"I know," said Sillain. "Wouldn't it be ironic if this John Paul Whatever--"
"Wieczorek."
"Yes, that's the one. Wouldn't it be ironic if, after all our stringent population control efforts--for the sake of the war, mind you--it turned out that the commander of the fleet turned out to be the seventh child of noncompliant parents?"
"Yes, very ironic."
"I think one theory was that birth order predicts that only firstborns would have the personality for what we need.
"
"All else being equal. Which it isn't."
"We're so ahead of ourselves here, Captain Rudolf," said Sillain. "The parents are not likely to say yes, are they?"
"No, not likely," said Helena.
"So it's all moot, isn't it?"
"Not if..."
"Oh, that would be so wise, to make an international incident out of this." He leaned back in his chair.
"I don't think it would be an international incident."
"The treaty with Poland has very strict parental-control provisions. Have to respect the family and all."
"The Poles are very anxious to rejoin the rest of the world. They aren't going to invoke that clause if we impress on them how important this boy is."
"Is he?" asked Sillain. "That's the question. If he's worth the gamble of making a huge stink about it."
"If it starts to stink, we can back off," said Helena.
"Oh, I can see you've done a lot of public relations work."
"Come see him yourself," said Helena. "He'll be six in a few days. Come see him. Then tell me whether he's worth the risk of an international incident."
This was not at all how John Paul wanted to spend his birthday. Mother had made candy all day with sugar she begged from neighbors, and John Paul wanted to suck on his, not chew it, so it would last and last. Instead Father told him either to spit it out into the garbage or swallow it, and so now it was swallowed and gone, all for these people from the International Fleet.
"We got some questionable results from the preliminary screening," said the man. "Perhaps because the child had listened to three previous tests. We need to get accurate information, that's all."
He was lying--that was obvious, from the way he moved, the way he looked Father right in the eye, unwaveringly. A liar who knew he was lying and was trying hard not to look like he was lying. The way Thomas always did. It fooled Father but never Mother, and never John Paul.
So if the man was lying, why? Why was he really coming to test John Paul again?
He remembered what he had thought right after the woman tested him three weeks ago, that she had found what she was looking for. But then nothing had happened and he figured he must have been wrong. Now she was back and the man who was with her was telling lies.
The family was banished to other rooms. It was evening, time for Father to go to his second job, only he couldn't go while these people were here or they'd know, or guess, or wonder what he was doing, hour after hour during the evening. So the longer this took, the less money Father would earn tonight, and therefore the less food they'd be able to eat, the less clothing they'd have to wear.
The man even sent the woman out of the room. That annoyed John Paul. He liked the woman.
He didn't like at all the way the man looked at their house. At the other children. At Mother and Father. As if he thought himself better than they were.
The man asked a question.
John Paul answered in Polish instead of Common.
The man looked at him blankly. He called out, "I thought he spoke Common!"