Shadow of the giant

been sent out on a meaningless voyage at near-lightspeed, so
that relativistic effects would keep him alive so he'd be there for the last
battles of the war.
    He was ancient history twice over. That time on Eros as a
part of Ender's Jeesh seemed like another lifetime. And Mazer Rackham had been
the most famous man in the world for decades before that.
    Most famous man in the world, but almost nobody knew his
face.
    "Everyone knows you piloted the first colony
ship," said Han Tzu.
    "We lied," said Mazer Rackham.
    Han Tzu accepted that and waited in silence.
    "There is a place for you as head of a colony,"
said Rackham. "A former Hive world, with mostly Han Chinese colonists and
many interesting challenges for a leader. The ship leaves as soon as you board
it."
    That was the offer. The dream. To be out of the turmoil of
Earth, the devastation of China. Instead of waiting to be executed by the angry
and feeble Chinese government, instead of watching the Chinese people writhe
under the heel of the Muslim conquerors, he could board a beautiful clean
starship and let them fling him out into space, to a world where human feet had
never stepped, to be the founding leader of a colony that would hold his name
in reverence forever. He would marry, have children, and, in all likelihood, be
happy.
    "How long do I have to decide?" asked Han Tzu.
    Rackham glanced at his watch, then looked back at him
without answering.
    "Not a very long window of opportunity," said Han
Tzu.
    Rackham shook his head.
    "It's a very attractive offer," said Han Tzu.
    Rackham nodded.
    "But I wasn't born for such happiness," said Han
Tzu. "The present government of China has lost the mandate of heaven. If I
live through the transition, I might be useful to the new government."
    "And that's what you were born for?" asked
Rackham.
    "They tested me," said Han Tzu, "and I'm a
child of war."
    Rackham nodded. Then he reached inside his jacket and took
out a pen and laid it on the table.
    "What's that?" asked Han Tzu.
    "The mandate of heaven," said Rackham.
    Han Tzu knew then that the pen was a weapon. Because the
mandate of heaven was always bestowed in blood and war.
    "The items in the cap are extremely delicate,"
said Rackham. "Practice with round toothpicks."
    Then he got up and walked out the back door of the
restaurant.
    No doubt there was some kind of transport waiting there.
    Han Tzu wanted to leap to his feet and run after him so he
could be taken out into space and set free of all that lay ahead.
    Instead he put his hand over the pen and slid it across the
table, then put it into the pocket of his trousers. It was a weapon. Which
meant Graff and Rackham expected him to need a personal weapon soon. How soon?
    Han Tzu took six toothpicks out of the little dispenser that
stood on the table against the wall, beside the soy sauce. Then he got up and
went to the toilet.
    He pulled the cap off the pen very carefully, so he didn't
spill out the four feather-ended poison darts bunched in it. Then he unscrewed
the top of the pen. There were four holes there, besides the central shaft that
held the tube of ink. The mechanism was cleverly designed to rotate
automatically with each discharge. A blow-gun revolver.
    He loaded four toothpicks into the four slots. They fit
loosely. Then he screwed the pen back together.
    The fountain pen writing tip covered the hole where the
darts would emerge. When he held the top of the pen in his mouth, the point of
the writing tip served as the sighting device. Point and shoot.
    Point and blow.
    He blew.
    The toothpick hit the back wall of the bathroom more or less
where he was aiming, only a foot lower. Definitely a close-range weapon.
    He used up the rest of the toothpicks learning how high to
aim in order to hit a target six feet away. The room wasn't large enough for
him to practice aiming at anything farther. Then he gathered up the toothpicks,
threw them away, and carefully loaded the pen with the real darts, handling
them only by the feathered part of the shaft.
    Then he flushed the toilet and reentered the restaurant. No
one was waiting for him. So he sat down and ordered and ate methodically. No reason
to face the crisis of his life with an empty stomach and the food here wasn't
bad.
    He paid and walked out into the street. He would not go
home. If he waited there to be arrested, he would have to deal with any number
of low-level thugs who would not be worth wasting a dart on.
    Instead, he flagged down a bicycle taxi and