“You’ve done it,” he said. “It must be possible.”
< We’ve never traveled faster than light. >
“You projected an action across lightyears. You found me.”
“Not so,” he said. “I never even knew we had made mental contact until I found the message you had left for me.” It had been the moment of greatest strangeness in his life, to stand on an alien world and see a model, a replication of the landscape that had existed in only one other place—the computer on which he had played his personalized version of the Fantasy Game. It was like having a total stranger come up to you and tell you your dream from the night before. They had been inside his head. It made him afraid, but it also excited him. For the first time in his life, he felt known. Not known of—he was famous throughout humanity, and in those days his fame was all positive, the greatest hero of all time. Other people knew of him. But with this bugger artifact, he discovered for the first time that he was known.
“How did you find me, then?”
“I wasn’t searching for you. I was studying you.” Watching every vid they had at the Battle School, trying to understand the way the bugger mind worked. “I was imagining you.”
“And that was all?”
He was having trouble making sense of what they were saying. What kind of network was he connected to?
“I wasn’t connected. They were my soldiers, that’s all.”
“But humans are individuals, not like your workers.”
Not helpful at all. Nothing to do with faster-than-light flight. It all sounded like mumbo-jumbo, not like science at all. Nothing that Grego could express mathematically.
Ender didn’t understand how establishing an ansible link with his brain could be like hatching out a new queen. “Explain it to me.”
“But what are you doing when you do it?”
“And what do you always do?”
“Then remember what you do, and show it to me.”
It was true. She had tried only a couple of times, when he was very young and had first discovered her cocoon. He simply couldn’t cope with it, couldn’t make sense of it. Flashes, a few glimpses were clear, but it was so disorienting that he panicked, and probably fainted, though he was alone and couldn’t be sure what had happened, clinically speaking.
“If you can’t tell me, we have to do something.”
“No. I’ll tell you to stop. It didn’t kill me before.”
“Try, yes.”
She gave him no time to reflect or prepare. At once he felt himself seeing out of compound eyes, not many lenses with the same vision, but each lens with its own picture. It gave him the same vertiginous feeling as so many years before. But this time he understood a little better—in part because she was making it less intense than before, and in part because he knew something about the hive queen now, about what she was doing to him.
The many different visions were what each of the workers was seeing, as if each were a single eye connected to the same brain. There was no hope of Ender making sense of so many images at once.
Most of the visions dropped out immediately. Then, one by one, the others were sorted out. He imagined that she must have some organizing principle for the workers. She could disregard all those who weren’t part of the queen-making process. Then, for Ender’s sake, she had to sort through even the ones who were part of it, and that was harder, because usually she could sort the visions by task rather than by the individual workers. At last, though, she was able to show him a primary image and he could focus on it, ignoring the flickers and flashes of peripheral visions.
A queen being hatched. She had shown him this before, in a carefully-planned vision when he had first met her, when she was trying to explain things to him. Now, though, it wasn’t a sanitized, carefully orchestrated presentation. The clarity was gone. It was murky, distracted, real. It was memory, not art.
“So you can talk to her?”
“She doesn’t grow her intelligence until cocooning?”
“So you have to teach her.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then stop showing me anything, if it depends on another sense. Eyes are too important to humans; if I see anything it’ll mask out anything but clear speech and I don’t think there’s much of that at a queen-making.”
“I’m still seeing something.”
“Then explain it. Help me make sense of it.”
“So then you find her?”
“Then what are you searching for?”
“You mean there’s something else? Something besides the queen’s body?”
“No, I never saw it.”
“I didn’t know to look for anything else. I saw the making of the queen when you first showed it to me years ago. I thought I understood then.”
“So if the queen’s just a body, who are you?”
“But you’ve always talked as if you were the hive queen.”
“But this center-thing, this binder-together—”
“You call it. What is it?”
“Yes, what is it?”
It was almost unbearably frustrating. So much of what the hive queen did was instinctive. She had no language and so she had never had a need to develop clear explanations of that which had never needed explaining till now. So he had to help her find a way to clarify what he couldn’t perceive directly.
“Where do you find it?”
“But how do you call?”
“So you’re calling some other creature to come and take possession of the queen.”
“So where does it come from?”
“But where is that?”
“Fine, I believe you. But where does it come from?”
“You forget?”
“What kind of thing is this binder-together?”
Ender couldn’t help shuddering. All this time he had thought that he was speaking to the hive queen herself. Now he realized that the thing that talked to him in his mind was only using that body the way it used the buggers. Symbiosis. A controlling parasite, possessing the whole hive queen system, using it.
“I don’t understand. What was it like?”
“Then how did you know that you aren’t just the hive queen?”
The vision the hive queen had been giving him faded. It wasn’t helping anyway, or at least not in any way he could grasp. Nevertheless, a mental image was coming clear for Ender now, one that came from his own mind to explain all the things she was saying. The other hive queens—not physically present, most of them, but linked philotically to the one queen who had to be there—they held the pattern of the relationship between hive queen and workers in their minds, until one of these mysterious memoryless creatures was able to contain the pattern in its mind and therefore take possession of it.
“But where do these things come from? Where do you have to go to get them?”
“So they’re everywhere?”
“But you said you don’t have to go anywhere to get them.”
“What are the doorways like?”
Now he realized that doorway was the word his brain called forth to label the concept they were putting in his mind. And suddenly he was able to grasp an explanation that made sense.
“They’re not in the same space-time continuum as ours. But they can enter ours at any point.”
“But this is incredible. You’re calling forth some oeing from another place, and—”
“Philotes,” said Ender. “The things out of which all other things are made.”
“Because I’m only just making the connection. We never meant what you’ve described, but the thing we did mean, that might be the thing you described.”
“Join the club.”
“So when you make a hive queen, you already have the biological body, and this new thing—this philote that you call out of the non-place where philotes are—it has to be one that’s able to comprehend the complex pattern that you have in your minds of what a hive queen is, and when one comes that can do it, it takes on that identity and possesses the body and becomes the self of that body—”
“But there are no workers yet, when the hive queen is first made.”
“We’re talking about a passage from another kind of space. A place where philotes already are.”
“And you say that we’re made of the same things?”
“But you said that finding me was like making a hive queen.”
“The Fantasy Game,” said Ender. “You made a pattern out of the Fantasy Game.”
“And when you called …”
“But when a philote takes possession of a new hive queen, it controls it, queen-body and worker-bodies. Why didn’t this bridge you made take control of me?”
“Why didn’t it work?”
“But you could still use it to read my mind.”
“More complicated than you expected?”
“But we didn’t know that. How could we know?”
The Ender Quintet (Omnibus) Page 120
