intrigued the children and young people, and amused the adults. It made her more approachable to them, not so much of a celebrity.

In the barracks — no, the dormitory — that used to be for newly arrived students — launchies, as they were called — there was one woman with a babe in arms who remained steadfastly aloof. Virlomi was content with that — she didn't have to be everyone's favorite person — but soon it became clear, as she visited that barracks more and more, that Nichelle Firth was not just shy or aloof, she was actively hostile.

Virlomi became fascinated by her and tried to find out more about her. But the biography in her file was so sparse that it made Virlomi suspect it was bogus; there were several like that, belonging to people who were joining the colony specifically to leave all their past, even their identity, behind them.

There was no talking to the woman directly, however. Her face became a pleasant blank and she answered succinctly or not at all; when she chose not to answer, she smiled with a set jaw, so that despite the toothy grin Virlomi was aware of the anger behind it. She did not push the matter further.

But she did watch for Nichelle's reactions to things Virlomi and others said when Nichelle was within earshot, but not part of the group. What seemed to set her off, what made her huffy in her body language, was any mention of the Hegemony or Peter Wiggin or the wars on Earth or the Free People of Earth or the Ministry of Colonization. Also the names of Ender Wiggin, Graff, Suriyawong, and, above all, Julian Delphiki — «Bean» — seemed to make her hold tightly to her baby and start to whisper some sort of incantation to the child.

Virlomi introduced some of these names herself, as a test. Nichelle Firth was certainly not someone who had taken part in the war in any way — her picture got no response from Peter's staff when she sent an inquiry. Yet she seemed to take the events of recent history quite personally.

Only toward the end of the preparation period did it occur to her to try one other name. She worked it into a conversation with a pair of Belgians, but made sure they were near enough to Nichelle that she could hear them. 'Achilles Flandres,' she said, referring to him as the most famous Belgian in recent history. Of course they were offended and denied that he was really Belgian, but while she was smoothing things over with them, she was also watching Nichelle.

Her reaction was strong, yes, and at first glance seemed to be the same as always — hold the baby close, nuzzle it, speak to it.

But then Virlomi realized: She was not stiff. She was not huffy. Instead she was tender with the child. She was gentle and seemed happy. She was smiling.

And she was whispering the name 'Achilles Flandres' over and over.

This was so disturbing that Virlomi wanted to go over to her and scream at her: How dare you venerate the name of that monster!

But she was too keenly aware of her own monstrous deeds. There were differences between her and Achilles, yes, but there were similarities, too, and it was not wise of her to condemn him too vehemently. So the woman felt some affinity for him. What of that?

Virlomi left the barracks then and searched again. No record of Achilles ever being in a place where he might have met this definitely American woman. Virlomi could not imagine her speaking French, not even badly. She didn't seem educated enough — like most Americans, she would have only the one language, spoken raggedly but loudly. The baby could not possibly be Achilles'.

But she had to check. The woman's behavior pointed so clearly toward that possibility.

She did not allow Firth mother-and-child to go into stasis and be stowed on the ship until she got back the results of a comparison between the baby's genetic print and the records of Achilles Flandres's genes.

No match. He could not possibly be the father.

All right then, thought Virlomi. The woman is strange. She'll be a problem. But not one that can't be handled with time. Far away from Earth, whatever it was that made her such a devotee of the monster will fade. She will accept the pressure of the friendship of others.

Or she won't, and then her offense will be self-punishing, as she earns ostracism from those whose friendship she refused. Either way, Virlomi would deal with it. How much trouble can one woman be, out of thousands of colonists? It's not as if Nichelle Firth was any kind of leader. No one would follow her. She would amount to nothing.

Virlomi gave orders clearing the Firths for stasis. But because of the delay, they were still there when Graff came in person to speak to those who were going to be awake during the voyage. It was only about a hundred colonists — most of them preferred the sleeping option — and Graff's job was to make clear to them that it was the ship's captain who ruled absolutely, and to impress on them the captain's almost unlimited powers of punishment. 'You will do whatever you are asked to do by a crew member, and you will do it instantly.'

'Or what?' asked someone.

Graff did not take umbrage — the voice sounded more frightened than challenging. 'The captain's power extends to life and death. Depending on the seriousness of the infraction. And he is the sole judge of how serious your offense is. There are no appeals. Am I clear?'

Everyone understood. A few of them even took the last-minute option to travel in stasis — not because they intended to mutiny, but because they didn't like the idea of being cooped up for years with someone who had that kind of power over them.

When the meeting ended, there was a tremendous amount of noise and bustle, as some headed for the table where last-minute stasis could be arranged, and others headed for their dormitories, and a few gathered around Graff — the celebrity hounds, of course, since he was almost as famous, in his own way, as Virlomi, and he hadn't been available till now.

Virlomi was making her way to the stasis sign-up table when she heard a loud noise — many gasps and exclamations at once — from the people around Graff. She looked over but couldn't see what was going on. Graff was just standing there, smiling at somebody, and seemed perfectly normal. Only the glances — glares, really — of a few of the bystanders drew her eye to the woman huffing her way out of the room, clearly coming from Graff's little crowd.

It was Nichelle Firth, of course, holding her dear little infant Randall.

Well, whatever she had done, apparently it didn't bother Graff, though it bothered other people.

Still, it was a worry that Nichelle had sought out an opportunity to confront Graff. Her hostility led to action; bad news.

Why hasn't she been openly hostile to me? I'm just as famous as.

Famous, but why? Because the Hegemony defeated me and took me into captivity. And the enemies arrayed against me? Suriyawong. Peter Wiggin. The whole civilized world along with them. Pretty much the same list that opposed and hated Achilles Flandres.

No wonder she volunteered for my colony, and not one of the others. She thinks that I'm a kindred soul, having been beaten by the same foes. She doesn't understand — or at least she didn't when she signed up for my colony — that I agree with those who defeated me, that I was wrong and needed to be stopped. I am not Achilles. I am not like Achilles.

If the goddess wanted to punish Virlomi for having impersonated her to gain power and unite India, there would be no surer way than this: to have everyone think she was like Achilles — and like her for it.

Fortunately, Nichelle Firth was only one person, and nobody liked her because she liked nobody. Whatever her opinions were, they would not affect Virlomi.

I keep reassuring myself of that, thought Virlomi. Does that mean that in the deepest recesses of my mind, this woman's strange opinions are already affecting me?

Of course it does.

Satyagraha. This, too, I will bear.

CHAPTER 12

To: GovDes%[email protected]/voy

From: [email protected]

Subj: Strange encounter

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