"I think we'd have to call it lusiforming."
"Funny." Quim wasn't laughing, though. "They might get their way. This idea of pequeninos being a superior species is popular, especially among non-Christian pequeninos. Most of them aren't very sophisticated. They don't catch on to the fact that they're talking about xenocide. About wiping out the human race."
"How could they miss a little fact like that?"
"Because the heretics are stressing the fact that God loves the humans so much that he sent his only beloved son. You remember the scripture."
"Whoever believes in him will not perish."
"Exactly. Those who believe will have eternal life. As they see it, the third life."
"So those who die must have been the unbelievers."
"Not all the pequeninos are lining up to volunteer for service as itinerant destroying angels. But enough of them are that it has to be stopped. Not just for the sake of Mother Church."
"Mother Earth."
"So you see, Miro, sometimes a missionary like me takes on a great deal of importance in the world. Somehow I have to persuade these poor heretics of the error of their ways and get them to accept the doctrine of the church."
"Why are you talking to Rooter now?"
"To get the one piece of information the pequeninos never give us."
"What's that?"
"Addresses. There are thousands of pequenino forests on Lusitania. Which one is the heretic community? Their starship will be long gone before I find it by random forest-hopping on my own."
"You're going alone?"
"I always do. I can't take any of the little brothers with me, Miro. Until a forest has been converted, they have a tendency to kill pequenino strangers. One case where it's better to be raman than utlanning."
"Does Mother know you're going?"
"Please be practical, Miro. I have no fear of Satan, but Mother ..."
"Does Andrew know?"
"Of course. He insists on going with me. The Speaker for the Dead has enormous prestige, and he thinks he could help me."
"So you won't be alone."
"Of course I will. When has a man clothed in the whole armour of God ever needed the help of a humanist?"
"Andrew's a Catholic."
"He goes to mass, he takes communion, he confesses regularly, but he's still a speaker for the dead and I don't think he really believes in God. I'll go alone."
Miro looked at Quim with new admiration. "You're one tough son of a bitch, aren't you?"
"Welders and smiths are tough. Sons of bitches have problems of their own. I'm just a servant of God and of the church, with a job to do. I think recent evidence suggests that I'm in more danger from my brother than I am among the most heretical of pequeninos. Since the death of Human, the pequeninos have kept the worldwide oath— not one has ever raised a hand in violence against a human being. They may be heretics, but they're still pequeninos. They'll keep the oath."
"I'm sorry I hit you."
"I received it as if it were an embrace, my son."
"I wish it had been one, Father Estevao."
"Then it was."
Quim turned to the tree and began to beat out a tattoo. Almost at once, the sound began to shift, changing in pitch and tone as the hollow spaces within the tree changed shape. Miro waited a few moments, listening, even though he didn't understand the language of the father trees. Rooter was speaking with the only audible voice the father trees had. Once he had spoken with a voice, once had articulated lips with and tongue and teeth. There was more than one way to lose your body. Miro had passed through an experience that should have killed him. He had come out of it crippled. But he could still move, however clumsily, could still speak, however slowly. He thought he was suffering like Job. Rooter and Human, far more crippled than he, thought they had received eternal life.
"Pretty ugly situation," said Jane in his ear.
Yes, said Miro silently.
"Father Estevao shouldn't go alone," she said. "The pequeninos used to be devastatingly effective warriors. They haven't forgotten how."
So tell Ender, said Miro. I don't have any power here.
"Bravely spoken, my hero," said Jane. "I'll talk to Ender while you wait around here for your miracle."
Miro sighed and walked back down the hill and through the gate.
Chapter 9 — PINEHEAD
I've been talking to Ender and his sister, Valentine. She's a historian.
Explain this.
She searches through the books to find out the stories of humans, and then writes stories about what she finds and gives them to all the other humans.
If the stories are already written down, why does she write them again?
Because they aren't well understood. She helps people understand them.
If the people closer to that time didn't understand them, how can she, coming later, understand them better?
I asked this myself, and Valentine said that she doesn't always understand them better. But the old writers understood what the stories meant to the people of their time, and she understands what the stories mean to people of her time.
So the story changes.
Yes.
And yet each time they still think of the story as a true memory?
Valentine explained something about some stories being true and others being truthful. I didn't understand any of it.
Why don't they just remember their stories accurately in the first place? Then they wouldn't have to keep lying to each other.
Qing-jao sat before her terminal, her eyes closed, thinking. Wang-mu was brushing Qing-jao's hair; the tugs, the strokes, the very breath of the girl was a comfort to her.
This was a time when Wang-mu could speak freely, without fear of interrupting her. And, because Wang-mu was Wang-mu, she used hair-brushing time for questions. She had so many questions.
The first few days her questions had all been about the speaking of the gods. Of course, Wang-mu had been greatly relieved to learn that almost always tracing a single wood grain line was enough— she had been afraid after that first time that Qing-jao would have to trace the whole floor every day.
But she still had questions about everything to do with purification. Why don't you just get up and trace a line every morning and have done with it? Why don't you just have the floor covered in carpet? It was so hard to explain that the gods can't be fooled by silly stratagems like that.
What if there were no wood at all in the whole world? Would the gods burn you up like paper? Would a dragon come and carry you off?
Qing-jao couldn't answer Wang-mu's questions except to say that this is what the gods required of her. If there were no wood grain, the gods wouldn't require her to trace it. To which Wang-mu replied that they should make a law against wooden floors, then, so that Qing-jao could be shut of the whole business.
Those who hadn't heard the voice of the gods simply couldn't understand.
Today, though, Wang-mu's question had nothing to do with the gods— or, at least, had nothing to do with them at first.
"What is it that finally stopped the Lusitania Fleet?" asked Wang-mu.
Almost, Qing-jao simply took the question in stride; almost she answered with a laugh: If I knew that, I could rest! But then she realised that Wang-mu probably shouldn't even know that the Lusitania Fleet had disappeared.
"How would you know anything about the Lusitania Fleet?"
"I can read, can't I?" said Wang-mu, perhaps a little too proudly.
But why shouldn't she be proud? Qing-jao had told her, truthfully, that Wang-mu learned very quickly indeed, and figured out many things for herself. She was very intelligent, and Qing-jao knew she shouldn't be surprised if Wang-mu understood more than was told to her directly.
"I can see what you have on your terminal," said Wang-mu, "and it always has to do with the Lusitania Fleet. Also you discussed it with your father the first day I was here. I didn't understand most of what you said, but I knew it had to do with t
he Lusitania Fleet." Wang-mu's voice was suddenly filled with loathing. "May the gods piss in the face of the man who launched that fleet."
Her vehemence was shocking enough; the fact that Wang-mu was speaking against Starways Congress was unbelievable.
"Do you know who it was that launched the fleet?" asked Qing-jao.
"Of course. It was the selfish politicians in Starways Congress, trying to destroy any hope that a colony world could win its independence."
So Wang-mu knew she was speaking treasonously. Qing-jao remembered her own similar words, long ago, with loathing; to have them said again in her presence— and by her own secret maid— was outrageous. "What do you know of these things? These are matters for Congress, and here you are speaking of independence and colonies and—"
Wang-mu was on her knees, head bowed to the floor. Qing-jao was at once ashamed for speaking so harshly.
"Oh, get up, Wang-mu."
"You're angry with me."
"I'm shocked to hear you talk like that, that's all. Where did you hear such nonsense?"
"Everybody says it," said Wang-mu.
"Not everybody," said Qing-jao. "Father never says it. On the other hand, Demosthenes says that sort of thing all the time." Qing-jao remembered how she had felt when she first read the words of Demosthenes— how logical and right and fair he had sounded. Only later, after Father had explained to her that Demosthenes was the enemy of the rulers and therefore the enemy of the gods, only then did she realise how oily and deceptive the traitor's words had been, which had almost seduced her into believing that the Lusitania Fleet was evil. If Demosthenes had been able to come so close to fooling an educated god spoken girl like Qing-jao, no wonder that she was hearing his words repeated like truth in the mouth of a common girl.
"Who is Demosthenes?" asked Wang-mu.
"A traitor who is apparently succeeding better than anyone thought." Did Starways Congress realise that Demosthenes' ideas were being repeated by people who had never heard of him? Did anyone understand what this meant? Demosthenes' ideas were now the common wisdom of the common people. Things had reached a more dangerous turn than Qing-jao had imagined. Father was wiser; he must know already. "Never mind," said Qing-jao. "Tell me about the Lusitania Fleet."
"How can I, when it will make you angry?"
Qing-jao waited patiently.
"All right then," said Wang-mu, but she still looked wary. "Father says— and so does Pan Ku-wei, his very wise friend who once took the examination for the civil service and came very very close to passing—"
"What do they say?"
"That it's a very bad thing for Congress to send a huge fleet— and so huge— all to attack the tiniest colony simply because they refused to send away two of their citizens for trial on another world. They say that justice is completely on the side of Lusitania, because to send people from one planet to another against their will is to take them away from family and friends forever. That's like sentencing them before the trial."
"What if they're guilty?"
"That's for the courts to decide on their own world, where people know them and can measure their crime fairly, not for Congress to decide from far away where they know nothing and understand less." Wang-mu ducked her head. "That's what Pan Ku-wei says."
Qing-jao stilled her own revulsion at Wang-mu's traitorous words; it was important to know what the common people thought, even if the very hearing of it made Qing-jao sure the gods would be angry with her for such disloyalty. "So you think that the Lusitania Fleet should never have been sent?"
"If they can send a fleet against Lusitania for no good reason, what's to stop them from sending a fleet against Path? We're also a colony, not one of the Hundred Worlds, not a member of Starways Congress. What's to stop them from declaring that Han Fei-tzu is a traitor and making him travel to some faraway planet and never come back for sixty years?"
The thought was a terrible one, and it was presumptuous of Wang-mu to bring her father into the discussion, not because she was a servant, but because it would be presumptuous of anyone to imagine the great Han Fei-tzu being convicted of a crime. Qing-jao's composure failed her for a moment, and she spoke her outrage: "Starways Congress would never treat my father like a criminal!"
"Forgive me, Qing-jao. You told me to repeat what my father said."
"You mean your father spoke of Han Fei-tzu?"
"All the people of Jonlei know that Han Fei-tzu is the most honourable man of Path. It's our greatest pride, that the House of Han is part of our city."
So, thought Qing-jao, you knew exactly how ambitious you were being when you set out to become his daughter's maid.
"I meant no disrespect, nor did they. But isn't it true that if Starways Congress wanted to, they could order Path to send your father to another world to stand trial?"
"They would never—"
"But could they?" insisted Wang-mu.
"Path is a colony," said Qing-jao. "The law allows it, but Starways Congress would never—"
"But if they did it to Lusitania, why wouldn't they do it to Path?"
"Because the xenologers on Lusitania were guilty of crimes that—"
"The people of Lusitania didn't think so. Their government refused to send them off for trial."
"That's the worst part. How can a planetary government dare to think they know better than Congress?"
"But they knew everything," said Wang-mu, as if this idea were so natural that everyone must know it. "They knew those people, those xenologers. If Starways Congress ordered Path to send Han Fei-tzu to go stand trial on another world for a crime we know he didn't commit, don't you think we would also rebel rather than send such a great man? And then they would send a fleet against us."
"Starways Congress is the source of all justice in the Hundred Worlds." Qing-jao spoke with finality. The discussion was over.
Impudently, Wang-mu didn't fall silent. "But Path isn't one of the Hundred Worlds yet, is it?" she said. "We're just a colony. They can do what they want, and that's not right."
Wang-mu nodded her head at the end, as if she thought she had utterly prevailed. Qing-jao almost laughed. She would have laughed, in fact, if she hadn't been so angry. Partly she was angry because Wang-mu had interrupted her many times and had even contradicted her, something that her teachers had always been very careful not to do. Still, Wang-mu's audacity was probably a good thing, and Qing-jao's anger was a sign that she had become too used to the undeserved respect people showed to her ideas simply because they fell from the lips of the god spoken. Wang-mu must be encouraged to speak to her like this. That part of Qing-jao's anger was wrong, and she must get rid of it.
But much of Qing-jao's anger was because of the way Wang-mu had spoken about Starways Congress. It was as if Wang-mu didn't think of Congress as the supreme authority over all of humanity; as if Wang-mu imagined that Path was more important than the collective will of all the worlds. Even if the inconceivable happened and Han Fei-tzu were ordered to stand trial on a world a hundred light years away, he would do it without murmur— and he would be furious if anyone on Path made the slightest resistance. To rebel like Lusitania? Unthinkable. It made Qing-jao feel dirty just to think of it.
Card, Orson Scott - Ender's Saga 3 - Xenocide Page 23
