"If you're waiting for me to apologize," began Theresa.
"No, no," said Graff. "I was trying to think of any apology I could make that wouldn't be laughably inadequate. I never fired a gun in the war, but I still caused casualties, and if it's any consolation, whenever I think of you and your husband I am also filled with regret."
"Not enough."
"No, I'm sure not," said Graff. "But I'm afraid my deepest regrets are for the parents of Bonzo Madrid, who put their son into my hands and got him back in a box."
Theresa wanted to fling a papaya at him and smear it all over his face. "Reminding me that I'm the mother of a killer?"
"Bonzo was the killer, ma'am," said Graff. "Ender defended himself. You entirely mistook my meaning. I'm the one who allowed Bonzo to be alone with Ender. I, not Ender, am the one responsible for his death. That's why I feel more regret toward the Madrid family than toward you. I've made a lot of mistakes. And I can never be sure which ones were necessary or harmless or even left us better off than if I hadn't made them."
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"How do you know you're not making a mistake now, letting me and John Paul stay?"
"As I said, Peter needs friends."
"But does the world need Peter?" asked Theresa.
"We don't always get the leader that we want," said Graff. "But sometimes we get to choose among the leaders that we have."
"And how will the choice be made?" asked Theresa. "On the battlefield or the ballot box?"
"Maybe," said Graff, "by the poisoned fig or the sabotaged car."
Theresa took his meaning at once. "You may be sure we'll keep an eye on Peter's food and his transportation."
"What," said Graff, "you'll carry all his food on your person, buying it from different grocers every day, and your husband will live in his car, never sleeping?"
"We retired young. One has to fill the empty hours."
Graff laughed. "Good luck, then. I'm sure you'll do all that needs doing. Thanks for talking with me."
"Let's do it again in another ten or twenty years," said Theresa.
"I'll mark it on my calendar."
And with a salute--which was rather more solemn than she would have expected--he walked back into the house and, presumably, on out through the front garden and into the street.
Theresa seethed for a while at what Graff and the International Fleet and the Formics and fate and God had done to her and her family. And then she thought of Ender and Valentine and wept a few tears onto the papayas. And then she thought of herself and John Paul, waiting and watching, trying to protect Peter. Graff was right. They could never watch him perfectly.
They would sleep. They would miss something. Achilles would have an opportunity--many opportunities--and just when they were most complacent he would strike and Peter would be dead and the world would be at Achilles's mercy because who else was clever and ruthless enough to fight him? Bean? Petra? Suriyawong? Nikolai? One of the other Battle School children scattered over the surface of Earth? If there was any who was ambitious enough to stop Achilles, he would have surfaced by now.
She was carrying the heavy bag of papayas into the house--sidling through the door, trying not to bump and bruise the fruit--when it dawned on her what Graff's errand had really been about.
Peter needs a friend, he said. The issue between Peter and Achilles might be resolved by poison or sabotage, he said. But she and John Paul could not possibly watch over Peter well enough to protect him from assassination, he said. Therefore, in what way could she and John Paul possibly be the friends that Peter needed?
The contest between Achilles and Peter would be just as easily resolved by Achilles's death as by Peter's.
At once there flashed into her memory the stories of some of the great poisoners of history, by rumor if not by proof. Lucretia Borgia. Cleopatra. What's-her-name who poisoned everybody around the Emperor Claudius and probably got him in the end, as well.
In olden days, there were no chemical tests to determine conclusively whether poison had been used. Poisoners gathered their own herbs, leaving no trail of purchases, no co-conspirators who might confess or accuse. If anything happened to Achilles before Peter had decided the monster boy had to go, Peter would launch an investigation...and when the trail led to his parents, as it inevitably would, how would Peter respond? Make an example of them, letting them go on trial? Or would he protect them, trying to cover up the result of the investigation, leaving his reign as Hegemon to be tainted by the rumors about Achilles's untimely death. No doubt every opponent of Peter's would resurrect Achilles as a martyr, a much-slandered boy who offered the brightest hope to mankind, slain in his youth by the crawlingly vile Peter Wiggin, or his mother the witch or his father the snake.
It was not enough to kill Achilles. It had to be done properly, in a way that would not harm Peter in the long run.
Though it would be better for Peter to endure the rumors and legends about Achilles's death than for Peter himself to be the slain one. She dare not wait too long.
My assignment from Graff, thought Theresa, is to become an assassin in order to protect my son.