CHAPTER 12 — ROSTER
"If Wiggin's the one, then let's get him to Eros."
"He's not ready for Command School yet. It's premature."
"Then we have to go with one of the alternates."
"That's your decision."
"Our decision! What do we have to go on but what you tell us?"
"I've told you about those older boys, too. You have the same data I have."
"Do we have all of it?"
"Do you want all of it?"
"Do we have the data on all the children with scores and evaluations at such a high level?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Some of them are disqualified for various reasons."
"Disqualified by whom?"
"By me."
"On what grounds?"
"One of them is borderline insane, for instance. We're trying to find some structure in which his abilities will be useful. But he could not possibly bear the weight of complete command."
"That's one."
"Another is undergoing surgery to correct a physical defect."
"Is it a defect that limits his ability to command?"
"It limits his ability to be trained to command."
"But it's being fixed."
"He's about to have his third operation. If it works, he might amount to something. But, as you say, there won't be time."
"How many more children have you concealed from us?"
"I have concealed none of them. If you mean how many have I simply not referred to you as potential commanders, the answer is all of them. Except the ones whose names you already have."
"Let me be blunt. We hear rumours about a very young one."
"They're all young."
"We hear rumours about a child who makes the Wiggin boy look slow."
"They all have their different strengths."
"There are those who want you relieved of your command."
"If I'm not to be allowed to select and train these kids properly, I'd prefer to be relieved, sir. Consider this a request."
"So it was a stupid threat. Advance them all as quickly as you can. just keep in mind that they need a certain amount of time in Command School, too. It does us no good to give them all your training if they don't have time to get ours."
*** Dimak met Graff in the battle room control centre. Graff conducted all his secure meetings here, until they could be sure Bean had grown enough that he couldn't get through the ducts. The battle rooms had their own separate air systems. Graff had an essay on his desk display. "Have you read this? 'Problems in Campaigning Between Solar Systems Separated by Light-years.'" "It's been circulating pretty widely among the faculty." "But it isn't signed," said Graff. "You don't happen to know who wrote it, do you?" "No, sir. Did you write it?" "I'm no scholar, Dimak, you know that. In fact, this was written by a student." "At Command School?" "A student here." At that moment Dimak understood why he had been called in. "Bean." "Six years old. The paper reads like a work of scholarship!" "I should have guessed. He picks up the voice of the strategists he's been reading. Or their translators. Though I don't know what will happen now that he's been reading Frederick and Bulow in the original — French and German. He inhales languages and breathes them back out." "What did you think of this paper?" "You already know it's killing me to keep key information from this boy. If he can write this with what he knows, what would happen if we told him everything? Colonel Graff, why can't we promote him right out of Battle School, set him loose as a theorist, and then watch what he spits out?" "Our job isn't to find theorists here. It's too late for theory anyway." "I just think ... look, a kid so small, who'd follow him? He's being wasted here. But when he writes, nobody knows how little he is. Nobody knows how young he is." "I see your point, but we're not going to breach security, period." "Isn't he already a grave security risk?" "The mouse who scutters through the ducts?" "No. I think he's grown too big for that. He doesn't do those side-arm push-ups any more. I thought the security risk came from the fact that he guessed that an offensive fleet had been launched generations ago, so why were we still training children for command?" "From analysis of his papers, from his activities when he signs on as a teacher, we think he's got a theory and it's wonderfully wrong. But he believes his false theory only because he doesn't know about the ansible. Do you understand? Because that's the main thing we'd have to tell him about, isn't it?" "Of course." "So you see, that's the one thing we can't tell him." "What is his theory?" "That we're assembling children here in preparation for a war between nations, or between nations and the I.F. A landside war, back on Earth." "Why would we take the kids into space to prepare for a war on Earth?" "Think just a minute and you'll get it." "Because ... because when we've licked the Formics, there probably will be a little landside conflict. And all the talented commanders — the I.F. would already have them." "You see? We can't have this kid publishing, not even within the I.F. Not everybody has given up loyalty to groups on Earth." "So why did you call me in?" "Because I do want to use him. We aren't running the war here, but we are running a school. Did you read his paper about the ineffectiveness of using officers as teachers?" "Yes. I felt slapped." "This time he's mostly wrong, because he has no way of knowing how non-traditional our recruitment of faculty has always been. But he may also be a little bit right. Because our system of testing for officer potential was designed to produce candidates with the traits identified in the most highly regarded officers in the Second Invasion." "Hi-ho." "You see? Some of the highly regarded were officers who performed well in battle, but the war was too short to weed out the deadwood. The officers they tested included just the kind of people he criticised in his paper. So ..." "So he had the wrong reason, but the right result." "Absolutely. It gives us little pricks like Bonzo Madrid. You've known officers like him, haven't you? So why should we be surprised that our tests give him command of an army even though he has no idea what to do with it. All the vanity and all the stupidity of Custer or Hooker or — hell, pick your own vain incompetent, it's the most common kind of general officer." "May I quote you?" "I'll deny it. The thing is, Bean has been studying the dossiers of all the other students. We think he's evaluating them for loyalty to their native identity group, and also for their excellence as commanders." "By his standards of excellence." "We need to get Ender the command of an army. We're under a lot of pressure to get our leading candidates into Command School. But if we bust one of the current commanders in order to make a place for Ender, it'll cause too much resentment." "So you have to give him a new army." "Dragon." "There are still kids here who remember the last Dragon Army." "Right. I like that. The jinx." "I see. You want to give Ender a running start." "It gets worse." "I thought it would." "We also aren't going to give him any soldiers that aren't already on their commanders' transfer list." "The dregs? What are you doing to this kid?" "If we choose them, by our ordinary standards, then yes, the dregs. But we aren't going to choose Ender's army." "Bean?" "Our tests are worthless on this, right? Some of those dregs are the very best students, according to Bean, right? And he's been studying the launchies. So give him an assignment. Tell him to solve a hypothetical problem. Construct an army only out of launchies. Maybe the soldiers on the transfer lists, too." "I don't think there's any way to do that without telling him that we're on to his fake teacher log-in." "So tell him." "Then he won't believe anything he found while searching." "He didn't find anything," said Graff. "We didn't have to plant anything fake for him to find, because he had his false theory. See? So whether he thinks we planted stuff or not, he'll stay deceived and we're still secure." "You seem to be counting on your understanding of his psychology." "Sister Carlotta assures me that he differs from ordinary human DNA in only one small area." "So now he's human again?" "I've got to make decisions based on something, Dimak!" "So the jury's still out on the human thing?" "Get me a roster of the hypothetical army Bean would pick, so we can give it to Ender." "He'll put himself in it, you know." "He damn well better, or he's not
as smart as we've been thinking." "What about Ender? Is he ready?" "Anderson thinks he is." Graff sighed. "To Bean, it's still just a game, because none of the weight has fallen on him yet. But Ender ... I think he knows, deep down, where this is going to lead. I think he feels it already." "Sir, just because you're feeling the weight doesn't mean he is." Graff laughed. "You cut straight to the heart of things, don't you!" "Bean's hungry for it, sir. If Ender isn't, then why not put the burden where it's wanted?" "If Bean's hungry for it, it proves he's still too young. Besides, the hungry ones always have something to prove. Look at Napoleon. Look at Hitler. Bold at first, yes, but then still bold later on, when they need to cautious, to pull back. Patton. Caesar. Alexander. Always overreaching, never quite putting the finish on it. No, it's Ender, not Bean. Ender doesn't want to do it, so he won't have anything to prove." "Are you sure you're not just picking the kind of commander you'd want to serve under?" "That's precisely what I'm doing," said Graff. "Can you think of a better standard?" "The thing is, you can't pass the buck on this one, can you? Can't say how it was the tests, you just followed the tests. The scores. Whatever." "Can't run this like a machine." "That's why you don't want Bean, isn't it? Because he was made, like a machine." "I don't analyse myself. I analyse them." "So if we win, who really won the war? The commander you picked? Or you, for picking him?" "The Triumvirate, for trusting me. After their fashion. But if we lose ..." "Well then it's definitely you." "We're all dead then. What will they do? Kill me first? Or leave me till last so I can contemplate the consequences of my error?" "Ender, though. I mean if he's the one. He won't say it's you. He'll take it all on himself. Not the credit for victory — just the blame for failure." "Win or lose, the kid I pick is going to have a brutal time of it." *** Bean got his summons during lunch. He reported at once to Dimak's quarters. He found his teacher sitting at his desk, reading something. The light was set so that Bean couldn't read it through the dazzle. "Have a seat," said Dimak. Bean jumped up and sat on Dimak's bed, his legs dangling. "Let me read you something," said Dimak. "'There are no fortifications, no magazines, no strong points ... In the enemy solar system, there can be no living off the land, since access to habitable planets will be possible only after complete victory ... Supply lines are not a problem, since there are none to protect, but the cost of that is that all supplies and ordnance must be carried with the invading fleet ... In effect, all interstellar invasion fleets are suicide attacks, because time dilation means that even if a fleet returns intact, almost no one they knew will still be alive. They can never return, and so must be sure that their force is sufficient to be decisive and therefore is worth the sacrifice.... Mixed-sex forces allow the possibility of the army becoming a permanent colony and/or occupying force on the captured enemy planet." Bean listened complacently. He had left it in his desk for them to find it, and they had done so. "You wrote this, Bean, but you never submitted it to anybody." "There was never an assignment that it fit." "You don't seem surprised that we found it." "I assume that you routinely scan our desks." "Just as you routinely scan ours?" Bean felt his stomach twist with fear. They knew. "Cute, naming your false log-in 'Graff' with a caret in front of it." Bean said nothing. "You've been scanning all the other students' records. Why?" "I wanted to know them. I've only made friends with a few." "Close friends with none." "I'm little and I'm smarter than they are. Nobody's standing in line." "So you use their records to tell you more about them. Why do you feel the need to understand them?" "Someday I'll be in command of one of these armies." "Plenty of time to get to know your soldiers then." "No sir," said Bean. "No time at all." "Why do you say that?" "Because of the way I've been promoted. And Wiggin. We're the two best students in this school, and we're being raced through. I'm not going to have much time when I get an army." "Bean, be realistic. It's going to be a long time before anybody's going to be willing to follow you into battle." Bean said nothing. He knew that this was false, even if Dimak didn't. "Let's see just how good your analysis is. Let me give you an assignment." "For which class?" "No class, Bean. I want you to create a hypothetical army. Working only with launchies, construct an entire roster, the full complement of forty-one soldiers." "No veterans?" Bean meant the question neutrally, just checking to make sure he understood the rules. But Dimak seemed to take it as criticism of the unfairness of it. "No, tell you what, you can include veterans who are posted for transfer at their commanders' request. That'll give you some experienced ones." The ones the commander couldn't work with. Some really were losers, but some were the opposite. "Fine," said Bean. "How long do you think it will take you?" Bean already had a dozen picked out. "I can tell the list to you right now." "I want you to think about it seriously." "I already have. But you need to answer a couple of questions first. You said forty-one soldiers, but that would include the commander." "All right, forty, and leave the commander blank." "I have another question. Am I to command the army?" "You can write it up that way, if you want." But Dimak's very unconcern told Bean that the army was not for him. "This army's for Wiggin, isn't it?" Dimak glowered. "It's hypothetical." "Definitely Wiggin," said Bean. "You can't boot somebody else out of command to make room for him, so you're giving Wiggin a whole new army. I bet it's Dragon." Dimak looked stricken, though he tried to cover it. "Don't worry," said Bean. "I'll give him the best army you can form, following those rules." "I said this was hypothetical!" "You think I wouldn't figure it out when I found myself in Wiggin's army and everybody else in it was also on my roster?" "Nobody's said we're actually going to follow your roster!" "You will. Because I'll be right and you'll know it," said Bean. "And I can promise you, it'll be a hell of an army. With Wiggin to train us, we'll kick ass." "Just do the hypothetical assignment, and talk to no one about it. Ever." That was dismissal, but Bean didn't want to be dismissed yet. They came to him. They were having him do their work. He wanted to have his say while they were still listening. "The reason this army can be so good is that your system's been promoting a lot of the wrong kids. About half the best kids in this school are launchies or on the transfer lists, because they're the ones who haven't already been beaten into submission by the kiss-ass idiots you put in command of armies or toons. These misfits and little kids are the ones who can win. Wiggin will figure that out. He'll know how to use us." "Bean, you're not as smart about everything as you think you are!" "Yes I am, sir," said Bean. "Or you wouldn't have given this assignment to me. May I be dismissed? Or do you want me to tell you the roster now?" "Dismissed," said Dimak. I probably shouldn't have provoked him, thought Bean. Now it's possible that he'll fiddle with my roster just to prove he can. But that's not the kind of man he is. If I'm not right about that, then I'm not right about anybody else, either. Besides, it felt good to speak the truth to someone in power. *** After working with the list a little while, Bean was just as glad that Dimak hadn't taken him up on his foolish offer to make up the roster on the spot. Because it wasn't just a matter of naming the forty best soldiers among the launchies and the transfer lists. Wiggin was way early for command, and that would make it harder for older kids to take it — getting put into a kid's army. So he struck off the list all who were older than Wiggin. That left him with nearly sixty kids who were good enough to be in the army. Bean was ranking them in order of value when he realised that he was about to make another mistake. Quite a few of these kids were in the group of launchies and soldiers that practised with Wiggin during free time. Wiggin would know these kids best, and naturally he'd look to them to be his toon leaders. The core of his army. The trouble was, while a couple of them would do fine as toon leaders, relying on that group would mean passing over several who weren't part of that group. Including Bean. So he doesn't choose me to lead a toon. He isn't going to choose me anyway, right? I'm too little. He won't look at me and see a leader. Is this just about me, then? Am I corrupting this process just to get myself a chance to show what I can do? And if I am, what's wrong with that? I know what I can do, and no one else really gets it. The teachers think I'm a scholar,
they know I'm smart, they trust my judgement, but they aren't making this army for me, they're making it for him. I still have to prove to them what I can do. And if I really am one of the best, it would be to the benefit of the program to have it revealed as quickly as possible. And then he thought: Is this how idiots rationalise their stupidity to themselves? "Ho, Bean," said Nikolai. "Ho," said Bean. He passed a hand across his desk, blanking the display. "Tell me." "Nothing to tell. You looked grim." "Just doing an assignment." Nikolai laughed. "You never look that serious doing classwork. You just read for a while and then you type for a while. Like it was nothing. This is something." "An extra assignment." "A hard one, neh?" "Not very." "Sorry to break in. Just thought maybe something was wrong. Maybe a letter from home." They both laughed at that. Letters weren't that common here. Every few months at the most. And the letters were pretty empty when they came. Some never got mail at all. Bean was one of them, and Nikolai knew why. It wasn't a secret, he was just the only one who noticed and the only one who asked about it. "No family at all?" he had said. "Some kids' families, maybe I'm the lucky one," Bean answered him, and Nikolai agreed. "But not mine. I wish you had parents like mine." And then he went on about how he was an only child, but his parents really worked hard to get him. "They did it with surgery, fertilised five or six eggs, then twinned the healthiest ones a few more times, and finally they picked me. I grew up like I was going to be king or the Dalai Lama or something. And then one day the I.F. says, we need him. Hardest thing my parents ever did, saying yes. But I said, What if I'm the next Mazer Rackham? And they let me go." That was months ago, but it was still between them, that conversation. Kids didn't talk much about home. Nikolai didn't discuss his family with anybody else, either. Just with Bean. And in return, Bean told him a little about life on the street. Not a lot of details, because it would sound like he was asking for pity or trying to look cool. But he mentioned how they were organised into a family. Talked about how it was Poke's crew, and then it became Achilles' family, and how they got into a charity kitchen. Then Bean waited to see how much of this story started circulating. None of it did. Nikolai never said a word about it to anyone else. That was when Bean was sure that Nikolai was worth having as a friend. He could keep things to himself without even having to be asked to do it. And now here Bean was, making up the roster for this great army, and here sat Nikolai, asking him what he was doing. Dimak had said to tell no one, but Nikolai could keep a secret. What harm could it do? Then Bean recovered his senses. Knowing about this wouldn't help Nikolai in any way. Either he'd be in Dragon Army or he wouldn't. If he wasn't, he'd know Bean hadn't put him there. If he was, it would be worse, because he'd wonder if Bean had included him in the roster out of friendship instead of excellence. Besides, Nikolai shouldn't be in Dragon Army. Bean liked him and trusted him, but Nikolai was not among the best of the launchies. He was smart, he was quick, he was good — but he was nothing special. Except to me, thought Bean. "It was a letter from your parents," said Bean. "They've stopped writing to you, they like me better." "Yeah, and the Vatican is moving to Mecca." "And I'm going to be made Polemarch." "No jeito," said Nikolai. "You too tall, bicho." Nikolai picked up his desk. "I can't help you with your classwork tonight, Bean, so please don't beg me." He lay back on his bed, started into the fantasy game. Bean lay back, too. He woke up his display and began wrestling with the names again. If he eliminated every one of the kids who'd been practising with Wiggin, how many of the good ones would it leave? Fifteen veterans from the transfer lists. Twenty-two launchies, including Bean. Why hadn't these launchies taken part in Wiggin's free time practices? The veterans, they were already in trouble with their commanders, they weren't about to antagonise them any more, so it made sense for them not to have taken part. But these launchies, weren't they ambitious? Or were they bookish, trying to do it all through classwork instead of catching on that the battle room was everything? Bean couldn't fault them for that — it had taken him a while to catch on, too. Were they so confident of their own abilities they didn't think they needed the extra prep? Or so arrogant they didn't want anybody to think they owed their success to Ender Wiggin? Or so shy they ... No. He couldn't possibly guess their motives. They were all too complex anyway. They were smart, with good evaluations — good by Bean's standards, not necessarily by the teachers'. That was all he needed to know. If he gave Wiggin an army without a single kid he'd worked with in practices, then all the army would start out equal in his eyes. Which meant Bean would have the same chance as any other kid to earn Wiggin's eye and maybe get command of a toon. If they couldn't compete with Bean for that position, then too damn bad for them. But that left him with thirty-seven names on the roster. Three more slots to fill. He went back and forth on a couple. Finally decided to include Crazy Tom, a veteran who held the unenviable record of being the most-transferred soldier in the history of the game who wasn't actually iced and sent home. So far. The thing was, Crazy Tom really was good. Sharp mind. But he couldn't stand it when somebody above him was stupid and unfair. And when he got pissed, he really went off. Ranting, throwing things, tearing bedding off every bed in his barracks once, another time writing a message about what an idiot his commander was and mailing it to every other student in the school. A few actually got it before the teachers intercepted it, and they said it was the hottest thing they ever read. Crazy Tom. Could be disruptive. But maybe he was just waiting for the right commander. He was in. And a girl, Wu, which of course had become Woo and even Woo-hoo. Brilliant at her studies, absolutely a killer in the arcade games, but she refused to be a toon leader and as soon as her commanders asked her, she put in for a transfer and refused to fight until they gave it to her. Weird. Bean had no idea why she did that — the teachers were baffled, too. Nothing in her tests to show why. What the hell, thought Bean. She's in. Last slot. He typed in Nikolai's name. Am I doing him a favor? He's not bad, he's just a little slower than these kids, just a little gentler. It'll be hard for him. And if he's left out of it, he won't mind. He'll just do his best with whatever army he gets sent to eventually. And yet ... Dragon Army is going to be a legend. Not just here in Battle School, either. These kids are going to go on to be leaders in the I.F. Or somewhere, anyway. And they'll tell stories about when they were in Dragon Army with the great Ender Wiggin. And if I include Nikolai, then even if he isn't the best of the soldiers, even if he's in fact the slowest, he'll still be in, he'll still be able to tell those stories someday. And he's not bad. He won't embarrass himself. He won't bring down the army. He'll do OK. So why not? And I want him with me. He's the only one I've ever talked to. About personal things. The only one who knows the name of Poke. I want him. And there's a slot on the roster. Bean went down the list one more time. Then he alphabetised it and mailed it to Dimak. *** The next morning, Bean, Nikolai, and three other kids in their launch group had their assignment to Dragon Army. Months before they should have been promoted to soldiers. The un-chosen kids were envious, hurt, furious by turn. Especially when they realised Bean was one of the chosen. "Do they make uniform flash suits that size?" It was a good question. And the answer was no, they didn't. The colours of Dragon Army were grey, orange, grey. Because soldiers were usually a lot older than Bean when they came in, they had to cut a flash suit down for Bean, and they didn't do it all that well. Flash suits weren't manufactured in space, and nobody had the tools to do a first-rate job of alteration. When they finally got it to fit him, Bean wore his flash suit to the Dragon Army barracks. Because it had taken him so long to be fitted, he was the last to arrive. Wiggin arrived at the door just as Bean was entering. "Go ahead," said Wiggin. It was the first time Wiggin had ever spoken to him — for all Bean knew, the first time Wiggin had even noticed him. So thoroughly had Bean concealed his fascination with Wiggin that he had made himself effectively invisible. Wiggin followed him into the room. Bean started down the corridor between the bunks, heading for the back of the room where the younger soldiers always had to sleep. He glanced at the other kids, who
were all looking at him as he passed with a mixture of horror and amusement. They were in an army so lame that this little tiny kid was part of it? Behind him, Wiggin was starting his first speech. Voice confident, loud enough but not shouting, not nervous. "I'm Ender Wiggin. I'm your commander. Bunking will be arranged by seniority." Some of the launchies groaned. "Veterans to the back of the room, newest soldiers to the front." The groaning stopped. That was the opposite of the way things were usually arranged. Wiggin was already shaking things up. Whenever he came into the barracks, the kids closest to him would be the new ones. Instead of getting lost in the shuffle, they'd always have his attention. Bean turned around and headed back to the front of the room. He was still the youngest kid in Battle School, but five of the soldiers were from more recently arrived launch groups, so they got the positions nearest the door. Bean got an upper bunk directly across from Nikolai, who had the same seniority, being from the same launch group. Bean clambered up onto his bed, hampered by his flash suit, and put his palm beside the locker. Nothing happened. "Those of you who are in an army for the first time," said Wiggin, "just pull the locker open by hand. No locks. Nothing private here." Laboriously Bean pulled off his flash suit to stow it in his locker. Wiggin walked along between the bunks, making sure that seniority was respected. Then he jogged to the front of the room. "All right, everybody. Put on your flash suits and come to practice." Bean looked at him in complete exasperation. Wiggin had been looking right at him when he started taking off his flash suit. Why didn't he suggest that Bean not take the damn thing off? "We're on the morning schedule," Wiggin continued. "Straight to practice after breakfast. Officially you have a free hour between breakfast and practice. We'll see what happens after I find out how good you are." Truth was, Bean felt like an idiot. Of course Wiggin would head for practice immediately. He shouldn't have needed a warning not to take the suit off. He should have known. He tossed his suit pieces onto the floor and slid down the frame of the bunk. A lot of the other kids were talking, flipping clothes at each other, playing with their weapons. Bean tried to put on the cut-down suit, but couldn't figure out some of the jury-rigged fastenings. He had to take off several pieces and examine them to see how they fit, and finally gave up, took it all off, and started assembling it on the floor. Wiggin, unconcerned, glanced at his watch. Apparently three minutes was his deadline. "All right, everybody out, now! On your way!" "But I'm naked!" said one boy — Anwar, from Ecuador, child of Egyptian immigrants. His dossier ran through Bean's mind. "Dress faster next time," said Wiggin. Bean was naked, too. Furthermore, Wiggin was standing right there, watching him struggle with his suit. He could have helped. He could have waited. What am I getting myself in for? "Three minutes from first call to running out the door — that's the rule this week," said Wiggin. "Next week the rule is two minutes. Move!" Out in the corridor, kids who were in the midst of free time or were heading for class stopped to watch the parade of the unfamiliar uniforms of Dragon Army. And to mock the ones that were even more unusual. One thing for sure. Bean was going to have to practice getting dressed in his cut-down suit if he was going to avoid running naked through the corridors. And if Wiggin didn't make any exceptions for him the first day, when he'd only just got his non-regulation flash suit, Bean certainly was not going to ask for special favours. I chose to put myself in this army, Bean reminded himself as he jogged along, trying to keep pieces of his flash suit from spilling out of his arms.
Card, Orson Scott - Ender's Saga 5 - Ender's Shadow Page 13
