When Sel emerged into the daylight and stood up, Po ran to him and hugged him. “It didn’t eat you!”
“No, it gave me a ride,” he said.
Po wasn’t sure how to make sense of this.
“All our food,” said Sel. “I promised we’d feed it.”
Po didn’t argue. He ran to the pack and started handing food to Sel, who gathered it into a basket made by holding his shirt out in front of him. “Enough for the moment,” said Sel.
In a few moments, he had his shirt off and stuffed with food. Then he started laboriously down the tunnel again. In moments the larva was there again, coiling around him. Sel opened the shirt and dropped the food. The larva began eating ravenously. Sel was still close enough to the entrance that he could squat-walk out again.
“We’ll need more food,” said Sel.
“What’s food to the larva?” asked Po. “Grass? Bushes?”
“It ate the vegetables from my lunch pack.”
“There’s not going to be anything edible growing around here.”
“Not edible to us,” said Sel. “But if I’m right, this thing is half native to this world, and it can probably metabolize the local vegetation.”
If there was one thing they knew how to do, it was identify the local flora. Soon they were shuttling shirtfuls of tuberous vegetables down the tunnel. They took turns carrying food to the larva.
Morgan had gone inside the shuttle; Ender had given his orders and the ship’s crew was unloading the shuttle while the locals loaded up the skimmers and transported the cargo to the right places. Other people knew better than Ender how to direct and carry out these tasks, so he left them to it while Ix took him to the xeno station where Sel’s ansible was waiting, amid the other communications equipment. “I just need to transmit a quick message back to Eros,” Ender said.
While he was still composing it, the voice of young Po Tolo came in on the radio.
“No, I’m not your father,” said Ender. “I’ll call him.”
He didn’t have to—Ix had heard his voice, probably heard Po’s voice on the radio, and he was there in a moment. Ender quickly finished his message while catching the gist of Ix’s conversation with his son. Ender transmitted to Graff and Wuri just as Ix said, “We’ll be there quicker than you can guess.”
Ix turned to Ender. “We need to take a skimmer to Sel and Po. They’re out of supplies.”
Ender couldn’t believe Sel would plan so badly that he could do anything as foolish as that. But before he could say anything, Ix went on.
“They’ve found a creature,” said Ix. “At least a hybrid. Cave dweller. Six legs in the adult form. Huge wormlike larva. It can chew rock, but it doesn’t metabolize it. It was starving, so they gave it all their food.”
“He’s such a generous man,” said Ender.
“The skimmer can travel that far? Two hundred clicks, over uneven terrain?”
“Easily,” said Ender. “It charges by solar, but the normal range is five hundred kilometers without a pause for recharge.”
“I’m very glad you got here when you did.”
“Not a coincidence,” said Ender. “Sel left because I was coming, remember?”
“But he didn’t need to,” said Ix.
“I know. But as I said, he’s a generous man.”
They had two of the skimmers loaded with food in about twenty minutes, and along with experienced marines to pilot the things, Ender brought along Ix himself. They rode together on the more lightly loaded of the two.
Too bad none of the new xenos had been wakened yet—they would have killed for a chance to be along for the ride. But all in good time.
On the way, Ix explained to Ender as much as he had gleaned from talking to his son. “Po didn’t want to leap to conclusions—he’s a cautious boy—but from what he says, Sel thinks it’s some kind of genetic merge between a formicoid species and a local worm—conceivably even the bloodworm that tried to wipe out our first generation.”
“The one you take injections to control?”
“We have better methods now,” said Ix. “Preventive rather than maintenance. They can’t take hold. The original problem was that we were already deeply infected before we knew the problem existed—they had to be rooted out. But my generation never got the infection. You won’t either. You’ll see.”
“Define ‘formicoid,’” said Ender.
“Look, I’m not sure myself, Po and I didn’t talk long. But…my guess is that he meant ‘formicoid’ the way we’d say ‘mammalian’ or even ‘chordate,’ rather than ‘humanoid.’”
Ender looked a little disappointed. “You’ve got to understand, I’m a little obsessed with the formics. My old enemy, you know? Anything that might bring me closer to understanding them…”
Ix said nothing. Either he understood or he didn’t. Either way, what he cared about was that both his son and his mentor were out there, without food and with a vastly important scientific discovery that would make waves on Earth and in all the colonies.
With only one satellite in the sky so far—the original transport ship—there was no way to triangulate a global positioning system. That would come later, when Morgan’s people placed their network of geosyncs into orbit. For now, they depended entirely on the maps that had been generated before they landed, and Po’s description of the route they would need to follow. Ender was impressed that the kid’s instructions were perfect. Not a missed landmark, not a wrong turn. No delays at all.
Even proceeding cautiously, they made good time. They were there five hours after the call from Po, and it was still daylight, though it wouldn’t be for much longer. As they skimmed into the valley with all its cave entrances, Ender saw with some amusement that the young man waving to them was no more than a year or two older than he was. Why had he been surprised that Po could do a good, reliable job? Hadn’t Ender himself been doing a man’s job for years?
Ix was off the skimmer almost before it stopped, and ran to his son and embraced him. Ender might be governor, but Ix was in charge here, giving instructions to the marines about where to park and unload. Ender authorized the instructions with a wink, and then set to work helping the men with their work. He was tall enough now that he could do a decent share of it, though not as much as two adult men with marine training. They found things to chat about while they worked, and Ender broached a subject that he’d been thinking about through most of the voyage.
“A world like this,” said Ender, “almost makes you sorry to leave again, doesn’t it?”
“Not me,” said one of them. “Everything’s so dirty. Give me shipboard life and crappy food!”
But the other one said nothing, just glanced at Ender and then looked away. So he was considering it. Staying. That was something Ender would have to negotiate with Morgan. He would be sorry if the way he thwarted Morgan’s plans made it impossible to work out a way for some of the crew to stay. Still, there’d be time to figure it out. Work out a trade—because there had to be at least a few of the younger generation born here on Shakespeare who were longing to get out of this place, this tiny village, and see a wider world. It was the old tradition of the sea. And of the circus. Lose a few crew members in every port or town, but pick up a few others who have an itchy foot or a dreamy eye.
Out of the cavern emerged an old man, who took more than a few moments to straighten up from being inside the cave. He spoke for a few moments to Po and Ix, and then, as they headed inside the cavern, dragging a sledge filled with roots and fruits—a sledge that Ix had made sure they loaded onto a skimmer—Sel Menach turned to look at Ender for the first time.
“Ender Wiggin,” he said.
“Sel Menach,” said Ender. “Po said you had a giant worm situation going on here.”
Sel looked at the marines, who had their hands on their sidearms. “No weapons needed. We’re not exactly talking with the things, but they understand rudimentary images.”
“Things?” asked Ender.
“While we were feeding the one, two others came up. I don’t know if it’s enough to sustain a breeding population, but it’s better than coming upon a species when only one specimen is left alive. Or none.”
“‘Formicoid’ is a word that’s been bandied about,” said Ender.
“Can’t be sure till we get the genetic material scoped and scanned,” said Sel. “If they were really formics, they’d be dead. The adult bodies have carapaces; they’re not furred, with an endoskeleton. Might not even be as close to formics as lemurs are to us—or they might be as close as chimps. But Ender,” said Sel, his eyes glistening. “I talked to it. No, I thought to it. I gave it an image and it responded. And it gave me one back. Showed me how to hitch a ride on it through the tunnel.”
Ender looked at Sel’s scraped and torn clothing. “Rough ride.”
“Rough road,” said Sel. “The ride was fine.”
“You know I came here for the formics,” said Ender.
“Me too,” said Sel, grinning. “To kill them.”
“But now to understand them,” said Ender.
“I think we’ve found a key here. Maybe not to every last door, but it’ll open something.” Then he put an arm across Ender’s shoulder and led him away from the others. Ender usually disliked the arm-across-the-shoulder move—it was how one man asserted superiority over another. But there was no hint of that in Sel. It was more like an assertion of camaraderie. Even conspiracy. “I know we can’t talk openly,” said Sel, “but give it to me straight. Are you governor or not?”
“In fact as well as name,” said Ender. “The threat was averted and he’s back on the ship, cooperating as if that’s all he ever intended.”
“Maybe it was,” said Sel.
Ender laughed. “And maybe this larva you’ve found will teach us calculus before the day is out.”
“I’ll be happy if it knows how to count to five.”
Later, after night fell and the men sat around a fire eating the fresh, easily spoiled food Po’s mother had sent for tonight’s supper, Sel was expansive, full of speculation, full of hope. “These creatures metabolize gold and extrude it in their carapaces. Maybe they do it with whatever metal is in the ore, or maybe they bred separate subspecies for each metal they needed. Maybe this isn’t the only population with survivors. Maybe we can locate iron miners, copper miners, tin, silver, aluminum, anything we need. But if this group is average, then we’ll find some groups that are all dead, and some that have larger populations. It would be too freakish for this to be the last surviving group in the world.”
“We’ll get on it right away,” said Ender. “While we still have marines from the ship to help in the search. And they can take…locals with them to learn how to fly the skimmers like experts before the ship goes away.”
Ix laughed. “You almost said ‘natives’ instead of ‘locals.’”
“Yes,” Ender admitted freely. “I did.”
“It’s all right,” said Ix. “The formics didn’t evolve here either. So ‘native’ just means ‘born here,’ and that describes me and Po—everybody except the ancient ones of Sel’s generation. Natives and newcomers, but in the next generation, we’ll all be natives.”
“Then you think that’s the term we should use?”
“Native Shakespearians,” said Ix. “That’s what we are.”
“I hope we don’t have to do some kind of blood ceremony or initiation to be accepted into the tribe.”
“No,” said Ix. “White man bringing skimmer is always welcome.”
“Just because I’m white doesn’t mean—” Then Ender saw the laughter in Ix’s eyes and smiled. “I’m too eager not to give offense,” said Ender. “So eager I was too quick to take offense.”
“You’ll get used to our Mayan sense of humor eventually,” said Ix.
“No he won’t,” said Sel. “Nobody else has gotten used to it, anyway.”
“Everybody but you, old man,” said Ix.
Sel laughed along with the others, and then the conversation took another turn, with the marines describing their training, and talking about what life was like on Earth and in the high-tech society that moved throughout the solar system.
Ender noticed Sel getting a faraway look in his eyes, and misunderstood what it meant. As they prepared for sleep, Ender took a moment to ask Sel, “Do you ever give any thought to going back? Home? To Earth?”
Sel visibly shuddered. “No! What would I do there? Here’s where everyone and everything I love and care about are.” Then he got that wistful look again. “No, I just can’t help but think that it’s just a damn shame that I didn’t find this place thirty or twenty or even ten years ago. So busy, so much work right around the settlement, always meant to make this trip, and if I’d only done it back then, there’d have been more of them alive, and I’d have had more years to take part in the work. Missed opportunity, my young friend! There is no life without regret.”
“But you’re glad that you found them now.”
“Yes I am,” said Sel. “Everybody misses some things, finds others. This is something I helped to find. With not a minute to spare.” Then he smiled. “One thing I noticed. I don’t know if it matters, but…the larva hadn’t eaten the gold bug we found, the one that was still alive. And those larvae, they’re voracious.”
“They only eat carrion?” asked Ender.
“No, no, they went down on the turtles just fine. Not Earth turtles, but we call them that. They like living meat. But eating the gold bugs, that was cannibalism, you understand? That was their parents’ generation. Eating them because there was nothing else. But they waited until they were dead. You see?”
Ender nodded. He saw perfectly. A rudimentary sense of respect for the living. For the rights of others. Whatever these gold bugs were, they were not mere animals. They weren’t formics, but maybe they would give Ender his chance to get inside the formic mind, at least at one remove.
CHAPTER 17
To: [email protected]
From: Gov%[email protected]
Subj: Let’s have a very quiet revolution
Dear Hyrum,
I have been warmly received as governor here, in no small part due to your long-distance intervention, as well as the enthusiasm of the natives.
We are still bringing colonists down from the ship as quickly as housing can be constructed for them. We are branching out into four settlements—the original, Miranda; and Falstaff, Polonius, and Mercutio. There was some enthusiasm for a Caliban village, but it quickly dissipated when people contemplated a future village school and what the mascot might look like.
You do understand, don’t you, that local self-government is inevitable in the colonies, and the sooner the better. Well-intentioned as you are, and vital as it is that Earth continue to pay the astronomical (pun intended) expenses of starflight in the faint hope that it will eventually pay for itself, there is no way that the I.F. can force an unwanted governor on an unwilling populace—not for long.
Far better that I.F. ships come with ambassadorial status, to promote trade and good relations and deliver colonists and supplies to compensate for the burden they place on the local economy.
In token of which good counsel, I intend to serve for two years as governor, during which time I will sponsor the writing of a constitution. We will submit it to ColMin, not for approval—if we like it, it’s our constitution—but for your judgment as to whether ColMin can recommend Shakespeare as a destination for colonists. That’s where your power comes from—your ability to decide whether colonists can join an existing colony or not.
And perhaps some regulatory commission can meet by ansible, with a representative and single vote from every colony, to certify each other as worthy trading partners. In this way, a colony that sets up an intolerable government can be ostracized and cut off from trade and new colonists—but no one will commit the absurdity of trying to wage war (another word for enforcing policy) against a settlement that it takes half a li
fetime to reach.
Does this letter constitute a declaration of in dependence? Not a very principled one. It’s more a simple recognition that we’re in dependent whether we make it official or not. These people survived for forty-one years completely on their own. They’re glad to have received the supplies and the new breeding stock (plant, animal, human), but they did not have to have them.
In a way, each of these colonies is a hybrid—human by gene and cultural forebear, but formic by infrastructure. The formics built well; we don’t have to clear land or search for water or process it, and their sewage systems seem to have been built for the ages. A fine monument! They still serve us by carrying away our poo. Because of what the formics prepared and what good scientists like Sel Menach accomplished in the colonies, the I.F. and ColMin don’t have the clout that they might have had.
I say all this along with the sincere hope that we can eventually reach a point where every colony is visited every single year. Not in your lifetime or mine, probably, but that should be the goal.
Though if history is any guide, that ambition will seem absurdly modest within fifty years, as ships may very well come and go every six months, or every month, or every week of the year. May we both live to see it.
—Andrew
There is no accounting for the whims of children. When Alessandra was a toddler, Dorabella merely chuckled at the strange things she tried to do. When Alessandra was old enough to speak, her questions seemed to come from thought processes so random that it made Dorabella half believe that her child really was sent to her by fairies.
But by school age, children tended to become more reasonable. It was not teachers or parents who did it to them, but the other children, who either ridiculed or shunned a child whose actions and utterances did not conform with their standard of ordinariness.
The Ender Quintet (Omnibus) Page 195
