Shadow of the Hegemon, the - Book 2 (Ender)

didn't know Common well enough to understand a wordplay that nine-year-olds thought was endlessly funny in Battle School.
    The van began to move.
    "Where are we going, since it's not home?"
    "We're going into hiding to keep you out of the hands of this monster child until the breadth of this conspiracy can be discovered and the conspirators arrested."
    "Or vice versa," said Petra.
    The psychiatrist looked baffled again. But then he understood. "I suppose that's possible. But then, I'm not an important man. How would they know to look for me?"
    "You're important enough that you have soldiers who obey you."
    "They're not obeying me. We're all obeying someone else."
    "And who is that?"
    "If, through some misfortune, you were retaken by Achilles and his sponsors, you won't be able to answer that question."
    "Besides, you'd all be dead before they could get to me, so your names wouldn't matter anyway, right?"
    He looked at her searchingly. "You seem cynical about this. We are risking our lives to save you."
    "You're risking my life, too."
    He nodded slowly. "Do you want to return to your prison?"
    "I just want you to be aware that being kidnapped a second time isn't exactly the same thing as being set free. You're so sure that you're smart enough and your people are loyal enough to bring this off. But if you're wrong, I could get killed. So yes, you're taking risks-but so am 1, and nobody asked me."
    "I ask you now."
    "Let me out of the van right here," said Petra. "I'll take my chances alone."
    "No," said the psychiatrist.
    "I see. So I am still a prisoner."
    "You are in protective custody."
    "But I am a certified strategic and tactical genius," said Petra, "and you're not. So why are you in charge of me?"
    He had no answer.
    "I'll tell you why," said Petra. "Because this is not about saving the little children who were stolen away by the evil wicked child. This is about saving Mother Russia a lot of embarrassment. So it isn't enough for me to be safe. You have to return me to Armenia under just the right circumstances, with just the right spin, that the faction of the Russian government that you serve will be exonerated of all guilt."
    "We are not guilty."
    "My point is not that you're lying about that, but that you regard that as a much higher priority than saving me. Because I assure you, riding along in this van, I fully expect to be retaken by Achilles and his ... what did you call them? Sponsors."
    "And why do you suppose that this will happen?"
    "Does it matter why?"
    "You're the genius," said the psychiatrist. "Apparently you have already seen some flaw in our plan."
    "The flaw is obvious. Far too many people know about it. The decoy limousines, and soldiers, the escorts. You're sure that not one of those people is a plant? Because if any of them is reporting to Achilles' sponsors, then they already know which vehicle really has me in it, and where it's going."
    "They don't know where it's going."
    "They do if the driver is the one who was planted by the other side."
    "The driver doesn't know where we're going."
    "He's just going around in circles?"
    "He knows the first rendezvous point, that's all."
    Petra shook her head. "I knew you were stupid, because you became a talktherapy shrink, which is like being a minister of a religion in which you get to be God."
    The psychiatrist turned red. Petra liked that. He was stupid, and he didn't like hearing it, but he definitely needed to hear it because he clearly had built his whole life around the idea that he was smart, and now that he was playing with live ammunition, thinking he was smart was going to get him killed.
    "I suppose you're right, that the driver does know where we're going first, even if he doesn't know where we plan to go from the first rendezvous." The psychiatrist shrugged elaborately. "But that can't be helped. You have to trust someone."
    "And you decided to trust this driver because ... ?"
    The psychiatrist looked away.
    Petra looked at the other man. "You're talkative."
    "I am think," said the man in halting Common, "you make Battle School teachers crazy with talk."
    "Ah," said Petra. "You're the brains of the outfit."
    The man looked puzzled, but also offended-he wasn't sure how he had been insulted, since he probably didn't know the word outfit, but he knew an insult had been intended.
    "Petra Arkanian," said the psychiatrist, "since you're right that I don't know the driver all that well, tell me what I should have done. You have a better plan