The Shadow of the Hegemon - Orson Scott Card

by Orson Scott Card

  "What do you mean, 'this one'?" said Achilles.

  "I assumed you were stopping the other rescues, too."

  "You forget," said Achilles, "I've already had months to evaluate you. Why keep the others, when I can have the best?"

  "Are you flirting with me?" She said it with as much disdain as she could muster. Those words usually worked to shut down a boy who was being smug. But he only laughed.

  "I don't flirt," he said.

  "I forgot," said Petra. "You shoot first, and then flirting isn't necessary."

  That got to him a little—made him pause a moment, brought the slightest hint of a quickening of breath. It occurred to Petra that her mouth was indeed going to get her killed. She had never actually seen someone get shot before, except in movies and vids. Just because she thought of herself as the protagonist of this biographical vid she was trapped in didn't mean she was safe. For all she knew, Achilles meant to kill her, too.

  Or did he? Could he have really meant that she was the only one of the team he was keeping? Vlad would be so disappointed.

  "How did you happen to choose me?" she asked, changing the

  "Like I said, you're the best."

  "That is such kuso," said Petra. "The exercises I did for you weren't any better than anyone else's."

  "Oh, those battle plans, those were just to keep you busy while the real tests were going on. Or rather, to make you think you were keeping us busy."

  "What was this real test, then, since I supposedly succeeded at it better than anyone else?"

  "Your little dragon drawing," said Achilles.

  She could feel the blood drain from her face. He saw it and laughed.

  "Don't worry," said Achilles. "You won't be punished. That was the test, to see which of you would succeed in getting a message outside."

  "And my prize is staying with you?" She said it with all the disgust she could put in her voice.

  "Your prize," said Achilles, "is staying alive."

  She felt sick at heart. "Even you wouldn't kill all the others, for no reason."

  "If they're killed, there's a reason. If there's a reason, they'll be killed. No, we suspected that your dragon drawing would have some meaning to someone. But we couldn't find a code in it."

  "There wasn't a code in it," said Petra.

  "Oh yes there was," said Achilles. "You somehow encoded it in such a way that someone was able to recognise it and decode it. I know this because the news stories that suddenly appeared, triggering this whole crisis, had some specific information that was more or less correct. One of the messages you guys tried to send must have gotten through. So we went back over every email sent by every one of you, and the only thing that couldn't be accounted for was your dragon clip art."

  "If you can read a message in that," said Petra, "then you're smarter than I am."

  "On the contrary," said Achilles. "You're smarter than I am, at least about strategy and tactics—like evading the enemy while keeping in close communication with allies. Well, not all that close, since it took them so long to publish the information you sent."

  "You bet on the wrong horse," said Petra. "It wasn't a message, and therefore however they got the news it must have come from one of the other guys."

  Achilles only laughed. "You're a stubborn liar, aren't you?"

  "I'm not lying when I tell you that if I have to keep riding with these corpses in this compartment, I'm going to get sick." .

  He smiled. "Vomit away."

  "So your pathology includes a weird need to hang around with the dead," said Petra. "You'd better be careful—you know where that leads. First you'll start dating them, and then one day you'll bring a dead person home to meet your mother and father. Oops. I forgot, you're an orphan."

  "So I brought them to show you."

  "Why did you wait so long to shoot them?" asked Petra.

  "I wanted it set up just right. So I could shoot the one while he was standing in the doorway. So his body would block any returning fire from the other guy. And besides, I was also enjoying the way you took them apart. You know, arguing with them like you did. Sounded like you hate shrinks almost as much as I do. And you were never even committed to a mental institution. I would have applauded several of your best bon mots, only I might have been overheard."

  "Who's driving this van?" asked Petra, ignoring his flattery.

  "Not me," said Achilles. "Are you?"

  "How long are you planning to keep me imprisoned?" asked Petra.

  "As long as it takes."

  "As long as it takes to do what?"

  "Conquer the world together, you and I. Isn't that romantic? Or, well, it will be romantic, when it happens."

  "It will never be romantic," said Petra. "Nor will I help you conquer your dandruff problem, let alone the world."

  "Oh, you'll cooperate," said Achilles. "I'll kill the other members of Ender's jeesh, one by one, until you give in."

  "You don't have them," said Petra. "And you don't know where they are. They're safe from you."

  Achilles grinned mock-sheepishly. "There's just no fooling Genius Girl, is there? But, you see, they're bound to surface somewhere, and when they do, they'll die. I don't forget."

  "That's one way to conquer the world," said Petra. "Kill everybody one by one until you're the only one left."

  "Your first job," said Achilles, "is to decode that message you sent out."

  "What message?"

  Achilles picked up his gun and pointed it at her

  "Kill me and you'll always wonder if I really sent out a message at all," said Petra.

  "But at least I won't have to listen to your smug voice lying to me," said Achilles. "That would almost be a consolation."

  "You seem to be forgetting that I wasn't a volunteer on this expedition. If you don't like listening to me, let me go."

  "You're so sure of yourself," said Achilles. "But I know you better than you know yourself."

  "And what is it you think you know about me?" asked Petra.

  "I know that you'll eventually give in and help me."

  "Well, I know you better than you know yourself, too," said Petra.

  "Oh, really?"

  "I know that eventually you'll kill me. Because you always do. So let's just skip all the boring stuff in between. Kill me now. End the suspense."

  "No," said Achilles. "Things like that are much better as a surprise. Don't you think? At least, that's the way God always did it."

  "Why am I even talking to you?" asked Petra.

  "Because you're so lonely after being in solitary for all these months that you'd do anything for human company. Even talk to me."

  She hated that he was probably right. "Human company—apparently you're under the delusion that you qualify."

  "Oh, you're mean," said Achilles, laughing. "Look, I'm bleeding."

  "You've got blood on your hands, all right."

  "And you've got it all over your face," said Achilles. "Come on, it'll be fun."

  "And here I thought nothing would ever be more tedious than solitary confinement."

  "You're the best, Petra," said Achilles. "Except for one."

  "Bean," said Petra.

  "Ender," said Achilles. "Bean is nothing. Bean is dead."

  Petra said nothing.

  Achilles looked at her searchingly. "No smart remarks?"

  "Bean is dead and you're alive," said Petra. "There's no justice."

  The van slowed down and stopped.

  "There," said Achilles. "Our lively conversation made the time fly by."

  Fly. She heard an air plane overhead. Landing or taking off?

  "Where are we flying?" she asked.

  "Who says we're flying anywhere?"

  "I think we're flying out of the country," said Petra, speaking the ideas as they came to her. "I think you realised that you were going to lose your cushy job here in Russia, and you're sneaking out of the country."

  "You're really very good. You keep setting a new standa
rd for cleverness," said Achilles.

  "And you keep setting a new standard for failure."

  He hesitated a moment, then went on as if she hadn't spoken. "They're going to pit the other kids against me," he said. "You already know them. You know their weaknesses. Whoever I'm up against, you're going to advise me."

  "Never."

  "We're in this together," said Achilles. "I'm a nice guy. You'll like me, eventually."

  "Oh, I know," said Petra. "What's not to like?"

  "Your message," said Achilles. "You wrote it to Bean, didn't you?"

  "What message?" said Petra.

  "That's why you don't believe he's dead."

  "I believe he's dead," said Petra. But she knew her earlier hesitation had given her away.

  "Or else you wonder—if he got your message before I had him killed, why did it take so long after he died to have it hit the news? And here's the obvious answer, Pet. Somebody else figured it out. Somebody else decoded it. And that really pisses me off. So don't tell me what the message said. I'm going to decode it myself. It can't be that hard."

  "Downright easy," said Petra. "After all, I'm dumb enough to end up as your prisoner. So dumb, in fact, that I never sent anybody a message."

  "When I do decode it, though, I hope it won't say anything disparaging about me. Because then I'd have to beat the shit out of you."

  "You're right," said Petra. "You are a charmer."

  Fifteen minutes later, they were on a small private jet, flying south by south-east. It was a luxurious vehicle, for its size, and Petra wondered if it belonged to one of the intelligence services or to some faction in the military or maybe to some crime lord. Or maybe all three at once.

  She wanted to study Achilles, watch his face, his body language. But she didn't want him to see her showing interest in him. So she looked out the window, wondering as she did so whether she wasn't just doing the same thing the dead psychologist had done—looking away to avoid facing bitter truth.

  When the chime announced that they could unbelt themselves, Petra got up and headed for the bathroom. It was small, but compared to commercial air plane toilets it was downright commodious. And it had cloth towels and real soap.

  She did her best with a damp towel to wipe blood and body matter from her clothes. She had to keep wearing the dirty clothing but she could at least get rid of the visible chunks. The towel was so foul by the time she finished the job that she tossed it and got a fresh one to start in on her face and hands. She scrubbed until her face was red and raw, but she got it all off. She even soaped her hair and washed it as best she could in the tiny sink. It was hard to rinse, pouring one cup of water at a time over her head.

  The whole time, she kept thinking of the fact that the psychiatrist's last minutes were spent listening to her tell him how stupid he was and point out the worthlessness of his life's work. And yes, she was right, as his death proved, but that didn't change the fact that however impure his motives might have been, he was trying to save her from Achilles. He had given his life in that effort, however badly planned it might have been. All the other rescues went off smoothly, and they were probably just as badly planned as hers. So much depended on chance. Everybody was stupid about some things. Petra was stupid about the things she said to people who had power over her. Goading them. Daring them to punish her. She did it even though she knew it was stupid. And wasn't it even stupider to do something stupid that you know is stupid? What did he call her? An ungrateful little girl.

  He tagged me, all right.

  As bad as she felt about his death, as horrified over what she had seen, as frightened as she was to be in Achilles' control, as lonely as she had been for these past weeks, she still couldn't figure out a way to cry about it. Because deeper than all these feelings was something even stronger. Her mind kept thinking of ways to get word to someone about where she was. She had done it once, she could do it again, right? She might feel bad, she might be a miserable specimen of human life, she might be in the midst of a traumatic childhood experience, but she was not going to submit to Achilles for one moment longer than she had to. The plane lurched suddenly, throwing her against the toilet. She half-fell onto it—there wasn't room to fall down all the way—but she couldn't get up because the plane had gone into a steep dive, and for a few moments she found herself gasping as the oxygen-rich air was replaced by cold upper-level air that left her dizzy.

  The hull was breached. They've shot us down.

  And for all that she had an indomitable will to live, she couldn't help but think: Good for them. Kill Achilles now, and no matter who else is on the plane, it'll be a great day for humanity. But the plane soon levelled out, and the air was breathable before she blacked out. They must not have been very high when it happened. She opened the bathroom door and stepped back into the main cabin. The side door was partway open. And standing a couple of meters back from it was Achilles, the wind whipping at his hair and clothes. He was posing, as if he knew just how fine a figure he cut, standing there on the brink of death.

  She approached him, glancing at the door to make sure she stayed well back from it, and to see how high they were. Not very, compared to cruising altitude, but higher than any building or bridge or dam. Anyone who fell from this plane would die.

  Could she get behind him and push?

  He smiled broadly when she got near.

  "What happened?" she shouted over the noise of the wind.

  "It occurred to me," he yelled back, "that I made a mistake bringing you with me."

  He opened the door on purpose. He opened it for her.

  Just as she began to step back, his hand lashed out and seized her by the wrist.

  The intensity of his eyes was startling. He didn't look crazy. He looked… fascinated. Almost as if he found her amazingly beautiful. But of course it wasn't her. It was his power over her that fascinated him. It was himself that he loved so intensely.

  She didn't try to pull away. Instead, she twisted her wrist so that she also gripped him.

  "Come on, let's jump together," she shouted. "That would be the most romantic thing we could do."

  He leaned close. "And miss out on all the history we're going to make together?" he said. Then he laughed. "Oh, I see, you thought I was going to throw you out of the plane. No, Pet, I took hold of you so that I could anchor you while you close the door. Wouldn't want the wind to suck you out, would we?"

  "I have a better idea," said Petra. "I'll be the anchor, you close the door."

  "But the anchor has to be the stronger, heavier one," said Achilles. "And that's me."

  "Let's just leave it open, then," said Petra.

  "Can't fly all the way to Kabul with the door open."

  What did it mean, his telling her their destination? Did it mean that he trusted her a little? Or that it didn't matter what she knew, since he had decided she was going to die?

  Then it occurred to her that if he wanted her dead, she would die. It was that simple. So why worry about it? If he wanted to kill her by pushing her out the door, how was that different from a bullet in the brain? Dead was dead. And if he didn't plan to kill her, the door needed to be closed, and having him serve as anchor was the second-best plan.

  "Isn't there somebody in the crew who can do this?" she asked.

  "There's just the pilot," said Achilles. "Can you land a plane?"

  She shook her head.

  "So he stays in the cockpit, and we close the door."

  "I don't mean to be a nag," said Petra, "but opening the door was a really stupid thing to do."

  He grinned at her.

  Holding tight to his wrist, she slid along the wall toward the door. It was only partially open, the kind of door that worked by sliding up. So she didn't have to reach very far out of the plane. Still, the cold wind snatched at her arm and made it very hard to get a grip on the door handle to pull it down into place. And even when she got it down into position, she simply didn't have the strength to overcome the wind res
istance and pull it snug.

  Achilles saw this, and now that the door wasn't open enough for anyone to fall out and the wind could no longer suck anybody out, he let go of her and of the bulkhead and joined her in pulling at the handle.

  If I push instead of pulling, thought Petra, the wind will help me, and maybe we'll both get sucked right out.

  Do it, she told herself. Do it. Kill him. Even if you die doing it, it's worth it. This is Hitler, Stalin, Genghis, Attila all rolled into one.

  But it might not work. He might not get sucked out. She might die alone, pointlessly. No, she would have to find a way to destroy him later, when she could be sure it would work.

  At another level, she knew that she simply wasn't ready to die. No matter how convenient it might be for the rest of humanity, no matter how richly Achilles deserved to die, she would not be his executioner, not now, not if she had to give her own life to kill him. If that made her a selfish coward, so be it.

  They pulled and pulled and finally, with a whoosh, the door passed the threshold of wind resistance and locked nicely into place. Achilles pulled the lever that locked it.

  "Travelling with you is always such an adventure," said Petra.

  "No need to shout," said Achilles. "I can hear you just fine."

  "Why can't you just run with the bulls at Pamplona, like any normal self-destructive person?" asked Petra.

  He ignored her gibe. "I must value you more than I thought." He said it as if it took him rather by surprise.

  "You mean you still have a spark of humility? You might actually need someone else?"

  Again he ignored her words. "You look better without blood all over your face."

  "But I'll never be as pretty as you."

  "Here's my rule about guns," said Achilles. "When people are getting shot, always stand behind the shooter. It's a lot less messy there."

  "Unless people are shooting back."

  Achilles laughed. "Pet, I never use a gun when someone might shoot back."

  "And you're so well-mannered, you always open a door for a lady."

  His smile faded. "Sometimes I get these impulses," he said. "But they're not irresistible."

  "Too bad. And here you had such a good insanity defence going."

  His eyes blazed for a moment. Then he went back to his seat.