The food looked like common-people's restaurant food everywhere--more about delivering fats and sweets than about flavor or nutrition. Bean wasn't picky, though. There were foods he liked better than others, and he knew something of the difference between fine cuisine and plain fare, but after the streets of Rotterdam and years of dried and processed food in space, anything that delivered the calories and nutrients was fine with him. But he made the mistake of going for the ice cream. He had just come from Araraquara, where the sorvete was memorable, and the American stuff was too fatty, the flavors too syrupy. "Mmmm, deliciosa," said Bean.
"Fecha a boquinha, menino," she answered. "E nao fala portugues aqui."
"I didn't want to critique the ice cream in a language they'd understand."
"Doesn't the memory of starvation make you more patient?"
"Does everything have to be a moral question?"
"I wrote my dissertation on Aquinas and Tillich," said Sister Carlotta. "All questions are philosophical."
"In which case, all answers are unintelligible."
"And you're not even in grad school yet."
A tall young man slid onto the bench beside Bean. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "You got my keys?"
"I feel so foolish," said Sister Carlotta. "I came all the way here and then I realized I left them back home. Let me buy you some ice cream and then you can walk home with me and get them."
Bean looked up at Peter's face in profile. The resemblance to Ender was plain, but not close enough that anyone could ever mistake one for the other.
So this is the kid who brokered the ceasefire that ended the League War. The kid who wants to be Hegemon. Good looking, but not movie-star handsome--people would like him, but still trust him. Bean had studied the vids of Hitler and Stalin. The difference was palpable--Stalin never had to get elected; Hitler did. Even with that stupid mustache, you could see it in Hitler's eyes, that ability to see into you, that sense that whatever he said, wherever he looked, he was speaking to you, looking at you, that he cared about you. But Stalin, he looked like the liar that he was. Peter was definitely in the charismatic category. Like Hitler.
Perhaps an unfair comparison, but those who coveted power invited such thoughts. And the worst was seeing the way Sister Carlotta played to him. True, she was acting a part, but when she spoke to him, when that gaze was fixed on her, she preened a little, she warmed to him. Not so much that she'd behave foolishly, but she was aware of him with a heightened intensity that Bean didn't like. Peter had the seducer's gift. Dangerous.
"I'll walk home with you," said Peter. "I'm not hungry. Have you already paid?"
"Of course," said Sister Carlotta. "This is my grandson, by the way. Delfino."
Peter turned to notice Bean for the first time--though Bean was quite sure Peter had sized him up thoroughly before he sat down. "Cute kid," he said. "How old is he? Does he go to school yet?"
"I'm little," said Bean cheerfully, "but at least I'm not a yelda."
"All those vids of Battle School life," said Peter. "Even little kids are picking up that stupid polyglot slang."
"Now, children, you must get along, I insist on it." Sister Carlotta led the way to the door. "My grandson is visiting this country for the first time, young man, so he doesn't understand American banter."
"Yes I do," said Bean, trying to sound like a petulant child and finding it quite easy, since he really was annoyed.
"He speaks English pretty well. But you better hold his hand crossing this street, the campus trams zoom through here like Daytona."
Bean rolled his eyes and submitted to having Carlotta hold his hand across the street. Peter was obviously trying to provoke him, but why? Surely he wasn't so shallow as to think humiliating Bean would give him some advantage. Maybe he took pleasure in making other people feel small.
Finally, though, they were away from campus and had taken enough twists and turns to make sure they weren't being followed.
"So you're the great Julian Delphiki," said Peter.
"And you're Locke. They're touting you for Hegemon when Sakata's term is over. Too bad you're only virtual."
"I'm thinking of going public soon," said Peter.
"Ah, that's why you got the plastic surgery to make you so pretty," said Bean.
"This old face?" said Peter. "I only wear it when I don't care how I look."
"Boys," said Sister Carlotta. "Must you display like baby chimps?"
Peter laughed easily. "Come on, Mom, we was just playin'. Can't we still go to the movies?"