Shadow of the Hegemon Read online

  "Oh, I've known a few you wouldn't love," said Petra.

  "Maybe," said Mother, not wishing to argue, but plainly not believing that there could be such a child.

  The baby gurgled and Mother lifted her shirt to tuck the baby to her breast.

  "Did I slurp so noisily?" asked Petra.

  "Not really," said Mother.

  "Oh, tell the truth," said Father. "She woke the neighbors."

  "So I was a glutton."

  "No, merely a barbarian," said Father. "No table manners."

  Petra decided to ask the delicate question boldly and have done with it. "The baby was born only a month after the population restrictions were lifted."

  Father and Mother looked at each other, Mother with a beatific expression, Father with a wince. "Yes, well, we missed you. We wanted another little girl."

  "You would have lost your job," said Petra.

  "Not right away," said Father.

  "Armenian officials have always been a little slow about enforcing those laws," said Mother.

  "But eventually, you could have lost everything."

  "No," said Mother. "When you left, we lost half of everything. Children are everything. The rest is . . . nothing."

  Stefan laughed. "Except when I'm hungry. Food is something!"

  "You're always hungry," said Father.

  "Food is always something," said Stefan.

  They laughed, but Petra could see that Stefan had had no illusions about what the birth of this child would have meant. "It's a good thing we won the war."

  "Better than losing it," said Stefan.

  "It's nice to have the baby and obey the law, too," said Mother.

  "But you didn't get your little girl."

  "No," said Father. "We got our David."

  "We didn't need a little girl after all," said Mother. "We got you back."

  Not really, thought Petra. And not for long. Four years, maybe fewer, and I'll be off to university. And you won't miss me by then, because you'll know that I'm not the little girl you love, just this bloody-handed veteran of a nasty military school that turned out to have real battles to fight.

  After the first hour, neighbors and cousins and friends from Father's work began dropping by, and it was not until after midnight that Father had to announce that tomorrow was not a national holiday and he needed to have some sleep before work. It took yet another hour to shoo everyone out of the house, and by then all Petra wanted was to curl up in bed and hide from the world for at least a week.

  But by the end of the next day, she knew she had to get out of the house. She didn't fit into the routines. Mother loved her, yes, but her life centered around the baby and the neighborhood, and while she kept trying to engage Petra in conversation, Petra could see that she was a distraction, that it would be a relief for Mother when Petra went to school during the day as Stefan did, returning only at the scheduled time. Petra understood, and that night announced that she wanted to register for school and begin class the next day.

  "Actually," said Father, "the people from the I.F. said that you could probably go right on to university."

  "I'm fourteen," said Petra. "And there are serious gaps in my education."

  "She never even heard of Dog," said Stefan.

  "What?" said Father. "What dog?"

  "Dog," said Stefan. "The zip orchestra. You know."

  "Very famous group," said Mother. "If you heard them, you'd take the car in for major repairs."

  "Oh, that Dog," said Father. "I hardly think that's the education Petra was talking about."

  "Actually, it is," said Petra.

  "It's like she's from another planet," said Stefan. "Last night I realized she never heard of anybody."

  "I am from another planet. Or, properly speaking, asteroid."

  "Of course," said Mother. "You need to join your generation."

  Petra smiled, but inwardly she winced. Her generation? She had no generation, except the few thousand kids who had once been in Battle School, and now were scattered over the surface of the Earth, trying to find out where they belonged in a world at peace.

  School would not be easy, Petra soon discovered. There were no courses in military history and military strategy. The mathematics was pathetic compared to what she had mastered in Battle School, but with literature and grammar she was downright backward: Her knowledge of Armenian was indeed childish, and while she was fluent in the version of English spoken in Battle School--including the slang that the kids used there--she had little knowledge of the rules of grammar and no understanding at all of the mixed Armenian and English slang that the kids used with each other at school.

  Everyone was very nice to her, of course--the most popular girls immediately took possession of her, and the teachers treated her like a celebrity. Petra allowed herself to be led around and shown everything, and studied the chatter of her new friends very carefully, so she could learn the slang and hear how school English and Armenian were nuanced. She knew that soon enough the popular girls would tire of her--especially when they realized how bluntly outspoken Petra was, a trait that she had no intention of changing. Petra was quite used to the fact that people who cared about the social hierarchy usually ended up hating her and, if they were wise, fearing her, since pretensions didn't last long in her presence. She would find her real friends over the next few weeks--if, in fact, there were any here who would value her for what she was. It didn't matter. All the friendships here, all the social concerns, seemed so trivial to her. There was nothing at stake here, except each student's own social life and academic future, and what did that matter? Petra's previous schooling had all been conducted in the shadow of war, with the fate of humanity riding on the outcome of her studies and the quality of her skills. Now, what did it matter? She would read Armenian literature because she wanted to learn Armenian, not because she thought it actually mattered what some expatriate like Saroyan thought about the lives of children in a long-lost era of a far-off country.

  The only part of school that she truly loved was physical education. To have sky over her head as she ran, to have the track lie flat before her, to be able to run and run for the sheer joy of it and without a clock ticking out her allotted time for aerobic exercise--such a luxury. She could not compete, physically, with most of the other girls. It would take time for her body to reconstruct itself for high gravity, for despite the great pains that the I.F. went to to make sure that soldiers' bodies did not deteriorate too much during long months and years in space, nothing trained you for living on a planet's surface except living there. But Petra didn't care that she was one of the last to complete every race, that she couldn't leap even the lowest hurdle. It felt good simply to run freely, and her weakness gave her goals to meet. She would be competitive soon enough. That was one of the aspects of her innate personality that had taken her to Battle School in the first place--that she had no particular interest in competition because she always started from the assumption that, if it mattered, she would find a way to win.

  And so she settled in to her new life. Within weeks she was fluent in Armenian and had mastered the local slang. As she had expected, the popular girls dropped her in about the same amount of time, and a few weeks later, the brainy girls had cooled toward her as well. It was among the rebels and misfits that she found her friends, and soon she had a circle of confidants and co-conspirators that she called her "jeesh," Battle School slang for close friends, a private army. Not that she was the commander or anything, but they were all loyal to each other and amused at the antics of the teachers and the other students, and when a school counselor called her in to tell her that the administration was growing concerned about the fact that Petra seemed to be associating with an antisocial element in school, she knew that she was truly at home in Maralik.

  Then one day she came home from school to find the front door locked. She carried no house key--no one did in their neighborhood because no one locked up, or even, in good weather, closed their doors. She
could hear the baby crying inside the house, so instead of making her mother come to the front door to let her in, she walked around back and came into the kitchen to find that her mother was tied to a chair, gagged, her eyes wide and frantic with fear.

  Before Petra had time to react, a hypostick was slapped against her arm and, without ever seeing who had done it, she slipped into darkness.

  2

  BEAN

  To: Locke%[email protected]

  From: Chamrajnagar%%@ifcom.gov

  Re: Do not write to me again

  Mr. Peter Wiggin,

  Did you really think I would not have the resources to know who you are? You may be the author of the "Locke Proposal," giving you a reputation as a peacemaker, but you are also partly responsible for the world's present instability by your jingoist use of your sister's identity as Demosthenes. I have no illusions about your motives.

  It is outrageous of you to suggest that I jeopardize the neutrality of the International Fleet in order to take control of children who have completed their military service with the I.F. If you attempt to manipulate public opinion to force me to do so, I will expose your identity as both Locke and Demosthenes.

  I have changed my idname and have informed our mutual friend that he is not to attempt to relay communication between you and me again. The only comfort you are entitled to take from my letter is this: The I.F. will not interfere with those trying to assert hegemony over other nations and peoples--not even you.

  Chamrajnagar

  The disappearance of Petra Arkanian from her home in Armenia was worldwide news. The headlines were full of accusations hurled by Armenia against Turkey, Azerbaijan, and every other Turkish-speaking nation, and the stiff or fiery denials and counter-accusations that came in reply. There were the tearful interviews with her mother, the only witness, who was sure the kidnappers were Azerbaijani. "I know the language, I know the accent, and that's who took my little girl!"

  Bean was with his family on the second day of their vacation at the beach on the island of Ithaca, but this was Petra, and he read the nets and watched the vids avidly, along with his brother, Nikolai. They both reached the same conclusion right away. "It wasn't any of the Turkish nations," Nikolai announced to their parents. "That's obvious."

  Father, who had been working in government for many years, agreed. "Real Turks would have made sure to speak only Russian."

  "Or Armenian," said Nikolai.

  "No Turk speaks Armenian," said Mother. She was right, of course, since real Turks would never deign to learn it, and those in Turkish countries who did speak Armenian were, by definition, not really Turks and would never be trusted with a delicate assignment like kidnapping a military genius.

  "So who was it?" said Father. "Agents provocateurs, trying to start a war?"

  "My bet is on the Armenian government," said Nikolai. "Put her in charge of their military."

  "Why kidnap her when they could employ her openly?" asked Father.

  "Taking her out of school openly," said Nikolai, "would be an announcement of Armenia's military intentions. It might provoke preemptive actions by surrounding Turkey or Azerbaijan."

  There was superficial plausibility in what Nikolai was saying, but Bean knew better. He had already foreseen this possibility back when all the militarily gifted children were still in space. At that time the main danger had come from the Polemarch, and Bean wrote an anonymous letter to a couple of opinion leaders on Earth, Locke and Demosthenes, urging them to get all the Battle School children back to Earth so they couldn't be seized or killed by the Polemarch's forces in the League War. The warning had worked, but now that the League War was over, too many governments had begun to think and act complacently, as if the world now had peace instead of a fragile ceasefire. Bean's original analysis still held. It was Russia that was behind the Polemarch's coup attempt in the League War, and it was likely to be Russia that was behind the kidnapping of Petra Arkanian.

  Still, he didn't have any hard evidence of this and knew of no way to get it--now that he wasn't inside a Fleet installation, he had no access to military computer systems. So he kept his skepticism to himself, and made a joke out of it. "I don't know, Nikolai," he said. "Since staging this kidnapping is having an even more destabilizing effect, I'd have to say that if she was taken by her own government, it proves they really really need her, because it was a deeply dumb thing to do."

  "If they're not dumb," said Father, "who did it?"

  "Somebody who's ambitious to fight and win wars and smart enough to know they need a brilliant commander," said Bean. "And either big enough or invisible enough or far enough away from Armenia not to care about the consequences of kidnapping her. In fact, I'll bet that whoever took her would be perfectly delighted if war broke out in the Caucasus."

  "So you think it's some large and powerful nation close by?" asked Father. Of course, there was only one large and powerful nation close to Armenia.

  "Could be, but there's no telling," said Bean. "Anybody who needs a commander like Petra wants a world in turmoil. Enough turmoil, and anybody might emerge on top. Plenty of sides to play off against each other." And now that Bean had said it, he began to believe it. Just because Russia was the most aggressive nation before the League War didn't mean that other nations weren't going to get into the game.

  "In a world in chaos," said Nikolai, "the army with the best commander wins."

  "If you want to find the kidnapper, look for the country that talks most about peace and conciliation," said Bean, playing with the idea and saying whatever came to mind.

  "You're too cynical," said Nikolai. "Some who talk about peace and conciliation merely want peace and conciliation."

  "You watch--the nations that offer to arbitrate are the ones that think they should rule the world, and this is just one more move in the game."

  Father laughed. "Don't read too much into that," he said. "Most of the nations that are always offering to arbitrate are trying to recover lost status, not gain new power. France. America. Japan. They're always meddling just because they used to have the power to back it up and they haven't caught on yet that they don't anymore."

  Bean smiled. "You never know, do you, Papa. The very fact that you dismiss the possibility that they could be the kidnappers makes me regard them as all the more likely candidates."

  Nikolai laughed and agreed.

  "That's the problem with having two Battle School graduates in the house," said Father. "You think because you understand military thinking that you understand political thinking, too."

  "It's all maneuver and avoiding battle until you have overwhelming superiority," said Bean.

  "But it's also about the will to power," said Father. "And even if individuals in America and France and Japan have the will to power, the people don't. Their leaders will never get them moving. You have to look at nations on the make. Aggressive peoples who think they have a grievance, who think they're undervalued. Belligerent, snappish."

  "A whole nation of belligerent, snappish people?" asked Nikolai.

  "Sounds like Athens," said Bean.

  "A nation that takes that attitude toward other nations," said Father. "Several self-consciously Islamic nations have the character to make such a play, but they'd never kidnap a Christian girl to lead their armies."

  "They might kidnap her to prevent her own nation from using her," said Nikolai. "Which brings us back to Armenia's neighbors."

  "It's an interesting puzzle," said Bean, "which we can figure out later, after we get to wherever we're going."

  Father and Nikolai looked at him as if he were crazy. "Going?" asked Father.

  It was Mother who understood. "They're kidnapping Battle School graduates. Not just that, but a member of Ender's team from the actual battles."

  "And one of the best," said Bean.

  Father was skeptical. "One incident doesn't make a pattern."

  "Let's not wait to see who's next," said Mother. "I'd rather feel silly later for o
verreacting than grieve because we dismissed the possibility."

  "Give it a few days," said Father. "It will all blow over."

  "We've already given it six hours," said Bean. "If the kidnappers are patient, they won't strike again for months. But if they're impatient, they're already in motion against all their other targets. For all we know, the only reason Nikolai and I aren't in the bag already is because we threw off their plans by going on vacation."

  "Or else," said Nikolai, "our being here on this island gives them the perfect opportunity."

  "Father," said Mother, "why don't you call for some protection?"

  Father hesitated.

  Bean understood why. The political game was a delicate one, and anything Father did right now could have repercussions throughout his career. "You won't be perceived as asking for special privileges for yourself," said Bean. "Nikolai and I are a precious national resource. I believe the prime minister is on record as saying that several times. Letting Athens know where we are and suggesting they protect us and get us out of here is a good idea."

  Father got on the cellphone.

  He got only a System Busy response.

  "That's it," said Bean. "There's no way the phone system can be too busy here on Ithaca. We need a boat."

  "An airplane," said Mother.

  "A boat," said Nikolai. "And not a rental. They're probably waiting for us to put ourselves in their hands, so there won't be a struggle."

  "Several of the nearby houses have boats," said Father. "But we don't know these people."

  "They know us," said Nikolai. "Especially Bean. We are war heroes, you know."

  "But any house around here could be the very one from which they're watching us," said Father. "If they're watching us. We can't trust anybody."

  "Let's get in our bathing suits," said Bean, "and walk to the beach and then wander as far as we can before we cut inland and find somebody with a boat."

  Since no one had a better plan, they put it into action at once. Within two minutes they were out the door, carrying no wallets or purses, though Father and Mother slipped a few identification papers and credit cards into their suits. Bean and Nikolai laughed and teased each other as usual, and Mother and Father held hands and talked quietly, smiling at their sons . . . as usual. No sign of alarm. Nothing to cause anyone watching to spring into action.