Shadow Puppets (21 page)

“I’m…flattered,” said Dimak.

“John Paul,” said Mother, “I do believe you’re making Mr. Dimak uncomfortable.”

“When people feel great allegiance to their community, they start to take on the mannerisms as well as the morals of their leader,” said Father, refusing to give up.

“If their leader
has
a personality,” said Peter.

“How do you get to be a leader without one?” asked Father.

“Ask Achilles,” said Peter. “He’s the opposite. He takes on the mannerisms of the people he wants to have follow him.”

“I don’t remember that one,” said Dimak. “He was only here a few days before he—before we discovered he had a track record of murder back on Earth.”

“Someday you have to tell me how Bean got him to confess. He won’t tell.”

“If he won’t tell, neither will I,” said Dimak.

“How loyal,” said Father.

“Not really,” said Dimak. “I just don’t know myself. I know it had something to do with a ventilation shaft.”

“That confession,” said Peter. “The recordings wouldn’t still be here, would they?”

“No, they wouldn’t,” said Dimak. “And even if they were, they’re part of a sealed juvenile record.”

“Of a mass murderer.”

“We only notice laws when they act against our interest,” said Dimak.

“See?” said Father. “We’ve traded philosophies.”

“Like tribesmen swapping at a potlatch,” said Dimak. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have you talk with Security Chief Uphanad before dinner.”

“What about?”

“The colonists aren’t a problem—they have a one-way flow and they can’t easily communicate planetside. But you’re probably going to be recognized here. And even if you’re not, it’s hard to maintain a false story for long.”

“Then let’s not have a false story,” said Peter.

“No, let’s have a really good one,” said Mother.

“Let’s just not talk to anybody,” said Father.

“Those are precisely the issues that Major Uphanad wants to discuss with you.”

Once Dimak had left, they chose bunks at the back of the long room. Peter took a top bunk, of course, but while he was unloading his bags into the locker in the wall behind the bunk, Father discovered that each set of six bunks—three on each side—could be separated from the others by a privacy curtain.

“It has to be a retrofit,” said Father. “I can’t believe they would let the kids seal themselves off from each other.”

“How soundproof is this material?” asked Mother.

Father pulled it around in a circular motion, so it irised shut with him on the other side. They heard nothing from him. Then he dilated it open.

“Well?” he asked.

“Pretty effective sound barrier,” said Mother.

“You
did
try to talk to us, didn’t you?” asked Peter.

“No, I was listening for you,” said Father.

“Well we were listening for
you
, John Paul,” said Mother.

“No, I spoke. I didn’t shout, but you couldn’t hear me, right?”

“Peter,” said Mother, “you just got moved to the next compartment over.”

“That won’t work when the colonists come through.”

“You can come back and sleep in Mommy’s and Daddy’s room when the visitors come,” said Mother.

“You’ll have to walk through my room in order to get to the bathroom,” said Peter.

“That’s right,” said Father. “I know you’re Hegemon and should have the best room, but then, we’re not likely to walk in on you making love.”

“Don’t count on it,” said Peter sourly.

“We’ll open the door just a little and say ‘knock knock’ before we come through,” said Mother. “It’ll give you time to smuggle your best pal out of sight.”

It made him faintly nauseated to be having this discussion with his parents. “You two are so cute. I’m really glad to change rooms here, believe me.”

It
was
good to have solitude, once the door was closed, even if the price of it was moving all his stuff out of the locker he had just loaded and putting it in a locker in the next section. Now he got a lower bunk, for one thing. And for another thing, he didn’t have to put up with listening to his parents try to cheer him up.

He had to have thinking time.

So of course he promptly fell asleep.

Dimak woke him by speaking to him over the intercom. “Mr. Raymond, are you there?”

It took Peter a split second to remember that he was supposed to be Dick Raymond. “Yes. Unless you want my father.”

“Already spoke to him,” said Dimak. “I’ve keyed the guidebars to lead you to the security department.”

It was on the top level, with the lowest gravity—which made sense, because if security action were required, officers dispersing from the main office would have a downhill trip to wherever they were going.

When they stepped inside the office, Major Uphanad was there to greet them. He offered his hand to all of them.

“Are you from India?” asked Mother, “or Pakistan?”

“India,” said Uphanad, not breaking his smile at all.

“I’m so sorry for your country,” said Mother.

“I haven’t been back there since—in a long time.”

“I hope your family is faring well under the Chinese occupation.”

“Thank you for your concern,” said Uphanad, in a tone of voice that made it clear this topic was finished.

He offered them chairs and sat down himself—behind his desk, taking full advantage of his official position. Peter resented it a little, since he had spent a good while now as the man who was always in the dominant place. He might not have had much actual power, as Hegemon, but protocol always gave him the highest place.

But he was not supposed to be known here. So he could hardly be treated differently from any civilian visitor.

“I know that you are particular guests of the Minister,” said Uphanad, “and that you wish your privacy to be undisturbed. What we need to discuss is the boundary of your privacy. Are your faces likely to be recognized?”

“Possibly,” said Peter. “Especially his.” He pointed to his father. This was a lie, of course, and probably futile, but…

“Ah,” said Uphanad. “And I assume your real names would be recognized.”

“Likely,” said Father.

“Certainly,” said Mother, as if she were proud of the fact and rather miffed that he had cast any doubt on it at all.

“So…should meals be brought to you? Do we need to clear the corridors when you go to the bathroom?”

Sounded like a nightmare to Peter.

“Major Uphanad, we don’t want to advertise our presence here, but I’m sure your staff can be trusted to be discreet.”

“On the contrary,” said Uphanad. “Discreet people make it a point not to take the staff’s loyalty for granted.”

“Including yours?” asked Mother sweetly.

“Since you have already lied to me repeatedly,” said Uphanad, “I think it safe to say that you are taking no one’s loyalty for granted.”

“Nevertheless,” said Peter, “I’m not going to stay cooped up in that tube. I’d like to be able to use your library—I’m assuming you have one—and we can take our meals in the mess hall and use the toilet without inconveniencing others.”

“There, you see?” said Uphanad. “You are simply not security minded.”

“We can’t live here as prisoners,” said Peter.

“He didn’t mean that,” said Father. “He was talking about the way you simply announced the decision for the three of us. So much for
me
being the one most likely to be recognized.”

Uphanad smiled. “The recognition problem is a real one,” he said. “I knew you at once, from the vids, Mr. Hegemon.”

Peter sighed and leaned back.

“Your face is not as recognizable as if you were an actual politician,” said Uphanad. “They thrive on putting their faces before the public. Your career began, if I remember correctly, in anonymity.”

“But I’ve been on the vids,” said Peter.

“Listen,” said Uphanad. “Few on our staff even watch the vids. I happen to be a news addict, but most people here have rather cut their ties with the gossip of Earth. I think your best way to remain under cover here is to behave as if you had nothing to hide. Be a bit standoffish—don’t get into conversations with people that lead to mutual explanations of what you do and who you are, for instance. But if you’re cheerful and don’t act mysterious, you should be fine. People won’t expect to see the Hegemon living with his parents in one of the bunk rooms here.” Uphanad grinned. “It will be our little secret, the six of us.”

Peter did the count. Him, his parents, Uphanad, Dimak, and…oh, Graff, of course.

“I think there will be no assassination attempt here,” said Uphanad, “because there are very few weapons on board, all are kept
under lock and key, and everybody coming up here is scanned for weaponry. So I suggest you not attempt to carry sidearms. You are trained in hand-to-hand combat?”

“No,” said Peter.

“There is a gym on the bottom level, very well equipped. And not just with childsize devices, either. The adults also need to stay fit. You should use the facility to maintain your bone mass, and so forth, but also we can arrange martial arts classes for you, if you’re interested.”

“I’m not interested,” said Peter. “But it sounds like a good idea.”

“Anyone they send against us, though,” said Mother, “will be very much better trained in it than we will.”

“Perhaps so, perhaps not,” said Uphanad. “If your enemies attempt to get to you here, they will have to rely on someone they can get through our screening. People who seem particularly athletic are subjected to special scrutiny. We are, you see, paranoid about one of the anti-colonization groups getting someone up here just to perform an act of sabotage or terrorism.”

“Or assassination.”

“You see?” said Uphanad. “But I assure you I and my staff are very thorough. We never leave anything unchecked.”

“In other words, you knew who we were before we walked in the door.”

“Before your shuttle took off, actually,” said Uphanad. “Or at least I had a fairly good guess.”

They said their good-byes, then settled into the routine of life in a space station.

Day and night were kept on Greenwich time, for no particular reason but that it was at zero longitude and they had to pick
some
time. Peter found that his parents were not so awfully intrusive as he had feared, and he was relieved that he could not hear their lovemaking
or
their conversations about him through the divider.

What he did, mostly, was go to the library and write.

Essays, of course, on everything, for every conceivable forum. There were plenty of publications that were happy to have pieces from Locke or Demosthenes, especially now that everyone knew these identities belonged to the Hegemon. With most serious work appearing first on the nets, there was no way to target particular audiences. But he still talked about subjects that would have particular interest in various regions.

The aim of everything he wrote was to fan the flames of suspicion of China and Chinese ambitions. As Demosthenes, he wrote quite directly about the danger of allowing the conquest of India and Indochina to stand, with a lot of who’s-next rhetoric. Of course he couldn’t stoop to any serious rabble-rousing, because every word he said would be held against the Hegemon.

Life was so much easier when he was anonymous on the nets.

As Locke, however, he wrote statesmanlike, impartial essays about problems that different nations and regions were facing. “Locke” almost never wrote against China directly, but rather took it for granted that there would be another invasion, and that longterm investments in probable target countries might be unwise, that sort of thing.

It was hard work, because every essay had to be made interesting, original, important, or no one would pay attention to it. He had to make sure he never sounded like someone riding a hobby horse—rather the way Father had sounded when he started spouting off about his theories of group loyalty and character to Dimak. Though, to be fair, he’d never heard Father do that before, it still gave him pause and made him realize how easily Locke and Demosthenes—and therefore Peter Wiggin himself—could become at first an irritant, at last a laughingstock.

Father called this process stassenization and made various suggestions for essay topics, some of which Peter used. As to what Father
and Mother did with their days, when they weren’t reading his essays and commenting on them, catching errors, that sort of thing—well, Peter had no idea.

Maybe Mother had found somebody’s room to clean.

Graff stopped in for a brief visit on their first morning there, but then was off again—returned to Earth, in fact, on the shuttle that had brought them. He did not return for three weeks, by which time Peter had written nearly forty essays, all of which had been published in various places. Most of them were Locke’s essays. And, as usual, most of the attention went to Demosthenes.

When Graff returned, he invited them to dine with him in the Minister’s quarters, and they had a convivial dinner during which nothing important was discussed. Whenever the subject seemed to be turning to a matter of real moment, Graff would interrupt with the pouring of water or a joke of some kind—only rarely the funny kind.