The shadow quintet, p.100
The Shadow Quintet, page 100
“And they became dependent on you.”
“I don’t think so,” said Alai. “They simply…respected me. They began to want me in meetings with the politicians and diplomats, not just the soldiers. And the politicians and diplomats began asking me questions, seeking my support for their views or plans, and finally choosing me as the mediator between the parties in various disputes.”
“A judge,” said Petra.
“A Battle School graduate,” said Alai, “at a time when my people wanted more than a judge. They wanted to be great again, and to do that they needed a leader that they believed had the favor of Allah. I try to live and act in such a way as to give them the leader they need. Petra, I am still the same boy I was in Battle School. And, like Ender, I may be a leader, but I am also the tool my people created to accomplish their collective purpose.”
“Maybe,” said Petra, “I’m just jealous. Because Armenia has no great purpose, except to stay alive and free. And no power to accomplish that without the help of great nations.”
“Armenia is in no danger from us,” said Alai.
“Unless, of course, we provoke the Azerbaijanis,” said Petra. “Which we do by breathing, I must point out.”
“We will not conquer our way to greatness, Petra,” said Alai.
“What, then, you’ll wait for the whole world to convert to Islam and beg to be admitted to your new world order?”
“Yes,” said Alai. “That’s just what we’ll do.”
“As plans go,” said Petra, “that’s about the most self-delusional one I’ve ever heard of.”
He laughed. “Definitely you need a nap, my beloved sister. You don’t want that to be the mouth Bean has to listen to when he arrives.”
“When will he arrive?”
“Well after dark,” said Alai. “Now you see Mr. Lankowski waiting for you at that gate. He’ll lead you to your room.”
“I sleep in the palace of the Caliph tonight?” asked Petra.
“It’s not much, as palaces go,” said Alai. “Most of the rooms are public spaces, offices, things like that. I have a very simple bedroom and…this garden. Your room will also be very simple—but perhaps it will make it seem luxurious if you think of it as being identical with the one where the Caliph sleeps.”
“I feel as if I’ve been swept away into one of Scheherazade’s stories.”
“We keep a sturdy roof. You have nothing to fear from rocs.”
“You think of everything,” said Petra.
“We have an excellent doctor on call, should you wish for medical attention of any kind.”
“It’s still too soon for a pregnancy test to mean anything,” said Petra. “If that’s what you meant.”
“I meant,” said Alai, “that we have an excellent doctor on call, should you wish for medical attention of any kind.”
“In that case,” said Petra, “my answer is, ‘You think of everything.’”
She thought she couldn’t sleep, but she had nothing better to do than lie on the bed in a room that was downright spartan—with no television and no book but an Armenian translation of the Q’uran. She knew what the presence of this book in her room implied. For many centuries, translations of the Q’uran were regarded as false by definition, since only the original Arabic actually conveyed the words of the Prophet. But in the great opening of Islam that followed their abject defeat in a series of desperate wars with the West, this was one of the first things that was changed.
Every translated copy of the Q’uran contained, on the title page, a quotation from the great imam Zuqaq—the very one who brought about the reconciliation of Israel and the Muslim world. “Allah is above language. Even in Arabic, the Q’uran is translated from the mind of God into the words of men. Everyone should be able to hear the words of God in the language he speaks in his own heart.”
So the presence of the Q’uran in Armenian told her, first, that in the palace of the Caliph, there was no recidivism, no return to the days of fanatical Islam, when foreigners were forced to live by Islamic law, women were veiled and barred from the schools and the roads, and young Muslim soldiers strapped bombs to their bodies to blow up the children of their enemies.
And it also told her that her coming was anticipated and someone had taken great pains to prepare this room for her, simple as it seemed. To have the Q’uran in Common Speech, the more-or-less phonetically spelled English that had been adopted as the language of the International Fleet, would have been sufficient. They wanted to make the point, though, that here in the heart—no, the head—of the Muslim world, they had regard for all nations, all languages. They knew who she was, and they had the holy words for her in the language she spoke in her heart.
She appreciated the gesture and was annoyed by it, both at once. She did not open the book. She rummaged through her bag, then unpacked everything. She showered to clear the must of travel from her hair and skin, and then lay down on the bed because in this room there was nowhere else to sit.
No wonder he spends his time in the garden, she thought. He has to go out there just to turn around.
She woke because someone was at the door. Not knocking. Just standing there, pressing a palm against the reader. What could she possibly have heard that woke her? Footsteps in the corridor?
“I’m not dressed,” she called out as the door opened.
“That’s what I was hoping,” said Bean.
He came in carrying his own bag and set it down beside the one dresser.
“Did you meet Alai?” asked Petra.
“Yes, but we’ll talk of that later,” said Bean.
“You know he’s Caliph,” she insisted.
“Later,” he said. He pulled his shoes off.
“I think they’re planning a war, but pretending that they’re not,” said Petra.
“They can plan what they like,” said Bean. “You’re safe here, that’s what I care about.”
Still in his traveling clothes, Bean lay down on the bed beside her, snaking one arm under her, drawing her close to him. He stroked her back, kissed her forehead.
“They told me about the other embryos,” she said. “How Achilles stole them.”
He kissed her again and said, “Shhhh.”
“I don’t know if I’m pregnant yet,” said Petra.
“You will be,” said Bean.
“I knew that he hadn’t checked for Anton’s Key,” said Petra. “I knew he was lying about that.”
“All right,” said Bean.
“I knew but I didn’t tell you,” said Petra.
“Now you’ve told me.”
“I want your child, no matter what.”
“Well,” said Bean, “in that case we can start the next one the regular way.”
She kissed him. “I love you,” she said.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“We have to get the others back,” said Petra. “They’re our children and I don’t want somebody else to raise them.”
“We’ll get them back,” said Bean. “That’s one thing I know.”
“He’ll destroy them before he lets us have them.”
“Not so,” said Bean. “He wants them alive more than he wants us dead.”
“How can you possibly know what the Beast is thinking?”
Bean rolled onto his back and lay there facing the ceiling. “On the plane I did a lot of thinking. About something Ender said. How he thought. You have to know your enemy, he said. That’s why he studied the Formics constantly. All the footage of the First War, the anatomies of the corpses of the dead Bugger soldiers, and what he couldn’t find in the books and vids, he imagined. Extrapolated. Tried to think of who they were.”
“You’re nothing like Achilles,” said Petra. “You’re the opposite of him. If you want to know him, think of whatever you’re not, and that’ll be him.”
“Not true,” said Bean. “In his sad, twisted way, he loves you, and so, in my own sad twisted way, do I.”
“Not the same twists, and that makes all the difference.”
“Ender said that you can’t defeat a powerful enemy unless you understand him completely, and you can’t understand him unless you know the desires of his heart, and you can’t know the desires of his heart until you truly love him.”
“Please don’t tell me that you’ve decided to love the Beast,” said Petra.
“I think,” said Bean, “that I always have.”
“No, no, no,” said Petra in revulsion and she rolled away from him, turned her back on him.
“Ever since I saw him limping up to us, the one bully we thought we could overpower, we little children. His twisted foot, the dangerous hate he felt toward anyone who saw his weakness. The genuine kindness and love he showed to everyone but me and Poke—Petra, that’s what nobody understands about Achilles, they see him as a murderer, and a monster—”
“Because he is one.”
“A monster who keeps winning the love and trust of people who should know better. I know that man, the one whose eyes look into your soul and judge you and find you worthy. I saw how the other children loved him, turned their loyalty from Poke to Achilles, made him their father, truly, in their hearts. And even though he always kept me at a distance, the fact is…I loved him too.”
“I didn’t,” said Petra. The memory of Achilles’s arms around her as he kissed her—it was unbearable to her, and she wept.
She felt Bean’s hand on her shoulder, then stroking her side, gently soothing her. “I’m going to destroy him, Petra,” said Bean. “But I’ll never do it the way I’ve been going about it up till now. I’ve been avoiding him, reacting to him. Peter had the right idea after all. He was dumb about it, but the idea was right, to get close to him. You can’t treat him as something faraway and unintelligible. A force of nature, like a storm or earthquake, where you have no hope but to run for shelter. You have to understand him. Get inside his head.”
“I’ve been there,” said Petra. “It’s a filthy place.”
“Yes, I know,” said Bean. “A place of fear and fire. But remember—he lives there all the time.”
“Don’t tell me I’m supposed to pity him because he has to live with himself!”
“Petra, I spent the whole flight trying to be Achilles, trying to think of what he yearns for, what he hopes for, to think of how he thinks.”
“And you threw up? Because I did, twice on my flight, and I didn’t have to get inside the Beast to do it.”
“Maybe because you have a little beast inside you.”
She shuddered. “Don’t call him that. Her. It. I’m not even pregnant yet, probably. It was only this morning. My baby is not a beast.”
“Bad joke, I’m sorry,” said Bean. “But listen, Petra, on the flight I realized something. Achilles is not a mysterious force. I know exactly what he wants.”
“What does he want? Besides us, dead?”
“He wants us to know that the babies are alive. He won’t even implant them yet. He’ll leave little clues for us to follow—nothing too obvious, because he wants us to think we discovered something he’s trying to keep hidden. But we’ll find out where they are because he wants us to. They’ll all be in one place. Because he wants us to come for them.”
“Bait,” she said.
“No, not just bait,” said Bean. “He could send us a note right now if he wanted that. No, it’s more than that. He wants us to think we’re very smart to have found out where they are. He wants us to be full of hope that we might rescue them. To be excited, so we’ll hurtle into a situation completely unprepared for the fact that he’s waiting for us. That way he can see us fall from triumphant hope to utter despair. Before he kills us.”
Bean was right, she knew it. “But how can you even pretend to love someone so evil?”
“No, you still don’t understand,” said Bean. “It’s not our despair he wants. It’s our hope. He has none. He doesn’t understand it.”
“Oh, please,” said Petra. “An ambitious person lives on hope.”
“He has no hope. No dream. He tries everything to find one. He goes through the motions of love and kindness, or anything else that might work, and still nothing means anything. Each new conquest only leaves him hungry for another. He’s hungry to find something that really matters in life. He knows we have it. Both of us, before we even found each other, we had it.”
“I thought you were famous for having no faith,” said Petra.
“But you see,” said Bean, “Achilles knew me better than I knew myself. He saw it in me. The same thing Sister Carlotta saw.”
“Intelligence?” asked Petra.
“Hope,” said Bean. “Relentless hope. It never crosses my mind that there’s no solution, no chance of survival. Oh, I can conceive of that intellectually, but never are my actions based on despair, because I never really believe it. Achilles knows that I have a reason to live. That’s why he wants me so badly. And you, Petra. You more than me. And our babies—they are our hope. A completely insane kind of hope, yes, but we made them, didn’t we?”
“So,” said Petra, grasping the picture now, “he doesn’t just want us to die, the way he was perfectly content to let Sister Carlotta die in an airplane, when he was far away. He wants us to see him with our babies.”
“And when we realize we can’t have them back, that we’re going to die after all, the hope that drains out of us, he thinks it’ll become his own. He thinks that because he has our babies, he has our hope.”
“And he does,” said Petra.
“But the hope can never be his. He’s incapable of it.”
“This is all very interesting,” said Petra, “but completely useless.”
“But don’t you see?” said Bean. “This is how we can destroy him.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s going to fall into the pit he dug for us.”
“We don’t have his babies.”
“He hopes we’ll come and give him what he wants. But instead, we’ll come prepared to destroy him.”
“He’s going to be laying an ambush for us. If we come in force, he’ll either slip away or—as soon as it’s clear he’s doomed—he’ll kill our babies.”
“No, no, we’ll let him spring his trap. We’ll walk right into it. So that when we face him, we see him in his moment of triumph. Which is always the moment when somebody is at their stupidest.”
“You don’t have to be smart when you have all the guns.”
“Relax, Petra,” said Bean. “I’m going to get our babies back. And kill Achilles while I’m at it. And I’ll do it soon, my love. Before I die.”
“That’s good,” said Petra. “It will be so much harder for you to do it afterward.”
And then she wept, because, contrary to what Bean had just said, she had no hope. She was going to lose her husband, her children were going to lose their father. No victory over Achilles could change the fact that in the end, she was going to lose him.
He reached out for her again, held her close, kissed her brow, her cheek. “Have our baby,” he said. “I’ll bring home its brothers and sisters before it’s born.”
14
SPACE STATION
To: Locke%erasmus@polnet.gov
From: SitePostAlert
Re: Girl on bridge
Now you are not in cesspool, can communicate again. Have no e-mail here. Stones are mine. Back on bridge soon. War in earnest. Post to me only, this site, pickup name BridgeGirl password not stepstool.
Peter found spaceflight boring, just as he’d suspected he would. Like air travel, only longer and with less scenery.
Thank heaven Mother and Father had the good sense not to get all sentimental about the shuttle flight to the Ministry of Colonization. After all, it was the same space station that had been Battle School. They were going to set foot at last where precious little Ender had had his first triumphs—and, oh yes, killed a boy.
But there were no footprints here. Nothing to tell them what it was like for Ender to ride a shuttle to this place. They were not small children taken away from their homes. They were adults, and the fate of the world just might rest in their hands.
Come to think of it, that was like Ender, wasn’t it.
The whole human race was united when Ender came here. The enemy was clear, the danger real, and Ender didn’t even have to know what he was doing to win the war.
By comparison, Peter’s task was much more difficult. It might seem simpler—find a really good assassin and kill Achilles.
But it wasn’t that simple. First, Achilles, being an assassin and a user of assassins, would be ready for such a plot. Second, it wasn’t enough to kill Achilles. He was not the army that conquered India and Indochina. He was not the government that ruled more than half the people of the world. Destroy Achilles, and you still have to roll back all the things he did.
It was like Hitler back in World War II. Without Hitler, Germany would never have had the nerve to conquer France and sweep to the gates of Moscow. But if Hitler had been assassinated just before the invasion of Russia, then in all likelihood the common language of the International Fleet would have been German. Because it was Hitler’s mistakes, his weaknesses, his fears, his hatreds, that lost the back half of the war, just as it was his drive, his decisions, that won the front half.
Killing Achilles might do nothing more than guarantee a world governed by China.
Still, with him out of the way, Peter would face a rational enemy. And his own assets would not be so superstitiously terrified. The way Bean and Petra and Virlomi fled at the mere thought of Achilles coming to Ribeirão Preto…though of course in the long run they weren’t wrong, still, it complicated things enormously that he kept having to work alone, unless you counted Mother and Father.
And since they were the only assets he had that he could rely on to serve his interests, he definitely counted them.
