“John Paul Wieczorek is the real thing,” said Helena. “And in thirty-five years, he’ll be forty. So the Alexander theory won’t have to be tested.”

  “Now you’re talking as if you’re sure he’ll be the one.”

  “I don’t know that,” said Helena. “But he’s something. The things he says.”

  “I read your report.”

  “When he said, ‘I’d rather keep you as a friend than keep that thing,’ I about lost it. I mean, he’s five.”

  “And that didn’t set off your alarms? He sounds coached.”

  “But he wasn’t. His parents didn’t want any of them tested, least of all him, being underage and all.”

  “They said they didn’t want.”

  “The father stayed home from work to try to stop me.”

  “Or to make you think he wanted to stop you.”

  “He can’t afford to lose a day’s pay. Noncompliant parents don’t get paid vacations.”

  “I know,” said Sillain. “Wouldn’t it be ironic if this John Paul Whatever—”

  “Wieczorek.”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all our stringent population control efforts—for the sake of the war, mind you—it turned out that the commander of the fleet turned out to be the seventh child of noncompliant parents?”

  “Yes, very ironic.”

  “I think one theory was that birth order predicts that only firstborns would have the personality for what we need.”

  “All else being equal. Which it isn’t.”

  “We’re so ahead of ourselves here, Captain Rudolf,” said Sillain. “The parents are not likely to say yes, are they?”

  “No, not likely,” said Helena.

  “So it’s all moot, isn’t it?”

  “Not if . . .”

  “Oh, that would be so wise, to make an international incident out of this.” He leaned back in his chair.

  “I don’t think it would be an international incident.”

  “The treaty with Poland has very strict parental-control provisions. Have to respect the family and all.”

  “The Poles are very anxious to rejoin the rest of the world. They aren’t going to invoke that clause if we impress on them how important this boy is.”

  “Is he?” asked Sillain. “That’s the question. If he’s worth the gamble of making a huge stink about it.”

  “If it starts to stink, we can back off,” said Helena.

  “Oh, I can see you’ve done a lot of public relations work.”

  “Come see him yourself,” said Helena. “He’ll be six in a few days. Come see him. Then tell me whether he’s worth the risk of an international incident.”

  This was not at all how John Paul wanted to spend his birthday. Mother had made candy all day with sugar she begged from neighbors, and John Paul wanted to suck on his, not chew it, so it would last and last. Instead Father told him either to spit it out into the garbage or swallow it, and so now it was swallowed and gone, all for these people from the International Fleet.

  “We got some questionable results from the preliminary screening,” said the man. “Perhaps because the child had listened to three previous tests. We need to get accurate information, that’s all.”

  He was lying—that was obvious, from the way he moved, the way he looked Father right in the eye, unwaveringly. A liar who knew he was lying and was trying hard not to look like he was lying. The way Thomas always did. It fooled Father but never Mother, and never John Paul.

  So if the man was lying, why? Why was he really coming to test John Paul again?

  He remembered what he had thought right after the woman tested him three weeks ago, that she had found what she was looking for. But then nothing had happened and he figured he must have been wrong. Now she was back and the man who was with her was telling lies.

  The family was banished to other rooms. It was evening, time for Father to go to his second job, only he couldn’t go while these people were here or they’d know, or guess, or wonder what he was doing, hour after hour during the evening. So the longer this took, the less money Father would earn tonight, and therefore the less food they’d be able to eat, the less clothing they’d have to wear.

  The man even sent the woman out of the room. That annoyed John Paul. He liked the woman.

  He didn’t like at all the way the man looked at their house. At the other children. At Mother and Father. As if he thought himself better than they were.

  The man asked a question.

  John Paul answered in Polish instead of Common.

  The man looked at him blankly. He called out, “I thought he spoke Common!”

  The woman stuck her head back into the room. Apparently she had only gone to the kitchen. “He does, fluently,” said the woman.

  The man looked back at John Paul, and the disdainful look was gone. “So what game are you playing?”

  In Polish, John Paul said, “The only reason we’re poor is because the Hegemon punishes Catholics for obeying God.”

  “In Common, please,” said the man.

  “The language is called English,” said John Paul in Polish, “and why should I talk to you at all?”

  The man sighed. “Sorry to waste your time.” He got up.

  The woman came back into the room. They thought they were whispering soft enough, but like most adults, they thought that children didn’t understand adult conversations so they weren’t all that careful about being quiet.

  “He’s defying you,” said the woman.

  “Yes, I guessed that,” said the man testily.

  “So if you go, he wins.”

  Good one, thought John Paul. This woman wasn’t stupid. She knew what to say to make this man do what she wanted.

  “Or somebody does.”

  She walked over to John Paul. “Colonel Sillain thinks I was lying when I said you did so well on the tests.”

  In Common, John Paul said, “How well did I do?”

  The woman only got a little smile on her face and glanced back at Col. Sillain.

  Sillain sat back down. “All right then. Are you ready?”

  In Polish, John Paul said, “I’m ready if you speak Polish.”

  Impatiently, Sillain turned back to the woman. “What does he want?”

  In Common, John Paul said to the woman, “Tell him I don’t want to be tested by a man who thinks my family is scum.”

  “In the first place,” said the man, “I don’t think that.”

  “Liar,” said John Paul in Polish.

  He turned to the woman. She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t speak Polish either.”

  John Paul said to her, in Common, “You rule over us but you don’t bother to learn our language. Instead we have to learn yours.”

  She laughed. “It’s not my language. Or his. Common is just a universalized dialect of English, and I’m German.” She pointed at Sillain. “He’s Finnish. Nobody speaks his language anymore. Not even the Finns.”

  “Listen,” said Sillain, turning to John Paul. “I’m not going to play around anymore. You speak Common, and I don’t speak Polish, so answer my questions in Common.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked John Paul in Polish, “put me in jail?”

  It was fun watching Sillain turn redder and redder, but then Father came into the room, looking very weary. “John Paul,” he said. “Do what the man asks.”

  “They want to take me away from you,” said John Paul in Common.

  “Nothing of the kind,” said the man.

  “He’s lying,” said John Paul.

  The man turned slightly red.

  “And he hates us. He thinks we’re poor and that it’s disgusting to have so many children.”

  “That is not true,” said Sillain.

  Father ignored him. “We are poor, John Paul.”

  “Only because of the Hegemony,” said John Paul.

  “Don’t preach my own sermons back at me,” said Father. But he switched to Polish to say it. “If you don’t do what they want, then they can punish your mother and me.”

  Father sometimes knew exactly the right words to say, too.

  John Paul turned back to Sillain. “I don’t want to be alone with you. I want her to be here for the test.”

  “Part of the test,” said Sillain, “is seeing how well you obey orders.”

  “Then I fail,” said John Paul.

  Both the woman and Father laughed.

  Sillain did not. “It’s obvious that this child has been trained to be noncooperative, Captain Rudolf. Let’s go.”

  “He has not been trained,” said Father.

  John Paul could see that he looked worried.

  “Nobody trained me,” said John Paul.

  “The mother didn’t even know he could read at college level,” said the woman softly.

  College level? John Paul thought that was ridiculous. Once you knew the letters, reading was reading. How could there be levels?

  “She wanted you to think she didn’t know,” said Sillain.

  “My mother doesn’t lie,” said John Paul.

  “No, no, of course not,” said Sillain. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  Now he was revealing the truth: That he was frightened. Afraid that John Paul might not take his test. His fear meant that John Paul had power in this situation. Even more than he had thought.

  “I’ll answer your questions,” said John Paul, “if the lady stays here.”

  This time, he knew, Sillain would say yes.

  They gathered with a dozen experts and military leaders in a conference room in Berlin. Everyone had already seen Col. Sillain’s and Helena’s reports. They had seen John Paul’s test scores. They had watched the vid of Sillain’s conversation with John Paul Wieczorek before, during, and after the test.

  Helena enjoyed how much Sillain hated having to watch this six-year-old Polish boy manipulate him. It hadn’t been so obvious at the time, of course, but after you watched the vid over and over, it became painfully obvious. And, while everyone at the table was polite, there were a few raised eyebrows, a nod, a couple of half-smiles when John Paul said, “Then I fail.”

  At the end of the vid, a Russian general from the office of the Strategos said, “Was he bluffing?”

  “He’s six,” said the young Indian representing the Polemarch.

  “That’s what’s so terrifying,” said the teacher who was there for the Battle School. “About all the children at Battle School, actually. Most people live their whole lives without ever meeting a single child like this one.”

  “So, Captain Graff,” said the Indian, “are you saying he’s nothing special?”

  “They’re all special,” said Graff. “But this one—his tests are good, top range. Not the very best we’ve seen, but the tests aren’t as predictive as we’d like. It’s his negotiating skill that impresses me.”

  Helena wanted to say, “Or Colonel Sillain’s lack of it.” But she knew that wasn’t fair. Sillain had tried a bluff, and the boy had called it. Who knew a child would have the wit to do that?

  “Well,” said the Indian, “it certainly shows the wisdom of opening Battle School to noncompliant nations.”

  “There’s only one problem, Captain Chamrajnagar,” said Graff. “In all these documents, on this vid, in our conversation, no one has even suggested that the boy is willing to go.”

  There was silence around the table.

  “Well, no, of course not,” said Col. Sillain. “This meeting came first. There is some hostility from the parents—the father stayed home from work when Helena—Captain Rudolf went to test three of the older brothers. I think there may be trouble. We needed to assess, before the conversation, just how much leverage I’m to be given.”

  “You mean,” said Graff, “leverage to coerce the family?”

  “Or entice,” said Sillain.

  “Poles are stubborn people,” said the Russian general. “It’s in the Slavic character.”

  “We’re so close,” said Graff, “to tests that are well over ninety percent accurate in predicting military ability.”

  “Do you have a test to measure leadership?” asked Chamrajnagar.

  “That’s one of the components,” said Graff.

  “Because this boy has it, off the charts,” said Chamrajnagar. “I’ve never even seen the charts, and I know that.”

  “The real training ground for leadership is in the game,” said Graff. “But yes, I think this boy will do well at it.”

  “If he goes,” said the Russian.

  “I think,” said Chamrajnagar, “that Colonel Sillain should not carry out the next step.”

  This left Sillain sputtering. Helena wanted to smile, but instead she said, “Colonel Sillain is the team leader, and according to protocol . . .”

  “He has already been compromised,” said Chamrajnagar. “I make no criticism of Colonel Sillain, please. I don’t know which of us would have fared any better. But the boy made him back down, and I don’t think there is a helpful relationship.”

  Sillain was careerist enough to know how to hand them his head, when asked for it. “Whatever is best to accomplish the mission, of course.” Helena knew how he had to be seething at Chamrajnagar, but he showed no sign of it.

  “The question Colonel Sillain asked still remains,” said Graff. “What authority will the negotiator be given?”

  “All the authority he needs,” said the Russian general.

  “But that’s precisely what we don’t know,” said Graff.

  Chamrajnagar answered. “I think my colleague from the Strategos’s office is saying that whatever inducement the negotiator feels is appropriate will be supported by the Strategos. Certainly the Polemarch’s office has the same view.”

  “I don’t think the boy is that important,” said Graff. “Battle School exists because of the need to begin military training during childhood in order to build appropriate habits of thought and movement. But there has been enough data to suggest—”

  “We know this story,” said the Russian general.

  “Let’s not begin this argument again here,” said Chamrajnagar.

  “There is a definite fall-off in outcomes after the trainees reach adulthood,” said Graff. “That’s a fact, however much we may not like the implications.”

  “They know more, but do worse?” said Chamrajnagar. “It sounds wrong. It is hard to believe, and even if we believe it, it is hard to interpret.”

  “It means that we don’t have to have this boy, because we won’t have to wait for a child to grow to adulthood.”

  The Russian general was scornful. “Put our war in the hands of children? I hope we are never that desperate.”

  There was a long silence, and then Chamrajnagar spoke. Apparently he had been receiving instructions through his earpiece. “The office of the Polemarch believes that because this data Captain Graff speaks of is incomplete, prudence suggests we act as if we do, in fact, have to have this boy. Time is growing short, and it is impossible to know whether he might be our last best chance.”

  “The Strategos concurs,” said the Russian general.

  “Yes,” said Graff. “As I said, the results are not final.”

  “So,” said Col. Sillain. “Full authority. For whoever it is who negotiates.”

  “I think,” said Chamrajnagar, “that the director of Battle School has already demonstrated whom he has the most confidence in right now, planetside.”

  All eyes went to Capt. Graff. “I would be glad to have Captain Rudolf accompany me. I believe we have it on record that this Polish boy prefers to have her present.”

  This time when the Fleet people came, Father and Mother were prepared. Their friend Magda was a lawyer, and even though she was forbidden, as a noncompliant, to practice law, she sat between them on the sofa.

  John Paul was not in the room, however. “Don’t let them bully the child,” Magda had said, and that was it. Mother and Father immediately banned him from the room, so he didn’t even get to see them come in.

  He could listen, however, from the kitchen. He realized at once that the man he didn’t like, the colonel, was not there, though the woman was. A new man was with her now. His voice didn’t have the sound of lying in it. Captain Graff, he was called.

  After the polite things were said—the sitting down, the offering of drinks—Graff got down to business quickly. “I see that you do not wish me to see the child.”

  Magda answered, quite imperiously, “His parents felt it best for him not to be present.”

  Silence for a long moment.

  “Magdalena Teczlo,” said Graff softly, “these good people may invite a friend over to sit with them today. But I’d hate to think you might be acting as their attorney.”

  If Magda answered, John Paul couldn’t hear.

  “I would like to see the boy now,” said Graff.

  Father started explaining that that would never happen, so if that’s all he wanted, he might as well give up and go home.

  Another long silence. There was no sound of Captain Graff getting up from the chair, an operation that could not be performed silently. So he must be sitting there, saying nothing—not leaving, but not trying to persuade them.

  That was a shame, because John Paul wanted to see what he would say to get them to do what he wanted. The way he silenced Magda was intriguing. John Paul wanted to see what was happening. He stepped from behind the dividing wall and watched.

  Graff was doing nothing. There was no threat on his face, no attempt to outface them. He gazed pleasantly at Mother, and then at Father, and then at Mother again, skipping right over Magda’s face. It was as if she didn’t exist—even her own body seemed to say, “Don’t notice me, I’m not really here.”

  Graff turned his head and looked right at John Paul.

  John Paul thought he might say something to get him in trouble, but Graff gazed at him only a moment and then turned back to Mother and Father. “You understand, of course,” he began.

  “No, I don’t understand,” said Father. “You aren’t going to see the boy unless we decide you’ll see him, and for that you have to meet our terms.”

  Graff looked blandly back at him. “He isn’t your breadwinner. What possible hardship can you claim?”