Disclaimer: None of the OSC characters belong to me. What I am creating here is a fanfiction- which means that it is either a) purely speculation, or b) purely made up. I am not making any money off this, so it'd also be totally pointless to sue me.

Warning: For those of you who have not read Ender's Shadow and Shadow of the Hegemon, both by Orson Scott Card, this story will be a massive spoiler, not to mention _very_ confusing. In fact, it'll be so confusing in later parts that I wouldn't recommend you read this story unless you've read the books mentioned above.


Streetwise

I. ROTTERDAM

\"So this is the place where you grew up...?"\
\"Surprised?"\
\"No. Just wondering how the hell you managed to live long enough to make it to battle school. Look at that. The kids on these streets make Lord of the Flies-"\
\"Look like Pollyanna. I know."\
\"I'm not the first one to make the connection?"\
\"You know what? Sometimes, I wonder. Of all the children in Rotterdam, why was I picked to stand next to Ender?"\
\"And why was I picked to always be overshadowed by him?"\
\"That's not what I was implying."\
\"...I know."\

* * * * *

A long time ago, someone had finally wised up and started up the system of "families" on the streets, where an older kid would take care of a crowd of younger ones. The leader of the family, the bully in charge, would protect the smaller children, and, in turn, the smaller children would become the leader's access to food, since the soup kitchens were more willing to accept a family of happy-looking children than a couple of sullen bullies. Because of the system, there was less hunger, less fights, less of the pandemonium that used to reign over the street kids. All in all, it was better off for everyone.

Except for her. She was still hungry. And for a while that had been okay, but now she was starving and the need to find food was something of an emergency.

Her best chance for survival was to try to mix in with a crowd and pretend that she was part of another group, but that mostly didn't work because she stood out too much. Her skin color was dark, so people noticed her, people remembered her as the foreign looking girl, so she couldn't move around like she wanted to.

She figured she was as good as dead. None of the charities would feed anyone who wasn't in a family, and none of the families would accept her. She had been shunned by every single kid on the streets- the belligerent ones, the timid ones, the small ones, even the curious ones. There was nothing left to her except the hunger that drove her around the streets.

They avoided her because they feared her. They rejected her because she threatened to overthrow the system. She could almost breathe in the suspicion when she walked near them. It was getting so bad that some of them actually scurried away from her, crossed the street when they saw her coming.

So that was why she was surprised when a small kid, so tiny, maybe two, three years old, came up to her.

"What do you want?" She said.

He just looked at her.

"Haven't you heard? You're supposed to be scared of me."

"I'm not." He said, in that typical childish voice of a toddler.

She shook her head and looked away.

"You hungry?" said the boy. God, he was annoying.

"What do you think?"

"You should find a family. Then your papa could take care of you." Papa. And who were these papas, anyway? A bunch of former bullies turned saints who decided to take in a couple of street rats so they could eat. What a joke.

"Look kid," She laughed shortly, "I'm not starving voluntarily."

"I have food."

"Good for you." Now shut up the fuck up and leave me to die in peace.

"Would you like some?"

And she hesitated. Food. Just the mention of it made her swallow hard. When was the last time she'd been in a soup kitchen? Four, five months ago? God, she was hungry. Back when she was still in a family she would have told him to do something obscene. Now... She glared at him for a second, but his eyes stayed on her, filled with that 'you can trust me' expression.

He was probably too young to be cooking up any schemes.

Or was he? Maybe his 'papa' was making him lead her into an ambush. Maybe the kid would lead around a corner to fourteen kids waiting to beat her up.

Then again, it didn't really matter. Getting her head bashed in would be a quicker death than starvation.

So she got up and followed him.

* * * * *

"You shouldn't have brought her here." said Bean furiously, walking down the halls.

"What was I supposed to do?" retorted Petra, "Leave her there to die?"

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what is it that you mean?"

"Look," said Bean, turning around to face her, "You can't save every kid on the streets."

"Ah." said Petra disgustedly, "So when I see a little girl bleeding in an alley, I should just say, I can't save every kid on the streets, and walk away?"

"No!"

"No?"

"...Forget it. Where is this little juvenile delinquent of yours, anyway?"

"I put her in my room."

* * * * *

She opened her eyes and wished she hadn't. Her head was hurting like crazy. Wincing, she touched her forehead and found a bandage, a little damp with her blood, wrapped around her head. There was another binding on her right shoulder. She tried to move her arm and hissed softly with pain.

[What happened?]

Flashes of memories flickered before her.

[Little kid, alleyway, someone brought in a switchblade... Stupid little bastard. Why did I trust him?]

[Because you were so hungry that you weren't thinking straight.]

[So where am I now?]

The place looked clean. Not painted white, sterilized clean. Just...comfortable clean. The curtains were open, so there was sunlight streaming through the south window, illuminating everything. Not much furniture, but all in all, a rather pretty room.

[What's wrong with this picture?]

[Me.]

She tried to sit up and felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Damn. That was going to keep her from moving for a while. She groaned and lay back down again, breathing long, shallow breaths to distract from the aches in her body.

[What the hell am I doing here?]

The cabinet next to the bed had a brush on it. All right then. So the occupant of this room was probably a girl. A girl with dark hair, judging by the color of the strands.

[Whoever you are, come and get me. ]

[I'm waiting...]

* * * * *

"You put a total stranger in your room?"

"Yes."

"A total stranger. Off the streets." Bean repeated, walking faster. "What were you thinking?"

"She's about as tall as you. What can she do to me?"

"Achilles came off the streets." said Bean, "And look what he did. Killed seven people before his thirteenth birthday. Popped several of a street kid's ribs in broad daylight with a cinder block."

"She's no Achilles."

"How do you know?"

"Achilles' eyes...look different."

Bean hissed impatiently, "That's not an indication of anything. Pet, don't you see? Streets are Darwin. Survival of the fittest. And living in a Darwin society does something to people. They're not afraid to hurt, to kill to get what they want." Then, seeing the stubborn look on her face, he added, "And anyway, you said she was half dead when you found her. Everyone looks harmless when they've just been beaten up."

"Except for Achilles. He'd whip out a gun and shoot you."

"Yeah..."

They walked in silence for a while, listening to each others' footsteps echo down the empty corridor before Bean said, "What are you going to do with the kid?"

"Well, she's got a mild concussion and two stab wounds in her right shoulder, so she's not going to be going anywhere for a while. Being the kind and generous person I am," She grinned as Bean scoffed, "I'll probably keep her around for a week or so."

"And after that?"

"I don't know. An orphanage? I can't send her back onto the streets."

"Yes you can." said Bean.

Petra glared at him.

"But," He amended, "Being the kind and generous person you are, you won't."

* * * * *

She opened her eyes as two people walked into the door. The boy was rather small, about her height, five feet or so. The other person was a girl with dark hair, like she had guessed, but she hadn't suspected that they would be so...young.

[They're young, true, but they're important. They have uniforms, badges, power. And they don't look like the kids I see on the streets. They look ready to make decisions, ready to move, to act, instead of sitting around and waiting for their papas to take them to the soup kitchen...]

[In other words, they're intelligent.]

And, as soon as she thought of that, she felt stupid for reaching such an obvious conclusion. Of course they would be smarter than the half-hungry, uneducated children on the streets. Their lives didn't depend on how well they fit in the street's social hierarchy. Their fate didn't rest on what kind of 'papa' they had or whether their 'family' liked them well enough to let them eat. Of course they were intelligent. Because they could stop looking for food long enough to learn something.

But, they looked naggingly familiar, especially the boy. Like she had seen him somewhere before... and it couldn't be on the streets. She couldn't imagine these two scrounging for food.

Then, it clicked.

"So...celebrities?" She said, "I'm surprised. Since when do hotshots care about hoodlums?" She glanced at the girl, "Saw you on the news broadcasts. Petra, isn't it? And Julian."

"I prefer Bean." said Julian.

"Julian. Delphiki. If you have a last name and a decent first name and a family who gave you those names, you might as well use them."

"You don't look like you're from Rotterdam." said Bean.

"Neither do you."

"Name, kid?"

"Why should I tell you?"

Petra smirked, amused.

"Oh yes. I'm just hilarious, aren't I? A little street kid talking back to one of the legendary guys in Ender's jeesh who could probably get his connections to throw me out the window with a snap of his fingers."

Petra raised an eyebrow, still smiling, "Do you always have such a smart mouth?"

"What kind of stupid question is that?"

"Charming." said Bean, "Not only do you bring a kid off the streets, you bring one who doesn't have any gratitude whatsoever, who can't shut her mouth to save her life, and who is currently bleeding all over your sheets. How're you going to explain that to the cleaning service?"

"I'll wash them myself." said Petra.

"Or even better," the girl said, "I'll wash them, then I'll be on my way."

Petra laughed, "Kid. Have you tried to stand up yet? You're not going to be able to walk for a while. Better stay here under my dubious protection, away from whoever stabbed you."

"Has it ever occurred to you that I don't want to be here?"

"Why not?" said Petra, "If you decide to stay here, you'll get three regular meals a day, a nice bed to sleep in, an IV, and all the sheets you can bleed over. For free. I'd consider it if I was you."

The kid grinned, "What do you know. Someone who talks street."

"Name?" said Petra.

"Don't have a nice name like Julian." She said, "But people on the street call me Ajena."

"Ajena... Spanish for strange?"

"'Cause of my skin, see?" She gestured at her hand, which was the same dark brown color as the bedpost, "The social worker who named me had studied Spanish when she was in school, and when she saw my skin color, my hair color- you know I look kinda different from all the other kids- she thought that I was Spanish, the 'strange' girl in a mostly-Dutch community, and decided to name me Ajena."

"She 'decided'?" said Petra.

"Well, she didn't really let me choose whether I _wanted_ to be Ajena, did she?"

"But if you really are Spanish," said Bean, "That means you have some of the oddest eyes I've ever seen."

"Really?" she drawled.

The flippant reply bothered Bean. It didn't _feel_ like a normal reaction. He looked at her, "Do you even _know_ what color your eyes are?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again.

"I see." said Bean, "Kind of pathetic, isn't it? Not knowing what you look like."

"Why should I know my looks? I can't change them."

"Sure you could. That's why plastic surgeons were invented."

"Look, Julian." said Ajena, "It's what I was born with. I'm not complaining."

Silence as Bean's eyes studied her face for a few seconds, moving to the bandages around her head and shoulder, to the stained sheets, back to her face. These were not street eyes examining her, always narrowed, watching for any sign of weakness, but they weren't the tamed eyes of the workers in the soup kitchen, who always knew where their next meal was coming from.

Finally, he spoke, "How old are you, kid?"

"Ajena." She said automatically, "The name is Ajena."

"Regardless, how old are you?"

She shrugged, "Thirteen, I think."

"Thirteen and you're not in charge of your own family yet?"

She groaned and tried to sit up, only to have Petra push her back down, "None of your damn business. Sheesh. Everyone here tries to pry."

Bean grinned, despite himself, "C'mon, Pet. Let's go." Petra raised an eyebrow and walked out, arming the security lock for the door as she went out.

Pet? Ajena shook her head mentally. Guess the two of them were closer than she had thought...

* * * * *

"Charming little viper, neh?"

"Yeah. Got to do something about that name though. Ajena. Maybe we could rename her Allie or Jean or something."

"Bean?"

"Hmm?"

"Back there, in the alley? I couldn't have left her there."

"Huh." He said, but the corners of his mouth tugged up.

"Bean?"

"Yes?"

"What would you have done?"

"...I wouldn't have left her there either."









Author's note: All right. I don't know what's going to happen next in the Bean series, but hey, I figured that as long as Orson Scott Card's next book wasn't published yet, I was free to make up whatever I liked, and anyway, I could always pass this off as an AU. Still, I'm not really sure whether I want to continue this story, so please review and tell me what you think.

Next chapter: An aspiring ruler of the world, a password hack, and a mayor.

Quote: "Sorry about the lapse of memory, but I've been rather preoccupied lately...."