It was the basis of his marriage with Theresa. She wasn't Catholic herself--which showed that John Paul wasn't that strict about following all the rules--but she came from a big-family tradition and she agreed with him before they got married that they would have more than two children, no matter what it cost them.
In the end, it cost them nothing. No loss of job. No loss of prestige. In fact, they ended up greatly honored as the parents of the savior of the human race.
Only they would never get to see Valentine or Andrew get married, would never see their children. Would probably not live long enough to know when they arrived at their colony world.
And now they were mere fixtures attached to the life of the child they liked the least.
Though truth to tell, John Paul didn't dislike Peter as much as his moth
er did. Peter didn't get under his skin the way he irritated Theresa. Perhaps that was because John Paul was a good counterbalance to Peter--John Paul could be useful to him. Where Peter kept a hundred things going at once, juggling all his projects and doing none of them perfectly, John Paul was a man who had to dot every i, cross every t. So without exactly telling anyone what his job was, John Paul kept close watch on everything Peter was doing and followed through on things so they actually got done. Where Peter assumed that underlings would understand his purpose and adapt, John Paul knew that they would misunderstand everything, and spelled it out for them, followed through to make sure things happened just right.
Of course, in order to do this, John Paul had to pretend that he was acting as Peter's eyes and ears. Fortunately, the people he straightened out had no reason to go to Peter and explain the dumb things they had been doing before John Paul showed up with his questions, his checklists, his cheerful chats that didn't quite come right out and admit to being tutorials.
But what could John Paul do when the project Peter was advancing was so deeply dangerous and, yes, stupid that the last thing John Paul wanted to do was help him with it?
John Paul's position in this little community of Hegemoniacs did not allow him to obstruct what Peter was doing. He was a facilitator, not a bureaucrat; he cut the red tape, he didn't spin it out like a spider web.
In the past, the most obstructive thing John Paul could do was not to do anything at all. Without him there, nudging, correcting, things slowed down, and often a project died without his help.
But with Achilles, there was no chance of that. The Beast, as Theresa and John Paul called him, was as methodical as Peter wasn't. He seemed to leave nothing to chance. So if John Paul simply left him alone, he would accomplish everything he wanted.
"Peter, you're not in a position to see what the Beast is doing," John Paul said to him.
"Father, I know what I'm doing."
"He's got time for everybody," said John Paul. "He's friends with every clerk, every janitor, every secretary, every bureaucrat. People you breeze past with a wave or with nothing at all, he sits and chats with them, makes them feel important."
"Yes, he's a charmer, all right."
"Peter--"
"It's not a popularity contest, Father."
"No, it's a loyalty contest. You accomplish exactly as much as the people who serve you decide you'll accomplish, and nothing more. They are your power, these public servants you employ, and he's winning their loyalty away from you."
"Superficially, perhaps," said Peter.
"For most people, the superficial is all there is. They act on the feelings of the moment. They like him better than you."
"There's always somebody that people like better," said Peter with a vicious little smile.
John Paul restrained himself from making the obvious one-word retort, because it would devastate Peter. The single crushing word would have been "yes."
"Peter," said John Paul, "when the Beast leaves here, who knows how many people he'll leave behind who like him well enough to slip him a bit of gossip now and then? Or a secret document?"
"Father, I appreciate your concern. And once again, I can only tell you that I have things under control."
"You seem to think that anything you don't know isn't worth knowing," said John Paul, not for the first time.
"And you seem to think that anything I'm doing is not being done well enough," said Peter for at least the hundredth time.
That's how these discussions always went. John Paul did not push it farther than that--he knew that if he became too annoying, if Peter felt too oppressed by having his parents around, they'd be moved out of any position of influence.
That would be unbearable. It would mean losing the last of their children.
"We really ought to have another child or two," said Theresa one day. "I'm still young enough, and we always meant to have more than the three the government allotted us."
"Not likely," said John Paul.