That made sense. "Since we have few roots, the ones we have, we cling to." She thought of Vlad, who was so fanatically Russian, and Hot Soup--Han Tzu--so fanatically Chinese, that both of them had willingly helped Achilles when he seemed to be working for their nation's cause.
"And no one completely trusts us," said Bean, "because they know our real nationality is up in space. Our strongest loyalties are to our fellow soldiers."
"Or to ourselves," said Petra, thinking of Achilles.
"But I've never pretended otherwise," said Bean. Apparently he thought she had meant him.
"You're so proud of being completely self-centered," said Petra. "And it isn't even true."
He just laughed at her and walked on.
Families and businessmen and old people and young couples in love all strolled through the park on this unusually sunny
autumn afternoon, and in the concert stand a pianist played a work of Chopin, as had been going on every day for centuries. As they walked, Petra boldly reached out and took hold of Bean's hand as if they, too, were lovers, or at least friends who liked to stay close enough to touch. To her surprise, he did not pull his hand away. Indeed, he gripped her hand in return, but if she harbored any notion that Bean was capable of romance, he instantly dispelled it. "Race you around the pond," he said, and so they did.
But what kind of race is it, when the racers never let go of each other's hands, and the winner pulls the loser laughing over the finish line?
No, Bean was being childish because he had no idea how to go about being manly, and so it was Petra's job to help him figure it out. She reached out and caught his other hand and pulled his arms around her, then stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Mostly on the chin, because he recoiled a little, but it was a kiss nonetheless, and after a moment of consternation, Bean's arms pulled her a little closer and his lips managed to find hers while suffering only a few minor nose collisions.
Neither of them being particularly experienced at this, it wasn't as though Petra could say whether they kissed particularly well. The only other kiss she'd known was with Achilles, and that kiss had taken place with a gun pressed into her abdomen. All she could say with certainty was that any kiss from Bean was better than any kiss from Achilles.
"So you love me," said Petra softly when the kiss ended.
"I'm a raging mass of hormones that I'm too young to understand," said Bean. "You're a female of a closely related species. According to all the best primatologists, I really have no choice."
"That's nice," she said, reaching her arms around his back.
"It's not nice at all," said Bean. "I have no business kissing anybody."
"I asked for it," she said.
"I'm not having children."
"That's the best plan," she said. "I'll have them for you."
"You know what I meant," said Bean.
"It isn't done by kissing, so you're safe so far."
He groaned impatiently and pulled away from her, paced irritably in a circle, and then came right back to her and kissed her again. "I've wanted to do that practically the whole time we've been traveling together."
"I could tell," she said. "From the way you never gave even the tiniest sign that you knew I existed, except as an annoyance."
"I've always had a problem with being too emotionally demonstrative." He held her again. An elderly couple passed by. The man looked disapproving, as if he thought these foolish young people should find a more private place for their kissing and hugging. But the old woman, her white hair held severely by a head scarf, gave him a wink, as if to say, Good for you, young fellow, young girls should be kissed thoroughly and often.
In fact, he was so sure that was what she meant to say that he quoted the words to Petra.
"So you're actually performing a public service," said Petra.
"To the great amusement of the public," said Bean.
A voice came from behind them. "And I assure you the public is amused."
Petra and Bean both turned to see who it was.
A young man, but most definitely not Polish. From the look of him, he should be Burmese or perhaps Thai, certainly from somewhere around the South China Sea. He had to be younger than Petra, even taking into account the way that people from Southeast Asia seemed always to look far younger than their years. Yet he wore the suit and tie of an old-fashioned businessman.
There was something about him--something in the cockiness of his stance, the amused way that he took for granted that he had a right to stand within the circle of their companionship and tease them about something as private as a public kiss--that told Petra that he had to be from Battle School.