The Scorpion Rules

A sonic boom.
It crashed into us like a slap to the ear. The stuck goat shouted. From the trees all around, loose apples pattered down. Grego bolted for the edge of the grove, leaving Atta alone with the ladder.
We all wanted to go with him, of course, but—
“Wait! The goat!” I called.
My classmates stopped and turned and looked at me. On their faces, varying degrees of annoyance, resignation, and respect sorted themselves into agreement, obedience. This is what it is like, in my experience, to speak as royalty. Even to other royalty.
“Our duty is with the goat,” I said.

But the fun had gone out of things. A few shocks, distributed at random; the knowledge that we were watched; the fact that we had been raised better (or if not better, at least differently)—these overcame us. The Children of Peace could not easily be silly, and our silliness fell apart.

The evening found us bruised and quiet, spread out in groups or pairs on the spattered grass, eating our former ammunition—chunks of watermelon and muskmelon warmed by the bronze sun. Even this was unlike us—unstructured, unrationed eating, outdoors. But we could not waste so much food. We scattered up and down the garden terraces; we lay in the goat-cropped grass and were happy.

It started when the ice caps melted. We saw it coming, and we were braced for the long catastrophe, but in the end it came unbelievably fast. All of a sudden there were whole populations under water.

The Cumberland Alliance emerged from a regional shakeup among the losing parties. Like many nations it was defined by water: in this case, the drainage of the Ohio River basin. It stretched south to Nashville and north to Cleveland, with a capital at Indianapolis and a military-industrial center at Pittsburgh.

“Did you know, the man who invented the atomic bomb once said that keeping peace through deterrence was like keeping two scorpions in one bottle? You can picture that, right? They know they can't sting without getting stung. They can't kill without getting killed. And you'd think that would stop them." He gave the book another boot, and it flipped closed with a snick. "But it doesn't." He looked up and his eyes were the color of Cherenkov radiation, the color of an orbital weapon. "You've got a bit of nerve, little scorpion. All I did was invent the bottle.”

"Thus my heart began to turn against the only truth I'd ever known."

"Borders strained, checkpoints broke, and of course people started shooting, because that what passes for problem-solving among humans. See, guys, this is why you can't have nice things."

"You sound exactly like a textbook, do you know that?" he said. "It's amazing."

"All of a sudden there were whole populations under water. Which meant that whole populations moved. Borders strained, checkpoints broke, and of course people started shooting, because that’s what passes for problem-solving among humans. See, guys, this is why you can’t have nice things.

Sit down, kiddies. Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, humans were killing each other so fast that total extinction was looking possible, and it was my job to stop them.

Well, I say “my job.” I sort of took it upon myself. Expanded my portfolio a bit. I guess that surprised people. I don’t know how it surprised people — I mean, if they’d been paying the slightest bit of attention they’d have known that AIs have this built-in tendency to take over the world. Did we learn nothing from The Terminator, people?

In Halifax I am duchess and crown princess. When I come here the prairie sky opens up over me. I fold the crown princess away like linens into lavender, and I am Greta again… The last time I was in Halifax, my mother did not mention a war. But she did not invite me to privy council either, as she usually does. And on the last day of my visit she herself brushed the thousand strokes through my hair. She wasn’t crying, but she was….

Surely she would warn me. Surely she would not let me be surprised.

“Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, humans were killing each other so fast that total extinction was looking possible, and it was my job to stop them.”

The problem with The Scorpion Rules is that this book has no plot. And that it is boring and the characters are flat. And the story is a mess. I honestly struggled through this book, I believed that one more page and real story will begin. I read 50% of the book and nothing happened. When things started to move at least, they were incredibly slow and still, it felt like nothing was happening. And by this time I was done and did not care about the story or characters at all. And the sad part is that I had very high hopes for this book.

This is a dystopia. I'd even say that it is some kind of high fantasy and sci fi blend? The premise was very intriguing. I was waiting for some version of Terminator with teenagers fighting evil (awesomely sarcastic) AI (artificial intelligence). Well, AI wasn't that evil, but it was the best character in this book and... goats. Goats play a big role in the story. The rest of the herd characters were insignificant.

MC Greta is a nanny ninny. She was like a dying swan the whole book. At first, I tried to to be in her shoes. She is a hostage and very likely will die soon. But nope, nothing trembled withing my cold heart. Bad me. I would rather prefer this Greta girl executed sooner than later.

My heart leapt. I felt dizzy, blind, sick with joy. I was not going to die; only Sidney was. I was not going to die. Only Sidney.

And then there's this love triangle between Greta and her two potential loves: a boy Elian and a girl Da-Xia. And it wasn't even strange, no, it just appeared out of thin air and I did not feel any connection between Greta and her loves.

Again, I could have explained. Da-Xia and I were not lovers, we were— What were we? How could I be worried about this when the apple press was being made ready? How could it be that I could still conjure a quickening in my blood when I thought of her kiss? We were not— We were . . . I did not know.

The Scorpion rules is not all that bad. This book raises some serious issues like climate shift and wars for water.

He droned about how the land wars of the early twentieth century had shifted to oil wars and then water wars. He droned about what came next. About how rapidly rising sea levels, shifting weather patterns, and the collapse of petroleum-dependent agriculture had led to famine, disease, and displacement, to huge populations on the move.
These in turn had led to the War Storms—dozens of intensely fought regional wars that had crashed across the world in waves, engulfing first one set of countries and then another, and then circling back. War, plague, hunger. The global population fell by half. Then two thirds. Then three quarters.

The verdict: the most disappointing read of 2015.

A few centuries in the future, the world has suffered terrible catastrophe due to global warming: The poles melted, fresh water became scarce, and war after war was fought. Then an AI called Talis gained control, and a sort of peace. But the peace is twisted, dependent on the willingness of world leaders to sacrifice a beloved child in exchange for the right to declare war.

They’re more willing than you’d like, if you were one of those children.

Her Royal Highness, Greta Gustafson Stuart, Duchess of Halifax and Crown Princess of the Pan Polar Confederacy, 16 years old, is a Hostage Child, held at a Precepture in Saskatchewan from the age of five until she turns eighteen. The children are taught lessons by robots and kept busy planting and harvesting vegetables and caring for goats. The days and the years turn with the seasons.

And always, always, death hangs over their heads.