Space Opera (Space Opera, #1)

by Catherynne M. Valente

“Of course we’re sentient!” protested the newly minted CEO of Sumitomo Mitsui Trust Holdings in Tokyo. “Look around! We’ve done so much! We’ve had . . . Kant! And Einstein! And Descartes! And . . . and Kurosawa and the Internet and Nekobasu and Mr. Rogers and game shows where you don’t even win anything except happiness! We’ve been to the moon! We saved the California condor. You and I are talking, back and forth! You can’t do that with a turtle or a jellyfish or a washing machine. How can you doubt we’re sentient? I donate to charity, you know.” Please don’t make a scene, sir. It’s not personal. You’ve got to order off the kiddie menu until you can sit still in your big-boy chair. The galaxy nearly roasted itself to ashes over the question of which species were and were not sentient. The ruins still smoke. The widows still weep. And quite frankly, Mr. Rogers notwithstanding, you’re a mess. I mean, honestly. You just made the argument for the survival of your species and you didn’t even mention a single female, except, presumably, half the condors. I don’t know why you would even bring up the Internet. The xeno-intelligence officer responsible for evaluating your digital communication required invasive emergency therapy after an hour’s exposure. One glance at that thing is the strongest argument possible against the sentience of humanity. I wouldn’t draw attention to it, if I were you.