The Human Division #10: This Must Be the Place by John Scalzi Page A

mother?” Magda Kueltzo might or might not actually be the power behind the Schmidt throne, but there was no doubt most of the family was deeply fond of her.
    “Much better,” Brous said. “In fact, she’s busy working the meal you’re going to be stuffing down your throat in just a few hours, so we better get you to it.” He took Hart’s bag and swung it into the car’s backseat. The two men hopped into the front; Brous punched in the destination and the car drove itself.
    “It’s not a very demanding job,” Hart ventured as the car pulled itself away from the station.
    “That’s sort of the point,” Brous said. “In my quote unquote spare time, I get to work on the poetry, which incidentally has been doing very well, thanks for asking. That is insofar as poetry does well, which you understand is a highly relative thing and has been for centuries. I am an established poet now, and I make almost nothing for it.”
    “Sorry about that,” Hart said.
    Brous shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Your dad has been generous in that way of his. You know how he is. Always thumping on about people having to make their own way in the world and the value of an honest day’s labor. He’d rather die than fund a grant. But he gives me a ridiculously easy job and pays me well enough that I can work on my words.”
    “He likes being the patron,” Hart said.
    “Right,” Brous said. “I won the Nova Acadia Poetry medal last year for my book and he was more proud of it than I was. I let him put the medal in his office.”
    “That’s Dad,” Hart said.
    Brous nodded. “He did the same thing with Lisa,” he said, mentioning his sister. “Had her scrub toilets at the house for a year, then paid her enough for it to survive grad school in virology. Went to her doctoral ceremony. Insisted on getting a picture. It’s on his desk.”
    “That’s great,” Hart said.
    “I know you and he have gone a few rounds on things,” Brous ventured.
    “He’s still irritated that I went into the Colonial Union diplomatic service rather than into Phoenix politics,” Hart said.
    “He’ll get over it eventually,” Brous suggested.
    “How long are you going to keep the job?” Hart asked, changing the subject.
    “It’s funny you should ask,” Brous said, catching the attempt and rolling with it. “The medal helped me get a teaching position at University of Metairie. It was supposed to start at the beginning of the fall, but I asked for them to set it back a semester so I could help your dad through the election season.”
    “How did it go?” Hart said.
    “Oh, man,” Brous said. “You haven’t been following it at all?”
    “I’ve been in space,” Hart said.
    “It was brutal,” Brous said. “Not for your dad, of course. No one even ran against him here. They’re going to have to wheel him out of his office. But the rest of the PHP took a thumping. Lost sixty seats in the regional parliament. Lost ninety-five in the global. The New Greens formed a coalition with the Unionists and put in a new prime minister and heads of department.”
    “How did that happen?” Hart asked. “I’ve been away for a while, but not so long that Phoenix should have suddenly gone squishy. I say that as a squishy sort, understand.”
    “Understood,” Brous said. “I voted New Green in the regional myself. Don’t tell your dad.”
    “Deep dark secret,” Hart promised.
    “The PHP got lazy,” Brous said. “They’ve been in power so long, they forgot they could be voted out. Some bad people in key positions, a couple of stupid scandals, and a charismatic head of the New Green party. Add it all up and people took a chance on someone new. It won’t last, I think; the New Greens and the Unionists are already arguing and the PHP will do some housecleaning. But in the meantime your dad is in a foul mood about it. Even more so because he was one of the architects of the global party strategy. The collapse makes him look bad personally, or