"Hands," said Vlad. "Tastes bad but doesn't kill. Hands."
Peter held out his hands. They were sprayed, too.
"Don't want you to lose more than a pint during our conversation. Horrible place. Nobody comes here in summer. So it isn't prewired. Lots of clear meadows. We can see if anybody's watching us."
"Are you that closely watched?"
"Russian government not as understanding as Hegemon. Suriyawong stays in your confidence because you believe he always opposed Achi
lles. But me? Not trusted. So if you think I have influence, very wrong thinking, my friend."
"Not why I'm here."
"Yes, I know, you're here for the trade talks." Vlad grinned.
"Not much point to trade talks when smuggling and bribery make any kind of customs collection a joke anyway," said Peter.
"I'm glad you understand our way of doing things," said Vlad. "Trust no one that you haven't bribed within the last half hour."
"Don't tell me you really have that thick a Russian accent, by the way," said Peter. "You grew up on Battle School. You should speak Common like a native."
"I do," said Vlad--still in a thick Russian accent. "Except when my future depends on giving people no reason to remember how different I am. Accents are hard to learn and hard to hold on to. So I will maintain it now. I am not by nature a good actor."
"May I call you Vlad?"
"May I call you Peter?"
"Yes."
"Then yes also. Lowly strategic planner cannot be more formal than Hegemon of whole world."
"You know just how much of the world I'm Hegemon over," said Peter. "And as I said, that's not why I'm here. Or not directly."
"What then? You want to hire me? Not possible. They may not trust me here, but they certainly don't want me going anywhere else. I'm a hero of the Russian people."
"Vlad, if they trusted you, what do you think you'd be doing right now?"
Vlad laughed. "Leading the armies of Mother Russia, as Alai and Hot Soup and Virlomi and so many others are already doing. So many Alexanders."
"Yes, I've heard that comparison," said Peter. "But I see it another way. I see it as being the arms race that led up to World War I."
Vlad thought for a moment. "And we Battle School brats are the arms race. If one nation has it, then another must have more. Yes, that's what Achilles's little venture in kidnapping was about."
"My point is: Having a Battle School graduate--particularly one of Ender's Jeesh--makes war more, not less, probable."
"I don't think so," said Vlad. "Yes, Hot Soup and Alai are in the thick of things, but Virlomi wasn't in the Jeesh. And the rest of the Jeesh--Bean and Petra are with you, struggling for world peace, yes? Like beauty pageant contestants? Dink is in a joint Anglo-American project which means he has had his balls cut off, militarily speaking. Shen is marking time in some ceremonial position in Tokyo. Dumper is a monk, I think, or whatever they call them. A shaman. In the Andes somewhere. Crazy Tom is at Sandhurst confined to a classroom. Carn Carby is in Australia where they may or may not have a military but nobody cares. And Fly Molo...well, he's a busy boy in the Philippines. But not their president or even an important general."
"That squares with my tally, though I think Carn would argue with you about the value of the Australian military."
Vlad waved the objection aside. "My point is, most nations that have this 'treasured national resource' are far more concerned to keep us under observation and away from power than to actually use us to make war."
Peter smiled. "Yes. Either they have you up to your elbows in blood, or they have you locked in a box. Anybody happily married?"
"We're none of us even twenty-five yet. Well, maybe Dink. He always lied about his age. Most of us are in our teens or barely out of them."
"They're afraid of you. All the more so now, because the nations that actually used their Jeesh members in war are now governed by them."
"If you can call 'worldwide Islam' a nation. I, personally, call it a riot with scripture."