The Ender Quintet (Omnibus)

by Card, Orson Scott

  So it was from the buggers, not the humans, that Ender learned strategy. He felt ashamed and afraid of learning from them, since they were the most terrible enemy, ugly and murderous and loathsome. But they were also very good at what they did. To a point. They always seemed to follow one basic strategy only—gather the greatest number of ships at the key point of conflict. They never did anything surprising, anything that seemed to show either brilliance or stupidity in a subordinate officer. Discipline was apparently very tight.

  And there was one oddity. There was plenty of talk about Mazer Rackham but precious little video of his actual battle. Some scenes from early in the battle, Rackham’s tiny force looking pathetic against the vast power of the main bugger fleet. The buggers had already beaten the main human fleet out in the comet shield, wiping out the earliest starships and making a mockery of human attempts at high strategy—that film was often shown, to arouse again and again the agony and terror of bugger victory. Then the fleet coming to Mazer Rackham’s little force near Saturn, the hopeless odds, and then—

  Then one shot from Mazer Rackham’s little cruiser, one enemy ship blowing up. That’s all that was ever shown. Lots of film showing marines carving their way into bugger ships. Lots of bugger corpses lying around inside. But no film of buggers killing in personal combat, unless it was spliced in from the First Invasion. It frustrated Ender that Mazer Rackham’s victory was so obviously censored. Students in the Battle School had much to learn from Mazer Rackham, and everything about his victory was concealed from view. The passion for secrecy was not very helpful to the children who had to learn to accomplish again what Mazer Rackham had done.

  Of course, as soon as word got around that Ender Wiggin was watching the war vids over and over again, the video room began to draw a crowd. Almost all were commanders, watching the same vids Ender watched, pretending they understood why he was watching and what he was getting out of it. Ender never explained anything. Even when he showed seven scenes from the same battle, but from different vids, only one boy asked, tentatively, “Are some of those from the same battle?”

  Ender only shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.

  It was during the last hour of practice on the seventh day, only a few hours after Ender’s army had won its seventh battle, that Major Anderson himself came into the video room. He handed a slip of paper to one of the commanders sitting there, and then spoke to Ender. “Colonel Graff wishes to see you in his office immediately.”

  Ender got up and followed Anderson through the corridors. Anderson palmed the locks that kept students out of the officers’ quarters; finally they came to where Graff had taken root on a swivel chair bolted to the steel floor. His belly spilled over both armrests now, even when he sat upright. Ender tried to remember. Graff hadn’t seemed particularly fat at all when Ender first met him, only four years ago. Time and tension were not being kind to the administrator of the Battle School.

  “Seven days since your first battle, Ender,” said Graff.

  Ender did not reply.

  “And you’ve won seven battles, once a day.”

  Ender nodded.

  “Your scores are unusually high, too.”

  Ender blinked.

  “To what, commander, do you attribute your remarkable success?”

  “You gave me an army that does whatever I can think for it to do.”

  “And what have you thought for it to do?”

  “We orient downward toward the enemy gate and use our lower legs as a shield. We avoid formations and keep our mobility. It helps that I’ve got five toons of eight instead of four of ten. Also, our enemies haven’t the time to respond effectively to our new techniques, so we keep beating them with the same tricks. That won’t hold up for long.”

  “So you don’t expect to keep winning.”

  “Not with the same tricks.”

  Graff nodded. “Sit down, Ender.”

  Ender and Anderson both sat. Graff looked at Anderson, and Anderson spoke next. “What condition is your army in, fighting so often?”

  “They’re all veterans now.”

  “But how are they doing? Are they tired?”

  “If they are, they won’t admit it.”

  “Are they still alert?”

  “You’re the ones with the computer games that play with people’s minds. You tell me.”

  “We know what we know. We want to know what you know.”

  “These are very good soldiers, Major Anderson. I’m sure they have limits, but we haven’t reached them yet. Some of the newer ones are having trouble because they never really mastered some basic techniques, but they’re working hard and improving. What do you want me to say, that they need to rest? Of course they need to rest. They need a couple of weeks off. Their studies are shot to hell, none of us are doing any good in our classes. But you know that, and apparently you don’t care, so why should I?”

  Graff and Anderson exchanged glances. “Ender, why are you studying the videos of the bugger wars?”

  “To learn strategy, of course.”

  “Those videos were created for propaganda purposes. All our strategies have been edited out.”

  “I know.”

  Graff and Anderson exchanged glances again. Graff drummed on his table. “You don’t play the fantasy game anymore,” he said.

  Ender didn’t answer.

  “Tell me why you don’t play it.”

  “Because I won.”

  “You never win everything in that game. There’s always more.”

  “I won.”

  “Ender, we want to help you be as happy as possible, but if you—”

  “You want to make me the best soldier possible. Go down and look at the standings. Look at the all-time standings. So far you’re doing an excellent job with me. Congratulations. Now when are you going to put me up against a good army?”

  Graff’s set lips turned to a smile, and he shook a little with silent laughter.

  Anderson handed Ender a slip of paper. “Now,” he said.

  BONZO MADRID, SALAMANDER ARMY, 1200

  “That’s ten minutes from now,” said Ender. “My army will be in the middle of showering up after practice.”

  Graff smiled, “Better hurry, then, boy.”

  He got to his army’s barracks five minutes later. Most were dressing after their showers; some had already gone to the game room or the video room to wait for lunch. He sent three younger boys to call everyone in, and made everyone else dress for battle as quickly as they could.

  “This one’s hot and there’s no time,” Ender said. “They gave Bonzo notice about twenty minutes ago, and by the time we get to the door they’ll have been inside for a good five minutes at least.”

  The boys were outraged, complaining loudly in the slang that they usually avoided around the commander. What they doing to us? They be crazy, neh?

  “Forget why, we’ll worry about that tonight. Are you tired?”

  Fly Molo answered. “We worked our butts off in practice today. Not to mention beating the crap out of Ferret Army this morning.”

  “Same day nobody ever do two battles!” said Crazy Tom.

  Ender answered in the same tone. “Nobody ever beat Dragon Army, either. This be your big chance to lose?” Ender’s taunting question was the answer to their complaints. Win first, ask questions later.

  All of them were back in the room, and most of them were dressed. “Move!” shouted Ender, and they ran along behind him, some of them still dressing when they reached the corridor outside the battleroom. Many of them were panting, a bad sign; they were too tired for this battle. The door was already open. There were no stars at all. Just empty, empty space in a dazzlingly bright room. Nowhere to hide, not even in darkness.

  “My heart,” said Crazy Tom, “they haven’t come out yet, either.”

  Ender put his hand across his own mouth, to tell them to be silent. With the door open, of course the enemy could hear every word they said. Ender pointed all around the d
oor, to tell them that Salamander Army was undoubtedly deployed against the wall all around the door, where they couldn’t be seen but could easily flash anyone who came out.

  Ender motioned for them all to back away from the door. Then he pulled forward a few of the taller boys, including Crazy Tom, and made them kneel, not squatting back to sit on their heels, but fully upright, so they formed an L with their bodies. He flashed them. In silence the army watched him. He selected the smallest boy, Bean, handed him Tom’s gun, and made Bean kneel on Tom’s frozen legs. Then he pulled Bean’s hands, each holding a gun, through Tom’s armpits.

  Now the boys understood. Tom was a shield, an armored spacecraft, and Bean was hiding inside. He was certainly not invulnerable, but he would have time.

  Ender assigned two more boys to throw Tom and Bean through the door, but signalled them to wait. He went on through the army, quickly assigning groups of four—a shield, a shooter, and two throwers. Then, when all were frozen or armed or ready to throw, he signalled the throwers to pick up their burdens, throw them through the door, and then jump through themselves.

  “Move!” shouted Ender.

  They moved. Two at a time the shield-pairs went through the door, backward so that the shield would be between the shooter and the enemy. The enemy opened fire at once, but they mostly hit the frozen boy in front. In the meantime, with two guns to work with and their targets neatly lined up and spread flat along the wall, the Dragons had an easy time of it. It was almost impossible to miss. And as the throwers also jumped through the door, they got handholds on the same wall with the enemy, shooting at a deadly angle so that the Salamanders couldn’t figure out whether to shoot at the shield-pairs slaughtering them from above or the throwers shooting at them from their own level. By the time Ender himself came through the door, the battle was over. It hadn’t taken a full minute from the time the first Dragon passed through the door until the shooting stopped. Dragon had lost twenty frozen or disabled, and only twelve boys were undamaged. It was their worst score yet, but they had won.

  When Major Anderson came out and gave Ender the hook, Ender could not contain his anger. “I thought you were going to put us against an army that could match us in a fair fight.”

  “Congratulations on the victory, commander.”

  “Bean!” shouted Ender. “If you had commanded Salamander Army, what would you have done?”

  Bean, disabled but not completely frozen, called out from where he drifted near the enemy door. “Keep a shifting pattern of movement going in front of the door. You never hold still when the enemy knows exactly where you are.”

  “As long as you’re cheating,” Ender said to Anderson, “why don’t you train the other army to cheat intelligently!”

  “I suggest that you remobilize your army,” said Anderson.

  Ender pressed the buttons to thaw both armies at once. “Dragon Army dismissed!” he shouted immediately. There would be no elaborate formation to accept the surrender of the other army. This had not been a fair fight, even though they had won—the teachers had meant them to lose, and it was only Bonzo’s ineptitude that had saved them. There was no glory in that.

  Only as Ender himself was leaving the battleroom did he realize that Bonzo would not realize that Ender was angry at the teachers. Spanish honor. Bonzo would only know that he had been defeated even when the odds were stacked in his favor; that Ender had had the youngest child in his army publicly state what Bonzo should have done to win; and that Ender had not even stayed to receive Bonzo’s dignified surrender. If Bonzo had not already hated Ender, he would surely have begun; and hating him as he did, this would surely turn his rage murderous. Bonzo was the last person to strike me, thought Ender. I’m sure he has not forgotten that.

  Nor had he forgotten the bloody affair in the battleroom when the older boys tried to break up Ender’s practice session. Nor had many others. They were hungry for blood then; Bonzo will be thirsting for it now. Ender toyed with the idea of taking advanced personal defense; but with battles now possible not only every day, but twice in the same day, Ender knew he could not spare the time. I’ll have to take my chances. The teachers got me into this—they can keep me safe.

  Bean flopped down on his bunk in utter exhaustion—half the boys in the barracks were already asleep, and it was still fifteen minutes before lights out. Wearily he pulled his desk from its locker and signed on. There was a test tomorrow in geometry and Bean was woefully unprepared. He could always reason things out if he had enough time, and he had read Euclid when he was five, but the test had a time limit so there wouldn’t be a chance to think. He had to know. And he didn’t know. And he would probably do badly on the test. But they had won twice today, and so he felt good.

  As soon as he signed on, however, all thoughts of geometry were banished. A message paraded around the desk:

  SEE ME AT ONCE—ENDER

  The time was 2150, only ten minutes before lights out. How long ago had Ender sent it? Still, he’d better not ignore it. There might be another battle in the morning—the thought made him weary—and whatever Ender wanted to talk to him about, there wouldn’t be time then. So Bean rolled off the bunk and walked emptily through the corridor to Ender’s room. He knocked.

  “Come in,” said Ender.

  “Just saw your message.”

  “Fine,” said Ender.

  “It’s near lights out.”

  “I’ll help you find your way in the dark.”

  “I just didn’t know if you knew what time it was—”

  “I always know what time it is.”

  Bean sighed inwardly. It never failed. Whenever he had any conversation with Ender, it turned into an argument. Bean hated it. He recognized Ender’s genius and honored him for it. Why couldn’t Ender ever see anything good in him?

  “Remember four weeks ago, Bean? When you told me to make you a toon leader?”

  “Eh.”

  “I’ve made five toon leaders and five assistants since then. And none of them was you.” Ender raised his eyebrows. “Was I right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So tell me how you’ve done in these eight battles.”

  “Today was the first time they disabled me, but the computer listed me as getting eleven hits before I had to stop. I’ve never had less than five hits in a battle. I’ve also completed every assignment I’ve been given.”

  “Why did they make you a soldier so young, Bean?”

  “No younger than you were.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do, and so do I.”

  “I’ve tried to guess, but they’re just guesses. You’re—very good. They knew that, they pushed you ahead—”

  “Tell me why, Bean.”

  “Because they need us, that’s why.” Bean sat down on the floor and stared at Ender’s feet. “Because they need somebody to beat the buggers. That’s the only thing they care about.”

  “It’s important that you know that, Bean. Because most boys in this school think the game is important for itself, but it isn’t. It’s only important because it helps them find kids who might grow up to be real commanders, in the real war. But as for the game, screw that. That’s what they’re doing. Screwing up the game.”

  “Funny. I thought they were just doing it to us.”

  “A game nine weeks earlier than it should have come. A game every day. And now two games in the same day. Bean, I don’t know what the teachers are doing, but my army is getting tired, and I’m getting tired, and they don’t care at all about the rules of the game. I’ve pulled the old charts up from the computer. No one has ever destroyed so many enemies and kept so many of his own soldiers whole in the history of the game.”

  “You’re the best, Ender.”

  Ender shook his head. “Maybe. But it was no accident that I got the soldiers I got. Launchies, rejects from other armies, but put them together and my worst soldier could be a toon leader in another army. They’ve lo
aded things my way, but now they’re loading it all against me. Bean, they want to break us down.”

  “They can’t break you.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Ender breathed sharply, suddenly, as if there were a stab of pain, or he had to catch a sudden breath in a wind; Bean looked at him and realized that the impossible was happening. Far from baiting him, Ender Wiggin was actually confiding in him. Not much. But a little. Ender was human and Bean had been allowed to see.

  “Maybe you’ll be surprised,” said Bean.

  “There’s a limit to how many clever new ideas I can come up with every day. Somebody’s going to come up with something to throw at me that I haven’t thought of before, and I won’t be ready.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen? You lose one game.”

  “Yes. That’s the worst that could happen. I can’t lose any games. Because if I lose any—”

  He didn’t explain himself, and Bean didn’t ask.

  “I need you to be clever, Bean. I need you to think of solutions to problems we haven’t seen yet. I want you to try things that no one has ever tried because they’re absolutely stupid.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because even though there are some better soldiers than you in Dragon Army—not many, but some—there’s nobody who can think better and faster than you.” Bean said nothing. They both knew it was true.

  Ender showed him his desk. On it were twelve names. Two or three from each toon. “Choose five of these,” said Ender. “One from each toon. They’re a special squad, and you’ll train them. Only during the extra practice sessions. Talk to me about what you’re training them to do. Don’t spend too long on any one thing. Most of the time you and your squad will be part of the whole army, part of your regular toons. But when I need you. When there’s something to be done that only you can do.”