“If the Sisters of St. Nicholas had convents, your abbess would make you do serious penance for that un-Christian thought.”

  “You took him out of the hospital in Cairo and directly into space. Even though I warned you.”

  “Didn’t you notice that you telephoned me on a regular exchange? I’m on Earth. Someone else is running Battle School.”

  “He’s a serial murderer now, you know. Not just the girl in Rotterdam. There was a boy there, too, the one Helga called Ulysses. They found his body a few weeks ago.”

  “Achilles has been in medical care for the past year.”

  “The coroner estimates that the killing took place at least that long ago. The body was hidden behind some long-term storage near the fish market. It covered the smell, you see. And it goes on. A teacher at the school I put him in.”

  “Ah. That’s right. You put him in a school long before I did.”

  “The teacher fell to his death from an upper story.”

  “No witnesses. No evidence.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You see a trend here?”

  “But that’s my point. Achilles does not kill carelessly. Nor does he choose his victims at random. Anyone who has seen him helpless, crippled, beaten—he can’t bear the shame. He has to expunge it by getting absolute power over the person who dared to humiliate him.”

  “You’re a psychologist now?”

  “I laid the facts before an expert.”

  “The supposed facts.”

  “I’m not in court, Colonel. I’m talking to the man who put this killer in school with the child who came up with the original plan to humiliate him. Who called for his death. My expert assured me that the chance of Achilles not striking against Bean is zero.”

  “It’s not as easy as you think, in space. No dock, you see.”

  “Do you know how I knew you had taken him into space?”

  “I’m sure you have your sources, both mortal and heavenly.”

  “My dear friend, Dr. Vivian Delamar, was the surgeon who reconstructed Achilles’ leg.”

  “As I recall, you recommended her.”

  “Before I knew what Achilles really was. When I found out, I called her. Warned her to be careful. Because my expert also said that she was in danger.”

  “The one who restored his leg? Why?”

  “No one has seen him more helpless than the surgeon who cuts into him as he lies there drugged to the gills. Rationally, I’m sure he knew it was wrong to harm this woman who did him so much good. But then, the same would apply to Poke, the first time he killed. If it was the first time.”

  “So . . . Dr. Vivian Delamar. You alerted her. What did she see? Did he murmur a confession under anaesthetic?”

  “We’ll never know. He killed her.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I’m in Cairo. Her funeral is tomorrow. They were calling it a heart attack until I urged them to look for a hypodermic insertion mark. Indeed they found one, and now it’s on the books as a murder. Achilles does know how to read. He learned which drugs would do the job. How he got her to sit still for it, I don’t know.”

  “How can I believe this, Sister Carlotta? The boy is generous, gracious, people are drawn to him, he’s a born leader. People like that don’t kill.”

  “Who are the dead? The teacher who mocked him for his ignorance when he first arrived in the school, showed him up in front of the class. The doctor who saw him laid out under anaesthetic. The street girl whose crew took him down. The street boy who vowed to kill him and made him go into hiding. Maybe the coincidence argument would sway a jury, but it shouldn’t sway you.”

  “Yes, you’ve convinced me that the danger might well be real. But I already alerted the teachers at Battle School that there might be some danger. And now I really am not in charge of Battle School.”

  “You’re still in touch. If you give them a more urgent warning, they’ll take steps.”

  “I’ll give the appropriate warning.”

  “You’re lying to me.”

  “You can tell that over the phone?”

  “You want Bean exposed to danger!”

  “Sister . . . yes, I do. But not this much of it. Whatever I can do, I’ll do.”

  “If you let Bean come to harm, God will have an accounting from you.”

  “He’ll have to get in line, Sister Carlotta. The I.F. court-martial takes precedence.”

  Bean looked down into the air vent in his quarters and marveled that he had ever been small enough to fit in there. What was he then, the size of a rat?

  Fortunately, with a room of his own now he wasn’t limited to the outflow vents. He put his chair on top of his table and climbed up to the long, thin intake vents along the wall on the corridor side of his room. The vent trim pried out as several long sections. The paneling above it was separate from the riveted wall below. And it, too, came off fairly easily. Now there was room enough for almost any kid in Battle School to shinny into the crawl space over the corridor ceiling.

  Bean stripped off his clothes and once again crawled into the air system.

  It was more cramped this time—it was surprising how much he’d grown. He made his way quickly to the maintenance area near the furnaces. He found how the lighting systems worked, and carefully went around removing lightbulbs and wall glow units in the areas he’d be needing. Soon there was a wide vertical shaft that was utterly dark when the door was closed, with deep shadows even when it was open. Carefully he laid his trap.

  Achilles never ceased to be astonished at how the universe bent to his will. Whatever he wished seemed to come to him. Poke and her crew, raising him above the other bullies. Sister Carlotta, bringing him to the priests’ school in Bruxelles. Dr. Delamar, straightening his leg so he could run, so he looked no different from any other boy his age. And now here he was in Battle School, and who should be his first commander but little Bean, ready to take him under his wing, help him rise within this school. As if the universe were created to serve him, with all the people in it tuned to resonate with his desires.

  The battleroom was cool beyond belief. War in a box. Point the gun, the other kid’s suit freezes. Of course, Ambul had made the mistake of demonstrating this by freezing Achilles and then laughing at his consternation at floating in the air, unable to move, unable to change the direction of his drift. People shouldn’t do that. It was wrong, and it always gnawed at Achilles until he was able to set things right. There should be more kindness and respect in the world.

  Like Bean. It looked so promising at first, but then Bean started putting him down. Making sure the others saw that Achilles used to be Bean’s papa, but now he was just a soldier in Bean’s army. There was no need for that. You don’t go putting people down. Bean had changed. Back when Poke first put Achilles on his back, shaming him in front of all those little children, it was Bean who showed him respect. “Kill him,” Bean had said. He knew, then, that tiny boy, he knew that even on his back, Achilles was dangerous. But he seemed to have forgotten that now. In fact, Achilles was pretty sure that Bean must have told Ambul to freeze his flash suit and humiliate him in the practice room, setting him up for the others to laugh at him.

  I was your friend and protector, Bean, because you showed respect for me. But now I have to weigh that in the balance with your behavior here in Battle School. No respect for me at all.

  The trouble was, the students in Battle School were given nothing that could be used as a weapon, and everything was made completely safe. No one was ever alone, either. Except the commanders. Alone in their quarters. That was promising. But Achilles suspected that the teachers had a way of tracking where every student was at any given time. He’d have to learn the system, learn how to evade it, before he could start setting things to rights.

  But he knew this: He’d learn what he needed to learn. Opportunities would appear. And he, being Achilles, would see those opportunities and seize them. Nothing could interrupt his rise until he held all the power there was to hold within his hands. Then there would be perfect justice in the world, not this miserable system that left so many children starving and ignorant and crippled on the streets while others lived in privilege and safety and health. All those adults who had run things for thousands of years were fools or failures. But the universe obeyed Achilles. He and he alone could correct the abuses.

  On his third day in Battle School, Rabbit Army had its first battle with Bean as commander. They lost. They would not have lost if Achilles had been commander. Bean was doing some stupid touchy-feely thing, leaving things up to the toon leaders. But it was obvious that the toon leaders had been badly chosen by Bean’s predecessor. If Bean was to win, he needed to take tighter control. When he tried to suggest this to Bean, the child only smiled knowingly—a maddeningly superior smile—and told him that the key to victory was for each toon leader and, eventually, each soldier to see the whole situation and act independently to bring about victory. It made Achilles want to slap him, it was so stupid, so wrongheaded. The one who knew how to order things did not leave it up to others to create their little messes in the corners of the world. He took the reins and pulled, sharp and hard. He whipped his men into obedience. As Frederick the Great said: The soldier must fear his officers more than he fears the bullets of the enemy. You could not rule without the naked exercise of power. The followers must bow their heads to the leader. They must surrender their heads, using only the mind and will of the leader to rule them. No one but Achilles seemed to understand that this was the great strength of the Buggers. They had no individual minds, only the mind of the hive. They submitted perfectly to the queen. We cannot defeat the Buggers until we learn from them, become like them.

  But there was no point in explaining this to Bean. He would not listen. Therefore he would never make Rabbit Army into a hive. He was working to create chaos. It was unbearable.

  Unbearable—yet, just when Achilles thought he couldn’t bear the stupidity and waste any longer, Bean called him to his quarters.

  Achilles was startled, when he entered, to find that Bean had removed the vent cover and part of the wall panel, giving him access to the air-duct system. This was not at all what Achilles had expected.

  “Take your clothes off,” said Bean.

  Achilles smelled an attempt at humiliation.

  Bean was taking off his own uniform. “They track us through the uniforms,” said Bean. “If you aren’t wearing one, they don’t know where you are, except in the gym and the battleroom, where they have really expensive equipment to track each warm body. We aren’t going to either of those places, so strip.”

  Bean was naked. As long as Bean went first, Achilles could not be shamed by doing the same.

  “Ender and I used to do this,” said Bean. “Everybody thought Ender was such a brilliant commander, but the truth is he knew all the plans of the other commanders because we’d go spying through the air ducts. And not just the commanders, either. We found out what the teachers were planning. We always knew it in advance. Not hard to win that way.”

  Achilles laughed. This was too cool. Bean might be a fool, but this Ender that Achilles had heard so much about, he knew what he was doing.

  “It takes two people, is that it?”

  “To get where I can spy on the teachers, there’s a wide shaft, pitch black. I can’t climb down. I need somebody to lower me down and haul me back up. I didn’t know who in Rabbit Army I could trust, and then . . . there you were. A friend from the old days.”

  It was happening again. The universe, bending to his will. He and Bean would be alone. No one would be tracking where they were. No one would know what had happened.

  “I’m in,” said Achilles.

  “Boost me up,” said Bean. “You’re tall enough to climb up alone.”

  Clearly, Bean had come this way many times before. He scampered through the crawl space, his feet and butt flashing in the spill from the corridor lights. Achilles noted where he put his hands and feet, and soon was as adept at Bean at picking his way through. Every time he used his leg, he marveled at the use of it. It went where he wanted it to go, and had the strength to hold him. Dr. Delamar might be a skilled surgeon, but even she said that she had never seen a body respond to the surgery as Achilles’ did. His body knew how to be whole, expected to be strong. All the time before, those crippled years, had been the universe’s way of teaching Achilles the unbearability of disorder. And now Achilles was perfect of body, ready to move ahead in setting things to rights.

  Achilles very carefully noted the route they took. If the opportunity presented itself, he would be coming back alone. He could not afford to get lost, or give himself away. No one could know that he had ever been in the air system. As long as he gave them no reason, the teachers would never suspect him. All they knew was that he and Bean were friends. And when Achilles grieved for the child, his tears would be real. They always were, for there was a nobility to these tragic deaths. A grandeur as the great universe worked its will through Achilles’ adept hands.

  The furnaces roared as they came into a room where the framing of the station was visible. Fire was good. It left so little residue. People died when they accidentally fell into fire. It happened all the time. Bean, crawling around alone . . . it would be good if they went near the furnace.

  Instead, Bean opened a door into a dark space. The light from the opening showed a black gap not far inside. “Don’t step over the edge of that,” Bean said cheerfully. He picked up a loop of very fine cord from the ground. “It’s a deadline. Safety equipment. Keeps workmen from drifting off into space when they’re working on the outside of the station. Ender and I set it up—it goes over a beam up there and keeps me centered in the shaft. You can’t grip it in your hands, it cuts too easily if it slides across your skin. So you loop it tight around your body—no sliding, see?—and brace yourself. The gravity’s not that intense, so I just jump off. We measured it out, so I stop right at the level of the vents leading to the teachers’ quarters.”

  “Doesn’t it hurt when you stop?”

  “Like a bitch,” said Bean. “No pain no gain, right? I take off the deadline, I snag it on a flap of metal and it stays there till I get back. I’ll tug on it three times when I get it back on. Then you pull me back up. But not with your hands. You go out the door and walk out there. When you get to place where we came in, go around the beam there and go till you touch the wall. Just wait there until I can get myself swinging and land back here on this ledge. Then I unloop myself and you come back in and we leave the deadline for next time. Simple, see?”

  “Got it,” said Achilles.

  Instead of walking to the wall, it would be simple enough to just keep walking. Get Bean floating in the air where he couldn’t get hold of anything. Plenty of time, then, to find a way to tie it off inside that dark room. With the roar of the furnaces and fans, nobody would hear Bean calling for help. Then Achilles would have time to explore. Figure out how to get into the furnaces. Swing Bean back, strangle him, carry the body to the fire. Drop the deadline down the shaft. Nobody would find it. Quite possibly no one would ever find Bean, or if they did, his soft tissues would be consumed. All evidence of strangulation would be gone. Very neat. There’d be some improvisation, but there always was. Achilles could handle little problems as they came up.

  Achilles looped the deadline over his head, then drew it tight under his arms as Bean climbed into the loop at the other end.

  “Set,” said Achilles.

  “Make sure it’s tight, so it doesn’t have any slack to cut you when I hit bottom.”

  “Yes, it’s tight.”

  But Bean had to check. He got a finger under the line. “Tighter,” said Bean.

  Achilles tightened it more.

  “Good,” said Bean. “That’s it. Do it.”

  Do it? Bean was the one who was supposed to do it.

  Then the deadline went taut and Achilles was lifted off his feet. With a few more yanks, he hung in the air in the dark shaft. The deadline dug harshly into his skin.

  When Bean said “do it” he was talking to someone else. Someone who was already here, lying in wait. The traitorous little bastard.

  Achilles said nothing, however. He reached up to see if he could touch the beam above him, but it was out of reach. Nor could he climb the line, not with bare hands, not with the line drawn taut by his own body weight.

  He wriggled on the line, starting himself swinging. But no matter how far he went in any direction, he touched nothing. No wall, no place where he might find purchase.

  Time to talk.

  “What’s this about, Bean?”

  “It’s about Poke,” said Bean.

  “She’s dead, Bean.”

  “You kissed her. You killed her. You put her in the river.”

  Achilles felt the blood run hot into his face. No one saw that. He was guessing. But then . . . how did he know that Achilles had kissed her first, unless he saw?

  “You’re wrong,” said Achilles.

  “How sad if I am. Then the wrong man will die for the crime.”

  “Die? Be serious, Bean. You aren’t a killer.”

  “But the hot dry air of the shaft will do it for me. You’ll dehydrate in a day. Your mouth’s already a little dry, isn’t it? And then you’ll just keep hanging here, mummifying. This is the intake system, so the air gets filtered and purified. Even if your body stinks for a while, nobody will smell it. Nobody will see you—you’re above where the light shines from the door. And nobody comes in here anyway. No, the disappearance of Achilles will be the mystery of Battle School. They’ll tell ghost stories about you to frighten the launchies.”

  “Bean, I didn’t do it.”

  “I saw you, Achilles, you poor fool. I don’t care what you say, I saw you. I never thought I’d have the chance to make you pay for what you did to her. Poke did nothing but good to you. I told her to kill you, but she had mercy. She made you king of the streets. And for that you killed her?”

  “I didn’t kill her.”