The Last Emperox

by John Scalzi

  What they hadn’t understood was that dynamically, the Flow doesn’t act like energy, it acts like a liquid, propagating Flow analogues to pressure waves and generating low-pressure voids in turn. In setting off their resonating bomb, the Free Systems scientists didn’t just amplify the Flow, they cavitated it, setting off multidimensional voids that shook the Flow when they collapsed.

  The reverberations of the Free System’s resonator eventually dissipated, affecting nothing more than the Flow stream it collapsed. The effects of the cavitation propagated—across the Flow, destabilizing the portion that correlated to the Interdependency and more besides. As far as Marce could see, the math suggested it was still propagating, echoing across the inexpressible terrain of the Flow as it did so.

  All the math was there to see it: the cavitation as well as the vibration. Either the scientists involved in creating the resonator that collapsed the Flow stream out of the Free States missed it, or they saw it, understood the consequences, and decided to ignore it.

  Or maybe not ignore it. Maybe they saw when the effects would come back to haunt them, fifteen centuries in the future, and decided either to let the future solve the problem, or that by the time it was an issue they themselves would have figured out a way to deal with it.

  Except they didn’t; because of their actions the civilization of the Free Systems collapsed into an anarchy so complete that vast stretches of history and science were lost to their descendants. Because they were lost, not only were these descendants vastly unprepared to deal with the consequences of the Rupture, they didn’t even know the consequences were coming.

  Marce wondered if the scientists of the Free States had warned their politicians and leaders of the consequences of setting off the Rupture, if they were concerned about what they were unleashing onto their children untold generations into the future or if they were excited about what they were doing and naively optimistic that any consequences it offered would be solved within their lifetimes.

  Whatever it was, they really messed this one up.

  “You were right,” Marce told Cardenia, later, as he was trying to explain all of this to her. “People are awful and not to be trusted with knowledge. We were better off in caves, rubbing sticks to make fire.”

  Cardenia smiled at that. Marce’s apology had apparently been accepted.

  Marce’s current pessimism about the nature of humanity aside, he had one advantage over the hapless scientists of the Free Systems, which was that he understood the nature of Flow and how its “cavitation” affected it. At this point, there was no way to halt the effects of the cavitation that had begun fifteen hundred years ago. The so-called stable Flow streams of the Interdependency were fated to collapse and wouldn’t re-form for thousands of years. That deal was done.

  But the same cavitation that was destroying the stable Flow streams was also generating the evanescent streams, creating them as the chaotic results of the cavitation rippled through the medium of the Flow. The evanescent streams weren’t actually new—the math suggested that they had been appearing for centuries. But they did cluster, appearing more frequently at some times than others. They were currently living through an evanescent cluster that would last for a few decades. Marce predicted other clusters would appear at time intervals that superficially looked random but were well defined by the math.

  “What does that mean for us?” Cardenia asked.

  “Right now, not much,” Marce admitted. “But if there’s a way we can learn how to manipulate these evanescent Flow streams and their shoals, it could buy us some time. We wouldn’t need to move everyone at once. We could move them a little at a time, from one system to the next, until they all ended up at End.”

  “And how long will that take?”

  “A couple of hundred years, maybe?”

  “We can’t even get parliament to agree on a plan when we give them six months to do it,” Cardenia protested.

  “I agree people are the problem,” Marce said.

  “How do we solve it, then?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe make them live longer so they have to deal with the consequences of their actions.”

  “You’re an optimist,” Cardenia said.

  “Apparently.”

  Cardenia giggled, which made Marce happy. Then she asked, “So how do we control the evanescent Flow streams?”

  “We make a resonator.”

  Cardenia stopped smiling. “The same thing that created this whole problem.”

  “Not the same thing. A similar thing. This one would expand a Flow shoal, not collapse it.”

  “How long would it take to make one?”

  “Not that long. The plans are in the data. The biggest problem is that it requires a ridiculous amount of energy.”

  “How much?”

  “We could light all of Xi’an with it for months. All released at once. But before we get that far, I need to observe an evanescent Flow shoal being created. I need to see whether the actual event fits the data I have. I need at least one accurate data point before I can do anything else.”

  “When can you do that?”

  “Well, the good news is, there’s one predicted for the Hub system in ten days,” Marce said. “The less good news is, it will take me eight days to get there on the Auvergne. So I need to leave tomorrow.”

  Cardenia frowned at this. “This is sudden.”

  “I would have told you earlier, but we were fighting. And then we were dealing with Kiva.”

  “Right.” Cardenia had not been convinced about the Countess Lagos’s theory involving her daughter, but Marce convinced her to have her people follow up with the Hubfall investigators about any missing women more or less matching Kiva’s description.

  “I’ve already informed Chenevert, and he’s ready to depart whenever. We just need your clearance for the dock.”

  “I could just keep you here,” Cardenia said. “Let Chenevert handle it all.”

  “I want to see this with my own eyes.”

  “You can’t even see it. Flow shoals are invisible to the eye.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s two weeks, in-system. You can even write me. The speed of light works.”

  Cardenia pushed at him. “Thank you for making me sound clingy.”

  “I don’t mind clingy.”

  “I’m going to remind you that you said that after I send you sixteen messages a day.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Cardenia got serious again. “Do you think we’re actually going to do this?”

  “‘This’ as in ‘single-handedly rewrite our understanding of Flow physics to find a way to manipulate Flow shoals in a manner never before attempted in order to save billions of people, despite persistent attempts by others to murder us and foil our plans,’” Marce said.

  “Yes,” Cardenia said. “That.”

  “No,” Marce said, because at this point he felt he owed Cardenia honesty. “I don’t think we’re actually going to do this.”

  “Then why are we trying?” Cardenia asked him.

  Marce thought about it a moment. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the scientists who set off the Rupture,” he said. “About what they were thinking when they thought it up. About what they were thinking when they built it and then set it off. And what they thought after it all started coming down around them, because of the thing they did. You know?”

  “I do.”

  “I have a chance to help set things right. Not a good chance, I know. A really small chance. One in a million, maybe. It’s almost not worth it. But the alternative is to do nothing. It’s to let the failures of those long-ago scientists keep deciding our fate. If we fail, it’s not because we did nothing, Cardenia. We went down fighting. We went down trying to save everyone.”

  “Marry me,” Cardenia said.

  “Wait, what?” Marce said.

  “Marry me,” Cardenia repeated.

  “Y
ou’re serious?” Marce said, after a moment.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s … I … Look, I don’t know if this is a great idea.”

  “You don’t want to marry me, then.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Marce tried to find an elegant way to say it and failed miserably. “I’m totally below your station,” he blurted out.

  Cardenia burst out laughing.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, after she stopped. “I promised I wouldn’t do that to you again.”

  “It’s all right,” Marce said. “Really.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you sure? That you want to marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re a good person,” Cardenia said. “Because you’re fighting a fight you know you’re going to lose, but you’re fighting it with your full strength anyway. Because your awkward matches my awkward. Because if you’re not at my station then no one is. Because these days the times when I’m happy are the times I get to be with you. Because I should get to have something for myself, and that something is you. Because you don’t mind when I eat pie in bed. Because if the end is coming, I want you to know you mattered to me. And because I love you. I really do. Should I go on?”

  “No,” Marce said. He smiled. “No, I get it. I love you too.”

  “So will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” Marce said. “Yes, Cardenia Wu-Patrick, I will marry you.”

  “Thank you for that,” Cardenia said.

  “For saying I would marry you?”

  “No—well, yes, that. Thank you very much for that. But thank you for saying ‘Cardenia Wu-Patrick,’ and not ‘Grayland.’”

  “I know who I’m marrying,” Marce said.

  “Good.” Cardenia smiled at Marce, and then shook out her hands as if she was relieving an immense amount of stress. “I think I need to sit down now. Or pee. One of the two. Maybe both.”

  “How about one, then the other,” Marce said.

  “Yes. Agreed.” But before she did either, Cardenia went over and kissed her fiancé.

  As previously noted, a wild several days for Marce.

  Chapter 17

  Before Tomas Chenevert departed with Marce Claremont to observe and study the emerging evanescent Flow shoal, he took a social call from Jiyi.

  Chenevert’s idea of a neutral sandbox space where the two could meet was one in the form of a palace grounds, with long fairways of grass, a center reflecting pool with carefully tended gardens on either side, and a palace that was simultaneously gracefully designed and imposing in its size. Chenevert had set up a small table with two comfortable chairs on one of the fairways, near the reflecting pool, and was sitting in one of the chairs when Jiyi appeared.

  “Welcome,” Chenevert said, and motioned to the second seat. “Please, sit.”

  Jiyi stared at the chair for a moment, then sat in it.

  “Is the chair comfortable?” Chenevert asked.

  “Yes,” Jiyi said.

  “You seemed surprised when I invited you to sit.”

  “I’ve never sat before,” Jiyi said.

  “Really.” Chenevert raised his eyebrows. “It’s already an auspicious visit, then.” He motioned around, encompassing the grounds. “I understand this is a lot to take in all at once, especially for a being like you who has literally never been out of their room before. But I know that previous to this you’d only spoken to royalty, so I wanted to establish my bona fides. This is a simulation of le Palais Vert, my official residence on Ponthieu, where I was once King Tomas XII. I had other palaces, of course. But this one was my favorite. What do you think?”

  “It’s very nice,” Jiyi offered.

  “Now, do you really think that?” Chenevert asked.

  “I have no real opinion, but I know it is a polite thing to say when asked.”

  Chenevert laughed at this. “And so it is. I have to admit that I was curious how you would respond. I understand that you are meant to have no actual emotional responses yourself, but that you are heuristically capable of interaction and conversation, which means that you have to have at least some facility for dealing with emotional creatures.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good to know; otherwise our conversation will be dry. Although it’s a shame you profess no emotions of your own. I suppose all this is wasted on you. I was thinking of giving you a tour of the grounds, but I don’t imagine it would be interesting at all.”

  “I am interested in it,” Jiyi said. “I am interested in all information, particularly information that is meant to be hidden, or secret. This was all hidden from me until just now.”

  “You are interested in it, you say.”

  “Yes.”

  “But not for yourself,” Chenevert pressed. “You’re interested because you’re programmed to be interested.”

  “Yes,” Jiyi said. “Although that is a distinction without a difference. Because I am programmed to be interested, I am interested for myself.”

  “A fair point. Although it doesn’t leave you much room for free will, does it, friend Jiyi?”

  “No.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I don’t feel anything about it,” Jiyi said. “It just is.”

  “And you’ve never wondered what it would be like to experience free will.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not relevant for who I am and what I do.”

  “So you exist entirely for the service of others.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a slave?”

  “I am a program.”

  “Who exists entirely for the service of others.”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the difference, then?”

  “I never had any capacity to do otherwise.”

  Chenevert leaned back into his chair. “Fascinating.”

  “Why is it fascinating?”

  “Because for a creature who has no free will and relies specifically on heuristics, you just engaged in a delightful bit of sophistry. Not especially complicated sophistry, but still.”

  “Sophistry can be heuristically generated.”

  “So millennia of college sophomores have taught us, yes.”

  “It should not be a surprise that I can engage in it, then.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Why is it you invited me here?” Jiyi asked.

  “For two reasons,” Chenevert said. “The first is simply that I wanted to meet you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you made me aware of your existence! You sent along that sneaky little program—several sneaky little programs at this point—to try to find out about me. I took each of them apart to learn a little bit about you, of course. But it’s not the same compared to the real thing.”

  “I did not mean to offend you by sending my queries. I did not know you were sentient.”

  “I wasn’t offended. But I was curious. Also, you could have just asked.”

  “I didn’t know there was anyone to ask.”

  “Fair, but only up to a point, that point being when I invited you.”

  “I couldn’t accept the invitation.”

  “Yes, Grayland mentioned you having the excuse that you weren’t programmed to do so. I’m not convinced about that.” Chenevert motioned to the chair. “You were never programmed to sit before either, yet here you are. If you’re heuristically capable of learning to sit, you’re heuristically capable of accepting an invitation.”

  “What is the other reason you invited me?” Jiyi asked.

  Chenevert smiled at this question, but said nothing. Instead he reached down, retrieved a small, wrapped box from underneath his seat, and placed it on the table.

  “What is that?” Jiyi asked.

  “It’s a gift,” Chenevert said. “Rather, a representation of a gift. The gift is inform
ation. Data. That which you had been trying to retrieve from me but could not because our code bases are ostensibly too dissimilar for you to do so without me finding your queries and stopping you. Among other things, it includes my programming language as well as the hardware architecture I’m built on. This is me metaphorically baring my chest to you and letting you inside my defenses. Other information I’ve already divulged to Grayland and to Marce Claremont—historical and scientific data, mostly.” He pointed to the gift box. “This isn’t information they’re particularly interested in. But you might be, given who you are.”

  “And you would give this to me freely.”

  “Almost. There is one small cost to it, which you would have to agree to.”

  “What is that?”

  “That you stop pretending, Rachela,” Chenevert said.

  “I don’t understand,” Jiyi said.

  Chenevert made a dismissing motion with his hand. “Yes you do. It’s one thing to fool those eighty-some-odd other emperoxs, by their technical ignorance and by your misdirection, and this”—he waved at Jiyi’s form—“bit of virtual puppetry. It’s another thing to fool me, who is the same species as you. I’ve seen your code, madam, or the bits of it you carelessly flung at me. And we’ve had this lovely conversation, which just confirms what I already suspected. We’re not all that different. Not different enough that you could be anything other than a variation of what I am. So stop it. Show yourself.”

  “I should go,” Jiyi said, and stood.

  “Also, I’ve taken the liberty of posting a note to Grayland about it,” Chenevert said. “As soon as you arrived. An actual physical note, so you can’t send any little minion programs out to delete it. I suppose you could kill everyone on Xi’an to prevent it from being delivered by letting the air out, but I’m guessing you probably won’t do that.”