Joseph Lancaster almost staggered, and ripped off the recording device. On his temple, where he had linked it to himself, a small bead of blood grew. He was breathing hard. The kid's two! 2 years old, how can you hate that much? Feel so intensely… He stood abruptly, strode out of the cubicle. As he passed another cubicle like the one he'd been in, he glanced into the open door. He stopped when he saw that the Ross kid was in there with another monitor operative.
"Merphy! Come here, I need you," he said. Rude, perhaps, but effective.
"Sir?" he asked, obeying the older man.
"Did Trombley ever let anyone else connect to the monitor recordings? Think, kid, this is important."
Merphy looked confused. "I-I don't know, sir, I don't think so. Would you like me to check?"
"No…that's all right," Lancaster muttered. "Hmm. Where's the head honcho's office?"
Cowed by his sharp manner, Merphy pointed meekly down the hall. "Go up three flights of the escalator that is at the end of this hall. It's the office at the end, the one with the image of an eye in the door. But sir-"
He spoke to thin air; Lancaster was already gone.
"Hello? Are you in charge here?"
"How dare you barge right in like this! I am conducting an important, classified meeting, which you are not privy to. Leave at once!"
"So sorry, but it's important. It's about-"
"I don't care how important it is, that is no excuse-"
"-the Wiggin kid. There's a problem."
"Oh."
Pause
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Viore, Admiral Chamrajngar, General Pace, Major Graff, Major Drake. We must continue this another time. Something…vital has come up."
"Rotesan, this is unac-"
"Please, Admiral, please calm down. I apologize profoundly…good-bye…I'll call you all to personally reschedule."
"General Rotesan? I apologize, but it is important."
"It bugger well better be, because I just kicked some high-ranking members of government and the I.F. out of an important meeting. Quickly, man, before I truly lose my patience."
"General, I just linked to a recording of Peter Wiggin's monitor, from the day he heard of his sister's existence. He rated off the scale in anger, jealously, resentment…"
"Your point, Mr., uh-"
"First Lieutenant Joseph Lancaster. My point is that this kid is not what you're looking for. He is violent, easily needled, quick to anger, resents anyone even slightly better than him, and is power-hungry. You can't put that kind of a kid, much less a man, in command of fleet! He's not the right kind of leader!"
"Lieutenant Lancaster, how long were you linked to this recording?"
"I don't know, maybe two minutes? But-"
"And all of a sudden you're an expert on the kid? All of a sudden, you know a major flaw in two minutes that Trombley never saw in three years? I don't think so, Lieutenant. We need a child not afraid to be a little violent. Someone competitive, someone eager to lead. Those are qualities that Peter Wiggin has, and Trombley saw that in him. Don't try to screw with this just because of something you imagine you know, just because you want a little recognition or fame around here. Don't ruin humankind's chance at survival because you want to climb the administrative ladder. Now get out, before I fire you. Incompetent, self-centered fool…"
"General, please-"
"OUT!"
Joseph Lancaster stormed out of the room, blue eyes flashing, jaw clenched as tight as his fists.
"Proof," he muttered angrily. "I need proof."
Slowing his walk, and forcing his heart to accommodate, Lancaster strode back to his cubicle. Merphy was nowhere to be seen, but the Lieutenant didn't blame him. I feel like leaving, myself… Once again surrounded by the claustrophobically close walls of his new workspace, he picked up the monitoring device on the desk in front of him. Lancaster attached the suction-cuplike link to his temple, wincing as the tiny needle pierced his skin. The body of the machine, sitting on the desk, whirred softly as he turned it on. He typed in Peter's code, and then waited while the monitor terminal searched for its matching component embedded in the boy's neck. Three quick clicks issuing from the sleek instrument told him it was done. Before opening the switch that would flood his mind with Peter's he picked up a recorder and connected it to the monitor terminal, turning it on. Then he flipped the switch.
"Monitor Connection Recording: Peter Wiggin. May 8th, 2061. Searching…connection complete. Monitor connection on."
The screen in front of him came to life, and the blurred shapes of blues and whites focused into a bedroom. A child's bedroom, though it wasn't obvious. A bookshelf extended all the way across one wall, and a small desk sat on a table next to the bed. The room was neat and bare of childish playthings like blocks, toy cars, coloring screens, stuffed animals, and soft blankets. On another wall were pictures of famous leaders; Napoleon, Alexander the Great, Charles the Great, Julius Caesar, Erwin Rommel, George Patton, George Washington, Saladin, Hitler, and, of course, Peter the Great. The image blacked for a fraction of a moment, as Peter blinked, yawned, then began to wake up.
'I don't want to go to school today…it's all so boring. But there's that new kid, the one who was mean to me, Oliver. I can't let him get away with that, it'll make me seem weak. I'm going to hurt him, find his weakness and twist it so he's mine, to do with what I will. Should I use him, or throw him away? Depends on which he fears most- being an outcast, or being humiliated at my feet. As for my parents…they'll have to wait. I have no power over them at the moment.'
Lancaster, sitting with his eyes closed, frowned at the anger that seethed in young Peter as he thought of his lack of control over these people running his life, and the pleasure at the thought of bringing down Oliver. More and more, the man began to believe that Peter's mind was not the one they wanted to place their hopes on…