"Why, because you haven't turned him into a killer yet?"
"Because he is not human, sir."
"The genetic difference is well within the range of ordinary variation."
"He was manufactured, and the manufacturer was a criminal, not to mention a certified loon."
"I could see some danger if his father were a criminal. Or his mother. But his doctor? The boy is exactly what we need, as quickly as we can get him."
"He is unpredictable."
"And the Wiggin boy is not?"
"Less unpredictable, sir."
"Very carefully answered, considering that you just insisted that the murder today was 'not foreseeable.'"
"Not murder, sir!"
"Killing, then."
"The mettle of the Wiggin boy is proved, sir, while Bean's is not."
"I have Dimak's report — for which, again, he is not to be —"
"Punished, I know, sir."
"Bean's behaviour throughout this set of events has been exemplary."
"Then Captain Dimak's report was incomplete. Didn't he inform you that it was Bean who may have pushed Bonzo over the edge to violence by breaking security and informing him that Ender's army was composed of exceptional students?"
"That was an act with unforeseeable consequences."
"Bean was acting to save his own life, and in so doing he shunted the danger onto Ender Wiggin's shoulders. That he later tried to ameliorate the danger does not change the fact that when Bean is under pressure, he turns traitor."
"Harsh language!"
"This from the man who just called an obvious act of self-defence 'murder'?"
"Enough of this! You are on leave of absence from your position as commander of Battle School for the duration of Ender Wiggin's so-called rest and recuperation. If Wiggin recovers enough to come to Command School, you may come with him and continue to have influence over the education of the children we bring here. If he does not, you may await your court-martial on Earth."
"I am relieved effective when?"
"When you get on the shuttle with Wiggin. Major Anderson will stand in as acting commander."
"Very well, sir. Wiggin will return to training, sir."
"If we still want him."
"When you are over the dismay we all feel at the unfortunate death of the Madrid boy, you will realise that I am right, and Ender is the only viable candidate, all the more now than before."
"I allow you that Parthian shot. And, if you are right, I wish you Godspeed on your work with the Wiggin boy. Dismissed."
*** Ender was still wearing only his towel when he stepped into the barracks. Bean saw him standing there, his face a rictus of death, and thought: He knows that Bonzo is dead, and it's killing him. "Ho, Ender," said Hot Soup, who was standing near the door with the other toon leaders. "There gonna be a practice tonight?" asked one of the younger soldiers. Ender handed a slip of paper to Hot Soup. "I guess that means not," said Nikolai softly. Hot Soup read it. "Those sons of bitches! Two at once?" Crazy Tom looked over his shoulder. "Two armies!" "They'll just trip over each other," said Bean. What appalled him most about the teachers was not the stupidity of trying to combine armies, a ploy whose ineffectiveness had been proved time after time throughout history, but rather the get-back-on-the-horse mentality that led them to put more pressure on Ender at this of all times. Couldn't they see the damage they were doing to him? Was their goal to train him or break him? Because he was trained long since. He should have been promoted out of Battle School the week before. And now they give him one more battle, a completely meaningless one, when he's already over the edge of despair? "I've got to clean up," said Ender. "Get them ready, get everybody together, I'll meet you there, at the gate." In his voice, Bean heard a complete lack of interest. No, something deeper than that. Ender doesn't want to win this battle. Ender turned to leave. Everyone saw the blood on his head, his shoulders, down his back. He left. They all ignored the blood. They had to. "Two fart-eating armies!" cried Crazy Tom. "We'll whip their butts!" That seemed to be the general consensus as they got into their flash suits. Bean tucked the coil of deadline into the waist of his flash suit. If Ender ever needed a stunt, it would be for this battle, when he was no longer interested in winning. As promised, Ender joined them at the gate before it opened — just barely before. He walked down the corridor lined with his soldiers, who looked at him with love, with awe, with trust. Except Bean, who looked at him with anguish. Ender Wiggin was not larger than life, Bean knew. He was exactly life-sized, and so his larger-than-life burden was too much for him. And yet he was bearing it. So far. The gate went transparent. Four stars had been combined directly in front of the gate, completely blocking their view of the battle room. Ender would have to deploy his forces blind. For all he knew, the enemy had already been let into the room fifteen minutes ago. For all he could possibly know, they were deployed just as Bonzo had deployed his army, only this time it would be completely effective, to have the gate ringed with enemy soldiers. But Ender said nothing. Just stood there looking at the barrier. Bean had halfway expected this. He was ready. What he did wasn't all that obvious — he only walked forward to stand directly beside Ender at the gate. But he knew that was all it would take. A reminder. "Bean," said Ender. "Take your boys and tell me what's on the other side of this star." "Yes sir," said Bean. He pulled the coil of deadline from his waist, and with his five soldiers he made the short hop from the gate to the star. Immediately the gate he had just come through became the ceiling, the star their temporary floor. Bean tied the deadline around his waist while the other boys un-spooled the line, arranging it in loose coils on the star. When it was about one-third played out, Bean declared it to be sufficient. He was guessing that the four stars were really eight — that they made a perfect cube. If he was wrong, then he had way too much deadline and he'd crash into the ceiling instead of making it back behind the star. Worse things could happen. He slipped out beyond the edge of the star. He was right, it was a cube. It was too dim in the room to see well what the other armies were doing, but they seemed to be deploying. There had been no head start this time, apparently. He quickly reported this to Ducheval, who would repeat it to Ender while Bean did his stunt. Ender would no doubt start bringing out the rest of the army at once, before the time clicked down to zero. Bean launched straight down from the ceiling. Above him, his toon was holding the other end of the deadline secure, making sure it fed out properly and stopped abruptly. Bean did not enjoy the wrenching of his gut when the deadline went taut, but there was kind of a thrill to the increase of speed as he suddenly moved south. He could see the distant flashing of the enemy firing up at him. Only soldiers from one half of the enemy's area were firing. When the deadline reached the next edge of the cube, his speed increased again, and now he was headed upward in an arc that, for a moment, looked like it was going to scrape him against the ceiling. Then the last edge bit, and he scooted in behind the star and was caught deftly by his toon. Bean wiggled his arms and legs to show that he was none the worse for his ride. What the enemy was thinking about his magical manoeuvres in midair he could only guess. What mattered was that Ender had not come through the gate. The timer must be nearly out. Ender came alone through the gate. Bean made his report as quickly as possible. "It's really dim, but light enough you can't follow people easily by the lights on their suits. Worst possible for seeing. It's all open space from this star to the enemy side of the room. They've got eight stars making a square around their door. I didn't see anybody except the ones peeking around the boxes. They're just sitting there waiting for us." In the distance, they heard the enemy begin catcalls. "Hey! We be hungry, come and feed us! Your ass is draggin'! Your ass is Dragon!" Bean continued his report, but had no idea if Ender was even listening. "They fired at me from only one half their space. Which means that the two commanders are not agreeing and neither one has been put in supreme command." "In a real war," said Ender, "any commander with brains at all would retreat and save this army.
" "What the hell," said Bean. "It's only a game." "It stopped being a game when they threw away the rules." This wasn't good, thought Bean. How much time did they have to get their army through the gate? "So, you throw 'em away, too." He looked Ender in the eye, demanding that he wake up, pay attention, act. The blank look left Ender's face. He grinned. It felt damn good to see that. "OK. Why not. Let's see how they react to a formation." Ender began calling the rest of the army through the gate. It was going to get crowded on the top of that star, but there was no choice. As it turned out, Ender's plan was to use another of Bean's stupid ideas, which he had watched Bean practice with his toon. A screen formation of frozen soldiers, controlled by Bean's toon, who remained unfrozen behind them. Having once told Bean what he wanted him to do, Ender joined the formation as a common soldier and left everything up to Bean to organise. "It's your show," he said. Bean had never expected Ender to do any such thing, but it made a kind of sense. What Ender wanted was not to have this battle; allowing himself to be part of a screen of frozen soldiers, pushed through the battle by someone else, was as close to sleeping through it as he could get. Bean set to work at once, constructing the screen in four parts consisting of one toon each. Each of toons A through C lined up four and three, arms interlocked with the men beside them, the upper row of three with toes hooked under the arms of the four soldiers below. When everybody was clamped down tight, Bean and his toon froze them. Then each of Bean's men took hold of one section of the screen and, careful to move very slowly so that inertia would not carry the screen out of their control, they manoeuvred them out from above the star and slowly moved them down until they were just under it. Then they joined them back together into a single screen, with Bean's squad forming the interlock. "When did you guys practice this?" asked Dumper, the leader of E toon. "We've never done this before," Bean answered truthfully. "We've done bursting and linking with one-man screens, but seven men each? It's all new to us." Dumper laughed. "And there's Ender, plugged into the screen like anybody. That's trust, Bean old boy." That's despair, thought Bean. But he didn't feel the need to say that aloud. When all was ready, E toon got into place behind the screen and, on Bean's command, pushed off as hard as they could. The screen drifted down toward the enemy's gate at a pretty good clip. Enemy fire, though it was intense, hit only the already-frozen soldiers in front. E toon and Bean's squad kept moving, very slightly, but enough that no stray shot could freeze them. And they managed to do some return fire, taking out a few of the enemy soldiers and forcing them to stay behind cover. When Bean figured they were as far as they could get before Griffin or Tiger launched an attack, he gave the word and his squad burst apart, causing the four sections of the screen also to separate and angle slightly so they were drifting now toward the corners of the stars where Griffin and Tiger were gathered. E toon went with the screens, firing like crazy, trying to make up for their tiny numbers. After a count of three, the four members of Bean's squad who had gone with each screen pushed off again, this time angling to the middle and downward, so that they rejoined Bean and Ducheval, with momentum carrying them straight toward the enemy gate. They held their bodies rigid, not firing a shot, and it worked. They were all small; they were clearly drifting, not moving with any particular purpose; the enemy took them for frozen soldiers if they were noticed at all. A few were partially disabled with stray shots, but even when under fire they never moved, and the enemy soon ignored them. When they got to the enemy gate, Bean slowly, wordlessly, got four of them with their helmets in place at the corners of the gate. They pressed, just as in the end-of-game ritual, and Bean gave Ducheval a push, sending him through the gate as Bean drifted upward again. The lights in the battle room went on. The weapons all went dead. The battle was over. It took a few moments before Griffin and Tiger realised what had happened. Dragon only had a few soldiers who weren't frozen or disabled, while Griffin and Tiger were mostly unscathed, having played conservative strategies. Bean knew that if either of them had been aggressive, Ender's strategy wouldn't have worked. But having seen Bean fly around the star, doing the impossible, and then watching this weird screen approach so slowly, they were intimidated into inaction. Ender's legend was such that they dared not commit their forces for fear of falling into a trap. Only ... that was the trap. Major Anderson came into the room through the teacher gate. "Ender," he called. Ender was frozen; he could only answer by grunting loudly through clenched jaws. That was a sound that victorious commanders rarely had to make. Anderson, using the hook, drifted over to Ender and thawed him. Bean was half the battle room away, but he heard Ender's words, so clear was his speech, so silent was the room. "I beat you again, sir." Bean's squad members glanced at him, obviously wondering if he was resentful at Ender for claiming credit for a victory that was engineered and executed entirely by Bean. But Bean understood what Ender was saying. He wasn't talking about the victory over Griffin and Tiger armies. He was talking about a victory over the teachers. And that victory was the decision to turn the army over to Bean and sit it out himself. If they thought they were putting Ender to the ultimate test, making him fight two armies right after a personal fight for survival in the bathroom, he beat them — he sidestepped the test. Anderson knew what Ender was saying, too. "Nonsense, Ender," said Anderson. He spoke softly, but the room was so silent that his words, too, could be heard. "Your battle was with Griffin and Tiger." "How stupid do you think I am?" said Ender. Damn right, said Bean silently. Anderson spoke to the group at large. "After that little manoeuvre, the rules are being revised to require that all of the enemy's soldiers must be frozen or disabled before the gate can be reversed." "Rules?" murmured Ducheval as he came back through the gate. Bean grinned at him. "It could only work once anyway," said Ender. Anderson handed the hook to Ender. Instead of thawing his soldiers one at a time, and only then thawing the enemy, Ender entered the command to thaw everyone at once, then handed the hook back to Anderson, who took it and drifted away toward the centre, where the end-of-game rituals usually took place. "Hey!" Ender shouted. "What is it next time? My army in a cage without guns, with the rest of the Battle School against them? How about a little equality?" So many soldiers murmured their agreement that the sound of it was loud, and not all came from Dragon Army. But Anderson seemed to pay no attention. It was William Bee of Griffin Army who said what almost everyone was thinking. "Ender, if you're on one side of the battle, it won't be equal no matter what the conditions are." The armies vocally agreed, many of the soldiers laughing, and Talo Momoe, not to be outclassed by Bee, started clapping his hands rhythmically. "Ender Wiggin!" he shouted. Other boys took up the chant. But Bean knew the truth — knew, in fact, what Ender knew. That no matter how good a commander was, no matter how resourceful, no matter how well-prepared his army, no matter how excellent his lieutenants, no matter how courageous and spirited the fight, victory almost always went to the side with the greater power to inflict damage. Sometimes David kills Goliath, and people never forget. But there were a lot of little guys Goliath had already mashed into the ground. Nobody sang songs about those fights, because they knew that was the likely outcome. No, that was the inevitable outcome, except for the miracles. The Buggers wouldn't know or care how legendary a commander Ender might be to his own men. The human ships wouldn't have any magical tricks like Bean's deadline to dazzle the Buggers with, to put them off their stride. Ender knew that. Bean knew that. What if David hadn't had a sling, a handful of stones, and the time to throw? What good would the excellence of his aim have done him then? So yes, it was good, it was right for the soldiers of all three armies to cheer Ender, to chant his name as he drifted toward the enemy gate, where Bean and his squad waited for him. But in the end it meant nothing, except that everyone would have too much hope in Ender's ability. It only made the burden on Ender heavier. I would carry some of it if I could, Bean said silently. Like I did today, you can turn it over to me and I'll do it, if I can. You don't have to do this alone. Only even as he thought this, Bean knew it wasn't true. If it
could be done, Ender was the one who would have to do it. All those months when Bean refused to see Ender, hid from him, it was because he couldn't bear to face the fact that Ender was what Bean only wished to be — the kind of person on whom you could put all your hopes, who could carry all your fears, and he would not let you down, would not betray you. I want to be the kind of boy you are, thought Bean. But I don't want to go through what you've been through to get there. And then, as Ender passed through the gate and Bean followed behind him, Bean remembered falling into line behind Poke or Sergeant or Achilles on the streets of Rotterdam, and he almost laughed as he thought, I don't want to have to go through what I've gone through to get here, either. Out in the corridor, Ender walked away instead of waiting for his soldiers. But not fast, and soon they caught up with him, surrounded him, brought him to a stop through their sheer ebullience. Only his silence, his impassivity, kept them from giving full vent to their excitement. "Practice tonight?" asked Crazy Tom. Ender shook his head. "Tomorrow morning then?" "No." "Well, when?" "Never again, as far as I'm concerned." Not everyone had heard, but those who did began to murmur to each other. "Hey, that's not fair," said a soldier from B toon. "It's not our fault the teachers are screwing up the game. You can't just stop teaching us stuff because —" Ender slammed his hand against the wall and shouted at the kid. "I don't care about the game any more!" He looked at other soldiers, met their gaze, refused to let them pretend they didn't hear. "Do you understand that?" Then he whispered. "The game is over." He walked away. Some of the boys wanted to follow him, took a few steps. But Hot Soup grabbed a couple of them by the neck of their flash suits and said, "Let him be alone. Can't you see he wants to be alone?" Of course he wants to be alone, thought Bean. He killed a kid today, and even if he doesn't know the outcome, he knows what was at stake. These teachers were willing to let him face death without help. Why should he play along with them any more? Good for you, Ender. Not so good for the rest of us, but it's not like you're our father or something. More like a brother, and the thing with brothers is, you're supposed to take turns being the keeper. Sometimes you get to sit down and be the brother who is kept. Fly Molo led them back to the barracks. Bean followed along, wishing he could go with Ender, talk to him, assure him that he agreed completely, that he understood. But that was pathetic, Bean realised. Why should Ender care whether I understand him or not? I'm just a kid, just one of his army. He knows me, he knows how to use me, but what does he care whether I know him? Bean climbed to his bunk and saw a slip of paper on it. TRANSFER — BEAN — RABBIT ARMY — COMMANDER That was Carn Carby's army. Carn was being removed from command? He was a good guy — not a great commander, but why couldn't they wait till he graduated? Because they're through with this school, that's why. They're advancing everybody they think needs some experience with command, and they're graduating other students to make room for them. I might have Rabbit Army, but not for long, I bet. He pulled out his desk, meaning to sign on as ^Graff and check the rosters. Find out what was happening to everybody. But the ^Graff log-in didn't work. Apparently they no longer considered it useful to permit Bean to keep his inside access. From the back of the room, the older boys were raising a hubbub. Bean heard Crazy Tom's voice rising above the rest. "You mean I'm supposed to figure out how to beat Dragon Army?" Word soon filtered to the front. The toon leaders and seconds had all received transfer orders. Every single one of them was being given command of an army. Dragon had been stripped. After about a minute of chaos, Fly Molo led the other toon leaders along between the bunks, heading toward the door. Of course — they had to go tell Ender what the teachers had done to him now. But to Bean's surprise, Fly stopped at his bunk and looked up at him, then glanced at the other toon leaders behind him. "Bean, somebody's got to tell Ender." Bean nodded. "We thought ... since you're his friend ..." Bean let nothing show on his face, but he was stunned. Me? Ender's friend? No more than anyone else in this room. And then he realised. In this army, Ender had everyone's love and admiration. And they all knew they had Ender's trust. But only Bean had been taken inside Ender's confidence, when Ender assigned him his special squad. And when Ender wanted to stop playing the game, it was Bean to whom he had turned over his army. Bean was the closest thing to a friend they had seen Ender have since he got command of Dragon. Bean looked across at Nikolai, who was grinning his ass off. Nikolai saluted him and mouthed the word commander. Bean saluted Nikolai back, but could not smile, knowing what this would do to Ender. He nodded to Fly Molo, then slid off the bunk and went out the door. He didn't go straight to Ender's quarters, though. Instead, he went to Carn Carby's room. No one answered. So he went on to Rabbit barracks and knocked. "Where's Carn?" he asked. "Graduated," said Itü, the leader of Rabbit's A toon. "He found out about half an hour ago." "We were in a battle." "I know — two armies at once. You won, right?" Bean nodded. "I bet Carn wasn't the only one graduated early." "A lot of commanders," said Itü. "More than half." "Including Bonzo Madrid? I mean, he graduated?" "That's what the official notice said." Itü shrugged. "Everybody knows that if anything, Bonzo was probably iced. I mean, they didn't even list his assignment. Just 'Cartagena.' His hometown. Is that iced or what? But let the teachers call it what they want." "I'll bet the total who graduated was nine," said Bean. "Neh?" "Eh," said Itü. "Nine. So you know something?" "Bad news, I think," said Bean. He showed Itü his transfer orders. "Santa merda," said Itü. Then he saluted. Not sarcastically, but not enthusiastically, either. "Would you mind breaking it to the others? Give them a chance to get used to the idea before I show up for real? I've got to go talk to Ender. Maybe he already knows they've just taken his entire leadership and given them armies. But if he doesn't, I've got to tell him." "Every Dragon toon leader?" "And every second." He thought of saying, Sorry Rabbit got stuck with me. But Ender would never have said anything self-belittling like that. And if Bean was going to be a commander, he couldn't start out with an apology. "I think Carn Carby had a good organisation," said Bean, "so I don't expect to change any of the toon leadership for the first week, anyway, till I see how things go in practice and decide what shape we're in for the kind of battles we're going to start having now that most of the commanders are kids trained in Dragon." Itü understood immediately. "Man, that's going to be strange, isn't it? Ender trained all you guys, and now you've got to fight each other." "One thing's for sure," said Bean. "I have no intention of trying to turn Rabbit into a copy of Ender's Dragon. We're not the same kids and we won't be fighting the same opponents. Rabbit's a good army. We don't have to copy anybody." Itü grinned. "Even if that's just bullshit, sir, it's first-rate bullshit. I'll pass it on." He saluted. Bean saluted back. Then he jogged to Ender's quarters. Ender's mattress and blankets and pillow had been thrown out into the corridor. For a moment Bean wondered why. Then he saw that the sheets and mattress were still damp and bloody. Water from Ender's shower. Blood from Bonzo's face. Apparently Ender didn't want them in his room. Bean knocked on the door. "Go away," said Ender softly. Bean knocked again. Then again. "Come in," said Ender. Bean palmed the door open. "Go away, Bean," said Ender. Bean nodded. He understood the sentiment. But he had to deliver his message. So he just looked at his shoes and waited for Ender to ask him his business. Or yell at him. Whatever Ender wanted to do. Because the other toon leaders were wrong. Bean didn't have any special relationship with Ender. Not outside the game. Ender said nothing. And continued to say nothing. Bean looked up from the ground and saw Ender gazing at him. Not angry. Just ... watching. What does he see in me, Bean wondered. How well does he know me? What does he think of me? What do I amount to in his eyes? That was something Bean would probably never know. And he had come here for another purpose. Time to carry it out. He took a step closer to Ender. He turned his hand so the transfer slip was visible. He didn't offer it to Ender, but he knew Ender would see it. "You're transferred?" asked Ender. His voice sounded dead. As if he'd been expecting it. "To Rabbit Army," said Bean. Ender nodded. "Carn Carby's a good man. I hope he recognises what
you're worth." The words came to Bean like a longed-for blessing. He swallowed the emotion that welled up inside him. He still had more of his message to deliver. "Carn Carby was graduated today," said Bean. "He got his notice while we were fighting our battle." "Well," said Ender. "Who's commanding Rabbit then?" He didn't sound all that interested. The question was expected, so he asked it. "Me," said Bean. He was embarrassed; a smile came inadvertently to his lips. Ender looked at the ceiling and nodded. "Of course. After all, you're only four years younger than the regular age." "It isn't funny," said Bean. "I don't know what's going on here." Except that the system seems to be running on sheer panic. "All the changes in the game. And now this. I wasn't the only one transferred, you know. They graduated half the commanders, and transferred a lot of our guys to command their armies." "Which guys?" Now Ender did sound interested. "It looks like — every toon leader and every assistant." "Of course. If they decide to wreck my army, they'll cut it to the ground. Whatever they're doing, they're thorough." "You'll still win, Ender. We all know that. Crazy Tom, he said, 'You mean I'm supposed to figure out how to beat Dragon Army?' Everybody knows you're the best." His words sounded empty even to himself. He wanted to be encouraging, but he knew that Ender knew better. Still he babbled on. "They can't break you down, no matter what they —" "They already have." They've broken trust, Bean wanted to say. That's not the same thing. You aren't broken. They're broken. But all that came out of his mouth were empty, limping words. "No, Ender, they can't —" "I don't care about their game any more, Bean," said Ender. "I'm not going to play it any more. No more practices. No more battles. They can put their little slips of paper on the floor all they want, but I won't go. I decided that before I went through the door today. That's why I had you go for the gate. I didn't think it would work, but I didn't care. I just wanted to go out in style." I know that, thought Bean. You think I didn't know that? But if it comes down to style, you certainly got that. "You should've seen William Bee's face. He just stood there trying to figure out how he had lost when you only had seven boys who could wiggle their toes and he only had three who couldn't." "Why should I want to see William Bee's face?" said Ender. "Why should I want to beat anybody?" Bean felt the heat of embarrassment in his face. He'd said the wrong thing. Only ... he didn't know what the right thing was. Something to make Ender feel better. Something to make him understand how much he was loved and honoured. Only that love and honour were part of the burden Ender bore. There was nothing Bean could say that would not make it all the heavier on Ender. So he said nothing. Ender pressed his palms against his eyes. "I hurt Bonzo really bad today, Bean. I really hurt him bad." Of course. All this other stuff, that's nothing. What weighs on Ender is that terrible fight in the bathroom. The fight that your friends, your army, did nothing to prevent. And what hurts you is not the danger you were in, but the harm you did in protecting yourself. "He had it coming," said Bean. He winced at his own words. Was that the best he could come up with? But what else could he say? No problem, Ender. Of course, he looked dead to me, and I'm probably the only kid in this school who actually knows what death looks like, but ... no problem! Nothing to worry about! He had it coming! "I knocked him out standing up," said Ender. "It was like he was dead, standing there. And I kept hurting him." So he did know. And yet ... he didn't actually know. And Bean wasn't about to tell him. There were times for absolute honesty between friends, but this wasn't one of them. "I just wanted to make sure he never hurt me again." "He won't," said Bean. "They sent him home." "Already?" Bean told him what Itü had said. All the while, he felt like Ender could see that he was concealing something. Surely it was impossible to deceive Ender Wiggin. "I'm glad they graduated him," said Ender. Some graduation. They're going to bury him, or cremate him, or whatever they're doing with corpses in Spain this year. Spain. Pablo de Noches, who saved his life, came from Spain. And now a body was going back there, a boy who turned killer in his heart, and died for it. I must be losing it, thought Bean. What does it matter that Bonzo was Spanish and Pablo de Noches was Spanish? What does it matter that anybody is anything? And while these thoughts ran through Bean's mind, he babbled, trying to talk like someone who didn't know anything, trying to reassure Ender but knowing that if Ender believed that he knew nothing, then his words were meaningless, and if Ender realised that Bean was only faking ignorance, then his words were all lies. "Was it true he had a whole bunch of guys gang up on you?" Bean wanted to run from the room, he sounded so lame, even to himself. "No," said Ender. "It was just him and me. He fought with honour." Bean was relieved. Ender was turned so deeply inward right now that he didn't even register what Bean was saying, how false it was. "I didn't fight with honour," said Ender. "I fought to win." Yes, that's right, thought Bean. Fought the only way that's worth fighting, the only way that has any point. "And you did. Kicked him right out of orbit." It was as close as Bean could come to telling him the truth. There was a knock on the door. Then it opened, immediately, without waiting for an answer. Before Bean could turn to see who it was, he knew it was a teacher — Ender looked up too high for it to be a kid. Major Anderson and Colonel Graff. "Ender Wiggin," said Graff. Ender rose to his feet. "Yes sir." The deadness had returned to his voice. "Your display of temper in the battle room today was insubordinate and is not to be repeated." Bean couldn't believe the stupidity of it. After what Ender had been through — what the teachers had put him through — and they have to keep playing this oppressive game with him? Making him feel utterly alone even now? These guys were relentless. Ender's only answer was another lifeless "Yes sir." But Bean was fed up. "I think it was about time somebody told a teacher how we felt about what you've been doing." Anderson and Graff didn't show a sign they'd even heard him. Instead, Anderson handed Ender a full sheet of paper. Not a transfer slip. A full-fledged set of orders. Ender was being transferred out of the school. "Graduated?" Bean asked. Ender nodded. "What took them so long?" asked Bean. "You're only two or three years early. You've already learned how to walk and talk and dress yourself. What will they have left to teach you?" The whole thing was such a joke. Did they really think anybody was fooled? You reprimand Ender for insubordination, but then you graduate him because you've got a war coming and you don't have a lot of time to get him ready. He's your hope of victory, and you treat him like something you scrape off your shoe. "All I know is, the game's over," said Ender. He folded the paper. "None too soon. Can I tell my army?" "There isn't time," said Graff. "Your shuttle leaves in twenty minutes. Besides, it's better not to talk to them after you get your orders. It makes it easier." "For them or for you?" Ender asked. He turned to Bean, took his hand. To Bean, it was like the touch of the finger of God. It sent light all through him. Maybe I am his friend. Maybe he feels toward me some small part of the ... feeling I have for him. And then it was over. Ender let go of his hand. He turned toward the door. "Wait," said Bean. "Where are you going? Tactical? Navigational? Support?" "Command School," said Ender. "Pre-command?" "Command." Ender was out the door. Straight to Command School. The elite school whose location was even a secret. Adults went to Command School. The battle must be coming very soon, to skip right past all the things they were supposed to learn in Tactical and Pre-Command. He caught Graff by the sleeve. "Nobody goes to Command School until they're sixteen!" he said. Graff shook off Bean's hand and left. If he caught Bean's sarcasm, he gave no sign of it. The door closed. Bean was alone in Ender's quarters. He looked around. Without Ender in it, the room was nothing. Being here meant nothing. Yet it was only a few days ago, not even a week, when Bean had stood here and Ender told him he was getting a toon after all. For some reason what came into Bean's mind was the moment when Poke handed him six peanuts. It was life that she handed to him then. Was it life that Ender gave to Bean? Was it the same thing? No. Poke gave him life. Ender gave it meaning. When Ender was here, this was the most important room in Battle School. Now it was no more than a broom closet. Bean walked back down the corridor to the room that had been Carn Carby's until today. Un
til an hour ago. He palmed it — it opened. Already programmed in. The room was empty. Nothing in it. This room is mine, thought Bean. Mine, and yet still empty. He felt powerful emotions welling up inside him. He should be excited, proud to have his own command. But he didn't really care about it. As Ender said, the game was nothing. Bean would do a decent job, but the reason he'd have the respect of his soldiers was because he would carry some of Ender's reflected glory with him, a shrimpy little Napoleon flumping around wearing a man's shoes while he barked commands in a little tiny child's voice. Cute little Caligula, "Little Boot," the pride of Germanicus's army. But when he was wearing his father's boots, those boots were empty, and Caligula knew it, and nothing he ever did could change that. Was that his madness? It won't drive me mad, thought Bean. Because I don't covet what Ender has or what he is. It's enough that he is Ender Wiggin. I don't have to be. He understood what this feeling was, welling up in him, filling his throat, making tears stand out in his eyes, making his face burn, forcing a gasp, a silent sob. He bit on his lip, trying to let pain force the emotion away. It didn't help. Ender was gone. Now that he knew what the feeling was, he could control it. He lay down on the bunk and went into the relaxing routine until the need to cry had passed. Ender had taken his hand to say good-bye. Ender had said, "I hope he recognises what you're worth." Bean didn't really have anything left to prove. He'd do his best with Rabbit Army because maybe at some point in the future, when Ender was at the bridge of the flagship of the human fleet, Bean might have some role to play, some way to help. Some stunt that Ender might need him to pull to dazzle the Buggers. So he'd please the teachers, impress the hell out of them, so that they would keep opening doors for him, until one day a door would open and his friend Ender would be on the other side of it, and he could be in Ender's army once again.
Card, Orson Scott - Ender's Saga 5 - Ender's Shadow Page 20
