The Last Emperox (The Interdependency, #3)

by John Scalzi

She was just a speck of animated carbon that would be eternally inanimate soon enough, so might as well go ahead and have another muffin, or lay that cute redhead, or whatever.

As far as Kiva could tell, whenever selfish humans encountered a wrenching, life-altering crisis, they embarked on a journey of five distinct stages: Denial. Denial. Denial. Fucking Denial. Oh shit everything is terrible grab what you can and run.

It should be noted that the common people of the Interdependency were not fools. They were arguably the most educated and materially comfortable common people ever to live, in any human civilization, going back to when the first human decided hoofing themselves across the African landscape was a pain in the ass and decided to stay in one place instead.

This was great, if your goal was keeping a large population of humans, spread across trillions of kilometers of physical space, reasonably content on a day-to-day basis. It was less great if your goal was to, say, leave these billions completely in the dark about the encroaching end of civilization that was likely to result in slow famine and death for each of them if nothing was done.

They knew, and knew reasonably early in the grand scheme of things. But what did they do with that information? A large number of people looked at when their particular system would be entirely cut off from the rest of the Interdependency, decided that it was enough time in the future that someone would probably figure out what to do, and then went back to their daily lives, only mildly more apprehensive than before. The more ambitious planned protests and conferences and composed strongly worded missives to their local, system and Interdependency ministers of parliament, saying in no uncertain terms that something should be done, that that’s what they were elected for. Then they, too, mostly went back to their lives, under the impression that they, at least, had done something.

Which is to say, the monopolists stalled, to their own benefit. The local and system governments, not wanting to start panics before they had to, said nothing outside their own committees and organizations. But again, it’s not like the common people didn’t know.

Some of these people would become immensely rich, to the extent that money would continue to mean anything in the end times, while others would likely find their way to a convenient airlock to end their own self-inflicted suffering. They differed in their opinion as to which would be which. Capitalism was like that.

Most of those thinking about stockpiling still had in their brains the idea that the crisis was likely to be a temporary one, and that somewhere along the way someone would figure out how to keep billions from starving to death in the habitats that would increasingly fall to entropy.

Everyone knew what was coming. Some even prepared and planned. But at the end of it, everyone assumed that something or someone would come along to save the civilization that they lived in and could not conceive of actually disappearing. Something or someone would come along to save them. They would be saved, along with everyone else. It was a nice thought. It wasn’t true.

“A few days ago Drusin Wolfe came over to me and Senia Fundapellonan while we were having dinner, and monologued at me.” “He what?” “Monologued. You know, ‘Soon you will experience your doom, bwa ha ha ha,’ that sort of shit.” “I didn’t know people did that in real life.”

“Looking back on your life and knowing how much better you could have been is never a great feeling.

Kiva Lagos reflected that it was easy to get access to just about anyone at any time, if (a) you were of sufficiently high status and (b) if you were willing to be a complete asshole about it.

She did not stop. She flung open the door to Drusin Wolfe’s office, and then slammed it shut and locked it before her reluctant entourage could get to her. Drusin Wolfe looked up from where he sat in a chair by a coffee table, in discussion with another man, about who the fuck knows or cares. “What the hell?” Wolfe said. Kiva pointed to the other man. “You. Fuck off.” There was pounding at the door. Kiva ignored it. Drusin Wolfe put a hand on the other man’s arm to forestall any fucking off. “Are you insane? You can’t just barge into my office and tell people to fuck off.” “And yet here I am,” Kiva said. “In your office. Telling this extraneous dimwit to fuck off.” She turned her attention to the extraneous dimwit. “What part of ‘fuck off’ aren’t you understanding?”

“It’s not a great idea to be too in love with your own cleverness.” “What are you, my mother?” “If I were your mother, I’d use the word ‘fuck’ more often.” “It’s a perfectly good word.”

“Look. This might be coming a little early for you, because you’re, well … you, but the thing is, I’m in love with you. Which is not what I expected to happen. I enjoyed you, and then after I was shot and you took care of me, I appreciated you, and I’ve always liked you. But now I know I love you, and that’s terrible, because now I have to fucking worry about you. So I need you to feel, in your head and in your gut, the idea that Nadashe Nohamapetan is dangerous to you. Because you’re not safe until you do. Which is awful for me.”

“Next time remind your co-conspirators to keep their fucking mouths shut.” “That’s a very good idea, Kiva, thank you. I will.”

Not for the first time, Nadashe wondered, in an abstract way, if there was something not quite right about her. If one were to list out her deeds over the last several years, one would suggest they were the acts of a sociopath. She had, after all, helped foment a civil war; attempted to assassinate the emperox not once but twice, the second time killing her own brother as collateral damage; participated in a coup and was fomenting another one; and in the last few weeks taken out a small handful of nobility. On paper, these were not the deeds of a nice or moral person.

“That’s a lot of moral certitude coming from someone who fought an actual war so he wouldn’t have to give up a painting,” Rachela said.

The last emperox stepped up to the chancel of the cathedral, where Nadashe Nohamapetan now stood, and stopped directly in front of her. “Bitch, you’re in my spot,” said Kiva Lagos.

“You won the fight, but you lost the possibility of us,” Marce said.