“Suriyawong will command this mission,” said Peter.

  Suriyawong took the sealed envelope that Peter handed him, but then turned to Bean for confirmation.

  Peter no doubt noticed that Suriyawong did not intend to follow Peter’s orders unless Bean said he should. Being mostly human, Peter could not resist the temptation to jab back. “Unless,” said Peter, “you don’t think Suriyawong is ready to lead the mission.”

  Bean looked at Suriyawong, who smiled back at him.

  “Your Excellency, the troops are yours to command,” said Bean. “Suriyawong always leads the men in battle, so nothing important will be different.”

  Which was not quite true—Bean and Suriyawong often had to change plans at the last minute, and Bean ended up commanding all or part of a mission as often as not, depending on which of them had to deal with the emergency. Still, difficult as this operation was, it was not too complicated. Either the convoy would be where it was supposed to be, or it would not. If it was there, the mission would probably succeed. If it was not there, or if it was an ambush, the mission would be aborted and they would return home. Suriyawong and the other officers and soldiers could deal with any minor changes routinely.

  Unless, of course, the change in mission was because Peter Wiggin knew that it would fail and he didn’t want to risk losing Bean. Or because Peter was betraying them for some arcane reason of his own.

  “Please don’t open that,” said Peter, “until you’re airborne.”

  Suriyawong saluted. “Time to leave,” he said.

  “This mission,” said Peter, “will bring us significantly closer to breaking the back of Chinese expansionism.”

  Bean did not even sigh. But this tendency of Peter’s to make claims about what would happen always made him a little tired.

  “Godspeed,” said Bean to Suriyawong. Sometimes when he said this, Bean remembered Sister Carlotta and wondered if she was actually with God now, and perhaps heard Bean say the closest thing to a prayer that ever passed his lips.

  Suriyawong jogged to the chopper. Unlike the men, he carried no equipment beyond a small daypack and his sidearm. He had no need of heavy weaponry, because he expected to remain with the choppers during this operation. There were times when the commander had to lead in combat, but not on a mission like this, where communication was everything and he had to be able to make instant decisions that would be communicated to everyone at once. So he would stay with the e-maps that monitored the positions of every soldier, and talk with them by scrambled satellite uplink.

  He would not be safe, there in the chopper. Quite the contrary. If the Chinese were aware of what was coming, or if they were able to respond in time, Suriyawong would be sitting inside one of the two biggest and easiest targets to hit.

  That’s my place, thought Bean as he watched Suriyawong bound up into the chopper, helped by the outstretched hand of one of the men.

  The door of the chopper closed. The two aircraft rose from the ground in a storm of wind and dust and leaves, flattening the grass below them.

  Only then did another figure emerge from the forest. A young woman. Petra.

  Bean saw her and immediately erupted with anger.

  “What are you thinking?” he shouted at Peter over the diminishing sound of the rising choppers. “Where are her bodyguards? Don’t you know she’s in danger whenever she leaves the safety of the compound?”

  “Actually,” said Peter—and now the choppers were high enough up that normal voices could be heard—“she’s probably never been safer in her life.”

  “If you think that,” said Bean, “you’re an idiot.”

  “Actually, I do think that, and I’m not an idiot.” Peter grinned. “You always underestimate me.”

  “You always overestimate yourself.”

  “Ho, Bean.”

  Bean turned to Petra. “Ho, Petra.” He had seen her only three days ago, just before they left on this mission. She had helped him plan it; she knew it backward and forward as well as he did. “What’s this eemo doing to our mission?” Bean asked her.

  Petra shrugged. “Haven’t you figured it out?”

  Bean thought for a moment. As usual, his unconscious mind had been processing information in the background, well behind what he was aware of. On the surface, he was thinking about Peter and Petra and the mission that had just left. But underneath, his mind had already noticed the anomalies and was ready to list them.

  Peter had taken Bean off the mission and given sealed orders to Suriyawong. Obviously, then, there was some change in the mission that he didn’t want Bean to know about. Peter had also brought Petra out of hiding and yet claimed she had never been safer. That must mean that for some reason he was sure Achilles was not able to reach her here.

  Achilles was the only person on earth whose personal network rivaled Peter’s for its ability to stretch across national boundaries. The only way Peter could be sure that Achilles could not reach Petra, even here, was if Achilles was not free to act.

  Achilles was a prisoner, and had been for some time.

  Which meant that the Chinese, having used him to set up their conquest of India, Burma, Thailand, Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia, and to arrange their alliance with Russia and the Warsaw Pact, finally noticed that he was a psychopath and locked him up.

  Achilles was a prisoner in China. The message contained in Suriyawong’s envelope undoubtedly told him the identity of the prisoner that they were supposed to rescue from Chinese custody. That information could not have been communicated before the mission departed, because Bean would not have allowed the mission to go forward if he had known it would lead to Achilles’s release.

  Bean turned to Peter. “You’re as stupid as the German politicians who conspired to bring Hitler to power, thinking they could use him.”

  “I knew you’d be upset,” said Peter calmly.

  “Unless the new orders you gave Suriyawong were to kill the prisoner after all.”

  “You realize that you’re way too predictable when it comes to this guy. Just mentioning his name sets you off. It’s your Achilles heel. Pardon the jest.”

  Bean ignored him. Instead he reached out and took Petra’s hand. “If you already knew what he was doing, why did you come with him?”

  “Because I wouldn’t be safe in Brazil anymore,” said Petra, “and so I’d rather be with you.”

  “Both of us together only gives Achilles twice the motivation,” said Bean.

  “But you’re the one who survives no matter what Achilles throws at you,” said Petra. “That’s where I want to be.”

  Bean shook his head. “People close to me die.”

  “On the contrary,” said Petra. “People only die when they aren’t with you.”

  Well, that was true enough, but irrelevant. In the long run, Poke and Sister Carlotta both died because of Bean. Because they made the mistake of loving him and being loyal to him.

  “I’m not leaving your side,” said Petra.

  “Ever?” asked Bean.

  Before she could answer, Peter interrupted. “All this is very touching, but we need to go over what we’re doing with Achilles after we get him back.”

  Petra looked at him as if he were an annoying child. “You really are dim,” she said.

  “I know he’s dangerous,” said Peter. “That’s why we have to be very careful how we handle this.”

  “Listen to him,” said Petra. “Saying ‘we.’”

  “There’s no ‘we,’” said Bean. “Good luck.” Still holding Petra’s hand, Bean started for the forest. Petra had only a moment to wave cheerily at Peter and then she was beside Bean, jogging toward the trees.

  “You’re going to quit?” shouted Peter after them. “Just like that? When we’re finally close to being able to get things moving our way?”

  They didn’t stop to argue.

  Later, on the private plane Bean chartered to get them from Mindanao to Celebes, Petra mocked Peter’s words. “‘When we’re finally close to being able to get things moving our way?’”

  Bean laughed.

  “When was it ever our way?” she went on, not laughing now. “It’s all about increasing Peter’s influence, boosting his power and prestige. Our way.”

  “I don’t want him dead,” said Bean.

  “Who, Achilles?”

  “No!” said Bean. “Him I want dead. It’s Peter we have to keep alive. He’s the only balance.”

  “He’s lost his balance now,” said Petra. “How long before Achilles arranges to have him killed?”

  “What worries me is, how long before Achilles penetrates and coopts his entire network?”

  “Maybe we’re assigning Achilles supernatural powers,” said Petra. “He isn’t a god. Not even a hero. Just a sick kid.”

  “No,” said Bean. “I’m a sick kid. He’s the devil.”

  “Well, so,” said Petra, “maybe the devil’s a sick kid.”

  “So you’re saying we should still try to help Peter.”

  “I’m saying that if Peter lives through his little brush with Achilles, he might be more prone to listen to us.”

  “Not likely,” said Bean. “Because if he survives, he’ll think it proves he’s smarter than we are, so he’ll be even less likely to hear us.”

  “Yeah,” said Petra. “It’s not like he’s going to learn anything.”

  “First thing we need to do,” said Bean, “is split up.”

  “No,” said Petra.

  “I’ve done this before, Petra. Going into hiding. Keeping from getting caught.”

  “And if we’re together we’re too identifiable, la la la,” she said.

  “Saying ‘la la la’ doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

  “But I don’t care,” said Petra. “That’s the part you’re leaving out of your calculations.”

  “And I do care,” said Bean, “which is the part you’re leaving out of yours.”

  “Let me put it this way,” said Petra. “If we separate, and Achilles finds me and kills me first, then you’ll just have one more female you love deeply who is dead because you didn’t protect her.”

  “You fight dirty.”

  “I fight like a girl.”

  “And if you stay with me, we’ll probably end up dying together.”

  “No we won’t,” said Petra.

  “I’m not immortal, as you well know.”

  “But you are smarter than Achilles. And luckier. And taller. And nicer.”

  “The new improved human.”

  She looked at him thoughtfully. “You know, now that you’re tall, we could probably travel as man and wife.”

  Bean sighed. “I’m not going to marry you.”

  “Just as camouflage.”

  It had begun as hints but now it was quite open, her desire to marry him. “I’m not going to have children,” he said. “My species ends with me.”

  “I think that’s pretty selfish of you. What if the first homo sapiens had felt that way? We’d all still be neanderthals, and when the Buggers came they would have blasted us all to bits and that would be that.”

  “We didn’t evolve from neanderthals,” said Bean.

  “Well, it’s a good thing we have that little fact squared away,” said Petra.

  “And I didn’t evolve at all. I was manufactured. Genetically created.”

  “Still in the image of God,” said Petra.

  “Sister Carlotta could say those things, but it’s not funny coming from you.”

  “Yes it is,” said Petra.

  “Not to me.”

  “I don’t think I want to have your babies, if they might inherit your sense of humor.”

  “That’s a relief.” Only it wasn’t. Because he was attracted to her and she knew it. More than that. He truly cared about her, liked being with her. She was his friend. If he weren’t going to die, if he wanted to have a family, if he had any interest in marrying, she was the only female human that he would even consider. But that was the trouble—she was human, and he was not.

  After a few moments of silence, she leaned her head on his shoulder and held his hand. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “For what I don’t know.”

  “For letting me save your life.”

  “When did that happen?” asked Bean.

  “As long as you have to look out for me,” said Petra, “you won’t die.”

  “So you’re coming along with me, increasing our risk of being identified and allowing Achilles to get his two worst nemeses with one well-placed bomb, in order to save my life?”

  “That’s right, genius boy,” said Petra.

  “I don’t even like you, you know.” At this moment, he was annoyed enough that the statement was almost true.

  “As long as you love me, I don’t mind.”

  And he suspected that her lie, too, was almost true.

  2

  SURIYAWONG’S KNIFE

  From: Salaam%Spaceboy@Inshallah.com

  To: Watcher%OnDuty@International.net

  Re: What you asked

  My Dear Mr. Wiggin/Locke,

  Philosophically speaking, all guests in a Muslim home are treated as sacred visitors sent by God and under his care. In practice, for two extremely talented, famous, and unpredictable persons who are hated by one powerful non-Muslim figure and aided by another, this is a very dangerous part of the world, particularly if they seek to remain both hidden and free. I do not believe they will be foolish enough to seek refuge in a Muslim country.

  I regret to tell you, however, that your interest and mine do not coincide on this matter, so despite our occasional cooperation in the past, I most certainly will not tell you whether I encounter them or hear news of them.

  Your accomplishments are many, and I have helped you in the past and will in the future. But when Ender led us in fighting the Formics these friends were beside me. Where were you?

  Respectfully yours,

  Alai

  Suriyawong opened his orders and was not surprised. He had led missions inside China before, but always for the purpose of sabotage or intelligence gathering, or “involuntary high officer force reduction,” Peter’s mostly-ironic euphemism for assassination. The fact that this assignment had been to capture rather than kill suggested that it was a person who was not Chinese. Suriyawong had rather hoped it might be one of the leaders of a conquered country—the deposed prime minister of India, for instance, or the captive prime minister of Suriyawong’s native Thailand.

  He had even entertained, briefly, the thought that it might be one of his own family.

  But it made sense that Peter was taking this risk, not for someone of mere political or symbolic value, but for the enemy who had put the world into this strange and desperate situation.

  Achilles. Erstwhile gimp-legged cripple, frequent murderer, fulltime psychotic, and warmonger extraordinaire, Achilles had a knack for finding out just what the leaders of nations aspired for and promising them a way to get it. So far he had convinced a faction in the Russian government, the heads of the Indian and Pakistani governments, and various leaders in other lands to do his bidding. When Russia found him a liability, he had fled to India where he already had friends waiting for him. When India and Pakistan were both doing exactly what he had arranged for them to do, he betrayed them using his connections inside China.

  The next move, of course, would have been to betray his friends in China and jump ahead of them to a position of even greater power. But the ruling coterie in China was every bit as cynical as Achilles and recognized his pattern of behavior, so not all that long after he had made China the world’s only effective superpower, they arrested him.

  If the Chinese were so smart, why wasn’t Peter? Hadn’t Peter himself said, “When Achilles is most useful and loyal to you, that is when he has most certainly betrayed you”? So why was he thinking he could use this monstrous boy?

  Or had Achilles managed to convince Peter, despite all the proof that Achilles kept no promises, that this time he would remain loyal to an ally?

  I should kill him, thought Suriyawong. In fact, I will. I will report to Peter that Achilles died in the chaos of the rescue. Then the world will be a safer place.

  It’s not as if Suriyawong hadn’t killed dangerous enemies before. And from what Bean and Petra had told him, Achilles was by definition a dangerous enemy, especially to anyone who had ever been kind to him.

  “If you’ve ever seen him in a condition of weakness or helplessness or defeat,” Bean had said, “he can’t bear for you to stay alive. I don’t think it’s personal. He doesn’t have to kill you with his own hands or watch you die or anything like that. He just has to know that you no longer live in the same world with him.”

  “So the most dangerous thing you can do,” Petra had said, “is to save him, because the very fact that you saw that he needed saving is your death sentence in his mind.”

  Had they never explained this to Peter?

  Of course they had. So in sending Suriyawong to rescue Achilles, Peter knew that he was, in effect, signing Suriyawong’s death warrant.

  No doubt Peter imagined that he was going to control Achilles, and therefore Suriyawong would be in no danger.

  But Achilles had killed the surgeon who repaired his gimp leg, and the girl who had once declined to kill him when he was at her mercy. He had killed the nun who found him on the streets of Rotterdam and got him an education and a chance at Battle School.

  To have Achilles’s gratitude was clearly a terminal disease. Peter had no power to make Suriyawong immune. Achilles never left a good deed unpunished, however long it might take, however convoluted the path to vengeance might be.

  I should kill him, thought Suriyawong, or he will surely kill me.

  He’s not a soldier, he’s a prisoner. To kill him would be murder, even in a war.

  But if I don’t kill him, he’s bound to kill me. May a man not defend himself?

  Besides, he’s the one who masterminded the plan that put my people into subjugation to the Chinese, destroying a nation that had never been conquered, not by the Burmese, not by colonizing Europeans, not by the Japanese in the Second World War, not by the Communists in their day. For Thailand alone he deserves to die, not to mention all his other murders and betrayals.