"Why not? Aren't you still a good Catholic, or did that last only as long as being a Catholic meant being a rebel?"
John Paul didn't like the implications of that, particularly because it might have some truth in it. "No, Theresa, darling. We can't have more children because they'd never let us keep them."
"Who? The government doesn't care how many children we have now. They're all future taxpayers or baby makers or cannon fodder to them."
"We're the parents of Ender Wiggin, of Demosthenes, of Locke. Our having another child would be international news. I feared it even before Andrew's battle companions were all kidnapped, but after that there was no doubt."
"Do you seriously think people would assume that because our first three children were so--"
"Darling," said John Paul--knowing that she hated it when he called her darling because he couldn't keep the sarcasm out of the term, "they'd have the babies out of the cradle, that's how fast they'd strike. They'd be targets from the moment of conception, just waiting for somebody to come along and turn them into puppets of one regime or another. And even if we were able to protect them, every moment of their lives would be deformed by the press of public curiosity. If we thought Peter was messed up by being in Andrew's shadow, think what it would be like for them."
"It might be easier for them," said Theresa. "They would never remember not being in the shadow of their brothers."
"That only makes it worse," said John Paul. "They'll have no idea of who they are, apart from being somebody's sib."
"It was just a thought."
"I wish we could do it," said John Paul. It was easy to be generous after she had given in.
"I just...miss having children around."
"So do I. And if I thought they could be children..."
"None of our kids was ever really a child," said Theresa sadly. "Never really carefree."
John Paul laughed. "The only people who think children are carefree are the ones who've forgotten their own childhood."
Theresa thought for a moment and then laughed. "You're right. Everything is either heaven on earth or the end of the world."
That conversation had been back in Greensboro, after Peter went public with his real identity and before he was given the nearly empty title of Hegemon. They rarely referred back to it.
But the idea was looking more attractive now. There were days when John Paul wanted to go home, sweep Theresa into his arms and say, "Darling"--and he wouldn't be even the tiniest bit sarcastic--"I have our tickets to space. We're joining a colony. We're leaving this world and all its cares behind, and we'll make new babies up in space where they can't save the world or take it over, either."
Then Theresa did this business with trying to get into Achilles's room and John Paul honestly wondered if the stress she was under had affected her mental processes.
Precisely because he was so concerned about what she did, he deliberately did not discuss it with her for a couple of days, waiting to see if she brought it up.
She did not. But he didn't really expect her to.
When he judged that the first blush of embarrassment was over and she could discuss things without trying to protect herself, he broached the subject over dessert one night.
"So you want to be a housekeeper," he said.
"I wondered how long it would take you to bring that up," said Theresa with a grin.
"And I wondered how long before you would," said John Paul--with a grin as laced with irony as her own.
"Now you'll never know," she said.
"I think," said John Paul, "that you were planning to kill him."
Theresa laughed. "Oh, definitely, I was under assignment from my controller."
"I assumed as much."
"I was joking," said Theresa at once.
"I'm not. Was it something Graff said? Or just a spy novel?"