t at one another’s throats was a miracle in and of itself. With the newly imposed data restriction Earth’s population had become a zero-sum game. That is, if the U.S. bore two new babies, but only had one old person die, that was one less baby for France, Russia, or Japan. These restrictions sowed protectionist policies and distrust among the global super powers. This game theory drove wedges between historically reliable allies and threatened to destabilize the entire globe if nothing was done about the data cap.

The stakes for the meeting were as high as the sky pantheon in which they’d take place.

As the German chancellor began to critique the structural integrity of the pantheon floating upon a cloud, the large, ornate marble door at the end of the corridor opened with a roar. A large bearded fellow with white hair and white robes strode out to meet the delegation.

“Apologies for making you wait,” said the man, “as you can imagine, we have a great many clients trying to upgrade their membership this time of year. And every client is our most important client—that’s the GloboCorp promise.”

The Russian PM regarded the man with a look dripping with disdain and spit. “Unacceptable. We are customer. We do not wait.”

The bearded man’s eyes burned with fury and his mouth opened to respond before the Japanese PM interrupted.

“What my colleague meant to say was that it is an honor to be invited to your beautiful offices. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said with a deep bow. “We look forward to the beginning of a fruitful business relationship.”

This appeared to please the bearded man as he scanned from leader to leader, the frown melted from his face. “Of course, of course. I’m so happy you all have made the journey to our humble offices. I’m Plato, Earth’s account manager. It is a pleasure to meet you all. Please follow me to our conference room where we will begin our presentation.”

The delegation followed Plato down the long corridor, their heels echoing about the massive space. Each member took their seat in the plush board room—finally in their own element.

“Can I interest any of you in a quantum latte?” Asked Plato as he stood at the head of the table. “They’re a real treat. We steam milk from the golden heifers of Plang-8 and superheat antimatter and mix them together. The resulting concoction is truly divine…and that’s a certification I am qualified to make.”

The U.S. President raised his hand, “say, is that anti-matter similar to that antifa I hear so much about? If so, I don’t think my constituents would take too kindly to my affiliation with such a beverage.”

Plato stared at the man with a baffled expression of disbelief. “…no. There’s no relation.”

The Japanese and British PM’s shared a knowing look.

There were no takers for Plato’s latte.

“Alright. Let’s get down to business then,” said Plato. The lights came down and a slide show glowed behind Plato as he gesticulated precisely with a laser pointer. “As you can see, Earth has bumped up against its data cap at a population of 10 billion. Now, I hate to be the bad guy, but that’s the result of the budget membership you signed up with initially. Heck, when you first arrived your leaders expected population growth to stall at 1 billion, so it looked like a wild overpay to have selected the gold-tier.

“That said, there were moments—especially around the 7 billion mark—where we at GloboCorp worried about your planet’s ability to continue as a going concern. It looked like you all were going to heat that little blue marble into a boil and poof! There goes Q1 for GloboCorp. But no. Earth is resilient. You, as its finest world leaders, are agile, intelligent, real problem solvers. And for that reason, we’re pleased to offer—for a limited time only—access to the platinum-tier membership.”

Plato paused and scanned the room for questions. Seeing none he continued. “Now, the Platinum-tier provides you access to a new population cap of 20 billion. Since you were all kind enough to get over here this afternoon, I’ll tell you what I can do. If you all agree to upgrade today, I’ll throw in support up to 22 billion. But again, that offer is only good for today. Any questions?”

The French President raised his hand. “Yes, what will this be costing us?”

Plato shined his bright white teeth at the group, his grin appeared more like a dog baring its teeth than a friendly smile. “Yes. There is the small matter of the payment. Before I go into the gauche details, I will first say that Earth is also a bit delinquent on its gold-tier membership. It appears as though…let’s see…”he delayed as he skipped ahead a few slides. “Ah yes, here. Earth is delinquent by a few hundred years.”

The delegation gasped—well, most of them. The Russian PM was unfazed by this revelation. “So how we pay now?” Said the Russian PM with an enviable nonchalance.

“Human sacrifice, of course,” said Plato.