The Collapsing Empire

by John Scalzi

  “But you wouldn’t know that,” Grayland continued, to Nadashe. “So you and your family worked from the assumption that End would become the new center of the Interdependency. You worked so that when it happened, you, and not the House of Wu, would be the ones to control Flow access. You promoted rebellion on End, sent your brother Ghreni there to administer it, developed an agricultural virus to exacerbate it, and blamed it on the House of Lagos to cover your tracks and to get back at an enemy house.”

  “Here at Hub you pushed for military aid to End’s duke and then used pirates to take those weapons for your family, pushing the duke to more desperate action,” Marce said. “And you kept the pressure on for more military intervention by planning and executing terrorist attacks here and in the rest of the Interdependency.”

  “That’s a lie,” Nadashe said.

  “We have Che Isolt in Guard custody, Lady Nohamapetan,” Grayland said. “Your man at customs and immigration. He gave you up almost immediately. He told us how he identified and acted as a go-between between you and immigrants from End. How you would either use them or frame them for the terrorist events. He even told us about the attempt yesterday. How he gave an unwitting immigrant a transmitter that hacked into the shuttle through a maintenance program and sent it into your own ship. Do you know why he gave you up so easily?”

  “Because he found out you intentionally killed your brother to make it look like an attack on the Nohamapetans,” Marce said.

  Grayland nodded at this. “Apparently fratricide was too much even for him. Although he did approve of you attempting to frame the House of Lagos for all of this. He said it was a clever move.”

  “The House of Lagos isn’t happy about it, however,” Marce noted.

  “No,” Grayland agreed. “No, they are not. And neither are we, Lady Nadashe. About any of this.”

  There was dead silence around the table as the entire executive committee stared at Nadashe Nohamapetan.

  “I am grieved that you would believe any of this, Your Majesty,” Nadashe began.

  “Oh, cut the shit, Nadashe,” Grayland said, irritated. “It’s over.”

  “No, Cardenia,” Nadashe said, and there were several gasps as she used the emperox’s personal name, in a flagrant breach of protocol. “It’s not over. Perhaps for me. Not for the House of Nohamapetan.” She took her tablet, which she had kept in her hand this entire time, and tossed it onto the table. She pointed at it. “The minute your lackey here put Hatide’s report in my hand, I sent a message to the Prophecies of Rachela. The troopship with ten thousand marines and all their equipment and weaponry. By the time you showed up and started your tirade, the bridge crew had locked itself in and begun moving the ship toward the Flow shoal. It was already positioned for immediate transfer. In less than fifteen minutes the Rachela will be through and on its way to End. It’s too late to stop it.”

  Grayland glanced over to Korbijn, who grabbed her own tablet, leapt up from the table, and started making calls. Then she turned her attention back to Nadashe. “Your bridge crew can’t stay there forever.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Nadashe said. “They’re not the only ones I have with us. I’ve been working on this for years. When the Rachela comes through to End, we’ll control the system. We’ll control its imperial station first, and if my brother doesn’t control the surface of the planet by then, we’ll control it soon enough. Then it’s simply a matter of waiting, isn’t it? Now we can defend the exit shoal to End easily enough. We’ve planned for that. And when the Flow streams shift, we’ll start negotiations.”

  “You don’t understand,” Marce said. “Roynold was wrong. There’s no shift coming. There’s a collapse coming. Every single Flow stream is disappearing in the next decade.”

  “Excuse me, what?” said Upeksha Ranatunga.

  “That’s why I’m here,” Marce continued. “My father confirmed it. We confirmed it with data taken from ships coming to End. It’s all shutting down. All of it. End is about to be as isolated as every other system.”

  “That’s your interpretation of the data,” Nadashe said.

  “It’s already happening,” Grayland said. “The stream from End to Hub is already closed. The stream from Hub to Terhathum is next. Your family’s home system, Nadashe. Your home system.”

  Nadashe shook her head and smiled. “No. And it doesn’t matter anyway.” She pointed at Marce. “If he’s correct, then billions are about to die. End is the only system in the Interdependency with a habitable planet. Every other system is man-made habitats. They’ll last for years or even decades. But eventually they’ll fail. They’ll all fail. Except for End. Which the House of Nohamapetan will control, if it doesn’t already.”

  The door to the room opened again and four imperial guards came through and marched toward the executive committee table. Hibert Limbar followed behind them.

  Nadashe looked at them, and then at the emperox. “Are those for me?”

  “Yes, they are,” Grayland said.

  “Let me give you a piece of advice, Cardenia,” Nadashe said, as the guards crowded around her. “Keep me alive and treat me very well. The end of the Interdependency is coming one way or another. However it comes, the House of Nohamapetan is going to be there, waiting for its tribute. It’s not going to look kindly on you if something happens to me.”

  “We’ll keep it in mind,” Grayland said. “In the meantime, thank you for your service on the executive committee. You’re dismissed.”

  Nadashe laughed, stood up from the table, and walked out, accompanied by the guards. The entire executive committee watched her go.

  Then when she was gone, Upeksha Ranatunga cleared her throat. “I want to get back to this thing about the Flow streams collapsing in a decade.” She looked at Marce and Grayland. “Is it true?”

  “It’s true,” Marce said.

  “And you’re only telling us now?” Ranatunga said, disbelieving.

  Marce heard Grayland sigh, saw her glance over at him for just a moment, and then turn to Korbijn, who was returning to the table.

  “The Prophecies of Rachela is gone,” Korbijn said. “Through the Flow shoal. On the way to End.”

  “It’s only ten thousand marines,” Marce said. “And there can’t be that many more at the imperial station there. You have hundreds of ships and hundreds of thousands of marines.”

  “All of them have to go through the bottleneck of the Flow shoal,” Grayland said to him. “A few ships and weapons are all they need to defend it.”

  “You seem sure about that.”

  Grayland laughed, bitterly. “How do you think the House of Wu became the imperial house a thousand years ago, Lord Claremont? We did the very same thing here. In the space above Hub. Controlled the shoals and made everyone who wanted to come or go through them pay a price. We made them pay, Lord Claremont. Just like the Nohamapetans plan to make anyone going to End pay. And at the end of it, they’ll be the new emperoxs, or so they believe.”

  “Then seal off End entirely,” Korbijn said. “If the Nohamapetans want to self-exile, let them.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Marce said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because Nadashe was right,” Grayland said. “There’s only one system that will support human life on its own once the Flow collapses. And that’s End. We can prepare every system for the collapse. Give them everything we can to last as long as they can. But it’s End where humans will survive when everywhere else has gone dark. We need that planet. We need to get at least some people from every system in the Interdependency to it.”

  “And it’s the Nohamapetans who stand in our way,” Marce said.

  “Yes,” Grayland said, nodding.

  “So what do we do?” said Upeksha Ranatunga, after a minute. “What do we do now?”

  EPILOGUE

  “Don’t you have better things to do than to sit around here?” Attavio VI asked Cardenia, as she sat in the Memory Room.

  “Are you exp
ressing judgment?” Cardenia asked.

  “I remember asking you that question once when you were spending time with me as I was dying. It’s assonant to ask you again now. It gives the appearance that I care. Which is a thing you need.”

  “You know you ruin it when you put it like that.”

  “I apologize. But the question still stands.”

  “I do have better things to do,” she said. “But I’m going to sit around here anyway.”

  The simulation of Attavio VI nodded and then sat next to her—or at least, the simulation of him gave the appearance of sitting next to her. “I came here too,” he said. “Whenever I was overwhelmed or exhausted or just needed to be away from other people. I would come here and talk to my mother or grandfather or any of the other emperoxs.”

  “Did it work?”

  “It worked about as well as it’s working for you right now,” he said. “But I decided it was good enough.”

  Cardenia smiled at that. “It is good enough,” she agreed.

  “You haven’t been in the Memory Room as often recently.”

  “Do you miss me when I’m gone?”

  “I don’t exist when you’re gone, so, no,” Attavio VI said.

  “I’m busy with the end of everything,” Cardenia said. “I had Lord Marce give a presentation to parliament. I’ve ordered the military to create a plan for taking back End. I’ve suspended the operations and monopolies of the House of Nohamapetan and given them to the House of Lagos to administer.”

  “I’m sure that went over well.”

  “It went well with the House of Lagos, at least.” Cardenia remembered the meeting with the Countess Lagos and her daughter Kiva, both of whom were profanely delighted at the fall of the Nohamapetans, and the rise in their own fortunes. The countess gave Lady Kiva responsibility for the Nohamapetan monopolies, with Cardenia’s permission. “Marce’s presentation was not nearly as successful. He laid it out as simply and in as straightforward a way as it could be done, and the majority of the parliament still thinks it’s nonsense even though we have proof.”

  “But you don’t have proof yet,” Attavio said. “It hasn’t been more than two weeks since Lord Claremont arrived. The ships from End could still be delayed by the civil war. The Flow stream to Terhathum is still open.”

  “I don’t know that it will matter even then,” Cardenia said. “I’m continually confronted with the human tendency to ignore or deny facts until the last possible instant. And then for several days after that, too.”

  Attavio VI nodded. “This is why I never said anything about it.”

  “Yes, and I’m getting a ration of shit for that, too, thank you very much, father of mine,” Cardenia said. “I have seventy percent of the parliament angry with me because they don’t believe this collapse is coming, and forty percent angry with me because I didn’t tell them about it sooner.”

  “That math on that is bad,” Attavio VI said.

  Cardenia shook her head. “No, because some people are both. And then there are the allies to the Nohamapetans who either believe Nadashe has been framed either by me or the House of Lagos, or have decided that a little bit of treason and rebellion isn’t that big of a deal. Which is another thing I get to thank you for—letting that house become as influential as it did.”

  “I can’t be blamed for that.”

  “Of course you can be blamed for it. I just blamed you. I’m getting blamed and now I’m passing some of that blame on to you. I hope you feel bad about it.”

  “I’m dead. I don’t feel bad about anything.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “It’s not,” Attavio VI said.

  Cardenia closed her eyes for a moment and rested back against the wall of the Memory Room. “I didn’t want to be emperox, you know,” she said.

  “Yes,” Attavio agreed. “I remember.”

  “You didn’t want me to be emperox either.”

  “I remember that too. But regardless of what either of us wanted there is the fact of what is. And the fact is, you are emperox. Probably the last emperox of the Interdependency. And the question you might ask yourself is whether you would want anyone else to be that person.”

  “No,” Cardenia said. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  Attavio VI nodded. “Remember there’s a reason I suggested the name Grayland to you. To remind you what had to be done. And to inspire you to be the person to do it.”

  “Do you think it’s working?”

  “I don’t have opinions anymore,” Attavio VI said.

  “Well, pretend that you do.”

  “You’re asking a heuristic computer network for its opinion.”

  “Yes I am. Do you think it’s working?”

  There was a pause and Cardenia could have sworn she saw the image of Attavio VI flicker for the barest fraction of a second. Then, “Yes. I think it’s working.”

  Cardenia smiled. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “In fact, yes, it was.”

  Cardenia laughed at this and then grew silent again. “The Interdependency was built on a lie, you know,” she said, to Attavio VI.

  “Yes, I know. If not a lie, then perhaps on the least malignant projection of its original intent.”

  “It’s a lie,” Cardenia said. “I know it. You know it. Every emperox knows it. All of the major houses, the ones that have been around since the founding of the Interdependency, know it, and the minor ones are pretty sure about it too. We’ve all been agreeing to live with this and continue this lie. For centuries.”

  “Yes,” Attavio VI said.

  “It feels like the lie is coming due now,” Cardenia said, and then held up a hand. “I want to be clear, it’s just a feeling. There’s no rationality behind it. But the feeling of it is so strong within me. Knowing that we created the Interdependency for our benefit, and pretended it was something that benefitted everyone. It makes this collapse feel like it’s the universe commenting on our choice.”

  “It’s not.”

  “I know. The Flow has nothing to do with us. It doesn’t care about us. It’s just something that is. But I still can’t shake that feeling.”

  “That’s the human brain,” Attavio VI said. “It creates patterns when there aren’t any. Imagines causality when there is none. Imagines a narrative where none exists. It’s in the design of the brain itself. It’s primed to lie.”

  “And primed to believe the lie.”

  “Yes,” Attavio VI said.

  And then Cardenia had an idea.

  “Huh,” she said, after the idea had unpacked itself in her head.

  “What is it?” Attavio VI asked.

  “The Interdependency began with a lie.”

  “Yes.”

  Cardenia smiled. “I think it needs to end with another one,” she said.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As ever, I think it’s tremendously important to note that there is more to a book than simply the words that go into it—it passes through many hands after it leaves mine and before it gets to yours, and all of those hands make it better. Therefore, let me acknowledge the following: Patrick Nielsen Hayden, my editor (who was promoted to associate publisher at Tor while I was writing this—congratulations, Patrick); as well as Miriam Weinberg, who had the thankless task of checking in on me about when the manuscript would be in; Tor art director Irene Gallo and cover artist Sparth for a fantastic cover; copy editor Christina MacDonald for catching my many errors; text designer Heather Saunders; Alexis Saarela and Patty Garcia in Tor publicity; and of course Tom Doherty, who runs Tor.

  I am especially grateful to them because I turned in this book rather later than I intended to—the second book in a row I have done that for—and no doubt tried their patience in having done so. To each of them I can only say that I am heartily sorry to have been a pain in the ass for a second time in a row. I did have plans to get this in early. Also, if I turn in a third book late, I think it would be fair if everyone involved in the production o
f the book gets to punch me hard in the arm.

  (As a side note, and this is not an excuse, but holy buckets, did the 2016 presidential election make it hard to focus on writing a novel, because I felt like I needed to check in every five minutes to make sure we didn’t find a way to blow ourselves the hell up. I’m writing these acknowledgments in October of 2016, so the outcome of the election is still in doubt, and I’m still worried about everything ending in fire. But at least now I don’t have to try to write a novel around the worry, too.)

  (As a second side note, I will also note that the title of this book—The Collapsing Empire—was not intended as a commentary on the current state of the United States, the UK, or of Western Civilization in general. I thought it up years ago. It just happened to look like commentary because, let’s face it, 2016 was a historically fucked-up year, and I can only hope 2017 is going to be better. Because if it’s not, it really is time to head to the bunkers with our barrels of beans and rice.)

  Coming back to acknowledgments, I’d like to give thanks to Ethan Ellenberg, my agent. I always give thanks to Ethan, but at the moment I’d like to give a special moment of appreciation. As some of you may know, this book represents the first book of a ridiculously excellent multibook, multiyear contract with Tor, which I was extraordinarily happy to get (Hey! I get to write novels through 2027 at least! That’s pretty good!), and which Ethan was an exemplary shepherd of during the negotiating process. I got very lucky when he became my agent, and I’m grateful with every book that he does such a fine job for me. Thanks also to Bibi Lewis, who handles my foreign language contracts; to Joel Gotler, my film/TV agent; and to Matt Sugarman, my entertainment lawyer. In other news, I am now a person who has lots of agents and lawyers. I know, I think it’s weird as well. Finally, a big wave of appreciation to Steve Feldberg at Audible, who handles the audio versions of my work.

  The number of friends who kept me grounded while I wrote this book are too many to be counted in these acknowledgments, so let me resort to the old phrase of “you know who you are” and say thank you. (If you don’t know if this includes you, hey, just assume it does. Thank you! You’re awesome.) Also, thank you, readers. Yes, you! You let me write for a living. How great is that? I have a house and food and pets that won’t eat me out of gnawing hunger because of you guys. I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate that. I do. I really do.