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It wasn’t frequently that River Gale broke down. There’d been an incident, once, near the end of their secondary education—best not spoken of, other than to say that River had taken a thick skin and an unshakeable belief in the structures of power from that experience. But the structures of power were crumbling, now, right before River’s very eyes; quite literally. In this hyper-connected day and age, one could now livestream the collapse of Tharsese democracy—or, if one was so inclined, binge-watch it from one’s couch.
River sighed, lighting a cigarette. It wasn’t to smoke—they wanted the scent, made familiar to them by years of growing up alongside Aubrey. It smelled like comfort; like being twenty-five again, spending hours chattering away with their sibling in out-of-the-way corners of the house and mutually distracting one another from their work.
They glanced idly at the time in the corner of their vision—it was late, later than they’d been up in years. January would be along soon, to see if they were coming to bed. In the morning, they would have to give a press conference about this whole shameful affair to a room full of reporters, opportunistic and eager to disseminate news of this whole awful thing to the masses. They could think of nothing they would like to do less. If they could freeze time, they would; would stay here forever, wrapped in their armor of stolen t-shirt—petal-soft and blazoned with the insignia of the Tharsese Marines—aging green cardigan, blanket stolen off the bed in the next room.
On the video feed projected onto the wall, Senator Huang adjourned the Senate for the day. River sighed, starting the footage over, watching Senator Huang—the Speaker of the House, if River was playing by their party’s rules, but River was of the very sensible opinion that positions nominated while the Senate wasn’t actually in session didn’t count—call the roll for the sixth time that night. Almost shamefacedly, they skipped over exactly half of the names on the list.
A notification buzzed in the back of River’s head. It was the real Speaker, announcing on social media that they were filing a lawsuit to fight the illegal takeover of the Senate. It would take ages and amount to very little, but it was how the Rules of Engagement said you ought to deal with these sorts of things—ignoring the Rules would make them all no better than Huang’s party.
Right on cue, January padded in, sleep-mussed and tailed by an excited Kasha; Yuan had been asleep for hours, and River’s addled brain figured that it made sense she’d want to be involved. She’d been a member of House Gale all her life, and had as much right to be apprised of this political crisis as anyone.
“Coming to bed?” January inquired, perching on the arm of the couch.
“Probably not. Don’t think I’d be able to sleep, what with all the…” River jerked their chin at the video feed.
He made a noise of assent, watching the Senate footage with furrowed brows. “Recap this for me? Mx Ren tried, but they assumed I had a lot more background knowledge than I actually do.”
Ah. what the hell. “Alright, sure. Senator Vernier died last fall without naming a successor. Their eldest child took over the office on a temporary, de facto basis—Senator Huang’s party is trying to fight it in court to force a majority. They’re arguing that, because Stone Vernier was never confirmed as the heir, their appointment is invalid. Make sense?”
“To an extent. But how did that turn into”—January waved a hand at the video feed, wrinkling his nose—“ that? ”
“The crux of the party’s argument in court is that, because of Stone Vernier, we only have 148 senators. Ergo, only 74 are needed for a quorum.”
January nodded. “Alright.”
“But it’s a court case—of course it wasn’t going to be settled before the Senate opening. Senator Huang’s party was threatening to seize a majority; the Speaker of the House’s party staged a walkout in response, in an attempt to prevent them from doing so. On the day of the Senate opening, the Speaker ruled “no quorum” and dismissed the Senate—instead, Senator Huang’s party stayed in their seats and began their own form of false governance. It’s a perfect storm; without the split Senate, this never would have happened.”
January frowned. “And there’s nothing we can do?”
“No. Tomorrow, I shall express my disapproval in the strongest terms available to me. The Speaker of the House—the real one, not Senator Huang playing constitutional-violation pretend—has filed a lawsuit. For now we hold the line on the walkout, we refuse to sign any legislation passed during it, and we wait.”
“Suffering Christ.”
“Indeed.”
There wasn’t much in the way of religion among the Tharsese upper class—people did their big life-milestone ceremonies in temples, of course, but those were simply generally accepted traditions, without the backing of belief. Instead, a new kind of faith had taken root—faith in science, logic, and government, in The Way Things Were Meant To Be. River had always been a believer, even before becoming Senator Gale. There had never been any reason to doubt.
The worst part of it all was how much it felt like a betrayal. The Great Houses were all intertwined; River and Senator Huang had been children together. River may not have agreed with their policies, but they had respected them—somehow, they doubted they ever would again.
“I really do hate this place sometimes—no offense.” January said.
“None taken. It’s not unjustified.”
He poked them in the shoulder. “Move over, yeah?”
River obliged, sitting up; when he flopped down next to them, they draped the blanket around his shoulders, too. He tucked his head into the space between their shoulder and their neck.
“Christ.” January wondered out loud. “Do we actually like the Speaker of the House, now? Liu, I mean.”
“Insofar as you can like someone who publicly accused you of murdering their sibling.”
Unbidden, their mind replayed the events of just a few nights ago; Sasha Martinez had woken the pair of them up with a knock on River’s bedroom door, whispering quietly that the Speaker of the House is here and they won’t leave until they see you.
River sighed. They probably had to go; upon their inauguration, they had made a vow in service to the people of Tharsis. The Speaker may have been a heartless dinosaur, but they had as many rights as every other citizen. Ah, the joys of being Consul.
River yanked their prosthetic on and hauled themself upright; unwilling to accept being awake, they searched blindly in the dark for something clean. If the Speaker insisted upon impromptu meetings at—River checked the display in the corner of their vision—four in the morning, gross, then they would just have to accept a rather less polished version of Senator Gale than they had grown used to
What’s going on? January whispered.
It’s nothing, go back to sleep—the Speaker wants to see me.
I’m sensing a political crisis. I’ll come with.
Indeed—when the pair of them reached the conference room, there was Nikola Liu, Speaker of the House, pacing the length of the room. The skin under their eyes was a bruised purple, the deep green formal robes they were wearing rumpled. When they spoke, all their words came out at once— Oh good you’re here I know it’s last-minute I was at a gala when I heard I couldn’t get away until now you’re going to want to sit down.
River sent an intern for coffee, and coaxed the Speaker into sitting in one of the many chairs at the long table. They talked River through the whole scheme with tears in their eyes—Senator Huang’s strategy to betray democracy, spilled by a young Senator who couldn’t hold their liquor, and the last-minute plan to walk out. Clutching their cup of coffee, the Speaker had turned to look directly at January. This isn’t out of the goodness of my heart. It’s a favour returned—after this, we owe one another nothing.
January nodded solemnly, reaching across the table. Hesitantly, the Speaker took his hand and squeezed.
Kasha licked River’s fingers, derailing their train of thought. On the screen, Senator Huang slammed their gavel down declaring the Senate adjourned. Suddenly disgusted, River closed the video feed with a few micromovements of their eyes; the projection faded.
Next to them, January let out an audible sigh. “Oh, thank G-d.”
River couldn’t stop themself from smiling, nudging January softly with their elbow. “What?”
“You’re just so…I don’t know. Watching you of all people doomscroll is terrifying. Makes it seem like we really are fucked, this time.”
“What in the world does ‘me of all people’ mean?”
“I don’t know!” January thought for a moment. “It’s just that you always seem to know what to do—we’ve survived this long because of it. You became Consul because of it. The fact that you’ve been backed into a corner now makes me think Tharsis might be coming down around our ears; it’s just that nobody’s noticed yet.”
“Counterpoint—my becoming Consul means that there’s more checks on my power, now. I have the 4th Clandestine Commandos on speed dial; I could probably march in there and demand they withdraw the lawsuit against the new Senator Vernier, but that’s historically frowned upon, to say the least.”
January rolled his eyes. “Stupid fucking democracy.”
“Indeed,” River said with an incline of their head. “All this power-sharing nonsense is silly. It would be much better to simply declare myself autocratic ruler for the rest of time.”
“Now we’re talking.”
River smiled fleetingly, but their heart wasn’t in it. Their mind was far away, mulling this whole damn thing over. They hated the phrase “unprecedented times,” but that’s exactly what this felt like; like a new level of machinations, scheming and trickery.
The progenitor of House Gale had been named Jeremy Zhou; he was a physicist at one of the Universities of California. There was a portrait of him in one of the hallways of Songshu, broad-shouldered and smiling faintly. Could he have predicted, when that first mission landed, what the tiny colony would become in eight short generations? Could he have foreseen how awful things were going to get as he helped set out the burgeoning legal code, written for a population of barely one hundred?
“It’s never going to stop,” River said aloud. “Politics is just history in the making. It’s a perpetual fight.”
“Yeah,” January replied. “It sucks. But it’s better than the alternative.”
“Probably. It’s just that the system we have now is designed for good faith—I genuinely don’t think the founders considered that anyone would want to violate the system for their own gain.”
“Bit stupid of them, really—look how well that worked out for America.”
“Yes, it was shortsighted.” It was like a light came on in River’s brain all of a sudden—their brows shot up. “January, could we argue that Senator Huang’s party is engaging in insurrection against Tharsis, therefore making any actions undertaken after their takeover of the Senate invalid, and their nomination of Huang for Speaker with it?”
January paused, whipping around to look at them. “That…that might just actually work.” He shook his head. “E-mail Mx Ren. If this is going to happen, it needs to happen after you’ve had—” he paused, checking his watch—“a decent night’s sleep, at least.”
River nodded, still making political calculations in the back of their mind. They fired off a quick email to Ren, then allowed themself to be led into the next room, still draped in their blanket cloak.
The three of them—Kasha was apparently going to insist on being here for the night, instead of taking up her usual post in Yuan’s room—settled in for the night. River pulled January against their chest; cheesy as it was, it felt reassuring to feel his heartbeat against their own sternum. They had a way forward, now; whatever happened, they hadn’t just had to sit back and watch a flagrant violation of Tharsese law happen. Outside, history marched on.