Koven was still drunk from spice wine the morning of his recertification exam. He had been drunk a lot lately. But he already knew the outcome of his recertification. He would fail. He had known it for a long time. Ever since the debriefing. He withheld information. Worse still, he lied about the missing personal protection suit. Yes, he had failed.
Failed with Tanit too. She wouldn’t answer his calls. Wouldn’t even read his messages. Thirty-seven of them sat unwatched in her queue.
He had spent the last fortrevs telling everyone that would listen that he was a historian that had chosen poorly. He said he hated being a historian. It was a lie. He couldn’t face his own failure and shame for it. So he hated the thing he failed at. Many humans do this, not just you good people of Earth 5. It is a silly response, but it makes a lot of people feel much better and more secure about themselves, even if through illogical means. However, in highly weaponized societies, this may have advantages.
So when Koven stumbled into the testing office, hushed comments were made. Administrators were appalled that someone from such a fine family and a protégé of the new head of the History Department conducted themselves in such a manner.
One of the administrators came over to Koven and smiled. She asked if he wanted a cup of water-enriched brown caffeine liquid with a carbon sugar compound often used to combat a hangover unsuccessfully. Instead, Koven yelled at the very pleasant woman.
“Get it over with. Give me the liberty of rest. Stop my doubler, the Koven narrative that is all lies that I run on a loop in my head. What lie could I tell in this circumstance? The madness of calculating them all is finally over.”
The administrator recognized the telltale signs of a historian in trouble and her smile now came with sickly sweet kindness packed in a voice best reserved for using with children. Children will accept it. Adults will only be insulted.
“You are a special one,” said a nice fat man with white hair and deep black eyebrows. “Here, let me show you to the room.”
The pleasant man lead Koven down a hallway to a room with a large wooden door. It looked strange in a hall of metal doors.
“There you go. The examiner is waiting for you,” said the man, who smiled at him then left.
Koven stood at the door for a long time. It was going to be the last few moments of his fine life. Poverty and desperation were on the horizon and closing fast.
He opened the door and walked in.
Seated at the table in front of him was Professor Wingut.
“Please sit down,” he said to Koven.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I—”
“Stop for a moment. Sit down and let me tell you about Jolen of Circ.”
Koven pulled out the chair and plopped down into a slouch.
“Jolen was a wonderful woman. But she was married to Anders Soil.”
“The Anders Soil?” asked Koven, now curious and less slouched.
“Yes. Sometimes a decisions turns bad over time. Not on the first rev or the first hundred. But over time. Hers did.”
“Sorry. She died married to a criminal.”
“She didn’t die,” said Wingut.
“But the history…” And Koven stopped speaking as he realized what he was being told. “But how did you get through this?” asked an incredulous Koven, motioning his arms all around.
“The same way you will get through it today,” replied Professor Wingut.
“When a Historian lies, pay attention because
you have found the most precious thing in the universe.” —The Final McGee