“Men are moved by two levers: fear and self-interest,” Bonaparte says and as if the words were a match the crowd erupts into curses and threats.
“This is not what was promised.”
“Fuck you, and your dreams.”
But the speech dwindles though when the emperor turns, and with only a quiet murmur following, leaves the hall. He puts them out of his mind because they, and their petty concerns, are no longer his.
It’s a quick walk to the cosmodrome, over the grounds and gardens he’ll leave behind. There’s no use being darling about it, however. His destination is a steaming rocket, then space, and then Mars. He would rule everything, not just simply Europe.
He boards his space-bound craft, straps himself in, and with a manic chuckle hits the red button.