They’d been back and forth on that one before. “Whatever,” said Theresa. “Simply by arriving here, Achilles has succeeded in isolating Peter. Then he’s spent his whole time being Mr. Nice Guy, doing everything right—and making friends with everybody while he’s at it. Everything’s going smoothly. Except—”

  “Except that he’s in a position to kill Peter.”

  “If he can do it in a way that doesn’t implicate him.”

  “Ready to step in, as Peter’s assistant, and say, ‘Everything’s going smoothly at the Hegemony, we’ll just keep things going till a new Hegemon is chosen,’ and long before they can choose one, he’s compromised all the codes, he’s neutralized the army, and China is completely rid of the Hegemony once and for all. They’ll get advance word of one of Suri’s missions and they wipe out our brave little army and—”

  “Why wipe it out, if it already obeys you?” said Theresa.

  “We don’t know that Suri—”

  “What do you think would happen if Peter tried to leave?” she asked.

  John Paul thought about that. “Achilles would take over while he was gone. There’s a long tradition of that maneuver.”

  “And just as long a tradition of declaring him sick and keeping anyone from having access to him.”

  “Well, he can’t restrict access to Peter as long as we’re here,” said John Paul.

  They looked at each other for a long moment.

  “Get your passport,” said Theresa.

  “We can’t pack anything.”

  “Wipe the computers.”

  “What do you think he’ll use? Poison? Some bio-agent?”

  “Bio-agent is likeliest. He could have smuggled that in.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Peter’s not going to believe us.”

  “He’s stubborn and self-willed and he thinks we’re idiots,” said John Paul. “But that doesn’t mean he’s stupid.”

  “But he might think he can handle it.”

  John Paul nodded. “You’re right. He is exactly that stupid.”

  “Wipe all your files on the system and—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said John Paul. “There are backups.”

  “Not of these letters, at least.”

  John Paul printed them out and then destroyed them in the computer’s memory, while Theresa wiped them from her desk.

  Carrying the paper copies of the letters, they headed for Peter’s room.

  Peter was sleepy, surly, and impatient with them. He kept dismissing their concerns and insisting they wait till morning until finally John Paul lost his temper and dragged Peter out of bed like a teenager. He was so shocked at being treated in such a way that he actually fell silent.

  “Stop thinking this is between you and your parents,” John Paul said. “These letters are from Bean and Petra, and they’re relaying a message from Han-Tzu in China. These are three of the smartest military minds alive, and all three of them have been proven to be smarter than you.”

  Peter’s face reddened with anger.

  “Have I got your attention now?” said John Paul. “Will you actually listen?”

  “What does it matter if I listen?” said Peter. “Let one of them be Hegemon, they’re so much smarter than me.”

  Theresa bent down and got right in his face. “You’re acting like a rebellious teenager while we’re trying to tell you the house is on fire.”

  “Process this information,” said John Paul, “as if we were a couple of your informants. Pretend that you think we actually know something. And while you’re at it, take a quick poll and see how effectively Achilles has driven away everybody around you who was completely trustworthy—except us.”

  “I know you mean well,” said Peter, but his voice betrayed his anger.

  “Shut up,” said Theresa. “Just shut up with your patronizing tone. You saw the letters. We didn’t make that up. Hot Soup found a way to tell Bean and Petra that the whole rescue was a setup. You were had, smart boy. Achilles has this whole place sussed by now. Every move you make, somebody tells him.”

  “For all we know,” said John Paul, “the Chinese have an operation ready to roll.”

  “Or you’re going to be arrested by Suri’s soldiers,” said Theresa.

  “In other words, you have no idea what I’m even supposed to be afraid of.”

  “That’s right,” said Theresa. “That’s exactly right. Because you played into his hands as if he handed you a script and you read your lines like a robot.”

  “You’re the puppet right now, Peter,” said John Paul. “You thought you held the strings, but you’re the puppet.”

  “And you have to leave now,” said Theresa.

  “What’s the emergency?” said Peter impatiently. “You don’t know what he’s going to do or when.”

  “Sooner or later you’re going to have to go,” said Theresa. “Or do you plan to wait until he kills you? Or us? And when you do go, it has to be sudden, unexpected, unplanned. There’s no better opportunity than now. While the three of us are still alive. Can you guarantee that will still be true tomorrow? This afternoon? I didn’t think so.”

  “Before dawn,” said John Paul. “Out of the compound, into the city, onto a plane, out of Brazil.”

  Peter just sat there, looking from one to the other.

  But the irritated look was gone from his face. Was it possible? Could he have actually heard something that they said?

  “If I leave,” said Peter, “they’ll say I abdicated.”

  “You can say that you didn’t.”

  “I’ll look like a fool. I’ll be completely discredited.”

  “You were a fool,” said Theresa. “If you say it first, nobody else gets any points for saying it. Cover up nothing. Get a press release out while you’re in the air. You’re Locke. You’re Demosthenes. You can spin anything.”

  Peter stood up, started pulling clothes out of his dresser drawers. “I think you’re right,” he said. “I think your analysis is absolutely right.”

  Theresa looked at John Paul.

  John Paul looked at Theresa.

  Was this Peter talking?

  “Thank you for not giving up on me,” he said. “But this Hegemon thing is done. I’ve lost any chance of making it work. I had my chance, and I blew it. Everybody told me not to bring Achilles here. I had all these plans on how to lead him into a trap. But I was already caught in his.”

  “I’ve already told you to shut up once this morning,” said Theresa. “Don’t make me do it again.”

  Peter didn’t bother buttoning his shirt. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Theresa was glad to see that he didn’t try to take anything with him. He only stopped at his computer and typed in a single command.

  Then he headed for the door.

  “Aren’t you going to wipe out your files?” asked John Paul. “Alert your head of security?”

  “I just did,” said Peter.

  So he had been prepared for such a day as this. He already had the program in place that would automatically destroy everything that needed destroying. And it would alert those who needed to be alerted.

  “We have ten minutes before the people I used to trust get warned to evacuate,” said Peter. “Since we don’t know which of them we can still trust, we have to be out of here by then.”

  His plan included looking after those who were still loyal to him, whose lives would be in danger when Achilles took over. Theresa had not imagined Peter would think of such a thing. It was a good thing to know about him.

  They didn’t skulk or run, just walked through the grounds toward the nearest gate, engaged in animated conversation. It might be early in the morning, but who would imagine that the Hegemon and his parents were making a getaway? No luggage, no hurry, no stealth. Arguing. A perfectly normal scene.

  And the argument was real enough. They spoke softly, because in the stillness of dawn they might be overheard even at a distance. But there was plenty of intensity in their hushed voices.

  “Skip the melodrama,” said John Paul. “Your life isn’t over. You made a huge mistake, and there are people who are going to say that running out like this is an even bigger one. But your mother and I know that it isn’t. As long as you’re alive, there’s hope.”

  “The hope is Bean,” said Peter. “He hasn’t shot himself in the foot. I’ll throw my support behind Bean. Or maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe my support would just be the kiss of death.”

  “Peter,” said John Paul, “you’re the Hegemon. You were elected. You, not this compound. In fact, you’re the one who moved the Hegemony offices here. Now you’re going to move them somewhere else. Wherever you are, that’s the Hegemony. Don’t you ever say one thing to imply otherwise. Even if your entire power in the world consists of you and me and your mother, that’s not nothing. Because you are Peter Wiggin, and dammit, we’re John Paul Wiggin and Theresa Wiggin and underneath our charming and civilized exteriors, we’re some pretty tough bunducks.”

  Peter said nothing.

  “Well, actually,” said Theresa to John Paul, “we’re the bunducks. Peter’s the big sabeek.”

  Peter shook his head.

  “You are,” Theresa insisted. “And do you know how I know you are? Because you were smart enough to listen to us and get out in time.”

  “I was just thinking,” said Peter quietly.

  “What?” prompted Theresa, before John Paul could give his standard joking reply: It’s about time. It would be the wrong joke for this moment, but John Paul was never very good about knowing when it was the wrong time for his standard jokes. They came out by reflex, without being processed through his brain first.

  “I’ve underestimated you two,” he said.

  “Well, yes,” said Theresa.

  “In fact, I’ve been a little shit to you for a long time.”

  “Not so little,” said John Paul.

  Theresa cocked a warning eyebrow at him.

  “But I still never did anything as dumb as trying to get into his bedroom to kill him,” said Peter.

  Theresa looked at him sharply. He was grinning at her.

  John Paul laughed. She couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t help retaliating. After all, she had just given him the dreaded eyebrow.

  “OK, well, you’re right,” said Theresa. “That was pretty stupid. But I didn’t know what else to do to save you.”

  “Maybe saving me isn’t such a great idea.”

  “You’re the only copy of our DNA left on Earth,” said John Paul. “We really don’t want to have to start all over, making babies. That’s for younger people now.”

  “Besides,” said Theresa. “Saving you means saving the world.”

  “Right,” said Peter derisively.

  “You’re the only hope,” said Theresa.

  “Then good luck, world.”

  “I do believe,” said John Paul, “that that was almost a prayer. Don’t you think so, Theresa? I think Peter said a prayer.”

  Peter chuckled. “Yeah, why not. Good luck, world. Amen.”

  They got to the gate well before the ten minutes were up. There was a cab driver asleep at a cab stand in front of the biggest hotel outside the compound. John Paul woke him and handed him a very large sum of money.

  “Take us to the airport,” said Theresa.

  “But not this one,” said John Paul. “I think we want to fly out of Araraquara.”

  “That’s an hour away,” said Theresa.

  “And we have an hour till the earliest flight anywhere,” said John Paul. “Do you want to spend that hour just sitting in an airport that’s fifteen minutes away from the compound?”

  Peter laughed. “That is so paranoid,” he said. “Just like Bean.”

  “Bean’s alive,” said John Paul.

  “I’m OK with that,” said Peter. “Being alive is good.”

  Peter had his press release out from one of the computers in the Araraquara airport. But Achilles didn’t waste any time, either.

  Peter’s story was all true, though he left a few things out. He admitted that he had been fooled into thinking that he was rescuing Achilles when in fact he was bringing the Trojan Horse inside the walls of Troy. It was a terrible mistake because Achilles was serving the Chinese Empire all along, and Hegemony headquarters was completely compromised. Peter declared that he was moving Hegemony headquarters to another location and urged all Hegemony employees who were still loyal to him to wait for word about where to reassemble.

  Achilles’s press release declared that he, General Suriyawong, and Ferreira, the head of Hegemony computer security, had discovered that Peter was embezzling Hegemony funds and hiding them in secret accounts—money that should have gone to paying Hegemony debts and feeding the poor and trying to achieve world peace. He declared that the office of the Hegemon would continue to function under the control of Suriyawong as the ranking military leader of Hegemony forces, and that he would help Suriyawong only if he was asked. Meanwhile, a warrant had been issued for Peter Wiggin’s arrest to answer charges of embezzlement, malfeasance in office, and high treason against the International Defense League.

  In a press release later that day he announced that Hyrum Graff had been removed as Minister of Colonization and was to be arrested for complicity with Peter Wiggin in the conspiracy to defraud the Hegemony.

  “The son of a bitch,” said John Paul.

  “Graff won’t obey him,” said Theresa. “He’ll simply declare that you’re still Hegemon and that he answers only to you and Admiral Chamrajnagar.”

  “But it’ll dry up a lot of his funds,” said Peter. “He’ll have a lot less freedom of movement. Because now there’s a price on his head, and in some countries they’d just love to arrest him and turn him over to the Chinese.”

  “Do you really think Achilles is serving the Chinese interest?” asked Theresa.

  “Every bit as loyally as he served mine,” said Peter.

  Before the plane landed in Miami, Peter had his safe haven. In, of all places, the USA.

  “I thought America was determined not to get involved,” said John Paul.

  “It’s just temporary,” said Peter.

  “But it puts them clearly on our team,” said Theresa.

  “‘Them’?” said Peter. “You’re Americans. So am I. The U.S. isn’t ‘them,’ it’s us.”

  “Wrong,” said Theresa. “You’re the Hegemon. You’re above nationality. And so, I might add, are we.”

  11

  BABIES

  From: Chamrajnagar%sacredriver@ifcom.gov

  To: Flandres%A-Heg@idl.gov

  Re: MinCol

  Mr. Flandres:

  The position of Hegemon is not and never was vacant. Peter Wiggin continues to hold that office. Therefore your dismissal of the Hon. Hyrum Graff as Minister of Colonization is void. Graff continues to exercise all previous authority in regard to MinCol affairs off the surface of Earth.

  Furthermore, IFCom will regard any interference with his operations on Earth, or with his person as he carries out his duties, as obstruction of a vital operation of the International Fleet, and we will take all appropriate steps.

  From: Flandres%A-Heg@idl.gov

  To: Chamrajnagar%sacredriver@ifcom.gov

  Re: MinCol

  Admiral Chamrajnagar, sir:

  I cannot imagine why you would write to me about this matter. I am not acting Hegemon, I am Assistant Hegemon. I have forwarded your letter to General Suriyawong, and I hope all future correspondence about such matters will be directed to him.

  Your humble servant,

  Achilles Flandres

  From: Chamrajnagar%sacredriver@ifcom.gov

  To: Flandres%A-Heg@idl.gov

  Re: MinCol

  Forward my letters wherever you like. I know the game you are playing. I am playing a different one. In my game, I hold all the cards. Your game, on the other hand, will only last until people notice that you have no actual cards at all.

  The events in Brazil were already all over the nets and the vids when the implantation procedure was complete and Petra was wheeled out into the waiting room of the fertility clinic at Women’s Hospital. Bean was waiting for her. With balloons.

  They wheeled her out into the reception area. At first she didn’t notice him, because she was busy talking with the doctor. Which was fine with him. He wanted to look at her, this woman who might be carrying his child now.

  She looked so small.

  He remembered looking up at her when they first met in Battle School. This girl—rare in a place that tested for aggressiveness and a certain degree of ruthlessness. To him, a newcomer, the youngest child ever admitted to the school, she seemed so cool, so tough, like the quintessential bullyboy, smart-mouthed and belligerent. It was all an act, but a necessary one.

  Bean had seen at once that she noticed things. Noticed him, for starters, not with amusement or amazement like the other kids, who could only see how small he was. No, she clearly gave him some thought, found him intriguing. Realized, perhaps, that his presence at Battle School when he was clearly underage implied something interesting about him.

  It was partly that trait of hers that led Bean to turn to her—that and the fact that as a girl she was almost as much of a misfit as he was bound to be.

  She had grown since those days, of course, but Bean had grown far more, and was now quite a bit taller than her. It wasn’t just height, either. He had felt her rib cage under his hands, so small and brittle, or so it seemed. He felt as though he always had to be gentle with her, or he might inadvertently break her between his hands.

  Did all men feel this way? Probably not. For one thing, most women were not as light-bodied as Petra, and for another thing, most men stopped growing when they reached a certain point. But Bean’s hands and feet were still misproportioned to his body, like an adolescent’s, so that even though he was a tallish man, it was clear his body meant to grow taller still. His hands felt like paws. Hers seemed as lost within his as a baby’s.

  How, then, will the baby she carries inside her now seem to me when it is born? Will I be able to cradle the child in one hand? Will there be a genuine danger of my hurting the baby? I’m not so good with my hands these days.