Then it was a matter of waiting for two things.

  The first thing came on the second day of waiting. The southernmost outpost notified him that their column had entered the valley and was moving briskly. This was no surprise—they had had a much easier trip than the two northern armies.

  “They’re not careful about probing ahead,” said the general in charge of that contingent. “Raw troops, marching blind. As I watched them, I kept thinking, this must be an attempt to deceive us. But no—they keep passing, with large gaps in the line, stragglers, and only a few regiments that put out scouts. None of them came close to finding us. They haven’t put a single observer on either ridge. They’re lazy.”

  When, later in the day, the other two hidden contingents reported a similar story, Suriyawong relayed the information back to Ambul. While he waited for the next triggering event, he had his lookouts make a particular point of searching for any sign that Virlomi herself was traveling with any of the three armies.

  There was no mystery about it. She was traveling with the northern-most Indian army, riding in an open jeep, and the troops cheered when she passed, moving up and down the line—slowing down her own army’s advance in the process, since they had to move off the road for her.

  Suriyawong heard this with sadness. She had been so brilliant. Her assessment of how to undo the Chinese occupation had been dead on. Her holding action to keep the Chinese from returning to India or resupplying when the Persians and Pakistanis invaded had been of Thermopylaean proportions. The difference was that Virlomi was more careful than the Spartans—she had already covered all the back roads. Nothing got past her Indian guerrillas.

  She was beautiful and wise and mysterious. Suriyawong had rescued her once, and cooperated in the little drama that made the rescue possible—and played upon her reputation as a goddess.

  But in those days, she had known she was just acting.

  Or had she? Perhaps it was her intimations of godhood that had caused her to reject Suriyawong’s overtures of friendship and more-than-friendship. The blow had been painful, but he wasn’t angry with her. She had an aura of greatness about her that he had seen in no other commander, not even Bean.

  The troop deployments she was showing here were not what he would have expected from the woman who had been so careful of her men’s lives in all her previous actions. Nor from the woman who had wept over the bodies of the victims of Muslim atrocities. Didn’t she see that she was leading the soldiers to disaster? Even if there were no ambush in these mountains—though it was absolutely predictable that there would be—an army this ragged could be destroyed at will by a trained and determined enemy.

  As Euripides wrote, Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.

  Ambul, knowing how Suriyawong felt about Virlomi, had offered to let him command only that part of the army that wouldn’t face her directly. But Suri refused. “Remember what Bean said Ender taught. ‘To know the enemy well enough to defeat him requires that you know him so well you can’t help but love him.’”

  Well, Suriyawong already loved this enemy. And knew her. Well enough that he even thought he understood this madness.

  She wasn’t vain. She never thought she’d survive. But all her plans kept succeeding. She couldn’t believe that it was because of her own ability. So she thinks that she has some kind of divine favor.

  But it was her abilities and training, and she isn’t using them now, and her army is going to pay for it.

  Suriyawong had left plenty of room for the Indians to move down the valleys before they reached the ambush. They weren’t traveling at the same pace, so he had to make sure all three ambushes were sprung at the same time. He had to make sure all three armies passed through the top of the trap in their entirety. His instructions to his men were clear: Accept the surrender of any soldier who throws down his weapon and puts up his hands. Kill anyone who doesn’t. But let no one out of the valley. All killed or captured.

  And Virlomi alive, if she lets us.

  Please let us, Virlomi. Please let us bring you back to reality. Back to life.

  Han Tzu went among his troops. There was no nonsense about an invisible emperor. The soldiers of the Chinese army had chosen him and sustained his authority. He was theirs, and they would see him often, sharing their privations, listening to them, explaining to them.

  It was what he had learned from Ender. If you give orders and explain nothing, you might get obedience, but you’ll get no creativity. If you tell them your purpose, then when your original plan is shown to be faulty, they’ll find another way to achieve your goal. Explaining to your men doesn’t weaken their respect for you, it proves your respect for them.

  So Han Tzu explained, chatted, pitched in and helped, shared the meals of common soldiers, laughed at their jokes, listened to their complaints. One soldier had complained about how no one could sleep on ground like this. Han Tzu promptly took over the man’s tent and slept in it himself, exactly as it was, while the man took Han Tzu’s tent. In the morning, the man swore that Han Tzu’s bed was the worst one in the army, and Han Tzu thanked him for his first good night’s sleep in weeks. The story made its way through the army before nightfall.

  Han Tzu’s army did not love him any more than Virlomi’s loved her. And there was no hint of worship in it. The key difference was that Han Tzu had worked to train this army, had made sure that it was as well equipped as possible, and they knew the stories about the last war, when Han Tzu had constantly warned his superiors about all their mistakes before they made them. The belief was that if Han Tzu had been emperor all along, they would not have lost the lands they conquered.

  What they didn’t understand was that if Han Tzu had been their emperor, there would have been no conquests to lose. Because Achilles would have been arrested the moment he entered China and turned over to the I.F., under whose authority he had been confined to a mental hospital. There would have been no invasion of India and southeast Asia, only a holding action to block the Indian invasion of Burma and Thailand.

  A real warrior hates war, Han Tzu well understood. He had seen how devastated Ender was when he learned that the last game, the final exam, had been the real war, and that his enemy had been utterly destroyed by Ender’s victory.

  So his men trusted him as Han Tzu kept retreating, farther and farther into China, moving from one strong position to another, but never allowing his army to engage with the Russian invaders.

  He heard what the men said, the questions they asked. His answers were honest enough. “The farther they come, the longer their supply lines.” “We want them so deep inside China that they can’t get home again.” “Our army grows the deeper we move back into China, and theirs shrinks, as they have to leave men behind to guard their route.”

  And when they asked him about the rumors of a huge Indian army invading in the south, Han Tzu only smiled and said, “The madwoman? The only Indian who ever conquered China was Gautama Buddha, and he did it with teachings, not artillery.”

  What he couldn’t tell them was that they were waiting.

  For Peter Wiggin.

  Peter Wiggin stood in front of the microphones in Helsinki. Beside him stood the heads of government of Finland, Estonia, and Latvia.

  Aides were on secure cellphones connected to diplomats in Bangkok, Yerevan, Beijing, and many capitals in eastern Europe.

  Peter smiled at the gathered reporters.

  “At the request of the governments of Armenia and China, both of which were the victims of simultaneous unprovoked aggression by Russia, India, and the Muslim League of Caliph Alai, the Free People of Earth have decided to intervene.

  “We are joined in this effort by many new allies, many of which have agreed to hold plebiscites to determine whether or not to ratify the Constitution of the FPE.

  “Emperor Han Tzu of China assures us that his armies are capable of dealing with the combined Russian and Turkish forces that are now operating well within the Chinese border in the north.

  “In the south, Burma and China have opened their borders to safe passage for an army led by our old friend General Suriyawong. Right now, in Bangkok, Prime Minister Paribatra is holding a press conference to announce that Thailand will hold a plebiscite on ratification, and that as of this moment, the Thai Army is regarded as being under the provisional command of the FPE.

  “In Armenia, where it is not possible to hold a press conference right now because of the exigencies of war, a nation under attack has turned to the FPE for help and leadership. I have placed the Armenian military under the direct command of Julian Delphiki, where they are resisting unprovoked Turkish and Russian aggression and have carried the war deep inside Muslim territory, in Tabriz and Tehran.

  “And here in eastern Europe, where Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Slovakia, Czechland, and Bulgaria had already joined the FPE, we are joined by our new allies Poland, Rumania, Hungary, Serbia, Austria, Greece, and Belarus. They have all repudiated the Warsaw Pact, which never obligated them to join in an offensive war in any event.

  “Under the command of Petra Delphiki, the combined allied armies are already making rapid progress toward capturing key targets inside Russia. They have met little resistance so far, but they are prepared to deal with any forces the Russians care to throw against them.

  “We call upon the aggressors—Russia, India, and the Muslim League—to lay down their arms and accept an immediate ceasefire. If this offer is not accepted within the next twelve hours, then a ceasefire will only be accepted by us upon our terms and at a time of our choosing. The enemies of peace can expect to lose all the forces they have committed to this immoral war.

  “I would now like to play for you a video that was recently recorded at a safe haven. In case you don’t recognize him, since the Russians have kept him under wraps for many years now, the speaker is Vladimir Denisovitch Porotchkot, a citizen of Belarus who until several days ago was kept against his will in the service of a foreign power, Russia. You may also remember him as one of the team of young warriors who defeated the enemy that threatened the existence of the human race.”

  Peter stepped away from the microphone. The room was darkened; the screenwall came alive.

  There stood Vlad, in front of what looked like an ordinary office in an ordinary room on Earth. Only Peter knew that this was recorded in space—in the old Battle School space station, as a matter of fact, which was now the Ministry of Colonization.

  “I offer my apologies to the people of Armenia and China, whose borders were violated and citizens were killed by Russians who were using plans I created. I assumed that the plans were for contingency only, in response to aggression. I did not know that they would actually be used, and without the slightest provocation. As soon as I understood that this was how my work was to be used, I escaped from Russian custody and am now in a safe place, where I can finally speak the truth.

  “It came to my knowledge just before I left my captivity in Moscow that the leaders of Russia, India, and the Muslim League have divided up the world among them. To India will go all of southeast Asia and most of China. To Russia will go part of China and all of eastern and northern Europe. To the Muslim League will go all of Africa and the western European countries with large Muslim populations.

  “I repudiate this plan. I repudiate this war. I refuse to let my work be used to enslave innocent people who did no harm and do not deserve to live under tyranny.

  “Therefore I have provided to the Free People of Earth a complete knowledge of all the plans I drew up for Russian use. There is no movement they are now making which is not completely anticipated by the forces acting in concert with the FPE.

  “And I urge the people of Belarus, my true homeland, to vote to join the Free People of Earth. Who else has stood relentlessly against aggression and in favor of freedom and respect for every nation and every citizen?

  “As for me—my talents and training are entirely geared toward warfare. I will no longer put my abilities at the service of any nation. I gave my childhood to fighting an alien enemy that was trying to destroy the human race. I did not fight off the Buggers so that millions of humans could be slaughtered and hundreds of millions conquered and enslaved.

  “I am on strike. I urge every other graduate of Battle School except those who serve the FPE to join me in that strike. Do not plan war, do not wage war, except to help the Hegemon Peter Wiggin to destroy the armies of the aggressors.

  “And to the common soldiers I say, Do not obey your officers. Surrender at the first opportunity. Your obedience makes war possible. Take responsibility for your own actions and join me in my strike! If you surrender to the forces of the FPE, they will make every effort to spare your life and, at the earliest opportunity, to return you to your families.

  “Again, I beg the forgiveness of those whose lives were lost because of plans I drew. Never again.”

  The video ended.

  Peter strode back to the microphone. “The Free People of Earth and our allies are now at war with the aggressors. We have already told you everything we can say without compromising ongoing military operations. There will be no questions.”

  He walked away from the microphone.

  Bean stood in the midst of the small wheeled beds that held his five normal children. The ones he would never see again, once he left them today.

  Mazer Rackham put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go, Julian.”

  “Five of them,” said Bean. “How will Petra manage?”

  “She’ll have help,” said Rackham. “The real question is, how will you manage on that messenger ship? They’ll outnumber you three to one.”

  “As I can attest, children with my particular genetic defect become self-sufficient at a very early age,” said Bean.

  He touched the bed of the baby named Andrew. The same name as the eldest of the siblings. But this Andrew was a normal infant. Not undersized for his age.

  And this second Bella. She would lead a normal life. As would Ramón and Julian and Petra.

  “If these five are normal,” Bean said to Rackham, “then the ninth child—it’s most likely…defective?”

  “If the odds are fifty-fifty of the traits getting passed on, and we know that five of the nine didn’t get them, then it stands to reason that the missing one has a higher likelihood of having the traits. Though as any expert on probability would tell you, the probability for each child was fifty-fifty, and the distribution of the syndrome among the other infants will have no effect on the outcome for the ninth.”

  “Maybe it’s better if Petra never finds…the last one.”

  “My guess, Bean, is that there is no ninth baby. Not every implantation works. There could easily have been an early miscarriage. That would be a complete explanation of the lack of any record that was traceable by the software.”

  “I don’t know whether to be comforted or appalled that you would think I’d find that the death of one my children might be comforting.”

  Rackham grimaced. “You know what I meant.”

  Bean took an envelope from his pocket and laid it under Ramón. “Tell the nurses to leave that envelope there, even if he leaks and wets all over the thing.”

  “Of course,” said Rackham. “For what it’s worth, Bean, your pension will also be invested, like Ender’s, and run by the same software.”

  “Don’t,” said Bean. “Give it all to Petra. She’ll need it, with five babies to raise. Maybe six someday.”

  “What about when you come home, when they find the cure?”

  Bean looked at him as if he were crazy. “Do you really think that will happen?”

  “If you don’t, why are you going?”

  “Because it might,” said Bean. “And if we stay here, early death is certain for all four of us. If the cure is found, and if we come home, then we can talk about a pension. I’ll tell you what. After Petra dies, after these five all grow old and die, then start paying my pension into a fund controlled by that investor software.”

  “You’ll be back before then.”

  “No,” said Bean. “No, that’s…no. Once we’re ten years out—and there’s no hope of a cure before that—then even if you find the cure, don’t call us back until…well, until Petra would be dead before we got here. Do you understand? Because if she remarries—and I want her to—I don’t want her to have to face me. To face me looking as I do right now, the boy she married—the giant boy. This is cruel enough, what we’re doing now. I’m not going to cause her one last torment before she dies.”

  “Why don’t you let her decide?”

  “It’s not her choice,” said Bean. “Once we leave, we’re dead. Gone forever. She can never have back the life that will have been lost. But I’m not worried, Mazer. There is no cure.”

  “You know that?”

  “I know Volescu. He doesn’t want to find a cure. He doesn’t think it’s a disease. He thinks it’s the hope of humanity. And except for Anton, nobody else knows enough to proceed. It was an illegal field of study for too long. It’s still tainted. The methods Volescu used, the whole process surrounding Anton’s Key—nobody’s going to turn that key again, and therefore you’re not going to have any scientists who know what they’re doing in that area. The project will have less and less importance for your successors. Someday—not too long from now—somebody will look at the budget item and say, We’re paying for what? And the project will die.”

  “It won’t happen,” said Mazer. “The Fleet doesn’t forget its own.”