Ender's Game: "Richard the Third, Act Two, Scene Three, Line Sixteen" (1/2)

[alixtii]

Title: Richard the Third, Act Two, Scene Three, Line Sixteen (1/2)
Author: alixtii
Fandom: Ender’s Game
Rating: R
Pairings: Peter/Petra, Valentine/Petra, with overtones of Peter/Valentine and Ender/Valentine
Recipient: unrequitedangst in apocalyptothon
Request: "An AU -- remember Dink Meeker's theory? There really are no Buggers; it's all a giant conspiracy on the part of the International Fleet to control the world's population. Earth is somehow destroyed and the students are isolated on the Battle School station along with the few teachers that might be up there as well. (If you include slash or gen, go for it, but please nothing explicit -- the kids are kids, after all. Also, no chan.)"
Summary: If Valentine had to choose between world peace and her brother, she knew quite well which option she was going to choose.
Author’s Note: Passages in italics (and some dialogue elsewhere) are taken from the novel by Orson Scott Card. Thanks to frogfarm for the beta.

Richard the Third, Act Two, Scene Three, Line Sixteen

“I can’t believe you still believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“The bugger menance. Save the world. Listen, Ender, if the buggers were coming back to get us, they’d be here. They aren’t invading again. We beat them and they’re gone.”

“But the videos—”

“It’s all a fake. There is no war, and they’re just screwing around with us.”

“But why?”

“Because as long as people are afraid of the buggers, the I.F. can stay in power, and as long as the I.F. is in power, certain countries can keep their hegemony. But keep watching the vids, Ender. People will catch onto this pretty soon, and there’ll be a civil war to end all wars. That’s the menace, Ender, not the buggers.”

ONE: Earth

As her correspondence with other politically active citizens grew, she began to learn things, information that simply wasn’t available to the general public. Certain military people who corresponded with her dropped hints about things without meaning to, and she and Peter put them together to build up a fascinating and frightening picture.

“They’re lying to us.”

There just wasn’t any other possible explanation. She and Peter had been over all the information twenty different ways, and always it added up to the same conclusion. There weren’t any buggers. Maybe there never had been any buggers. It was all a fabrication, a construct designed to produce fear, to create social unity from a lie. Nothing could be trusted anymore. It was as if they were living inside a dystopian novel--she was all ready to pick up a mask and storm Westminster Palace.

“Then they don’t really need anyone to fight the buggers,” she realized. “They don’t actually need Ender.”

“They’ll still need him to be a commander,” Peter answered. “To lead the I.F. troops. It’s the price of peace, Val.”

But if Valentine had to choose between world peace and her brother, she knew quite well which option she was going to choose.

* * *

“Valentine! What in the hell did you do?”

Val woke up groggily to her brother standing over her bed, shaking her. “Wha?”

“The Hegemon has been assassinated and the I.F. is in disarray. There’s talk of civil war already.”

She pulled on a shirt and shorts over the underwear she had been sleeping in while her brother waited impatiently, then followed him to his room, the room he had once shared with Ender. She watched over his shoulder as he worked his computer, bringing up the newsfeeds from a hundred different sources, all saying the same thing: chaos had broken out on planet Earth.

“I don’t know what you did, Val, but it sure got people upset.”

She didn’t even bother to ask him how he was so sure it was her or to try to deny it. “So what are you going to do now?

Peter frowned. “Get to your desk. I need you to compose another polemic. If we’re going to turn this into an opportunity, we’re going to need to utilize every ounce of charisma that Demosthenes and Locke possess.”

And she had gone back to her desk and had begun composing the polemic that Peter had asked for. He had her working nonstop the next few days, as the threats of civil war gave way to actual conflict. The Polemarch and the Strategos were at each others throats. Every possible voice calling for moderation was now desperately needed—even the usually abrasive Demosthenes.

Peter had been right, of course. She was responsible for all of this. That night, after Peter had gone to bed, she had gotten up and sent compilations of the evidence they had discovered to several highly-placed individuals in several national governments, including the Warsaw Pact, the United States, and Israel. Tear the wool away from their eyes, make them understand just how the I.F. had been manipulating them.

She hadn’t expected their response to be quite so violent.

* * *

A new Hegemon needed to be appointed, and it wasn’t long before the names of both Demosthenes and Locke began to be floated as potential nominees. “It’s too soon,” Peter had complained. “I’m not ready yet. They’ll think I’m too young.”

“So what are you going to do?” asked Valentine.

The look on Peter’s face was one of steely resolve. “We’ll do what we have to do,” he said. “Eventually, they’ll realize that I’m their only option.”

The next day, the news began to leak out onto the nets: Locke and Demosthenes were, in fact, Peter and Valentine Wiggin, and they were children.

* * *

It took a while for Valentine to get used to seeing her face and name on the front page of the day’s newsfeeds, staring up at her from her computer screen. The scandal of Locke’s and Demosthenes’ true identities had thrust them even further into the spotlight, and now the names of Peter and Valentine Wiggin were on everybody’s lips. Meanwhile, the discussions as to the appointment of the new Hegemon continued. Locke and Demosthenes were just children, but who else could it be?

But as long as the names Wiggin and Hegemon were uttered so closely together, no one was able to forget that once Demosthenes and Locke had been considered for the position, and why. That their ideas had been so clear and that their opinions so forceful that the globe had looked to them for guidance.

Meanwhile, Valentine continued her Demosthenes column, only now under her real name. She made no mention of her age and only a passing reference to the rôle of “whomever the planet chooses to serve as Hegemon.” Instead, she focused on the rôle of the Warsaw Pact under the now radically unstable Federation, and what actions America would need to take in response. Her columns ran underneath a color faceshot taken for the purpose, and Peter was gradually allowing her to subtly shift Demosthenes’ positions closer to her own. In the wake of the scandal, her readership had grown dramatically; now more people were hearing her opinions than ever before.

The only thing was that as the international chaos increased, Valentine began to see that Demonsthenes had been right after all: the Warsaw Pact was a threat. She grudgingly continued Demosthenes’ call for preemptive action due to the impossibility of peace.

Now that Peter and Valentine were more than pseudonyms attached to bodies of text, they entered the public eye in other ways. In addition to his more serious correspondence, Peter now received fan mail from fawning teenaged girls across the planet. They would appear on the videofeeds now, being interviewed by political commentators who were well out of their element. Valentine enjoyed running circles around one conservative commentator in particular, making him look all the more foolish for not being able to beat a twelve-year-old girl in an argument.

She would give lectures at nearby universities, explaining things patiently as puzzled undergraduates and mostly-just-as-clueless faculty attempted to challenge her. She would stop at bookstores to sign the published compilations of her columns.

She drew the line when her publisher suggested she put out a musical album.

“Just as long as it doesn’t interfere with your schoolwork, dear,” was her parents’ answer whenever there came a call for a new project or appearance.

Months passed, and the global public grew used to seeing these two children on the news and videofeeds, pontificating on international affairs. They grew used to relying on them to shape their own opinions and thoughts. Policies suggested by Locke and Demosthenes continued to be implemented, because they made sense and because Peter and Valentine argued for them clearly and persuasively. And through all this time, no new Hegemon was named.

At last, a compromise position was reached: both Peter and Valentine would be appointed, as Co-Hegemons. Two children, the reasoning seemed to be, would serve as the equivalent of one full-grown adult. And since the approaches of Locke and Demosthenes were so radically different, perhaps they would have a mediating effect on each other.

Peter was openly disdainful. “Don’t they understand the meaning of the word hegemon?” That didn’t, of course, keep him from accepting the post when it was offered to him and Val.

Peter was fourteen, she was twelve, and now they were being put in charge of the free world.

* * *

Once the decision had been made, the inauguration was scheduled relatively quickly, and Peter and Valentine settled into their new positions even more immediately. The world had already been without a Hegemon for far too long, and the business of state could not wait for a ceremony in order to be attended to. Still, it seemed as if it was only a blink of an eye before the day itself had arrived.

Their parents were there, of course, standing next to some of the highest-ranking officials on planet Earth. The President of the United States, of course, as well as the heads of state of various other nations. The Strategos and the Hegemony Ministers. The Polemarch was there, too, although he never quite made eye contact with Valentine or Peter.

The ceremony was full of pomp and circumstance and it was everything Valentine could do to keep still, knowing that at any given time at least half of the thousands of cameras which surrounded them were trained on her and her brother. Peter, on the other hand, was inexplicably—and frustratingly—calm. “These seats hurt my ass,” he prison-whispered to her about half-way through the President’s speech.

At last it was time, and Peter and Valentine rose together. Peter repeated the President’s instructions with an easy-sounding confidence.

And then it was her turn. She raised her hand and began to speak, trying desperately to keep her voice even.

“I, Valentine Wiggin, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of Hegemon and will to the best of my ability preserve, protect, and defend the Articles of the International Fleet.”

* * *

“Do we have to do this?” Valentine complained. It was the third inauguration ball they had been to that night, and she was already getting tired. Not to mention the deskfull of work they still had in front of them, seeing to the needs of the I.F. Besides, she looked ridiculous in an evening gown.

“Hush,” Peter said to her under his breath. He picked up a hors d’oeuvres and passed it to her; she took it only reluctantly. “Of course we do. This is a moment of hope, of anticipation. The people now have a leader who will lead them out of the darkness, and it is a time to celebrate. Now go say hello to the Minister of Information.”

Valentine obediently made her way to the minister and began to engage in the meaningless pleasantries which seemed de rigueur at these parties. Intellectually, she understood Peter’s logic: half of governing was the show of it, inspiring trust in the public and fear in one’s enemies. But this was the sort of thing at which Peter was an expert: telling people what they wanted to hear, skillfully manipulating them from right in front of them. Her skill was more with the working with the ideas themselves, demonstrating and proving, relying on the light of truth rather than on flattery and deceit. She watched as Peter danced with the daughter of the President. This was a game to him, and a game he loved.

Valentine just felt lonely.

* * *

It took a surprisingly short time for Major Jacqueline Clarke to become acclimated to having to answer to two barely-teenaged children every day. They were quick, competent, and professional, and frankly Major Clarke didn’t care if her boss was a trained monkey if he got the job done well. The world was in a time of crisis, and Major Clarke quickly learned to trust Peter and Valentine to steer the planet Earth out of that crisis.

“Something’s up with the Warsaw Pact,” Peter said, examining the intelligence she had just brought them. “I mean, beyond the usual. These movements certainly aren’t innocent.”

“How can you be sure?” asked Valentine, leaning over his shoulder to look herself. “Hmm. I see what you mean.”

“They’re planning an offensive,” Peter said assuredly. “It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

“Well, what do we do?”

Peter frowned. “If they want war, we’re going to have to give it to them. Order the Polemarch arrested for treason. If violence breaks out—when violence breaks out—hit them back with everything we’ve got. A full nuclear tactical strike.”

Valentine just looked at him, a shocked expression on her face. “You can’t be serious.”

Peter Wiggin turned to his sister, gravely. “I’ve never been more serious in my life, Val.”

“The I.F. was founded to prevent nuclear war!”

Peter nodded. “Sometimes one has to destroy the village in order to save it.”

* * *

No one was quite sure how the Russians got their hands on nuclear weapons. There were soldiers loyal to the Polemarch in the I.F., but even Peter hadn’t thought they would be crazy enough to pass nukes onto the Warsaw Pact government. Didn’t they realize that the I.F.’s monopoly on nuclear weapons was the only thing which prevented an all-out nuclear war?

When the first nuclear missile hit American soil, the answer to that question became obvious. Apparently even Peter had underestimated the potential stupidity of the human species. It was a good thing the buggers didn’t actually exist, or else humanity would have been doomed.

The result should have been stalemate. Mutually assured destruction. A continual raising of the stakes until one side or the other blinked, because only a madman would continue staring. The only problem was, Valentine knew Peter wasn’t going to be the one to blink.

“We need to get you two evacuated,” Major Clarke said, her breath short, as reports of more nuclear strikes began coming in by the hour. “Get you off-planet. It’s not safe here.”

“Where is it safe?” Valentine noted sarcastically, but she and Peter followed Major Clarke to the helicopter ready to take them to Stumpy Point, from where they would take the first available vehicle off-world.

The first vehicle off-world, it turned out, was taking a crew of Launchies up to Battle School.

At long last, Valentine would get to see her brother.

TBC. . . . here