The Ender Quintet (Omnibus)

by Card, Orson Scott

  It was the reverse of the usual pattern, and Ender knew it. He also knew that he didn’t intend to be like many commanders, who never even saw the younger boys because they were always in the back.

  As they sorted themselves out according to their arrival dates, Ender walked up and down the aisle. Almost thirty of his soldiers were new, straight out of their launch group, completely inexperienced in battle. Some were even underage—the ones nearest the door were pathetically small. Ender reminded himself that that’s how he must have looked to Bonzo Madrid when he first arrived. Still, Bonzo had had only one underage soldier to cope with.

  Not one of the veterans belonged to Ender’s elite practice group. None had ever been a toon leader. None, in fact, was older than Ender himself, which meant that even his veterans didn’t have more than eighteen months’ experience. Some he didn’t even recognize, they had made so little impression.

  They recognized Ender, of course, since he was the most celebrated soldier in the school. And some, Ender could see, resented him. At least they did me one favor—none of my soldiers is older than me.

  As soon as each soldier had a bunk, Ender ordered them to put on their flash suits and come to practice. “We’re on the morning schedule, 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.” After three minutes, though many of them still weren’t dressed, he ordered them out of the room.

  “But I’m naked!” said one boy.

  “Dress faster next time. Three minutes from first call to running out the door—that’s the rule this week. Next week the rule is two minutes. Move!” It would soon be a joke in the rest of the school that Dragon Army was so dumb they had to practice getting dressed.

  Five of the boys were completely naked, carrying their flash suits as they ran through the corridors; few were fully dressed. They attracted a lot of attention as they passed open classroom doors. No one would be late again if he could help it.

  In the corridors leading to the battleroom, Ender made them run back and forth in the halls, fast, so they were sweating a little, while the naked ones got dressed. Then he led them to the upper door, the one that opened into the middle of the battleroom just like the doors in the actual games. Then he made them jump up and use the ceiling handholds to hurl themselves into the room. “Assemble on the far wall,” he said. “As if you were going for the enemy’s gate.”

  They revealed themselves as they jumped, four at a time, through the door. Almost none of them knew how to establish a direct line to the target, and when they reached the far wall few of the new ones had any idea how to catch on or even control their rebounds.

  The last boy out was a small kid, obviously underage. There was no way he was going to reach the ceiling handhold.

  “You can use a side handhold if you want,” Ender said.

  “Go suck on it,” said the boy. He took a flying leap, touched the ceiling handhold with a finger tip, and hurtled through the door with no control at all, spinning in three directions at once. Ender tried to decide whether to like the little kid for refusing to take a concession or to be annoyed at his insubordinate attitude.

  They finally got themselves together along the wall. Ender noticed that without exception they had lined up with their heads still in the direction that had been up in the corridor. So Ender deliberately took hold of what they were treating as a floor and dangled from it upside down. “Why are you upside down, soldier?” he demanded.

  Some of them started to turn the other way.

  “Attention!” They held still. “I said why are you upside down!”

  No one answered. They didn’t know what he expected.

  “I said why does every one of you have his feet in the air and his head toward the ground!”

  Finally one of them spoke. “Sir, this is the direction we were in coming out of the door.”

  “Well what difference is that supposed to make! What difference does it make what the gravity was back in the corridor! Are we going to fight in the corridor? Is there any gravity here?”

  No sir. No sir.

  “From now on, you forget about gravity before you go through that door. The old gravity is gone, erased. Understand me? Whatever your gravity is when you get to the door, remember—the enemy’s gate is down. Your feet are toward the enemy gate. Up is toward your own gate. North is that way, south is that way, east is that way, west is—what way?”

  They pointed.

  “That’s what I expected. The only process you’ve mastered is the process of elimination, and the only reason you’ve mastered that is because you can do it in the toilet. What was the circus I saw out here! Did you call that forming up? Did you call that flying? Now everybody, launch and form up on the ceiling! Right now! Move!”

  As Ender expected, a good number of them instinctively launched, not toward the wall with the door in it, but toward the wall that Ender had called north, the direction that had been up when they were in the corridor. Of course they quickly realized their mistake, but too late—they had to wait to change things until they had rebounded off the north wall.

  In the meantime, Ender was mentally grouping them into slow learners and fast learners. The littlest kid, the one who had been last out of the door, was the first to arrive at the correct wall, and he caught himself adroitly. They had been right to advance him. He’d do well. He was also cocky and rebellious, and probably resented the fact that he had been one of the ones Ender had sent naked through the corridors.

  “You!” Ender said, pointing at the small one. “Which way is down?”

  “Toward the enemy door.” The answer was quick. It was also surly, as if to say, OK, OK, now get on with the important stuff.

  “Name, kid?”

  “This soldier’s name is Bean, sir.”

  “Get that for size or for brains?” The other boys laughed a little. “Well, Bean, you’re right onto things. Now listen to me, because this matters. Nobody’s going to get through that door without a good chance of getting hit. In the old days, you had ten, twenty seconds before you even had to move. Now if you aren’t already streaming out of the door when the enemy comes out, you’re frozen. Now, what happens when you’re frozen?”

  “Can’t move,” one of the boys said.

  “That’s what frozen means,” Ender said. “But what happens to you?”

  It was Bean, not intimidated at all, who answered intelligently. “You keep going in the direction you started in. At the speed you were going when you were flashed.”

  “That’s true. You five, there on the end, move!” Startled, the boys looked at each other. Ender flashed them all. “The next five, move!”

  They moved. Ender flashed them, too, but they kept moving, heading toward the walls. The first five, though, were drifting uselessly near the main group.

  “Look at these so-called soldiers,” Ender said. “Their commander ordered them to move, and now look at them. Not only are they frozen, they’re frozen right here, where they can get in the way. While the others, because they moved when they were ordered, are frozen down there, plugging up the enemy’s lanes, blocking the enemy’s vision. I imagine that about five of you have understood the point of this. And no doubt Bean is one of them. Right, Bean?”

  He didn’t answer at first. Ender looked at him until he said, “Right, sir.”

  “Then what is the point?”

  “When you are ordered to move, move fast, so if you get iced you’ll bounce around instead of getting in the way of your own army’s operations.”

  “Excellent. At least I have one soldier who can figure things out.” Ender could see resentment growing in the way the other soldiers shifted their weight and glanced at each other, the way they avoided looking at Bean. Why am I doing this? What does this have to do with being a good commander, making one boy the target of all the others? Just because they did it to me, why should I do it to him? Ender wanted to undo his t
aunting of the boy, wanted to tell the others that the little one needed their help and friendship more than anyone else. But of course Ender couldn’t do that. Not on the first day. On the first day even his mistakes had to look like part of a brilliant plan.

  Ender hooked himself nearer the wall and pulled one of the boys away from the others. “Keep your body straight,” said Ender. He rotated the boy in midair so his feet pointed toward the others. When the boy kept moving his body, Ender flashed him. The others laughed. “How much of his body could you shoot?” Ender asked a boy directly under the frozen soldier’s feet.

  “Mostly all I can hit is his feet.”

  Ender turned to the boy next to him. “What about you?”

  “I can see his body.”

  “And you?”

  A boy a little farther down the wall answered. “All of him.”

  “Feet aren’t very big. Not much protection.” Ender pushed the frozen soldier out of the way. Then he doubled his legs under him, as if he were kneeling in midair, and flashed his own legs. Immediately the legs of his suit went rigid, holding them in that position.

  Ender twisted himself in the air, so that he knelt above the other boys.

  “What do you see?” he asked.

  A lot less, they said.

  Ender thrust his gun between his legs. “I can see fine,” he said, and proceeded to flash the boys directly under him. “Stop me!” he shouted. “Try and flash me!”

  They finally did, but not until he had flashed more than a third of them. He thumbed his hook and thawed himself and every other frozen soldier. “Now,” he said, “which way is the enemy’s gate?”

  “Down!”

  “And what is our attack position?”

  Some started to answer with words, but Bean answered by flipping himself away from the wall with his legs doubled under him, straight toward the opposite wall, flashing between his legs all the way.

  For a moment Ender wanted to shout at him, to punish him; then he caught himself, rejected the ungenerous impulse. Why should I be so angry at this little boy? “Is Bean the only one who knows how?” Ender shouted.

  Immediately the entire army pushed off toward the opposite wall, kneeling in the air, firing between their legs, shouting at the top of their lungs. There may be a time, thought Ender, when this is exactly the strategy I’ll need—forty screaming boys in an unbalancing attack.

  When they were all at the other side, Ender called for them to attack him, all at once. Yes, thought Ender. Not bad. They gave me an untrained army, with no excellent veterans, but at least it isn’t a crop of fools. I can work with this.

  When they were assembled again, laughing and exhilarated, Ender began the real work. He had them freeze their legs in the kneeling position. “Now, what are your legs good for, in combat?”

  Nothing, said some boys.

  “Bean doesn’t think so,” said Ender.

  “They’re the best way to push off walls.”

  “Right,” Ender said.

  The other boys started to complain that pushing off walls was movement, not combat.

  “There is no combat without movement,” Ender said. They fell silent and hated Bean a little more. “Now, with your legs frozen like this, can you push off walls?”

  No one dared answer, for fear they’d be wrong.

  “Bean?” asked Ender.

  “I’ve never tried it, but maybe if you faced the wall and doubled over at the waist—”

  “Right but wrong. Watch me. My back’s to the wall, legs are frozen. Since I’m kneeling, my feet are against the wall. Usually, when you push off you have to push downward, so you string out your body behind you like a string bean, right?”

  Laughter.

  “But with my legs frozen, I use pretty much the same force, pushing downward from the hips and thighs, only now it pushes my shoulders and my feet backward, shoots out my hips, and when I come loose my body’s tight, nothing stringing out behind me. Watch this.”

  Ender forced his hips forward, which shot him away from the wall; in a moment he readjusted his position and was kneeling, legs downward, rushing toward the opposite wall. He landed on his knees, flipped over on his back, and jackknifed off the wall in another direction. “Shoot me!” he shouted. Then he set himself spinning in the air as he took a course roughly parallel to the boys along the far wall. Because he was spinning, they couldn’t get a continuous beam on him.

  He thawed his suit and hooked himself back to them. “That’s what we’re working on for the first half hour today. Build up some muscles you didn’t know you had. Learn to use your legs as a shield and control your movements so you can get that spin. Spinning doesn’t do any good up close, but far away, they can’t hurt you if you’re spinning—at that distance the beam has to hit the same spot for a couple of moments, and if you’re spinning it can’t happen. Now freeze yourself and get started.”

  “Aren’t you going to assign lanes?” asked a boy.

  “No I’m not going to assign lanes. I want you bumping into each other and learning how to deal with it all the time, except when we’re practicing formations, and then I’ll usually have you bump into each other on purpose. Now move!”

  When he said move, they moved.

  Ender was the last one out after practice, since he stayed to help some of the slower ones improve on technique. They’d had good teachers, but the inexperienced soldiers fresh out of their launch groups were completely helpless when it came to doing two or three things at the same time. It was fine to practice jackknifing with frozen legs, they had no trouble maneuvering in midair, but to launch in one direction, fire in another, spin twice, rebound with a jackknife off a wall, and come out firing, facing the right direction—that was way beyond them. Drill drill drill, that was all Ender would be able to do with them for a while. Strategies and formations were nice, but they were nothing if the soldiers didn’t know how to handle themselves in battle.

  He had to get this army ready now. He was early at being a commander, and the teachers were changing the rules now, not letting him trade, giving him no top-notch veterans. There was no guarantee that they’d give him the usual three months to get his army together before sending them into battle.

  At least in the evenings he’d have Alai and Shen to help him train his new boys.

  He was still in the corridor leading out of the battleroom when he found himself face to face with little Bean. Bean looked angry. Ender didn’t want problems right now.

  “Ho, Bean.”

  “Ho, Ender.”

  Pause.

  “Sir,” Ender said softly.

  “I know what you’re doing, Ender, sir, and I’m warning you.”

  “Warning me?”

  “I can be the best man you’ve got, but don’t play games with me.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll be the worst man you’ve got. One or the other.”

  “And what do you want, love and kisses?” Ender was getting angry now.

  Bean looked unworried. “I want a toon.”

  Ender walked back to him and stood looking down into his eyes. “Why should you get a toon?”

  “Because I’d know what to do with it.”

  “Knowing what to do with a toon is easy,” Ender said. “It’s getting them to do it that’s hard. Why would any soldier want to follow a little pinprick like you?”

  “They used to call you that, I hear. I hear Bonzo Madrid still does.”

  “I asked you a question, soldier.”

  “I’ll earn their respect, sir, if you don’t stop me.”

  Ender grinned. “I’m helping you.”

  “Like hell,” said Bean.

  “Nobody would notice you, except to feel sorry for the little kid. But I made sure they all noticed you today. They’ll be watching every move you make. All you have to do to earn their respect now is be perfect.”

  “So I don’t even get a chance to learn before I’m being judged.”

  “Poor ki
d. Nobody’s treatin’ him fair.” Ender gently pushed Bean back against the wall. “I’ll tell you how to get a toon. Prove to me you know what you’re doing as a soldier. Prove to me you know how to use other soldiers. And then prove to me that somebody’s willing to follow you into battle. Then you’ll get your toon. But not bloody well until.”

  Bean smiled. “That’s fair. If you actually work that way, I’ll be a toon leader in a month.”

  Ender reached down and grabbed the front of his uniform and shoved him into the wall. “When I say I work a certain way, Bean, then that’s the way I work.”

  Bean just smiled. Ender let go of him and walked away. When he got to his room he lay down on his bed and trembled. What am I doing? My first practice session, and I’m already bullying people the way Bonzo did. And Peter. Shoving people around. Picking on some poor little kid so the others’ll have somebody they all hate. Sickening. Everything I hated in a commander, and I’m doing it.

  Is it some law of human nature that you inevitably become whatever your first commander was? I can quit right now, if that’s so.

  Over and over he thought of the things he did and said in his first practice with his new army. Why couldn’t he talk like he always did in his evening practice group? No authority except excellence. Never had to give orders, just made suggestions. But that wouldn’t work, not with an army. His informal practice group didn’t have to learn to do things together. They didn’t have to develop a group feeling; they never had to learn how to hold together and trust each other in battle. They didn’t have to respond instantly to commands.

  And he could go to the other extreme, too. He could be as lax and incompetent as Rose the Nose, if he wanted. He could make stupid mistakes no matter what he did. He had to have discipline, and that meant demanding—and getting—quick, decisive obedience. He had to have a well-trained army, and that meant drilling the soldiers over and over again, long after they thought they had mastered a technique, until it was so natural to them that they didn’t have to think about it anymore.

  But what was this thing with Bean? Why had he gone for the smallest, weakest, and possibly the brightest of the boys? Why had he done to Bean what had been done to Ender by commanders that he despised?