Card, Orson Scott - Ender's Saga 3 - Xenocide

by Orson Scott Card

"When she left her home she took her family with her on a starship. They headed first toward Heavenly Peace and passed near Catalonia, and then they set out on a course directly toward Lusitania!"

  Wang-mu's first thought was: Of course! That's why Demosthenes has such sympathy and understanding for the Lusitanians. She has talked to them— to the rebellious xenologers, to the pequeninos themselves. She has met them and knows that they are raman!

  Then she thought: If the Lusitania Fleet arrives there and fulfils its mission, Demosthenes will be captured and her words will end.

  And then she realised something that made this all impossible. "How could she be on Lusitania, when Lusitania has destroyed its ansible? Wasn't that the first thing they did when they went into revolt? How can her writings be reaching us?"

  Qing-jao shook her head. "She hasn't reached Lusitania yet. Or if she has, it's only in the last few months. She's been in flight for the last thirty years. Since before the rebellion. She left before the rebellion."

  "Then all her writings have been done in flight?" Wang-mu tried to imagine how the different time flows would be reconciled. "To have written so much since the Lusitania Fleet left, she must have—"

  "Must have been spending every waking moment on the starship, writing and writing and writing," said Qing-jao. "And yet there's no record of her starship having sent any signals anywhere, except for the captain's reports. How has she been getting her writings distributed to so many different worlds, if she's been on a starship the whole time? It's impossible. There'd be some record of the ansible transmissions, somewhere."

  "It's always the ansible," said Wang-mu. "The Lusitania Fleet stops sending messages, and her starship must be sending them but it isn't. Who knows? Maybe Lusitania is sending secret messages, too." She thought of the Life of Human.

  "There can't be any secret messages," said Qing-jao. "The ansible's philotic connections are permanent, and if there's any transmission at any frequency, it would be detected and the computers would keep a record of it."

  "Well, there you are," said Wang-mu. "If the ansibles are all still connected, and the computers don't have a record of transmissions, and yet we know that there have been transmissions because Demosthenes has been writing all these things, then the records must be wrong."

  "There is no way for anyone to hide an ansible transmission," said Qing-jao. "Not unless they were right in there at the very moment the transmission was received, switching it away from the normal logging programs and— anyway, it can't be done. A conspirator would have to be sitting at every ansible all the time, working so fast that—"

  "Or they could have a program that did it automatically."

  "But then we'd know about the program— it would be taking up memory, it would be using processor time."

  "If somebody could make a program to intercept the ansible messages, couldn't they also make it hide itself so it didn't show up in memory and left no record of the processor time it used?"

  Qing-jao looked at Wang-mu in anger. "Where did you learn so many questions about computers and you still don't know that things like that can't be done!"

  Wang-mu bowed her head and touched it to the floor. She knew that humiliating herself like this would make Qing-jao ashamed of her anger and they could talk again.

  "No," said Qing-jao, "I had no right to be angry, I'm sorry. Get up, Wang-mu. Keep asking questions. Those are good questions. It might be possible because you can think of it, and if you can think of it maybe somebody could do it. But here's why I think it's impossible: Because how could anybody install such a masterful program on— it would have to be on every computer that processes ansible communications anywhere. Thousands and thousands of them. And if one breaks down and another one comes online, it would have to download the program into the new computer almost instantly. And yet it could never put itself into permanent storage or it would be found there; it must keep moving itself all the time, dodging, staying out of the way of other programs, moving into and out of storage. A program that could do all that would have to be— intelligent, it would have to be trying to hide and figuring out new ways to do it all the time or we would have noticed it by now and we never have. There's no program like that. How would anyone have ever programmed it? How could it have started? And look, Wang-mu— this Valentine Wiggin who writes all of the Demosthenes things— she's been hiding herself for thousands of years. If there's a program like that it must have been in existence the whole time. It wouldn't have been made up by the enemies of Starways Congress because there wasn't a Starways Congress when Valentine Wiggin started hiding who she was. See how old these records are that gave us her name? She hasn't been openly linked to Demosthenes since these earliest reports from— from Earth. Before starships. Before ..."

  Qing-jao's voice trailed off, but Wang-mu already understood, had reached this conclusion before Qing-jao vocalised it. "So if there's a secret program in the ansible computers," said Wang-mu, "it must have been there all along. Right from the start."

  "Impossible," whispered Qing-jao. But since everything else was impossible, too, Wang-mu knew that Qing-jao loved this idea, that she wanted to believe it because even though it was impossible at least it was conceivable, it could be imagined and therefore it might just be real. And I conceived of it, thought Wang-mu. I may not be god spoken but I'm intelligent too. I understand things. Everybody treats me like a foolish child, even Qing-jao, even though Qing-jao knows how quickly I learn, even though she knows that I think of ideas that other people don't think of— even she despises me. But I am as smart as anyone, Mistress! I am as smart as you, even though you never notice that, even though you will think you thought of this all by yourself. Oh, you'll give me credit for it, but it will be like this: Wang-mu said something and it got me thinking and then I realised the important idea. It will never be: Wang-mu was the one who understood this and explained it to me so I finally understood it. Always as if I were a stupid dog who happens to bark or yip or scratch or snap or leap, just by coincidence, and it happens to turn your mind toward the truth. I am not a dog. I understood. When I asked you those questions it was because I already realised the implications. And I realise even more than you have said so far— but I must tell you this by asking, by pretending not to understand, because you are god spoken and a mere servant could never give ideas to one who hears the voices of the gods.

  "Mistress, whoever controls this program has enormous power, and yet we've never heard of them and they've never used this power until now."

  "They've used it," said Qing-jao. "To hide Demosthenes' true identity. This Valentine Wiggin is very rich, too, but her ownerships are all concealed so that no one realises how much she has, that all of her possessions are part of the same fortune."

  "This powerful program has dwelt in every ansible computer since star flight began, and yet all it ever did was hide this woman's fortune?"

  "You're right," said Qing-jao, "it makes no sense at all. Why didn't someone with this much power already use it to take control of things? Or perhaps they did. They were there before Starways Congress was formed, so maybe they... but then why would they oppose Congress now?"

  "Maybe," said Wang-mu, "maybe they just don't care about power."

  "Who doesn't?"

  "Whoever controls this secret program."

  "Then why would they have created the program in the first place? Wang-mu, you aren't thinking."

  No, of course not, I never think. Wang-mu bowed her head.

  "I mean you are thinking, but you're not thinking of this: Nobody would create such a powerful program unless they wanted that much power— I mean, think of what this program does, what it can do— intercept every message from the fleet and make it look like none were ever sent! Bring Demosthenes' writings to every settled planet and yet hide the fact that those messages were sent! They could do anything, they could alter any message, they could spread confusion everywhere or fool people into thinking— into thinking there's a war, or give them o
rders to do anything, and how would anybody know that it wasn't true? If they really had so much power, they'd use it! They would!"

  "Unless maybe the programs don't want to be used that way."

  Qing-jao laughed aloud. "Now, Wang-mu, that was one of our first lessons about computers. It's all right for the common people to imagine that computers actually decide things, but you and I know that computers are only servants, they only do what they're told, they never actually want anything themselves."

  Wang-mu almost lost control of herself, almost flew into a rage. Do you think that never wanting anything is a way that computers are similar to servants? Do you really think that we servants do only what we're told and never want anything ourselves? Do you think that just because the gods don't make us rub our noses on the floor or wash our hands till they bleed that we don't have any other desires?

  Well, if computers and servants are just alike, then it's because computers have desires, not because servants don't have them. Because we want. We yearn. We hunger. What we never do is act on those hungers, because if we did you god spoken ones would send us away and find others more obedient.

  "Why are you angry?" asked Qing-jao.

  Horrified that she had let her feelings show on her face, Wang-mu bowed her head. "Forgive me," she said.

  "Of course I forgive you, I just want to understand you as well," said Qing-jao. "Were you angry because I laughed at you? I'm sorry— I shouldn't have. You've only been studying with me for these few months, so of course you sometimes forget and slip back to the beliefs you grew up with, and it's wrong of me to laugh. Please, forgive me for that."

  "Oh, Mistress, it's not my place to forgive you. You must forgive me."

  "No, I was wrong. I know it— the gods have shown me my unworthiness for laughing at you."

  Then the gods are very stupid, if they think that it was your laughter that made me angry. Either that or they're lying to you. I hate your gods and how they humiliate you without ever telling you a single thing worth knowing. So let them strike me dead for thinking that thought!

  But Wang-mu knew that wouldn't happen. The gods would never lift a finger against Wang-mu herself. They'd only make Qing-jao— who was her friend, in spite of everything— they'd make Qing-jao bow down and trace the floor until Wang-mu felt so ashamed that she wanted to die.

  "Mistress," said Wang-mu, "you did nothing wrong and I was never offended."

  It was no use. Qing-jao was on the floor. Wang-mu turned away, buried her face in her hands— but kept silent, refusing to make a sound even in her weeping, because that would force Qing-jao to start over again. Or it would convince her that she had hurt Wang-mu so badly that she had to trace two lines, or three, or— let the gods not require it! —the whole floor again. Someday, thought Wang-mu, the gods will tell Qing-jao to trace every line on every board in every room in the house and she'll die of thirst or go mad trying to do it.

  To stop herself from weeping in frustration, Wang-mu forced herself to look at the terminal and read the report that Qing-jao had read. Valentine Wiggin was born on Earth during the Bugger Wars. She had started using the name Demosthenes as a child, at the same time as her brother Peter, who used the name Locke and went to on to be Hegemon. She wasn't simply a Wiggin— she was one of the Wiggins, sister of Peter the Hegemon and Ender the Xenocide. She had been only a footnote in the histories— Wang-mu hadn't even remembered her name till now, just the fact that the great Peter and the monster Ender had a sister. But the sister turned out to be just as strange as her brothers; she was the immortal one; she was the one who kept on changing humanity with her words.

  Wang-mu could hardly believe this. Demosthenes had already been important in her life, but now to learn that the real Demosthenes was sister of the Hegemon! The one whose story was told in the holy book of the speakers for the dead: the Hive Queen and the Hegemon. Not that it was holy only to them. Practically every religion had made a space for that book, because the story was so strong— about the destruction of the first alien species humanity ever discovered, and then about the terrible good and evil that wrestled in the soul of the first man ever to unite all of humanity under one government. Such a complex story, and yet told so simply and clearly that many people read it and were moved by it when they were children. Wang-mu had first heard it read aloud when she was five. It was one of the deepest stories in her soul.

  She had dreamed, not once but twice, that she met the Hegemon himself— Peter, only he insisted that she call him by his network name, Locke. She was both fascinated and repelled by him; she could not look away. Then he reached out his hand and said, Si Wang-mu, Royal Mother of the West, only you are a fit consort for the ruler of all humanity, and he took her and married her and she sat beside him on his throne.

  Now, of course, she knew that almost every poor girl had dreams of marrying a rich man or finding out she was really the child of a rich family or some other such nonsense. But dreams were also sent from the gods, and there was truth in any dream you had more than once; everyone knew that. So she still felt a strong affinity for Peter Wiggin; and now, to realise that Demosthenes, for whom she had also felt great admiration, was his sister— that was almost too much of a coincidence to bear. I don't care what my mistress says, Demosthenes! cried Wang-mu silently. I love you anyway, because you have told me the truth all my life. And I love you also as the sister of the Hegemon, who is the husband of my dreams.

  Wang-mu felt the air in the room change; she knew the door had been opened. She looked, and there stood Mu-pao, the ancient and most dreaded housekeeper herself, the terror of all servants— including Wang-mu, even though Mu-pao had relatively little power over a secret maid. At once Wang-mu moved to the door, as silently as possible so as not to interrupt Qing-jao's purification.

  Out in the hall, Mu-pao closed the door to the room so Qing-jao wouldn't hear.

  "The Master calls for his daughter. He's very agitated; he cried out a while ago, and frightened everyone."

  "I heard the cry," said Wang-mu. "Is he ill?"

  "I don't know. He's very agitated. He sent me for your mistress and says he must talk to her at once. But if she's communing with the gods, he'll understand; make sure you tell her to come to him as soon as she's done."

  "I'll tell her now. She has told me that nothing should stop her from answering the call of her father," said Wang-mu.

  Mu-pao looked aghast at the thought. "But it's forbidden to interrupt when the gods are—"

  "Qing-jao will do a greater penance later. She will want to know her father is calling her." It gave Wang-mu great satisfaction to put Mu-pao in her place. You may be ruler of the house servants, Mu-pao, but I am the one who has the power to interrupt even the conversation between my god spoken mistress and the gods themselves.

  As Wang-mu expected, Qing-jao's first reaction to being interrupted was bitter frustration, fury, weeping. But when Wang-mu bowed herself abjectly to the floor, Qing-jao immediately calmed. This is why I love her and why I can bear serving her, thought Wang-mu, because she does not love the power she has over me and because she has more compassion than any of the other god spoken I have heard of. Qing-jao listened to Wang-mu's explanation of why she had interrupted, and then embraced her. "Ah, my friend Wang-mu, you are very wise. If my father has cried out in anguish and then called to me, the gods know that I must put off my purification and go to him."

  Wang-mu followed her down the hallway, down the stairs, until they knelt together on the mat before Han Fei-tzu's chair.

  Qing-jao waited for Father to speak, but he said nothing. Yet his hands trembled. She had never seen him so anxious.

  "Father," said Qing-jao, "why did you call me?"

  He shook his head. "Something so terrible— and so wonderful— I don't know whether to shout for joy or kill myself." Father's voice was husky and out of control. Not since Mother died— no, not since Father had held her after the test that proved she was god spoken— not since then had she heard him spea
k so emotionally.

  "Tell me, Father, and then I'll tell you my news— I've found Demosthenes, and I may have found the key to the disappearance of the Lusitania Fleet."

  Father's eyes opened wider. "On this day of all days, you've solved the problem?"