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Petra.
    “Just be patient,” said Peter. “Alai knows we’re here. Eventually he’ll decide to see me.”
    “Eventually? I’m pregnant, Mr. Hegemon, and my husband is dying in a big way, ha ha ha, and you’re wasting some of the time we have together and that pisses me off.”
    “I invited you to come. I didn’t compel you.”
    “It’s a good thing you didn’t try.”
    But now it was out. In the open. Clear at last. Of course she was really irritated at all the things she complained about. But underneath it all was resentment about how Peter had let Bean do his killing for him.
    “Petra,” said Peter. “I’m not a soldier.”
    “Neither is Bean!”
    “Bean is the finest military mind alive,” said Peter.
    “So why isn’t he Hegemon?”
    “Because he doesn’t want to be.”
    “And you do. And that’s why I hate you, since you asked.”
    “You know why I wanted this office and what I’m trying to do with it. You’ve read my Locke essays.”
    “I also read your Demosthenes essays.”
    “Those also needed to be written. But I intend to govern as Locke.”
    “You govern nothing. The only reason you even have your little army is because Bean and Suriyawong created it and decided to let you have the use of it. You only have your precious compound and all your staff because Bean killed Achilles and gave it back to you. And now you’re back to putting on your little show of importance, but you know what? Nobody’s fooled. You’re not even as powerful as the Pope. He’s got the Vatican and a billion Catholics. You’ve got nothing but what my husband gave you.”
    Peter didn’t think this was quite accurate—he had labored for years to build up his network of contacts, and he had kept the office of Hegemon from being abolished. Over the years he had made it mean something. He had saved Haiti from chaos. Several small nations owed their independence or freedom to his diplomatic and, yes, military intervention.
    But certainly he was on the verge of losing it all to Achilles—because of his own stupid mistake. A mistake that Bean and Petra had warned him about before he made it. A mistake that Bean had rectified only at a grave risk.
    “Petra,” said Peter, “you’re right. I owe everything to you and Bean. But that doesn’t change the fact that whatever you think of me and whatever you think of the office of Hegemon, I hold that office, and I’m trying to use it to avoid another bloody war.”
    “You’re trying to use your office to make your office into ‘dictator of the world.’ Unless you can figure out a way to extend your reach out to the colonies and become ‘dictator of the known universe.’”
    “We don’t actually have any colonies yet,” said Peter. “The ships are all still in transit and will be until we’re all dead. But by the time they arrive, I’d like them to send their ansible messages back home to an Earth that is united under a single democratic government.”
    “It’s the democratic part I missed,” said Petra. “Who elected you?”
    “Since I don’t have any actual authority over anybody, Petra, how can it possibly matter if I’m not legitimately authorized?”
    “You argue like a debater,” she said. “You don’t actually have to have an idea, you just have to have a seemingly clever refutation.”
    “And you argue like a nine-year-old,” said Peter. “Sticking your fingers in your ears and going ‘La la la’ and ‘same to you.’”
    Petra looked like she wanted to slap him. Instead she put her fingers in her ears and said, “Same to you” and “La la la.”
    He did not laugh. Instead he reached out a hand, intending to pull her arm away from her ear. But she whirled around and kicked his hand so hard that he thought she might have broken his wrist. As it was, he staggered and stumbled over the corner of the bed in his hotel room and ended up on his butt on the floor.
    “There’s the Hegemon of Earth,” said Petra.
    “Where’s your