“Cardunderstandsthehumanconditionandhasthingsofrealvaluetosayaboutit.Hetellsthetruthwell—

ultimatelytheonlycriterionofgreatness.Ender’sGamewillstillbefindingnewreaderswhenninety-nine

percentofthebookspublishedthisyeararecompletelyforgotten.”

—GeneWolf

“Agrippingtaleof

adventureinspaceandascathingindictmentofthemilitarymind.Recommended.”—LibraryJournal

“Thegamesarefierceandconsistentlyexciting.Thecast…offersmemorablecharacters….Andthealiensleave

anintriguingheritagetomankind.”

—Locus

ENDER’SGAME

TORBOOKSBYORSONSCOTTCARD

ENDER

Ender’sGameSpeakerfortheDead

XenocideChildrenoftheMindEnder’sShadow

ShadowoftheHegemonShadowPuppetsFirstMeetingsEyeforEye

TheFolkoftheFringeFutureonFireFutureonIceHart’sHope

Lovelock(withKathrynKidd)Pastwatch:TheRedemptionofChristopherColumbus

MapsinaMirror:TheShortFictionofOrson

ScottCardSaints

SongmasterTheWorthingSaga

Wyrms

THETALESOFALVINMAKER

SeventhSonRedProphetPrenticeAlvin

AlvinJourneymanHeartfire

TheCrystalCity

HOMECOMING

TheMemoryofEarthTheCallofEarth

TheShipsofEarthEarthfallEarthborn

WOMENOFGENISIS

SarahRebekah

SHORTFICTION

MapsinaMirror,Volume1:TheChangedMan

(paperback)MapsinaMirror,Volume2:

Flux(paperback)MapsinaMirror,Volume3:CruelMiracles(paperback)MapsinaMirror,Volume4:MonkeySonatas(paperback)

ENDER’SGAME

OrsonScottCard

ATOMDOHERTYASSOCIATES

BOOK

NEWYORK

Theauthorandpublisherhaveprovidedthise-booktoyouwithoutDigitalRightsManagementsoftware(DRM)appliedsothatyoucanenjoyreadingitonyourpersonaldevices.

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This is a work of fiction. All thecharacters and events portrayed in thisbook are fictitious, and anyresemblance to realpeopleorevents ispurelycoincidental.ENDER’SGAMECopyright © 1977, 1985, 1991 byOrsonScottCardIntroduction copyright © 1991 byOrson Scott Card. First published inPhoenixRising.

All rights reserved, including the rightto reproduce this book, or portionsthereof,inanyform.

CoverartbySamWeber

ATorBookPublishedbyTomDohertyAssociates,LLC49West24thStreetNewYork,NY10010www.tor-forge.comTor® is a registered trademarkofTomDohertyAssociates,LLC.Library of Congress Cataloging-in-PublicationDataCard,OrsonScott.Ender’sGame/OrsonScottCard.p.cm.“ATomDohertyAssociatesbook.”ISBN978-1-4299-6393-0

ISBN0-312-93208-1(hc)I.Title.[PS3553.A655E51991] 91-9908813'.54—dc20 CIP

ForGeoffrey,whomakesmerememberhowyoungandhowold

childrencanbe

CONTENTS

CoverAcknowledgmentsIntroduction1.Third2.Peter3.Graff

4.Launch5.Games6.TheGiant’sDrink7.Salamander8.Rat9.LockeandDemosthenes10.Dragon11.VeniVidiVici12.Bonzo13.Valentine14.Ender’sTeacher

15.SpeakerfortheDeadPreviewBackCover

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Portions of this book wererecounted in my firstpublished science fictionstory,“Ender’sGame,”intheAugust 1977 Analog, editedbyBenBova;his faith inmeand this story are the

foundationofmycareer.HarrietMcDougalofToris

that rarest of editors—onewho understands a story andcan help the author make itexactly what he meant it tobe. They don’t pay herenough. Harriet’s task wasmademorethanalittleeasier,however, because of theexcellentworkofmyresidenteditor, Kristine Card. I don’tpayherenough,either.

I am grateful also toBarbaraBova,who has beenmy friend and agent throughthin and, sometimes, thick;and to Tom Doherty, mypublisher, who let me talkhim into doing this book atthe ABA in Dallas, whichshows either his superbjudgment or how weary onecangetataconvention.

INTRODUCTION

It makes me a littleuncomfortable, writing anintroduction to Ender’sGame.Afterall,thebookhasbeen in print for six yearsnow, and in all that time,nobody has ever written to

me to say, “You know,Ender’s Game was a prettygood book, but you knowwhat it really needs? Anintroduction!” And yet whenanovelgoesbacktoprintfora new hardcover edition,there ought to be somethingnewinittomarktheoccasion(somethingbesides theminorchangesasIfixtheerrorsandinternal contradictions andstylistic excesses that have

bothered me ever since thenovel first appeared). So beassured—the novel stands onits own, and if you skip thisintro and go straight to thestory, I not onlywon’t standin your way, I’ll even agreewithyou!The novelet “Ender’s

Game” was my firstpublished science fiction. Itwas based on an idea—theBattle Room—that came to

mewhen Iwas sixteenyearsold. I had just read IsaacAsimov’sFoundationtrilogy,which was (more or less) anextrapolation of the ideas inGibbon’sDeclineandFalloftheRomanEmpire,appliedtoagalaxy-wideempireinsomefarfuturetime.The novel set me, not to

dreaming, but to thinking,which is Asimov’s mostextraordinary ability as a

fictionwriter.Whatwouldthefuture be like? How wouldthings change? What wouldremain the same? Thepremise of Foundationseemed to be that eventhoughyoumightchange thepropsandtheactors,theplayof human history is alwaysthe same. And yet thatfundamentally pessimisticpremise (you mean we’llneverchange?)wastempered

byAsimov’s idea of a groupof human beings who, notthrough genetic change, butthrough learned skills, areable to understand and healthemindsofotherpeople.It was an idea that rang

truewithme,perhaps inpartbecause of my Mormonupbringing and beliefs:Human beings may bemiserable specimens, in themain, butwe can learn, and,

through learning, becomedecentpeople.Those were some of the

ideas thatplayed throughmymind as I read Foundation,curled on my bed—a thinmattress on a slab ofplywood,abedmyfatherhadmade for me—in mybasement bedroom in ourlittle rambler on 650 East inOrem,Utah.And then, as somany science fiction readers

have done over the years, Ifelt a strong desire to writestories that would do forothers what Asimov’s storyhaddoneforme.Inothergenres, thatdesire

is usually expressed byproducing thinly veiledrewrites of the great work:Tolkien’s disciples far toooften simply rewriteTolkien,for example. In sciencefiction, however, the whole

point is that the ideas arefresh and startling andintriguing; you imitate thegreat ones, not by rewritingtheir stories, but rather bycreatingstoriesthatarejustasstartlingandnew.But new in what way?

Asimov was a scientist, andapproached every field ofhuman knowledge in ascientific manner—assimilating data, combining

it in new and startlingways,thinking through theimplications of each newidea. I was no scientist, andunlikely ever to be one, atleastnotareal scientist—notaphysicist,notachemist,nota biologist, not even anengineer. I had no gift formathematics and no greatlove for it, either. Though Irelishedthestudyoflogicandlanguages, and virtually

inhaled histories andbiographies,itneveroccurredto me at the time that thesewere just as valid sources ofscience fiction stories asastronomy or quantummechanics.How,then,couldIpossibly

come up with a sciencefiction idea? What did Iactually know aboutanything?At that time my older

brotherBillwas in the army,stationed at Fort Douglas inSalt Lake City; he wasnursing a hip-to-heel castfrom a bike-riding accident,however, and came home onweekends.Itwasthenthathehad met his future wife,Laura Dene Low, whileattending a church meetingon the BYU campus; and itwas Laura who gave meFoundation to read. Perhaps,

then, it was natural for mythoughts to turn to thingsmilitary.Tome,though,themilitary

didn’t mean the VietnamWar,whichwas thennearingits peak of Americaninvolvement. I had noexperienceof that,except forBill’sstoriesofthemiserablelife in basic training, thehumiliation of officer’scandidate school, and his

lonely but in many wayssuccessfullifeasanoncominKorea. Far more deeplyrooted in my mind was myexperience, five or six yearsearlier, of reading BruceCatton’s three-volume Armyof the Potomac. Iremembered so well thestories of the commanders inthatwar—thestruggletofinda Union general capable ofusing McClellan’s

magnificent army to defeatLee and Jackson and Stuart,and then, finally,Grant,whobroughtdeathtofartoomanyofhissoldiers,butalsomadetheirdeathsmean something,by grinding away at Lee,keeping him from dancingand maneuvering out ofreach. It was because ofCatton’s history that I hadstopped enjoying chess, andhadtorevisetherulesofRisk

in order to play it—I hadcome to understandsomething of war, and notjust because of theconclusions Catton himselfhad reached. I foundmeanings of my own in thathistory.I learned that history is

shaped by the use of power,and that different people,leading the same army,with,therefore, approximately the

same power, applied it sodifferently that the armyseemed to change from apack of noble fools atFredericksburg to panickedcowards melting away atChancellorsville, then to thegrimly determined, stubbornsoldiers who held the ridgesat Gettysburg, and then,finally, to the disciplined,professionalarmythatgroundLee to dust in Grant’s long

campaign. It wasn’t thesoldierswho changed. Itwastheleader.AndeventhoughIcould not then havearticulatedwhat I understoodofmilitaryleadership,Iknewthat I did understand it. Iunderstood, at levels deeperthan speech, how a greatmilitary leader imposes hiswillonhisenemy,andmakeshis own army a willingextensionofhimself.

So one morning, as myDad drove me to BrighamYoung High School alongCarterville Road in theheavily wooded bottoms oftheProvoRiver, Iwondered:Howwouldyoutrainsoldiersfor combat in the future? Ididn’tbotherthinkingofnewland-based weapons systems—what was on my mind,afterFoundation, was space.Soldiers and commanders

would have to think verydifferently in space, becausetheoldideasofupanddownsimply wouldn’t applyanymore. I had read inNordhoff’sandHall’shistoryofWorldWar I flying that itwasveryhardatfirstfornewpilots to learn to look aboveand below them rather thanmerelytotherightandleft,tofind the enemy approachingthem in the air. How much

worse, then, would it be tolearnto thinkwithnoupanddownatall?The essence of training is

to allow error withoutconsequence. Three-dimensional warfare wouldneed to be practiced in anenclosed space, so mistakeswouldn’t send trainees flyingoff to Jupiter. It would needto offer a way to practiceshooting without risk of

injury; and yet trainees whowere “hit” would need to bedisabled,at least temporarily.Theenvironmentwouldneedtobechangeable, to simulatethe different conditions ofwarfare—near a ship, in themidst of debris, near tinyasteroids.And it would needtohavesomeoftheconfusionofrealbattle,sothattheplay-combat didn’t evolve intosomethingasrigidandformal

as the meaningless marchingandmaneuversthatstillwastean astonishing amount of atrainee’s precious hours inbasic training in our modernmilitary.The result of my

speculations that morningwastheBattleRoom,exactlyas you will see it (or havealready seen it) in this book.It was a good idea, andsomething like it will

certainly be used for trainingif ever there is a mannedmilitaryinspace.(Somethingverymuch like ithasalreadybeen used in variousamusement halls throughoutAmerica.)But, having thought of the

Battle Room, I hadn’t thefaintest idea of how to goabout turning the idea into astory. It occurred tome thenforthefirsttimethattheidea

of the story is nothingcompared to the importanceof knowing how to find acharacter and a story to tellaround that idea. Asimov,having had the idea ofparalleling The Decline andFall, still had no story; hisgenius—and the soul of thestory—came when hepersonalized his history,making the psychohistorianHari Seldon the god-figure,

the plan-maker, theapocalyptic prophet of thestory.Ihadnosuchcharacter,and no idea of how tomakeone.Years passed. I graduated

from high school as a junior(just in time—BrighamYoung High School wasdiscontinuedwiththeclassof1968) and went on toBrighamYoungUniversity. Istarted there as an

archaeology major, butquicklydiscoveredthatdoingarchaeology is unspeakablyboring compared to readingthebooksbyThorHeyerdahl(Aku-Aku, Kon-Tiki), YigaelYadin (Masada), and JamesMichener (The Source) thathad set me dreaming.Potsherds! Better to be adentistthantospendyourlifetrying to put togetherfragments of old pottery in

endless desert landscapes intheMiddleEast.By the time I realized that

not even the semi-science ofarchaeologywasforsomeoneas impatient as me, I wasalready immersed inmy realcareer.Atthetime,ofcourse,I misunderstood myself: Ithought I was in theatrebecause I loved performing.And I do love performing,don’tgetmewrong.Giveme

anaudienceandI’llholdontothemaslongasIcan,onanysubject. But I’m not a goodactor, and theatre was not tobe my career. At the time,though,all I caredaboutwasdoing plays. Directing them.Building sets and makingcostumes and putting onmakeupforthem.And, above all, rewriting

those lousy scripts. I keptthinking, Why couldn’t the

playwrighthearhowdullthatspeechwas?Thisscenecouldso easily be punched up andmadefarmoreeffective.Then I tried my hand at

writing adaptations of novelsfor a reader’s theatre class,andmyfatewassealed.Iwasaplaywright.People came to my plays

and clapped at the end. Ilearned—from actors andfrom audiences—how to

shape a scene, how to buildtension, and—above all—thenecessityofbeingharshwithyour own material, excisingor rewriting anything thatdoesn’t work. I learned toseparate the story from thewriting, probably the mostimportant thing that anystoryteller has to learn—thatthere are a thousand rightways to tell a story, and tenmillion wrong ones, and

you’re a lot more likely tofindoneofthelatterthantheformeryourfirsttimethroughthetale.My love of theatre lasted

through my mission for theLDS Church. Even while IwasinSãoPaulo,Brazil,asamissionary, I wrote a playcalledStoneTablesabout therelationship between Mosesand Aaron in the book ofExodus,which had standing-

room-only audiences at itspremiere (which I didn’tattend, since I was still inBrazil!).At the same time, though,

thatoriginal impetus towritesciencefictionpersisted.I had taken fiction writing

coursesatcollege,forwhichIdon’t think I ever wrotescience fiction. But on theside, Ihad starteda seriesofstories about people with

psionicpowers(Ihadnoideathiswas a sci-fi cliché at thetime) that eventually grewinto The Worthing Saga. Ihad even sent one of thestories off to Analogmagazinebeforemymission,and on my mission I wroteseveral long stories in thesame series (as well as acoupleofstabsatmainstreamstories).In all that time, the Battle

Roomremainedanideaintheback of my mind. It wasn’tuntil 1975, though, that Idusteditoffandtriedtowriteit. By then I had started atheatre company thatmanaged to do reasonablywell during the first summerand then collapsed under theweight of bad luck and badmanagement (myself) duringthe fall and winter. I wasdeeplyindebtonthepathetic

salary of an editor at BYUPress. Writing was the onlything I knew how to dobesides proofreading andediting. It was time to getserious about writingsomethingthatmightactuallyearn some money—and,plainly, playwriting wasn’tgoingtobeit.I first rewroteandsentout

“Tinker,” the first WorthingstoryIwroteandtheonethat

wasstillmosteffective.Igota rejection letter from BenBova atAnalog, pointingoutthat “Tinker” simply didn’tfeel like science fiction—itfelt like fantasy. So theWorthingstorieswereoutforthetimebeing.What was left? That old

Battle Room idea. Ithappenedonespringdaythata friend of mine, TammyMikkelson, was taking her

boss’s children to the circusin Salt Lake City; would Ilike to come along? Iwould.Andsincetherewasnoticketfor me (and I’ve alwaysdetested thecircus anyway—the clowns drive me up awall),Ispentthehoursoftheperformance out on the lawnof the Salt Palace with anotebook on my lap, writing“Ender’s Game” as I hadwritten all my plays, in

longhand on narrow-ruledpaper. “Remember,” saidEnder. “The enemy’s gate isdown.”Maybe it was because of

thechildren in thecaron thewayupthatIdecidedthatthetrainees in the Battle Roomweresoyoung.Maybeitwasbecause I, barely anadolescent myself,understood only childhoodwellenoughtowriteaboutit.

Or maybe it was because ofsomething that impressedmein Catton’s Army of thePotomac: that the soldierswere all so young andinnocent. That they shot andbayoneted the enemy, andthen slipped across theneutral ground betweenarmies to trade tobacco,jokes, liquor, and food.Eventhoughitwasadeadlygame,and the suffering and fear

were terrible and real, itwasstill a game played bychildren,notall thatdifferentfrom the wargames mybrothers and I had played,firing water-filled squirtbottlesateachother.“Ender’s Game” was

written and sold. I knew itwas a strong story because Icaredaboutitandbelievedinit.Ihadnoideathatitwouldhave the effect it had on the

science fiction audience.Whilemostpeopleignoredit,of course, and continue tolive full and happy liveswithoutreadingitoranythingelse by me, there was still asurprisingly large group whoresponded to the story withsomefervency.Ignored on the Nebula

ballot, “Ender’s Game” gotonto the Hugo ballot andcame in second.More to the

point,IwasawardedtheJohnW.CampbellAward for bestnew writer. Without doubt,“Ender’s Game” wasn’t justmy first sale—it was thelaunchingpadofmycareer.Thesamestorydiditagain

in1985,when I rewrote it atnovel length—the book, nowslightly revised, that you areholdinginyourhands.Atthatpoint I thought of Ender’sGame, the novel, existing

onlytosetupthemuchmorepowerful (I thought) story ofSpeaker for the Dead. Butwhen I finished the novel, Iknew that the story had newstrength.Ihadlearnedagreatdeal, both about life andabout writing, in the decadesinceIwrotethenovelet,andit came together for the firsttime in this book. Again theaudiencewaskindtome: theNebula and Hugo awards,

foreign translations, andstrong, steady sales that, forthe first time in my career,actually earned out myadvance and allowed me toreceiveroyalties.But itwasn’t just amatter

of having a quiet little cultnovelthatbroughtinasteadyincome.Therewassomethingmore to the way that peoplerespondedtoEnder’sGame.For one thing, the people

that hated it really hated it.The attacks on the novel—and on me—wereastonishing. Some of it Iexpected—I have a master’sdegree in literature, and inwriting Ender’s Game Ideliberately avoided all thelittle literary games andgimmicks that make “fine”writingsoimpenetrabletothegeneral audience. All thelayersofmeaningarethereto

be decoded, if you like toplay the game of literarycriticism—but if you don’tcare toplay thatgame, that’sfine with me. I designedEnder’sGame to be as clearandaccessibleasanystoryofmine could possibly be. Mygoal was that the readerwouldn’thavetobetrainedinliterature or even in sciencefiction to receive the tale inits simplest, purest form.

And, since a great manywritersandcriticshavebasedtheir entire careers on thepremisethatanythingthatthegeneralpubliccanunderstandwithout mediation isworthless drivel, it is notsurprisingthattheyfoundmylittle novel to be despicable.If everybody came to agreethatstoriesshouldbetoldthisclearly, the professors ofliterature would be out of a

job, and the writers ofobscure, encoded fictionwould be, not honored, butpitied for theirimpenetrability.Forsomepeople,however,

the loathing for Ender’sGame transcended mereartistic argument. I recall aletter to the editor of IsaacAsimov’s Science FictionMagazine,inwhichawomanwho worked as a guidance

counselor for gifted childrenreported that she had onlypicked up Ender’s Game toread it because her son hadkept telling her it was awonderful book. She read itand loathed it. Of course, Iwondered what kind ofguidance counselor wouldhold her son’s tastes up topublic ridicule, but thecriticism that left me mostflabbergasted was her

assertionthatmydepictionofgifted children washopelessly unrealistic. Theyjust don’t talk like that, shesaid. They don’t think likethat.And it wasn’t just her.

There have been others withthatcriticism.ThusIbegantorealize that, as it is, Ender’sGame disturbs some peoplebecause it challenges theirassumptions about reality. In

fact, the novel’s very claritymay make it morechallenging, simply becausethestory’svisionoftheworldissorelentlesslyplain.Itwasimportant to her, and toothers, to believe thatchildren don’t actually thinkorspeakthewaythechildrenin Ender’s Game think andspeak.Yet I knew—I knew—that

this was one of the truest

things about Ender’s Game.Infact,Irealizedinretrospectthat this may indeed be partof the reason why it was soimportant tome, thereonthelawn in front of the SaltPalace, to write a story inwhich gifted children aretrainedtofight inadultwars.Because never in my entirechildhood did I feel like achild. I felt like a person allalong—thesamepersonthatI

am today. I never felt that Ispoke childishly. I never feltthatmyemotionsanddesireswere somehow less real thanadult emotions and desires.And in writing Ender’sGame, I forced the audienceto experience the lives ofthese children from thatperspective—the perspectivein which their feelings anddecisions are just as real andimportantasanyadult’s.

The nasty side of myselfwanted to answer thatguidance counselor bysaying, The only reason youdon’t think gifted childrentalk thisway is because theyknow better than to talk thisway in front of you. But thetruer answer is that Ender’sGame asserts the personhoodof children, and those whoare used to thinking ofchildren in another way—

especiallythosewhosewholecareer is based on that—aregoingtofindEnder’sGameaveryunpleasantplace to live.Childrenareaperpetual,self-renewingunderclass,helplessto escape from the decisionsof adults until they becomeadults themselves. AndEnder’s Game, seen in thatcontext,mightevenbea sortofrevolutionarytract.Becausethebookdoesring

true with the children whoread it. The highest praise Iever received for a book ofmine was when the schoollibrarianatFarrerJuniorHighinProvo,Utah,toldme,“Youknow, Ender’s Game is ourmost-lostbook.”And then there are the

letters.Thisone,forinstance,whichIreceivedinMarchof1991:

DearMr.Card,I am writing to you onbehalfofmyselfandmytwelve friends andfellow students whojoinedmeatatwo-weekresidential program forgifted and talentedstudents at PurdueUniversity this summer.We attended the class,“PhilosophyandScienceFiction,” instructed by

Peter Robinson, and werange in age fromthirteenthroughfifteen.We are all in about thesame position; we arevery intellectuallyoriented and have foundfewpeopleathomewhoshare this trait. Hence,most of us are verylonely, and have beensince kindergarten.When teachers

continually complimentyou, your chances of“fittingin”areaboutnil.All our lives we’veunconsciously beenlivingbythephilosophy,“The only way to gainrespect is doing so wellyou can’t be ignored.”And,formeandMike,atleast, “beating thesystem”atschoolishowwe’vechosen todo this.

BothMikeand Iplan tobeincalculusoursecondyear of high school,schedules permitting.(Bothofusareinterestedin science/math relatedcareers.) Not to get mewrong; we’re all brightand at the top of ourclass. However, inchoosing these paths,most of us have woundupsatisfiedinourselves,

butverylonely.This is why Ender’sGame and Speaker fortheDeadreallyhithomeforus.Thesebookswereour“texts” for theclass.We would read onehundred to two hundredpagespernightandthendiscuss them (and othershort stories and essays)during the day. AtPurdue, it wasn’t a

“classroom” discussion,however. Itwas a groupof friends talking abouthow their feelings andphilosophiescorresponded to ordifferedfromthebooks’.You couldn’t imaginethe impact your bookshad on us; we are theEndersof today.Almosteverything written inEnder’s Game and

Speaker applied to eachoneofusonavery,verypersonal level. No, thesituation isn’t as drastictoday,butallthefeelingsare there. Both yourbooks, along with theexcellent work of PeterRobinson,unifiedusintoatightwebofpeople.

Ingrid’s letter goes on,talkingofthePhoenixRising,

the magazine that thesestudents publish together inorder to maintain their senseofcommunity. (In response Ihave given them thisintroduction to publish intheir magazine before itsappearanceinbookform.)Ofcourse,I’malwaysglad

when people like a story ofmine; but something muchmore important is going onhere.Thesereadersfoundthat

Ender’s Game was notmerely a “mythic” story,dealing with general truths,but something much morepersonal: To them, Ender’sGame was an epic tale, astorythatexpressedwhotheyare as a community, a storythat distinguished them fromtheotherpeoplearoundthem.They didn’t love Ender, orpity Ender (a frequent adultresponse); they were Ender,

all of them. Ender’sexperiencewasnotforeignorstrange to them; in theirminds, Ender’s life echoedtheir own lives. The truth ofthe story was not truth ingeneral,buttheirtruth.Stories can be read so

differently—even clearstories, even stories thatdeliberately avoid surfaceambiguities. For instance,here’sanotherletter, likewise

one that I received in mid-Marchof1991.Itwaswrittenon 16 February andpostmarked the 18th. Thosedatesareimportant.

Mr.Card,I’m an army aviatorwaiting out a sandstormin Saudi Arabia. I’vealways wanted to writeyouandsincemy futureis in doubt—I know

when the ground warwill begin—I decidedtoday would be the dayI’dwrite.I read Ender’s Gameduringflightschool fouryearsago. I’mawarrantofficer, and our school,at least the first sixweeks, is very differentfrom the commissionedofficers’. I was eighteenyearsoldwhenIarrived

at Ft. Rucker to startflight training, and thefirst six weeks almostbeatme.Ender gavemecourage then and manytimes after that. I’veexperiencedthetirednessEnder felt, the kind thatgoesdeeptoyoursoul.Itwould be interesting toknowwhatcausedyoutofeel the same way. Noone could describe it

unless they experiencedit, but I understand howpersonal that can be.There isoneothernovelthatdescribes that frameof soul and mind that Icherish as much asEnder’s Game. It’scalled Armour and itsauthor is John Steakley.Ender and Felix [theprotagonist of Armour]are always close by in

mymind.Sadly, thereisno sequel to Armour asthere is to Ender’sGame.We are the bastards ofmilitary aviation. Ourhelicopters may be thebestintheworld,buttheequipment we wear andthe systems in ourhelicopter, such as thenavigation instruments,are at least twentyyears

behindtheNavyandAirForce. I am very happywith the Air Force’sability to bomb withprecision, but if theymiss, the bombs stillland on the enemy’sterritory.Ifwescrewup,the guys we haul to thebattle, the “grunts,” die.We don’t even have thearmour plate for ourchests—“chicken

plate”—that thehelicopter pilots did inVietnam.LastyearinElSalvador, army aviatorsflewacoupleofcivilianVIPs and twentyreporters over guerrilla-controlled territory andthere were no flares intheir launchers tocounteract the heat-seeking missiles weknewtherebelshad.One

of our pilots and a crewmember were killed lastyear on a training flightbecause they flew thesling load they werecarrying into the treesat70 miles an hour. Itcould have beenprevented if our nightvision goggles had aheads-updisplayliketheAir Force has had forfortyyears.I’msureyou

heard about ColonelPickett being shot downinaHueyinElSalvadorjust a few months ago.Thattypeofaircraftisatleastthirtyyearsoldandtherearenosurvivabilitymeasures installed. Hewasagoodman,Iknewhim.The reason I told youabout these things isbecauseIwantedtopaint

a picture for you. I lovemyjobbutwearen’tlikethe “zoomies” thateveryone makes moviesabout. We do our jobwith less technology,less political support,less recognition, andmore risk than the rest,while the threat to uscontinues to modernizeat an unbelievable rate.I’m not asking for

sympathy but I waswondering if you andMr.Steakleycouldwriteanovelabouthelicoptersand the men that flythem for the Armytwenty years in thefuture. There are manyof us that read sciencefiction and after I readEnder’s Game andArmour threetimeseachI started letting my

comradesreadthem.MywifecriedwhenshereadEnder’s Game. There isa following here for abook like the one Irequested. We have nospeaker for us, the onesthatwillsoondie,ortheonesthatsurvive...

Aswiththosegiftedyoungstudents who read this bookas“their”story,thissoldier—

who, likemost but not all oftheArmyaviatorsintheGulfWar, survived—did not readEnder’sGame as a “work ofliterature.”Hereaditasepic,as a story that helped definehiscommunity.Itwasnothisonly epic, of course—Armour, John Steakley’sfine novel, was an equalcandidate to be part of hisself-story.Whatmattersmost,though, was his clear sense

that, no matter how muchthese stories spoke to him,theywerestillnotexactlyhiscommunity’s epic. He stillfelt the need for a “speakerfor the dead” and for theliving. He still felt a hunger,especially at a time whendeath might well be near, tohave his own story, hisfriends’stories,told.Why else do we read

fiction, anyway? Not to be

impressed by somebody’sdazzling language—or atleast I hope that’s not ourreason. I think that most ofus,anyway,readthesestoriesthat we know are not “true”because we’re hungry foranother kind of truth: Themythic truth about humannature in general, theparticular truth about thoselife-communities that defineour own identity, and the

mostspecific truthofall:ourown self-story. Fiction,because it is not aboutsomebodywhoactually livedin the realworld, always hasthepossibilityofbeingaboutourself.Ender’s Game is a story

about gifted children. It isalso a story about soldiers.Captain John F. Schmitt, theauthorof theMarineCorps’sWarfighting, the most

brilliant and concise book ofmilitary strategy everwrittenby an American (and aproponent of the kind ofthinking thatwasat theheartof the allied victory in theGulf War), found Ender’sGame to be a useful enoughstory about the nature ofleadershiptouseitincourseshe taught at the MarineUniversity at Quantico.Watauga College, the

interdisciplinary studiesprogramatAppalachianStateUniversity—as unmilitary acommunityasyoucouldeverhope to find!—uses Ender’sGame for completelydifferent purposes—to talkabout problem-solving andthe self-creation of theindividual. A graduatestudent in Toronto exploredthe political ideas inEnder’sGame. A writer and critic at

Pepperdine has seenEnder’sGame as, in some ways,religiousfiction.Alltheseusesarevalid;all

thesereadingsofthebookare“correct.” For all thesereaders have placedthemselves inside this story,not as spectators, but asparticipants, and so havelooked at the world ofEnder’s Game, not with myeyesonly,butalsowith their

own.This is the essence of the

transaction betweenstoryteller and audience. The“true”storyisnottheonethatexists in my mind; it iscertainly not the writtenwords on the bound paperthat you hold in your hands.The story in my mind isnothingbutahope;thetextofthe story is the tool I createdin order to try to make that

hope a reality. The storyitself, the true story, is theone that the audiencemembers create in theirminds,guidedandshapedbymy text, but thentransformed, elucidated,expanded, edited, andclarified by their ownexperience,theirowndesires,theirownhopesandfears.ThestoryofEnder’sGame

isnotthisbook,thoughithas

that title emblazoned on it.The story is theone thatyouand I will construct togetherin yourmemory. If the storymeansanything toyouatall,then when you remember itafterward, think of it, not assomething I created, butrather as something that wemadetogether.

OrsonScottCardGreensboro,NorthCarolina

March1991

ENDER’SGAME

1

THIRD

“I’ve watched through his

eyes, I’ve listened throughhis ears, and I tell youhe’stheone.Oratleastascloseaswe’regoingtoget.”“That’s what you said

aboutthebrother.”“The brother tested out

impossible. For otherreasons.Nothingtodowithhisability.”“Same with the sister.

And there are doubts abouthim. He’s too malleable.

Too willing to submergehimself in someone else’swill.”“Notiftheotherpersonis

hisenemy.”“So what do we do?

Surroundhimwithenemiesallthetime?”“Ifwehaveto.”“I thought you said you

likedthiskid.”“If the buggers get him,

they’ll make me look like

hisfavoriteuncle.”“All right. We’re saving

the world, after all. Takehim.”

The monitor lady smiledvery nicely and tousled hishair and said, “Andrew, Isuppose by now you’re justabsolutelysickofhavingthathorrid monitor. Well, I havegood news for you. Thatmonitor isgoing tocomeout

today.We’regoing to take itright out, and itwon’t hurt abit.”Endernodded.Itwasalie,

of course, that it wouldn’thurt a bit. But since adultsalways said it when it wasgoing tohurt,hecouldcounton that statement as anaccurate prediction of thefuture. Sometimes lies weremore dependable than thetruth.

“So if you’ll just comeover here, Andrew, just sitright up here on theexamining table. The doctorwill be in to see you in amoment.”The monitor gone. Ender

tried to imagine the littledevicemissingfromthebackof his neck. I’ll roll over onmy back in bed and itwon’tbepressingthere.Iwon’tfeelit tingling and taking up the

heatwhenIshower.And Peter won’t hate me

anymore.I’llcomehomeandshow him that the monitor’sgone, and he’ll see that Ididn’t make it, either. ThatI’lljustbeanormalkidnow,like him. That won’t be sobad then. He’ll forgive methat I had my monitor awholeyearlongerthanhehadhis.We’llbe—Not friends, probably. No,

Peter was too dangerous.Peter got so angry. Brothers,though. Not enemies, notfriends,butbrothers—able tolive in the same house. Hewon’t hate me, he’ll justleavemealone.Andwhenhewants to play buggers andastronauts, maybe I won’thavetoplay,maybeIcanjustgoreadabook.But Ender knew, even as

he thought it, that Peter

wouldn’t leave him alone.There was something inPeter’s eyes,whenhewas inhismadmood,andwheneverEnder saw that look, thatglint, he knew that the onethingPeterwouldnotdowasleave him alone. I’mpracticing piano, Ender.Come turn the pages forme.Oh, is the monitor boy toobusytohelphisbrother?Ishetoo smart? Got to go kill

somebuggers,astronaut?No,no, I don’twant your help. Ican do it on my own, youlittlebastard,youlittleThird.“This won’t take long,

Andrew,”saidthedoctor.Endernodded.“It’s designed to be

removed. Without infection,without damage. But there’llbe some tickling, and somepeoplesaytheyhaveafeelingof somethingmissing. You’ll

keep looking around forsomething, something youwere looking for, but youcan’t find it, and you can’trememberwhatitwas.SoI’lltell you. It’s the monitoryou’re looking for, and itisn’tthere.Inafewdaysthatfeelingwillpass.”The doctor was twisting

something at the back ofEnder’s head. Suddenly apainstabbedthroughhimlike

aneedle fromhisneck tohisgroin. Ender felt his backspasm, and his body archedviolently backward; his headstruck thebed.Hecould feelhis legs thrashing, and hishands were clenching eachother,wringingeachothersotightlythattheyarched.“Deedee!” shouted the

doctor. “I need you!” Thenurse ran in, gasped. “Got torelax thesemuscles.Get it to

me, now! What are youwaitingfor!”Something changed hands;

Ender could not see. Helurched to one side and felloff the examining table.“Catchhim!”criedthenurse.“Justholdhimsteady—”“You hold him, doctor,

he’stoostrongforme—”“Not the whole thing!

You’llstophisheart—”Ender felt a needle enter

his back just above the neckof his shirt. It burned, butwherever in him the firespread,hismusclesgraduallyunclenched. Now he couldcryforthefearandpainofit.“Are you all right,

Andrew?”thenurseasked.Andrew could not

remember how to speak.They lifted him onto thetable.Theycheckedhispulse,did other things; he did not

understanditall.The doctor was trembling;

his voice shook as he spoke.“They leave these things inthekidsfor threeyears,whatdo they expect? We couldhave switched him off, doyou realize that? We couldhave unplugged his brain foralltime.”“Whendoes thedrugwear

off?”askedthenurse.“Keephimhereforatleast

an hour. Watch him. If hedoesn’tstarttalkinginfifteenminutes,callme.Couldhaveunplugged him forever. Idon’t have the brains of abugger.”

He got back to MissPumphrey’sclassonlyfifteenminutes before the closingbell. He was still a littleunsteadyonhisfeet.

“Are you all right,Andrew?” asked MissPumphrey.Henodded.“Wereyouill?”Heshookhishead.“Youdon’tlookwell.”“I’mOK.”“You’d better sit down,

Andrew.”He started towardhis seat,

butstopped.NowwhatwasIlooking for? I can’t think

whatIwaslookingfor.“Your seat is over there,”

saidMissPumphrey.He sat down, but it was

something else he needed,something he had lost. I’llfinditlater.“Yourmonitor,”whispered

thegirlbehindhim.Andrewshrugged.“His monitor,” she

whisperedtotheothers.Andrew reached up and

felt his neck. There was abandaid.Itwasgone.Hewasjustlikeeverybodyelsenow.“Washed out, Andy?”

asked a boy who sat acrossthe aisle and behind him.Couldn’t think of his name.Peter. No, that was someoneelse.“Quiet, Mr. Stilson,” said

Miss Pumphrey. Stilsonsmirked.Miss Pumphrey talked

about multiplication. Enderdoodledonhisdesk,drawingcontourmapsofmountainousislands and then telling hisdesk todisplay them in threedimensionsfromeveryangle.The teacher would know, ofcourse, thathewasn’tpayingattention, but she wouldn’tbother him.He always knewthe answer, even when shethought he wasn’t payingattention.

In thecornerofhisdeskaword appeared and beganmarching around theperimeter of the desk. Itwasupsidedownandbackwardatfirst, butEnder knewwhat itsaidlongbeforeitreachedthebottomofthedeskandturnedrightsideup.

THIRD

Ender smiled. He was theonewhohadfiguredouthow

to send messages and makethem march—even as hissecret enemy called himnames, the method ofdelivery praised him. It wasnothisfaulthewasaThird.Itwas the government’s idea,they were the ones whoauthorizedit—howelsecoulda Third like Ender have gotinto school? And now themonitor was gone. Theexperiment entitled Andrew

Wiggin hadn’t worked outafterall.Iftheycould,hewassure they would like torescind the waivers that hadallowedhimtobebornatall.Didn’t work, so erase theexperiment.The bell rang. Everyone

signed off their desks orhurriedly typed in remindersto themselves. Some weredumping lessons or data intotheir computers at home. A

few gathered at the printerswhile something theywantedto show was printed out.Ender spread his hands overthe child-size keyboard nearthe edge of the desk andwondered what it would feelliketohavehandsaslargeasagrown-up’s.Theymustfeelso big and awkward, thickstubby fingers and beefypalms. Of course, they hadbigger keyboards—but how

couldtheirthickfingersdrawa fine line, the way Endercould, a thin line so precisethat he could make it spiralseventy-nine times from thecentertotheedgeofthedeskwithout the lines evertouching or overlapping. Itgave him something to dowhile the teacher droned onabout arithmetic. Arithmetic!Valentine had taught himarithmeticwhenhewasthree.

“Are you all right,Andrew?”“Yes,ma’am.”“You’llmissthebus.”Ender nodded and got up.

The other kids were gone.They would be waiting,though, the bad ones. Hismonitor wasn’t perched onhis neck, hearing what heheard and seeing what hesaw. They could say whatthey liked. They might even

hit him now—no one couldseethemanymore,andsonoone would come to Ender’srescue. There wereadvantages to the monitor,andhewouldmissthem.It was Stilson, of course.

He wasn’t bigger than mostotherkids,buthewasbiggerthanEnder.Andhehadsomeothers with him. He alwaysdid.“HeyThird.”

Don’t answer. Nothing tosay.“Hey, Third, we’re talkin

to you, Third, hey bugger-lover,we’retalkintoyou.”Can’t think of anything to

answer. Anything I say willmakeitworse.Sowillsayingnothing.“Hey,Third,hey,turd,you

flunked out, huh? Thoughtyou were better than us, butyou lost your little birdie,

Thirdie, got a bandaid onyourneck.”“Are you going to let me

through?”Enderasked.“Are we going to let him

through? Should we let himthrough?” They all laughed.“Sure we’ll let you through.First we’ll let your armthrough, then your buttthrough, then maybe a pieceofyourknee.”Theotherschimed innow.

“Lost your birdie, Thirdie.Lostyourbirdie,Thirdie.”Stilson began pushing him

with one hand; someonebehind him then pushed himtowardStilson.“See-saw, marjorie daw,”

somebodysaid.“Tennis!”“Ping-pong!”This would not have a

happy ending. So Enderdecided that he’d rather not

be the unhappiest at the end.The next time Stilson’s armcameout topushhim,Endergrabbedatit.Hemissed.“Oh,gonnafightme,huh?

Gonnafightme,Thirdie?”The people behind Ender

grabbedathim,toholdhim.Ender did not feel like

laughing, but he laughed.“YoumeanittakesthismanyofyoutofightoneThird?”“We’repeople, notThirds,

turd face. You’re about asstrongasafart!”Buttheyletgoofhim.And

as soon as they did, Enderkicked out high and hard,catchingStilsonsquareinthebreastbone. He dropped. Ittook Ender by surprise—hehadn’t thought to put Stilsonon thegroundwithonekick.It didn’t occur to him thatStilsondidn’ttakeafightlikethis seriously, that he wasn’t

preparedforatrulydesperateblow.For a moment, the others

backed away and Stilson laymotionless. They were allwondering if he was dead.Ender,however,wastryingtofigure out a way to forestallvengeance. To keep themfrom taking him in a packtomorrow. I have towin thisnow, and for all time, or I’llfight it every day and it will

getworseandworse.Ender knew the unspoken

rules ofmanlywarfare, eventhough he was only six. Itwas forbidden to strike theopponentwholayhelplessonthe ground; only an animalwoulddothat.So Ender walked to

Stilson’s supine body andkicked him again, viciously,in the ribs. Stilson groanedand rolled away from him.

Enderwalkedaroundhimandkicked him again, in thecrotch. Stilson could notmake a sound; he onlydoubled up and tearsstreamedoutofhiseyes.Then Ender looked at the

otherscoldly. “Youmightbehaving some idea of gangingup on me. You couldprobably beat me up prettybad.But just rememberwhatIdotopeoplewhotrytohurt

me. From then on you’d bewonderingwhen I’dget you,andhowbaditwouldbe.”Hekicked Stilson in the face.Bloodfromhisnosespatteredthe ground nearby. “Itwouldn’t be this bad,”Endersaid.“Itwouldbeworse.”He turned and walked

away.Nobody followed him.He turned a corner into thecorridor leading to the busstop.He could hear the boys

behind him saying, “Geez.Look at him. He’s wasted.”Enderleanedhisheadagainstthe wall of the corridor andcrieduntilthebuscame.Iamjust like Peter. Take mymonitor away, and I am justlikePeter.

2

PETER

“Allright,it’soff.How’she

doing.”“You live inside

somebody’s body for a fewyears, you get used to it. Ilookathisfacenow,Ican’ttellwhat’sgoingon.I’mnotused to seeing his facialexpressions. I’m used tofeelingthem.”“Come on, we’re not

talking aboutpsychoanalysis here. We’resoldiers, not witch doctors.

You just saw him beat theguts out of the leader of agang.”“He was thorough. He

didn’tjustbeathim,hebeathim deep. Like MazerRackhamatthe—”“Spare me. So in the

judgment of the committee,hepasses.”“Mostly. Let’s see what

he does with his brother,nowthatthemonitor’soff.”

“His brother. Aren’t youafraid of what his brotherwilldotohim?”“You were the one who

told me that this wasn’t ano-riskbusiness.”“I went back through

some of the tapes. I can’thelpit.Ilikethekid.Ithinkwe’re going to screw himup.”“Of course we are. It’s

our job. We’re the wicked

witch. We promisegingerbread, butwe eat thelittlebastardsalive.”

“I’m sorry, Ender,”Valentinewhispered.Shewaslookingat thebandaidonhisneck.Endertouchedthewalland

the door closed behind him.“I don’t care. I’m glad it’sgone.”“What’s gone?” Peter

walked into the parlor,chewing on a mouthful ofbreadandpeanutbutter.Ender did not see Peter as

thebeautifulten-year-oldboythat grown-ups saw, withdark,thick,tousledhairandafacethatcouldhavebelongedtoAlexandertheGreat.EnderlookedatPeteronlytodetectanger or boredom, thedangerousmoods that almostalways led to pain. Now as

Peter’s eyes discovered thebandaid on his neck, thetelltale flicker of angerappeared.Valentinesawittoo.“Now

he’s likeus,”shesaid, tryingto soothe him before he hadtimetostrike.But Peter would not be

soothed. “Like us? He keepsthe little sucker till he’s sixyearsold.Whendidyouloseyours?Youwerethree.I lost

mine before I was five. Healmostmade it, littlebastard,littlebugger.”This is all right, Ender

thought.Talkand talk,Peter.Talkisfine.“Well, now your guardian

angels aren’t watching overyou,” Peter said. “Now theyaren’t checking to see if youfeel pain, listening to hearwhatI’msaying,seeingwhatI’mdoingtoyou.Howabout

that?Howaboutit?”Endershrugged.SuddenlyPeter smiled and

clappedhishands together ina mockery of good cheer.“Let’s play buggers andastronauts,”hesaid.“Where’s Mom?” asked

Valentine.“Out,” said Peter. “I’m in

charge.”“IthinkI’llcallDaddy.”“Call away,” said Peter.

“Youknowhe’sneverin.”“I’llplay,”Endersaid.“You be the bugger,” said

Peter.“Let him be the astronaut

foronce,”Valentinesaid.“Keepyour fat faceoutof

it, fart mouth,” said Peter.“Come on upstairs andchooseyourweapons.”It would not be a good

game,Enderknew.Itwasnota questionofwinning.When

kids played in the corridors,whole troops of them, thebuggers never won, andsometimes the games gotmean. But here in their flat,the game would start mean,and the bugger couldn’t justgo empty and quit the waybuggers did in the realwars.Thebuggerwasinituntiltheastronautdecideditwasover.Peter opened his bottom

drawer and took out the

buggermask.Motherhadgotupset at him when Peterboughtit,butDadpointedoutthat the war wouldn’t goaway just because you hidbugger masks and wouldn’tletyourkidsplaywithmake-believe laser guns. Better toplaythewargames,andhavea better chance of survivingwhenthebuggerscameagain.If I survive the games,

thoughtEnder.Heputonthe

mask. It closed him in like ahandpressedtightagainsthisface. But this isn’t how itfeels to be a bugger, thoughtEnder. They don’t wear thisface like a mask, it is theirface. On their home worlds,dothebuggersputonhumanmasks, and play? And whatdo they call us? Slimies,becausewe’resosoftandoilycomparedtothem?“Watchout,Slimy,”Ender

said.He could barely see Peter

through the eyeholes. Petersmiled at him. “Slimy, huh?Well, bugger-wugger, let’sseehowtobreak that faceofyours.”Ender couldn’t see it

coming, except a slight shiftof Peter’s weight; the maskcut out his peripheral vision.Suddenly there was the painandpressureofablowtothe

side of his head; he lostbalance,fellthatway.“Don’t see too well, do

you,bugger?”saidPeter.Enderbegantotakeoffthe

mask. Peter put his toeagainstEnder’sgroin.“Don’ttakeoffthemask,”Petersaid.Ender pulled the mask

down into place, took hishandsaway.Peterpressedwithhisfoot.

Pain shot through Ender; he

doubledup.“Lie flat, bugger. We’re

gonna vivisect you, bugger.Atlonglastwe’vegotoneofyoualive,andwe’regoingtoseehowyouwork.”“Peter,stopit,”Endersaid.“Peter, stop it. Very good.

Soyoubuggerscanguessournames. You can makeyourselves sound likepathetic,cutelittlechildrensowe’llloveyouandbeniceto

you. But it doesn’t work. Ican see you for what youreallyare.Theymeantyoutobe human, little Third, butyou’re really a bugger, andnowitshows.”He lifted his foot, took a

step,andthenkneltonEnder,hiskneepressingintoEnder’sbelly just below thebreastbone.He putmore andmoreofhisweightonEnder.Itbecamehardtobreathe.

“Icouldkillyoulikethis,”Peter whispered. “Just pressand press until you’re dead.And I could say that I didn’tknow itwould hurt you, thatwe were just playing, andthey’d believe me, andeverything would be fine.And you’d be dead.Everythingwouldbefine.”Endercouldnotspeak; the

breathwasbeingforcedfromhis lungs. Peter might mean

it. Probably didn’t mean it,butthenhemight.“I domean it,” Peter said.

“Whateveryou think, Imeanit. They only authorized youbecause I was so promising.ButIdidn’tpanout.Youdidbetter. They think you’rebetter. But I don’t want abetter little brother, Ender. Idon’twantaThird.”“I’ll tell,” Valentine said

fromthedoorway.

“No one would believeyou.”“They’dbelieveme.”“Then you’re dead, too,

sweetlittlesister.”“Oh, yes,” said Valentine.

“They’llbelievethat.‘Ididn’tknow it would kill Andrew.And when he was dead, Ididn’t know it would killValentinetoo.’”Thepressureletupalittle.“So. Not today. But

someday you two won’t betogether. And there’ll be anaccident.”“You’realltalk,”Valentine

said.“Youdon’tmeananyofit.”“Idon’t?”“And do you know why

you don’t mean it?”Valentine asked. “Becauseyouwanttobeingovernmentsomeday. You want to beelected.Andtheywon’telect

youifyouropponentscandigup the fact that your brotherand sister both died insuspicious accidents whenthey were little. Especiallybecause of the letter I’ve putin my secret file in the citylibrary,whichwillbeopenedintheeventofmydeath.”“Don’tgivemethatkindof

crap,”Petersaid.“It says, I didn’t die a

naturaldeath.Peterkilledme,

andifhehasn’talreadykilledAndrew, he will soon. Notenough to convict you, butenoughtokeepyoufromevergettingelected.”“You’rehismonitornow,”

saidPeter.“Youbetterwatchhim, day and night. Youbetterbethere.”“Enderand I aren’t stupid.

Wescoredaswellasyoudidoneverything.Betteronsomethings. We’re all such

wonderfully bright children.You’re not the smartest,Peter,justthebiggest.”“Oh, I know. But there’ll

come a daywhen you aren’tthere with him, when youforget. And suddenly you’llremember, andyou’ll rush tohim, and there he’ll be,perfectly all right. And thenexttimeyouwon’tworrysomuch,andyouwon’tcomesofast.Andeverytime,he’llbe

allright.Andyou’llthinkthatI forgot. Even though you’llremember that I said this,you’llthinkthatIforgot.Andyears will pass. And thenthere’llbeaterribleaccident,andI’llfindhisbody,andI’llcry and cry over him, andyou’ll remember thisconversation, Vally, butyou’llbeashamedofyourselffor remembering, becauseyou’ll know that I changed,

thatitreallywasanaccident,that it’s cruel of you even toremember what I said in achildhood quarrel. Exceptthat it’ll be true. I’m gonnasave this up, and he’s gonnadie,andyouwon’tdoathing,not a thing. But you go onbelieving that I’m just thebiggest.”“The biggest asshole,”

Valentinesaid.Peterleapedtohisfeetand

started for her. She shiedaway. Ender pried off hismask. Peter flopped back onhis bed and started to laugh.Loud, but with real mirth,tearscomingtohiseyes.“Oh,you guys are just super, justthe biggest suckers on theplanetearth.”“Nowhe’sgoing to tellus

it was all a joke,” Valentinesaid.“Nota joke,agame. Ican

make you guys believeanything. I can make youdance around like puppets.”In a phonymonster voice hesaid, “I’m going to kill youandchopyouintolittlepiecesandput you into the garbagehole.” He laughed again.“Biggest suckers in the solarsystem.”Enderstoodtherewatching

him laugh and thought ofStilson,thoughtofhowitfelt

to crunch intohisbody.Thisiswhoneededit.Thisiswhoshouldhavegotit.As if she could read his

mind, Valentine whispered,“No,Ender.”Petersuddenlyrolledtothe

side, flippedoff thebed, andgot in position for a fight.“Oh, yes, Ender,” he said.“Anytime,Ender.”Ender lifted his right leg

andtookoffhisshoe.Heheld

it up. “See there, on the toe?That’s blood, Peter. It’s notmine.”“Ooh.Ooh,I’mgonnadie,

I’m gonna die. Endersquished a capper-tiller andnowhe’sgonnasquishme.”There was no getting to

him.Peterwas amurderer atheart,andnobodyknewitbutValentineandEnder.Mother came home and

commiserated with Ender

about the monitor. Fathercamehomeandkeptsayingitwas such a wonderfulsurprise, they had suchfantastic children that thegovernmenttoldthemtohavethree, and now thegovernment didn’t want totakeanyof themafterall, sohere they were with three,theystillhadaThird...untilEnder wanted to scream athim, I know I’m a Third, I

know it, if you want I’ll goawaysoyoudon’thavetobeembarrassed in front ofeverybody, I’m sorry I lostthe monitor and now youhave three kids and noobvious explanation, soinconvenient for you, I’msorrysorrysorry.He lay in bed staring

upwardintothedarkness.Onthebunkabovehim,hecouldhearPeterturningandtossing

restlessly.ThenPeterslidoffthe bunk and walked out ofthe room. Ender heard thehushing sound of the toiletclearing; then Peter stoodsilhouettedinthedoorway.He thinksI’masleep.He’s

goingtokillme.Peter walked to the bed,

and sure enough, he did notlift himself up to his bed.InsteadhecameandstoodbyEnder’shead.

But he did not reach for apillow to smother Ender. Hedidnothaveaweapon.Hewhispered,“Ender, I’m

sorry, I’msorry, Iknowhowit feels, I’m sorry, I’m yourbrother,Iloveyou.”A long time later, Peter’s

even breathing said that hewas asleep. Ender peeled thebandaid from his neck. Andfor the second time that dayhecried.

3

GRAFF

“Thesisterisourweaklink.

Hereallylovesher.”“Iknow.Shecanundo it

all,fromthestart.Hewon’twanttoleaveher.”“So, what are you going

todo?”“Persuade him that he

wantstocomewithusmorethan he wants to stay withher.”“Howwillyoudothat?”“I’lllietohim.”“And if that doesn’t

work?”“Then I’ll tell the truth.

We’reallowedtodothat inemergencies.Wecan’tplanforeverything,youknow.”

Ender wasn’t very hungryduring breakfast. He keptwondering what it would belike at school.FacingStilsonafter yesterday’s fight. WhatStilson’s friends would do.Probably nothing, but he

couldn’t be sure. He didn’twanttogo.“You’re not eating,

Andrew,”hismothersaid.Peter came into the room.

“Morning,Ender.Thanks forleavingyourslimywashclothinthemiddleoftheshower.”“Just for you,” Ender

murmured.“Andrew,youhavetoeat.”Enderheldouthiswrists,a

gesturethatsaid,Sofeeditto

methroughaneedle.“Veryfunny,”Mothersaid.

“I try to be concerned, but itmakes no difference to mygeniuschildren.”“Itwas all yourgenes that

made us geniuses, Mom,”said Peter. “We sure didn’tgetanyfromDad.”“Iheard that,”Father said,

notlookingupfromthenewsthat was being displayed onthetablewhileheate.

“It would’ve been wastedifyouhadn’t.”Thetablebeeped.Someone

wasatthedoor.“Whoisit?”Motherasked.Fatherthumbedakeyanda

man appeared on his video.He was wearing the onlymilitary uniform that meantanything anymore, the I.F.,theInternationalFleet.“I thought it was over,”

saidFather.

Peter said nothing, justpouredmilkoverhiscereal.AndEnderthought,Maybe

Iwon’t have to go to schooltodayafterall.Fathercodedthedooropen

and got up from the table.“I’ll see to it,”hesaid.“Stayandeat.”They stayed, but they

didn’t eat. A few momentslater, Father came back intothe room and beckoned to

Mother.“You’reindeeppoo,”said

Peter. “They found out whatyoudid to thatkidat school,andnow they’regonnamakeyoudotimeoutintheBelt.”“I’monlysix,moron,I’ma

juvenile.”“You’re a Third, turd.

You’vegotnorights.”Valentinecamein,herhair

in a sleepy halo around herface. “Where’s Mom and

Dad? I’m too sick to go toschool.”“Anotheroralexam,huh?”

Petersaid.“Shut up, Peter,” said

Valentine.“You should relax and

enjoyit,”saidPeter.“Itcouldbeworse.”“Idon’tknowhow.”“Itcouldbeananalexam.”“Hyuk hyuk,” Valentine

said. “Where areMother and

Father?”“TalkingtoaguyfromIF.”Instinctively she looked at

Ender. After all, for yearstheyhadexpectedsomeonetocomeandtellthemthatEnderhad passed, that Ender wasneeded.“That’sright,lookathim,”

Peter said. “But it might beme, you know. They mighthave realized I was the bestof the lot after all.” Peter’s

feelingswerehurt, and sohewasbeingasnot,asusual.Thedooropened.“Ender,”

saidFather,“youbettercomeinhere.”“Sorry, Peter,” Valentine

taunted.Father glowered.

“Children,thisisnolaughingmatter.”Ender followedFather into

the parlor. The I.F. officerrose to his feet when they

entered,buthedidnotextendahandtoEnder.Mother was twisting her

wedding band on her finger.“Andrew,” she said, “I neverthoughtyouwere thekind togetinafight.”“The Stilson boy is in the

hospital,” Father said. “Youreally did a number on him.With your shoe, Ender. Thatwasn’texactlyfair.”Ender shook his head. He

had expected someone fromthe school to come aboutStilson, not an officer of thefleet. This was more seriousthanhehadthought.Andyethecouldn’tthinkwhatelsehecouldhavedone.“Do you have any

explanation for yourbehavior,youngman?”askedtheofficer.Ender shook his head

again. He didn’t know what

to say, and he was afraid torevealhimselftobeanymoremonstrous than his actionshadmade him out to be. I’lltake it, whatever thepunishment is, he thought.Let’sgetitoverwith.“We’rewilling to consider

extenuating circumstances,”the officer said. “But I musttellyou itdoesn’t lookgood.Kicking him in the groin,kickinghimrepeatedlyinthe

face and body when he wasdown—it sounds like youreallyenjoyedit.”“I didn’t,” Ender

whispered.“Thenwhydidyoudoit?”“He had his gang there,”

Endersaid.“So? This excuses

anything?”“No.”“Tellmewhyyoukepton

kickinghim.Youhadalready

won.”“Knocking him downwon

thefirstfight.Iwantedtowinall the next ones, too. Sothey’d leave me alone.”Endercouldn’thelpit,hewastooafraid,tooashamedofhisownacts; thoughhetriednotto, he cried again. Ender didnotliketocryandrarelydid;now, in less than a day, hehad done it three times.Andeach timewasworse.To cry

in front of his mother andfather and this military man,thatwasshameful.“Youtookaway the monitor,” Endersaid. “I had to take care ofmyself,didn’tI?”“Ender, you should have

asked a grown-up for help,”Fatherbegan.But the officer stood up

and stepped across the roomto Ender. He held out hishand. “My name is Graff,

Ender.ColonelHyrumGraff.I’m director of primarytraining at Battle School inthe Belt. I’ve come to inviteyoutoentertheschool.”Afterall. “But themonitor

—”“The final step in your

testingwastoseewhatwouldhappen when the monitorcameoff.Wedon’talwaysdoit that way, but in your case—”

“And he passed?” Motherwas incredulous.“Putting theStilson boy in the hospital?WhatwouldyouhavedoneifAndrewhadkilledhim,givenhimamedal?”“It isn’twhat he did,Mrs.

Wiggin. It’s why.” ColonelGraffhandedherafolderfullof papers. “Here are therequisitions. Your son hasbeen cleared by the I.F.Selective Service. Of course

we already have yourconsent,granted inwritingatthe time conception wasconfirmed, or he could nothavebeenborn.Hehasbeenours from then, if hequalified.”Father’s voice was

trembling as he spoke. “It’snotverykindofyou,toletusthink you didn’t want him,and then to take him afterall.”

“And this charade abouttheStilsonboy,”Mothersaid.“It wasn’t a charade,Mrs.

Wiggin.UntilweknewwhatEnder’s motivation was, wecouldn’t be sure he wasn’tanother—we had to knowwhat the actionmeant.Or atleastwhatEnderbelievedthatitmeant.”“Must you call him that

stupid nickname?” Motherbegantocry.

“That’s the name he callshimself.”“Whatareyougoingtodo,

ColonelGraff?”Fatherasked.“Walkout thedoorwithhimnow?”“Thatdepends,”saidGraff.“Onwhat?”“On whether Ender wants

tocome.”Mother’s weeping turned

tobitterlaughter.“Oh,soit’svoluntary after all, how

sweet!”“For the two of you, the

choicewasmadewhenEnderwas conceived. But forEnder, the choice has notbeen made at all. Conscriptsmake good cannon fodder,but for officers we needvolunteers.”“Officers?” Ender asked.

Atthesoundofhisvoice,theothersfellsilent.“Yes,” said Graff. “Battle

School is for training futurestarship captains andcommodores of flotillas andadmiralsofthefleet.”“Let’s not have any

deception here!” Father saidangrily. “How many of theboys at the Battle Schoolactually end up in commandofships!”“Unfortunately, Mr.

Wiggin, that is classifiedinformation. But I can say

that none of our boys whomakesitthroughthefirstyearhas ever failed to receive acommission as an officer.And none has retired from aposition of lower rank thanchief executive officer of aninterplanetaryvessel.Eveninthe domestic defense forceswithinour own solar system,there’shonortobehad.”“How many make it

throughthefirstyear?”asked

Ender.“All who want to,” said

Graff.Ender almost said, I want

to. But he held his tongue.This would keep him out ofschool, but that was stupid,thatwas just aproblem for afew days. Itwould keep himaway from Peter—that wasmoreimportant,thatmightbeamatter of life itself. But toleaveMotherandFather,and

aboveall, to leaveValentine.Andbecomea soldier.Enderdidn’tlikefighting.Hedidn’tlike Peter’s kind, the strongagainst the weak, and hedidn’t like his own kindeither, the smart against thestupid.“I think,”Graff said, “that

Ender and I should have aprivateconversation.”“No,”Fathersaid.“I won’t take him without

letting you speak to himagain,”Graff said. “And youreallycan’tstopme.”Father glared at Graff a

moment longer, then got upand left the room. Motherpaused to squeeze Ender’shand. She closed the doorbehindherwhensheleft.“Ender,” Graff said, “if

youcomewithme,youwon’tbebackhere fora long time.There aren’t any vacations

from Battle School. Novisitors, either. A full courseof training lasts until you’resixteen years old—you getyourfirstleave,undercertaincircumstances, when you’retwelve. Believe me, Ender,peoplechangeinsixyears,inten years. Your sisterValentine will be a womanwhen you see her again, ifyoucomewithme.You’llbestrangers. You’ll still love

her, Ender, but you won’tknow her. You see I’m notpretendingit’seasy.”“MomandDaddy?”“I know you, Ender. I’ve

been watching the monitordisks for some time. Youwon’t miss your mother andfather,notmuch,notforlong.And they won’t miss youlong,either.”Tears came to Ender’s

eyes, in spite of himself. He

turned his face away, butwould not reach up to wipethem.“Theydo loveyou,Ender.

But you have to understandwhatyour lifehascost them.Theywerebornreligious,youknow. Your father wasbaptized with the name JohnPaul Wieczorek. Catholic.The seventh of ninechildren.”Nine children. That was

unthinkable.Criminal.“Yes, well, people do

strange things for religion.You know the sanctions,Ender—they were not asharsh then,but still not easy.Only the first two childrenhad a free education. Taxessteadily rose with each newchild. Your father turnedsixteen and invoked theNoncomplying Families Actto separate himself from his

family.Hechangedhisname,renounced his religion, andvowed never to have morethantheallottedtwochildren.He meant it. All the shameand persecution he wentthroughasachild—hevowedno child of his would gothrough it. Do youunderstand?”“Hedidn’twantme.”“Well, no one wants a

Third anymore. You can’t

expect them to be glad. Butyour father andmother are aspecial case. They bothrenounced their religions—your mother was a Mormon—butinfacttheirfeelingsarestillambiguous.Doyouknowwhatambiguousmeans?”“Theyfeelbothways.”“They’re ashamed of

having come fromnoncompliant families. Theyconceal it.Tothedegreethat

yourmother refuses to admitto anyone that she was bornin Utah, lest they suspect.Your fatherdenieshisPolishancestry, sincePoland is stilla noncompliant nation, andunder international sanctionbecause of it. So, you see,having a Third, even underthe government’s directinstructions, undoeseverything they’ve beentryingtodo.”

“Iknowthat.”“Butit’smorecomplicated

than that. Your father stillnamed you with legitimatesaints’ names. In fact, hebaptized all three of youhimselfassoonashegotyouhome after you were born.And your mother objected.They quarreled over it eachtime, not because she didn’twant you baptized, butbecause she didn’t want you

baptized Catholic. Theyhaven’t really given up theirreligion. They look at youand see you as a badge ofpride,becausetheywereableto circumvent the law andhaveaThird.Butyou’realsoa badge of cowardice,because they dare not gofurther and practice thenoncompliance they still feelis right. And you’re a badgeof public shame, because at

every step you interferewiththeir efforts at assimilationinto normal complyingsociety.”“How can you know all

this?”“We monitored your

brother and sister, Ender.You’d be amazed at howsensitive the instruments are.We were connected directlyto your brain. We heard allthat you heard, whether you

were listening carefully ornot.Whether you understoodornot.Weunderstand.”“So my parents love me

anddon’tloveme?”“They love you. The

questioniswhethertheywantyou here. Your presence inthis house is a constantdisruption. A source oftension.Doyouunderstand?”“I’m not the one who

causestension.”

“Not anything you do,Ender. Your life itself. Yourbrother hates you becauseyou are living proof that hewasn’t good enough. Yourparentsresentyoubecauseofall thepast theyare trying toevade.”“Valentinelovesme.”“With all her heart.

Completely, unstintingly,she’sdevotedtoyou,andyouadore her. I told you it

wouldn’tbeeasy.”“Whatisitlike,there?”“Hard work. Studies, just

like school here, except weputyouintomathematicsandcomputers much moreheavily. Military history.Strategy and tactics. Andaboveall,theBattleRoom.”“What’sthat?”“War games. All the boys

are organized into armies.Dayafterday,inzerogravity,

there are mock battles.Nobody gets hurt, butwinning and losing matter.Everybody starts as acommon soldier, takingorders. Older boys are yourofficers,andit’stheirdutytotrain you and command youin battle. More than that Ican’t tell you. It’s likeplaying buggers andastronauts—except that youhaveweapons thatwork, and

fellow soldiers fightingbeside you, and your wholefuture and the future of thehuman race depends on howwellyoulearn,howwellyoufight.It’sahardlife,andyouwon’t have a normalchildhood. Of course, withyourmind, andas aThird toboot, you wouldn’t have aparticularlynormalchildhoodanyway.”“Allboys?”

“A few girls. They don’toften pass the tests to get in.Too many centuries ofevolutionareworkingagainstthem. None of them will belike Valentine, anyway. Butthere’ll be brothers there,Ender.”“LikePeter?”“Peter wasn’t accepted,

Ender, for the very reasonsthatyouhatehim.”“Idon’t hatehim. I’m just

—”“Afraidofhim.Well,Peter

isn’t all bad, you know. Hewas the best we’d seen in along time. We asked yourparents to choose a daughternext—they would haveanyway—hoping thatValentinewouldbePeter,butmilder. She was too mild.And so we requisitionedyou.”“To be half Peter and half

Valentine.”“If things worked out

right.”“AmI?”“Asfaraswecantell.Our

tests are very good, Ender.But they don’t tell useverything. In fact, when itcomesdowntoit,theyhardlytell us anything. But they’rebetter than nothing.” GraffleanedoverandtookEnder’shands inhis. “EnderWiggin,

if it were just a matter ofchoosing the best andhappiest future for you, I’dtell you to stay home. Stayhere, grow up, be happy.There are worse things thanbeing a Third, worse thingsthan a big brother who can’tmakeuphismindwhether tobeahumanbeingorajackal.BattleSchool is oneof thoseworse things. But we needyou. The buggers may seem

like a game to you now,Ender, but they damn nearwiped us out last time. Theyhaduscold,outnumberedandoutweaponed.Theonly thingthatsaveduswasthatwehadthe most brilliant militarycommander we ever found.Callitfate,callitGod,callitdamnfoolluck,wehadMazerRackham.“But we don’t have him

now, Ender. We’ve scraped

together everything mankindcould produce, a fleet thatmakes the one they sentagainstuslasttimeseemlikea bunch of kids playing in aswimming pool. We havesome newweapons, too. Butitmight not be enough, evenso. Because in the eightyyears since the last war,they’ve had asmuch time toprepareaswehave.Weneedthe best we can get, and we

needthemfast.Maybeyou’renotgoing toworkout forus,and maybe you are. Maybeyou’ll break down under thepressure, maybe it’ll ruinyour life, maybe you’ll hateme for coming here to yourhouse today. But if there’s achance that because you’rewiththefleet,mankindmightsurvive and the buggersmight leave us alone forever—then I’m going to ask you

todoit.Tocomewithme.”Enderhadtroublefocusing

on Colonel Graff. The manlooked far away and verysmall, as ifEnder could pickhim up with tweezers anddrop him in a pocket. Toleaveeverythinghere,andgotoaplacethatwasveryhard,with no Valentine, no MomandDad.Andthenhethoughtofthe

films of the buggers that

everyone had to see at leastonce a year.TheScathing ofChina.TheBattleoftheBelt.Death and suffering andterror. And Mazer Rackhamand his brilliant maneuvers,destroying an enemy fleettwice his size and twice hisfirepower, using the littlehuman ships that seemed sofrail andweak.Like childrenfightingwithgrown-ups.Andwewon.

“I’m afraid,” said Enderquietly. “But I’ll go withyou.”“Tell me again,” said

Graff.“It’s what I was born for,

isn’tit?IfIdon’tgo,whyamIalive?”“Not good enough,” said

Graff.“I don’t want to go,” said

Ender,“butIwill.”Graff nodded. “You can

change your mind. Up untilthe time you get in my carwithme,youcanchangeyourmind. After that, you stay atthe pleasure of theInternational Fleet. Do youunderstandthat?”Endernodded.“Allright.Let’stellthem.”Mother cried. Father held

Ender tight. Peter shook hishand and said, “You luckylittle pinheaded fart-eater.”

Valentinekissedhimandlefthertearsonhischeek.Therewasnothingtopack.

No belongings to take. “Theschool provides everythingyou need, from uniforms toschool supplies. And as fortoys—there’s only onegame.”“Good-bye,”Ender said to

hisfamily.Hereachedupandtook Colonel Graff’s handandwalkedoutthedoorwith

him.“Kill some buggers for

me!”Petershouted.“I love you, Andrew!”

Mothercalled.“We’ll write to you!”

Fathersaid.And as he got into the car

that waited silently in thecorridor,heheardValentine’sanguishedcry.“Comebacktome!Iloveyouforever!”

4

LAUNCH

“With Ender, we have to

strike a delicate balance.Isolate him enough that heremainscreative—otherwisehe’ll adopt the system hereand we’ll lose him. At thesametime,weneedtomakesure he keeps a strongabilitytolead.”“If he earns rank, he’ll

lead.”“It isn’t that simple.

Mazer Rackham couldhandle his little fleet and

win. By the time this warhappens, there’ll be toomuch, even for a genius.Too many little boats. Hehas to work smoothly withhissubordinates.”“Oh,good.Hehastobea

geniusandnice,too.”“Not nice. Nice will let

thebuggershaveusall.”“So you’re going to

isolatehim.”“I’llhavehimcompletely

separated from the rest oftheboysbythetimewegettotheSchool.”“Ihavenodoubtofit.I’ll

be waiting for you to gethere. I watched the vids ofwhat he did to the Stilsonboy. This is not a sweetlittlekidyou’rebringinguphere.”“That’s where you’re

mistaken.He’sevensweeterthan he looks. But don’t

worry.We’llpurgethatinahurry.”“Sometimes I think you

enjoy breaking these littlegeniuses.”“Thereisanarttoit,and

I’m very, very good at it.But enjoy? Well, maybe.When they put back thepieces afterward, and itmakesthembetter.”“You’reamonster.”“Thanks.Does thismean

Igetaraise?”“Justamedal.Thebudget

isn’tinexhaustible.”

They say thatweightlessness can causedisorientation, especially inchildren, whose sense ofdirectionisn’tyetsecure.ButEnderwas disoriented beforeheleftEarth’sgravity.Beforetheshuttlelaunchevenbegan.There were nineteen other

boysinhislaunch.Theyfiledout of the bus and into theelevator. They talked andjoked and bragged andlaughed. Ender kept hissilence.HenoticedhowGraffand the other officers werewatching them. Analyzing.Everything we do meanssomething, Ender realized.Them laughing. Me notlaughing.He toyed with the idea of

trying to be like the otherboys.Buthecouldn’tthinkofany jokes, andnoneof theirsseemed funny. Wherevertheir laughter came from,Ender couldn’t find such aplace in himself. He wasafraid, and fear made himserious.Theyhaddressedhim ina

uniform,allinasinglepiece;itfeltfunnynottohaveabeltcinched aroundhiswaist.He

feltbaggyandnaked,dressedlike that. There were TVcameras going, perched likeanimals on the shoulders ofcrouching, prowling men.The men moved slowly,catlike,sothecameramotionwould be smooth. Endercaught himself movingsmoothly,too.Heimaginedhimselfbeing

on TV, in an interview. Theannouncer asking him, How

do you feel, Mr. Wiggin?Actually quite well, excepthungry. Hungry? Oh, yes,they don’t let you eat fortwenty hours before thelaunch. How interesting, Ineverknewthat.Allofusarequite hungry, actually. Andall the while, during theinterview, Ender and the TVguy would slink alongsmoothly in front of thecameraman,takinglong,lithe

strides. The TV guy waslettinghimbethespokesmanforalltheboys,thoughEnderwas barely competent tospeak for himself. For thefirst time, Ender felt likelaughing. He smiled. Theother boys near him werelaughing at themoment, too,for another reason. Theythink I’m smiling at theirjoke, thoughtEnder.But I’msmiling at something much

funnier.“Goup the ladderoneata

time,”saidanofficer.“Whenyou come to an aisle withempty seats, take one. Therearen’tanywindowseats.”It was a joke. The other

boyslaughed.Enderwasnearthelast,but

not the very last. The TVcameras did not give up,though. Will Valentine seemedisappearintotheshuttle?

He thoughtofwavingat her,of running to the cameramanand saying, “Can I tellValentine good-bye?” Hedidn’t know that itwould becensoredoutofthetapeifhedid, for the boys soaring outto Battle School were allsupposed to be heroes. Theyweren’t supposed to missanybody. Ender didn’t knowabout the censorship, but hedid know that running to the

cameraswouldbewrong.Hewalkedtheshortbridge

to thedoor in theshuttle.Henoticed that the wall to hisright was carpeted like afloor. That was where thedisorientation began. Themoment he thought of thewall as a floor, he began tofeellikehewaswalkingonawall. He got to the ladder,and noticed that the verticalsurface behind it was also

carpeted. I am climbing upthe floor. Hand over hand,stepbystep.And then, for fun, he

pretended that he wasclimbing down the wall. Hedid it almost instantly in hismind, convinced himselfagainst the best evidence ofgravity until he reached anemptyseat.Hefoundhimselfgrippingtheseattightly,eventhough gravity pulled him

firmlyagainstit.The other boys were

bouncing on their seats alittle, poking and pushing,shouting. Ender carefullyfound the straps, figured outhow they fit together to holdhim at crotch, waist, andshoulders. He imagined theshipdanglingupsidedownontheundersurfaceoftheEarth,the giant fingers of gravityholding themfirmly inplace.

But we will slip away, hethought.Wearegoing to falloffthisplanet.He did not know its

significance at the time.Later, though, he wouldremember that it was evenbefore he left Earth that hefirst thoughtof itasaplanet,like any other, notparticularlyhisown.“Oh, already figured it

out,” said Graff. He was

standingontheladder.“Coming with us?” Ender

asked.“I don’t usually come

down for recruiting,” Graffsaid. “I’m kind of in chargethere. Administrator of theSchool. Like a principal.They told me I had to comebackor I’d losemy job.”Hesmiled.Endersmiledback.Hefelt

comfortablewithGraff.Graff

was good. And he wasprincipaloftheBattleSchool.Ender relaxed a little. Hewouldhaveafriendthere.Adults helped the other

boysbeltthemselvesinplace,those who hadn’t done asEnder did. Then they waitedforanhourwhileaTVatthefrontoftheshuttleintroducedthem to shuttle flight, thehistory of space flight, andtheir possible futurewith the

great starships of the I.F.Very boring stuff. Ender hadseensuchfilmsbefore.Exceptthathehadnotbeen

belted into a seat inside theshuttle.HangingupsidedownfromthebellyofEarth.The launch wasn’t bad. A

little scary. Some jolting, afew moments of panic thatthis might be the first failedlaunchsincetheearlydaysofthe shuttle. The movies

hadn’t made it plain howmuch violence you couldexperience, lying on yourbackinasoftchair.Then it was over, and he

really was hanging by thestraps,nogravityanywhere.Butbecausehehadalready

reorientedhimself,hewasnotsurprised when Graff cameup the ladderbackward,as ifhewereclimbingdowntothefrontoftheshuttle.Nordidit

bother him when Graffhooked his feet under a rungand pushed off with hishands, so that suddenly heswungupright,asifthiswereanordinaryairplane.Thereorientationsweretoo

much for some. One boygagged; Ender understoodthen why they had beenforbidden to eat anything fortwenty hours before thelaunch. Vomiting in null

gravitywouldn’tbefun.But for Ender, Graff’s

gravitygamewasfun.Andhecarried it further, imaginingthat Graff was actuallyhanging upside down fromthe center aisle, and thenpicturinghimstickingstraightout froma sidewall.Gravitycould go any which way.HoweverIwantittogo.IcanmakeGraffstandonhisheadandhedoesn’tevenknowit.

“What do you think is sofunny,Wiggin?”Graff’s voice was sharp

and angry. What did I dowrong, thought Ender. Did Ilaughoutloud?“I asked you a question,

soldier!”barkedGraff.Oh yes. This is the

beginning of the trainingroutine.Enderhadseensomemilitary shows on TV, andthey always shouted a lot at

the beginning of trainingbefore the soldiers and theofficerbecamegoodfriends.“Yessir,”Endersaid.“Wellanswerit,then!”“I thought of you hanging

upside down by your feet. Ithoughtitwasfunny.”It sounded stupid, now,

with Graff looking at himcoldly.“ToyouIsupposeitisfunny.Isitfunnytoanybodyelsehere?”

Murmursofno.“Wellwhy isn’t it?”Graff

looked at them all withcontempt. “Scumbrains,that’swhatwe’ve got in thislaunch. Pinheaded littlemorons.Onlyoneofyouhadthe brains to realize that innull gravity directions arewhatever you conceive themtobe.Doyouunderstandthat,Shafts?”Theboynodded.

“No you didn’t. Of courseyou didn’t. Not only stupid,but a liar too. There’s onlyone boy on this launch withany brains at all, and that’sEnder Wiggin. Take a goodlook at him, little boys.He’sgoing to be a commanderwhen you’re still in diapersup there. Because he knowshow to think in null gravity,and you just want to throwup.”

This wasn’t the way theshow was supposed to go.Graff was supposed to pickonhim,notsethimupasthebest. They were supposed tobe against eachother at first,sotheycouldbecomefriendslater.“Most of you are going to

iceout.Getusedtothat,littleboys.Most of you are goingto end up inCombatSchool,because you don’t have the

brains to handle deep-spacepiloting. Most of you aren’tworth the price of bringingyouup here toBattle Schoolbecauseyoudon’thavewhatit takes. Some of you mightmake it. Some of you mightbe worth something tohumanity.Butdon’tbetonit.I’mbettingononlyone.”Suddenly Graff did a

backflip and caught theladder with his hands, then

swunghisfeetawayfromtheladder.Doingahandstand, ifthefloorwasdown.Danglingbyhishands,ifthefloorwasup.Handoverhandheswunghimself back along the aisletohisseat.“Looks like you’ve got it

made here,” whispered theboynexttohim.Endershookhishead.“Oh, won’t even talk to

me?”theboysaid.

“I didn’t ask him to saythatstuff,”Enderwhispered.Hefeltasharppainonthe

top of his head. Then again.Some giggles from behindhim.Theboyinthenextseatback must have unfastenedhis straps. Again a blow tothe head. Go away, Enderthought. I didn’t do anythingtoyou.Again a blow to the head.

Laughter from the boys.

Didn’tGraffseethis?Wasn’the going to stop it? Anotherblow. Harder. It really hurt.WherewasGraff?Thenitbecameclear.Graff

had deliberately caused it. Itwas worse than the abuse intheshows.Whenthesergeantpicked on you, the othersliked you better. But whenthe officer prefers you, theothershateyou.“Hey, fart-eater,”came the

whisperfrombehindhim.Hewas hit on the head again.“Do you like this? Hey,super-brain, is this fun?”Another blow, this one sohard that Ender cried outsoftlywiththepain.If Graff was setting him

up, there’dbenohelpunlesshehelpedhimself.Hewaiteduntilhethoughtanotherblowwas about to come.Now, hethought. And yes, the blow

was there. It hurt, but Enderwas already trying to sensethe comingof thenextblow.Now.Andyes,rightontime.I’vegotyou,Enderthought.Just as the next blow was

coming, Ender reached upwithbothhands,snatchedtheboy by the wrist, and thenpulleddownonthearm,hard.In gravity, the boy would

have been jammed againstEnder’sseatback,hurtinghis

chest. In null gravity,however, he flipped over theseat completely, up towardthe ceiling. Ender wasn’texpecting it. He hadn’trealized how null gravitymagnified theeffectsofevenachild’smovements.Theboysailed through the air,bouncing against the ceiling,then down against anotherboy in his seat, thenout intothe aisle, his arms flailing

untilhescreamedashisbodyslammedintothebulkheadatthefrontofthecompartment,his left arm twisted underhim.It tookonlyseconds.Graff

was already there, snatchingtheboyoutof theair.Deftlyhe propelled him down theaisle toward the other man.“Left arm. Broken, I think,”he said. Inmoments the boyhadbeengivenadrugandlay

quietlyintheairastheofficerballooned a splint around hisarm.Ender felt sick. He had

onlymeanttocatchtheboy’sarm.No.No,hehadmeanttohurthim,andhadpulledwithall his strength. He hadn’tmeant it to be so public, butthe boy was feeling exactlythepainEnderhadmeanthimto feel. Null gravity hadbetrayed him, that was all. I

am Peter. I’m just like him.AndEnderhatedhimself.Graffstayedatthefrontof

the cabin. “What are you,slow learners? Inyour feeblelittle minds, haven’t youpickeduponelittlefact?Youwere brought here to besoldiers. Inyourold schools,in your old families, maybeyouwerethebigshot,maybeyou were tough, maybe youweresmart.Butwechosethe

bestofthebest,andthat’stheonlykindofkidyou’regoingtomeetnow.AndwhenItellyouEnderWigginis thebestin this launch, take the hint,my little dorklings. Don’tmess with him. Little boyshave died in Battle Schoolbefore. Do I make myselfclear?”There was silence the rest

ofthelaunch.Theboysittingnext to Ender was

scrupulously careful not totouchhim.I am not a killer, Ender

saidtohimselfoverandover.I am not Peter. No matterwhat Graff says, I’m not. Iwasdefendingmyself. Iboreit a long time. Iwas patient.I’mnotwhathesaid.A voice over the speaker

told them they wereapproaching the school; ittook twenty minutes to

decelerate and dock. Enderlagged behind the others.They were not unwilling tolethimbethelasttoleavetheshuttle, climbing upward inthe direction that had beendown when they embarked.Graffwaswaiting at the endof the narrow tube that ledfromtheshuttleintotheheartoftheBattleSchool.“Was it a good flight,

Ender?” Graff asked

cheerfully.“I thought you were my

friend.” Despite himself,Ender’svoicetrembled.Graff looked puzzled.

“Whatever gave you thatidea,Ender?”“Because you—” Because

you spoke nicely to me, andhonestly.“Youdidn’tlie.”“I won’t lie now, either,”

said Graff. “My job isn’t tobe friends. My job is to

produce the best soldiers inthe world. In the wholehistoryoftheworld.Weneeda Napoleon. An Alexander.Except that Napoleon lost inthe end, and Alexanderflamed out and died young.We need a Julius Caesar,except that he made himselfdictator, and died for it. Myjob is to produce such acreature,andall themenandwomen he’ll need to help

him.Nowhere in that does itsay I have to make friendswithchildren.”“Youmadethemhateme.”“So? What will you do

aboutit?Crawlintoacorner?Start kissing their littlebacksides so they’ll loveyouagain?There’sonlyonethingthat will make them stophating you. And that’s beingso good at what you do thatthey can’t ignore you. I told

themyouwerethebest.Nowyoudamnwellbetterbe.”“WhatifIcan’t?”“Then too bad. Look,

Ender, I’m sorry if you’relonely and afraid. But thebuggers are out there. Tenbillion, a hundred billion, amillionbillionofthem,forallwe know. With as manyships, for allwe know.Withweaponswecan’tunderstand.And a willingness to use

thoseweaponstowipeusout.It isn’t the world at stake,Ender. Just us. Justhumankind.Asfarastherestofthebiosphereisconcerned,wecouldbewipedoutanditwouldadjust,itwouldgetonwith the next step inevolution. But humanitydoesn’t want to die. As aspecies, we have evolved tosurvive.Andthewaywedoitis by straining and straining

and, at last, every fewgenerations, giving birth togenius. The onewho inventsthe wheel. And light. Andflight. The onewho builds acity, a nation, an empire.Doyouunderstandanyofthis?”Ender thought he did, but

wasn’t sure, and so saidnothing.“No.Ofcoursenot.SoI’ll

put it bluntly.Human beingsare free except when

humanityneedsthem.Maybehumanity needs you. To dosomething. Maybe humanityneeds me—to find out whatyou’re good for. We mightboth do despicable things,Ender, but if humankindsurvives, then wewere goodtools.”“Isthatall?Justtools?”“Individual human beings

are all tools, that the othersusetohelpusallsurvive.”

“That’salie.”“No. It’s just a half truth.

You can worry about theother half after we win thiswar.”“It’llbeoverbeforeIgrow

up,”Endersaid.“I hope you’re wrong,”

saidGraff. “By theway,youaren’t helpingyourself at all,talkingtome.Theotherboysare no doubt telling eachother that old Ender Wiggin

is back there licking up toGraff. If word once getsaroundthatyou’reateachers’boy,you’reicedforsure.”In other words, go away

and leave me alone.“Goodbye,” Ender said. Hepulled himself hand overhandalongthetubewheretheotherboyshadgone.Graffwatchedhimgo.One of the teachers near

himsaid,“Isthattheone?”

“God knows,” said Graff.“IfEnderisn’thim,thenhe’dbettershowupsoon.”“Maybe it’s nobody,” said

theteacher.“Maybe. But if that’s the

case, Anderson, then in myopinionGodisabugger.Youcanquotemeonthat.”“Iwill.”They stood in silence a

whilelonger.“Anderson.”

“Mmm.”“Thekid’swrong.Iamhis

friend.”“Iknow.”“He’s clean. Right to the

heart,he’sgood.”“I’vereadthereports.”“Anderson, think what

we’regoingtodotohim.”Anderson was defiant.

“We’re going to make himthe best military commanderinhistory.”

“And then put the fate ofthe world on his shoulders.For his sake, I hope it isn’thim.Ido.”“Cheer up. The buggers

may kill us all before hegraduates.”Graff smiled. “You’re

right.Ifeelbetteralready.”

5

GAMES

“You have my admiration.

Breaking an arm—thatwasamasterstroke.”“Thatwasanaccident.”“Really? And I’ve

already commended you inyourofficialreport.”“It’s too strong. Itmakes

that other little bastard intoa hero. It could screw uptraining for a lot of kids. IthoughtEndermightcallforhelp.”“Call for help? I thought

that was what you valuedmostinhim—thathesettleshis own problems. Whenhe’souttheresurroundedbyan enemy fleet, there ain’tgonna be nobody to helphimifhecalls.”“Who would have

guessed the little sucker’dbeoutofhisseat?Andthathe’dlandjustwrongagainstthebulkhead?”“Just one more example

of the stupidity of themilitary. If you had anybrains, you’d be in a realcareer, like selling lifeinsurance.”“You,too,mastermind.”“We’ve just got to face

the fact that we’re secondrate. With the fate ofhumanity in our hands.Gives you a deliciousfeelingofpower,doesn’tit?Especiallybecausethistime

if we lose there won’t beanycriticismofusatall.”“Ineverthoughtofitthat

way.Butlet’snotlose.”“See how Ender handles

it.Ifwe’vealreadylosthim,ifhecan’thandle this,whonext?Whoelse?”“I’llmakeupalist.”“In the meantime, figure

outhowtounloseEnder.”“I toldyou.His isolation

can’t be broken. He can

never come to believe thatanybodywill everhelphimout, ever. If he once thinksthere’s an easy way out,he’swrecked.”“You’reright.Thatwould

beterrible,ifhebelievedhehadafriend.”“Hecanhavefriends.It’s

parentshecan’thave.”

Theotherboyshadalreadychosen their bunks when

Ender arrived.Ender stoppedin the doorway of thedormitory, looking for thesole remaining bed. Theceiling was low—Endercouldreachupandtouchit.Achild-sized room, with thebottom bunk resting on thefloor. The other boys werewatching him, cornerwise.Sureenough,thebottombunkrightbythedoorwastheonlyempty bed. For a moment it

occurred to Ender that byletting the others put him inthe worst place, he wasinvitinglaterbullying.Yethecouldn’t very well oustsomeoneelse.So he smiled broadly.

“Hey, thanks,” he said. Notsarcastically at all.He said itas sincerely as if they hadreserved for him the bestposition. “I thought I wasgoing to have toask for low

bunkbythedoor.”Hesatdownandlookedin

the locker that stood open atthe foot of the bunk. Therewas a paper taped to theinsideofthedoor.

PLACEYOURHANDONTHESCANNER

ATTHEHEADOFYOURBUNKANDSPEAKYOURNAMETWICE.

Ender found thescanner,asheet of opaque plastic. He

put his left hand on it andsaid, “Ender Wiggin. EnderWiggin.”The scanner glowed green

for a moment. Ender closedhislockerandtriedtoreopenit. He couldn’t. Then he puthis hand on the scanner andsaid, “Ender Wiggin.” Thelocker popped open. So didthreeothercompartments.Oneofthemcontainedfour

jumpsuitsliketheonehewas

wearing, and one white one.Another compartmentcontained a small desk, justlike the ones at school. Sothey weren’t through withstudiesyet.It was the largest

compartment that containedthe prize. It looked like aspacesuit at first glance,complete with helmet andgloves. But it wasn’t. Therewas no airtight seal. Still, it

would effectively cover thewhole body. It was thicklypadded. It was also a littlestiff.And there was a pistol

within. A lasergun, it lookedlike, since the endwas solid,clear glass. But surely theywouldn’t let children havelethalweapons—“Not a laser,” said a man.

Ender looked up. It was onehe hadn’t seen before. A

youngandkind-lookingman.“But it has a tight enoughbeam.Well-focused.Youcanaim it andmake a three-inchcircle of light on a wall ahundredmetersoff.”“What’s it for?” Ender

asked.“Oneofthegamesweplay

during recreation. Doesanyone else have his lockeropen?” The man lookedaround. “I mean, have you

followeddirectionsandcodedin your voices and hands?Youcan’tgetintothelockersuntil you do. This room isyour home for the first yearor so here at the BattleSchool, so get the bunk youwant and stay with it.Ordinarily, we let you electyour chief officer and installhiminthelowerbunkbythedoor, but apparently thatpositionhasbeentaken.Can’t

recode the lockers now. Sothink about whom you wantto choose. Dinner in sevenminutes. Follow the lighteddots on the floor.Your colorcode is red yellow yellow—whenever you’re assigned apath to follow, it will be redyellowyellow,threedotssideby side—go where thoselights indicate. What’s yourcolorcode,boys?”“Red,yellow,yellow.”

“Very good. My name isDap. I’m your mom for thenextfewmonths.”Theboyslaughed.“Laugh all you like, but

keep it in mind. If you getlost in the school, which isquite possible, don’t goopeningdoors.Someofthemlead outside.”More laughter.“Instead just tell someonethat your mom is Dap, andthey’ll call me. Or tell them

your color, and they’ll lightupapathforyoutogethome.Ifyouhaveaproblem, cometalk to me. Remember, I’mthe only person here who’spaid to be nice to you. Butnottoonice.Givemeanylipand I’ll break your face.OK?”They laughed again. Dap

had a room full of friends.Frightened children are soeasytowin.

“Which way is down,anybodytellme?”Theytoldhim.“OK, that’s true. But that

direction is toward theoutside.Theshipisspinning,and that’swhatmakes it feellike that is down. The flooractuallycurvesaroundinthatdirection. Keep going longenough that way, and youcome back to where youstarted. Except don’t try it.

Because up that way isteachers’quarters,andupthatway is the bigger kids. Andthe bigger kids don’t likeLaunchies butting in. Youmight get pushed around. Infact, you will get pushedaround. And when you do,don’tcomecryingtome.Gotit? This isBattle School, notnurseryschool.”“What arewe supposed to

do, then?” asked a boy, a

really small black kid whohadatopbunknearEnder’s.“If you don’t like getting

pushedaround, figureout foryourself what to do about it.But I warn you—murder isstrictlyagainsttherules.Soisany deliberate injury. Iunderstand there was oneattemptedmurderonthewayup here.A broken arm.Thatkind of thing happens again,somebody ices out. You got

it?”“What’s icing out?” asked

the boy with his arm puffedupinasplint.“Ice. Put out in the cold.

Sent Earthside. Finished atBattleSchool.”NobodylookedatEnder.“So,boys,ifanyofyouare

thinking of beingtroublemakers, at least becleveraboutit,OK?”Dap left. They still didn’t

lookatEnder.Enderfeltthefeargrowing

in his belly. The kid whosearm he broke—Ender didn’tfeel sorry for him.Hewas aStilson. And like Stilson, hewasalreadygatheringagang.A little knot of kids, severalofthebiggerones.Theywerelaughingat thefarendof theroom, and every now andthen one of themwould turntolookatEnder.

With all his heart, Enderwantedtogohome.Whatdidany of this have to do withsaving theworld? Therewasnomonitornow.ItwasEnderagainst the gang again, onlythey were right in his room.Peter again, but withoutValentine.Thefearstayed,allthrough

dinnerasnoonesatbyhiminthemesshall.Theotherboyswere talking about things—

the big scoreboard on onewall, the food, the biggerkids.Endercouldonlywatchinisolation.Thescoreboardswereteam

standings. Win-loss records,with the most recent scores.Some of the bigger boysapparently had bets on themost recent games. Twoteams, Manticore and Asp,had no recent score—theseboxes were flashing. Ender

decidedtheymustbeplayingrightnow.He noticed that the older

boys were divided intogroups, according to theuniforms they wore. Somewith different uniforms weretalkingtogether,butgenerallythegroupseachhadtheirownarea. Launchies—their owngroup, and the two or threenext older groups—all hadplain blue uniforms. But the

big kids, the ones that wereon teams, theywerewearingmuch more flamboyantclothing.Endertriedtoguesswhich ones went with whichname. Scorpion and Spiderwere easy. So were FlameandTide.A bigger boy came to sit

byhim.Notjustalittlebigger—he looked to be twelve orthirteen. Getting his man’sgrowthstarted.

“Hi,”hesaid.“Hi,”Endersaid.“I’mMick.”“Ender.”“That’saname?”“Since I was little. It’s

whatmysistercalledme.”“Not a bad name here.

Ender.Finisher.Hey.”“Hopeso.”“Ender, you the bugger in

yourlaunch?”Endershrugged.

“I noticed you eating allalone. Every launch has onelike that. Kid that nobodytakes to right away.Sometimes I think theteachersdoitonpurpose.Theteachers aren’t very nice.You’llnoticethat.”“Yeah.”“Soyouthebugger?”“Iguessso.”“Hey. Nothing to cry

about, you know?” He gave

Ender his roll, and tookEnder’s pudding. “Eatnutritiousstuff.It’llkeepyoustrong.” Mick dug into thepudding.“What about you?” asked

Ender.“Me? I’m nothing. I’m a

fart in the air conditioning.I’malwaysthere,butmostofthetimenobodyknowsit.”Endersmiledtentatively.“Yeah, funny,butno joke.

I got nowhere here. I’mgetting big now. They’regoing to sendme tomynextschool pretty soon. No wayit’ll be Tactical School forme. I’veneverbeena leader,you see. Only the guys whoget to be leaders have a shotatit.”“How do you get to be a

leader?”“Hey, if Iknew,you think

I’d be like this? How many

guys my size you see inhere?”Notmany.Enderdidn’tsay

it.“A few. I’m not the only

half-iced bugger-fodder. Afew of us. The other guys—they’re all commanders. Allthe guys from my launchhave their own teams now.Notme.”Endernodded.“Listen, little guy. I’m

doing you a favor. Makefriends. Be a leader. Kissbutts if you’ve got to, but iftheotherguysdespiseyou—youknowwhatImean?”Endernoddedagain.“Naw, you don’t know

nothing. You Launchies areall alike. You don’t knownothing. Minds like space.Nothing there. And ifanything hits you, you fallapart.Look,whenyouendup

like me, don’t forget thatsomebody warned you. It’sthe last nice thing anybody’sgoingtodoforyou.”“Sowhydidyoutellme?”

askedEnder.“What are you, a

smartmouth? Shut up andeat.”Ender shut up and ate.He

didn’t like Mick. And heknewtherewasnochancehewould end up like that.

Maybe that was what theteachers were planning, butEnder didn’t intend to fit inwiththeirplans.Iwillnotbe thebuggerof

my group, Ender thought. Ididn’t leave Valentine andMother and Father to comeherejusttobeiced.Ashe lifted thefork tohis

mouth, he could feel hisfamily around him, as theyalways had been. He knew

just which way to turn hishead to look up and seeMother, trying to getValentine not to slurp. Heknew just where Fatherwould be, scanning the newson the tablewhilepretendingto be part of the dinnerconversation. Peter,pretending to take a crushedpea out of his nose—evenPetercouldbefunny.Itwasamistaketothinkof

them.Hefeltasobriseinhisthroat and swallowed itdown; he could not see hisplate.He could not cry. There

wasnochance thathewouldbe treated with compassion.Dap was not Mother. Anysign of weakness would tellthe Stilsons and Peters thatthis boy could be broken.Enderdidwhathealwaysdidwhen Peter tormented him.

He began to count doubles.One,two,four,eight,sixteen,thirty-two, sixty-four. Andon, as high as he could holdthenumbersinhishead:128,256, 512, 1024, 2048, 4096,8192, 16384, 32768, 65536,131072, 262144. At67108864 he began to beunsure—hadheslippedoutadigit?Shouldhebeinthetenmillions or the hundredmillions or just themillions?

He tried doubling again andlost it. 1342 something. 16?Or17738? Itwasgone.Startover again. All the doublinghe could hold. The pain wasgone. The tears were gone.Hewouldnotcry.Until that night, when the

lights went dim, and in thedistancehecouldhearseveralboys whimpering for theirmothers or fathers or dogs.Then he could not help

himself. His lips formedValentine’s name. He couldhearhervoicelaughinginthedistance, just down the hall.Hecould seeMotherpassinghisdoor,lookingintobesurehe was all right. He couldhear Father laughing at thevideo.Itwasallsoclear,andit would never be that wayagain.I’llbeoldwhenIeversee themagain, twelveat theearliest. Why did I say yes?

What was I such a fool for?Going to school would havebeen nothing. Facing Stilsoneveryday.AndPeter.Hewasapissant,Enderwasn’tafraidofhim.I want to go home, he

whispered.But his whisper was the

whisper he used when hecried out in pain when Petertormented him. The sounddidn’t travel farther than his

ownears, and sometimesnotthatfar.And his tears could fall

unwantedonhissheet,buthissobswere sogentle that theydid not shake the bed, soquiettheycouldnotbeheard.But theachewas there, thickin his throat and the front ofhis face, hot in his chest andin his eyes. I want to gohome.Dap came to the door that

night and moved quietlyamong the beds, touching ahand here, a forehead there.Where he went there wasmore crying, not less. Thetouch of kindness in thisfrighteningplacewasenoughto push some over the edgeintotears.NotEnder,though.When Dap came, his cryingwas over, and his face wasdry. It was the lying face hepresented to Mother and

Father, when Peter had beencrueltohimandhedarednotlet it show. Thank you forthis, Peter. For dry eyes andsilent weeping. You taughtme how to hide anything Ifelt. More than ever, I needthatnow.

This was school. Everyday, hours of classes.Reading. Numbers. History.

Videos of the bloody battlesin space, the Marinesspraying their guts all overthewallsofthebuggerships.Holosofthecleanwarsofthefleet, ships turning intopuffsof light as the spacecraftkilledeachotherdeftlyinthedeep night. Many things tolearn. Ender worked as hardas anyone; all of themstruggled for the first time intheirlives,asforthefirsttime

in their lives they competedwith classmates whowere atleastasbrightasthey.But the games—that was

whattheylivedfor.Thatwaswhatfilledthehoursbetweenwakingandsleeping.Dapintroducedthemtothe

game room on their secondday.Itwasup,wayabovethedecks where the boys livedand worked. They climbedladders to where the gravity

weakened, and there in thecavern they saw the dazzlinglightsofthegames.Some of the games they

knew; some they had evenplayed at home. Simple onesandhardones.Enderwalkedpast the two-dimensionalgamesonvideoandbegantostudy the games the biggerboys played, the holographicgames with objects hoveringin the air. He was the only

Launchy in that part of theroom, and every now andthen one of the bigger boyswould shove him out of theway. What’re you doinghere? Get lost. Fly off. Andofcoursehewouldfly,inthelower gravity here, leave hisfeetandsoaruntilheranintosomethingorsomeone.Every time, though, he

extricated himself and wentback, perhaps to a different

spot, to get a different angleon the game. He was toosmalltoseethecontrols,howthe game was actually done.Thatdidn’tmatter.Hegotthemovementofitintheair.Thewaytheplayerdugtunnelsinthedarkness,tunnelsoflight,whichtheenemyshipswouldsearch for and then followmercilessly until they caughtthe player’s ship. The playercould make traps: mines,

drifting bombs, loops in theair that forced the enemyships to repeat endlessly.Some of the players wereclever.Otherslostquickly.Ender liked it better,

though, when two boysplayed against each other.Then they had to use eachother’stunnels,anditquicklybecame clear which of themwas worth anything at thestrategyofit.

Within an hour or so, itbegan to pall. Enderunderstoodtheregularitiesbythen.Understoodtherulesthecomputer was following, sothatheknewhecouldalways,once he mastered thecontrols, outmaneuver theenemy. Spirals when theenemy was like this; loopswhen the enemy was likethat. Lie in wait at one trap.Layseventrapsandthenlure

them like this. Therewas nochallenge to it, then, just amatter of playing until thecomputer got so fast that nohuman reflexes couldovercomeit.Thatwasn’tfun.It was the other boys hewantedtoplay.Theboyswhohad been so trained by thecomputerthatevenwhentheyplayed against each othertheyeachtriedtoemulatethecomputer. Think like a

machineinsteadofaboy.Icouldbeatthemthisway.

Icouldbeatthemthatway.“I’d like a turn against

you,”hesaid to theboywhohadjustwon.“Lawsyme,what is this?”

askedtheboy.“Isitabugorabugger?”“A new flock of dwarfs

just came aboard,” saidanotherboy.“Butittalks.Didyouknow

theycouldtalk?”“I see,” said Ender.

“You’reafraidtoplaymetwooutofthree.”“Beating you,” said the

boy, “would be as easy aspissingintheshower.”“Andnothalfasfun,”said

another.“I’mEnderWiggin.”“Listen up, scrunchface.

You nobody. Got that? Younobody, got that? You not

anybodytillyougotsyoufirstkill.Gotthat?”Theslangoftheolderboys

had its own rhythm. Enderpickeditupquickenough.“IfI’m nobody, then how comeyouscaredtoplaymetwooutofthree?”Now the other guys were

impatient. “Kill the squirtquick and let’s get on withit.”SoEnder tookhisplace at

the unfamiliar controls. Hishands were small, but thecontrolsweresimpleenough.It took only a littleexperimentation to find outwhich buttons used certainweapons. Movement controlwas a standard wireball. Hisreflexes were slow at first.The other boy, whose namehe still didn’t know, gotahead quickly. But Enderlearned a lot and was doing

much better by the time thegameended.“Satisfied,Launchy?”“Twooutofthree.”“Wedon’tallowtwooutof

threegames.”“So you beat me the first

time I ever touched thegame,” Ender said. “If youcan’tdoittwice,youcan’tdoitatall.”Theyplayedagain,andthis

time Ender was deft enough

to pull off a few maneuversthat the boy had obviouslynever seen before. Hispatterns couldn’t cope withthem. Ender didn’t wineasily,buthewon.The bigger boys stopped

laughingandjokingthen.Thethird game went in totalsilence.Enderwon itquicklyandefficiently.Whenthegameended,one

of theolderboys said, “Bout

time they replaced thismachine. Getting so anypinbraincanbeatitnow.”Not a word of

congratulation. Just totalsilence as Ender walkedaway.Hedidn’tgofar.Juststood

off in the near distance andwatched as the next playerstried touse the thingshehadshown them. Any pinbrain?Ender smiled inwardly.They

won’tforgetme.He felt good.He hadwon

something, and against olderboys.Probablynotthebestofthe older boys, but he nolonger had the panickedfeeling that he might be outof his depth, that BattleSchoolmightbetoomuchforhim. All he had to do waswatch the game andunderstand how thingsworked, and then he could

use the system, and evenexcel.It was the waiting and

watching that cost the most.Forduringthattimehehadtoendure. The boy whose armhe had broken was out forvengeance. His name, Enderquicklylearned,wasBernard.Hespokehisownnamewitha French accent, since theFrench, with their arrogantSeparatism, insisted that the

teaching of Standard notbegin until the age of four,when the French languagepatternswerealreadyset.Hisaccent made him exotic andinteresting; his broken armmade him a martyr; hissadism made him a naturalfocusforall thosewholovedpaininothers.Enderbecametheirenemy.Little things. Kicking his

bed every time they went in

and out of the door. Jostlinghim with his meal tray.Tripping him on the ladders.Ender learned quickly not toleave anything of his outsidehislockers;healsolearnedtobequickonhis feet, tocatchhimself.“Maladroit,”Bernardcalled him once, and thenamestuck.There were times when

Ender was very angry. WithBernard,ofcourse,angerwas

inadequate.Itwasthekindofperson he was—a tormentor.WhatenragedEnderwashowwillingly the others wentalong with him. Surely theyknew therewas no justice inBernard’s revenge. Surelytheyknew thathehad struckfirst at Ender in the shuttle,that Ender had only beenresponding to violence. Ifthey knew, they acted as ifthey didn’t; even if they did

notknow,theyshouldbeableto tell from Bernard himselfthathewasasnake.After all,Enderwasn’t his

only target. Bernard wassettingup a kingdom,wasn’the?Ender watched from the

fringes of the group asBernard established thehierarchy. Some of the boyswere useful to him, and heflattered them outrageously.

Some of the boys werewilling servants, doingwhatever he wanted eventhough he treated them withcontempt.But a few chafed under

Bernard’srule.Ender, watching, knew

who resented Bernard. Shenwas small, ambitious, andeasily needled. Bernard haddiscovered that quickly, andstarted calling him Worm.

“Because he’s so small,”Bernardsaid,“andbecausehewriggles. Look how heshimmies his butt when hewalks.”Shenstormedoff,but they

onlylaughedlouder.“Lookathisbutt.Seeya,Worm!”EndersaidnothingtoShen

—it would be too obvious,then, that hewas starting hisowncompetinggang.Hejustsat with his desk on his lap,

looking as studious aspossible.He was not studying. He

was telling his desk to keepsending a message into theinterrupt queue every thirtyseconds.Themessagewas toeveryone, and it was shortand to the point.Whatmadeit hardwas figuring out howto disguisewho it was from,the way the teachers could.Messages from one of the

boys always had their nameautomatically inserted. Enderhadn’t cracked the teachers’security system yet, so hecouldn’t pretend to be ateacher. But he was able tosetupafileforanonexistentstudent, whom hewhimsicallynamedGod.Only when the message

wasreadytogodidhe try tocatchShen’seye.Likealltheother boys, he was watching

Bernardandhiscronieslaughand joke, making fun of themath teacher, who oftenstopped in midsentence andlooked around as if he hadbeen let off the bus at thewrong stop and didn’t knowwherehewas.Eventually, though, Shen

glanced around. Endernoddedtohim,pointedtohisdesk, and smiled. Shenlooked puzzled. Ender held

up his desk a little and thenpointedatit.Shenreachedforhis owndesk.Ender sent themessage then. Shen saw italmost at once. Shen read it,then laughed aloud. Helooked at Ender as if to say,Did you do this? Endershrugged, to say, I don’tknow who did it but it surewasn’tme.Shen laughed again, and

severaloftheotherboyswho

were not close to Bernard’sgroupgotout theirdesksandlooked. Every thirty secondsthe message appeared onevery desk, marched aroundthe screen quickly, thendisappeared. The boyslaughedtogether.“What’s so funny?”

Bernard asked. Ender madesurehewasnotsmilingwhenBernard looked around theroom, imitating the fear that

somanyothers felt.Shen,ofcourse, smiled all the moredefiantly. It took a moment;then Bernard told one of hisboys to bring out a desk.Together they read themessage.

COVERYOURBUTT.BERNARDISWATCHING.

—GOD

Bernard went red withanger. “Who did this!” he

shouted.“God,”saidShen.“It sure as hell wasn’t

you,” Bernard said. “Thistakes too much brains for aworm.”Ender’s message expired

after five minutes. After awhile, a message fromBernardappearedonhisdesk.

IKNOWITWASYOU.—BERNARD.

Ender didn’t look up. Heacted, in fact, as if hehadn’tseen the message. Bernardjust wants to catch melooking guilty. He doesn’tknow.Of course, it didn’t matter

if he knew. Bernard wouldpunish him all the more,becausehehad to rebuildhisposition. The one thing hecouldn’tstandwashavingtheother boys laughing at him.

He had to make clear whowas boss. So Ender gotknocked down in the showerthat morning. One ofBernard’s boys pretended totripoverhim,andmanagedtoplant a knee in his belly.Ender took it in silence. Hewas still watching, as far astheopenwarwas concerned.Hewoulddonothing.But in the other war, the

war of desks, he already had

hisnextattackinplace.Whenhegotbackfromtheshower,Bernard was raging, kickingbeds and yelling at boys. “Ididn’twriteit!Shutup!”Marching constantly

aroundeveryboy’sdeskwasthismessage:

ILOVEYOURBUTT.LETMEKISSIT.

—BERNARD

“I didn’t write that

message!” Bernard shouted.After the shouting had beengoingon for some time,Dapappearedatthedoor.“What’s the fuss?” he

asked.“Somebody’s been writing

messages using my name.”Bernardwassullen.“Whatmessage?”“It doesn’t matter what

message!”“It does to me.” Dap

picked up the nearest desk,which happened to belong tothe boy who bunked aboveEnder. Dap read it, smiledvery slightly, gave back thedesk.“Interesting,”hesaid.“Aren’t you going to find

out who did it?” demandedBernard.“Oh, I know who did it,”

Dapsaid.Yes, Ender thought. The

systemwastooeasilybroken.Theymean us to break it, orsections of it. They know itwasme.“Well, who, then?”

Bernardshouted.“Are you shouting at me,

soldier?” asked Dap, verysoftly.At once the mood in the

roomchanged.From rageonthe part of Bernard’s closestfriends and barely contained

mirth among the rest, allbecame somber. Authoritywasabouttospeak.“No,sir,”saidBernard.“Everybodyknowsthatthe

system automatically puts onthenameofthesender.”“I didn’t write that!”

Bernardsaid.“Shouting?”askedDap.“Yesterdaysomeonesenta

message that was signedGOD,”Bernardsaid.

“Really?” said Dap. “Ididn’t know he was signedonto thesystem.”Dap turnedand left, and the room filledwithlaughter.Bernard’s attempt to be

rulerof theroomwasbroken—onlyafewstayedwithhimnow.But theywere themostvicious.AndEnderknewthatuntil he was throughwatching,itwouldgohardonhim.Still,thetamperingwith

thesystemhaddoneitswork.Bernard was contained, andall the boys who had somequalitywerefreeofhim.Bestof all, Ender had done itwithout sending him to thehospital. Much better thisway.Thenhesettleddowntothe

serious business of designingasecuritysystemforhisowndesk, since the safeguardsbuilt into the system were

obviously inadequate. If asix-year-oldcouldbreakthemdown, they were obviouslyput there as a plaything, notserious security. Just anothergame that the teachers setupfor us. And this is one I’mgoodat.“How did you do that?”

Shenaskedhimatbreakfast.Ender noted quietly that

thiswasthefirsttimeanotherLaunchy from his own class

had sat with him at a meal.“Dowhat?”heasked.“Send a message with a

fake name. And Bernard’sname! That was great.They’re calling himButtwatcher now. JustWatcher in front of theteachers, but everybodyknowswhathe’swatching.”“Poor Bernard,” Ender

murmured. “And he’s sosensitive.”

“Come on, Ender. Youbrokeintothesystem.How’dyoudoit?”Ender shook his head and

smiled. “Thanks for thinkingI’mbrightenough todo that.Ijusthappenedtoseeitfirst,that’sall.”“OK,youdon’thavetotell

me,” saidShen. “Still, itwasgreat.”Theyateinsilencefora moment. “Do I wiggle mybuttwhenIwalk?”

“Naw,”Endersaid.“Justalittle.Justdon’ttakesuchbiglongsteps,that’sall.”Shennodded.“The only person who’d

evernoticewasBernard.”“He’sapig,”saidShen.Ender shrugged. “On the

whole,pigsaren’tsobad.”Shen laughed. “You’re

right. I wasn’t being fair tothepigs.”Theylaughedtogether,and

two other Launchies joinedthem. Ender’s isolation wasover. The war was justbeginning.

6

THEGIANT’SDRINK

“We’ve had ourdisappointmentsinthepast,hanging on for years,hoping they’llpull through,and then they don’t. Nicething about Ender, he’sdeterminedtoicewithinthefirstsixmonths.”“Oh?”“Don’t you see what’s

goingonhere?He’sstuckatthe Giant’s Drink in themind game. Is the boy

suicidal? You nevermentionedit.”“Everybody gets the

Giantsometime.”“ButEnderwon’tleaveit

alone.LikePinual.”“Everybody looks like

Pinual at one time oranother. But he’s the onlyone who killed himself. Idon’t think it had anythingto do with the Giant’sDrink.”

“You’re betting my lifeonthat.Andlookwhathe’sdone with his launchgroup.”“Wasn’t his fault, you

know.”“Idon’tcare.Hisfaultor

not, he’s poisoning thatgroup. They’re supposed tobond, and right where hestands there’s a chasm amilewide.”“Idon’tplantoleavehim

thereverylong,anyway.”“Then you’d better plan

again. That launch is sick,and he’s the source of thedisease. He stays till it’scured.”“I was the source of the

disease.Iwasisolatinghim,anditworked.”“Give him time with the

group.Toseewhathedoeswithit.”“Wedon’thavetime.”

“We don’t have time torushtoofastwithakidwhohasasmuchchanceofbeinga monster as a militarygenius.”“Isthisanorder?”“The recorder’s on, it’s

always on, your ass iscovered,gotohell.”“If it’sanorder, then I’ll

—”“It’s an order. Hold him

where he is until we see

howhehandlesthingsinhislaunch group. Graff, yougivemeulcers.”“You wouldn’t have

ulcers if you’d leave theschool tome and take careofthefleetyourself.”“Thefleetislookingfora

battle commander. There’snothingtotakecareofuntilyougetmethat.”

They filed clumsily into

the battleroom, like childrenin a swimming pool for thefirst time, clinging to thehandholds along the side.Null gravitywas frightening,disorienting; they soon foundthatthingswentbetteriftheydidn’tusetheirfeetatall.Worse, the suits were

confining. It was harder tomake precise movements,since the suits bent just a bitslower, resisted a bit more

than any clothing they hadeverwornbefore.Ender gripped the

handhold and flexed hisknees. He noticed that alongwiththesluggishness,thesuithad an amplifying effect onmovement.Itwashardtogetthem started, but the suit’slegs kept moving, andstrongly, after his muscleshad stopped. Give them apush this strong, and the suit

pushes with twice the force.I’ll be clumsy for a while.Bettergetstarted.So, still grasping the

handhold, he pushed offstronglywithhisfeet.Instantlyheflippedaround,

his feet flying over his head,and landed flat on his backagainstthewall.Thereboundwas stronger, it seemed, andhishands tore loosefromthehandhold.He flewacross the

battleroom, tumbling overandover.Forasickeningmomenthe

triedtoretainhisoldup-and-down orientation, his bodyattempting to right itself,searching for the gravity thatwasn’t there. Then he forcedhimself to change his view.He was hurtling toward awall.Thatwasdown.Andatonce he had control ofhimself.Hewasn’t flying,he

was falling.Thiswas a dive.He could choose how hewouldhitthesurface.I’mgoing toofast tocatch

ahold and stay, but I cansoften the impact, I can flyoffatanangleifIrollwhenIhitandusemyfeet—It didn’t work at all the

wayhehadplanned.Hewentoffatanangle,butitwasnottheonehehadpredicted.Nordidhehave time toconsider.

Hehitanotherwall,thistimetoosoontohavepreparedforit. But quite accidently hediscovered a way to use hisfeet to control the reboundangle. Now he was soaringacrosstheroomagain,towardtheotherboyswhostillclungto thewall.This timehehadslowed enough to be able togriparung.Hewasatacrazyangle in relation to the otherboys, but once again his

orientation had changed, andas far as he could tell, theywere all lying on the floor,nothangingonawall,andhewas no more upside downthantheywere.“Whatareyoutryingtodo,

killyourself?”askedShen.“Try it,” Ender said. “The

suit keeps you from hurtingyourself,andyoucancontrolyourbouncingwithyourlegs,like this.” He approximated

themovementhehadmade.Shen shook his head—he

wasn’t trying any fool stuntlikethat.Butoneboydidtakeoff,not as fast asEnderhad,because he didn’t beginwithaflip,butfastenough.Enderdidn’t even have to see hisface to know that it wasBernard.Andrightafterhim,Bernard’sbestfriend,Alai.Ender watched them cross

the huge room, Bernard

strugglingtoorienthimselftothedirectionhethoughtofasthefloor,Alaisurrenderingtothe movement and preparingtoreboundfromthewall.Nowonder Bernard broke hisarm in the shuttle, Enderthought.Hetightensupwhenhe’s flying.Hepanics.Enderstored the information awayforfuturereference.And another bit of

information,too.Alaididnot

pushoffinthesamedirectionas Bernard. He aimed for acorner of the room. Theirpaths diverged more andmoreastheyflew,andwhereBernard made a clumsy,crunchinglandingandbounceon his wall, Alai did aglancing triple bounce onthreesurfacesnearthecornerthat left him most of hisspeedandsenthimflyingoffat a surprising angle. Alai

shoutedandwhooped,andsodid the boys watching him.Some of them forgot theywereweightlessandletgoofthe wall to clap their hands.Now they drifted lazily inmanydirections,wavingtheirarms,tryingtoswim.Now, that’s a problem,

thought Ender. What if youcatch yourself drifting?There’snowaytopushoff.He was tempted to set

himselfadriftandtrytosolvetheproblembytrialanderror.But he could see the others,theiruselesseffortsatcontrol,andhecouldn’tthinkofwhathewoulddothattheyweren’talreadydoing.Holdingontothefloorwith

onehand,hefiddledidlywiththetoygunthatwasattachedtohissuitinfront,justbelowthe shoulder. Then heremembered thehandrockets

sometimes used by marineswhen they did a boardingassault on an enemy station.He pulled the gun from hissuit and examined it.He hadpushedallthebuttonsbackinthe room, but the gun didnothing there.Maybehere inthebattleroomitwouldwork.Therewerenoinstructionsonit. No labels on the controls.The triggerwas obvious—hehad had toy guns, as all

children had, almost sinceinfancy. There were twobuttons that his thumb couldeasily reach, and severalothersalongthebottomoftheshaft that were almostinaccessible without usingtwo hands. Obviously, thetwo buttons near his thumbwere meant to be instantlyusable.He aimed the gun at the

floor and pulled back on the

trigger.He felt the gun growinstantly warm; when he letgoof the trigger, it cooledatonce. Also, a tiny circle oflight appeared on the floorwherehewasaiming.Hethumbedtheredbutton

at the top of the gun, andpulledthetriggeragain.Samething.Then he pushed the white

button. It gave a bright flashof light that illuminated a

wide area, but not asintensely. The gunwas quitecold when the button waspressed.The red button makes it

like a laser—but it is not alaser, Dap had said—whilethe white button makes it alamp. Neither will be muchhelp when it comes tomaneuvering.So everything depends on

howyoupushoff, thecourse

you set when you start. Itmeanswe’regoingtohavetoget very good at controllingourlaunchesandreboundsorwe’re all going to end upfloatingaround in themiddleof nowhere. Ender lookedaround the room. A few ofthe boys were drifting closeto walls now, flailing theirarms to catch a handhold.Mostwerebumpingintoeachother and laughing; some

wereholdinghandsandgoingaroundincircles.Onlyafew,like Ender, were calmlyholding onto the walls andwatching.One of them, he saw, was

Alai. He had ended up onanotherwallnot toofar fromEnder. On impulse, Enderpushed off and movedquickly towardAlai.Once intheair,hewonderedwhathewould say. Alai was

Bernard’s friend. What didEnderhavetosaytohim?Still, there was no

changing course now. So hewatched straight ahead, andpracticedmakingtinylegandhand movements to controlwhich way he was facing ashe drifted. Too late, herealizedthathehadaimedtoowell. He was not going tolandnearAlai—hewasgoingtohithim.

“Here, snag my hand!”Alaicalled.Ender held out his hand.

Alaitooktheshockofimpactand helped Ender make afairly gentle landing againstthewall.“That’s good,”Ender said.

“We ought to practice thatkindofthing.”“That’s what I thought,

only everybody’s turning tobutter out there,” Alai said.

“What happens ifwe get outtheretogether?Weshouldbeable to shove each other inoppositedirections.”“Yeah.”“OK?”Itwasanadmissionthatall

might not be right betweenthem. Is it OK for us to dosomething together? Ender’sanswer was to take Alai bythe wrist and get ready topushoff.

“Ready?”saidAlai.“Go.”Sincetheypushedoffwith

different amounts of force,they began to circle eachother. Ender made somesmall hand movements, thenshifted a leg. They slowed.Hediditagain.Theystoppedorbiting. Now they weredriftingevenly.“Packedhead,Ender,”Alai

said. It was high praise.“Let’spushoffbeforewerun

intothatbunch.”“And then let’s meet over

inthatcorner.”Enderdidnotwant this bridge into theenemycamptofail.“Last one there saves farts

inamilkbottle,”Alaisaid.Then,slowly,steadily,they

maneuvered until they facedeach other, spread-eagled,handtohand,kneetoknee.“And then we just

scrunch?”askedAlai.

“I’ve never done thisbeforeeither,”saidEnder.They pushed off. It

propelled them faster thantheyexpected.Enderranintoa couple of boys and endedup on a wall that he hadn’texpected. It took him amoment to reorient and findthecornerwhereheandAlaiwere to meet. Alai wasalready headed toward it.Ender plotted a course that

would include two rebounds,toavoidthelargestclustersofboys.When Ender reached the

corner, Alai had hooked hisarms through two adjacenthandholds and waspretendingtodoze.“Youwin.”“I want to see your fart

collection,”Alaisaid.“I stored it in your locker.

Didn’tyounotice?”

“I thought it was mysocks.”“We don’t wear socks

anymore.”“Ohyeah.”Areminderthat

they were both far fromhome.Ittooksomeofthefunout of having mastered a bitofnavigation.Ender took his pistol and

demonstrated what he hadlearned about the two thumbbuttons.

“Whatdoesitdowhenyouaimataperson?”askedAlai.“Idon’tknow.”“Whydon’twefindout?”Endershookhishead.“We

mighthurtsomebody.”“I meant why don’t we

shooteachotherinthefootorsomething.I’mnotBernard,Inevertorturedcatsforfun.”“Oh.”“It can’tbe toodangerous,

or they wouldn’t give these

gunstokids.”“We’resoldiersnow.”“Shootmeinthefoot.”“No,youshootme.”“Let’sshooteachother.”They did. Immediately

Ender felt the leg of the suitgrow stiff, immobile at thekneeandanklejoints.“Youfrozen?”askedAlai.“Stiffasaboard.”“Let’s freeze a few,” Alai

said. “Let’s have our first

war.Usagainstthem.”They grinned. Then Ender

said,“BetterinviteBernard.”Alai cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh?”“AndShen.”“That little slanty-eyed

butt-wiggler?”Ender decided that Alai

was joking. “Hey, we can’tallbeniggers.”Alaigrinned.“Mygrandpa

would’vekilledyouforthat.”

“My great great grandpawouldhavesoldhimfirst.”“Let’s go get Bernard and

Shenandfreezethesebugger-lovers.”In twenty minutes,

everyone in the room wasfrozenexceptEnder,Bernard,Shen, and Alai. The four ofthem sat therewhooping andlaughinguntilDapcamein.“I see you’ve learned how

to use your equipment,” he

said. Then he did somethingto a control he held in hishand. Everybody driftedslowly toward the wall hewas standing on. He wentamong the frozen boys,touching them and thawingtheir suits. There was atumult of complaint that itwasn’t fair howBernard andAlai had shot them all whentheyweren’tready.“Whyweren’tyouready?”

asked Dap. “You had yoursuits justas longas theydid.Youhadjustasmanyminutesflapping around like drunkenducks. Stop moaning andwe’llbegin.”Ender noticed that it was

assumed that Bernard andAlai were the leaders of thebattle. Well, that was fine.BernardknewthatEnderandAlai had learned to use thegunstogether.AndEnderand

Alaiwerefriends.Nowothersmight believe that Ender hadjoinedhisgroup,butitwasn’tso. Ender had joined a newgroup. Alai’s group. Bernardhadjoinedittoo.It wasn’t obvious to

everyone; Bernard stillblusteredandsenthiscronieson errands. But Alai nowmoved freely through thewhole room, and whenBernard was crazy, Alai

could joke a little and calmhim down. When it cametime to choose their launchleader, Alai was the almostunanimous choice. Bernardsulked for a few days andthen he was fine, andeveryonesettledintothenewpattern. The launch was nolongerdivided intoBernard’sin-group and Ender’soutcasts.Alaiwasthebridge.

Ender sat on his bed withhisdeskonhisknees. Itwasprivatestudytime,andEnderwasdoingFreePlay.Itwasashifting, crazy kind of gameinwhichtheschoolcomputerkept bringing up new things,building a maze that youcould explore. You could gobacktoeventsthatyouliked,for a while; if you left onealonetoolong,itdisappearedand something else took its

place.Sometimes they were

funny things. Sometimesexciting ones, and he had tobequicktostayalive.Hehadlots of deaths, but that wasOK, games were like that,you died a lot until you gotthehangofit.His figure on the screen

hadstartedoutasalittleboy.For a while it had changedinto a bear. Now it was a

large mouse, with long anddelicate hands. He ran hisfigure under a lot of largeitemsoffurnituredepictedonthe screen. He had playedwith the cat a lot, but now itwas boring—too easy tododge, he knew all thefurniture.Notthroughthemousehole

thistime,hetoldhimself.I’msickoftheGiant.It’sadumbgame and I can’t ever win.

WhateverIchooseiswrong.But he went through the

mousehole anyway, and overthe small bridge in thegarden.Heavoidedtheducksand the divebombingmosquitoes—he had triedplaying with them but theywere too easy, and if heplayed with the ducks toolong he turned into a fish,whichhedidn’t like.Beingafish reminded him too much

of being frozen in thebattleroom, his whole bodyrigid,waitingfor thepracticeto end so Dap would thawhim. So, as usual, he foundhimself going up the rollinghills.The landslides began. At

first he had got caught againand again, crushed in anexaggerated blot of goreoozing out from under arockpile. Now, though, he

had mastered the skill ofrunning up the slopes at anangle to avoid the crush,always seeking higherground.And, as always, the

landslides finally stoppedbeing jumbles of rock. Theface of the hill broke openand instead of shale it waswhitebread,puffy,risinglikedough as the crust brokeawayandfell.Itwassoftand

spongy; his figure movedmore slowly. And when hejumped down off the bread,he was standing on a table.Giant loaf of bread behindhim; giant stick of butterbeside him. And the Gianthimselfleaninghischininhishands, looking at him.Ender’s figure was about astall as theGiant’s head fromchintobrow.“I think I’llbiteyourhead

off,” said the Giant, as healwaysdid.This time, instead of

running away or standingthere,Enderwalkedhisfigureup to the Giant’s face andkickedhiminthechin.The Giant stuck out his

tongue and Ender fell to theground.“How about a guessing

game?”askedtheGiant.Soitdidn’tmakeanydifference—

the Giant only played theguessing game. Stupidcomputer. Millions ofpossible scenarios in itsmemory,and theGiantcouldonlyplayonestupidgame.The Giant, as always, set

twohugeshotglasses, as tallasEnder’sknees,onthetablein front of him. As always,the two were filled withdifferent liquids. Thecomputer was good enough

that the liquids had neverrepeated, not that he couldremember. This time the onehad a thick, creamy lookingliquid. The other hissed andfoamed.“One is poison and one is

not,” said the Giant. “Guessright and I’ll take you intoFairyland.”Guessing meant sticking

his head into one of theglasses to drink. He never

guessed right. Sometimes hishead was dissolved.Sometimeshecaughtonfire.Sometimes he fell in anddrowned. Sometimes he fellout, turned green, and rottedaway. It was always ghastly,andtheGiantalwayslaughed.Ender knew that whatever

he chose he would die. Thegamewasrigged.Onthefirstdeath, his figure wouldreappearontheGiant’stable,

to play again.On the seconddeath, he’d comeback to thelandslides.Thentothegardenbridge. Then to themousehole. And then, if hestill went back to the Giantand played again, and diedagain, his desk would godark,“FreePlayOver”wouldmarch around the desk, andEnder would lie back on hisbed and tremble until hecouldfinallygotosleep.The

gamewas riggedbut still theGiant talkedaboutFairyland,some stupid childish three-year-old’s Fairyland thatprobably had some stupidMotherGooseorPac-ManorPeter Pan, it wasn’t evenworthgettingto,buthehadtofindsomewayofbeatingtheGianttogetthere.He drank the creamy

liquid. Immediatelyhebeganto inflate and rise like a

balloon. The Giant laughed.Hewasdeadagain.He played again, and this

time the liquid set, likeconcrete, and held his headdownwhiletheGiantcuthimopen along the spine,deboned him like a fish, andbegan to eat while his armsandlegsquivered.He reappeared at the

landslidesanddecidednot togo on. He even let the

landslides cover him once.But even though he wassweating and he felt cold,with his next life he wentback up the hills till theyturned into bread, and stoodon the Giant’s table as theshot glasses were set beforehim.He stared at the two

liquids.Theonefoaming,theotherwithwavesinitlikethesea. He tried to guess what

kind of death each one held.Probablyafishwillcomeoutof theoceanoneandeatme.Thefoamyonewillprobablyasphyxiate me. I hate thisgame.Itisn’tfair.It’sstupid.It’srotten.Andinsteadofpushinghis

face into one of the liquids,he kicked one over, then theother,anddodgedtheGiant’shuge hands as the Giantshouted, “Cheater, cheater!”

He jumped at the Giant’sface,clambereduphislipandnose,andbegan todig in theGiant’s eye. The stuff cameawaylikecottagecheese,andas the Giant screamed,Ender’s figure burrowed intothe eye, climbed right in,burrowedinandin.The Giant fell over

backward. The view shiftedashefell,andwhentheGiantcame to rest on the ground,

therewereintricate,lacytreesallaround.Abatflewupandlanded on the dead Giant’snose. Ender brought hisfigure up out of the Giant’seye.“How did you get here?”

the bat asked. “Nobody evercomeshere.”Endercouldnotanswer,of

course. So he reached down,tookahandfulof theGiant’seyestuff,andofferedit to the

bat.The bat took it and flew

off, shouting as it went,“WelcometoFairyland.”He hadmade it. He ought

toexplore.Heoughttoclimbdown from the Giant’s faceand see what he had finallyachieved.Instead he signed off, put

his desk in his locker,stripped off his clothes andpulled his blanket over him.

He hadn’t meant to kill theGiant. This was supposed tobe a game. Not a choicebetweenhisowngrislydeathand an even worse murder.I’m amurderer, evenwhen Iplay.Peterwouldbeproudofme.

7

SALAMANDER

“Isn’t it nice to know that

Ender can do theimpossible?”“Theplayer’sdeathshave

alwaysbeensickening, I’vealways thought the Giant’sDrink was the mostperverted part of thewholemind game, but going fortheeyelikethat—thisistheone we want to put incommandofourfleet?”“What matters is that he

won thegame that couldn’t

bewon.”“I suppose you’ll move

himnow.”“Wewerewaiting to see

how he handled the thingwithBernard.Hehandleditperfectly.”“So as soon as he can

cope with a situation, youmove him to one he can’tcope with. Doesn’t he getanyrest?”“He’ll have a month or

two, maybe three, with hislaunch group. That’s reallyquitealongtimeinachild’slife.”“Doesiteverseemtoyou

that these boys aren’tchildren?Ilookatwhattheydo, the way they talk, andthey don’t seem like littlekids.”“They’re the most

brilliant children in theworld, each in his own

way.”“But shouldn’t they still

act like children? Theyaren’tnormal.Theyactlike—history. Napoleon andWellington. Caesar andBrutus.”“We’retryingtosavethe

world,nothealthewoundedheart. You’re toocompassionate.”“General Levy has no

pity for anyone. All the

videos say so. But don’thurtthisboy.”“Areyoujoking?”“I mean, don’t hurt him

morethanyouhaveto.”

Alaisatacross fromEnderat dinner. “I finally figuredout how you sent thatmessage. Using Bernard’sname.”“Me?”askedEnder.“Come on, who else? It

sure wasn’t Bernard. AndShen isn’t too hot on thecomputer. And I know itwasn’t me. Who else?Doesn’tmatter. I figured outhow to fake a new studententry. You just created astudentnamedBernard-blank,B-E-R-N-A-R-D-space, sothe computer didn’t kick itout as a repeat of anotherstudent.”“Sounds like that might

work,”saidEnder.“OK, OK. It does work.

But you did that practicallyonthefirstday.”“Orsomebody.MaybeDap

did it, to keep Bernard fromgettingtoomuchcontrol.”“I found something else. I

can’tdoitwithyourname.”“Oh?”“AnythingwithEnderinit

gets kicked out. I can’t getinsideyourfilesatall,either.

Youmadeyourownsecuritysystem.”“Maybe.”Alaigrinned.“I justgot in

andtrashedsomebody’sfiles.He’s right behind me oncracking the system. I needprotection,Ender.Ineedyoursystem.”“If I give youmy system,

you’ll know how I do it andyou’llgetinandtrashme.”“Yousayme?”Alaiasked.

“I the sweetest friend yougot!”Ender laughed. “I’ll set up

asystemforyou.”“Now?”“CanIfinisheating?”“Youneverfinisheating.”It was true. Ender’s tray

alwayshad foodon it after ameal. Ender looked at theplate and decided he wasthrough.“Let’sgothen.”When they got to the

barracks, Ender squatteddown by his bed and said,“Get your desk and bring itover here, I’ll show youhow.”ButwhenAlaibroughthis desk to Ender’s bed,Ender was just sitting there,hislockersstillclosed.“Whatup?”askedAlai.In answer, Ender palmed

his locker. “UnauthorizedAccess Attempt,” it said. Itdidn’topen.

“Somebody done a danceon your head, mama,” Alaisaid. “Somebody eated yourface.”“You sure you want my

security systemnow?”Endergotupandwalkedawayfromhisbed.“Ender,”saidAlai.Ender turned around. Alai

was holding a little piece ofpaper.“Whatisit?”

Alai looked up at him.“Don’t you know? This wason your bed.Youmust havesatonit.”Endertookitfromhim.

ENDERWIGGINASSIGNEDSALAMANDERARMYCOMMANDERBONZOMADRIDEFFECTIVEIMMEDIATELY

CODEGREENGREENBROWNNOPOSSESSIONSTRANSFERRED

“You’re smart, Ender, butyou don’t do the battleroom

anybetterthanme.”Ender shook his head. It

was the stupidest thing hecould think of, to promotehim now. Nobody gotpromoted before they wereeightyearsold.Enderwasn’tevensevenyet.Andlaunchesusuallymovedintothearmiestogether, with most armiesgettinganewkidatthesametime. There were no transferslipsonanyoftheotherbeds.

Just when things werefinally coming together. Justwhen Bernard was gettingalong with everybody, evenEnder. Just when Ender wasbeginning to make a realfriend out ofAlai. Justwhenhis life was finally gettinglivable.Enderreacheddowntopull

Alaiupfromthebed.“Salamander Army’s in

contention, anyway,” Alai

said.Ender was so angry at the

unfairnessofthetransferthattearswerecomingtohiseyes.Mustn’tcry,hetoldhimself.Alai saw the tears but had

the grace not to say so.“They’re fartheads, Ender,theywon’t even let you takeanythingyouown.”Ender grinned and didn’t

cry after all. “Think I shouldstripandgonaked?”

Alailaughed,too.On impulse Ender hugged

him, tight, almost as if hewere Valentine. He eventhoughtofValentinethenandwanted to go home. “I don’twanttogo,”hesaid.Alai hugged him back. “I

understand them,Ender.Youare the best of us. Maybethey in a hurry to teach youeverything.”“They don’t want to teach

me everything,” Ender said.“Iwantedtolearnwhatitwasliketohaveafriend.”Alai nodded soberly.

“Always my friend, alwaysthe best of my friends,” hesaid. Then he grinned. “Gosliceupthebuggers.”“Yeah.” Ender smiled

back.AlaisuddenlykissedEnder

on the cheek and whisperedin his ear, “Salaam.” Then,

red-faced,heturnedawayandwalked tohisownbedat theback of the barracks. Enderguessed that the kiss and theword were somehowforbidden. A suppressedreligion, perhaps. Or maybethe word had some privateand powerful meaning forAlaialone.Whateveritmeantto Alai, Ender knew that itwas sacred; that he haduncoveredhimself forEnder,

as once Ender’s mother haddone, when he was veryyoung, before they put themonitor in his neck, and shehadputherhandsonhisheadwhen she thought he wasasleep, and prayed over him.Ender had never spoken ofthat to anyone, not even toMother, but had kept it as amemory of holiness, of howhis mother loved him whenshe thought that no one, not

even he, could see or hear.ThatwaswhatAlaihadgivenhim;agiftsosacredthatevenEndercouldnotbeallowedtounderstandwhatitmeant.After such a thing nothing

could be said. Alai reachedhis bed and turned around toseeEnder.Theireyesheldforonly a moment, locked inunderstanding. Then Enderleft.There would be no green

green brown in this part ofthe school; hewouldhave topick up the colors in one ofthe public areas. The otherswouldbefinishedwithdinnervery soon; he didn’t want togo near the mess hall. Thegame room would be nearlyempty.None of the games

appealed to him, the way hefelt now. So he went to thebank of public desks at the

back of the room and signedon to his own private game.HewentquicklytoFairyland.TheGiantwasdeadwhenhearrivednow;hehad toclimbcarefully down the table,jumptothelegoftheGiant’soverturned chair, and thenmake thedrop to theground.For a while there had beenrats gnawing at the Giant’sbody, but Ender had killedone with a pin from the

Giant’sraggedshirt,andtheyhadlefthimaloneafterthat.The Giant’s corpse had

essentially finished itsdecay.What could be torn by thesmall scavengers was torn;the maggots had done theirwork on the organs; now itwas a desiccated mummy,hollowed-out, teeth ina rigidgrin, eyes empty, fingerscurled. Ender rememberedburrowing through the eye

when it had been alive andmalicious and intelligent.Angry and frustrated as hewas,Enderwishedtodosuchviolenceagain.But theGianthad become part of thelandscape now, and so therecouldbenorageagainsthim.Ender had always gone

over the bridge to the castleoftheQueenofHearts,wherethereweregamesenough forhim; but none of those

appealed to him now. Hewent around the giant’scorpse and followed thebrook upstream, to where itemerged from the forest.There was a playgroundthere,slidesandmonkeybars,teeter-totters and merry-go-rounds,withadozenchildrenlaughing as they played.Endercameandfoundthatinthe game he had become achild, though usually his

figureinthegameswasadult.In fact, he was smaller thantheotherchildren.Hegotinlinefortheslide.

The other children ignoredhim. He climbed up to thetop, watched the boy beforehim whirl down the longspiral to theground.Thenhesatandbegantoslide.He had not slid for a

moment when he fell rightthrough the slide and landed

on the ground under theladder. The slide would notholdhim.Neitherwould themonkey

bars.Hecouldclimbaways,but then at random a barseemed to be insubstantialand he fell. He could sit ontheseesawuntilherosetotheapex; then he fell.When themerry-go-roundwent fast, hecouldnotholdontoanyofthebars, and centrifugal force

hurledhimoff.And the other children:

their laughter was raucous,offensive. They circledaround him and pointed andlaughed for many secondsbeforetheywentbacktotheirplay.Ender wanted to hit them,

to throw them in the brook.Instead he walked into theforest. He found a path,which soon became an

ancient brick road, muchovergrown with weeds butstill usable. Therewere hintsof possible games off toeither side, but Enderfollowed none of them. Hewanted toseewhere thepathled.It led to a clearing,with a

wellinthemiddle,andasignthat said, “Drink, Traveler.”Ender went forward andlookedat thewell.Almostat

once,heheardasnarl.Outofthe woods emerged a dozenslaveringwolveswithhumanfaces.Enderrecognizedthem—they were the childrenfrom the playground. Onlynow their teeth could tear;Ender, weaponless, wasquicklydevoured.His next figure appeared,

as usual, in the same spot,and was eaten again, thoughEnder tried to climb down

intothewell.The next appearance,

though, was at theplayground. Again thechildren laughed at him.Laugh all you like, Enderthought.Iknowwhatyouare.He pushed one of them. Shefollowed him, angry. Enderledheruptheslide.Ofcoursehefellthrough;butthistime,following so closely behindhim, she also fell through.

Whenshehittheground,sheturned into a wolf and laythere,deadorstunned.OnebyoneEnderledeach

of the others into a trap.Butbeforehehadfinishedoffthelast of them, the wolvesbegan reviving, and were nolonger children. Ender wastornapartagain.This time, shaking and

sweating, Ender found hisfigure revived on theGiant’s

table. I should quit, he toldhimself. I should go to mynewarmy.But instead he made his

figure drop down from thetable and walk around theGiant’s body to theplayground.This time, as soon as the

child hit the ground andturned into a wolf, Enderdraggedthebodytothebrookand pulled it in. Each time,

thebodysizzledasthoughthewaterwereacid;thewolfwasconsumed, and a dark cloudof smoke arose and driftedaway. The children wereeasily dispatched, thoughthey began following him intwos and threes at the end.Ender found no wolveswaiting for him in theclearing, and he loweredhimself into the well on thebucketrope.

Thelightinthecavernwasdim,buthecouldseepilesofjewels. He passed them by,noting that,behindhim,eyesglinted among the gems. Atable covered with food didnot interest him. He passedthrough a group of cageshanging from the ceiling ofthe cave, each containingsomeexotic, friendly-lookingcreature. I’ll play with youlater, Ender thought. At last

hecametoadoor,withthesewordsinglowingemeralds:

THEENDOFTHEWORLD

He did not hesitate. Heopened the door and steppedthrough.Hestoodonasmall ledge,

high on a cliff overlooking aterrain of bright and deepgreen forest with dashes ofautumn color and patcheshere and there of cleared

land,withoxdrawnplowsandsmall villages, a castle on arise in the distance, andclouds riding currents of airbelow him. Above him, theskywas the ceiling of a vastcavern,withcrystalsdanglinginbrightstalactites.The door closed behind

him;Ender studied the sceneintently.Withthebeautyofit,hecaredlessforsurvivalthanusual. He cared little, at the

moment, what the game ofthis place might be. He hadfoundit,andseeingitwasitsownreward.Andso,withnothought of consequences, hejumpedfromtheledge.Now he plummeted

downward toward a roilingriver and savage rocks; but acloudcamebetweenhimandthe ground as he fell, andcaught him, and carried himaway.Ittookhimtothetower

ofthecastle,andthroughtheopenwindow,bearinghimin.There it left him, in a roomwithnoapparentdoorinflooror ceiling, and windowslooking out over a certainlyfatalfall.A moment ago he had

thrown himself from a ledgecarelessly; this time hehesitated.The small rug before the

fire unraveled itself into a

long, slender serpent withwickedteeth.“Iamyouronlyescape,”it

said. “Death is your onlyescape.”Ender looked around the

room for a weapon, whensuddenly the screen wentdark. Words flashed aroundtherimofthedesk.

REPORTTOCOMMANDERIMMEDIATELY.YOUARELATE.

GREENGREENBROWN.

Furious,Endersnappedoffthedeskandwenttothecolorwall, where he found theribbonofgreengreenbrown,touchedit,andfolloweditasitlitupbeforehim.Thedarkgreen,lightgreen,andbrownoftheribbonremindedhimoftheearlyautumnkingdomhehadfoundinthegame.Imustgo back there, he toldhimself.Theserpentisalong

thread;Icanletmyselfdownfrom the tower and find myway through that place.Perhaps it’scalled theendoftheworldbecauseit’stheendof the games, because I cango to oneof thevillages andbecomeoneof the littleboysworking and playing there,with nothing to kill andnothingtokillme,justlivingthere.Ashethoughtofit,though,

he could not imagine what“just living” might actuallybe. He had never done it inhis life.But hewanted to doitanyway.

Armies were larger thanlaunch groups, and the armybarracks room was larger,too. It was long and narrow,with bunks on both sides; solong, in fact, that you could

see thecurvatureof the flooras the far end bent upward,partofthewheeloftheBattleSchool.Ender stoodat thedoor.A

few boys near the doorglancedathim,buttheywereolder, and it seemed asthoughtheyhadn’tevenseenhim.Theywentonwiththeirconversations, lying andleaningonbunks.Theywerediscussing battles, of course

—the older boys always did.They were all much largerthan Ender. The ten- andeleven-year-olds toweredover him; even the youngestwere eight, and Ender wasnotlargeforhisage.Hetriedtoseewhichofthe

boyswasthecommander,butmost were somewherebetweenbattledressandwhatthe soldiers always calledtheir sleep uniform—skin

from head to toe. Many ofthem had desks out, but fewwerestudying.Ender stepped into the

room.Themomenthedid,hewasnoticed.“What do you want?”

demanded the boy who hadthe upper bunk by the door.He was the largest of them.Ender had noticed himbefore, a young giant whohad whiskers growing

raggedlyonhischin.“You’renotaSalamander.”“I’m supposed to be, I

think,” Ender said. “Greengreen brown, right? I wastransferred.” He showed theboy,obviouslythedoorguard,hispaper.The doorguard reached for

it.Enderwithdrewit,justoutof reach. “I’m supposed togiveittoBonzoMadrid.”Now another boy joined

the conversation, a smallerboy, but still larger thanEnder. “Not bahn-zoe,pisshead. Bone-So. Thename’s Spanish. BonzoMadrid. Aqui nosotroshablamos español, SeñorGranFedor.”“You must be Bonzo,

then?” Ender asked,pronouncing the namecorrectly.“No, just a brilliant and

talented polyglot. PetraArkanian. The only girl inSalamander Army. Withmoreballs thananybodyelseintheroom.”“MotherPetrashetalking,”

said one of the boys, “shetalking,shetalking.”Another one chimed in.

“Shittalking,shittalking,shittalking!”Quiteafewlaughed.“Just between you and

me,”Petrasaid,“iftheygavethe Battle School an enema,they’d stick it in at greengreenbrown.”Ender despaired. He

alreadyhadnothinggoingforhim—grossly under-trained,small,inexperienced,doomedto be resented for earlyadvancement. And now, bychance, he hadmade exactlythewrong friend.An outcastinSalamanderArmy,andshe

had just linked him with herinthemindsoftherestofthearmy. A good day’s work.For a moment, as Enderlooked around at thelaughing, jeering faces, heimaginedtheirbodiescoveredwith hair, their teeth pointedfor tearing. Am I the onlyhuman being in this place?Are all the others animals,waitingonlytodevour?Thenhe rememberedAlai.

In every army, surely, therewas at least one worthknowing.Suddenly, though no one

said to be quiet, the laughterstopped and the group fellsilent. Ender turned to thedoor. A boy stood there, talland slender, with beautifulblack eyes and slender lipsthat hinted at refinement. Iwould follow such beauty,said something inside Ender.

Iwouldseeasthoseeyessee.“Who are you?” asked the

boyquietly.“EnderWiggin,sir,”Ender

said. “Reassigned fromlaunchtoSalamanderArmy.”Heheldouttheorders.Theboytookthepaperina

swift, sure movement,without touching Ender’shand. “How old are you,Wiggin?”heasked.“Almostseven.”

Still quietly, he said, “Iasked how old you are, nothowoldyoualmostare.”“I am six years, nine

months, and twelve daysold.”“How long have you been

workinginthebattleroom?”“A few months, now. My

aimisbetter.”“Any training in battle

maneuvers? Have you everbeenpartofatoon?Haveyou

ever carried out a jointexercise?”Ender had never heard of

such things. He shook hishead.Madrid looked at him

steadily. “I see. As you willquickly learn, the officers incommandofthisschool,mostnotablyMajorAnderson,whoruns the game, are fond ofplaying tricks. SalamanderArmy is just beginning to

emerge from indecentobscurity. We have wontwelve of our last twentygames. We have surprisedRatandScorpionandHound,andwe are ready to play forleadershipinthegame.Soofcourse, of course I am givensuch a useless, untrained,hopeless specimen ofunderdevelopment asyourself.”Petra said, quietly, “He

isn’tgladtomeetyou.”“Shut up, Arkanian,”

Madridsaid.“Toonetrial,wenow add another. Butwhatever obstacles ourofficerschoosetoflinginourpath,wearestill—”“Salamander!” cried the

soldiers,inonevoice.Instinctively, Ender’s

perception of these eventschanged. It was a pattern, aritual.Madridwas not trying

to hurt him, merely takingcontrol of a surprising eventandusing it to strengthenhiscontrolofhisarmy.“We are the fire that will

consume them, belly andbowel, head and heart,manyflamesofus,butonefire.”“Salamander!” they cried

again.“Even this one will not

weakenus.”For a moment, Ender

allowedhimselftohope.“I’llworkhardandlearnquickly,”hesaid.“I didn’t give you

permissiontospeak,”Madridanswered. “I intend to tradeyouawayasquicklyasIcan.I’ll probably have to give upsomeone valuable alongwithyou, but as small as you areyou are worse than useless.One more frozen, inevitably,in every battle, that’s all you

are,andwe’renowatapointwhere every frozen soldiermakes a difference in thestandings. Nothing personal,Wiggin,butI’msureyoucanget your training at someoneelse’sexpense.”“He’sallheart,”Petrasaid.Madrid stepped closer to

the girl and slapped heracross the facewith thebackof his hand. It made littlesound,foronlyhisfingernails

had hit her. But there werebright red marks, four ofthem,onhercheek,andlittlepricksofbloodmarkedwherethetipsofhisfingernailshadstruck.“Here are your

instructions,Wiggin.IexpectthatitisthelasttimeI’llneedtospeaktoyou.Youwillstayout of the way when we’retraining in the battleroom.You have to be there, of

course, but you will notbelong to any toon and youwill not take part in anymaneuvers. When we’recalledtobattle,youwilldressquickly and present yourselfat the gate with everyoneelse. But you will not passthrough the gate until fourfull minutes after thebeginning of the game, andthen you will remain at thegate, with your weapons

undrawn and unfired, untilsuchtimeasthegameends.”Ender nodded. So he was

tobeanothing.Hehopedthetradehappenedsoon.He also noticed that Petra

didnotsomuchascryoutinpain, or touch her cheek,thoughonespotofbloodhadbeaded and run, making astreak down to her jaw.Outcastshemaybe,butsinceBonzoMadridwasnotgoing

to be Ender’s friend, nomatterwhat,hemightaswellmakefriendswithPetra.Hewasassignedabunkat

the far end of the room.Theupper bunk, so that when helay on his bed he couldn’tevensee thedoor:Thecurveof the ceiling blocked it.There were other boys nearhim, tired-looking boys,sullen, the ones least valued.Theyhadnothingofwelcome

tosaytoEnder.Ender tried to palm his

locker open, but nothinghappened. Then he realizedthe lockerswerenot secured.Allfourofthemhadringsonthem, to pull them open.Nothing would be private,then, now that he was in anarmy.Therewasauniforminthe

locker.Not the pale green ofthe Launchies, but the

orange-trimmeddarkgreenofSalamanderArmy. It did notfit well. But then, they hadprobablyneverhadtoprovidesuch a uniform for a boy soyoung.He was starting to take it

off when he noticed Petrawalking down the aisletoward his bed. He slid offthe bunk and stood on thefloortogreether.“Relax,”shesaid.“I’mnot

anofficer.”“You’re a toon leader,

aren’tyou?”Someonenearbysnickered.“Whatever gave you that

idea,Wiggin?”“You have a bunk in the

front.”“I bunk in the front

because I’m the bestsharpshooter in SalamanderArmy, and becauseBonzo isafraidI’llstartarevolutionif

thetoonleadersdon’tkeepaneyeonme.AsifIcouldstartanything with boys likethese.” She indicated thesullen-faced boys on thenearbybunks.Whatwasshetryingtodo,

make itworse than italreadywas? “Everybody’s betterthanIam,”Endersaid,tryingtodissociatehimselffromhercontempt for the boys whowould, after all, be his near

bunkmates.“I’magirl,”shesaid,“and

you’reapissantofasix-year-old. We have so much incommon, why don’t we befriends?”“Iwon’tdoyourdeskwork

foryou,”hesaid.Inamomentsherealizedit

was a joke. “Ha,” she said.“It’s all so military, whenyou’re in the game. Schoolfor us isn’t like it is for

Launchies. History andstrategy and tactics andbuggers and math and stars,things you’ll need as a pilotoracommander.You’llsee.”“Soyou’remyfriend.DoI

getaprize?”Enderasked.Hewas imitatingherswaggeringway of speaking, as if shecaredaboutnothing.“Bonzo isn’t going to let

you practice. He’s going tomake you take your desk to

the battleroom and study.He’s right, in a way—hedon’twantatotallyuntrainedlittle kid to screw up hisprecision maneuvers.” Shelapsed into giria, the slangytalk that imitated the pidginEnglish of uneducatedpeople. “Bonzo, he pre-cise.He so careful, he piss on aplateandneversplash.”Endergrinned.“Thebattleroomisopenall

thetime.Ifyouwant,I’lltakeyouintheoffhoursandshowyou some of the things Iknow.I’mnotagreatsoldier,but I’m pretty good, and Isureknowmorethanyou.”“Ifyouwant,”Endersaid.“Starting tomorrow

morningafterbreakfast.”“Whatifsomebody’susing

the room? We always wentright after breakfast, in mylaunch.”

“No problem. There arereallyninebattlerooms.”“I never heard of any

others.”“They all have the same

entrance.Thewholecenterofthe battle school, the hub ofthe wheel, is battlerooms.They don’t rotate with therestofthestation.That’showthey do the nullo, the no-gravity—itjustholdsstill.Nospin, no down. But they can

setitupsothatanyoneoftherooms is at the battleroomentrance corridor that we alluse.Onceyou’re inside, theymove it along and anotherbattleroom’sinposition.”“Oh.”“Like I said. Right after

breakfast.”“Right,”Endersaid.Shestartedtowalkaway.“Petra,”hesaid.Sheturnedback.

“Thanks.”She said nothing, just

turned around again andwalkeddowntheaisle.Ender climbed back up on

his bunk and finished takingoffhisuniform.Helaynakedonthebed,doodlingwithhisnew desk, trying to decide iftheyhaddoneanythingtohisaccess codes. Sure enough,they had wiped out hissecurity system. He couldn’t

own anything here, not evenhisdesk.The lights dimmed a little.

Getting toward bedtime.Ender didn’t know whichbathroomtouse.“Go left out of the door,”

saidtheboyonthenextbunk.“We share it with Rat,Condor,andSquirrel.”Ender thanked him and

startedtowalkonpast.“Hey,” said the boy. “You

can’tgolikethat.Uniformsatalltimesoutofthisroom.”“Evengoingtothetoilet?”“Especially. And you’re

forbidden to speak toanyonefrom any other army. Atmealsorinthetoilet.Youcangetawaywithitsometimesinthegameroom,andofcoursewhenever a teacher tells youto. But if Bonzo catch you,youdead,eh?”“Thanks.”

“And,uh,BonzogetmadifyouskinbyPetra.”“She was naked when I

camein,wasn’tshe?”“Shedowhat she like, but

you keep you clothes on.Bonzo’sorders.”Thatwas stupid.Petra still

looked like a boy, it was astupid rule. It set her apart,made her different, split thearmy.Stupidstupid.HowdidBonzo get to be a

commander, if he didn’tknow better than that? AlaiwouldbeabettercommanderthanBonzo.Heknewhowtobringagrouptogether.I know to bring a group

together, too, thought Ender.Maybe I’ll be commandersomeday.In the bathroom, he was

washing his hands whensomebody spoke to him.“Hey, they putting babies in

Salamanderuniformsnow?”Ender didn’t answer. Just

driedoffhishands.“Hey, look! Salamander’s

getting babies now! Look atthis! He could walk betweenmylegswithouttouchingmyballs!”“Cause you got none,

Dink, that’swhy,” somebodyanswered.AsEnderleft theroom,he

heard somebody else say,

“It’sWiggin. You know, thesmartass Launchie from thegameroom.”He walked down the

corridor smiling. He may beshort, but they knew hisname. From the game room,of course, so it meantnothing.Butthey’dsee.He’dbeagoodsoldier,too.They’dall know his name soonenough. Not in SalamanderArmy, maybe, but soon

enough.

Petra was waiting in thecorridor that led to thebattleroom. “Wait aminute,”she said to Ender. “RabbitArmy just went in, and ittakesafewminutestochangetothenextbattleroom.”Endersatdownbesideher.

“There’s more to thebattleroom than just

switching from one to thenext,” he said. “For instance,why is there gravity in thecorridor outside the room,justbeforewegoin?”Petraclosedhereyes.“And

if the battlerooms are reallyfree-floating, what happenswhenoneisconnected?Whydoesn’t it start to move withtherotationoftheschool?”Endernodded.“These are the mysteries,”

Petra said in a deepwhisper.“Do not pry into them.Terrible things happened tothe last soldierwho tried.Hewas discovered hanging byhis feet from the ceiling ofthe bathroom, with his headstuffedinthetoilet.”Of course she was joking,

but the message was clear.“SoI’mnotthefirstpersontoaskthequestion.”“You remember this, little

boy.”Whenshesaidlittleboyit sounded friendly, notcontemptuous. “They nevertell you any more truth thantheyhaveto.Butanykidwithbrains knows that there’vebeensomechangesinsciencesince the days of old MazerRackham and the VictoriousFleet.Obviouslywecannowcontrol gravity. Turn it onandoff,changethedirection,maybe reflect it—I’ve

thoughtof lotsofneat thingsyou could do with gravityweapons and gravity driveson starships. And think howstarships could move nearplanets. Maybe tear bigchunks out of them byreflecting the planet’s owngravity back on itself, onlyfrom another direction, andfocused down to a smallerpoint.Buttheysaynothing.”Ender understood more

than she said. Manipulationof gravity was one thing;deceptionbytheofficerswasanother; but the mostimportant message was this:the adults are the enemy,nottheotherarmies.Theydonottellusthetruth.“Come, little boy,” she

said. “The battleroom isready. Petra’s hands aresteady.Theenemyisdeadly.”She giggled. “Petra the poet,

theycallme.”“They also say you’re

crazyasaloon.”“Better believe it, baby

butt.”Shehadtentargetballsinabag.Enderheldontohersuit with one hand and thewallwiththeother, tosteadyher as she threw them, hard,in different directions. In thenull gravity, they bouncedeverywhichway. “Let go ofme,” she said. She shoved

off, spinning deliberately;with a few deft hand movesshe steadied herself, andbeganaimingcarefullyatballafterball.Whensheshotone,its glow changed fromwhiteto red. Ender knew that thecolor change lasted less thantwo minutes. Only one ballhad changed back to whitewhenshegotthelastone.She rebounded accurately

fromawallandcameathigh

speed back to Ender. Hecaught her and held heragainst her own rebound—one of the first techniquesthey had taught him as aLaunchy.“You’regood,”hesaid.“None better. And you’re

goingtolearnhowtodoit.”Petrataughthimtoholdhis

arm straight, to aimwith thewholearm. “Somethingmostsoldiers don’t realize is that

the farther away your targetis, the longer you have toholdthebeamwithinaboutatwo-centimetercircle.It’sthedifferencebetweena tenthofasecondandahalfasecond,but in battle that’s a longtime. A lot of soldiers thinkthey missed when they wereright on target, but theymovedawaytoofast.Soyoucan’t use your gun like asword, swish swish slice-em-

in-half.Yougottoaim.”She used the ballcaller to

bring the targets back, thenlaunchedthemslowly,onebyone. Ender fired at them.Hemissedeveryone.“Good,” she said. “You

don’thaveanybadhabits.”“I don’t have any good

ones,either,”hepointedout.“Igiveyouthose.”They didn’t accomplish

much that first morning.

Mostly talk. How to thinkwhile you were aiming.You’vegot toholdyourownmotion and your enemy’smotion in your mind at thesame time. You’ve got tohold your arm straight outandaimwithyourbody,soincase your arm is frozen youcan still shoot. Learn whereyourtriggeractuallyfiresandride the edge, so you don’thave to pull so far each time

you fire. Relax your body,don’t tense up, it makes youtremble.It was the only practice

Ender got that day. Duringthe army’s drills in theafternoon,Enderwasorderedto bring his desk and do hisschoolwork, sitting in acorner of the room. Bonzohadtobringallhissoldierstothe battleroom, but he didn’thavetousethem.

Ender did not do hisschoolwork, however. If hecouldn’t drill as a soldier, hecould study Bonzo as atactician. Salamander Armywasdividedintothestandardfour toons of ten soldierseach. Some commanders setup their toons so thatA toonconsistedofthebestsoldiers,and D toon had the worst.Bonzo had mixed them, sothat each consisted of good

soldiersandweakerones.Except that B toon had

only nine boys. Enderwondered who had beentransferred tomake room forhim. It soon became plainthat the leaderof toonBwasnew. No wonder Bonzo wasso disgusted—he had lost atoonleadertogetEnder.AndBonzowasrightabout

another thing. Enderwas notready. All the practice time

was spent working onmaneuvers. Toons thatcouldn’t see each otherpracticed performingprecision operations togetherwith exact timing; toonspracticed using each other tomake sudden changes ofdirection without losingformation. All these soldierstook for granted skills thatEnderdidn’thave.Theabilityto make a soft landing and

absorb most of the shock.Accurate flight. Courseadjustment using the frozensoldiers floating randomlythrough the room. Rolls,spins, dodges. Sliding alongthe walls—a very difficultmaneuver and yet one of themost valuable, since theenemy couldn’t get behindyou.EvenasEnderlearnedhow

much he did not know, he

alsosaw things thathecouldimprove on. The well-rehearsed formations were amistake. It allowed thesoldiers to obey shoutedorders instantly, but it alsomeant they were predictable.Also, the individual soldierswere given little initiative.Once a pattern was set, theywere to follow it through.There was no room foradjustmenttowhattheenemy

did against the formation.Ender studied Bonzo’sformations like an enemycommander would, notingwaystodisrupttheformation.Duringfreeplaythatnight,

EnderaskedPetra topracticewithhim.“No,” she said. “I want to

beacommandersomeday,soI’ve got to play the gameroom.” It was a commonbelief that the teachers

monitored the games andspottedpotentialcommandersthere. Ender doubted it,though. Toon leaders had abetter chance to show whattheymightdoascommandersthananyvideoplayer.But he didn’t argue with

Petra. The after-breakfastpractice was generousenough. Still, he had topractice. And he couldn’tpractice alone, except a few

ofthebasicskills.Mostofthehard things required partnersor teams. If only he still hadAlaiorShentopracticewith.Well, why shouldn’t he

practice with them? He hadnever heard of a soldierpracticing with Launchies,but therewasno rule againstit. It just wasn’t done;Launchies were held in toomuch contempt.Well, Enderwas still being treated like a

Launchy anyway.He neededsomeonetopracticewith,andin return he could help themlearn some of the things hesawtheolderboysdoing.“Hey, the great soldier

returns!”saidBernard.Enderstood in the doorway of hisoldbarracks.He’donlybeenawayforaday,butalreadyitseemed like an alien place,and the others of his launchgroupwerestrangers.Almost

heturnedaroundandleft.Butthere was Alai, who hadmade their friendship sacred.Alaiwasnotastranger.Ender made no effort to

concealhowhewastreatedinSalamander Army. “Andthey’re right. I’m about asuseful as a sneeze in aspacesuit.”Alai laughed, andother Launchies started togather around. Enderproposed his bargain. Free

play,everyday,workinghardin the battleroom, underEnder’s direction. Theywould learn things from thearmies,fromthebattlesEnderwould see; he would get thepractice he needed indeveloping soldier skills.“We’llgetreadytogether.”A lot of boys wanted to

come, too. “Sure,” Endersaid. “If you’re coming towork. If you’re just farting

around, you’re out. I don’thaveanytimetowaste.”They didn’t waste any

time. Ender was clumsy,tryingtodescribewhathehadseen,workingoutwaystodoit. But by the time free playended,theyhadlearnedsomethings. They were tired, butthey were getting the knackofafewtechniques.“Where were you?” asked

Bonzo.

Ender stood stiffly by hiscommander’s bunk.“Practicinginabattleroom.”“I hear you had some of

your old Launch group withyou.”“Icouldn’tpracticealone.”“Iwon’t have any soldiers

inSalamanderArmyhangingaround with Launchies.You’reasoldiernow.”Ender regarded him in

silence.

“Did you hear me,Wiggin?”“Yes,sir.”“No more practicing with

thoselittlefarts.”“May I speak to you

privately?”askedEnder.It was a request that

commanderswererequiredtoallow. Bonzo’s face wentangry, and he led Ender outinto the corridor. “Listen,Wiggin,Idon’twantyou,I’m

trying to get rid of you, butdon’t give me any problemsorI’llpasteyoutothewall.”A good commander,

thought Ender, doesn’t havetomakestupidthreats.Bonzo grew annoyed at

Ender’s silence. “Look, youasked me to come out here,nowtalk.”“Sir, you were correct not

toplacemeinatoon.Idon’tknowhowtodoanything.”

“Idon’tneedyoutotellmewhenI’mcorrect.”“But I’m going to become

agoodsoldier.Iwon’tscrewupyour regulardrill,but I’mgoing to practice, and I’mgoing to practice with theonlypeoplewhowillpracticewith me, and that’s myLaunchies.”“You’lldowhatI tellyou,

youlittlebastard.”“That’s right, sir. I’ll

follow all the orders thatyou’reauthorizedtogive.Butfree play is free. Noassignments can be given.None.Byanyone.”He could see Bonzo’s

angergrowinghot.Hotangerwas bad. Ender’s anger wascold, and he could use it.Bonzo’s was hot, and so itusedhim.“Sir, I’ve got my own

career to think of. I won’t

interfere in your training andyour battles, but I’ve got tolearn sometime. I didn’t askto be put into your army,you’re trying to trade me assoonasyoucan.Butnobodywill takeme if I don’t knowanything, will they? Let melearnsomething,andthenyoucan get rid of me all thesooner and get a soldier youcanreallyuse.”Bonzowasnotsucha fool

that anger kept him fromrecognizinggoodsensewhenhe heard it. Still, he couldn’tlet go of his angerimmediately.“While you’re in

Salamander Army, you’llobeyme.”“If you try to control my

freeplay,Icangetyouiced.”Itprobablywasn’ttrue.But

it was possible. Certainly ifEnder made a fuss about it,

interfering with free playcould conceivably get Bonzoremoved from command.Also, there was the fact thatthe officers obviously sawsomething in Ender, sincethey had promoted him.Maybe Ender did haveinfluence enough with theteachers to ice somebody.“Bastard,”saidBonzo.“It isn’tmyfaultyougave

me that order in front of

everybody,”Endersaid.“Butif youwant, I’ll pretend youwon this argument. Thentomorrowyoucantellmeyouchangedyourmind.”“Idon’tneedyoutotellme

whattodo.”“I don’t want the other

guys to think you backeddown. Youwouldn’t be abletocommandaswell.”Bonzohatedhimforit,for

the kindness. Ender tried to

understand why. Maybe itseemed toBonzoas ifEnderwere granting him hiscommandasafavor.Galling,andyethehadnochoice.Nochoiceaboutanything.Wellitwas Bonzo’s own fault, forgivingEnderanunreasonableorder. Still, he would onlyknow that Ender had beatenhim,andthenrubbedhisnoseinitbybeingmagnanimous.“I’ll have your ass

someday,”Bonzosaid.“Probably,” said Ender.

The lights out buzzersounded. Ender walked backinto the room, lookingdejected.Beaten.Angry.Theother boys drew the obviousconclusion.And in the morning, as

Ender was leaving forbreakfast,Bonzostoppedhimandspoke loudly.“Ichangedmymind,pinprick.Maybeby

practicing with yourLaunchies you’ll learnsomething, and I can tradeyou easier. Anything to getridofyoufaster.”“Thank you, sir,” Ender

said.“Anything,” whispered

Bonzo.“Ihopeyou’reiced.”Ender smiled gratefully

and left the room. Afterbreakfast he practiced againwith Petra. All afternoon he

watched Bonzo drill andfigured out ways to destroyhisarmy.Duringfreeplayheand Alai and the othersworked themselves toexhaustion. I can do this,thoughtEnderashelayinhisbed, his muscles throbbing,unknotting themselves. I canhandleit.

Salamander Army had a

battle four days later. Enderfollowed behind the realsoldiersas they joggedalongthe corridors to thebattleroom. There were tworibbons along the walls, thegreen green brown ofSalamander and the blackwhiteblackofCondor.Whentheycametotheplacewherethe battleroom had alwaysbeen, the corridor splitinstead, with green green

brown leading to the left andblackwhiteblacktotheright.Around another turn to theright,andthearmystoppedinfrontofablankwall.The toons formed up in

silence. Ender stayed behindthem all. Bonzo was givinghis instructions. “A take thehandles and go up. B left, Cright, D down.” He saw thatthe toons were oriented tofollow instructions, then

added, “And you, pinprick,wait fourminutes, thencomejust inside the door. Don’teven take your gun off yoursuit.”Ender nodded. Suddenly

the wall behind Bonzobecame transparent. Not awall at all, then, but aforcefield. The battleroomwas different, too. Hugebrownboxeswere suspendedin midair, partially

obstructingtheview.Sothesewere the obstacles that thesoldiers called stars. Theyweredistributedseeminglyatrandom.Bonzoseemednottocare where they were.Apparently the soldiersalready knew how to handlethestars.Butitsoonbecameclearto

Ender,ashe satandwatchedthe battle from the corridor,thattheydidnotknowhowto

handle the stars. They didknowhowtosoftlandononeand use it for cover, thetactics of assaulting theenemy’s position on a star.They showed no sense at allofwhichstarsmattered.Theypersisted in assaulting starsthat could have beenbypassed by wallsliding to amoreadvancedposition.The other commanderwas

taking advantage of Bonzo’s

neglect of strategy. CondorArmyforcedtheSalamandersinto costly assaults. Fewerand fewer Salamanders wereunfrozenfortheattackonthenext star. It was clear, afteronly four minutes, thatSalamander Army could notdefeat the enemy byattacking.Ender stepped through the

gate. He drifted slightlydownward. The battlerooms

he had practiced in alwayshadtheirdoorsatfloor level.For realbattles,however, thedoorwassetinthemiddleofthewall,asfarfromthefloorasfromtheceiling.Abruptly he felt himself

reorient, as he had in theshuttle.Whathadbeendownwas now up, and nowsideways. Innullo, therewasnoreasontostayorientedtheway he had been in the

corridor.Itwasimpossibletotell, looking at the perfectlysquaredoors,whichwayhadbeenup.Anditdidn’tmatter.FornowEnderhadfoundtheorientation that made sense.Theenemy’sgatewasdown.Theobjectofthegamewastofall toward the enemy’shome.Ender made the motions

that oriented himself in hisnew direction. Instead of

being spread out, his wholebodypresentedtotheenemy,now Ender’s legs pointedtowardthem.Hewasamuchsmallertarget.Someonesawhim.Hewas,

after all,driftingaimlessly inthe open. Instinctively hepulledhis legsupunderhim.At that moment he wasflashed, and the legs of hissuit froze in position. Hisarms remained unfrozen, for

without a direct body hit,only the limbs thatwereshotfrozeup.ItoccurredtoEnderthat if he had not beenpresenting his legs to theenemy, it would have beenhis body they hit. He wouldhavebeenimmobilized.Since Bonzo had ordered

him not to draw hisweapon,Ender continued to drift, notmovinghisheadorarms,asifthey had been frozen, too.

The enemy ignored him andconcentrated their fire on thesoldiers who were firing atthem. It was a bitter battle.Outnumbered now,Salamander Army gavegroundstubbornly.Thebattledisintegrated into a dozenindividualshootouts.Bonzo’sdiscipline paid off now, foreach Salamander that frozetookat least one enemywithhim.Nooneranorpanicked,

everyone remained calm andaimedcarefully.Petra was especially

deadly.CondorArmynoticedit and took great effort tofreeze her. They froze hershooting arm first, and herstream of curses was onlyinterrupted when they frozeher completely and thehelmetclampeddownonherjaw. In a fewminutes itwasover. Salamander Army

offerednomoreresistance.Ender noted with pleasure

that Condor could onlymuster the minimal fivesoldiersnecessarytoopenthegate tovictory.Fourof themtouched their helmets to thelighted spots at the fourcornersofSalamander’sdoor,whilethefifthpassedthroughtheforcefield.Thatendedthegame. The lights came backontotheirfullbrightness,and

Anderson came out of theteacherdoor.I could have drawn my

gun, thought Ender, as theenemyapproachedthedoor.Icouldhavedrawnmygunandshot just one of them, andthey would have been toofew. The game would havebeen a draw. Without fourmentotouchthefourcornersand a fifth man to passthrough the gate, Condor

would have had no victory.Bonzo,youass, I couldhavesaved you from this defeat.Maybe even turned it tovictory, since they weresittingthere,easytargets,andtheywouldn’thaveknownatfirst where the shots werecoming from. I’m a goodenoughshotforthat.Butorderswereorders,and

Ender had promised to obey.He did get some satisfaction

out of the fact that on theofficial tally SalamanderArmy recorded, not theexpected forty-one disabledoreliminated,butratherfortyeliminatedandonedamaged.Bonzocouldn’tunderstandit,untilheconsultedAnderson’sbookandrealizedwhoitwas.I was only damaged, Bonzo,thought Ender. I could stillshoot.He expected Bonzo to

come to him and say, “Nexttime,when it’s like that, youcanshoot.”ButBonzodidn’tsay anything to him at alluntil the next morning afterbreakfast. Of course, Bonzoateinthecommanders’mess,butEnderwasprettysuretheodd score would cause asmuchstirthereasitdidinthesoldiers’dininghall.Ineveryother game that wasn’t adraw, every member of the

losing team was eithereliminated—totally frozen—ordisabled,whichmeanttheyhad some body parts stillunfrozen, butwere unable toshootorinflictdamageontheenemy. Salamander was theonly losing army with oneman in the Damaged butActivecategory.Ender volunteered no

explanation, but the othermembers of Salamander

Army let it be knownwhy ithad happened. And whenotherboysaskedhimwhyhehadn’t disobeyed orders andfired,hecalmlyanswered, “Iobeyorders.”After breakfast, Bonzo

looked for him. “The orderstill stands,” he said, “anddon’tyouforgetit.”Itwillcostyou,youfool.I

may not be a good soldier,butIcanstillhelpandthere’s

no reason you shouldn’t letme.Endersaidnothing.An interesting side effect

of the battle was that Enderemerged at the top of thesoldier efficiency list. Sincehehadn’tfiredashot,hehada perfect record on shooting—nomissesatall.Andsincehehadneverbeeneliminatedor disabled, his percentagethere was excellent. No one

elsecameclose.Itmadealotof boys laugh, and otherswereangry,butontheprizedefficiency list, Ender wasnowtheleader.He kept sitting out the

army practice sessions, andkept working hard on hisown, with Petra in themornings and his friends atnight. More Launchies werejoining them now, not on alark but because they could

seeresults—theyweregettingbetter and better. Ender andAlai stayed ahead of them,though. In part, it wasbecauseAlaikept tryingnewthings,whichforcedEndertothink of new tactics to copewith them. In part it wasbecause they kept makingstupid mistakes, whichsuggestedthingstodothatnoself-respecting, well-trainedsoldierwouldevenhavetried.

Many of the things theyattempted turned out to beuseless. But it was alwaysfun, always exciting, andenough things worked thatthey knew it was helpingthem. Evening was the besttimeoftheday.The next two battles were

easy Salamander victories;Ender came in after fourminutes and remaineduntouched by the defeated

enemy. Ender began torealize that Condor Army,which had beaten them, wasunusually good; Salamander,weak as Bonzo’s grasp ofstrategymightbe,wasoneofthe better teams, climbingsteadily in the ratings,clawingfor fourthplacewithRatArmy.Ender turned seven. They

weren’t much for dates andcalendars at the Battle

School, but Ender had foundout how to bring up the dateon his desk, and he noticedhis birthday. The schoolnoticed it, too; they took hismeasurementsandissuedhima new Salamander uniformand a new flash suit for thebattleroom. He went back tothe barracks with the newclothingon.Itfeltstrangeandloose, likehis skinno longerfitproperly.

He wanted to stop atPetra’s bunk and tell herabout his home, about whathis birthdays were usuallylike, just tell her it was hisbirthday so she’d saysomething about it being ahappy one. But nobody toldbirthdays. It was childish. Itwas what landsiders did.Cakes and silly customs.Valentinebakedhimhiscakeon his sixth birthday. It fell

and it was terrible. Nobodyknew how to cook anymore,itwasthekindofcrazythingValentine would do.Everybody teased Valentineabout it, but Ender saved alittlebitofitinhiscupboard.Then they took out hismonitorandheleftandforallhe knew, it was still there, alittle piece of greasy yellowdust. Nobody talked abouthome,notamongthesoldiers;

therehadbeenno lifebeforeBattle School. Nobody gotletters, and nobody wroteany. Everybody pretendedthattheydidn’tcare.But I do care, thought

Ender. The only reason I’mhereissothatabuggerwon’tshoot out Valentine’s eye,won’tblastherheadopenlikethe soldiers in the videos ofthe first battles with thebuggers.Won’tsplitherhead

with a beam so hot that herbrainsbursttheskullandspillout like rising bread dough,the way it happens in myworst nightmares, in myworstnights,whenIwakeuptrembling but silent, mustkeepsilentorthey’llhearthatI miss my family, I want togohome.It was better in the

morning.Homewasmerelyadull ache in the back of his

memory. A tiredness in hiseyes. That morning Bonzocame in as they weredressing. “Flash suits!” hecalled.Itwasabattle.Ender’sfourthgame.The enemy was Leopard

Army. It would be easy.Leopardwasnew,anditwasalways in the bottom quarterin the standings. It had beenorganized only six monthsago, with Pol Slattery as its

commander.Enderputonhisnew battle suit and got intoline; Bonzo pulled himroughlyoutof lineandmadehim march at the end. Youdidn’t need to do that,Endersaid silently.Youcouldhaveletmestayinline.Ender watched from the

corridor. Pol Slattery wasyoung, but he was sharp, hehadsomenewideas.Hekepthis soldiers moving, darting

from star to star, wallslidingto get behind and above thestolid Salamanders. Endersmiled.Bonzowashopelesslyconfused, and so were hismen.Leopardseemedtohavemen in every direction.However, the battle was notas lopsided as it seemed.Ender noticed that Leopardwaslosingalotofmen,too—their reckless tactics exposedthem too much. What

mattered, however, was thatSalamander felt defeated.They had surrendered theinitiativecompletely.Thoughthey were still fairly evenlymatchedwiththeenemy,theyhuddled together like the lastsurvivorsofamassacre,as ifthey hoped the enemywouldoverlooktheminthecarnage.Ender slipped slowly

through the gate, orientedhimself so the enemy’s gate

wasdown,anddriftedslowlyeastwardtoacornerwherehewouldn’tbenoticed.Heevenfiredathisown legs, toholdthemin thekneelingpositionthat offered him the bestprotection. He looked to anycasual glance like anotherfrozen soldier who haddrifted helplessly out of thebattle.With Salamander Army

waiting abjectly for

destruction, Leopardobligingly destroyed them.When Salamander finallystopped firing, Leopard hadnine boys left. They formedup and started to open theSalamandergate.Enderaimedcarefullywith

a straight arm, as Petra hadtaught him. Before anyoneknewwhatwashappening,hefroze three of the soldierswhowereabouttopresstheir

helmets against the lightedcorners of the door. Thensome of the others spottedhim and fired—but at firstthey hit only his already-frozen legs. It gavehim timetogetthelasttwomenatthegate. Leopard had only fourmen left unfrozen whenEnder was finally hit in thearm and disabled. The gamewas a draw, and they neverhadhithiminthebody.

Pol Slattery was furious,but there had been nothingunfair about it. Everyone inLeopard Army assumed thatit had been a strategy ofBonzo’s, to leave a man tillthe last minute. It didn’toccurtothemthatlittleEnderhad fired against orders. ButSalamander Army knew.Bonzoknew,andEndercouldsee from the way hiscommander looked at him

that Bonzo hated him forrescuing him from totaldefeat. I don’t care, Endertoldhimself.Itwilljustmakeme easier to trade away, andin the meantime you won’tdrop so far in the standings.Justtrademe.I’velearnedallI’m ever going to learn fromyou. How to fail with style,that’sallyouknow,Bonzo.WhathaveIlearnedsofar?

Ender listed things in his

mind as he undressed by hisbunk. The enemy’s gate isdown.Usemylegsasashieldin battle. A small reserve,heldbackuntiltheendofthegame, can be decisive. Andsoldiers can sometimesmakedecisions that are smarterthan the orders they’ve beengiven.Naked, he was about to

climb into bed when Bonzocame toward him, his face

hard and set. I have seenPeterlikethis,thoughtEnder,silentwithmurderinhiseye.But Bonzo is not Peter.Bonzohasmorefear.“Wiggin, I finally traded

you. I was able to persuadeRatArmythatyourincredibleplaceon the efficiency list ismore than an accident. Yougoovertheretomorrow.”“Thank you, sir,” Ender

said.

Perhaps he sounded toograteful. Suddenly Bonzoswungathim,caughthisjawwith a vicious open-handedslap. It knocked Endersideways, into his bunk, andhe almost fell. Then Bonzoslugged him, hard, in thestomach. Ender dropped tohisknees.“You disobeyed me,”

Bonzosaid.Loudly,foralltohear. “No good soldier ever

disobeys.”Even as he cried from the

pain, Ender could not helpbut take vengeful pleasure inthe murmurs he heard risingthrough the barracks. Youfool, Bonzo. You aren’tenforcing discipline, you’redestroying it. They know Iturned defeat into a draw.And now they see how yourepayme.Youmadeyourselflook stupid in front of

everyone. What is yourdisciplineworthnow?The next day, Ender told

Petra that for her sake theshooting practice in themorning would have to end.Bonzo didn’t need anythingthat looked like a challengenow,andsoshe’dbetterstayclear of Ender for a while.She understood perfectly.“Besides,” she said, “you’reasclose tobeingagoodshot

asyou’lleverbe.”He left his desk and flash

suit in the locker. He wouldwearhisSalamanderuniformuntil he could get to thecommissaryandchangeitforthe brown and black of Rat.He had brought nopossessions with him; hewouldtakenoneaway.Therewere none to have—everythingofvaluewasintheschool computer or his own

headandhands.He used one of the public

desks in the game room toregister for an earth-gravitypersonal combat courseduring the hour immediatelyafterbreakfast.Hedidn’tplanto get vengeance on Bonzofor hitting him. But he didintend that no one would beabletodothattohimagain.

8

RAT

“Colonel Graff, the games

havealwaysbeenrunfairlybefore. Either randomdistribution of stars, orsymmetrical.”“Fairness is a wonderful

attribute, Major Anderson.It has nothing to do withwar.”“The game will be

compromised. Thecomparative standings willbecomemeaningless.”“Alas.”

“It will take months.Years, to develop the newbattlerooms and run thesimulations.”“That’s why I’m asking

you now. To begin. Becreative. Think of everystacked, impossible, unfairstar arrangement you can.Thinkofotherwaystobendthe rules. Late notification.Unequal forces. Then runthe simulations and see

which ones are hardest,which easiest. We want anintelligent progressionhere.We want to bring himalong.”“When do you plan to

make him a commander?Whenhe’seight?”“Ofcoursenot. Ihaven’t

assembledhisarmyyet.”“Oh,soyou’restackingit

thatway,too?”“You’regetting tooclose

to the game, Anderson.You’re forgetting that it ismerelyatrainingexercise.”“It’s also status, identity,

purpose, name; all thatmakes these children whothey are comes out of thisgame. When it becomesknownthatthegamecanbemanipulated, weighted,cheated, it will undo thiswhole school. I’m notexaggerating.”

“Iknow.”“SoIhopeEnderWiggin

truly is the one, becauseyou’ll have degraded theeffectivenessofourtrainingmethod for a long time tocome.”“IfEnderisn’ttheone,if

his peak of militarybrilliance does not coincidewith the arrival of our fleetat the bugger homeworlds,then itdoesn’t reallymatter

whatour trainingmethod isorisn’t.”“I hope you will forgive

me,ColonelGraff,butIfeelthat I must report yourorders and my opinion oftheir consequences to theStrategos and theHegemon.”“Why not our dear

Polemarch?”“Everybody knows you

havehiminyourpocket.”

“Such hostility, MajorAnderson.AndIthoughtwewerefriends.”“Weare.AndIthinkyou

mayberightaboutEnder.Ijust don’t believe you, andyoualone,shoulddecidethefateoftheworld.”“I don’t even think it’s

right for me to decide thefateofEnderWiggin.”“So you won’t mind if I

notifythem?”

“Of course I mind, youmeddlesome ass. This issomething tobedecidedbypeople who know whatthey’re doing, not thesefrightened politicians whogottheirofficebecausetheyhappen to be politicallypotent in the country theycomefrom.”“Butyouunderstandwhy

I’mdoingit.”“Because you’re such a

short-sighted littlebureaucratic bastard thatyouthinkyouneedtocoveryourself in case things gowrong. Well, if things gowrong we’ll all be buggermeat. So trust me now,Anderson, and don’t bringthewhole damnHegemonydownonmyneck.WhatI’mdoing is hard enoughwithoutthem.”“Oh, is it unfair? Are

things stacked against you?Youcandoit toEnder,butyoucan’ttakeit,isthatit?”“Ender Wiggin is ten

times smarter and strongerthan I am.What I’m doingto him will bring out hisgenius. If I had to gothrough it myself, it wouldcrushme.MajorAnderson,I know I’m wrecking thegame,and Iknowyou loveitbetterthananyoftheboys

who play. Hate me if youlike,butdon’tstopme.”“I reserve the right to

communicate with theHegemonyandtheStrategoiat any time.But for now—dowhatyouwant.”“Thank you so very

kindly.”

“Ender Wiggin, the littlefarthead who leads thestandings,what a pleasure to

have you with us.” Thecommander of RatArmy laysprawled on a lower bunkwearingonlyhisdesk.“Withyou around, how can anyarmy lose?” Several of theboysnearbylaughed.Therecouldnothavebeen

two more opposite armiesthanSalamanderandRat.Theroomwas rumpled, cluttered,noisy. After Bonzo, Enderhad thought that undiscipline

would be a welcome relief.Instead,hefound thathe hadcome to expect quiet andorder, and the disorder heremadehimuncomfortable.“We doing OK, Ender

Bender. I Rose de Nose,Jewboy extraordinaire, andyou ain’t nothin but apinheaded pinprick of a goy.Don’tyouforgetit.”Since the I.F.was formed,

the Strategos of the military

forceshadalwaysbeenaJew.TherewasamyththatJewishgenerals didn’t lose wars.Andsofaritwasstill true.Itmade any Jew in the BattleSchool dream of beingStrategos, and conferredprestige on him from thestart. It also causedresentment. Rat Army wasoften called the Kike Force,half in praise, half in parodyof Mazer Rackham’s Strike

Force.Thereweremanywholikedtorememberthatduringthe Second Invasion, eventhough an American Jew, asPresident, was Hegemon ofthe alliance, an Israeli Jewwas Strategos in overallcommandofI.F.defense,andaRussianJewwasPolemarchof the fleet, it was MazerRackham, a little-known,twice-court-martialled, half-MaoriNewZealanderwhose

Strike Force broke up andfinally destroyed the buggerfleet in the action aroundSaturn.If Mazer Rackham could

save theworld, then it didn’tmatterabitwhetheryouwereaJewornot,peoplesaid.Butitdidmatter,andRose

theNoseknewit.Hemockedhimself to forestall themocking comments of anti-semites—almost everyone he

defeated in battle became, atleastforatime,aJew-hater—but he also made sureeveryone knewwhat hewas.His army was in secondplace,buckingforfirst.“I took you on, goy,

because I didn’twant peopleto think Ionlywinbecause Igot great soldiers. I wantthem to know that evenwitha little puke of a soldier likeyou I can still win.We only

got threeruleshere.DowhatItellyouanddon’tpissinthebed.”Ender nodded. He knew

that Rosewanted him to askwhatthethirdrulewas.Sohedid.“Thatwas three rules.We

don’t do too good in math,here.”The message was clear.

Winning is more importantthananything.

“Your practice sessionswith half-assed littleLaunchies are over, Wiggin.Done. You’re in a big boys’armynow.I’mputtingyouinDink Meeker’s toon. Fromnow on, as far as you’reconcerned, Dink Meeker isGod.”“Thenwhoareyou?”“Thepersonnelofficerwho

hired God.” Rose grinned.“And you are forbidden to

use your desk again untilyou’ve frozen two enemysoldiers in the same battle.This order is out of self-defense. I hear you’re agenius programmer. I don’twant you screwing aroundwithmydesk.”Everybody erupted in

laughter. It took Ender amoment to understand why.Rose had programmed hisdesktodisplayandanimatea

bigger-than-lifesizepictureofmalegenitals,whichwaggledback and forth as Rose heldthe desk on his naked lap.This is just the sort ofcommander Bonzo wouldtrade me to, thought Ender.Howdoes a boywho spendshistimelikethiswinbattles?Ender found DinkMeeker

in the game room, notplaying, just sitting andwatching.“Aguypointedyou

out,” Ender said. “I’mEnderWiggin.”“Iknow,”saidMeeker.“I’minyourtoon.”“Iknow,”hesaidagain.“I’mprettyinexperienced.”Dink looked up at him.

“Look, Wiggin, I know allthis. Why do you think Iasked Rose to get you forme?”He had not been dumped,

hehadbeenpickedup,hehad

been asked for. Meekerwanted him. “Why?” askedEnder.“I’ve watched your

practice sessions with theLaunchies. I think you showsome promise. Bonzo isstupid and I wanted you toget better training than Petracould give you. All she candoisshoot.”“Ineededtolearnthat.”“You still move like you

were afraid to wet yourpants.”“Soteachme.”“Solearn.”“I’m not going to quitmy

freetimepracticesessions.”“I don’t want you to quit

them.”“RosetheNosedoes.”“Rose the Nose can’t stop

you. Likewise, he can’t stopyoufromusingyourdesk.”“Sowhydidheorderit?”

“Listen, Ender,commanders have just asmuch authority as you letthem have. The more youobey them, the more powertheyhaveoveryou.”“What’stostopthemfrom

hurting me?” EnderrememberedBonzo’sblow.“I thought that was why

you were taking personalattackclasses.”“You’ve really been

watchingme,haven’tyou?”Dinkdidn’tanswer.“I don’t want to get Rose

madatme. Iwant tobepartof the battles now, I’m tiredofsittingouttilltheend.”“Your standings will go

down.”This time Ender didn’t

answer.“Listen, Ender, as long as

you’re part of my toon,you’repartofthebattle.”

Ender soon learned why.Dink trained his toonindependently from the restof RatArmy,with disciplineandvigor;heneverconsultedwith Rose, and only rarelydidthewholearmymaneuvertogether. It was as if Rosecommanded one army, andDink commanded a muchsmaller one that happened topractice in the battleroom atthesametime.

Dink started out the firstpractice by asking Ender todemonstrate his feet-firstattack position. The otherboysdidn’t likeit.“Howcanwe attack lying on ourbacks?”theyasked.To Ender’s surprise, Dink

didn’t correct them, didn’tsay,“Youaren’tattackingonyour back, you’re droppingdownward toward them.”Hehad seen what Ender was

doing, but he had notunderstood the orientationthat it implied. It soonbecame clear to Ender thateven though Dink was very,very good, his persistence inholding onto the corridorgravity orientation instead ofthinkingoftheenemygateasdownward was limiting histhinking.Theypracticedattackingan

enemy-held star. Before

trying Ender’s feet-firstmethod, they had alwaysgone in standing up, theirwhole bodies available as atarget. Even now, though,theyreachedthestarandthenassaultedtheenemyfromonedirection only; “Over thetop,” cried Dink, and overthey went. To his credit, hethen repeated the exercise,calling, “Again, upsidedown,” but because of their

insistence on a gravity thatdidn’texist, theboysbecameawkwardwhen themaneuverwas under, as if vertigoseizedthem.They hated the feet-first

attack.Dinkinsistedthattheyuseit.Asaresult, theyhatedEnder. “Dowe have to learnhow to fight from aLaunchy?” one of themmuttered,making sure Endercould hear. “Yes,” answered

Dink.Theykeptworking.And they learned it. In

practice skirmishes, theybegan to realize how muchharder it was to shoot anenemy who is attacking feetfirst. As soon as they wereconvinced of that, theypracticed themaneuvermorewillingly.That night was the first

time Ender had come to oneof his launchy practice

sessions after a wholeafternoon of work. He wastired.“Now you’re really in an

army,” said Alai, “you don’thave to keep practicing withus.”“From you I can learn

things that nobody knows,”saidEnder.“DinkMeekeristhebest.I

hearhe’syourtoonleader.”“Then let’s get busy. I’ll

teachyouwhatIlearnedfromhimtoday.”HeputAlaiandtwodozen

others through the sameexercises that had worn himout all afternoon. But he putnew touches on the patterns,made the boys try themaneuvers with one legfrozen,withbothlegsfrozen,or using frozen boys forleveragetochangedirections.Halfway through the

practice, Ender noticed Petraand Dink together, standingin the doorway, watching.Later,whenhe lookedagain,theyweregone.So they’re watching me,

and what we’re doing isknown. He did not knowwhetherDinkwashis friend;he believed that Petra was,but nothing could be sure.Theymight be angry that hewas doing what only

commandersandtoonleaderswere supposed to do—drilling and training soldiers.Theymightbeoffendedthatasoldier would associate soclosely with Launchies. Itmade him uneasy, to haveolderchildrenwatching.“IthoughtItoldyounotto

use your desk.” Rose theNosestoodbyEnder’sbunk.Ender did not look up.

“I’m completing the

trigonometry assignment fortomorrow.”Rosebumpedhiskneeinto

Ender’s desk. “I said not touseit.”Ender set the desk on his

bunk and stood up. “I needtrigonometry more than Ineedyou.”Rosewastaller thanEnder

by at least forty centimeters.But Ender was notparticularlyworried.Itwould

not come to physicalviolence, and if it did,Enderthought he could hold hisown. Rose was lazy anddidn’tknowpersonalcombat.“You’regoingdowninthe

standings,boy,”saidRose.“I expect to. I was only

leadingthelistbecauseofthestupidwaySalamanderArmywasusingme.”“Stupid? Bonzo’s strategy

wonacoupleofkeygames.”

“Bonzo’sstrategywouldn’twin a salad fight. I wasviolating orders every time Ifiredmygun.”Rosehadn’tknown that. It

made him angry. “Soeverything Bonzo said aboutyou was a lie. You’re notonly short and incompetent,you’reinsubordinate,too.”“But I turned defeat into

stalemate,allbymyself.”“We’ll seehowyoudoall

by yourself next time.” Rosewentaway.One of Ender’s toonmates

shook his head. “You dumbasathumb.”EnderlookedatDink,who

was doodling on his desk.Dink looked up, noticedEnder watching him, andgazed steadily back at him.Noexpression.Nothing.OK,thoughtEnder,Icantakecareofmyself.

Battlecametwodayslater.It was Ender’s first timefighting as part of a toon; hewas nervous. Dink’s toonlined up against the right-handwallof thecorridorandEnderwasverycarefulnottolean,nottolethisweightsliptoeitherside.Staybalanced.“Wiggin!” called Rose the

Nose.Enderfeltdreadcomeover

him from throat to groin, a

tingle of fear that made himshudder.Rosesawit.“Shivering? Trembling?

Don’t wet your pants, littleLaunchy.” Rose hooked afinger over the butt ofEnder’s gun and pulled himto the forcefield that hid thebattleroomfromview.“We’llsee how well you do now,Ender. As soon as that dooropens, you jump through, gostraight ahead toward the

enemy’sdoor.”Suicide. Pointless,

meaningless self-destruction.But he had to follow ordersnow, this was battle, notschool. For a moment Enderragedsilently;thenhecalmedhimself. “Excellent, sir,” hesaid.“ThedirectionIfiremygun is the direction of theirmaincontingent.”Rose laughed. “Youwon’t

have time to fire anything,

pinprick.”The wall vanished. Ender

jumped up, took hold of theceiling handholds, and threwhimself out and down,speeding toward the enemydoor.It was Centipede Army,

and they only began toemergefromtheirdoorwhenEnderwashalfwayacrossthebattleroom. Many of themwere able to get under cover

of stars quickly, but Enderhaddoubleduphislegsunderhimand,holdinghispistolathis crotch, he was firingbetweenhislegsandfreezingmany of them as theyemerged.They flashed his legs, but

hehadthreeprecioussecondsbeforetheycouldhithisbodyandputhimoutofaction.Hefrozeseveralmore,thenflungout his arms in equal and

oppositedirections.Thehandthat held his gun ended uppointing toward the mainbodyofCentipedeArmy.Hefired into the mass of theenemy, and then they frozehim.Asecond laterhesmashed

into the forcefield of theenemy’s door and reboundedwith a crazy spin.He landedin a group of enemy soldiersbehind a star; they shoved

him off and spun him evenmore rapidly. He reboundedoutofcontrolthroughtherestofthebattle,thoughgraduallyfriction with the air slowedhimdown.Hehadnowayofknowing how many men hehadfrozenbeforegettingicedhimself, but he did get thegeneral idea that Rat Armywonagain,asusual.AfterthebattleRosedidn’t

speak tohim.Enderwasstill

firstinthestandings,sincehehad frozen three, disabledtwo, and damaged seven.Therewasnomoretalkaboutinsubordination and whetherEnder could use his desk.Rosestayedinhispartofthebarracks, and left Enderalone.Dink Meeker began to

practice instant emergencefrom the corridor—Ender’sattack on the enemy while

theywere still comingoutofthe door had beendevastating. “If oneman cando that much damage, thinkwhatatooncando.”DinkgotMajor Anderson to open adoor in themiddleof awall,evenduringpracticesessions,instead of just the floor-leveldoor, so they could practicelaunching under battleconditions.Wordgot around.From now on no one could

take five or ten or fifteensecondsinthecorridortosizethings up. The game hadchanged.More battles. This time

Ender played a proper rolewithin a toon. He mademistakes. Skirmishes werelost.Hedroppedfromfirsttosecond in the standings, thento fourth. Then he madefewermistakes, andbegan tofeel comfortable within the

framework of the toon, andhewentbackuptothird,thensecond,thenfirst.

After practice oneafternoon,Enderstayedinthebattleroom. He had noticedthat Dink Meeker usuallycame late to dinner, and heassumed it was for extrapractice. Ender wasn’t veryhungry,andhewantedtosee

what it was Dink practicedwhennooneelsecouldsee.But Dink didn’t practice.

He stood near the door,watchingEnder.Ender stood across the

room,watchingDink.Neitherspoke.Itwasplain

DinkexpectedEndertoleave.ItwasjustasplainthatEnderwassayingno.Dink turned his back on

Ender, methodically took off

his flash suit, and gentlypushedofffromthefloor.Hedrifted slowly toward thecenter of the room, veryslowly, his body relaxingalmostcompletely,sothathishandsandarmsseemedtobecaught by almost nonexistentaircurrentsintheroom.Afterthespeedandtension

of practice, the exhaustion,the alertness, it was restfuljusttowatchhimdrift.Hedid

itfortenminutesorsobeforehereachedanotherwall.Thenhe pushed off rather sharply,returnedtohisflashsuit,andpullediton.“Come on,” he said to

Ender.Theywent to thebarracks.

The room was empty, sinceall the boys were at dinner.Each went to his own bunkand changed into regularuniforms. Ender walked to

Dink’sbunkandwaitedforamoment till Dink was readytogo.“Whydidyouwait?”asked

Dink.“Wasn’thungry.”“Well,nowyouknowwhy

I’mnotacommander.”Enderhadwondered.“Actually, they promoted

metwice,andIrefused.”Refused?“Thesecondtimetheytook

awaymyoldlockerandbunkand desk, assigned me to acommander’scabin,andgavemeanarmy.ButIjuststayedinthecabinuntiltheygaveinand put me back intosomebodyelse’sarmy.”“Why?”“Because I won’t let them

do it to me. I can’t believeyou haven’t seen through allthis crap yet, Ender. But Iguess you’re young. These

other armies, they aren’t theenemy. It’s the teachers,they’re the enemy. They getustofighteachother,tohateeach other. The game iseverything. Win win win. Itamounts to nothing. We killourselves, go crazy trying tobeat each other, and all thetime the old bastards arewatching us, studying us,discovering our weak points,decidingwhetherwe’regood

enough or not. Well, goodenough for what? I was sixyears old when they broughtme here.What the hell did Iknow? They decided I wasright for the program, butnobody ever askedme if theprogramwasrightforme.”“So why don’t you go

home?”Dink smiled crookedly.

“Because I can’t give up thegame.” He tugged at the

fabricofhisflashsuit,whichlay on the bunk beside him.“BecauseIlovethis.”“So why not be a

commander?”Dink shook his head.

“Never.Lookwhat itdoestoRosen.Theboy’scrazy.RosedeNose. Sleeps in herewithus instead of in his cabin.Why?Becausehe’sscaredtobealone,Ender.Scaredofthedark.”

“Rose?”“But they made him a

commander and so he has toactlikeone.Hedoesn’tknowwhat he’s doing. He’swinning, but that scares himworst of all, because hedoesn’t know why he’swinning, except that I havesomething todowith it.Anyminute somebody could findout that Rosen isn’t somemagicIsraeligeneralwhocan

win no matter what. Hedoesn’t know why anybodywinsorloses.Nobodydoes.”“It doesn’t mean he’s

crazy,Dink.”“Iknow,you’vebeenhere

ayear,youthinkthesepeoplearenormal.Well,they’renot.We’re not. I look in thelibrary,Icallupbooksonmydesk.Old ones, because theywon’t let us have anythingnew, but I’ve got a pretty

good idea what children are,and we’re not children.Childrencan losesometimes,and nobody cares. Childrenaren’t in armies, they aren’tcommanders, they don’t ruleover forty other kids, it’smore than anybody can takeandnotgetcrazy.”Ender tried to remember

whatotherchildrenwerelike,inhisclassatschool,backinthe city. But all he could

thinkofwasStilson.“I had a brother. Just a

normal guy. All he caredabout was girls. And flying.Hewanted to fly.Heused toplay ball with the guys. Apickup game, shooting ballsatahoop,dribblingdownthecorridors until the peaceofficersconfiscatedyourball.Wehadagreat time.Hewasteaching me how to dribblewhenIwastaken.”

Enderrememberedhisownbrother,and thememorywasnotfond.Dink misunderstood the

expression on Ender’s face.“Hey, I know, nobody’ssupposed to talkabouthome.But we came fromsomewhere. The BattleSchool didn’t create us, youknow. The Battle Schooldoesn’t create anything. Itjust destroys. And we all

remember things fromhome.Maybe not good things, butwerememberandthenwelieand pretend that—look,Ender, why is it that nobodytalks about home, ever?Doesn’t that tell you howimportant it is? That nobodyevenadmitsthat—ohhell.”“No, it’s all right,” Ender

said. “I was just thinkingaboutValentine.Mysister.”“I wasn’t trying to make

youupset.”“It’s OK. I don’t think of

her very much, because Ialwaysget—likethis.”“That’sright,wenevercry.

I never thought of that.Nobodyevercries.Wereallyare trying to be adults. Justlike our fathers. I bet yourfather was like you. I bet hewas quiet and took it, andthenbustedoutand—”“I’mnotlikemyfather.”

“SomaybeI’mwrong.Butlook at Bonzo, your oldcommander. He’s got anadvanced case of Spanishhonor.Hecan’tallowhimselfto have weaknesses. To bebetter than him, that’s aninsult. To be stronger, that’slike cutting off his balls.That’s why he hates you,because you didn’t sufferwhen he tried to punish you.He hates you for that, he

honestly wants to kill you.He’s crazy. They’re allcrazy.”“Andyouaren’t?”“I be crazy too, little

buddy,butat leastwhenIbecraziest,Ibefloatingallalonein space and the crazy, shefloatoutofme,shesoakintothewalls,andshedon’tcomeout till there be battles andlittle boys bump into thewalls and squish out de

crazy.”Endersmiled.“And you be crazy too,”

saidDink.“Comeon,let’sgoeat.”“Maybe you can be a

commanderandnotbecrazy.Maybe knowing aboutcraziness means you don’thavetofallforit.”“I’m not going to let the

bastards run me, Ender.They’vegotyoupegged,too,

and they don’t plan to treatyou kindly. Look whatthey’vedonetoyousofar.”“They haven’t done

anything except promoteme.”“Andshemakeyoulifeso

easy,neh?”Ender laughed and shook

his head. “So maybe you’reright.”“They think they got you

onice.Don’tletthem.”

“But that’s what I camefor,”Endersaid.“Forthemtomakemeintoatool.Tosavetheworld.”“I can’t believe you still

believeit.”“Believewhat?”“Thebuggermenace.Save

the world. Listen, Ender, ifthe buggers were comingbacktogetus,they’dbehere.They aren’t invading again.We beat them and they’re

gone.”“Butthevideos—”“All from the First and

Second Invasions. Yourgrandparentsweren’tbornyetwhenMazerRackhamwipedthemout.Youwatch. It’s alla fake. There is no war, andthey’re just screwing aroundwithus.”“Butwhy?”“Becauseaslongaspeople

are afraidof thebuggers, the

I.F.canstayinpower,andaslong as the I.F. is in power,certain countries can keeptheir hegemony. But keepwatching the vids, Ender.People will catch onto thisgameprettysoon,andthere’llbeacivilwartoendallwars.That’sthemenace,Ender,notthebuggers.Andinthatwar,when it comes, you and Iwon’t be friends. Becauseyou’reAmerican,justlikeour

dearteachers.AndIamnot.”Theywenttothemesshall

and ate, talking about otherthings. But Ender could notstop thinking about whatDink had said. The BattleSchool was so enclosed, thegame so important in theminds of the children, thatEnderhadforgottentherewasa world outside. Spanishhonor. Civil war. Politics.TheBattle Schoolwas really

averysmallplace,wasn’tit?But Ender did not reach

Dink’s conclusions. Thebuggerswerereal.The threatwasreal.TheI.F.controlledalot of things, but it didn’tcontrol the videos and thenets. Not where Ender hadgrownup.InDink’shomeinthe Netherlands, with threegenerations under Russianhegemony,perhaps itwasallcontrolled, but Ender knew

thatliescouldnotlastlonginAmerica.Sohebelieved.Believed, but the seed of

doubt was there, and itstayed, and every now andthen sent out a little root. Itchanged everything, to havethat seed growing. It madeEnderlistenmorecarefullytowhatpeoplemeant,insteadofwhat they said. It made himwise.

There weren’t as manyboys at the evening practice,notbyhalf.“Where’s Bernard?” asked

Ender.Alai grinned. Shen closed

his eyes and assumed a lookofblissfulmeditation.“Haven’t you heard?” said

anotherboy,aLaunchy fromayoungergroup.“Word’soutthatanyLaunchywhocomesto your practice sessions

won’t ever amount toanything in anybody’s army.Word’s out that thecommanders don’t want anysoldiers who’ve beendamagedbyyourtraining.”Endernodded.“But the way I brain it,”

said the Launchy, “I be thebest soldier I can, and anycommanderworthadamn,hetakeme.Neh?”“Eh,” said Ender, with

finality.They went on with

practice. About a half hourinto it, when they werepracticing throwing offcollisions with frozensoldiers, several commandersindifferentuniformscamein.They ostentatiously tookdownnames.“Hey,” shouted Alai.

“Make sure you spell mynameright!”

The next night there wereeven fewerboys.NowEnderwashearingthestories—littleLaunchies getting slappedaround in the bathrooms, orhaving accidents in themesshall and the game room, orgetting their files trashed byolder boys who had brokenthe primitive security systemthat guarded the Launchies’desks.“No practice tonight,”

Endersaid.“Thehellthere’snot,”said

Alai.“Giveitafewdays.Idon’t

want any of the little kidsgettinghurt.”“If you stop, even one

night, they’ll figure it worksto do this kind of thing. Justlike if you’d ever backeddown to Bernard back whenhewasbeingaswine.”“Besides,” said Shen, “we

aren’t scared and we don’tcare,soyouoweittoustogoon.Weneedthepracticeandsodoyou.”Ender remembered what

Dinkhadsaid.Thegamewastrivial,comparedtothewholeworld. Why should anybodygiveeverynightofhislifetothisstupid,stupidgame?“Wedon’t accomplish that

much anyway,” Ender said.Hestartedtoleave.

Alai stopped him. “Theyscareyou,too?Theyslapyouupinthebathroom?Stickyouhead in the pissah?Somebodygotsagunupyoubung?”“No,”Endersaid.“You still my friend?”

askedAlai,morequietly.“Yes.”“Then I still you friend,

Ender, and I stay here andpracticewithyou.”

Theolderboyscameagain,but fewer of them werecommanders. Most weremembers of a couple ofarmies. Ender recognizedSalamanderuniforms.Evenacouple of Rats. They didn’ttakenamesthistime.Instead,theymockedandshoutedandridiculed as the Launchiestried tomasterdifficult skillswith untrained muscles. Itbegan to get to a few of the

boys.“Listen to them,” Ender

said to the other boys.“Rememberthewords.Ifyouever want to make yourenemy crazy, shout that kindof stuff at them. It makesthem do dumb things, to bemad.Butwedon’tgetmad.”Shentooktheideatoheart,

and after each jibe from theolderboys,hehadagroupoffour Launchies recite the

words, loudly, five or sixtimes. When they startedsingingthetauntslikenurseryrhymes, some of the olderboys launched themselvesfrom the wall and came outforafight.The flash suits were

designedforwarsfoughtwithharmless light; they offeredlittle protection and seriouslyhampered movement if itcame to hand-to-hand

fighting in nullo. Half theboys were flashed, anyway,and couldn’t fight; but thestiffness of their suits madethem potentially useful.Ender quickly ordered hisLaunchies to gather in onecorneroftheroom.Theolderboys laughed at them evenmore, and some who hadwaited by the wall cameforward to join in the attack,seeing Ender’s group in

retreat.Ender and Alai decided to

throw a frozen soldier in thefaceofanenemy.ThefrozenLaunchy struck helmet first,andthetwocaromedoffeachother.Theolderboyclutchedhis chest where the helmethadhithim,andscreamed inpain.The mockery was over.

The rest of the older boyslaunched themselves to enter

thebattle.Enderdidn’treallyhavemuchhopeofanyoftheboys getting away withoutsome injury. But the enemywas coming haphazardly,uncoordinatedly; they hadneverworkedtogetherbefore,while Ender’s little practicearmy,thoughtherewereonlya dozen of them now, kneweach other well and knewhowtoworktogether.“Gonova!”shoutedEnder.

Theotherboyslaughed.Theygathered into three groups,feet together, squatting,holdinghandssotheyformedsmall stars against the backwall. “We’ll go around themandmakeforthedoor.Now!”At his signal, the three

stars burst apart, each boylaunching in a differentdirection, but angled so hecould reboundoffawallandheadforthedoor.Sinceallof

theenemywereinthemiddleof the room, where coursechanges were far moredifficult, it was an easymaneuvertocarryout.Ender had positioned

himself so that when helaunched, he wouldrendezvous with the frozensoldier he had just used as amissile. The boy wasn’tfrozennow,andhe letEndercatch him, whirl him around

and send him toward thedoor. Unfortunately, thenecessary resultof theactionwas forEnder to head in theopposite direction, and at areduced speed. Alone of allhis soldiers, he was driftingfairly slowly, and at the endof the battleroom where theolderboysweregathered.Heshifted himself so he couldsee that all his soldiers weresafelygatheredatthefarwall.

In the meantime, thefurious and disorganizedenemy had just spotted him.Endercalculatedhowsoonhewould reach the wall so hecould launchagain.Notsoonenough. Several enemies hadalready rebounded towardhim.EnderwasstartledtoseeStilson’s face among them.Then he shuddered andrealized he had been wrong.Still, it was the same

situation, and this time theywouldn’t sit still for a singlecombatsettlement.Therewasno leader, as far as Enderknew, and these boyswere alotbiggerthanhim.Still, he had learned some

things about weight-shiftinginpersonalcombatclass,andabout the physics of movingobjects. Game battles almostnever got to hand-to-handcombat—you never bumped

into an enemy that wasn’tfrozenunlessyouwerefrozenyourself. So in the fewsecondshehad,Endertriedtopositionhimselftoreceivehisguests.Fortunately, they knew as

little about nullo fighting ashedid,andthefewwhotriedto punch him found thatthrowing a punch was prettyineffectivewhen their bodiesmoved backward just as

quickly as their fists movedforward.Butthereweresomein the group who had bone-breaking on their minds, asEnderquicklysaw.Hedidn’tplantobethereforit,though.He caught one of the

punchers by the arm andthrew him as hard as hecould. It hurledEnder out ofthewayoftherestofthefirstonslaught, though he stillwasn’t getting any closer to

the door. “Stay there!” heshouted at his friends, whoobviouslywereforminguptocome and rescue him. “Juststaythere!”Someone caught Ender by

the foot. The tight grip gaveEndersome leverage;hewasable to stamp firmly on theotherboy’searand shoulder,making him cry out and letgo. If theboyhad letgo justasEnderkickeddownward,it

would have hurt him muchlessandallowedEndertousethe maneuver as a launch.Instead, theboyhadhungontoowell;hisearwastornandscattering blood in the air,and Ender was drifting evenmoreslowly.I’mdoingitagain, thought

Ender. I’m hurting peopleagain, just to save myself.Why don’t they leave mealone,soIdon’thavetohurt

them?Three more boys were

converging on him now, andthis time they were actingtogether. Still, they had tograb him before they couldhurt him. Ender positionedhimselfquicklysothattwoofthem would take his feet,leavinghishandsfreetodealwiththethird.Sureenough,theytookthe

bait. Ender grasped the

shoulders of the third boy’sshirt and pulled him upsharply, butting him in thefacewithhishelmet.Againascream and a shower ofblood.Thetwoboyswhohadhis legs were wrenching atthem, twisting him. Enderthrew the boy with thebleedingnoseatoneofthem;they entangled, and Ender’slegcamefree.Itwasasimplematter then to use the other

boy’s hold for leverage tokick him firmly in the groin,then shove off him in thedirection of the door. Hedidn’tgetthatgoodalaunch,sothathisspeedwasnothingspecial, but it didn’t matter.Noonewasfollowinghim.Hegottohisfriendsatthe

door. They caught him andhandedhimalongtothedoor.They were laughing andslappinghimplayfully. “You

bad!” they said. “You scary!Youflame!”“Practice is over for the

day,”Endersaid.“They’ll be back

tomorrow,”saidShen.“Won’t do them any

good,” said Ender. “If theycome without suits, we’ll dothis again. If they comewithsuits,wecanflashthem.”“Besides,” said Alai, “the

teacherswon’tletithappen.”

Ender remembered whatDink had told him, andwonderedifAlaiwasright.“Hey Ender!” shouted one

of the older boys, as Enderleft the battleroom. “Younothing, man! You benothing!”“My old commander

Bonzo,” said Ender. “I thinkhedoesn’tlikeme.”Ender checked the rosters

on his desk that night. Four

boys turned up on medicalreport.Onewithbruisedribs,one with a bruised testicle,onewith a torn ear, and onewith a broken nose and aloose tooth. The cause ofinjury was the same in allcases:

ACCIDENTALCOLLISIONINNULLG

If the teachers wereallowing that to turn up on

the official report, it wasobvious theydidn’t intend topunish anyone for the nastylittle skirmish in thebattleroom.Aren’ttheygoingto do anything? Don’t theycare what goes on in thisschool?Since he was back to the

barracks earlier than usual,Ender called up the fantasygameonhisdesk.Ithadbeenawhile since he last used it.

Long enough that it didn’tstart him where he had leftoff. Instead, he began by theGiant’s corpse. Only now, itwas hardly identifiable as acorpseatall,unlessyoustoodoffawaysandstudiedit.Thebody had eroded into a hill,entwined with grass andvines. Only the crest of theGiant’s facewas still visible,and it was white bone, likelimestone protruding from a

discouraged, witheringmountain.Enderdidnotlookforward

to fighting with the wolf-children again, but to hissurprise they weren’t there.Perhaps, killed once, theywere gone forever. It madehimalittlesad.He made his way down

underground, through thetunnels, to the cliff ledgeoverlooking the beautiful

forest. Again he threwhimself down, and again acloudcaughthimandcarriedhim into the castle turretroom.The snake began to

unweave itself from the rugagain, only this time Enderdid not hesitate. He steppedon theheadof the snakeandcrushed it under his foot. Itwrithed and twisted underhim, and in response he

twisted and ground it deeperintothestonefloor.Finallyitwas still. Ender picked it upand shook it, until it unwoveitself and the pattern in therug was gone. Then, stilldragging the snake behindhim, he began to look for awayout.Instead,hefoundamirror.

And in the mirror he saw afacethatheeasilyrecognized.It was Peter, with blood

drippingdownhischinandasnake’stailprotrudingfromacornerofhismouth.Ender shouted and thrust

his desk from him. The fewboys in the barracks werealarmed at the noise, but heapologized and told them itwas nothing. They wentaway. He looked again intohis desk.His figurewas stillthere, staring into themirror.He tried to pick up some of

the furniture, to break themirror, but it could not bemoved.Themirrorwouldnotcome off the wall, either.FinallyEnderthrewthesnakeat it. The mirror shattered,leaving a hole in the wallbehind it. Out of the holecame dozens of tiny snakes,which quickly bit Ender’sfigure again and again.Tearingthesnakesfranticallyfrom itself, the figure

collapsed and died in awrithing heap of smallserpents.Thescreenwentblank,and

wordsappeared.

PLAYAGAIN?

Ender signed off and putthedeskaway.The next day, several

commanders came to Enderorsentsoldierstotellhimnotto worry, most of them

thought the extra practicesessionswereagoodidea,heshould keep it up. And tomake sure nobody botheredhim,theyweresendingafewof their older soldiers whoneededextrapracticetocomejoin him. “They’re as big asmost of the buggers whoattacked you last night.They’llthinktwice.”Instead of a dozen boys,

there were forty-five that

night,morethananarmy,andwhetheritwasbecauseofthepresence of older boys onEnder’s side or because theyhad had enough the nightbefore,noneof theirenemiescame.Enderdidn’tgobacktothe

fantasy game. But it lived inhis dreams. He keptremembering how it felt tokill the snake, grinding it in,the way he tore the ear off

that boy, the way hedestroyedStilson, thewayhebroke Bernard’s arm. Andthen to stand up, holding thecorpseofhisenemy,andfindPeter’s face looking out athim from the mirror. Thisgame knows toomuch aboutme. This game tells filthylies. I am not Peter. I don’thavemurderinmyheart.Andthenaworsefear,that

hewasakiller,onlybetterat

it thanPetereverwas; that itwas this very trait thatpleased the teachers. It’skillers they need for thebuggerwars. It’speoplewhocan grind the enemy’s faceintothedustandspatter theirbloodalloverspace.Well, I’m your man. I’m

the bloody bastard youwanted when you had mespawned. I’m your tool, andwhat difference does itmake

if I hate the part of me thatyou most need? Whatdifference does it make thatwhenthelittleserpentskilledmeinthegame,Iagreedwiththem,andwasglad.

9

LOCKEANDDEMOSTHENES

“Ididn’tcallyouinhere towastetime.Howinhelldidthecomputerdothat?”“Idon’tknow.”“How could it pick up a

picture of Ender’s brotherand put it into the graphicsinthisFairylandroutine?”“Colonel Graff, I wasn’t

there when it wasprogrammed.All I know isthat the computer’s nevertaken anyone to this place

before. Fairyland wasstrange enough, but thisisn’tFairylandanymore.It’sbeyond the End of theWorld,and—”“Iknowthenamesofthe

places, I just don’t knowwhattheymean.”“Fairyland was

programmed in. It’smentioned in a few otherplaces. But nothing talksabouttheEndoftheWorld.

We don’t have anyexperiencewithit.”“I don’t like having the

computerscrewaroundwithEnder’s mind that way.Peter Wiggin is the mostpotent person in his life,except maybe his sisterValentine.”“And the mind game is

designed to help shapethem,helpthemfindworldstheycanbecomfortablein.”

“Youdon’tgetit,doyou,Major Imbu? I don’t wantEnder being comfortablewith the end of the world.Our business here is not tobecomfortablewiththeendoftheworld!”“TheEndoftheWorldin

the game isn’t necessarilythe end of humanity in thebuggerwars.IthasaprivatemeaningtoEnder.”“Good.Whatmeaning?”

“I don’t know, sir. I’mnotthekid.Askhim.”“Major Imbu, I’m asking

you.”“There could be a

thousandmeanings.”“Tryone.”“You’ve been isolating

the boy. Maybe he’swishing for the end of thisworld,theBattleSchool.Ormaybe it’sabout theendofthe world he grew up with

as a little boy, his home,cominghere.Ormaybe it’shis way of coping withhaving broken up so manyother kids here. Ender’s asensitivekid,youknow,andhe’s done some pretty badthingstopeople’sbodies,hemight be wishing for theendofthatworld.”“Ornoneoftheabove.”“The mind game is a

relationship between the

child and the computer.Togethertheycreatestories.The stories are true, in thesense that they reflect thereality of the child’s life.That’sallIknow.”“And I’ll tell youwhat I

know, Major Imbu. ThatpictureofPeterWigginwasnotonethatcouldhavebeentaken fromour fileshereattheschool.Wehavenothingon him, electronically or

otherwise,sinceEndercamehere. And that picture ismorerecent.”“It’sonlybeenayearand

a half, sir, how much cantheboychange?”“He’s wearing his hair

completely differently now.Hismouthwas redonewithorthodontia. I got a recentphotograph from landsideand compared. The onlyway the computer here in

theBattleSchoolcouldhavegot that picture was byrequisitioning it from alandsidecomputer.AndnotevenoneconnectedwiththeI.F. That takesrequisitionary powers. Wecan’t just go into GuilfordCounty North Carolina andpluckapictureoutofschoolfiles. Did anyone at thisschool authorize gettingthis?”

“You don’t understand,sir. Our Battle Schoolcomputer is only a part oftheI.F.network.Ifwewanta picture,we have to get arequisition, but if the mindgame program determinesthat thepicture isnecessary—”“Itcanjustgotakeit.”“Notjusteveryday.Only

when it’s for the child’sowngood.”

“OK, it’s for his good.But why. His brother isdangerous, his brother wasrejected for this programbecause he’s one of themostruthlessandunreliablehuman beings we’ve laidhands on. Why is he soimportant to Ender? Why,afterallthistime?”“Honestly, sir, I don’t

know. And the mind gameprogram isdesignedso that

it can’t tell us. It may notknowitself,actually.Thisisunchartedterritory.”“You mean the

computer’s making this upasitgoesalong?”“You might put it that

way.”“Well,thatdoesmakeme

feela littlebetter. I thoughtIwastheonlyone.”

Valentine celebrated

Ender’s eighth birthdayalone, in the wooded backyard of their new home inGreensboro. She scraped apatch of ground bare of pineneedlesand leaves, and therescratchedhisnameinthedirtwithatwig.Thenshemadeasmall teepee of twigs andneedlesandlitasmallfire.Itmade smoke that interwovewiththebranchesandneedlesof the pine overhead.All the

way into space, she saidsilently. All the way to theBattleSchool.No letters had ever come,

andas faras theyknew theirownlettershadneverreachedhim.Whenhefirstwastaken,Father andMother sat at thetableandkeyedinlongletterstohimeveryfewdays.Soon,though, it was once a week,and when no answers came,once a month. Now it had

beentwoyearssincehewent,and there were no letters,none at all, and noremembranceonhisbirthday.He is dead, she thoughtbitterly, because we haveforgottenhim.But Valentine had not

forgottenhim.Shedidnotlether parents know, and aboveallneverhinted toPeterhowoften she thought aboutEnder, how often she wrote

him letters that she knew hewouldnotanswer.AndwhenMother and Father hadannounced to them that theywereleavingthecitytomoveto North Carolina, of allplaces, Valentine knew thatthey never expected to seeEnder again. They wereleaving the only placewherehe knew to find them. Howwould Ender find them here,among these trees,under this

changeable and heavy sky?He had lived deep incorridorsallhislife,andifhewasstillintheBattleSchool,therewaslessofnaturethere.Whatwouldhemakeofthis?Valentine knew why they

had moved here. It was forPeter, so that living amongtrees and small animals, sothat nature, in as raw a formas Mother and Father couldconceive of it, might have a

softening influence on theirstrange and frightening son.And, in a way, it had. Petertook to it right away. Longwalksoutintheopen,cuttingthrough woods and out intothe open country—goingsometimes for a whole day,with only a sandwich or twosharingspacewithhisdeskinthe pack on his back, withonly a small pocket knife inhispocket.

But Valentine knew. Shehad seen a squirrel half-skinned, spiked by its littlehands and feet with twigspushed into the dirt. Shepictured Peter trapping it,staking it, then carefullyparting and peeling back theskinwithoutbreakingintotheabdomen, watching themuscles twist and ripple.How long had it taken thesquirrel to die? And all the

while Peter had sat nearby,leaningagainstthetreewhereperhaps the squirrel hadnested, playingwithhis deskwhile the squirrel’s lifeseepedaway.At first she was horrified,

andnearlythrewupatdinner,watching how Peter ate sovigorously, talked socheerfully. But later shethought about it and realizedthatperhaps,forPeter,itwas

akindofmagic,likeherlittlefires; a sacrifice thatsomehow stilled the darkgodsthathuntedforhissoul.Bettertotorturesquirrelsthanother children. Peter hasalwaysbeenahusbandmanofpain, planting it, nurturing it,devouring itgreedilywhen itwas ripe; better he shouldtake it in these small, sharpdosesthanwithdullcrueltytochildrenintheschool.

“Amodelstudent,”saidhisteachers. “I wish we had ahundred others in the schooljust like him. Studies all thetime, turns inallhisworkontime.Helovestolearn.”ButValentineknew itwas

a fraud. Peter loved to learn,all right, but the teachershadn’t taught him anything,ever. He did his learningthrough his desk at home,tapping into libraries and

databases, studying andthinking and, above all,talking to Valentine. Yet atschoolhe acted as thoughhewereexcitedaboutthepuerilelessonoftheday.Oh,wow,Ineverknewthat frogs lookedlikethis inside,he’dsay,andthen at home he studied thebinding of cells intoorganisms through thephilotic collation of DNA.Peterwasamasterofflattery,

andallhisteachersboughtit.Still, it was good. Peter

never foughtanymore.Neverbullied. Got along well witheverybody. It was a newPeter.Everyone believed it.

Father andMother said it, sooften itmadeValentinewanttoscreamatthem.Itisn’tthenewPeter! It’s the oldPeter,onlysmarter!How smart? Smarter than

you,Father.Smarterthanyou.Mother. Smarter thananybodyyouhaveevermet.Butnotsmarterthanme.“I’ve been deciding,” said

Peter,“whethertokillyouorwhat.”Valentine leaned against

thetrunkofthepinetree,herlittle fire a few smolderingashes. “I love you, too,Peter.”“Itwould be so easy.You

always make these stupidlittlefires.It’sjustamatterofknockingyououtandburningyou up. You’re such afirebug.”“I’ve been thinking of

castratingyouinyoursleep.”“Noyouhaven’t.Youonly

thinkofthingslikethatwhenI’mwithyou. Ibringout thebest in you. No, Valentine,I’ve decided not to kill you.I’ve decided that you’re

goingtohelpme.”“I am?” A few years ago,

Valentine would have beenterrified at Peter’s threats.Now, though, shewasnot soafraid. Not that she doubtedthathewascapableofkillingher. She couldn’t think ofanything so terrible that shedidn’tbelievePetermightdoit. She also knew, though,thatPeterwasnotinsane,notin thesensethathewasn’t in

controlofhimself.Hewasinbettercontrolofhimself thananyone she knew. Exceptperhaps herself. Peter coulddelayanydesireaslongasheneeded to; he could concealany emotion. And soValentineknewthathewouldneverhurtherinafitofrage.He would only do it if theadvantages outweighed therisks.And they did not. In away, she actually preferred

Petertootherpeoplebecauseof this. He always, alwaysacted out of intelligent self-interest. And so, to keepherselfsafe,allshehadtodowasmakesureitwasmoreinPeter’s interest to keep heralivethantohaveherdead.“Valentine, things are

coming to a head. I’ve beentracking troop movements inRussia.”“What are we talking

about?”“The world, Val. You

know Russia? Big Empire?The Second Warsaw Pact?Rulers of Eurasia from theNetherlandstoPakistan?”“They don’t publish their

troopmovements,Peter.”“Ofcoursenot.Buttheydo

publish their passenger andfreight train schedules. I’vehadmy desk analyzing thoseschedules and figuring out

when the secret troop trainsare moving over the sametracks.Doneitbackwardoverthe past three years. In thelast six months, they’vestepped up, they’re gettingreadyforwar.Landwar.”“But what about the

League? What about thebuggers?” Valentine didn’tknowwhat Peterwas gettingat, but he often launcheddiscussionslikethis,practical

discussions of world events.Heusedher to testhis ideas,torefinethem.Intheprocess,she also refined her ownthinking. She found thatwhile she rarely agreed withPeter about what the worldought to be, they rarelydisagreed about what theworldactuallywas.Theyhadbecome quite deft at siftingaccurate information out ofthe stories of the hopelessly

ignorant, gullible newswriters. The news herd, asPetercalledthem.“The Polemarch is

Russian, isn’t he? And heknowswhat’shappeningwiththefleet.Eitherthey’vefoundoutthebuggersaren’tathreatafter all, or we’re about tohaveabigbattle.Onewayoranother, the bugger war isabout to be over. They’regetting ready for after the

war.”“If they’re moving troops,

itmustbeunderthedirectionoftheStrategos.”“It’sallinternal,withinthe

WarsawPact.”This was troubling. The

facade of peace andcooperation had beenundisturbed almost since thebugger wars began. WhatPeter had detected was afundamental shift in the

worldorder.Shehadamentalpicture, as clear as memory,of the way the world hadbeen before the buggersforcedpeaceupon them. “Soit’s back to the way it wasbefore.”“A few changes. The

shields make it so nobodybotherswithnuclearweaponsanymore. We have to killeachotherthousandsatatimeinstead of millions.” Peter

grinned.“Val,itwasboundtohappen. Right now there’s avast international fleet andarmyinexistence,withNorthAmerican hegemony. Whenthe buggerwars are over, allthat power will vanish,because it’s all built on fearofthebuggers.Andsuddenlywe’ll look around anddiscover that all the oldalliances are gone, dead andgone,exceptone,theWarsaw

Pact. And it’ll be the dollaragainst five million lasers.We’ll have the asteroid belt,but they’ll have Earth, andyou run out of raisins andcelery kind of fast out there,withoutEarth.”What disturbed Valentine

mostofallwasthatPeterdidnot seem at all worried.“Peter,whydo Iget the ideathat you are thinking of thisas a golden opportunity for

PeterWiggin?”“Forbothofus,Val.”“Peter,you’retwelveyears

old. I’m ten. They have aword for people our age.Theycalluschildrenandtheytreatuslikemice.”“But we don’t think like

other children, do we, Val?We don’t talk like otherchildren. And above all, wedon’t write like otherchildren.”

“For a discussion thatbegan with death threats,Peter,we’vestrayedfromthetopic, I think.” Still,Valentine found herselfgetting excited. Writing wassomethingValdidbetterthanPeter. They both knew it.Peterhadevennameditonce,when he said that he couldalwaysseewhatotherpeoplehatedmostabout themselves,and bully them, while Val

could always see what otherpeople liked best aboutthemselves, and flatter them.It was a cynical way ofputting it, but it was true.Valentine could persuadeother people to her point ofview—she could convincethem that they wanted whatshe wanted them to want.Peter, on the other hand,could only make them fearwhathewantedthemtofear.

Whenhefirstpointedthisoutto Val, she resented it. Shehad wanted to believe shewas good at persuadingpeoplebecauseshewasright,not because she was clever.Butnomatterhowmuchshetold herself that she didn’tever want to exploit peoplethe way Peter did, sheenjoyed knowing that shecould, in her way, controlother people. And not just

control what they did. Shecouldcontrol, inaway,whatthey wanted to do. She wasashamed that she tookpleasure in this power, andyetshefoundherselfusing itsometimes.Togetteacherstodo what she wanted, andotherstudents.TogetMotherand Father to see things herway. Sometimes, she wasable to persuade even Peter.Thatwasthemostfrightening

thing of all—that she couldunderstand Peter wellenough,couldempathizewithhimenoughtogetinsidehimthat way. There was morePeter in her than she couldbear to admit, thoughsometimesshedared to thinkaboutitanyway.Thisiswhatshe thought as Peter spoke:You dream of power, Peter,butinmyownwayIammorepowerfulthanyou.

“I’ve been studyinghistory,” Peter said. “I’vebeen learning things aboutpatterns in human behavior.There are times when theworld is rearranging itself,and at times like that, theright words can change theworld. Think what Periclesdid in Athens, andDemosthenes—”“Yes, they managed to

wreckAthenstwice.”

“Pericles, yes, butDemostheneswasrightaboutPhilip—”“Orprovokedhim—”“See? This is what

historiansusuallydo,quibbleabout cause and effect whenthe point is, there are timeswhentheworldisinfluxandthe right voice in the rightplace can move the world.Thomas Paine and BenFranklin, for instance.

Bismarck.Lenin.”“Notexactlyparallelcases,

Peter.” Now she wasdisagreeing with him out ofhabit; she saw what he wasgetting at, and she thought itmightjustbepossible.“I didn’t expect you to

understand. You still believethatteachersknowsomethingworthlearning.”Iunderstandmorethanyou

think, Peter. “So you see

yourselfasBismarck?”“I see myself as knowing

how to insert ideas into thepublic mind. Haven’t youeverthoughtofaphrase,Val,acleverthingtosay,andsaidit, and then two weeks or amonth later you hear someadult saying it to anotheradult,bothofthemstrangers?Or you see it on a video orpickituponanet?”“IalwaysfiguredIheardit

beforeandonlythoughtIwasmakingitup.”“You were wrong. There

are maybe two or threethousandpeople in theworldas smart as us, little sister.Most of them are making aliving somewhere. Teaching,the poor bastards, or doingresearch. Precious few ofthemareactuallyinpositionsofpower.”“I guess we’re the lucky

few.”“Funny as a one-legged

rabbit,Val.”“Of which there are no

doubt several in thesewoods.”“Hopping in neat little

circles.”Valentine laughed at the

gruesome image and hatedherself for thinking it wasfunny.“Val,wecansaythewords

that everyone else will besaying two weeks later. Wecandothat.Wedon’thavetowaituntilwe’regrownupandsafely put away in somecareer.”“Peter,you’retwelve.”“Not on the nets I’m not.

On the nets I can namemyself anything I want, andsocanyou.”“Onthenetsweareclearly

identifiedasstudents,andwe

can’t even get into the realdiscussions except inaudiencemode,whichmeanswe can’t say anythinganyway.”“Ihaveaplan.”“You always do.” She

pretended nonchalance, butshelistenedeagerly.“Wecangetonthenetsas

full-fledged adults, withwhatever net nameswewantto adopt, if Father gets us

ontohiscitizen’saccess.”“And why would he do

that?Wealreadyhavestudentaccess.Whatdoyoutellhim,I need citizen’s access so Icantakeovertheworld?”“No,Val. I won’t tell him

anything.You’ll tellhimhowyou’re worried about me.How I’m trying soveryhardtodowell at school,butyouknow it’s driving me crazybecause I can never talk to

anybody intelligent,everybodyalwaystalksdownto me because I’m young, Inevergettoconversewithmypeers.Youcanprovethatthestress is getting to me.There’sevenevidence.”Valentine thought of the

corpse of the squirrel in thewoodsand realized that eventhat discovery was part ofPeter’s plan. Or at least hehadmade it part of his plan,

afterithappened.“So you get him to

authorize us to share hiscitizen’saccess.Toadoptourown identities there, toconcealwhowearesopeoplewill give us the intellectualrespectwedeserve.”Valentine could challenge

him on ideas, but never onthingslikethis.Shecouldnotsay, What makes you thinkyoudeserverespect?Shehad

read about Adolf Hitler. Shewonderedwhathewaslikeatthe age of twelve. Not thissmart,notlikePeterthatway,but craving honor, probablythat.Andwhatwouldithavemeant to the world if inchildhoodhehadbeencaughtinathresherortrampledbyahorse?“Val,” Peter said. “I know

whatyouthinkofme.I’mnotaniceperson,youthink.”

Valentine threw a pineneedle at him. “An arrowthroughyourheart.”“I’ve been planning to

come talk to you for a longtime.ButIkeptbeingafraid.”She put a pine needle in

hermouthandblewitathim.It dropped almost straightdown. “Another failedlaunch.” Why was hepretendingtobeweak?“Val, I was afraid you

wouldn’t believe me. Thatyouwouldn’t believe I coulddoit.”“Peter, Ibelieveyoucould

do anything, and probablywill.”“But I was even more

afraid that you’d believe meandtrytostopme.”“Come on, threaten to kill

me again, Peter.” Did heactually believe she could befooled by his nice-and-

humble-kidact?“SoI’vegotasicksenseof

humor. I’m sorry.YouknowI was teasing. I need yourhelp.”“You’re just what the

world needs. A twelve-year-old to solve all ourproblems.”“It’s not my fault I’m

twelverightnow.Andit’snotmy fault that right now iswhentheopportunityisopen.

RightnowisthetimewhenIcan shape events. The worldis always a democracy intimes of flux, and the manwith the best voicewillwin.Everybody thinks Hitler gotto power because of hisarmies, because they werewilling to kill, and that’spartlytrue,becauseintherealworld power is always builton the threat of death anddishonor. But mostly he got

to power on words, on therightwordsattherighttime.”“I was just thinking of

comparingyoutohim.”“I don’t hate Jews, Val. I

don’t want to destroyanybody. And I don’t wantwar, either. Iwant theworldto hold together. Is that sobad? I don’t want us to goback to the old way. Haveyou read about the worldwars?”

“Yes.”“We can go back to that

again. Or worse. We couldfindourselveslockedintotheWarsawPact.Now, there’sacheerfulthought.”“Peter, we’re children,

don’t you understand that?We’regoing toschool,we’regrowing up—” But even asshe resisted, she wanted himto persuade her. She hadwanted him to persuade her

fromthebeginning.ButPeterdidn’tknow that

he had already won. “If Ibelieve that, if I accept that,then I’ve got to sit back andwatch while all theopportunitiesvanish,andthenwhenI’moldenoughit’s toolate.Val,listentome.Iknowhow you feel about me, youalwayshave.Iwasavicious,nasty brother. I was cruel toyou and crueler to Ender

before they took him. But Ididn’t hate you. I loved youboth,Ijusthadtobe—hadtohave control, do youunderstandthat?It’sthemostimportantthingtome,it’smygreatest gift, I can seewheretheweakpointsare,Icanseehowtogetinandusethem,Ijust see those things withouteventrying.Icouldbecomeabusinessman and run somebig corporation, I’d scramble

and maneuver until I was atthe top of everything andwhatwould Ihave?Nothing.I’m going to rule, Val, I’mgoing to have control ofsomething.ButIwantittobesomething worth ruling. Iwant to accomplishsomethingworthwhile.APaxAmericanathroughthewholeworld. So that whensomebody else comes, afterwe beat the buggers, when

somebodyelsecomesheretodefeat us, they’ll find we’vealready spread over athousand worlds, we’re atpeace with ourselves andimpossibletodestroy.Doyouunderstand? I want to savemankind from self-destruction.”She had never seen him

speak with such sincerity.With no hint ofmockery, notraceofalieinhisvoice.He

was getting better at this.Ormaybe he was actuallytouching on the truth. “So atwelve-year-old boy and hiskid sister are going to savetheworld?”“How old was Alexander?

I’m not going to do itovernight. I’m just going tostartnow.Ifyou’llhelpme.”“I don’t believe what you

didtothosesquirrelswaspartof an act. I think you did it

becauseyoulovetodoit.”Suddenly Peter wept into

his hands. Val assumed thathe was pretending, but thenshe wondered. It waspossible, wasn’t it, that heloved her, and that in thistimeof terrifyingopportunityhe was willing to weakenhimselfbeforeherinordertowin her love. He’smanipulating me, shethought, but that doesn’t

mean he isn’t sincere. Hischeeks were wet when hetookhishandsaway,hiseyesrimmed in red. “I know,” hesaid. “It’s what I’m mostafraid of. That I really am amonster.Idon’twant tobeakillerbutIjustcan’thelpit.”She had never seen him

show suchweakness.You’reso clever, Peter. You savedyour weakness so you coulduseittomovemenow.

And yet it did move her.Because if itwere true, evenpartlytrue,thenPeterwasnota monster, and so she couldsatisfy her Peter-like love ofpower without fear ofbecoming monstrous herself.She knew that Peter wascalculatingevennow,butshebelieved that under thecalculationshewastellingthetruth. It had been hiddenlayers deep, but he had

probedheruntilhefoundhertrust.“Val,ifyoudon’thelpme,

I don’t know what I’llbecome. But if you’re there,mypartnerineverything,youcan keep me from becoming—like that. Like the badones.”She nodded. You are only

pretending to share powerwith me, she thought, but infact I have power over you,

even though you don’t knowit.“Iwill.I’llhelpyou.”

AssoonasFathergotthembothontohiscitizen’saccess,theybegantestingthewaters.They stayed away from thenetsthatrequireduseofarealname. That wasn’t hardbecause real names only hadto do with money. Theydidn’t need money. They

needed respect, and that theycouldearn.Withfalsenames,on the right nets, they couldbe anybody. Old men,middle-aged women,anybody,aslongastheywerecareful about the way theywrote.All thatanyonewouldsee were their words, theirideas. Every citizen startedequal,onthenets.They used throwaway

nameswiththeirearlyefforts,

not the identities that Peterplanned tomake famous andinfluential. Of course theywere not invited to take partin the great national andinternational political forums—they could only beaudiences there until theywereinvitedorelectedtotakepart. But they signed on andwatched,readingsomeoftheessayspublishedby thegreatnames,witnessingthedebates

thatplayedacrosstheirdesks.And in the lesser

conferences, where commonpeople commented about thegreat debates, they began toinserttheircomments.AtfirstPeter insisted that they bedeliberately inflammatory.“Wecan’tlearnhowourstyleof writing is working unlesswe get responses—and ifwe’re bland, no one willanswer.”

They were not bland, andpeople answered. Theresponses that got posted onthe public netswere vinegar;the responses that were sentas mail, for Peter andValentine to read privately,werepoisonous.But theydidlearn what attributes of theirwriting were seized upon aschildish and immature. Andtheygotbetter.When Peter was satisfied

that theyknewhow to soundadult, he killed the oldidentities and they began toprepare to attract realattention.“We have to seem

completely separate. We’llwriteaboutdifferentthingsatdifferent times. We’ll neverrefer to each other. You’llmostly work on the westcoast nets, and I’ll mostlywork in the south. Regional

issues, too. So do yourhomework.”They did their homework.

Mother and Father worriedsometimes, with Peter andValentineconstantlytogether,theirdeskstuckedundertheirarms. But they couldn’tcomplain—their grades weregood,andValentinewassucha good influence on Peter.She had changed his wholeattitude toward everything.

And Peter and Valentine sattogether in the woods, ingood weather, and in pocketrestaurants and indoor parkswhen it rained, and theycomposed their politicalcommentaries.Petercarefullydesigned both characters soneither one had all of hisideas; there were even somespareidentitiesthattheyusedto drop in third partyopinions. “Let both of them

findafollowingastheycan,”saidPeter.Once, tired of writing and

rewriting until Peter wassatisfied, Val despaired andsaid, “Write it yourself,then!”“I can’t,” he answered.

“Theycan’tbothsoundalike.Ever. You forget thatsomeday we’ll be famousenough that somebody willstart running analyses. We

have to come up as differentpeopleeverytime.”Soshewroteon.Hermain

identity on the nets wasDemosthenes—Peter chosethe name. He called himselfLocke. They were obviouspseudonyms, but that waspart of the plan. “With anyluck, they’ll start trying toguesswhoweare.”“Ifweget famousenough,

the government can always

get access and find out whowereallyare.”“When that happens,we’ll

be too entrenched to suffermuch loss. People might beshocked that Demosthenesand Locke are two kids, butthey’ll already be used tolisteningtous.”They began composing

debates for their characters.Valentine would prepare anopening statement, and Peter

would invent a throwawayname to answer her. Hisanswer would be intelligent,and the debate would belively,lotsofcleverinvectiveand good political rhetoric.Valentine had a knack foralliteration that made herphrases memorable. Thenthey would enter the debateintothenetwork,separatedbya reasonable amount of time,as if they were actually

making them up on the spot.Sometimes a few othernetters would interposecomments, butPeter andValwouldusuallyignorethemorchange their own commentsonlyslightlytoaccommodatewhathadbeensaid.Peter took careful note of

all their most memorablephrasesandthendidsearchesfrom time to time to findthose phrases cropping up in

other places.Not all of themdid, but most of them wererepeated here and there, andsome of them even showedupinthemajordebatesontheprestige nets. “We’re beingread,” Peter said. “The ideasareseepingout.”“Thephrases,anyway.”“That’s just the measure.

Look, we’re having someinfluence. Nobody quotes usby name, yet, but they’re

discussing the points weraise. We’re helping set theagenda.We’regettingthere.”“Shouldwe try to get into

themaindebates?”“No.We’llwait until they

askus.”They had been doing it

only sevenmonthswhenoneof the west coast nets sentDemosthenes a message. Anoffer for aweekly column inaprettygoodnewsnet.

“I can’t do a weeklycolumn,” Valentine said. “Idon’t even have a monthlyperiodyet.”“The two aren’t related,”

Petersaid.“Theyaretome.I’mstilla

kid.”“Tell them yes, but since

you prefer not to have yourtrue identity revealed, youwant them to pay you innetwork time. A new access

code through their corporateidentity.”“So when the government

tracesme—”“You’ll just be a person

who can sign on throughCalNet. Father’s citizen’saccess doesn’t get involved.WhatIcan’tfigureoutiswhythey wanted DemosthenesbeforeLocke.”“Talentrisestothetop.”Asagame,itwasfun.But

Valentinedidn’t likesomeofthe positions Peter madeDemosthenes take.Demosthenes began todevelop as a fairly paranoidanti-Russian writer. Itbothered her because Peterwas the one who knew howto exploit fear in his writing—shehad tokeepcoming tohimforideasonhowtodoit.Meanwhile, his Lockefollowed her moderate,

empathic strategies. It madesense, in a way. By havingher write Demosthenes, itmeant he also had someempathy, just as Locke alsocould play on others’ fears.But the main effect was tokeep her inextricably tied toPeter.Shecouldn’tgooffanduseDemosthenesforherownpurposes.Shewouldn’tknowhow to use him. Still, itworked both ways. He

couldn’twriteLockewithouther.Orcouldhe?“I thought the idea was to

unifytheworld.IfIwritethislike you say I should, Peter,I’m pretty much calling forwar to break up theWarsawPact.”“Not war, just open nets

and prohibition ofinterception. Free flow ofinformation.CompliancewiththeLeaguerules,forheaven’s

sake.”Without meaning to,

Valentine started talking inDemosthenes’ voice, eventhough she certainly wasn’tspeaking Demosthenes’opinions. “Everyone knowsthatfromthebeginningoftheLeague the Second WarsawPactwas to be regarded as asingle entity where thoserules were concerned.International free flowisstill

open. But between theWarsaw Pact nations thesethings are internal matters.That was why they werewilling to allow AmericanhegemonyintheLeague.”“You’re arguing Locke’s

part,Val.Trustme.YouhavetocallfortheWarsawPacttoloseofficial status.Youhaveto get a lot of people reallyangry. Then, later,when youbegin to recognize the need

forcompromise—”“Then they stop listening

tome and go off and fight awar.”“Val, trust me. I know

whatI’mdoing.”“How do you know?

You’re not any smarter thanme, and you’ve never donethisbeforeeither.”“I’m thirteen and you’re

ten.”“Almosteleven.”

“And I know how thesethingswork.”“All right, I’ll do it your

way. But I won’t do any oftheselibertyordeaththings.”“Youwilltoo.”“And someday when they

catch us and they wonderwhy your sister was such awarmonger, I can just betyou’ll tell them thatyou toldmetodoit.”“Are you sure you’re not

having a period, littlewoman?”“Ihateyou,PeterWiggin.”What bothered Valentine

most was when her columngot syndicated into severalother regional newsnets, andFather started reading it andquoting from it at table.“Finally, a man with somesense,” he said. Then hequoted some of the passagesValentine hated worst in her

ownwork. “It’s fine toworkwith these hegemonistRussianswiththebuggersoutthere, but after we win, Ican’t see leaving half thecivilized world as virtualserfs in the Russian Empire,canyou,dear?”“I think you’re taking this

all too seriously,” saidMother.“I like thisDemosthenes. I

like the way he thinks. I’m

surprisedheisn’tinthemajornets—Ilookedforhimintheinternationalrelationsdebatesand you know, he’s nevertakenpartinanyofthem.”Valentine lost her appetite

and left the table. Peterfollowed her after arespectableinterval.“Soyoudon’tlikelyingto

Father,” he said. “So what?You’renot lying to him. Hedoesn’t think that you’re

really Demosthenes, andDemosthenes isn’t sayingthings you really believe.They cancel each other out,theyamounttonothing.”“That’s the kind of

reasoning that makes Lockesuchanass.”Butwhatreallybotheredherwasnotthatshewas lying to Father—it wasthe fact that Father actuallyagreed with Demosthenes.She had thought that only

foolswouldfollowhim.AfewdayslaterLockegot

picked up for a column in aNew England newsnet,specifically to provide acontrasting view for theirpopular column fromDemosthenes. “Not bad fortwo kids who’ve only gotabout eight pubic hairsbetweenthem,”Petersaid.“It’s a long way between

writinganewsnetcolumnand

ruling the world,” Valentinereminded him. “It’s such alongwaythatnoonehaseverdoneit.”“Theyhave,though.Orthe

moral equivalent. I’m goingto say snide things aboutDemosthenes in my firstcolumn.”“Well, Demosthenes isn’t

even going to notice thatLockeexists.Ever.”“Fornow.”

With their identities nowfully supported by theirincome from writingcolumns, they used Father’saccess now only for thethrowaway identities.Mothercommented that they werespending too much time onthe nets. “All work and noplaymakes Jackadull boy,”sheremindedPeter.Peterlethishandtremblea

little, and he said, “If you

think I should stop, I think Imight be able to keep thingsunder control this time, Ireallydo.”“No, no,” Mother said. “I

don’twantyoutostop.Just—becareful,that’sall.”“I’mcareful,Mom.”

Nothing was different,nothing had changed in ayear. Ender was sure of it,

andyet it all seemed tohavegone sour. He was still theleading soldier in thestandings, and no onedoubted that he deserved itnow. At the age of nine hewasa toon leader inPhoenixArmy,withPetraArkanianashis commander. He still ledhiseveningpracticesessions,and now they were attendedby an elite group of soldiersnominated by their

commanders, though anyLaunchy who wanted tocould still come. Alai wasalsoa toon leader, inanotherarmy, and they were stillgoodfriends;Shenwasnotaleader, but that was nobarrier. Dink Meeker hadfinally accepted commandandsucceededRosetheNoseinRatArmy’scommand.Allis going well, very well, Icouldn’t ask for anything

better—SowhydoIhatemylife?Hewent through thepaces

of the practices and games.Helikedteachingtheboysinhis toon, and they followedhim loyally. He had therespect of everyone, and hewastreatedwithdeferenceinhis evening practices.Commanders came to studywhat he did. Other soldiersapproached his table at mess

and asked permission to sitdown.Eventheteacherswererespectful.He had so much damn

respecthewantedtoscream.Hewatchedtheyoungkids

in Petra’s army, fresh out oftheir launch groups, watchedhow they played, how theymade fun of their leaderswhen they thought no onewas looking.Hewatched thecamaraderie of old friends

whohadknowneachotherinthe Battle School for years,whotalkedandlaughedaboutold battles and long-graduated soldiers andcommanders.But with his old friends

there was no laughter, noremembering. Justwork. Justintelligence and excitementabout the game, but nothingbeyond that. Tonight it hadcometoaheadintheevening

practice.EnderandAlaiwerediscussing the nuances ofopen-space maneuvers whenShencameupandlistenedfora few moments, thensuddenly took Alai by theshoulders and shouted,“Nova! Nova! Nova!” Alaiburst out laughing, and for amoment or two Enderwatched them remembertogether the battle whereopen-room maneuvering had

been for real, and they haddodged past the older boysand—Suddenlytheyremembered

thatEnderwas there. “Sorry,Ender,”Shensaid.Sorry.Forwhat?Forbeing

friends?“Iwasthere,too,youknow,”Endersaid.Andtheyapologizedagain.

Back to business. Back torespect. And Ender realizedthat in their laughter, in their

friendship,ithadnotoccurredto them that he could havebeenincluded.HowcouldtheythinkIwas

partofit?DidIlaugh?DidIjoin in? Just stood there,watching,likeateacher.That’s how they think of

me, too. Teacher. Legendarysoldier.Notoneofthem.Notsomeone that you embraceand whisper Salaam in hisear. That only lasted while

Ender still seemed a victim.Stillseemedvulnerable.Nowhewasthemastersoldier,andhe was completely, utterlyalone.Feel sorry for yourself,

Ender.Hetypedthewordsonhis desk as he lay on hisbunk. POOR ENDER. Thenhe laughed at himself andcleared away the words. Nota boy or girl in this schoolwhowouldn’tbegladtotrade

placeswithme.He called up the fantasy

game.Hewalkedasheoftendid through the village thatthe dwarves had built in thehill made by the Giant’scorpse. It was easy to buildsturdy walls, with the ribsalreadycurved just right, justenough space between themtoleavewindows.Thewholecorpse was cut intoapartments, opening onto the

path down theGiant’s spine.The public amphitheatre wascarved into the pelvic bowl,and the common herd ofponieswas pastured betweenthe Giant’s legs. Ender wasnever sure what the dwarveswere doing as they wentabout theirbusiness,but theyleft him alone as he pickedhis way through the village,and in returnhedid themnoharmeither.

Hevaultedthepelvicboneat the base of the publicsquare, and walked throughthepasture.Theponies shiedaway from him. He did notpursue them. Ender did notunderstand how the gamefunctioned anymore. In theold days, before he had firstgonetotheEndoftheWorld,everything was combat andpuzzles to solve—defeat theenemybeforehekillsyou,or

figureouthowtogetpasttheobstacle. Now, though, noone attacked, there was nowar, and wherever he went,therewasnoobstacleatall.Except, of course, in the

room in thecastleat theEndof theWorld. It was the onedangerous place left. AndEnder, however often hevowed that he would not,always went back there,always killed the snake,

always looked his brother inthe face, and always, nomatterwhathedidnext,died.It was no different this

time.Hetriedtousetheknifeon the table to pry throughthe mortar and pull out astone from thewall.As soonashebreachedthesealofthemortar, water began to gushin through the crack, andEnderwatchedhisdeskashisfigure,nowoutofhiscontrol,

struggledmadlytostayalive,to keep from drowning. Thewindows of his room weregone, thewater rose, and hisfigure drowned. All thewhile, the face of PeterWiggin in the mirror stayedandlookedathim.I’m trapped here, Ender

thought,trappedattheEndofthe World with no way out.Andheknewat last the sourtaste that had come to him,

despiteallhissuccessesintheBattleSchool.Itwasdespair.

Therewereuniformedmenat theentrances to theschoolwhenValentinearrived.Theyweren’t standing like guards,butratherslouchedaroundasif they were waiting forsomeone inside to finish hisbusiness. They wore theuniformsof I.F.Marines, the

same uniforms that everyonesaw inbloodycombaton thevideos. It lent an air ofromancetothisdayatschool;alltheotherkidswereexcitedaboutit.Valentinewasnot.Itmade

her think of Ender, for onething. And for another, itmade her afraid. Someonehad recently published asavage commentary onDemosthenes’ collected

writings. The commentary,and therefore her work, hadbeen discussed in the openconference of theinternational relations net,with some of the mostimportant people of the dayattacking and defendingDemosthenes. What worriedhermostwasthecommentofan Englishman: “Whether helikes it or not, Demosthenescannot remain incognito

forever. He has outraged toomany wise men and pleasedtoomanyfoolstohidebehindhis too-appropriatepseudonym much longer.Eitherhewillunmaskhimselfinordertoassumeleadershipof the forces of stupidity hehas marshalled, or hisenemies will unmask him inordertobetterunderstandthedisease that has producedsuch a warped and twisted

mind.”Peter had been delighted,

but then he would be.Valentine was afraid thatenough powerful people hadbeen annoyed by the viciouspersona of Demosthenes thatshe would indeed be trackeddown. The I.F. could do it,even if the Americangovernment wasconstitutionallyboundnot to.And here were I.F. troops

gathered atWesternGuilfordMiddle School, of all places.Not exactly the regularrecruitinggroundsfortheI.F.Marines.Soshewasnotsurprisedto

find a message marchingaround her desk as soon assheloggedin.

PLEASELOGOFFANDGOTODR.LINEBERRY’SOFFICEATONCE.

Valentinewaitednervously

outside the principal’s officeuntil Dr. Lineberry openedthe door and beckoned herinside. Her last doubt wasremoved when she saw thesoft-bellied man in theuniform of an I.F. colonelsittingintheonecomfortablechairintheroom.“You’re Valentine

Wiggin,”hesaid.“Yes,”shewhispered.“I’mColonelGraff.We’ve

metbefore.”Before?Whenhadshehad

anydealingswiththeI.F.?“I’vecometotalktoyouin

confidence, about yourbrother.”It’s not just me, then, she

thought.TheyhavePeter.Oris this something new? Hashe done something crazy? Ithought he stopped doingcrazythings.“Valentine, you seem

frightened.There’snoneedtobe.Please, sit down. I assureyouthatyourbrother iswell.Hehasmorethanfulfilledourexpectations.”And now, with a great

inward gush of relief, sherealized that it was Enderthey had come about. Thismust be the officer who hadtaken him away. Ender. Itwasn’t punishment at all, itwas little Ender, who had

disappearedsolongago,whowas no part of Peter’s plotsnow.Youweretheluckyone,Ender. You got away beforePeter could trap you into hisconspiracy.“How do you feel about

yourbrother,Valentine?”“Ender?”“Ofcourse.”“HowcanIfeelabouthim?

I haven’t seen him or heardfromhimsinceIwaseight.”

“Dr. Lineberry, will youexcuseus?”Lineberrywasannoyed.“On second thought, Dr.

Lineberry, I think Valentineand Iwillhaveamuchmoreproductiveconversationifwewalk. Outside. Away fromthe recording devices thatyour assistant principal hasplacedinthisroom.”It was the first time

Valentine had seen Dr.

Lineberryspeechless.ColonelGraffliftedapictureoutfromthewall and peeled a sound-sensitivemembrane from thewall, along with its smallbroadcast unit. “Cheap,” saidGraff, “but effective. Ithoughtyouknew.”Lineberry took the device

and sat down heavily at herdesk. Graff led Valentineoutside.They walked out into the

football field. The soldiersfollowed at a discreetdistance; they split up andformed a large circle, toguard them from the widestpossibleperimeter.“Valentine, we need your

helpforEnder.”“Whatkindofhelp?”“We aren’t even sure of

that.Weneedyou tohelpusfigure out how you can helpus.”

“Well,what’swrong?”“That’s part of the

problem.Wedon’tknow.”Valentinecouldn’thelpbut

laugh.“Ihaven’tseenhiminthree years! You’ve got himup there with you all thetime!”“Valentine, it costs more

money than your father willmakeinhislifetimeformetofly to Earth and back to theBattle School again. I don’t

commutecasually.”“The king had a dream,”

saidValentine,“butheforgotwhat it was, so he told hiswise men to interpret thedream or they’d die. OnlyDaniel could interpret it,becausehewasaprophet.”“YoureadtheBible?”“We’re doing classics this

yearinadvancedEnglish.I’mnotaprophet.”“I wish I could tell you

everything about Ender’ssituation. But it would takehours, maybe days, andafterwardI’dhavetoputyouin protective confinementbecause so much of it isstrictly confidential. So let’ssee what we can do withlimitedinformation.There’sagame that our students playwith the computer.” And hetoldherabout theEndof theWorld and the closed room

andthepictureofPeterinthemirror.“It’sthecomputerthatputs

the picture there, not Ender.Whynotaskthecomputer?”“The computer doesn’t

know.”“I’msupposedtoknow?”“This is the second time

since Ender’s been with usthathe’stakenthisgametoadead end. To a game thatseemstohavenosolution.”

“Did he solve the firstone?”“Eventually.”“Thengivehim time,he’ll

probablysolvethisone.”“I’m not sure. Valentine,

your brother is a veryunhappylittleboy.”“Why?”“Idon’tknow.”“Youdon’tknowmuch,do

you?”Valentine thought for a

moment that the man mightgetangry.Instead,though,hedecided to laugh. “No, notmuch. Valentine, why wouldEnder keep seeing yourbrotherPeterinthemirror?”“Heshouldn’t.It’sstupid.”“Whyisitstupid?”“Because if there’s ever

anybody who was theoppositeofEnder,it’sPeter.”“How?”Valentine could not think

of a way to answer him thatwasn’t dangerous. ToomuchquestioningaboutPetercouldleadtorealtrouble.Valentineknewenoughabouttheworldto know that no one wouldtake Peter’s plans for worlddomination seriously, as adanger to existinggovernments.But theymightwelldecidehewasinsaneandneeded treatment for hismegalomania.

“You’repreparing to lie tome,”Graffsaid.“I’m preparing not to talk

to you anymore,” Valentineanswered.“And you’re afraid. Why

areyouafraid?”“I don’t like questions

about my family. Just leavemyfamilyoutofthis.”“Valentine, I’m trying to

leaveyourfamilyoutof this.I’mcomingtoyousoIdon’t

havetostartabatteryoftestson Peter and question yourparents. I’m trying to solvethis problem now, with thepersonEnderlovesandtrustsmost in the world, perhapsthe only person he loves andtrustsatall.Ifwecan’tsolveit this way, then we’llsequesteryour familyanddoaswelikefromthenon.Thisis not a trivial matter, and Iwon’tjustgoaway.”

The only person Enderlovesandtrustsatall.Shefeltadeepstabofpain,ofregret,of shame that now it wasPeter shewas close to, Peterwho was the center of herlife. For you, Ender, I lightfires on your birthday. ForPeter I help fulfil all hisdreams.“Inever thoughtyouwere a nice man. Not whenyoucametotakeEnderaway,andnotnow.”

“Don’t pretend to be anignorantlittlegirl.Isawyourtests when you were little,and at the present momentthere aren’t very manycollege professorswho couldkeepupwithyou.”“EnderandPeterhateeach

other.”“Iknewthat.Yousaidthey

wereopposites.Why?”“Peter—can be hateful

sometimes.”

“Hatefulinwhatway?”“Mean. Just mean, that’s

all.”“Valentine, for Ender’s

sake, tell me what he doeswhenhe’sbeingmean.”“Hethreatenstokillpeople

alot.Hedoesn’tmeanit.Butwhen we were little, EnderandIwerebothafraidofhim.He told us he’d kill us.Actually, he told us he’d killEnder.”

“We monitored some ofthat.”“It was because of the

monitor.”“Is that all? Tell memore

aboutPeter.”So she told him about the

children in every school thatPeter attended. He never hitthem, but he tortured themjust the same. Found whatthey were most ashamed ofand told it to the person

whose respect they mostwanted. Found what theymost feared and made suretheyfaceditoften.“Did he do this with

Ender?”Valentineshookherhead.“Are you sure? Didn’t

Ender have aweak place?Athing he fearedmost, or thathewasashamedof?”“Ender never did anything

to be ashamed of.” And

suddenly, deep in her ownshame for having forgottenand betrayed Ender, shestartedtocry.“Whyareyoucrying?”She shook her head. She

couldn’t explain what it waslike to think of her littlebrother, who was so good,whom she had protected forso long, and then rememberthatnowshewasPeter’sally,Peter’s helper, Peter’s slave

in a scheme that wascompletelyoutofhercontrol.Ender never surrendered toPeter, but I have turned, I’vebecomepartofhim,asEnderneverwas.“Endernevergavein,”shesaid.“Towhat?”“To Peter. To being like

Peter.”They walked in silence

alongthegoalline.“HowwouldEndereverbe

likePeter?”Valentine shuddered. “I

alreadytoldyou.”“But Ender never did that

kind of thing. He was just alittleboy.”“We both wanted to,

though.Webothwantedto—tokillPeter.”“Ah.”“No, that isn’t true. We

never said it. Ender neversaidthathewantedtodothat.

I just—thought it. Itwasme,notEnder.Heneversaidthathewantedtokillhim.”“Whatdidhewant?”“He just didn’twant to be

—”“Tobewhat?”“Peter tortures squirrels.

He stakes them out on theground and skins them aliveand sits and watches themuntiltheydie.Hedidthatfora while, after Ender left; he

doesn’tdoitnow.Buthedidit. If Ender knew that, ifEnder saw him, I think thathe’d—”“He’d what? Rescue the

squirrels?Trytohealthem?”“No, in those days you

didn’t—undowhat Peter did.You didn’t cross him. ButEnder would be kind tosquirrels.Doyouunderstand?He’dfeedthem.”“Butifhefedthem,they’d

become tame, and thatmucheasierforPetertocatch.”Valentine began to cry

again. “No matter what youdo, it always helps Peter.Everything helps Peter,everything,you justcan’tgetaway,nomatterwhat.”“Are you helping Peter?”

askedGraff.Shedidn’tanswer.“Is Peter such a very bad

person,Valentine?”

Shenodded.“Is Peter the worst person

intheworld?”“How can he be? I don’t

know.He’stheworstpersonIknow.”“And yet you and Ender

arehisbrotherandsister.Youhave the same genes, thesameparents, how can he besobadif—”Valentine turned and

screamedathim,screamedas

ifhewerekillingher.“Enderis not like Peter! He is notlikePeterinanyway!Exceptthathe’s smart, that’sall—inevery other way a personcould possibly be like PeterheisnothingnothingnothinglikePeter!Nothing!”“Isee,”saidGraff.“I know what you’re

thinking, you bastard, you’rethinking that I’mwrong, thatEnder’s like Peter. Well

maybe I’m like Peter, butEnder isn’t, he isn’t at all, Iusedto tellhimthatwhenhecried, I told him that lots oftimes, you’re not like Peter,youneverliketohurtpeople,you’rekindandgoodandnotlikePeteratall!”“Andit’strue.”His acquiescence calmed

her.“Damnrightit’strue.It’strue.”“Valentine, will you help

Ender?”“I can’t do anything for

himnow.”“It’s really the same thing

you always did for himbefore. Just comfort him andtellhimthatheneverlikestohurt people, that he’s goodandkindandnotlikePeteratall.That’sthemostimportantthing.Thathe’snotlikePeteratall.”“Icanseehim?”

“No. Iwantyou towritealetter.”“What good does that do?

Ender never answered asingleletterIsent.”Graff sighed. “He

answeredeveryletterhegot.”It took only a second for

her to understand. “Youreallystink.”“Isolationis—theoptimum

environment for creativity. Itwashis ideaswewanted,not

the—nevermind,Idon’thavetodefendmyselftoyou.”Thenwhyareyoudoingit,

shedidnotask.“But he’s slacking off.

He’s coasting. We want topush him forward, and hewon’tgo.”“MaybeI’dbedoingEnder

a favor if I told you to gostuffyourself.”“You’ve already helped

me. You can help me more.

Writetohim.”“Promiseyouwon’tcutout

anythingIwrite.”“Iwon’tpromiseanysuch

thing.”“Thenforgetit.”“No problem. I’ll write

your letter myself. We canuse your other letters toreconcile the writing styles.Simplematter.”“Iwanttoseehim.”“He gets his first leave

whenhe’seighteen.”“You toldhim itwouldbe

whenhewastwelve.”“Wechangedtherules.”“WhyshouldIhelpyou!”“Don’t help me. Help

Ender.Whatdoesitmatter ifthathelpsus,too?”“What kind of terrible

things are you doing to himupthere?”Graff chuckled.

“Valentine,mydearlittlegirl,

the terrible things are onlyabouttobegin.”

Ender was four lines intothe letter before he realizedthatitwasn’tfromoneoftheother soldiers in the BattleSchool. It had come in theregular way—a MAILWAITINGmessagewhen hesigned intohisdesk.He readfourlinesintoit,thenskipped

to the end and read thesignature.Thenhewentbackto the beginning, and curledup on his bed to read thewordsoverandoveragain.

ENDER,THEBASTARDSWOULDN’TPUT

ANYOFMYLETTERSTHROUGHTILL

NOW.IMUSTHAVEWRITTENA

HUNDREDTIMESBUTYOUMUSTHAVETHOUGHTI

NEVERDID.WELLIDID.IHAVEN’T

FORGOTTENYOU.IREMEMBERYOUR

BIRTHDAY.IREMEMBEREVERYTHING.

SOMEPEOPLEMIGHTTHINKTHAT

BECAUSEYOU’REBEINGASOLDIER

YOUARENOWACRUELANDHARD

PERSONWHOLIKESTOHURTPEOPLE,

LIKETHEMARINESINTHEVIDEOS,

BUTIKNOWTHATISN’TTRUE.YOU

ARENOTHINGLIKEYOU-KNOW-

WHO.HE’SNICER-SEEMINGBUTHE’SSTILLASLUMBITCHINSIDE.

MAYBEYOUSEEMMEAN,BUTITWON’TFOOLME.STILL

PADDLINGTHEOLDKNEW,

ALLMYLOVETURKEYLIPS,VAL

DON’TWRITEBACKTHEY’LLPROBLY

SIKOWANALIZEYOURLETTER.

Obviously it was writtenwith the full approval of theteachers. But there was no

doubt it was written by Val.The spelling ofpsychoanalyze, the epithetslumbitch for Peter, the jokeabout pronouncing knew likecanoewereall things thatnoonecouldknowbutVal.And yet they came pretty

thick, as though someonewantedtomakeverysurethatEnder believed that the letterwas genuine. Why shouldtheybesoeagerifit’sthereal

thing?It isn’t the real thing

anyway.Even if shewrote itinherownblood, it isn’t thereal thingbecause theymadeher write it. She’d writtenbefore,andtheydidn’tletanyof those letters through.Those might have been real,but this was asked for, thiswas part of theirmanipulation.And the despair filled him

again. Now he knew why.Nowhe knewwhat he hatedso much. He had no controlover his own life. They raneverything.Theymadeallthechoices. Only the game wasleft to him, that was all,everythingelsewasthemandtheir rules and plans andlessonsandprograms,andallhe coulddowasgo thiswayorthatwayinbattle.Theonereal thing, the one precious

realthingwashismemoryofValentine, the person wholoved him before he everplayed a game, who lovedhim whether there was abugger war or not, and theyhad takenher andputherontheir side. She was one ofthemnow.Hehatedthemandalltheir

games. Hated them so badlythat he cried, reading Val’sempty asked-for letter again.

The other boys in PhoenixArmy noticed and lookedaway. Ender Wiggin crying?That was disturbing.Something terriblewasgoingon. The best soldier in anyarmy, lying on his bunkcrying. The silence in theroomwasdeep.Ender deleted the letter,

wiped it out of memory andthen punched up the fantasygame. He was not sure why

he was so eager to play thegame,togettotheEndoftheWorld,buthewastednotimegetting there. Only when hecoasted on the cloud,skimming over the autumnalcolors of the pastoral world,only thendidherealizewhathe hated most about Val’sletter. All that it said wasabout Peter. About how hewasnotatall likePeter.Thewords she had said so often

as she held him, comfortedhim as he trembled in fearand rage and loathing afterPeter had tortured him, thatwas all that the letter hadsaid.And that was what they

had asked for. The bastardsknew about that, and theyknew about Peter in themirror in the castle room,they knew about everythingandtothemValwasjustone

more tool to use to controlhim, just one more trick toplay. Dink was right, theywere the enemy, they lovednothingandcaredfornothingand he was not going to dowhat they wanted, he wasdamn well not going to doanything for them. He hadhad only one memory thatwassafe,onegoodthing,andthose bastards had plowed itinto himwith the rest of the

manure—and so he wasfinished, he wasn’t going toplay.As always the serpent

waited in the tower room,unravelingitselffromtherugon the floor. But this timeEnder didn’t grind itunderfoot. This time hecaught it in his hands, kneltbefore it, and gently, sogently, brought the snake’sgapingmouthtohislips.

Andkissed.He had not meant to do

that.He hadmeant to let thesnakebitehimonthemouth.Or perhaps he had meant toeatthesnakealive,asPeterinthemirrorhaddone,withhisbloody chin and the snake’stail dangling from his lips.Buthekisseditinstead.Andthesnakeinhishands

thickened and bent intoanother shape. A human

shape. It was Valentine, andshekissedhimagain.The snake could not be

Valentine. He had killed ittoooftenforittobehissister.Peter had devoured it toooftenforEndertobearitthatitmight have beenValentineallalong.Wasthiswhattheyplanned

when they let him read herletter?Hedidn’tcare.Shearosefromthefloorof

thetowerroomandwalkedtothe mirror. Ender made hisfigure also rise and go withher. They stood before themirror, where instead ofPeter’s cruel reflection therestoodadragonandaunicorn.Ender reached out his handandtouchedthemirrorandsodid Valentine; the wall fellopen and revealed a greatstairway downward, carpetedand lined with shouting,

cheering multitudes.Together,arminarm,heandValentine walked down thestairs. Tears filled his eyes,tears of relief that at last hehad broken free of the roomattheEndoftheWorld.Andbecauseofthetears,hedidn’tnotice that every member ofthe multitude wore Peter’sface. He only knew thatwherever he went in thisworld, Valentine was with

him.

Valentineopened the letterthat Dr. Lineberry had givenher.“DearValentine,”itsaid,“Wethankyouandcommendyouforyoureffortsonbehalfof the war effort. You areherebynotifiedthatyouhavebeen awarded theStar of theOrder of the League ofHumanity, FirstClass,which

is the highest military awardthatcanbegiventoacivilian.Unfortunately, I.F. securityforbidsustomakethisawardpublic until after thesuccessful conclusion ofcurrent operations, but wewant you to know that yourefforts resulted in completesuccess. Sincerely, GeneralShimonLevy,Strategos.”When she had read it

twice, Dr. Lineberry took it

from her hands. “I wasinstructed to let you read it,andthendestroyit.”Shetooka cigarette lighter from adrawer and set the paperafire.Itburnedbrightlyintheashtray. “Was it goodor badnews?”sheasked.“I sold my brother,”

Valentinesaid,“andtheypaidmeforit.”“That’sabitmelodramatic,

isn’tit,Valentine?”

Valentine went back toclasswithoutanswering.ThatnightDemosthenespublishedascathingdenunciationofthepopulation limitation laws.People should be allowed tohaveasmanychildrenastheylike, and the surpluspopulation should be sent toother worlds, to spreadmankind so far across thegalaxy that no disaster, noinvasion could ever threaten

the human race withannihilation.“Themostnobletitle any child can have,”Demosthenes wrote, “isThird.”Foryou,Ender,shesaidto

herselfasshewrote.Peter laughed in delight

when he read it. “That’llmake them sit up and takenotice. Third! A noble title!Oh, you have a wickedstreak.”

10

DRAGON

“Now?”

“Isupposeso.”“It has to be an order,

ColonelGraff.Armiesdon’tmovebecauseacommandersays ‘I suppose it’s time toattack.’”“I’m not a commander.

I’m a teacher of littlechildren.”“Colonel, sir, I admit I

wasonyou,IadmitIwasapain in the ass, but itworked, everything worked

just like you wanted it to.The last fewweeksEnder’sevenbeen,been—”“Happy.”“Content. He’s doing

well. Hismind is keen, hisplay is excellent. Young asheis,we’veneverhadaboybetter prepared forcommand. Usually they goat eleven, but at nine and ahalfhe’stopflight.”“Well, yes. For a few

minutes there, it actuallyoccurred to me to wonderwhat kind of a man wouldhealabrokenchildofsomeofhishurt, justsohecouldthrow him back into battleagain.Alittleprivatemoraldilemma.Pleaseoverlookit.Iwastired.”“Saving the world,

remember?”“Callhimin.”“We’re doing what must

bedone,ColonelGraff.”“Come on, Anderson,

you’rejustdyingtoseehowhe handles all those riggedgamesIhadyouworkout.”“That’saprettylowthing

to—”“So I’m a low kind of

guy. Come on, Major.We’reboth thescumof theearth.I’mdyingtoseehowhe handles them, too.Afterall,ourlivesdependonhim

doingrealwell.Neh?”“You’re not starting to

use the boys’ slang, areyou?”“Call him in, Major. I’ll

dump the rosters into hisfiles and give him hissecuritysystem.Whatwe’redoing to him isn’t all bad,you know. He gets hisprivacyagain.”“Isolation,youmean.”“Thelonelinessofpower.

Gocallhimin.”“Yessir.I’llbebackwith

himinfifteenminutes.”“Good-bye.Yessiryessir

yezzir.Ihopeyouhadfun,Ihope you had a nice, nicetimebeinghappy,Ender. Itmight be the last time inyour life. Welcome, littleboy.YourdearUncleGraffhasplansforyou.”

Ender knew what was

happening from the momentthey brought him in.Everyoneexpectedhimtogocommander early. Perhapsnot this early, but he hadtopped the standings almostcontinuously for three years,no one else was remotelyclosetohim,andhiseveningpractices had become themostprestigiousgroup in theschool.Thereweresomewhowondered why the teachers

hadwaitedthislong.He wondered which army

they’d give him. Threecommandersweregraduatingsoon, including Petra, but itwasbeyondhopefor themtogive him PhoenixArmy—noone ever succeeded tocommand of the same armyhe was in when he waspromoted.Anderson tookhim first to

hisnewquarters.That sealed

it—only commanders hadprivate rooms. Then he hadhim fitted for new uniformsand a new flash suit. Helooked on the forms todiscover the name of hisarmy.Dragon, said the form.

TherewasnoDragonArmy.“I’ve never heard of

DragonArmy,”Endersaid.“That’s because there

hasn’t been a Dragon Army

in four years. Wediscontinued the namebecause there was asuperstition about it. NoDragon Army in the historyoftheBattleSchooleverwoneven a third of its games. Itgottobeajoke.”“Well, why are you

revivingitnow?”“We had a lot of extra

uniformstouseup.”Graff sat at his desk,

looking fatter and wearierthan the last time Ender hadseen him. He handed Enderhis hook, the small box thatallowed commanders to gowhere they wanted in thebattleroom during practices.Some said they workedmagnetically, some said itwas gravity. Many timesduring his evening practicesessions Ender had wishedthathehadahook,insteadof

havingtoreboundoffwallstoget where he wanted to go.Now that he’d got quite deftat maneuvering without one,here it was. “It only works,”Anderson pointed out,“during your regularlyscheduled practice sessions.”Since Ender already plannedto have extra practices, itmeant the hook would onlybeusefulsomeofthetime.Italso explained why so many

commandersneverheldextrapractices. They depended onthe hook, and it wouldn’t doanything for them during theextra times. If they felt thatthe hookwas their authority,their power over the otherboys, then they were evenlesslikelytoworkwithoutit.That’sanadvantageI’llhaveover some of my enemies,Enderthought.Graff’s official welcome

speech sounded bored andover-rehearsed. Only at theend did he begin to soundinterested in his own words.“We’re doing somethingunusualwithDragonArmy.Ihope you don’tmind.We’veassembled a new army byadvancing the equivalent ofan entire launch course earlyand delaying the graduationof quite a few advancedstudents. I think you’ll be

pleased with the quality ofyoursoldiers.Ihopeyouare,becausewe’reforbiddingyoutotransferanyofthem.”“No trades?” asked Ender.

It was how commandersalways shored up their weakpoints,bytradingaround.“None. You see, you’ve

been conducting your extrapractice sessions for threeyears now. You have afollowing. Many good

soldiers would put unfairpressureontheircommanderstotradethemintoyourarmy.We’ve given you an armythat can, in time, becompetitive. We have nointention of letting youdominateunfairly.”“What if I’vegota soldier

Ijustcan’tgetalongwith?”“Get along with him.”

Graff closed his eyes,Anderson stood up and the

interviewwasover.Dragon was assigned the

colors grey, orange, grey;Ender changed into his flashsuit, then followed theribbonsoflightuntilhecametothebarracksthatcontainedhis army. They were therealready, milling around nearthe entrance. Ender tookchargeatonce.“Bunkingwillbe arranged by seniority.Veterans to the back of the

room, newest soldiers to thefront.”It was the reverse of the

usual pattern, and Enderknewit.Healsoknewthathedidn’t intend tobe likemanycommanders,whoneverevensaw the younger boysbecause they were always intheback.As they sorted themselves

out according to their arrivaldates, Ender walked up and

down theaisle.Almost thirtyof his soldiers were new,straight out of their launchgroup, completelyinexperiencedinbattle.Somewere even underage—theones nearest the door werepathetically small. Enderreminded himself that that’show he must have looked toBonzo Madrid when he firstarrived. Still, Bonzo had hadonly one underage soldier to

copewith.Not one of the veterans

belonged to Ender’s elitepracticegroup.Nonehadeverbeen a toon leader. None, infact, was older than Enderhimself, which meant thatevenhisveteransdidn’thavemore than eighteen months’experience. Some he didn’teven recognize, they hadmadesolittleimpression.They recognizedEnder, of

course,sincehewasthemostcelebrated soldier in theschool. And some, Endercould see, resented him. Atleasttheydidmeonefavor—none of my soldiers is olderthanme.Assoonaseachsoldierhad

a bunk, Ender ordered themtoputontheirflashsuitsandcome to practice. “We’re onthe morning schedule,straight to practice after

breakfast.Officiallyyouhaveafreehourbetweenbreakfastand practice.We’ll see whathappens after I find out howgood you are.” After threeminutes, though many ofthemstillweren’tdressed,heorderedthemoutoftheroom.“But I’m naked!” said one

boy.“Dress faster next time.

Threeminutes from first callto running out the door—

that’stherulethisweek.Nextweektheruleistwominutes.Move!” It would soon be ajoke in the rest of the schoolthat Dragon Army was sodumb they had to practicegettingdressed.Five of the boys were

completely naked, carryingtheir flash suits as they ranthrough the corridors; fewwere fully dressed. Theyattracted a lot of attention as

they passed open classroomdoors. No onewould be lateagainifhecouldhelpit.In the corridors leading to

the battleroom, Ender madethem run back and forth inthe halls, fast, so they weresweating a little, while thenakedonesgotdressed.Thenheledthemtotheupperdoor,the one that opened into themiddleof thebattleroom justlike the doors in the actual

games. Then he made themjump up and use the ceilinghandholds to hurl themselvesinto the room. “Assemble onthe farwall,” he said. “As ifyou were going for theenemy’sgate.”They revealed themselves

as they jumped, four at atime, through the door.Almost none of them knewhow to establish adirect lineto the target, and when they

reached the far wall few ofthe new ones had any ideahow to catch on or evencontroltheirrebounds.The last boy out was a

small kid, obviouslyunderage. Therewas nowayhe was going to reach theceilinghandhold.“You can use a side

handholdifyouwant,”Endersaid.“Go suck on it,” said the

boy. He took a flying leap,touched the ceiling handholdwith a finger tip, and hurtledthrough the door with nocontrol at all, spinning inthree directions at once.Endertriedtodecidewhetherto like the little kid forrefusing to take a concessionor to be annoyed at hisinsubordinateattitude.They finally got

themselvestogetheralongthe

wall. Ender noticed thatwithout exception they hadlinedupwiththeirheadsstillin thedirectionthathadbeenup in the corridor. So Enderdeliberatelytookholdofwhatthey were treating as a floorand dangled from it upsidedown. “Why are you upsidedown, soldier?” hedemanded.Some of them started to

turntheotherway.

“Attention!” They heldstill. “I said why are youupsidedown!”No one answered. They

didn’t know what heexpected.“Isaidwhydoeseveryone

ofyouhavehisfeetintheairand his head toward theground!”Finallyoneof themspoke.

“Sir, this is the direction wewere in coming out of the

door.”“Well what difference is

thatsupposed tomake!Whatdifference does itmakewhatthe gravity was back in thecorridor! Are we going tofight in thecorridor? Is thereanygravityhere?”Nosir.Nosir.“From now on, you forget

about gravity before you gothrough that door. The oldgravity is gone, erased.

Understand me? Whateveryourgravity iswhenyougetto the door, remember—theenemy’s gate is down. Yourfeet are toward the enemygate.Up is toward your owngate.Northisthatway,southis thatway, east is thatway,westis—whatway?”Theypointed.“That’s what I expected.

The only process you’vemastered is the process of

elimination, and the onlyreason you’ve mastered thatisbecauseyoucandoitinthetoilet.What was the circus Isaw out here! Did you callthatformingup?Didyoucallthat flying? Now everybody,launch and form up on theceiling!Rightnow!Move!”AsEnderexpected,agood

number of them instinctivelylaunched,nottowardthewallwiththedoorinit,buttoward

thewallthatEnderhadcallednorth, the direction that hadbeen up when they were inthe corridor. Of course theyquickly realized theirmistake, but too late—theyhad to wait to change thingsuntil they had rebounded offthenorthwall.In the meantime, Ender

was mentally grouping theminto slow learners and fastlearners. The littlest kid, the

onewhohadbeen lastoutofthe door, was the first toarriveatthecorrectwall,andhe caught himself adroitly.They had been right toadvance him. He’d do well.He was also cocky andrebellious, and probablyresented the fact that he hadbeen one of the ones Enderhad sent naked through thecorridors.“You!” Ender said,

pointing at the small one.“Whichwayisdown?”“Toward theenemydoor.”

Theanswerwasquick.Itwasalso surly, as if to say, OK,OK, now get on with theimportantstuff.“Name,kid?”“This soldier’s name is

Bean,sir.”“Get that for size or for

brains?” The other boyslaugheda little. “Well,Bean,

you’rerightontothings.Nowlisten to me, because thismatters. Nobody’s going togetthroughthatdoorwithouta good chance of getting hit.In theolddays, youhad ten,twenty seconds before youeven had to move. Now ifyou aren’t already streamingout of the door when theenemy comes out, you’refrozen. Now, what happenswhenyou’refrozen?”

“Can’t move,” one of theboyssaid.“That’s what frozen

means,” Ender said. “Butwhathappenstoyou?”It was Bean, not

intimidated at all, whoanswered intelligently. “Youkeep going in the directionyou started in. At the speedyou were going when youwereflashed.”“That’s true. You five,

there on the end, move!”Startled, the boys looked ateach other. Ender flashedthem all. “The next five,move!”Theymoved.Enderflashed

them, too, but they keptmoving, heading toward thewalls. The first five, though,were drifting uselessly nearthemaingroup.“Look at these so-called

soldiers,” Ender said. “Their

commander ordered them tomove,andnowlookat them.Not only are they frozen,they’re frozen right here,where they can get in theway. While the others,because they moved whentheywereordered,arefrozendown there, plugging up theenemy’s lanes, blocking theenemy’s vision. I imaginethat about five of you haveunderstood the point of this.

AndnodoubtBean isoneofthem.Right,Bean?”He didn’t answer at first.

Ender looked at himuntil hesaid,“Right,sir.”“Thenwhatisthepoint?”“When you are ordered to

move, move fast, so if yougeticedyou’llbouncearoundinstead of getting in thewayof your own army’soperations.”“Excellent.At least I have

one soldier who can figurethings out.” Ender could seeresentment growing in thewaytheothersoldiersshiftedtheir weight and glanced ateach other, the way theyavoided looking at Bean.Why am I doing this? Whatdoes this have to do withbeing a good commander,makingoneboy the targetofall the others? Just becausetheydidittome,whyshould

Ido it tohim?Enderwantedto undo his taunting of theboy,wantedtotell theothersthatthelittleoneneededtheirhelpandfriendshipmorethananyone else. But of courseEnder couldn’t do that. Noton the first day. On the firstdayevenhismistakeshad tolook like part of a brilliantplan.Ender hooked himself

nearerthewallandpulledone

of the boys away from theothers. “Keep your bodystraight,” said Ender. Herotated the boy in midair sohis feet pointed toward theothers. When the boy keptmoving his body, Enderflashed him. The otherslaughed. “How much of hisbody could you shoot?”Ender asked a boy directlyunder the frozen soldier’sfeet.

“Mostlyall I canhit ishisfeet.”Ender turned to the boy

next to him. “What aboutyou?”“Icanseehisbody.”“Andyou?”Aboyalittlefartherdown

the wall answered. “All ofhim.”“Feet aren’t very big. Not

much protection.” Enderpushed the frozen soldierout

of theway.Thenhe doubledhis legs under him, as if hewere kneeling inmidair, andflashed his own legs.Immediately the legs of hissuitwent rigid, holding theminthatposition.Ender twisted himself in

theair,sothathekneltabovetheotherboys.“What do you see?” he

asked.Alotless,theysaid.

Ender thrust his gunbetween his legs. “I can seefine,”he said, andproceededto flash the boys directlyunder him. “Stop me!” heshouted.“Tryandflashme!”They finally did, but not

until he had flashed morethan a third of them. Hethumbedhishookandthawedhimself and every otherfrozen soldier. “Now,” hesaid, “which way is the

enemy’sgate?”“Down!”“And what is our attack

position?”Some started to answer

with words, but Beananswered by flipping himselfaway from the wall with hislegs doubled under him,straight toward the oppositewall, flashing between hislegsalltheway.For a moment Ender

wanted to shout at him, topunish him; then he caughthimself, rejected theungenerous impulse. Whyshould I be so angry at thislittle boy? “Is Bean the onlyonewhoknowshow?”Endershouted.Immediately the entire

army pushed off toward theoppositewall,kneelingintheair, firing between their legs,shouting at the top of their

lungs. There may be a time,thought Ender, when this isexactly the strategy I’ll need—fortyscreamingboys inanunbalancingattack.When they were all at the

other side, Ender called forthem to attack him, all atonce. Yes, thought Ender.Not bad. They gave me anuntrained army, with noexcellentveterans,butatleastit isn’t a crop of fools. I can

workwiththis.Whentheywereassembled

again, laughing andexhilarated, Ender began thereal work. He had themfreeze their legs in thekneeling position. “Now,what are your legs good for,incombat?”Nothing,saidsomeboys.“Bean doesn’t think so,”

saidEnder.“They’re the best way to

pushoffwalls.”“Right,”Endersaid.The other boys started to

complain that pushing offwalls was movement, notcombat.“There is no combat

without movement,” Endersaid. They fell silent andhated Bean a little more.“Now, with your legs frozenlike this, can you push offwalls?”

No one dared answer, forfearthey’dbewrong.“Bean?”askedEnder.“I’ve never tried it, but

maybe if you faced the wallanddoubledoveratthewaist—”“Right but wrong. Watch

me. My back’s to the wall,legs are frozen. Since I’mkneeling,my feet are againstthe wall. Usually, when youpush off you have to push

downward, so you string outyour body behind you like astringbean,right?”Laughter.“Butwithmylegsfrozen,I

use pretty much the sameforce, pushing downwardfromthehipsandthighs,onlynow it pushes my shouldersandmyfeetbackward,shootsoutmyhips,andwhenIcomeloose my body’s tight,nothing stringing out behind

me.Watchthis.”Ender forced his hips

forward, which shot himaway from the wall; in amoment he readjusted hisposition and was kneeling,legs downward, rushingtoward the oppositewall.Helanded on his knees, flippedover on his back, andjackknifed off the wall inanother direction. “Shootme!”heshouted.Thenheset

himselfspinning in theairashe took a course roughlyparallel to theboysalong thefar wall. Because he wasspinning, they couldn’t get acontinuousbeamonhim.He thawed his suit and

hookedhimselfbacktothem.“That’s what we’re workingon for the first half hourtoday.Buildupsomemusclesyou didn’t know you had.Learn to use your legs as a

shield and control yourmovements so you can getthatspin.Spinningdoesn’tdoany good up close, but faraway, they can’t hurt you ifyou’re spinning—at thatdistance the beam has to hitthesamespotforacoupleofmoments, and if you’respinningitcan’thappen.Nowfreeze yourself and getstarted.”“Aren’t you going to

assignlanes?”askedaboy.“No I’m not going to

assign lanes. I want youbumping into each other andlearning how to deal with itall the time, except whenwe’re practicing formations,andthenI’llusuallyhaveyoubump into each other onpurpose.Nowmove!”When he said move, they

moved.Enderwas the lastoneout

afterpractice,sincehestayedto help some of the slowerones improve on technique.They’d had good teachers,buttheinexperiencedsoldiersfresh out of their launchgroups were completelyhelpless when it came todoing two or three things atthe same time. Itwas fine topractice jackknifing withfrozen legs, they had notrouble maneuvering in

midair, but to launch in onedirection,fireinanother,spintwice, rebound with ajackknife off a wall, andcome out firing, facing therightdirection—thatwaswaybeyond them.Drilldrilldrill,that was all Ender would beable to do with them for awhile. Strategies andformations were nice, butthey were nothing if thesoldiers didn’t know how to

handlethemselvesinbattle.He had to get this army

ready now. He was early atbeing a commander, and theteachers were changing therules now, not letting himtrade, giving him no top-notchveterans.Therewasnoguarantee that they’d givehimtheusualthreemonthstoget his army together beforesendingthemintobattle.At least in the evenings

he’d have Alai and Shen tohelphimtrainhisnewboys.Hewasstillinthecorridor

leadingoutof thebattleroomwhen he found himself facetofacewithlittleBean.Beanlooked angry. Ender didn’twantproblemsrightnow.“Ho,Bean.”“Ho,Ender.”Pause.“Sir,”Endersaidsoftly.“Iknowwhatyou’redoing,

Ender, sir, and I’m warningyou.”“Warningme?”“I can be the best man

you’ve got, but don’t playgameswithme.”“Orwhat?”“Or I’ll be the worst man

you’vegot.Oneortheother.”“And what do you want,

love and kisses?” Ender wasgettingangrynow.Bean looked unworried. “I

wantatoon.”Enderwalked back to him

and stood looking down intohis eyes. “Why should yougetatoon?”“BecauseI’dknowwhatto

dowithit.”“Knowingwhat todowith

a toon is easy,” Ender said.“It’s getting them to do itthat’s hard. Why would anysoldierwant to followa littlepinpricklikeyou?”

“Theyusedtocallyouthat,I hear. I hear BonzoMadridstilldoes.”“I asked you a question,

soldier.”“I’ll earn their respect, sir,

ifyoudon’tstopme.”Ender grinned. “I’m

helpingyou.”“Likehell,”saidBean.“Nobody would notice

you, except to feel sorry forthelittlekid.ButImadesure

they all noticed you today.They’ll be watching everymoveyoumake.Allyouhaveto do to earn their respectnowisbeperfect.”“So I don’t even get a

chance to learn before I’mbeingjudged.”“Poor kid. Nobody’s

treatin’ him fair.” Endergently pushed Bean backagainstthewall.“I’lltellyouhow to get a toon. Prove to

me you know what you’redoing as a soldier. Prove tome you know how to useother soldiers. And thenprove tome that somebody’swilling to follow you intobattle. Then you’ll get yourtoon. But not bloody welluntil.”Bean smiled. “That’s fair.

Ifyouactuallyworkthatway,I’ll be a toon leader in amonth.”

Ender reached down andgrabbed the front of hisuniformandshovedhim intothewall.“WhenIsayIworka certain way, Bean, thenthat’sthewayIwork.”Beanjustsmiled.Enderlet

go of him andwalked away.When he got to his room helay down on his bed andtrembled. What am I doing?Myfirstpracticesession,andI’m already bullying people

the way Bonzo did. AndPeter.Shovingpeoplearound.Picking on some poor littlekid so the others’ll havesomebody they all hate.Sickening.EverythingIhatedin a commander, and I’mdoingit.Is it some law of human

nature that you inevitablybecome whatever your firstcommander was? I can quitrightnow,ifthat’sso.

Over and over he thoughtof the things he did and saidin his first practice with hisnew army. Why couldn’t hetalk likehealwaysdid inhisevening practice group? Noauthority except excellence.Neverhadtogiveorders,justmade suggestions. But thatwouldn’t work, not with anarmy. His informal practicegroupdidn’t have to learn todo things together. They

didn’t have to develop agroupfeeling;theyneverhadto learnhowtohold togetherandtrusteachother inbattle.They didn’t have to respondinstantlytocommands.And he could go to the

other extreme, too. He couldbeas lax and incompetent asRose theNose, if hewanted.He could make stupidmistakes no matter what hedid. He had to have

discipline, and that meantdemanding—and getting—quick,decisiveobedience.Hehad to have a well-trainedarmy,and thatmeantdrillingthe soldiers over and overagain,longaftertheythoughtthey had mastered atechnique, until it was sonatural to them that theydidn’t have to think about itanymore.But what was this thing

withBean?Whyhadhegoneforthesmallest,weakest,andpossibly the brightest of theboys? Why had he done toBeanwhat had been done toEnderbycommandersthathedespised?Thenherememberedthatit

hadn’t begun with hiscommanders. Before Roseand Bonzo treated him withcontempt, he had beenisolated in his launch group.

And it wasn’t Bernard whobegan that, either. It wasGraff.Itwastheteacherswhohad

done it. And it wasn’t anaccident. Ender realized thatnow. Itwas a strategy.Graffhaddeliberatelysethimuptobe separate from the otherboys, made it impossible forhimtobeclosetothem.Andhe began now to suspect thereasonsbehindit.Itwasn’tto

unify the rest of the group—in fact, itwasdivisive.Graffhad isolated Ender to makehim struggle. To make himprove, not that he wascompetent,butthathewasfarbetter than everyone else.That was the only way hecould win respect andfriendship. It made him abetter soldier than he wouldever have been otherwise. Italsomadehimlonely,afraid,

angry,untrusting.Andmaybethose traits, too,made him abettersoldier.That’s what I’m doing to

you,Bean.I’mhurtingyoutomake you a better soldier inevery way. To sharpen yourwit. To intensify your effort.To keep you off balance,never sure what’s going tohappen next, so you alwayshavetobereadyforanything,ready to improvise,

determined to win no matterwhat. I’m also making youmiserable. That’s why theybroughtyou tome,Bean.Soyoucouldbejustlikeme.Soyoucouldgrowup tobe justliketheoldman.Andme—amIsupposedto

grow up like Graff? Fat andsour and unfeeling,manipulatingthelivesoflittleboys so they turnout factoryperfect,generalsandadmirals

ready to lead the fleet indefense of the homeland?You get all the pleasures ofthepuppeteer.Untilyougetasoldierwhocandomorethananyone else. You can’t havethat. It spoils the symmetry.You must get him in line,breakhimdown, isolatehim,beathimuntil hegets in linewitheveryoneelse.Well, what I’ve done to

youthisday,Bean,I’vedone.

But I’ll be watching you,more compassionately thanyouknow,andwhenthetimeis right you’ll find that I’myour friend, and you are thesoldieryouwanttobe.Enderdidnotgotoclasses

that afternoon.He lay on hisbunk and wrote down hisimpressions of each of theboys in his army, the thingshe noticed right about them,the things that needed more

work. In practice tonight, hewould talk with Alai andthey’d figure out ways toteachsmallgroups the thingstheyneededtoknow.Atleasthe wouldn’t be in this thingalone.ButwhenEndergot to the

battleroom that night, whilemost otherswere still eating,he found Major Andersonwaiting for him. “There hasbeen a rule change, Ender.

Fromnowon, onlymembersof the same army may worktogether in a battleroomduring freetime. And,therefore, battlerooms areavailableonlyonascheduledbasis.Aftertonight,yournextturnisinfourdays.”“Nobody else is holding

extrapractices.”“They are now, Ender.

Now that you commandanotherarmy,theydon’twant

their boys practicing withyou. Surely you canunderstand that. So they’llconducttheirownpractices.”“I’ve always been in

another army from them.They still sent their soldierstomefortraining.”“You weren’t commander

then.”“You gave me a

completely green army,MajorAnderson,sir—”

“You have quite a fewveterans.”“Theyaren’tanygood.”“Nobodygetsherewithout

being brilliant, Ender. Makethemgood.”“IneededAlaiandShento

—”“It’s about time you grew

up and did some things onyour own, Ender. You don’tneedtheseotherboystoholdyour hand. You’re a

commander now. So kindlyactlikeit,Ender.”Ender walked past

Anderson toward thebattleroom.Then he stopped,turned, asked a question.“Since these eveningpractices are now regularlyscheduled,doesitmeanIcanusethehook?”Did Anderson almost

smile? No. Not a chance ofthat.“We’llsee,”hesaid.

Ender turned his back andwent on into the battleroom.Soonhisarmyarrived,andnoone else; either Andersonwaited around to interceptanyone coming to Ender’spractice group, or word hadalready passed through thewhole school that Ender’sinformal evenings werethrough.Itwasagoodpractice,they

accomplishedalot,butatthe

endofitEnderwas tiredandlonely.Therewasahalfhourbefore bedtime. He couldn’tgointohisarmy’sbarracks—hehadlongsincelearnedthatthe best commanders stayaway unless they have somereasontovisit.Theboyshaveto have a chance to be atpeace, at rest, withoutsomeonelistening,tofavorordespise them depending onthewaytheytalkandactand

think.So he wandered to the

game room, where a fewotherboyswereusingthelasthalf hour before final bell tosettle bets or beat theirpreviousscoresonthegames.None of the games lookedinteresting,butheplayedoneanyway, an easy animatedgamedesignedforLaunchies.Bored, he ignored theobjectives of the game and

usedthelittleplayer-figure,abear, toexplore theanimatedsceneryaroundhim.“You’ll never win that

way.”Endersmiled,“Missedyou

atpractice,Alai.”“Iwas there.But they had

yourarmyinaseparateplace.Looks like you’re big timenow,can’tplaywiththelittleboysanymore.”“You’re a full cubit taller

thanIam.”“Cubit! Has God been

tellingyou tobuild aboatorsomething?Or are you in anarchaicmood?”“Not archaic, just arcane.

Secret, subtle, roundabout. Imiss you already, youcircumciseddog.”“Don’t you know? We’re

enemies now. Next time Imeet you in battle, I’ll whipyourass.”

It was banter, as always,but now there was toomuchtruth behind it. Now whenEnder heardAlai talk as if itwere all a joke, he felt thepainof losinghis friend, andthe worse pain of wonderingifAlaireallyfeltaslittlepainasheshowed.“Youcan try,” saidEnder.

“I taught you everything youknow.But I didn’t teachyoueverythingIknow.”

“I knew all along that youwereholdingsomethingback,Ender.”Apause.Ender’sbearwas

in trouble on the screen. Heclimbed a tree. “I wasn’t,Alai.Holdinganythingback.”“I know,” said Alai.

“NeitherwasI.”“Salaam,Alai.”“Alas,itisnottobe.”“Whatisn’t?”“Peace. It’s what salaam

means.Peacebeuntoyou.”Thewordsbroughtforthan

echo from Ender’s memory.Hismother’svoicereadingtohimsoftly,whenhewasveryyoung. Think not that I amcometobringpeaceonearth.Icamenottobringpeace,buta sword. Ender had picturedhismother piercing Peter theTerriblewithabloodyrapier,and the words had stayed inhis mind along with the

image.In the silence, the bear

died.Itwasacutedeath,withfunny music. Ender turnedaround. Alai was alreadygone. Ender felt as if part ofhimselfhadbeentakenaway,an inward prop that washolding up his courage andconfidence. With Alai, to adegree impossible even withShen,Enderhadcometofeela unity so strong that the

word we came to his lipsmuchmoreeasilythanI.But Alai had left

something behind. Ender layinbed,dozing into thenight,and felt Alai’s lips on hischeek as he muttered theword peace. The kiss, theword, the peace were withhim still. I am only what Iremember, and Alai is myfriendinamemorysointensethat they can’t tear him out.

Like Valentine, the strongestmemoryofall.The next day he passed

Alai inthecorridor,andtheygreeted each other, touchedhands, talked, but they bothknew that there was a wallnow. It might be breached,that wall, sometime in thefuture, but for now the onlyreal conversation betweenthem was the roots that hadalreadygrown lowanddeep,

under the wall, where theycouldnotbebroken.The most terrible thing,

though,was the fear that thewallcouldneverbebreached,thatinhisheartAlaiwasgladof the separation, and wasready to be Ender’s enemy.For now that they could notbe together, they must beinfinitelyapart,andwhathadbeensureandunshakablewasnowfragileandinsubstantial;

from themomentwe are nottogether, Alai is a stranger,forhehasalifenowthatwillbe no part of mine, and thatmeansthatwhenIseehimwewillnotknoweachother.Itmadehimsorrowful,but

Ender did not weep. Hewasdone with that. When theyhad turned Valentine into astranger,when theyhadusedher as a tool to work onEnder, fromthatdayforward

they could never hurt himdeepenoughtomakehimcryagain. Ender was certain ofthat.And with that anger, he

decidedhewasstrongenoughtodefeat them—the teachers,hisenemies.

11

VENIVIDIVICI

“Youcan’tbeseriousabout

thisscheduleofbattles.”“YesIcan.”“He’s only had his army

threeandahalfweeks.”“I told you. We did

computer simulations onprobableresults.Andhereiswhat the computerestimatedEnderwoulddo.”“We want to teach him,

not give him a nervousbreakdown.”“The computer knows

himbetterthanwedo.”“Thecomputerisalsonot

famousforhavingmercy.”“If you wanted to be

merciful, you should havegonetoamonastery.”“You mean this isn’t a

monastery?”“This is best for Ender,

too.We’re bringing him tohisfullpotential.”“Ithoughtwe’dgivehim

two years as commander.

We usually give them abattle every two weeks,starting after three months.Thisisalittleextreme.”“Dowehavetwoyearsto

spare?”“I know. I just have this

pictureofEnderayearfromnow. Completely useless,worn out, because he waspushed farther than he oranylivingpersoncouldgo.”“We told the computer

thatourhighestprioritywashaving the subject remainuseful after the trainingprogram.”“Well, as long as he’s

useful—”“Look, Colonel Graff,

you’re the one who mademe prepare this, over myprotests, if you’llremember.”“I know, you’re right, I

shouldn’t burden you with

my conscience. But myeagerness to sacrifice littlechildren in order to savemankind is wearing thin.The Polemarch has been tosee the Hegemon. It seemsRussian intelligence isconcerned that some of theactive citizens on the netsare already figuring howAmerica ought to use theI.F. to destroy the WarsawPactassoonas thebuggers

aredestroyed.”“Seemspremature.”“It seems insane. Free

speech is one thing, but tojeopardize the League overnationalistic rivalries—andit’s for people like that,short-sighted, suicidalpeople, that we’re pushingEndertotheedgeofhumanendurance.”“I think you

underestimateEnder.”

“But I fear that I alsounderestimate the stupidityof the rest ofmankind.Arewe absolutely sure that weoughttowinthiswar?”“Sir, those words sound

liketreason.”“Itwasblackhumor.”“Itwasn’tfunny.Whenit

comes to the buggers,nothing—”“Nothing is funny, I

know.”

Ender Wiggin lay on hisbed staring at the ceiling.Since becoming commander,heneversleptmorethanfivehours a night. But the lightswent off at 2200 and didn’tcome on again until 0600.Sometimes he worked at hisdesk, anyway, straining hiseyes to use the dim display.Usually, though, he stared atthe invisible ceiling andthought.

Either the teachers hadbeenkind tohimafterall,orhe was a better commanderthan he thought. His raggedlittle group of veterans,utterlywithouthonor in theirprevious armies, wereblossoming into capableleaders. So much so thatinstead of the usual fourtoons, he had created five,eachwithatoonleaderandasecond; every veteran had a

position. He had the armydrill in eight-man toonmaneuvers and four-manhalf-toons, so that at a singlecommand, his armycouldbeassigned as many as tenseparatemaneuversandcarrythem out at once. No armyhad ever fragmented itselflike that before, but Enderwas not planning to doanything that had been donebefore, either. Most armies

practiced mass maneuvers,preformed strategies. Enderhad none. Instead he trainedhis toon leaders to use theirsmall units effectively inachieving limited goals.Unsupported, alone, on theirown initiative. He stagedmock wars after the firstweek, savage affairs in thepractice room that lefteverybody exhausted. But heknew,withlessthanamonth

oftraining, thathisarmyhadthepotentialofbeingthebestfighting group ever to playthegame.Howmuch of this did the

teachersplan?Didtheyknowtheyweregivinghimobscurebut excellent boys? Did theygive him thirty Launchies,many of them underage,because they knew the littleboys were quick learners,quick thinkers? Or was this

whatanysimilargroupcouldbecome under a commanderwhoknewwhathewantedhisarmytodo,andknewhowtoteachthemtodoit?Thequestionbotheredhim,

because he wasn’t surewhether he was confoundingor fulfilling theirexpectations.Allhewassureofwasthat

hewaseagerforbattle.Mostarmies needed three months

because they had tomemorizedozensofelaborateformations.We’rereadynow.Getusintobattle.The door opened in

darkness. Ender listened. Ashuffling step. The doorclosed.He rolledoffhisbunkand

crawled in the darkness thetwometerstothedoor.Therewasa slipofpaper there.Hecouldn’treadit,ofcourse,but

he knewwhat it was. Battle.How kind of them. I wish,andtheydeliver.

Enderwas already dressedinhisDragonArmyflashsuitwhen the lights came on.Herandownthecorridoratonce,and by 0601 he was at thedoorofhisarmy’sbarracks.“We have a battle with

RabbitArmyat0700. Iwant

uswarmedup in gravity andready to go. Strip down andget to the gym. Bring yourflashsuitsandwe’llgotothebattleroomfromthere.”Whataboutbreakfast?“I don’t want anybody

throwing up in thebattleroom.”Canweatleasttakealeak

first?“Nomorethanadecaliter.”They laughed. The ones

who didn’t sleep nakedstripped down; everyonebundled up their flash suitsand followed Ender at a jogthrough the corridors to thegym.Heputthemthroughtheobstacle course twice, thensplit them into rotations onthe tramp, the mat, and thebench. “Don’t wearyourselves out, just wakeyourselves up.” He didn’tneed to worry about

exhaustion. They were ingood shape, light and agile,and above all excited aboutthe battle to come.A few ofthem spontaneously began towrestle—the gym, instead ofbeing tedious, was suddenlyfun, because of the battle tocome. Their confidence wasthe supreme confidence ofthosewhohaveneverbeeninthecontest,andthinktheyareready. Well, why shouldn’t

theythinkso?Theyare.AndsoamI.At0640hehadthemdress

out. He talked to the toonleaders and their secondswhile they dressed. “RabbitArmy ismostly veterans, butCarn Carby was made theircommanderonly fivemonthsago,and Inever fought themunder him. He was a prettygood soldier, and Rabbit hasdone fairly well in the

standingsover theyears.ButI expect to see formations,andsoI’mnotworried.”At 0650 hemade them all

lie down on the mats andrelax. Then, at 0656, heordered them up and theyjogged along the corridor tothe battleroom. Enderoccasionally leaped up totouch the ceiling. The boysall jumped to touch the samespot on the ceiling. Their

ribbonofcolorledtotheleft;Rabbit Army had alreadypassed through to the right.And at 0658 they reachedtheirgatetothebattleroom.The toons lined up in five

columns.AandEwerereadyto grab the side handholdsand flip themselves outtoward the sides. B and Dlined up to catch the twoparallelceilingholdsandflipupward into null gravity. C

toon were ready to slap thesill of the doorway and flipdownward.Up,down,left,right;Ender

stood at the front, betweencolumnssohe’dbeoutoftheway, and reoriented them.“Which way is the enemy’sgate?”Down, they all said,

laughing.Andinthatmomentup became north, downbecame south, and left and

rightbecameeastandwest.The grey wall in front of

them disappeared, and thebattleroom was visible. Itwasn’t a dark game, but itwasn’t a bright one either—the lights were about half,like dusk. In the distance, inthedimlight,hecouldseetheenemy door, their lightedflash suits already pouringout. Ender knew amoment’spleasure. Everyone had

learned the wrong lessonfrom Bonzo’s misuse ofEnder Wiggin. They alldumped through the doorimmediately, so that therewasnochancetodoanythingother than name theformation they would use.Commanders didn’t havetime to think. Well, Enderwouldtakethetime,andtrusthis soldiers’ ability to fightwith flashed legs to keep

themintactas theycame latethroughthedoor.Endersizeduptheshapeof

the battleroom. The familiaropen grid of most earlygames, like themonkey barsat the park, with seven oreight stars scattered throughthe grid. There were enoughof them, and in forwardenough positions, that theywere worth going for.“Spread to the near stars,”

Endersaid.“Ctrytoslidethewall.Ifitworks,AandEwillfollow. If it doesn’t, I’lldecidefromthere.I’llbewithD.Move.”All thesoldiersknewwhat

was happening, but tacticaldecisionswere entirely up tothe toon leaders. Even withEnder’s instructions, theywere only ten seconds lategetting through the gate.Rabbit Army was already

doing some elaborate dancedownat theendof theroom.In all the other armiesEnderhadfoughtin,hewouldhavebeen worrying right nowaboutmakingsureheandhistoon were in their properplace in theirown formation.Instead, he and all his menwereonlythinkingofwaystoslip around past theformation, control the starsand the corners of the room,

and then break the enemyformation into meaninglesschunksthatdidn’tknowwhatthey were doing. Even withlessthanfourweekstogether,the way they fought alreadyseemed like the onlyintelligent way, the onlypossible way. Ender wasalmost surprised that RabbitArmy didn’t know alreadythat theywerehopelesslyoutofdate.

C toon slipped along thewall, coastingwith theirbentknees facing the enemy.Crazy Tom, the leader of Ctoon, had apparently orderedhis men to flash their ownlegs already. It was a prettygood idea in this dim light,since the lighted flash suitswent dark wherever theywere frozen. It made themless easily visible. Enderwouldcommendhimforthat.

Rabbit Army was able todrive back C toon’s attack,but not untilCrazyTom andhisboyshadcarvedthemup,freezing a dozen Rabbitsbeforeretreatingtothesafetyof a star. But it was a starbehind the Rabbit formation,whichmeanttheyweregoingtobeeasypickingsnow.HanTzu,commonlycalled

HotSoup,wastheleaderofDtoon. He slid quickly along

the lip of the star to whereEnder knelt. “How aboutflippingoffthenorthwallandkneelingontheirfaces?”“Do it,” Ender said. “I’ll

take B south to get behindthem.” Then he shouted, “AandEslowonthewalls!”Heslid footward along the star,hookedhisfeetonthelip,andflipped himself up to the topwall,thenreboundeddowntoEtoon’sstar.Inamomenthe

was leading them downagainst the south wall. Theyrebounded in near perfectunison and came up behindthe two stars that CarnCarby’s soldiers weredefending. Itwas likecuttingbutterwithahotknife.RabbitArmy was gone, just a littlecleanup left to do. Enderbroke his toons up into half-toonstoscourthecornersforanyenemysoldierswhowere

wholeormerelydamaged.Inthreeminuteshistoonleadersreportedtheroomclean.Onlyone of Ender’s boys wascompletely frozen—one ofCtoon, which had borne thebrunt of the assault—andonlyfiveweredisabled.Mostwere damaged, but thosewere leg shots and many ofthem were self-inflicted. Allinall,ithadgoneevenbetterthanEnderexpected.

Enderhadhis toon leadersdo the honors at the gate—four helmets at the corners,and Crazy Tom to passthrough the gate. Mostcommanders took whoeverwasleftalivetopassthegate;Ender could have pickedpractically anyone. A goodbattle.The lights went full, and

Major Anderson himselfcame through the teachergate

at the south end of thebattleroom. He looked verysolemn as he offered Enderthe teacher hook that wasrituallygiven to thevictor inthe game. Ender used it tothaw his own army’s flashsuits, of course, and heassembled them in toonsbefore thawing the enemy.Crisp, military appearance,that’s what he wanted whenCarby and Rabbit Army got

their bodies under controlagain.Theymaycurseusandlie about us, but they’llremember that we destroyedthem, and no matter whatthey say other soldiers andother commanders will seethat in their eyes; in thoseRabbit eyes, they’ll seeus inneatformation,victoriousandalmostundamagedinourfirstbattle. Dragon Army isn’tgoing tobe anobscurename

forlong.CarnCarbycame toEnder

as soon as he was unfrozen.He was a twelve-year-old,who had apparently madecommander only in his lastyear at the school. So hewasn’t cocky, like the oneswhomade it ateleven. Iwillremember this, thoughtEnder, when I am defeated.To keep dignity, and givehonorwhere it’s due, so that

defeat is not disgrace. And Ihope I don’t have to do itoften.Anderson dismissed

Dragon Army last, afterRabbit Army had straggledthroughthedoorthatEnder’sboyshadcomethrough.ThenEnder led his army throughthe enemy’s door. The lightalong the bottomof the doorremindedthemofwhichwaywasdownoncetheygotback

to gravity. They all landedlightly on their feet, running.They assembled in thecorridor. “It’s 0715,” Endersaid, “and that means youhave fifteen minutes forbreakfastbefore Iseeyouallin the battleroom for themorning practice.” He couldhear them silently saying,Come on, we won, let uscelebrate. All right, Enderanswered, you may. “And

you have your commander’spermission to throw food ateachotherduringbreakfast.”They laughed, they

cheered, and then hedismissedthemandsentthemjogging on to the barracks.Hecaughthistoonleadersonthe way out and told themthat he wouldn’t expectanyone to come to practicetill 0745, and that practicewould be over early so the

boys could shower. Half anhour for breakfast, and noshowerrightafterabattle—itwas still stingy, but it wouldlook lenient compared tofifteen minutes. And Enderliked having theannouncement of the extrafifteen minutes come fromthetoonleaders.Lettheboyslearn that leniency comesfrom their toon leaders, andharshness from their

commander—it will bindthembetterinthesmall,tightknotsofthisfabric.Enderatenobreakfast.He

wasn’t hungry. Instead hewent to the bathroom andshowered, putting his flashsuitinthecleanersoitwouldbe ready when he was driedoff.Hewashedhimself twiceand let thewater runandrunon him. It would all berecycled.Leteverybodydrink

some of my sweat today.They had given him anuntrained army, and he hadwon, and not just nip andtuck,either.Hehadwonwithonly six frozen or disabled.Let’s see how long othercommanderskeepusing theirformations now that they’veseen what a flexible strategycando.He was floating in the

middle of the battleroom

when his soldiers began toarrive.Noone spoke to him,of course. He would speak,they knew, when he wasready,andnotbefore.Whenallwerethere,Ender

hooked himself near themand looked at them, one byone. “Good first battle,” hesaid, which was excuseenough for a cheer, and anattempt to start a chant ofDragon, Dragon, which he

quickly stopped. “DragonArmy did all right againstRabbits. But the enemy isn’talways going to be that bad.Ifthathadbeenagoodarmy,Ctoon,yourapproachwassoslow they would have hadyou from the flanks beforeyou got into good position.You should have split andangledinfromtwodirections,sotheycouldn’tflankyou.Aand E, your aim was

wretched. The tallies showthat you averaged only onehit for every two soldiers.That means most of the hitswere made by attackingsoldiers close in. That can’tgo on—a competent enemywouldcutuptheassaultforceunless theyhavemuchbettercover from the soldiers at adistance.Iwanteverytoontowork on distancemarksmanshipatmovingand

unmoving targets. Half-toonstake turns being targets. I’llthaw the flash suits everythreeminutes.Nowmove.”“Willwehaveanystars to

workwith?”askedHotSoup.“Tosteadyouraim?”“I don’t want you to get

used to having something tosteadyyourarms.Ifyourarmisn’t steady, freeze yourelbows!Nowmove!”The toon leaders quickly

got things going, and Endermoved from group to grouptomakesuggestionsandhelpsoldiers who were havingparticular trouble. Thesoldiers knew by now thatEnder could be brutal in theway he talked to groups, butwhen he worked with anindividual he was alwayspatient,explainingasoftenasnecessary, makingsuggestions quietly, listening

to questions and problemsand explanations. But henever laughed when theytried to banterwith him, andthey soon stopped trying.Hewas commander everymoment they were together.Heneverhadtoremindthemofit;hesimplywas.They worked all day with

the taste of victory in theirmouths, and cheered againwhentheybrokehalfanhour

early for lunch. Ender heldthe toon leaders until theregular lunch hour, to talkabout the tactics they hadusedandevaluatetheworkoftheirindividualsoldiers.Thenhewenttohisownroomandmethodicallychangedintohisuniform for lunch.Hewouldenter the commanders’ messabout ten minutes late.Exactly the timing that hewanted. Since this was his

first victory, he had neverseen the inside of thecommanders’ mess hall andhad no idea what newcommanders were expectedtodo,buthedidknowthathewanted to enter last today,when the scores of themorning’s battles werealreadyposted.DragonArmywill not be an obscure namenow.There was no great stir

when he came in. But whensome of them noticed howsmall he was, and saw thedragonson thesleevesof theuniform, they stared at himopenly, and by the time hegothisfoodandsatatatable,the room was silent. Enderbegan to eat, slowly andcarefully, pretending not tonotice that hewas the centerof attention. Graduallyconversationandnoisestarted

up again, and Ender couldrelaxenoughtolookaround.Oneentirewalloftheroom

was a scoreboard. Soldierswerekeptawareofanarmy’soverallrecordforthepasttwoyears; in here, however,records were kept for eachcommander. A newcommandercouldn’tinheritagood standing from hispredecessor—he was rankedaccording to what he had

done.Enderhadthebestranking.

Aperfectwon-lost record,ofcourse, but in the othercategories he was far ahead.Average soldiers-disabled,average enemy-disabled,average time-elapsed-before-victory—ineverycategoryhewasrankedfirst.When he was nearly

through eating, someonecame up behind him and

touchedhisshoulder.“Mind if I sit?” Ender

didn’t have to turn around toknowitwasDinkMeeker.“Ho Dink,” said Ender.

“Sit.”“You gold-plated fart,”

saidDink cheerfully. “We’reall trying to decide whetheryour scores up there are amiracleoramistake.”“Ahabit,”saidEnder.“One victory is not a

habit,”Dink said. “Don’t getcocky.Whenyou’renewtheyseed you against weakcommanders.”“Carn Carby isn’t exactly

on the bottom of therankings.” Itwas true.Carbywasjustaboutinthemiddle.“He’s OK,” Dink said,

“consideringthatheonlyjuststarted.Showssomepromise.You don’t show promise.Youshowthreat.”

“Threat to what? Do theyfeed you less if I win? Ithoughtyou toldme thiswasallastupidgameandnoneofitmattered.”Dinkdidn’tlikehavinghis

words thrown back at him,not under thesecircumstances.“Youweretheone who got me playingalongwiththem.ButI’mnotplaying games with you,Ender.Youwon’tbeatme.”

“Probablynot,”Endersaid.“Itaughtyou,”Dinksaid.“Everything I know,” said

Ender.“I’mjustplayingitbyearrightnow.”“Congratulations,” said

Dink.“It’sgoodtoknowIhavea

friend here.” But Enderwasn’t sure Dink was hisfriend anymore. Neither wasDink. After a few emptysentences,Dinkwentback to

histable.Ender lookedaroundwhen

hewasthroughwithhismeal.Therewerequiteafewsmallconversations going on.Ender spotted Bonzo, whowas now one of the oldestcommanders. Rose the Nosehadgraduated.Petrawaswitha group in a far corner, andshe didn’t look at him once.Sincemostoftheothersstoleglances at him from time to

time,includingtheonesPetrawas talking with, Ender waspretty sure she wasdeliberately avoiding hisglance. That’s the problemwith winning right from thestart,thoughtEnder.Youlosefriends.Give thema fewweeks to

get used to it. By the time Ihave my next battle, thingswill have calmed down inhere.

Carn Carby made a pointof coming to greet Enderbefore the lunch periodended. It was, again, agracious gesture, and, unlikeDink, Carby did not seemwary. “Right now I’m indisgrace,” he said frankly.“They won’t believe mewhen I tell them you didthings that nobody’s everseen before. So I hope youbeat the snot out of the next

armyyoufight.Asafavortome.”“Asafavortoyou,”Ender

said. “And thanks for talkingtome.”“I think they’re treating

youprettybadly.Usuallynewcommanders are cheeredwhentheyfirstjointhemess.But then, usually a newcommander has had a fewdefeats under his belt beforehe first makes it in here. I

onlygotinhereamonthago.If anybody deserves a cheer,it’syou.Butthat’slife.Makethemeatdust.”“I’ll try.” Carn Carby left,

and Ender mentally addedhim to his private list ofpeople who also qualified ashumanbeings.That night, Ender slept

better than he had in a longtime. Slept so well, in fact,that he didn’t wake up until

the lights came on.Hewokeup feeling good, jogged onout to take his shower, anddid not notice the piece ofpaper on his floor until hecame back and starteddressing in his uniform. Heonlysawthepaperbecauseitmoved in the wind as hesnapped out the uniform toput it on. He picked up thepaperandreadit.

PETRAARKANIAN,PHOENIXARMY,0700

Itwashisoldarmy,theonehe had left less than fourweeks before, and he knewtheir formations backwardand forward. Partly becauseof Ender’s influence, theywere the most flexible ofarmies, responding relativelyquickly to new situations.Phoenix Army would be thebestabletocopewithEnder’s

fluid,unpatternedattack.Theteachers were determined tomakelifeinterestingforhim.0700,saidthepaper,andit

was already 0630. Some ofhis boys might already beheading for breakfast. Endertossed his uniform aside,grabbedhis flash suit, and ina moment stood in thedoorway of his army’sbarracks.“Gentlemen, I hope you

learned something yesterday,because todaywe’re doing itagain.”It tookamoment for them

to realize that he meant abattle,notapractice.Ithadtobe a mistake, they said.Nobody ever had battles twodaysinarow.HehandedthepapertoFly

Molo, the leader of A toon,who immediately shouted“Flash suits” and started

changingclothes.“Why didn’t you tell us

earlier?” demanded HotSoup. Hot had a way ofasking Ender questions thatnobodyelsedaredask.“I thought you needed the

shower,” Ender said.“Yesterday Rabbit Armyclaimedweonlywonbecausethestinkknockedthemout.”The soldiers who heard

himlaughed.

“Didn’t find the paper tillyou got back from theshowers,right?”Ender looked for the

source of the voice. It wasBean,alreadyinhisflashsuit,looking insolent. Time torepayoldhumiliations,isthatit,Bean?“Of course,” Ender said,

contemptuously. “I’m not asclosetothefloorasyouare.”More laughter. Bean

flushedwithanger.“It’s plain we can’t count

onoldwaysofdoingthings,”Ender said. “So you’d betterplan on battles anytime.Andoften. I can’t pretend I likethe way they’re screwingaroundwithus, but I do likeone thing—that I’ve got anarmythatcanhandleit.”After that, if he had asked

them to follow him to themoon without space suits,

theywouldhavedoneit.Petrawas notCarnCarby;

shehadmoreflexiblepatternsand responded much morequickly to Ender’s darting,improvised, unpredictableattack.Asaresult,Enderhadthree boys flashed and ninedisabled at the end of thebattle.Petrawasnotgraciousaboutbowingoverhishandatthe end, either. The anger inhereyesseemedtosay,Iwas

your friend, and youhumiliatemelikethis?Ender pretended not to

notice her fury. He figuredthat after a fewmore battles,she’d realize that in fact shehad scored more hits againsthimthanheexpectedanyoneever would again. And hewasstilllearningfromher.Inpracticetodayhewouldteachhis toon leaders how tocounter the tricks Petra had

played on them. Soon theywouldbefriendsagain.Hehoped.

At the end of the weekDragon Army had foughtseven battles in seven days.Thescorestood7winsand0losses. Ender had never hadmorelossesthaninthebattlewith Phoenix Army, and intwo battles he had suffered

not one soldier frozen ordisabled. No one believedanymore that it was a flukethat put him first in thestandings.He had beaten toparmies by unheard-ofmargins. It was no longerpossible for the othercommanderstoignorehim.Afew of them sat with him atevery meal, carefully tryingtolearnfromhimhowhehaddefeated his most recent

opponents. He told themfreely, confident that few ofthem would know how totrain their soldiers and theirtoonleaderstoduplicatewhathis could do. And whileEnder talked with a fewcommanders, much largergroups gathered around theopponents Ender haddefeated, trying to find outhowEndermightbebeaten.Thereweremany,too,who

hated him. Hated him forbeing young, for beingexcellent, for having madetheirvictorieslookpaltryandweak. Ender saw it first intheir faces when he passedtheminthecorridors;thenhebegan to notice that someboyswouldgetupinagroupandmove to another table ifhe sat near them in thecommanders’mess;andtherebegan to be elbows that

accidently jostled him in thegame room, feet that gotentangled with his when hewalked into and out of thegym, spittle andwadsofwetpaper that struck him frombehind as he jogged throughthe corridors. They couldn’tbeat him in the battleroom,andknew it—so instead theywould attack him where itwassafe,wherehewasnotagiant but just a little boy.

Ender despised them—butsecretly, so secretly that hedidn’t even know it himself,he feared them. It was justsuchlittletormentsthatPeterhad always used, and Enderwasbeginning to feel far toomuchathome.These annoyances were

petty, though, and Enderpersuaded himself to acceptthem as another form ofpraise. Already the other

armies were beginning toimitate Ender. Now mostsoldiers attacked with kneestucked under them;formations were breaking upnow, and more commandersweresendingouttoonstoslipalong the walls. None hadcaughtonyettoEnder’sfive-toon organization—it gavehim the slight advantage thatwhen they had accounted forthemovements of four units,

theywouldn’t be looking forafifth.Ender was teaching them

all about null gravity tactics.ButwherecouldEndergo tolearnnewthings?He began to use the video

room, filledwith propagandavids about Mazer Rackhamand other great commandersof the forces of humanity inthe First and SecondInvasion. Ender stopped the

general practice an hourearly, and allowed his toonleaders to conduct their ownpractice in his absence.Usually they stagedskirmishes,toonagainsttoon.Ender stayed long enough tosee that things were goingwell, then left to watch theoldbattles.Most of the vids were a

waste of time.Heroicmusic,closeups of commanders and

medal-winning soldiers,confused shots of marinesinvadingbugger installations.But here and there he founduseful sequences: ships, likepoints of light, maneuveringinthedarkofspace,or,betterstill, the lights on shipboardplotting screens, showing thewholeofabattle.Itwashard,from the videos, to see allthree dimensions, and thescenes were often short and

unexplained. But Enderbegan to see how well thebuggers used seeminglyrandom flight paths to createconfusion, how they useddecoys and false retreats todrawtheI.F.shipsintotraps.Some battles had been cutintomanyscenes,whichwerescattered through the variousvideos; by watching them insequence, Ender was able toreconstructwhole battles.He

began to see things that theofficial commentators nevermentioned.Theywerealwaystrying to arouse pride inhuman accomplishments andloathing of the buggers, butEnder began to wonder howhumanity had won at all.Human ships were sluggish;fleets responded to newcircumstances unbearablyslowly,whilethebuggerfleetseemedtoactinperfectunity,

responding to each challengeinstantly. Of course, in theFirst Invasion the humanships were completelyunsuited to fast combat, butthen so were the buggerships; it was only in theSecond Invasion that theshipsandweaponswereswiftanddeadly.Soitwasfromthebuggers,

not the humans, that Enderlearned strategy. He felt

ashamed and afraid oflearning from them, sincethey were the most terribleenemy, ugly and murderousandloathsome.Buttheywerealso very good at what theydid.Toapoint.Theyalwaysseemed to follow one basicstrategy only—gather thegreatest number of ships atthe key point of conflict.They never did anythingsurprising, anything that

seemed to show eitherbrilliance or stupidity in asubordinate officer.Discipline was apparentlyverytight.And therewas one oddity.

There was plenty of talkabout Mazer Rackham butprecious little video of hisactual battle. Some scenesfrom early in the battle,Rackham’stinyforcelookingpathetic against the vast

power of the main buggerfleet. The buggers hadalready beaten the mainhuman fleet out in the cometshield,wipingouttheearlieststarships and making amockery of human attemptsat high strategy—that filmwas often shown, to arouseagain and again the agonyand terror of bugger victory.Then the fleet coming toMazerRackham’s little force

near Saturn, the hopelessodds,andthen—Thenoneshot fromMazer

Rackham’s little cruiser, oneenemy ship blowing up.That’s all that was evershown.Lots of film showingmarines carving their wayinto bugger ships. Lots ofbugger corpses lying aroundinside.Butnofilmofbuggerskilling in personal combat,unless itwas spliced in from

the First Invasion. Itfrustrated Ender that MazerRackham’s victory was soobviously censored. StudentsintheBattleSchoolhadmuchto learn from MazerRackham, and everythingabout his victory wasconcealed from view. Thepassion for secrecy was notvery helpful to the childrenwho had to learn toaccomplishagainwhatMazer

Rackhamhaddone.Ofcourse,assoonasword

gotaroundthatEnderWigginwas watching the war vidsover and over again, thevideo room began to draw acrowd. Almost all werecommanders, watching thesame vids Ender watched,pretending they understoodwhy he was watching andwhathewasgettingoutofit.Ender never explained

anything. Even when heshowed seven scenes fromthe same battle, but fromdifferent vids, only one boyasked, tentatively,“Aresomeof those from the samebattle?”Ender only shrugged, as if

itdidn’tmatter.Itwasduring the last hour

of practice on the seventhday, only a few hours afterEnder’s army had won its

seventh battle, that MajorAnderson himself came intothevideo room.Hehandedaslip of paper to one of thecommanderssittingthere,andthenspoketoEnder.“ColonelGraffwishestoseeyouinhisofficeimmediately.”Endergotupandfollowed

Anderson through thecorridors. Anderson palmedthe locks that kept studentsout of the officers’ quarters;

finally they came to whereGraff had taken root on aswivel chair bolted to thesteel floor. His belly spilledoverbotharmrestsnow,evenwhen he sat upright. Endertried to remember. Graffhadn’tseemedparticularlyfatat all when Ender first methim, only four years ago.Time and tension were notbeing kind to theadministrator of the Battle

School.“Seven days since your

first battle, Ender,” saidGraff.Enderdidnotreply.“And you’ve won seven

battles,onceaday.”Endernodded.“Yourscoresareunusually

high,too.”Enderblinked.“To what, commander, do

youattributeyourremarkable

success?”“Yougavemeanarmythat

doeswhateverIcanthinkforittodo.”“And what have you

thoughtforittodo?”“We orient downward

toward the enemy gate anduseourlowerlegsasashield.We avoid formations andkeep our mobility. It helpsthat I’ve got five toons ofeight instead of four of ten.

Also,ourenemieshaven’tthetimetorespondeffectivelytoour new techniques, so wekeep beating them with thesame tricks. Thatwon’t holdupforlong.”“So you don’t expect to

keepwinning.”“Notwiththesametricks.”Graff nodded. “Sit down,

Ender.”Ender and Anderson both

sat. Graff looked at

Anderson, and Andersonspoke next. “What conditionis your army in, fighting sooften?”“They’re all veterans

now.”“But how are they doing?

Aretheytired?”“If they are, they won’t

admitit.”“Aretheystillalert?”“You’re the ones with the

computer games that play

withpeople’sminds.Youtellme.”“Weknowwhatwe know.

We want to know what youknow.”“These are very good

soldiers, Major Anderson.I’msuretheyhavelimits,butwehaven’treachedthemyet.Some of the newer ones arehaving trouble because theynever really mastered somebasic techniques, but they’re

workinghardand improving.Whatdoyouwantmetosay,that they need to rest? Ofcoursetheyneedtorest.Theyneed a couple of weeks off.Theirstudiesareshot tohell,none of us are doing anygood in our classes. But youknow that, and apparentlyyoudon’tcare,sowhyshouldI?”Graff and Anderson

exchanged glances. “Ender,

why are you studying thevideosofthebuggerwars?”“To learn strategy, of

course.”“Thosevideoswerecreated

for propaganda purposes.Allour strategies have beeneditedout.”“Iknow.”Graff and Anderson

exchanged glances again.Graff drummed on his table.“You don’t play the fantasy

gameanymore,”hesaid.Enderdidn’tanswer.“Tell me why you don’t

playit.”“BecauseIwon.”“Youneverwineverything

in that game.There’s alwaysmore.”“Iwon.”“Ender, we want to help

you be as happy as possible,butifyou—”“Youwanttomakemethe

best soldier possible. Godown and look at thestandings. Look at the all-time standings.So far you’redoing an excellent job withme. Congratulations. Nowwhenareyougoingtoputmeupagainstagoodarmy?”Graff’s set lips turned to a

smile, and he shook a littlewithsilentlaughter.Anderson handed Ender a

slipofpaper.“Now,”hesaid.

BONZOMADRID,SALAMANDERARMY,1200

“That’s ten minutes fromnow,” saidEnder. “My armywill be in the middle ofshoweringupafterpractice.”Graff smiled, “Better

hurry,then,boy.”

He got to his army’sbarracks five minutes later.Mostweredressingaftertheir

showers; some had alreadygonetothegameroomorthevideoroomtowaitforlunch.Hesentthreeyoungerboystocall everyone in, and madeeveryoneelsedress forbattleasquicklyastheycould.“Thisone’shotandthere’s

no time,” Ender said. “Theygave Bonzo notice abouttwenty minutes ago, and bythe time we get to the doorthey’llhavebeeninsidefora

goodfiveminutesatleast.”The boys were outraged,

complaining loudly in theslang that they usuallyavoided around thecommander.Whattheydoingtous?Theybecrazy,neh?“Forget why, we’ll worry

about that tonight. Are youtired?”Fly Molo answered. “We

worked our butts off inpractice today. Not to

mention beating the crap outofFerretArmythismorning.”“Samedaynobodyeverdo

twobattles!”saidCrazyTom.Ender answered in the

sametone.“NobodyeverbeatDragonArmy,either.Thisbeyour big chance to lose?”Ender’stauntingquestionwasthe answer to theircomplaints. Win first, askquestionslater.All of them were back in

the room, and most of themwere dressed. “Move!”shouted Ender, and they ranalong behind him, some ofthemstilldressingwhentheyreached the corridor outsidethebattleroom.Manyofthemwerepanting,abadsign;theywere too tired for this battle.The door was already open.There were no stars at all.Just empty, empty space in adazzlingly bright room.

Nowheretohide,notevenindarkness.“My heart,” said Crazy

Tom,“theyhaven’tcomeoutyet,either.”Ender put his hand across

hisownmouth,totellthemtobesilent.Withthedooropen,of course the enemy couldhear every word they said.Ender pointed all around thedoor, to tell them thatSalamander Army was

undoubtedlydeployedagainstthe wall all around the door,where they couldn’t be seenbutcouldeasily flashanyonewhocameout.Ender motioned for them

all to back away from thedoor.Thenhepulledforwarda few of the taller boys,including Crazy Tom, andmade them kneel, notsquatting back to sit on theirheels, but fully upright, so

they formed an L with theirbodies. He flashed them. Insilence the army watchedhim.Heselected thesmallestboy, Bean, handed himTom’s gun, and made Beankneel on Tom’s frozen legs.ThenhepulledBean’shands,each holding a gun, throughTom’sarmpits.Now the boys understood.

Tomwasashield,anarmoredspacecraft, and Bean was

hiding inside. He wascertainlynotinvulnerable,buthewouldhavetime.Ender assigned two more

boystothrowTomandBeanthrough the door, butsignalled them to wait. Hewent on through the army,quickly assigning groups offour—ashield,ashooter,andtwothrowers.Then,whenallwere frozen or armed orready to throw, he signalled

the throwers to pick up theirburdens, throw them throughthe door, and then jumpthroughthemselves.“Move!”shoutedEnder.Theymoved.Twoatatime

the shield-pairswent throughthedoor,backwardsothattheshield would be between theshooter and the enemy. Theenemy opened fire at once,buttheymostlyhitthefrozenboyinfront.Inthemeantime,

with two guns to work withand their targets neatly linedup and spread flat along thewall,theDragonshadaneasytime of it. It was almostimpossible to miss. And asthe throwers also jumpedthrough the door, they gothandholds on the same wallwiththeenemy,shootingatadeadly angle so that theSalamanders couldn’t figureout whether to shoot at the

shield-pairs slaughteringthem from above or thethrowers shooting at themfrom their own level. By thetime Ender himself camethrough the door, the battlewas over. It hadn’t taken afullminute fromthe time thefirst Dragon passed throughthe door until the shootingstopped. Dragon had losttwenty frozen or disabled,and only twelve boys were

undamaged.Itwastheirworstscoreyet,buttheyhadwon.When Major Anderson

cameoutandgaveEnder thehook,Endercouldnotcontainhis anger. “I thought youwere going to put us againstan army that couldmatch usinafairfight.”“Congratulations on the

victory,commander.”“Bean!”shoutedEnder.“If

you had commanded

Salamander Army, whatwouldyouhavedone?”Bean, disabled but not

completely frozen, called outfrom where he drifted nearthe enemy door. “Keep ashifting pattern ofmovementgoing in front of the door.Youneverholdstillwhentheenemy knows exactly whereyouare.”“As long as you’re

cheating,” Ender said to

Anderson, “why don’t youtrain the other army to cheatintelligently!”“I suggest that you

remobilize your army,” saidAnderson.Ender pressed the buttons

to thaw both armies at once.“Dragon Army dismissed!”he shouted immediately.There would be no elaborateformation to accept thesurrender of the other army.

Thishadnotbeenafairfight,even though theyhadwon—the teachers had meant themto lose, and it was onlyBonzo’s ineptitude that hadsaved them. There was nogloryinthat.OnlyasEnderhimselfwas

leavingthebattleroomdidherealize thatBonzowould notrealize that Ender was angryat the teachers. Spanishhonor. Bonzo would only

know that he had beendefeated evenwhen the oddswerestackedinhisfavor;thatEnder had had the youngestchild in his army publiclystatewhatBonzoshouldhavedone to win; and that EnderhadnotevenstayedtoreceiveBonzo’s dignified surrender.If Bonzo had not alreadyhatedEnder,hewouldsurelyhave begun; and hating himas he did, this would surely

turn his rage murderous.Bonzowas the last person tostrikeme,thoughtEnder.I’msurehehasnotforgottenthat.Nor had he forgotten the

bloody affair in thebattleroom when the olderboystriedtobreakupEnder’spractice session. Nor hadmany others. They werehungryforbloodthen;Bonzowill be thirsting for it now.Ender toyedwith the idea of

taking advanced personaldefense;butwithbattlesnowpossible not only every day,but twice in the same day,Ender knew he could notspare the time. I’ll have totake my chances. Theteachers got me into this—theycankeepmesafe.

Bean flopped down on hisbunk in utter exhaustion—

half the boys in the barrackswere already asleep, and itwas still fifteen minutesbefore lights out.Wearily hepulled his desk from itslocker and signed on. Therewas a test tomorrow ingeometry and Bean waswoefully unprepared. Hecould always reason thingsout if he had enough time,andhehadreadEuclidwhenhewasfive,butthetesthada

time limit so there wouldn’tbea chance to think.Hehadtoknow.Andhedidn’tknow.And he would probably dobadly on the test. But theyhadwon twice today, and sohefeltgood.As soon as he signed on,

however, all thoughts ofgeometry were banished. Amessage paraded around thedesk:

SEEMEATONCE—ENDER

The time was 2150, onlytenminutesbefore lightsout.HowlongagohadEndersentit?Still,he’dbetternotignoreit. There might be anotherbattle in the morning—thethought made him weary—and whatever Ender wantedto talk to him about, therewouldn’t be time then. SoBean rolledoff thebunkandwalked emptily through the

corridor toEnder’s room.Heknocked.“Comein,”saidEnder.“Justsawyourmessage.”“Fine,”saidEnder.“It’snearlightsout.”“I’ll help you find your

wayinthedark.”“I just didn’t know if you

knewwhattimeitwas—”“I always knowwhat time

itis.”Bean sighed inwardly. It

never failed. Whenever hehad any conversation withEnder, it turned into anargument. Bean hated it. Herecognized Ender’s geniusandhonored him for it.Whycouldn’t Ender ever seeanythinggoodinhim?“Remember four weeks

ago, Bean? When you toldme to make you a toonleader?”“Eh.”

“I’ve made five toonleaders and five assistantssincethen.Andnoneofthemwas you.” Ender raised hiseyebrows.“WasIright?”“Yes,sir.”“So tell me how you’ve

doneintheseeightbattles.”“Today was the first time

they disabled me, but thecomputerlistedmeasgettingeleven hits before I had tostop.I’veneverhadlessthan

fivehits inabattle. I’vealsocompleted every assignmentI’vebeengiven.”“Whydidtheymakeyoua

soldiersoyoung,Bean?”“No younger than you

were.”“Butwhy?”“Idon’tknow.”“Yesyoudo,andsodoI.”“I’ve tried to guess, but

they’re just guesses. You’re—verygood.Theyknewthat,

theypushedyouahead—”“Tellmewhy,Bean.”“Because they need us,

that’s why.” Bean sat downon the floor and stared atEnder’s feet. “Because theyneed somebody to beat thebuggers.That’stheonlythingtheycareabout.”“It’s important that you

know that, Bean. Becausemostboysinthisschoolthinkthe game is important for

itself, but it isn’t. It’s onlyimportant because it helpsthem find kids who mightgrow up to be realcommanders, in the realwar.But as for the game, screwthat. That’s what they’redoing. Screwing up thegame.”“Funny. I thought they

werejustdoingittous.”“A game nine weeks

earlier than it should have

come. A game every day.And now two games in thesameday.Bean,Idon’tknowwhat the teachers are doing,butmy army is getting tired,and I’m getting tired, andthey don’t care at all aboutthe rules of the game. I’vepulled theoldchartsupfromthe computer. No one hasever destroyed so manyenemiesandkeptsomanyofhisownsoldierswholeinthe

historyofthegame.”“You’rethebest,Ender.”Ender shook his head.

“Maybe. But it was noaccidentthatIgotthesoldiersIgot.Launchies,rejectsfromother armies, but put themtogetherandmyworstsoldiercould be a toon leader inanotherarmy.They’veloadedthings my way, but nowthey’re loading it all againstme.Bean,theywanttobreak

usdown.”“Theycan’tbreakyou.”“You’d be surprised.”

Ender breathed sharply,suddenly, as if there were astab of pain, or he had tocatch a sudden breath in awind;Beanlookedathimandrealized that the impossiblewas happening. Far frombaiting him, Ender Wigginwas actually confiding inhim. Not much. But a little.

Ender was human and Beanhadbeenallowedtosee.“Maybe you’ll be

surprised,”saidBean.“There’s a limit to how

many clever new ideas I cancome up with every day.Somebody’s going to comeupwithsomethingtothrowatme that I haven’t thought ofbefore,andIwon’tbeready.”“What’s the worst that

could happen? You lose one

game.”“Yes.That’stheworst that

couldhappen.Ican’tloseanygames.Because if I loseany—”He didn’t explain himself,

andBeandidn’task.“I need you to be clever,

Bean. I need you to think ofsolutions to problems wehaven’t seen yet. I want youto try things that no one hasever tried because they’re

absolutelystupid.”“Whyme?”“Because even though

therearesomebettersoldiersthan you in Dragon Army—notmany, but some—there’snobodywho can think betterand faster than you.” Beansaidnothing.Theybothknewitwastrue.Ender showed him his

desk. On it were twelvenames. Two or three from

each toon. “Choose five ofthese,”saidEnder.“Onefromeach toon. They’re a specialsquad, and you’ll train them.Onlyduringtheextrapracticesessions. Talk to me aboutwhat you’re training them todo. Don’t spend too long onany one thing. Most of thetimeyouandyoursquadwillbe part of the whole army,part of your regular toons.But when I need you.When

there’s something to be donethatonlyyoucando.”“These are all new,” said

Bean.“Noveterans.”“After lastweek,Bean, all

our soldiers are veterans.Don’tyou realize that on theindividual soldier standings,allfortyofoursoldiersareinthe top fifty? That you haveto go down seventeen placesto find a soldier who isn’t aDragon?”

“What if I can’t think ofanything?”“Then I was wrong about

you.”Bean grinned. “You

weren’twrong.”Thelightswentout.“Can you find your way

back,Bean?”“Probablynot.”“Then stay here. If you

listenverycarefully,youcanhear the good fairy come in

the night and leave ourassignmentfortomorrow.”“They won’t give us

anotherbattle tomorrow,willthey?”Ender didn’t answer.Bean

heardhimclimbintobed.Hegotupfromtheflooranddidlikewise.Hethoughtofahalfdozenideasbeforehewenttosleep. Ender would bepleased—every one of themwasstupid.

12

BONZO

“General Pace, please sit

down. I understand youhave come to me about amatterofsomeurgency.”“Ordinarily, Colonel

Graff, Iwouldnot presumeto interfere in the internalworkings of the BattleSchool. Your autonomy isguaranteed, and despite ourdifference in ranks I amquite aware that it is myauthorityonlytoadvise,nottoorderyoutotakeaction.”

“Action?”“Do not be disingenuous

with me, Colonel Graff.Americans are quite apt atplaying stupid when theychooseto,butIamnottobedeceived.You knowwhy Iamhere.”“Ah. I guess this means

Dapfiledareport.”“He feels—paternal

towardthestudentshere.Hefeels your neglect of a

potentiallylethalsituationismore than negligence—thatit borders on conspiracy tocause the death or seriousinjuryofoneofthestudentshere.”“This is a school for

children, General Pace.Hardlyamattertobringthechief of I.F.military policeherefor.”“ColonelGraff, thename

of Ender Wiggin has

percolated through the highcommand. It has evenreached my ears. I haveheard him describedmodestly as our only hopeof victory in the upcominginvasion.Whenit ishis lifeorhealththatisindanger,Idonotthinkituntowardthatthe military police takesome interest in preservingand protecting the boy. Doyou?”

“Damn Dap and damnyou too, sir, I know whatI’mdoing.”“Doyou?”“Betterthananyoneelse.”“Oh, that is obvious,

since nobody else has thefaintest idea what you’redoing.Youhaveknownforeight days that there is aconspiracy among some ofthe more vicious of these‘children’ to cause the

beatingofEnderWiggin, ifthey can. And that somemembersofthisconspiracy,notably the boy namedBonito de Madrid,commonlycalledBonzo,arequite likely to exhibit noself-restraint when thispunishment takes place, sothat Ender Wiggin, aninestimably importantinternational resource, willbe placed in serious danger

of having his brains pastedonthewallsofyourorbitingschoolhouse.Andyou,fullywarned of this danger,proposetodoexactly—”“Nothing.”“You can see how this

excitesourpuzzlement.”“Ender Wiggin has been

in this situation before.Back on Earth, the day helost his monitor, and againwhenalargegroupofolder

boys—”“I did not come here

ignorant of the past. EnderWigginhasprovokedBonzoMadrid beyond humanendurance.Andyouhavenomilitary police standing byto break up disturbances. Itisunconscionable.”“When Ender Wiggin

holds our fleets in hiscontrol,whenhemustmakethe decisions that bring us

victory or destruction, willthere be military police tocomesavehimifthingsgetoutofhand?”“I fail to see the

connection.”“Obviously. But the

connection is there. EnderWigginmustbelievethatnomatter what happens, noadultwill ever, ever step intohelphiminanyway.Hemustbelieve, to thecoreof

hissoul,thathecanonlydowhat he and the otherchildren work out forthemselves. If he does notbelieve that, then he willnever reach the peak of hisabilities.”“He will also not reach

thepeakofhisabilitiesifheis dead or permanentlycrippled.”“Hewon’tbe.”“Why don’t you simply

graduate Bonzo? He’s oldenough.”“Because Ender knows

thatBonzoplanstokillhim.Ifwe transfer Bonzo aheadofschedule,he’llknowthatwe saved him. Heavenknows Bonzo isn’t a goodenough commander to bepromotedonmerit.”“What about the other

children? Getting them tohelphim?”

“We’llseewhathappens.That is my first, final, andonlydecision.”“God help you if you’re

wrong.”“God help us all if I’m

wrong.”“I’ll have you before a

capital court martial. I’llhave your name disgracedthroughout the world ifyou’rewrong.”“Fair enough. But do

remember,ifIhappentoberight, to make sure I get afewdozenmedals.”“Forwhat!”“For keeping you from

meddling.”

Endersatinacornerofthebattleroom, his arm hookedthroughahandhold,watchingBeanpracticewithhissquad.Yesterday they had workedon attacks without guns,

disarming enemieswith theirfeet. Ender had helped themwith some techniques fromgravity personal combat—many things had to bechanged, but inertia in flightwasa tool thatcouldbeusedagainsttheenemyaseasilyinnulloasinEarthgravity.Today,though,Beanhada

new toy. It was a deadline,one of the thin, almostinvisible twines used during

construction in space to holdtwo objects together.Deadlines were sometimeskilometerslong.Thisonewasjustabitlongerthanawallofthe battleroom, and yet itlooped easily, almostinvisibly, around Bean’swaist.Hepulleditofflikeanarticleofclothingandhandedoneendtooneofhissoldiers.“Hook it to a handhold andwind it around a few times.”

Bean carried the other endacrossthebattleroom.Asa tripwire itwasn’t too

useful, Bean decided. It wasinvisible enough, but onestrandoftwinewouldn’thavemuch chance of stopping anenemy that could easily goabove or below it. Then hegot the idea of using it tochange his direction ofmovement in midair. Hefastened it around his waist,

theotherendstill fastened toa handhold, slipped a fewmeters away, and launchedhimself straight out. Thetwine caught him, changedhis direction abruptly, andswung him in an arc thatcrashed him brutally againstthewall.He screamed and

screamed. It took Ender amoment to realize that hewasn’t screaming in pain.

“DidyouseehowfastIwent!Did you see how I changeddirection!”Soon all of Dragon Army

stopped work to watch Beanpractice with the twine. Thechanges in direction werestunning, especially whenyou didn’t know where tolook for the twine.When heused the twine to wraphimself around a star, heattained speeds no one had

everseenbefore.It was 2140 when Ender

dismissed the eveningpractice.Wearybutdelightedat having seen somethingnew, his army walkedthrough thecorridorsback tothe barracks. Ender walkedamong them, not talking, butlistening to their talk. Theywere tired, yes—a battleeveryday formore than fourweeks,ofteninsituationsthat

tested their abilities to theutmost.But theywereproud,happy,close—theyhadneverlost, and they had learned totrusteachother.They trustedtheir fellow soldiers to fighthard and well; trusted theirleaders to use them ratherthan waste their efforts;above all trusted Ender toprepare them for anythingand everything that mighthappen.

As they walked thecorridor, Ender noticedseveral older boys seeminglyengaged in conversations inbranching corridors andladderways; some were intheircorridor,walkingslowlyin the other direction. Itbecame too much of acoincidence,however,thatsomany of them were wearingSalamander uniforms, andthat those who weren’t were

oftenolderboysbelongingtoarmies whose commandersmost hated EnderWiggin.Afew of them looked at him,andlookedawaytooquickly;others were too tense, toonervous as they pretended tobe relaxed.Whatwill I do ifthey attack my army here inthecorridor?Myboysareallyoung, all small, andcompletely untrained ingravity combat.Whenwould

theylearn?“Ho, Ender!” someone

called. Ender stopped andlooked back. It was Petra.“Ender,canItalktoyou.”Ender saw in a moment

that ifhe stoppedand talked,his armywould quickly passhimbyandhewouldbealonewith Petra in the hallway.“Walkwithme,”Endersaid.“It’sjustforamoment.”Ender turned around and

walkedonwithhisarmy.Heheard Petra running to catchup. “All right, I’ll walkwithyou,”Ender tensedwhenshecame near. Was she one ofthem, one of the ones whohated him enough to hurthim?“A friend of yourswanted

me to warn you. There aresome boys who want to killyou.”“Surprise,” said Ender.

Some of his soldiers seemedto perk up at this. Plotsagainsttheircommanderwereinterestingnews,itseemed.“Ender, they can do it.He

said they’ve been planning itever since you wentcommander—”“Ever since I beat

Salamander,youmean.”“Ihatedyouafteryoubeat

PhoenixArmy,too,Ender.”“I didn’t say I blamed

anybody.”“It’s true. He told me to

take you aside today andwarn you, on the way backfrom the battleroom, to becarefultomorrowbecause—”“Petra, if you had actually

taken me aside just now,there are about a dozen boysfollowing along who wouldhavetakenmeinthecorridor.Can you tell me you didn’tnoticethem?”

Suddenly her face flushed.“No, I didn’t. How can youthink I did?Don’t you knowwho your friends are?” Shepushed her way throughDragon Army, got ahead ofhim, and scrambled up aladderwaytoahigherdeck.“Is it true?” asked Crazy

Tom.“Is what true?” Ender

scanned the room andshoutedfortworoughhousing

boystogettobed.“That some of the older

boyswanttokillyou?”“All talk,” saidEnder.But

he knew that itwasn’t. Petrahad known something, andwhathesawonthewayheretonightwasn’timagination.“It may be all talk, but I

hope you’ll understandwhenI say you’ve got five toonleaders who are going toescort you to your room

tonight.”“Completelyunnecessary.”“Humor us.You owe us a

favor.”“Ioweyounothing.”He’d

bea fool to turn themdown.“Doasyouwant.”He turnedand left. The toon leaderstrotted along with him. Oneran ahead and opened hisdoor.Theycheckedtheroom,made Ender promise to lockit, and left him just before

lightsout.There was a message on

hisdesk.

DON’TBEALONE.EVER.—DINK

Ender grinned. So Dinkwas still his friend. Don’tworry. They won’t doanything to me. I have myarmy.But in the darkness he did

not have his army. HedreamedthatnightofStilson,

only he saw now how smallStilson was, only six yearsold,howridiculoushistough-guyposturingwas;andyetinthe dream Stilson and hisfriends tied Ender so hecouldn’t fight back, and theneverything that Ender haddone to Stilson in life, theydid to Ender in the dream.And afterward Ender sawhimselfbabblinglikeanidiot,trying hard to give orders to

his army, but all his wordscameoutasnonsense.Heawokeindarkness,and

he was afraid. Then hecalmed himself byrememberingthattheteachersobviouslyvaluedhim,ortheywouldn’t be putting somuchpressure on him; theywouldn’t let anythinghappentohim,nothingbad,anyway.Probablywhentheolderkidsattacked him in the

battleroom years ago, therewereteachersjustoutsidetheroom, waiting to see whatwould happen; if things hadgot out of hand, they wouldhave stepped in and stoppedit. I probably could have satthere and done nothing, andthey would have seen to it Icame through all right.They’ll push me as hard asthey can in the game, butoutsidethegamethey’llkeep

mesafe.With that assurance, he

slept again, until the dooropened softly and themorning’swarwasleftonthefloorforhimtofind.

Theywon,ofcourse,butitwasagruelingaffair,withthebattleroom so filled with alabyrinthofstarsthathuntingdowntheenemyduringmop-

up took forty-fiveminutes. Itwas Pol Slattery’s BadgerArmy, and they refused togive up. There was a newwrinkle in the game, too—when they disabled ordamaged an enemy, hethawedinaboutfiveminutes,thewayitworkedinpractice.Only when the enemy wascompletelyfrozendidhestayoutof action thewhole time.But the gradual thawing did

not work for Dragon Army.CrazyTomwas theonewhorealizedwhatwashappening,when they started getting hitfrom behind by people theythoughtweresafelyoutoftheway. And at the end of thebattle,SlatteryshookEnder’shandandsaid,“I’mgladyouwon. If I ever beat you,Ender,Iwanttodoitfair.”“Usewhat theygiveyou,”

Ender said. “If you’ve ever

got an advantage over theenemy,useit.”“Oh, I did,” said Slattery.

He grinned. “I’m only fair-minded before and afterbattles.”Thebattletooksolongthat

breakfast was over. Enderlooked at his hot, sweating,tired soldiers waiting in thecorridorandsaid,“Todayyouknow everything. Nopractice.Getsomerest.Have

somefun.Passatest.”Itwasa measure of their wearinessthattheydidn’tevencheerorlaugh or smile, just walkedintothebarracksandstrippedoff their clothes.Theywouldhavepracticedifhehadaskedthem to, but they werereaching the end of theirstrength, and going withoutbreakfast was one unfairnesstoomany.Ender meant to shower

right away, but he was alsotired.Helaydownonhisbedin his flash suit, just for amoment, andwoke up at thebeginning of lunchtime. Somuchforhisideaofstudyingmore about the buggers thismorning. Just time to cleanup,goeat,andheadforclass.Hepeeledoffhisflashsuit,

which stank from his sweat.His body felt cold, his jointsoddly weak. Shouldn’t have

sleptinthemiddleoftheday.I’m beginning to slack off.I’mbeginning toweardown.Can’tletitgettome.So he jogged to the gym

and forced himself to climbthe rope three times beforegoing to the bathroom toshower.Itdidn’toccurtohimthat his absence in thecommanders’messwould benoticed, that showeringduring the noon hour, when

his own army would bewolfingdowntheirfirstmealof the day, he would becompletely,helplesslyalone.Even when he heard them

come into the bathroom hepaid no attention. He waslettingthewaterpouroverhishead, over his body; themuffled sound of footstepswashardlynoticeable.Maybelunch was over, he thought.He started to soap himself

again. Maybe somebodyfinishedpracticelate.Andmaybenot.He turned

around. There were seven ofthem, leaning back againstthe metal sinks or standingcloser to the showers,watchinghim.Bonzostoodinfront of them. Many weresmiling, the condescendingleer of the hunter for hiscornered victim. Bonzo wasnotsmiling,however.

“Ho,”Endersaid.Nobodyanswered.So Ender turned off the

shower, even though therewas still soap on him, andreached for his towel. Itwasn’tthere.Oneoftheboyswas holding it. It wasBernard.Allitwouldtakeforthe picture to be completewas for Stilson and Peter tobe there, too. They neededPeter’s smile; they needed

Stilson’sobviousstupidity.Enderrecognizedthetowel

as their opening point.Nothing would make himlook weaker than to chasenaked after the towel. Thatwas what they wanted, tohumiliate him, to break himdown. He wasn’t going toplay.Herefusedtofeelweakbecausehewaswetandcoldand unclothed. He stoodstrongly, facing them, his

armsathissides.HefastenedhisgazeonBonzo.“Yourmove,”Endersaid.“This is no game,” said

Bernard.“We’retiredofyou,Ender. You graduate today.Onice.”Ender did not look at

Bernard. It was Bonzo whohungered for his death, eventhough he was silent. Theotherswerealongfortheride,daringthemselvestoseehow

far they might go. Bonzoknewhowfarhewouldgo.“Bonzo,”Endersaidsoftly.

“Your fatherwouldbeproudofyou.”Bonzostiffened.“Hewouldlovetoseeyou

now, come to fight a nakedboyinashower,smallerthanyou, and you brought sixfriends. He would say, Oh,whathonor.”“Nobody came to fight

you,” saidBernard. “We justcametotalkyouintoplayingfair with the games. Maybeloseacouplenowandthen.”The others laughed, but

Bonzo didn’t laugh, andneitherdidEnder.“Be proud, Bonito, pretty

boy. You can go home andtellyourfather,Yes,IbeatupEnder Wiggin, who wasbarely ten years old, and Iwas thirteen.And I had only

sixofmyfriendstohelpme,andsomehowwemanagedtodefeat him, even though hewasnakedandwetandalone—Ender Wiggin is sodangerous and terrifying itwas all we could do not tobringtwohundred.”“Shut your mouth,

Wiggin,” said one of theboys.“We didn’t come to hear

the little bastard talk,” said

another.“Youshutup,”saidBonzo.

“Shutupandstandoutoftheway.” He began to take offhis uniform. “Naked andwetand alone, Ender, so we’reeven. I can’t help that I’mbigger thanyou.You’resucha genius, you figure out howto handle me.” He turned tothe others. “Watch the door.Don’tletanyoneelsein.”Thebathroomwasn’tlarge,

and plumbing fixturesprotruded everywhere. It hadbeen launched in one piece,as a low-orbit satellite,packed full of the waterreclamationequipment;itwasdesigned to have no wastedspace. It was obvious whattheirtacticswouldhavetobe.Throw the other boy againstfixtures until one of themdoes enough damage that hestops.

When Ender saw Bonzo’sstance,hisheart sank.Bonzohad also taken classes. Andprobably more recently thanEnder. His reach was better,he was stronger, and he wasfullofhate.Hewouldnotbegentle. He will go for myhead, thoughtEnder.Hewilltry above all to damage mybrain. And if this fight islong, he’s bound towin.Hisstrength can control me. If

I’mtowalkawayfromhere,Ihave to win quickly, andpermanently. He could stillfeel again the sickening waythatStilson’sboneshadgivenway. But this time it will bemybodythatbreaks,unlessIcanbreakhimfirst.Ender stepped back,

flipped the showerhead so itturnedoutward,andturnedonpure hot water. Almost atonce the steambegan to rise.

Heturnedonthenext,andthenext.“I’m not afraid of hot

water,”saidBonzo.Hisvoicewassoft.But itwasn’t thehotwater

thatEnderwanted.Itwastheheat.His body still had soaponit,andhissweatmoistenedit, made his skin moreslippery than Bonzo wouldexpect.Suddenlytherewasavoice

from thedoor. “Stop it!”Fora moment Ender thought itwas a teacher, come to stopthefight,butitwasonlyDinkMeeker. Bonzo’s friendscaught him at the door, heldhim. “Stop it, Bonzo!” Dinkcried.“Don’thurthim!”“Why not?” asked Bonzo,

and for the first time hesmiled.Ah,thoughtEnder,heloves to have someonerecognizethatheistheonein

control,thathehaspower.“Because he’s the best,

that’s why! Who else canfight the buggers! That’swhat matters, you fool, thebuggers!”Bonzo stopped smiling. It

was the thing he hated mostaboutEnder,thatEnderreallymatteredtootherpeople,and,in the end, Bonzo did not.You’ve killed me with thosewords, Dink. Bonzo doesn’t

wanttohearthatImightsavetheworld.Where are the teachers?

thought Ender. Don’t theyrealize that the first contactbetweenusinthisfightmightbe the end of it? This isn’tlike the fight in thebattleroom,wherenoonehadtheleveragetodoanyterribledamage. There’s gravity inhere, and the floor andwallsare hard and jutted with

metal.Stopthisnowornotatall.“Ifyoutouchhimyou’rea

buggerlover!” cried Dink.“You’reatraitor,ifyoutouchhim you deserve to die!”They jammed Dink’s facebackward into the door andhewassilent.Themistfromtheshowers

dimmed the room, and thesweat was streaming downEnder’s body. Now, before

the soap is carried off me.Now, while I’m still tooslipperytohold.Endersteppedback,letting

the fear he felt show in hisface.“Bonzo,don’thurtme,”hesaid.“Please.”It was what Bonzo was

waiting for, the confessionthat he was in power. Forotherboysitmighthavebeenenough that Ender hadsubmitted; for Bonzo, it was

only a sign that his victorywassure.Heswunghislegasiftokick,butchangedit toaleap at the last moment.Ender noticed the shiftingweightandstooped lower,sothat Bonzo would be moreoff-balance when he tried tograbEnderandthrowhim.Bonzo’s tight, hard ribs

came against Ender’s face,andhishandsslappedagainsthis back, trying to grip him.

But Ender twisted, andBonzo’s hands slipped. In aninstantEnderwascompletelyturned, yet still insideBonzo’s grasp. The classicmove at this moment wouldbe to bring up his heel intoBonzo’s crotch. But for thatmovetobeeffectiverequiredtoo much accuracy, andBonzo expected it. He wasalready rising onto his toes,thrustinghishipsbackwardto

keepEnderfromreachinghisgroin. Without seeing him,Ender knew it would bringhis face closer, almost inEnder’s hair; so instead ofkicking,helungedupwardoffthe floor, with the powerfullungeofthesoldierboundingfrom the wall, and jammedhisheadintoBonzo’sface.Ender whirled in time to

seeBonzo stagger backward,his nose bleeding, gasping

fromsurpriseandpain.Enderknew that at thismoment hemight be able towalk out ofthe room and end the battle.Thewayhehadescapedfromthe battleroom after drawingblood. But the battle wouldonly be fought again. Againand again until the will tofight was finished. The onlywaytoendthingscompletelywas to hurt Bonzo enoughthathisfearwasstrongerthan

hishate.So Ender leaned back

against the wall behind him,then jumped up and pushedoff with his arms. His feetlanded in Bonzo’s belly andchest. Ender spun in the airand landed on his toes andhands; he flipped over,scootedunderBonzo,andthistimewhen he kicked upwardinto Bonzo’s crotch, heconnected,hardandsure.

Bonzo did not cry out inpain. He did not react at all,except that his body rose alittle in the air. It was as ifEnder had kicked a piece offurniture. Bonzo collapsed,fell to the side, and sprawleddirectly under the spray ofsteaming water from ashower. He made nomovementwhatevertoescapethemurderousheat.“My God!” someone

shouted. Bonzo’s friendsleaped to turn off the water.Enderslowlyrosetohisfeet.Someone thrust his towel athim. It was Dink. “Come onout of here,” Dink said. HeledEnderaway.Behindthemthey heard the heavy clatterof adults running down aladderway.Now the teacherswould come. The medicalstaff.TodressthewoundsofEnder’s enemy. Where were

they before the fight, whenthere might have been nowoundsatall?Therewasnodoubtnowin

Ender’s mind. There was nohelp for him. Whatever hefaced, now and forever, noonewould save him from it.Peter might be scum, butPeter had been right, alwaysright;thepowertocausepainis the only power thatmatters,thepowertokilland

destroy, because if you can’tkill then you are alwayssubjecttothosewhocan,andnothingandnoonewill eversaveyou.Dink led him to his room,

madehimlieonthebed.“Areyou hurt anywhere?” heasked.Endershookhishead.“You took him apart. I

thought youweredeadmeat,thewayhegrabbedyou.But

you took him apart. If he’dstood up longer, youwould’vekilledhim.”“Hemeanttokillme.”“I know it. I know him.

NobodyhateslikeBonzo.Butnotanymore.Iftheydon’ticehim for this and send himhome,he’llneverlookyouinthe eye again. You oranybody. He had twentycentimeters on you, and youmadehimlooklikeacrippled

cow standing there chewinghercud.”All Ender could see,

though, was the way Bonzolooked as Ender kickedupward into his groin. Theempty,deadlookinhiseyes.Hewasalreadyfinishedthen.Already unconscious. Hiseyeswereopen,buthewasn’tthinkingormovinganymore,just thatdead,stupid lookonhisface,thatterriblelook,the

way Stilson looked when Ifinishedwithhim.“They’ll ice him, though,”

Dinksaid.“Everybodyknowshe started it. I saw them getup and leave thecommanders’mess.Tookmeacoupleofsecondstorealizeyouweren’tthere,either,andthen a minute more to findout where you had gone. Itoldyounottobealone.”“Sorry.”

“They’reboundtoicehim.Troublemaker. Him and hisstinkinghonor.”Then, to Dink’s surprise,

Enderbegantocry.Lyingonhis back, still soaking wetwith sweat and water, hegaspedhissobs,tearsseepingout of his closed eyelids anddisappearing in the water onhisface.“Areyouallright?”“Ididn’twanttohurthim!”

Ender cried. “Why didn’t hejustleavemealone!”

He heard his door opensoftly,thenclose.Heknewatonce that it was his battleinstructions. He opened hiseyes, expecting to find thedarkness of early morning,before 0600. Instead, thelightswereon.Hewasnaked,and when he moved the bed

was soaking wet. His eyeswere puffy and painful fromcrying.Helookedattheclockonhisdesk.1820,itsaid.It’sthesameday.Ialreadyhadabattletoday,Ihadtwobattlestoday—the bastards knowwhat I’ve been through, andthey’redoingthistome.

WILLIAMBEE,GRIFFINARMY,TALOMOMOE,

TIGERARMY,1900

He sat on the edge of thebed.Thenotetrembledinhishand. I can’t do this, he saidsilently. And then notsilently.“Ican’tdothis.”He got up, bleary, and

lookedforhisflashsuit.Thenhe remembered—he had putit in the cleaner while heshowered.Itwasstillthere.Holding the paper, he

walked out of his room.Dinner was nearly over, and

therewereafewpeopleinthecorridor,butnoonespoke tohim, just watched him,perhaps in awe of what hadhappened at noon in thebathroom,perhapsbecauseofthe forbidding, terrible lookonhisface.Mostofhisboyswereinthebarracks.Ho,Ender.Theregonnabe

apracticetonight?Ender handed the paper to

Hot Soup. “Those sons of

bitches,” he said. “Two atonce?”“Two armies!” shouted

CrazyTom.“They’lljusttripovereach

other,”saidBean.“I’ve got to clean up,”

Ender said. “Get themready,get everybody together, I’llmeetyouthere,atthegate.”He walked out of the

barracks, A tumult ofconversation rose behind

them. He heard Crazy Tomscream, “Two fart-eatingarmies! We’ll whip theirbutts!”The bathroom was empty.

All cleaned up. None of theblood that poured fromBonzo’snoseintotheshowerwater.Allgone.Nothingbadeverhappenedhere.Ender stepped under the

water and rinsed himself,tookthesweatofcombatand

let it rundown thedrain.Allgone, except they recycled itand we’ll be drinkingBonzo’s bloodwater in themorning.Allthelifegoneoutof it, but his blood just thesame, his blood and mysweat, washed down in theirstupidity or cruelty orwhatever it was that madethemletithappen.He dried himself, dressed

in his flash suit, and walked

to the battleroom. His armywas waiting in the corridor,the door still not opened.Theywatched him in silenceas he walked to the front tostand by the blank greyforcefield.Of course they allknew about his fight in thebathroom today; that andtheirownweariness fromthebattlethatmorningkeptthemquiet, while the knowledgethattheywouldbefacingtwo

armiesfilledthemwithdread.Everything they can do to

beat me, thought Ender.Everything theycan thinkof,change all the rules, theydon’t care, just so they beatme. Well, I’m sick of thegame. No game is worthBonzo’s blood pinking thewater on the bathroom floor.Ice me, send me home, Idon’twanttoplayanymore.The door disappeared.

Only three meters out therewere four stars together,completelyblockingtheviewfromthedoor.Two armies weren’t

enough. They had to makeEnderdeployhisforcesblind.“Bean,” said Ender. “Take

yourboysand tellmewhat’sontheothersideofthisstar.”Bean pulled the coil of

twinefromhiswaist,tiedoneend around him, handed the

other end to a boy in hissquad, and stepped gentlythrough the door. His squadquickly followed. They hadpracticed this several times,and it took only a momentbefore they were braced onthe star, holding the end ofthetwine.Beanpushedoffatgreat speed, in a line almostparallel to thedoor;whenhereached the corner of theroom, he pushed off again

and rocketed straight outtoward the enemy.The spotsof light on the wall showedthat the enemy was shootingat him. As the rope wasstopped by each edge of thestar in turn, his arc becametighter,hisdirectionchanged,andhebecameanimpossibletargettohit.Hissquadcaughthimneatlyashecamearoundthe star from the other side.He moved all his arms and

legs so those waiting insidethedoorwouldknowthattheenemy hadn’t flashed himanywhere.Enderdropped through the

gate.“It’s really dim,” said

Bean, “but light enough youcan’t followpeopleeasilybythelightsontheirsuits.Worstpossible for seeing. It’s allopen space from this star tothe enemy side of the room.

They’ve got eight starsmakingasquarearound theirdoor. I didn’t see anybodyexcept the ones peekingaround the boxes. They’rejust sitting there waiting forus.”AsiftocorroborateBean’s

statement, the enemy begantocallouttothem.“Hey!Webehungry,comeandfeedus!Your ass is draggin’! YourassisDragon!”

Ender’s mind felt dead.This was stupid. He didn’thave a chance, outnumberedtwo to one and forced toattackaprotectedenemy.“Ina real war, any commanderwith brains at all wouldretreatandsavethisarmy.”“Whatthehell,”saidBean.

“It’sonlyagame.”“It stopped being a game

when they threw away therules.”

“So, you throw ’em away,too.”Ender grinned. “OK.Why

not.Let’s seehow they reacttoaformation.”Bean was appalled. “A

formation!We’veneverdoneaformationinthewholetimewe’vebeenanarmy!”“We’vestillgotamonthto

go before our training periodis normally supposed to end.About time we started doing

formations. Always have toknowformations.”HeformedanAwithhisfingers,showedit to the blank door, andbeckoned. A toon quicklyemerged and Ender beganarranging them behind thestar. Three meters wasn’tenough room towork in, theboys were frightened andconfused, and it took nearlyfiveminutes just to get themtounderstandwhattheywere

doing.Tiger and Griffin soldiers

were reduced to chantingcatcalls, while theircommanders argued aboutwhether to try to use theiroverwhelming force to attackDragon Army while theywere still behind the star.Momoewas all for attacking—”Weoutnumberhimtwotoone”—while Bee said, “Sittightandwecan’tlose,move

out and he can figure out awaytobeatus.”So they sat tight, until

finallyintheduskylighttheysaw a large mass slip outfrom behind Ender’s star. Itheld its shape, even when itabruptly stopped movingsideways and launched itselftowardthedeadcenterof theeight stars where eighty-twosoldierswaited.“Doobie doo,” said a

Griffin. “They’re doing aformation.”“They must have been

putting that together for allfive minutes,” said Momoe.“If we’d attacked while theywere doing it, we could’vedestroyedthem.”“Eat it, Momoe,”

whisperedBee.“Yousawtheway that little kid flew. Hewent all the way around thestar and back behindwithout

ever touching a wall.Maybethey’veallgothooks,didyouthink of that? They’ve gotsomethingnewthere.”The formation was a

strange one. A squareformation of tightly-packedbodies in front, making awall.Behindit,acylinder,sixboys in circumference andtwo boys deep, their limbsoutstretched and frozen sothey couldn’t possibly be

holdingontoeachother.Yetthey held together as tightlyas if they had been tied—which,infact,theywere.From inside the formation,

DragonArmywasfiringwithdeadly accuracy, forcingGriffins and Tigers to staytightlypackedontheirstars.“Thebackofthatsuckeris

open,”saidBee.“Assoonastheygetbetweenthestars,wecangetaroundbehind—”

“Don’ttalkaboutit,doit!”said Momoe. Then he tookhis own advice and orderedhisboystolaunchagainstthewall and rebound out behindtheDragonformation.In the chaos of their

takeoff, while Griffin Armyheld tight to their stars, theDragon formation abruptlychanged. Both the cylinderandthefrontwallsplitintwo,as boys inside it pushed off;

almostatonce,theformationsalso reversed direction,heading back toward theDragon gate. Most of theGriffins fired at theformations and the boysmovingbackwardwith them;and the Tigers took thesurvivors of Dragon Armyfrombehind.But there was something

wrong. William Bee thoughtfor a moment and realized

whatitwas.Thoseformationscouldn’t have reverseddirection in midflight unlesssomeone pushed off in theoppositedirection,andiftheytookoffwithenoughforcetomake that twenty-manformation move backward,theymustbegoingfast.There theywere, six small

Dragon soldiers down nearWilliam Bee’s own door.From the number of lights

showing on their flash suits,Bee could see that three ofthem were disabled and twoof them damaged; only onewas whole. Nothing to befrightened of. Bee casuallyaimed at them, pressed thebutton,and—Nothinghappened.Thelightswenton.Thegamewasover.Even though he was

looking right at them, it took

Beeamomenttorealizewhathad just happened. Four oftheDragonsoldiershad theirhelmets pressed on thecornersof thedoor.Andoneof them had just passedthrough.Theyhadjustcarriedout the victory ritual. Theywere getting destroyed, theyhad hardly inflicted anycasualties, and they had thegall to perform the victoryandendthegamerightunder

theirnoses.Only then did it occur to

WilliamBeethatnotonlyhadDragon Army ended thegame, it was possible that,undertherules,theyhadwonit. After all, no matter whathappened, you were notcertifiedas thewinnerunlessyou had enough unfrozensoldiers to touch the cornersofthegateandpasssomeonethrough into the enemy’s

corridor. Therefore, by oneway of thinking, you couldargue that the ending ritualwas victory. The battleroomcertainly recognized it as theendofthegame.The teachergate opened

and Major Anderson cameinto the room. “Ender,” hecalled,lookingaround.One of the frozen Dragon

soldiers tried to answer himthrough jaws that were

clamped shut by the flashsuit.Andersonhookedovertohimandthawedhim.Enderwas smiling. “Ibeat

youagain,sir,”hesaid.“Nonsense, Ender,”

Anderson said softly. “Yourbattle was with Griffin andTiger.”“HowstupiddoyouthinkI

am?”saidEnder.Loudly, Anderson said,

“After that little maneuver,

the rulesarebeing revised torequirethatalloftheenemy’ssoldiers must be frozen ordisabled before the gate canbereversed.”“It could only work once

anyway,”Endersaid.Anderson handed him the

hook. Ender unfrozeeveryone at once. To hellwith protocol. To hell witheverything. “Hey!” heshouted as Anderson moved

away. “What is it next time?My army in a cage withoutguns, with the rest of theBattle School against them?Howaboutalittleequality?”There was a loud murmur

of agreement from the otherboys, and not all of it camefrom Dragon Army.Andersondidnotsomuchasturn around to acknowledgeEnder’s challenge. Finally, itwas William Bee who

answered. “Ender, if you’reon one side of the battle, itwon’t be equal no matterwhattheconditionsare.”Right! called the boys.

Many of them laughed. TaloMomoe began clapping hishands. “Ender Wiggin!” heshouted. The other boys alsoclapped and shouted Ender’sname.Ender passed through the

enemy gate. His soldiers

followed him. The sound ofthem shouting his namefollowed him through thecorridors.“Practice tonight?” asked

CrazyTom.Endershookhishead.“Tomorrow morning

then?”“No.”“Well,when?”“Neveragain,asfarasI’m

concerned.”

Hecouldhearthemurmursbehindhim.“Hey, that’s not fair,” said

oneof theboys.“It’snotourfault the teachers arescrewing up the game. Youcan’t just stop teaching usstuffbecause—”Ender slammed his open

hand against the wall andshouted at the boy. “I don’tcare about the gameanymore!” His voice echoed

through the corridor. Boysfrom other armies came totheir doors.He spokequietlyinto the silence. “Do youunderstand that?” And hewhispered. “The game isover.”He walked back to his

roomalone.Hewantedtoliedown, but he couldn’tbecause the bed was wet. Itreminded him of all that hadhappened today, and in fury

he tore the mattress andblankets from the bedframeandshoved themout into thecorridor.Thenhewaddedupauniformtoserveasapillowandlayonthefabricofwiresstrung across the frame. Itwasuncomfortable,butEnderdidn’tcareenoughtogetup.He had only been there a

few minutes when someoneknockedonthedoor.“Go away,” he said softly.

Whoeverwasknockingdidn’thear him or didn’t care.FinallyEndersaidtocomein.ItwasBean.“Goaway,Bean.”Bean nodded but didn’t

leave.Insteadhelookedathisshoes.Enderalmostyelledathim,cursedathim,screamedat him to leave. Instead henoticed how very tired Beanlooked, his whole body bentwithweariness,hiseyesdark

from lack of sleep; and yethis skin was still soft andtranslucent, the skin of achild, the soft curved cheek,the slender limbs of a littleboy. He wasn’t eight yearsold yet. It didn’t matter hewas brilliant and dedicatedandgood.Hewasachild.Hewasyoung.Noheisn’t,thoughtEnder.

Small, yes. But Bean hasbeen through a battle with a

whole army depending onhim and on the soldiers thathe led, and he performedsplendidly, and they won.There’s no youth in that. Nochildhood.TakingEnder’ssilenceand

softening expression aspermissiontostay,Beantookanother step into the room.Only then did Ender see thesmall slip of paper in hishand.

“You’re transferred?”asked Ender. He wasincredulous, but his voicecame out soundinguninterested,dead.“ToRabbitArmy.”Ender nodded. Of course.

It was obvious. If I can’t bedefeated with my army,they’ll take my army away.“Carn Carby’s a goodman,”said Ender. “I hope herecognizes what you’re

worth.”“CarnCarbywasgraduated

today.Hegothisnoticewhilewewerefightingourbattle.”“Well, who’s commanding

Rabbitthen?”Bean held his hands out

helplessly.“Me.”Enderlookedattheceiling

and nodded. “Of course.After all, you’re only fouryears younger than theregularage.”

“It isn’t funny. I don’tknow what’s going on here.All the changes in the game.And now this. I wasn’t theonly one transferred, youknow. They graduated halfthe commanders, andtransferred a lot of our guystocommandtheirarmies.”“Whichguys?”“It looks like—every toon

leaderandeveryassistant.”“Of course. If they decide

towreckmyarmy,they’llcutit to the ground. Whateverthey’re doing, they’rethorough.”“You’ll still win, Ender.

We all know that. CrazyTom,hesaid,‘YoumeanI’msupposedtofigureouthowtobeat Dragon Army?’Everybody knows you’re thebest. They can’t break youdown, no matter what they—”

“Theyalreadyhave.”“No,Ender,theycan’t—”“I don’t care about their

gameanymore,Bean.I’mnotgoing toplay itanymore.Nomore practices. No morebattles. They can put theirlittle slips of paper on thefloor all they want, but Iwon’t go. I decided thatbefore I went through thedoortoday.That’swhyIhadyou go for the gate. I didn’t

think it would work, but Ididn’t care. I just wanted togooutinstyle.”“You should’ve seen

William Bee’s face. He juststood there trying to figureouthowhehadlostwhenyouonly had seven boys whocouldwiggletheirtoesandheonlyhadthreewhocouldn’t.”“WhyshouldIwant tosee

William Bee’s face? Whyshould I want to beat

anybody?” Ender pressed hispalmsagainsthiseyes.“IhurtBonzo really bad today,Bean.Ireallyhurthimbad.”“Hehaditcoming.”“I knocked him out

standing up. It was like hewasdead,standingthere.AndIkepthurtinghim.”Beansaidnothing.“Ijustwantedtomakesure

heneverhurtmeagain.”“He won’t,” said Bean.

“Theysenthimhome.”“Already?”“The teachers didn’t say

much, they never do. Theofficial notice says he wasgraduated,butwheretheyputthe assignment—you know,tactical school, support,precommand,navigation,thatkind of thing—it just saidCartagena, Spain. That’s hishome.”“I’m glad they graduated

him.”“Hell, Ender, we’re just

glad he’s gone. If we’dknownwhathewasdoing toyou,wewould’ve killed himon the spot. Was it true hehad a whole bunch of guysganguponyou?”“No. It was just him and

me.Hefoughtwithhonor.”Ifit weren’t for his honor, heand the others would havebeaten me together. They

might have killed me, then.His senseofhonor savedmylife. “I didn’t fight withhonor,” Ender added. “Ifoughttowin.”Bean laughed. “And you

did. Kicked him right out oforbit.”A knock on the door.

Before Ender could answer,the door opened. Ender hadbeen expecting more of hissoldiers.InsteaditwasMajor

Anderson. And behind himcameColonelGraff.“Ender Wiggin,” said

Graff.Endergot tohisfeet.“Yes

sir.”“Yourdisplayoftemperin

the battleroom today wasinsubordinateandisnottoberepeated.”“Yessir,”saidEnder.Bean was still feeling

insubordinate, and he didn’t

think Ender deserved therebuke. “I think itwas abouttimesomebodytoldateacherhow we felt about whatyou’vebeendoing.”The adults ignored him.

Anderson handed Ender asheet of paper. A full-sizedsheet. Not one of the littleslips of paper that served forinternal orders within theBattle School; it was a full-fledged set of orders. Bean

knew what it meant. Enderwas being transferred out oftheschool.“Graduated?” asked Bean.

Ender nodded. “What tookthem so long? You’re onlytwo or three years early.You’ve already learned howto walk and talk and dressyourself.Whatwilltheyhavelefttoteachyou?”Endershookhishead.“All

I know is, the game’s over.”

He folded up the paper.“Nonetoosoon.CanItellmyarmy?”“There isn’t time,” said

Graff.“Yourshuttleleavesintwenty minutes. Besides, it’sbetternottotalktothemafteryougetyourorders.Itmakesiteasier.”“For them or for you?”

Ender asked. He didn’t waitfor an answer. He turnedquickly to Bean, took his

hand for amoment, and thenheadedforthedoor.“Wait,”saidBean.“Where

are you going? Tactical?Navigational?Support?”“CommandSchool,”Ender

answered.“Pre-command?”“Command,” said Ender,

andthenhewasoutthedoor.Anderson followed himclosely. Bean grabbedColonel Graff by the sleeve.

“Nobody goes to CommandSchooluntilthey’resixteen!”Graff shook off Bean’s

hand and left, closing thedoorbehindhim.Bean stood alone in the

room, trying to grasp whatthis might mean. Nobodywent to Command Schoolwithout three years of Pre-commandineitherTacticalorSupport. But then, nobodyleft Battle School without at

leastsixyears,andEnderhadhadonlyfour.Thesystemisbreakingup.

No doubt about it. Eithersomebodyat the top isgoingcrazy, or something’s gonewrongwith the war, the realwar, the bugger war. Whyelse would they break downthe training system like this,wreckthegamethewaytheydid?Whyelsewouldtheyputa little kid like me in

commandofanarmy?Beanwonderedabout it as

he walked back down thecorridor to his own bed. Thelights went out just as hereached his bunk. Heundressed in darkness,fumbling to put his clothingin a locker he couldn’t see.He felt terrible. At first hethought he felt bad becausehe was afraid of leading anarmy, but it wasn’t true. He

knew he’d make a goodcommander. He felt himselfwanting to cry. He hadn’tcried since the first fewdaysof homesickness after he gothere. He tried to put a nameonthefeelingthatputalumpin his throat and made himsob silently, however muchhe tried to hold it down. Hebit downonhis hand to stopthe feeling, to replace itwithpain.Itdidn’thelp.Hewould

neverseeEnderagain.Oncehenamedthefeeling,

he could control it. He laybackandforcedhimselftogothrough the relaxing routineuntilhedidn’tfeellikecryinganymore.Thenhedriftedoffto sleep. His hand was nearhismouth.Itlayonhispillowhesitantly,asifBeancouldn’tdecide whether to bite hisnailsorsuckonhisfingertips.Hisforeheadwascreasedand

furrowed. His breathing wasquick and light. He was asoldier, and if anyone hadaskedhimwhathewantedtobe when he grew up, hewouldn’t have known whattheymeant.

Whenhewascrossingintothe shuttle,Endernoticed forthefirsttimethattheinsigniaonMajorAnderson’suniform

had changed. “Yes, he’s acolonelnow,”saidGraff.“Infact, Major Anderson hasbeen placed in command ofthe Battle School, as of thisafternoon. I have beenreassignedtootherduties.”Enderdidnotaskhimwhat

theywere.Graffstrappedhimselfinto

a seat across the aisle fromhim. There was only oneother passenger, a quiet man

in civilian clothes who wasintroduced as General Pace.Pacewascarryingabriefcase,but Graff carried no moreluggage than Ender did.Somehow that wascomforting to Ender, thatGraffalsocameawayempty.Ender spoke only once on

the voyage home. “Why arewegoinghome?”heasked.“Ithought Command Schoolwas in the asteroids

somewhere.”“Itis,”saidGraff.“Butthe

BattleSchoolhasnofacilitiesfordocking long-rangeships.So you get a short landsideleave.”Enderwantedtoaskifthat

meant he could see hisfamily. But suddenly, at thethought that it might bepossible, he was afraid, andso he didn’t ask. Just closedhis eyes and tried to sleep.

Behind him, General Pacewas studying him; for whatpurpose, Ender could notguess.It was a hot summer

afternoon in Florida whenthey landed. Ender had beenso longwithout sunlight thatthe light nearly blinded him.Hesquintedandsneezedandwanted to get back indoors.Everythingwasfarawayandflat; the ground, lacking the

upward curve of BattleSchoolfloors,seemedinsteadto fall away, so that on levelground Ender felt as thoughhe were on a pinnacle. Thepull of real gravity feltdifferent and he scuffed hisfeet when he walked. Hehated it. He wanted to gobackhome,backtotheBattleSchool, the only place in theuniversewherehebelonged.

“Arrested?”“Well, it’s a natural

thought. General Pace is thehead of the military police.There was a death in theBattleSchool.”“They didn’t tell me

whether Colonel Graff wasbeing promoted or court-martialed. Just transferred,with orders to report to thePolemarch.”“Is that a good sign or

bad?”“Who knows? On the one

hand,EnderWigginnotonlysurvived, he passed athreshold, he graduated indazzlingly good shape, youhave to give oldGraff creditfor that. On the other hand,there’s the fourth passengeron the shuttle. The onetravelinginabag.”“Only the second death in

the history of the school. At

least it wasn’t a suicide thistime.”“How is murder better,

MajorImbu?”“Itwasn’tmurder,Colonel.

Wehaveitonvideofromtwoangles. No one can blameEnder.”“But they might blame

Graff. After all this is over,thecivilianscanrakeoverourfiles and decide what wasrightandwhatwasnot.Give

us medals where they thinkwewereright, takeawayourpensions and put us in jailwhere they decide we werewrong. At least they had thegood sense not to tell Enderthattheboydied.”“It’sthesecondtime,too.”“Theydidn’ttellhimabout

Stilson,either.”“Thekidisscary.”“Ender Wiggin isn’t a

killer. He just wins—

thoroughly. If anybody’sgoing to be scared, let it bethebuggers.”“Makes you almost feel

sorry for them, knowingEnder’s going to be comingafterthem.”“The only one I feel sorry

for is Ender. But not sorryenoughtosuggest theyoughtto let up on him. I just gotaccess to the material thatGraff’s been getting all this

time.Aboutfleetmovements,that sort of thing. I used tosleepeasyatnight.”“Time’sgettingshort?”“I shouldn’t have

mentioned it. I can’t tell yousecuredinformation.”“Iknow.”“Let’s leave itat this: they

didn’t get him to CommandSchool a day too soon. Andmaybe a couple of years toolate.”

13

VALENTINE

“Children?”

“Brother and sister.They’d layered themselvesfive times through the nets—writing for companiesthat paid for theirmemberships, that sort ofthing. Devil of a timetrackingthemdown.”“Whataretheyhiding?”“Could be anything. The

most obvious thing to hide,though, is their ages. Theboy is fourteen, the girl is

twelve.”“Which one is

Demosthenes?”“The girl. The twelve-

year-old.”“Pardonme.Idon’treally

think it’s funny, but I can’thelpbutlaugh.Allthistimewe’vebeenworried, all thetime we’ve been trying topersuadetheRussiansnottotake Demosthenes tooseriously,weheldupLocke

as proof that Americansweren’t all crazywarmongers. Brother andsister,pubescent—”“And their last name is

Wiggin.”“Ah.Coincidence?”“The Wiggin is a third.

Theyareoneandtwo.”“Oh, excellent. The

Russianswill never believe—”“That Demosthenes and

Lockearen’tasmuchunderourcontrolastheWiggin.”“Isthereaconspiracy?Is

someonecontrollingthem?”“We have been able to

detect no contact betweenthese two children and anyadult who might bedirectingthem.”“That is not to say that

someone might not haveinvented some method youcan’t detect. It’s hard to

believethattwochildren—”“I interviewed Colonel

Graffwhenhearrivedfromthe Battle School. It is hisbest judgment that nothingthese children have done isout of their reach. Theirabilities are virtuallyidenticalwith—theWiggin.Onlytheirtemperamentsaredifferent. What surprisedhim, however, was theorientation of the two

personas. Demosthenes isdefinitelythegirl,butGraffsaysthegirlwasrejectedforBattle School because shewas too pacific, tooconciliatory, and above all,tooempathic.”“Definitely not

Demosthenes.”“Andtheboyhasthesoul

ofajackal.”“Wasn’titLockethatwas

recently praised as ‘The

only truly open mind inAmerica’?”“It’shardtoknowwhat’s

really happening.ButGraffrecommended, and I agree,that we should leave themalone. Not expose them.Makeno reportat this timeexcept that we havedetermined that Locke andDemosthenes have noforeign connections andhave no connections with

any domestic group, either,except those publiclydeclaredonthenets.”“In other words, give

themacleanbillofhealth.”“I know Demosthenes

seems dangerous, in partbecause he—or she—hassuchawidefollowing.ButIthinkit’ssignificantthattheoneofthetwoofthemwhois most ambitious haschosen the moderate, wise

persona. And they’re stilljust talking. They haveinfluence,butnopower.”“In my experience,

influenceispower.”“If we ever find them

getting out of line, we caneasilyexposethem.”“Only in the next few

years. The longer we wait,the older they get, and theless shocking it is todiscoverwhotheyare.”

“You know what theRussian troop movementshave been. There’s alwaysthe chance thatDemosthenes is right. Inwhichcase—”“We’d better have

Demosthenes around. Allright. We’ll show themclean, for now. But watchthem.AndI,ofcourse,havetofindwaysofkeeping theRussianscalm.”

In spite of all hermisgivings, Valentine washaving fun beingDemosthenes. Her columnwas now being carried onpractically every newsnet inthecountry,anditwasfuntowatch the money pile up inher attorney’s accounts.Every now and then she andPeterwould,inDemosthenes’name, donate a carefullycalculatedsumtoaparticular

candidate or cause: enoughmoney that the donationwould be noticed, but not somuch that the candidatewould feel she was trying tobuy a vote. She was gettingsomany letters now that hernewsnethadhiredasecretaryto answer certain classes ofroutine correspondence forher. The fun letters, fromnational and internationalleaders, sometimes hostile,

sometimes friendly, alwaysdiplomatically trying to pryinto Demosthenes’ mind—those she and Peter readtogether, laughing in delightsometimes that people likethiswerewriting to children,anddidn’tknowit.Sometimes, though, she

was ashamed. Father wasreading Demosthenesregularly; he never readLocke, or if he did, he said

nothing about it. At dinner,though,hewouldoftenregalethemwith some telling pointDemosthenes had made inthat day’s column. Peterloved itwhenFatherdid that—”See, it shows that thecommon man is payingattention”—but it madeValentine feel humiliated forFather. If he ever found outthatallthistimeIwaswritingthecolumnshetoldusabout,

andthatIdidn’tevenbelievehalf the things I wrote, hewouldbeangryandashamed.At school, sheoncenearly

gotthemintrouble,whenherhistory teacher assigned theclass to write a papercontrasting the views ofDemosthenes and Locke asexpressed in two of theirearlycolumns.Valentinewascareless, and did a brilliantjob of analysis. As a result,

she had towork hard to talkthe principal out of havingher essay published on thevery newsnet that carriedDemosthenes’ column. Peterwas savage about it. “Youwrite too much likeDemosthenes, you can’t getpublished, I should killDemosthenes now, you’regettingoutofcontrol.”If he raged about that

blunder, Peter frightened her

still more when he wentsilent. It happened whenDemosthenes was invited totake part in the President’sCouncilonEducation for theFuture, a blue-ribbon panelthat was designed to donothing, but do it splendidly.Valentine thought Peterwould take it as a triumph,but he did not. “Turn itdown,”hesaid.“Why should I?” she

asked. “It’s no work at all,and they even said thatbecause of Demosthenes’well-known desire forprivacy, they would net allthe meetings. It makesDemosthenes into arespectableperson,and—”“And you love it that you

gotthatbeforeIdid.”“Peter,itisn’tyouandme,

it’sDemosthenes and Locke.We made them up. They

aren’t real. Besides, thisappointment doesn’t meanthey likeDemosthenes betterthanLocke,itjustmeansthatDemosthenes has a muchstrongerbaseofsupport.Youknew he would. AppointinghimpleasesalargenumberofRussian-haters andchauvinists.”“It wasn’t supposed to

work this way. Locke wassupposed to be the respected

one.”“He is! Real respect takes

longer than official respect.Peter, don’t be angry at mebecause I’ve done well withthethingsyoutoldmetodo.”Buthewasangry,fordays,

and ever since then he hadleft her to think through allher own columns, instead oftelling her what to write. Heprobably assumed that thiswould make the quality of

Demosthenes’ columnsdeteriorate, but if it did noone noticed. Perhaps itmadehim even angrier that shenever came to him weepingfor help. She had beenDemosthenestoolongnowtoneed anyone to tell her whatDemosthenes would thinkaboutthings.Andashercorrespondence

with other politically activecitizens grew, she began to

learn things, information thatsimplywasn’tavailabletothegeneral public. Certainmilitary people whocorresponded with herdropped hints about thingswithout meaning to, and sheandPeterputthemtogethertobuild up a fascinating andfrighteningpictureofWarsawPact activity. They wereindeed preparing for war, avicious and bloody

earthbound war.Demosthenes wasn’t wrongto suspect that the SecondWarsawPactwasnotabidingbythetermsoftheLeague.And the character of

Demosthenes gradually tookonalifeofhisown.Attimesshe found herself thinkinglike Demosthenes at the endofawritingsession,agreeingwithideasthatweresupposedto be calculated poses. And

sometimes she read Peter’sLocke essays and foundherself annoyed at hisobvious blindness to whatwasreallygoingon.Perhaps it’s impossible to

wear an identity withoutbecoming what you pretendto be. She thought of that,worried about it for a fewdays, and then wrote acolumn using that as apremise, to show that

politicianswhotoadiedtotheRussians inorder tokeep thepeace would inevitably endup subservient to them ineverything. It was a lovelybiteatthepartyinpower,andshe got a lot of good mailabout it. She also stoppedbeing frightened of the ideaof becoming, to a degree,Demosthenes. He’s smarterthan Peter and I ever gavehimcreditfor,shethought.

Graff was waiting for herafterschool.Hestoodleaningonhiscar.Hewasincivilianclothes, and he had gainedweight, so she didn’trecognizehimatfirst.Buthebeckoned to her, and beforehe could introduce himselfsherememberedhisname.“I won’t write another

letter,” she said. “I nevershouldhavewrittenthatone.”“You don’t like medals,

then,Iguess.”“Notmuch.”“Come for a ridewithme,

Valentine.”“I don’t ride with

strangers.”He handed her a paper. It

was a release form, and herparentshadsignedit.“I guess you’re not a

stranger. Where are wegoing?”“To see a young soldier

who is in Greensboro onleave.”Shegotinthecar.“Ender’s

only tenyearsold,” shesaid.“I thought you told me lasttime he’d be eligible for aleavewhenhewassixteen.”“Heskippedafewgrades.”“Sohe’sdoingwell?”“Ask him when you see

him.”“Why me? Why not the

wholefamily?”

Graff sighed. “Ender seesthe world his own way. Wehad to persuade him to seeyou. As for Peter and yourparents,hewasnotinterested.Lifeat theBattleSchoolwas—intense.”“What do you mean, he’s

gonecrazy?”“On the contrary, he’s the

sanest person I know. He’ssaneenoughtoknowthathisparents are not particularly

eager to reopen a book ofaffection that was closedquite tightly four years ago.AsforPeter—wedidn’tevensuggest ameeting, and so hedidn’thaveachancetotellustogotohell.”TheywentoutLakeBrandt

Roadand turnedoff justpastthelake,followingaroadthatwound down and up untilthey came to a whiteclapboard mansion that

sprawled along the top of ahill. It looked over LakeBrandtononesideandafive-acreprivatelakeontheother.“This is the house thatMedly’s Mist-E-Rub built,”saidGraff.“TheI.F.pickeditup ina taxsaleabout twentyyearsago.Enderinsistedthathis conversation with youshould not be bugged. Ipromisedhim itwouldn’tbe,and to help inspire

confidence, the two of youare going out on a raft hebuilt himself. I should warnyou, though. I intend to askyou questions about yourconversation when it isfinished. You don’t have toanswer,butIhopeyouwill.”“Ididn’tbringaswimming

suit.”“Wecanprovideone.”“Onethatisn’tbugged?”“Atsomepoint,theremust

betrust.Forinstance,IknowwhoDemosthenesreallyis.”She felt a thrillof fear run

throughher,butsaidnothing.“I’veknownsinceIlanded

fromtheBattleSchool.Thereare, perhaps, six of us in theworldwhoknowhisidentity.Not counting the Russians—God only knows what theyknow. But Demosthenes hasnothing to fear from us.Demosthenes can trust our

discretion. Just as I trustDemosthenes not to tellLocke what’s going on heretoday. Mutual trust. We telleachotherthings.”Valentine couldn’t decide

whether it was Demosthenesthey approved of, orValentine Wiggin. If theformer, she would not trustthem; if the latter, thenperhaps she could. The factthat they did notwant her to

discuss this with Petersuggested that perhaps theyknew the difference betweenthem. She did not stop towonder whether she herselfknewthedifferenceanymore.“Yousaidhebuilttheraft.

Howlonghashebeenhere?”“Two months. We meant

his leave to last only a fewdays.Butyousee,hedoesn’tseem interested in going onwithhiseducation.”

“Oh. So I’m therapyagain.”“Thistimewecan’tcensor

your letter.We’re just takingour chances. We need yourbrotherbadly.Humanityisonthecusp.”This time Val had grown

up enough to know just howmuch danger the world wasin. And she had beenDemosthenes long enoughthat she didn’t hesitate to do

herduty.“Whereishe?”“Downattheboatslip.”“Where’s the swimming

suit?”Ender didn’t wave when

she walked down the hilltoward him, didn’t smilewhen she stepped onto thefloating boat slip. But sheknew thathewasglad to seeher, knew it because of theway his eyes never left herface.

“You’re bigger than Iremembered.” she saidstupidly.“You too,”hesaid.“Ialso

remembered that you werebeautiful.”“Memory does play tricks

onus.”“No.Yourfaceisthesame,

but I don’t remember whatbeautiful means anymore.Come on. Let’s go out intothelake.”

Shelookedatthesmallraftwithmisgivings.“Don’t stand up on it,

that’sall,”hesaid.Hegotonby crawling, spiderlike, ontoesandfingers.“It’sthefirstthing I built with my ownhandssinceyouandIusedtobuildwithblocks.Peter-proofbuildings.”She laughed.Theyused to

take pleasure in buildingthings that would stand up

even when a lot of theobvious supports had beenremoved.Peter, in turn, likedto remove a block here orthere, so the structure wouldbe fragile enough that thenextpersontotouchitwouldknock it down. Peter was anass, but he did provide somefocustotheirchildhood.“Peter’s changed,” she

said.“Let’snottalkabouthim,”

saidEnder.“Allright.”Shecrawledonto theboat,

not as deftly as Ender. Heused a paddle to maneuverthem slowly toward thecenteroftheprivatelake.Shenoticed aloud that he wassunbrownedandstrong.“The strong part comes

from Battle School. Thesunbrowningcomesfromthislake.Ispenda lotof timeon

the water. When I’mswimming, it’s like beingweightless. I miss beingweightless. Also, when I’mhere on the lake, the landslopesupineverydirection.”“Likelivinginabowl.”“I’ve lived in a bowl for

fouryears.”“Sowe’restrangersnow?”“Aren’twe,Valentine?”“No,” she said. She

reached out and touched his

leg. Then, suddenly, shesqueezed his knee, rightwhere he had always beenmostticklish.But almost at the same

moment, he caught her wristinhishand.Hisgripwasverystrong,eventhoughhishandswere smaller than hers andhis own arms were slenderand tight. For a moment helooked dangerous; then herelaxed. “Oh, yes,” he said.

“Youusedtotickleme.”“Not any more,” she said,

takingbackherhand.“Wanttoswim?”In answer, she dropped

herself over the side of theraft.Thewaterwasclearandclean, and there was nochlorineinit.Sheswamforawhile, then returned to theraft and layon it in thehazysunlight.Awasp circled her,thenlandedontheraftbeside

her head. She knew it wasthere, and ordinarily wouldhavebeenafraidofit.Butnottoday.Letitwalkonthisraft,let it bake in the sun as I’mdoing.Then the raft rocked, and

she turned to see Endercalmlycrushingthelifeoutofthe wasp with one finger.“These are a nasty breed,”Ender said. “They sting youwithoutwaitingtobeinsulted

first.” He smiled. “I’ve beenlearning about preemptivestrategies.I’mverygood.Nooneeverbeatme.I’mthebestsoldiertheyeverhad.”“Whowould expect less?”

shesaid.“You’reaWiggin.”“Whatever thatmeans,”he

said.“It means that you are

goingtomakeadifferenceintheworld.”Andshetoldhimwhat she and Peter were

doing.“How old is Peter,

fourteen?Alreadyplanningtotakeovertheworld?”“He thinks he’sAlexander

theGreat.Andwhyshouldn’thebe?Whyshouldn’tyoube,too?”“We can’t both be

Alexander.”“Two faces of the same

coin. And I am the metal inbetween.”Evenasshesaidit,

she wondered if it was true.ShehadsharedsomuchwithPetertheselastfewyearsthateven when she thought shedespisedhim,sheunderstoodhim. While Ender had beenonly a memory till now. Avery small, fragile boy whoneeded her protection. Notthis cold-eyed, dark-skinnedmanlingwhokillswaspswithhis fingers. Maybe he andPeter and I are all the same,

and have been all along.Maybe we only thought wewere different from eachotheroutofjealousy.“The troublewithcoins is,

whenonefaceisup,theotherfaceisdown.”And right now you think

you’redown.“Theywantmeto encourage you to go onwithyourstudies.”“They aren’t studies,

they’re games. All games,

from beginning to end, onlythey change the ruleswhenever they feel like it.”Heheldupalimphand.“Seethestrings?”“But you can use them,

too.”“Only if they want to be

used. Only if they thinkthey’reusingyou.No,it’stoohard, I don’t want to playanymore. Justwhen I start tobehappy, justwhenI thinkI

can handle things, they stickin another knife. I keephaving nightmares, now thatI’m here. I dream I’m in thebattleroom, only instead ofbeing weightless, they’replaying games with gravity.They keep changing itsdirection. So I never end upon thewall I launched for. Inever end up where I meantto go. And I keep pleadingwiththemjusttoletmegetto

the door, and they won’t letmeout,theykeepsuckingmebackin.”She heard the anger in his

voice and assumed it wasdirected at her. “I supposethat’s what I’m here for. Tosuckyoubackin.”“Ididn’twanttoseeyou.”“Theytoldme.”“I was afraid that I’d still

loveyou.”“Ihopedthatyouwould.”

“Myfear,yourwish—bothgranted.”“Ender,itreallyistrue.We

maybeyoung,butwe’renotpowerless. We play by theirrules long enough, and itbecomes our game.” Shegiggled. “I’m on apresidential commission.Peterissoangry.”“Theydon’t letmeusethe

nets. There isn’t a computerin the place, except the

household machines that runthe security system and thelighting. Ancient things.Installed back a century ago,when they made computersthat didn’t hook up withanything.Theytookawaymyarmy, they took away mydesk, and you knowsomething? I don’t reallymind.”“You must be good

companyforyourself.”

“Notme.Mymemories.”“Maybe that’s who you

are,whatyouremember.”“No. My memories of

strangers. My memories ofthebuggers.”Valentine shivered, as if a

cold breeze had suddenlypassed.“Irefusetowatchthebugger vids anymore.They’realwaysthesame.”“I used to study them for

hours. The way their ships

move through space. Andsomething funny, that onlyoccurredtomelyingouthereonthelake.Irealizedthatallthe battles in which buggersand humans fought hand tohand, all those are from theFirst Invasion.All the scenesfrom the Second Invasion,when our soldiers are in I.F.uniforms, in those scenes thebuggers are always alreadydead. Lying there, slumped

overtheircontrols.Notasignof struggle or anything. AndMazer Rackham’s battle—they never show us anyfootagefromthatbattle.”“Maybe it’s a secret

weapon.”“No,no,Idon’tcareabout

howwe killed them. It’s thebuggers themselves. I don’tknow anything about them,and yet someday I’msupposed to fight them. I’ve

beenthroughalotoffightsinmy life, sometimes games,sometimes—not games.Everytime,I’vewonbecauseI could understand the waymy enemy thought. Fromwhat they did. I could tellwhat they thought I wasdoing, how they wanted thebattle to take shape. And Iplayed off of that. I’m verygood at that. Understandinghowotherpeoplethink.”

“The curse of the Wigginchildren.” She joked, but itfrightened her, that Endermight understand her ascompletely as he did hisenemies. Peter alwaysunderstood her, or at leastthought he did, but he wassuchamoralsinkholethatsheneverhadtofeelembarrassedwhen he guessed even herworst thoughts. But Ender—she did not want him to

understand her. It wouldmake her naked before him.Shewouldbeashamed.“Youdon’t think you can beat thebuggers unless you knowthem.”“It goes deeper than that.

Being here alone withnothing to do, I’ve beenthinking about myself, too.Trying to understand why Ihatemyselfsobadly.”“No,Ender.”

“Don’ttellme‘No,Ender.’It took me a long time torealize that I did, but believeme, I did. Do. And it camedown to this: In themomentwhen I truly understand myenemy, understand him wellenoughtodefeathim,theninthatverymoment I also lovehim.Ithinkit’simpossibletoreally understand somebody,what they want, what theybelieve,andnotlovethemthe

way they love themselves.And then, in that verymomentwhenIlovethem—”“You beat them.” For a

momentshewasnotafraidofhisunderstanding.“No,youdon’tunderstand.

I destroy them. I make itimpossible for them to everhurt me again. I grind themand grind them until theydon’texist.”“Of course you don’t.”

Andnowthefearcameagain,worse than before. Peter hasmellowed, but you, they’vemade you into a killer. Twosides of the same coin, butwhichsideiswhich?“I’ve really hurt some

people, Val. I’m not makingthisup.”“Iknow,Ender.”Howwill

youhurtme?“See what I’m becoming,

Val?” he said softly. “Even

youareafraidofme.”Andhetouched her cheek so gentlythat she wanted to cry. Likethe touch of his soft babyhand when he was still aninfant. She remembered that,the touch of his soft andinnocenthandonhercheek.“I’mnot,” she said,and in

thatmomentitwastrue.“Youshouldbe.”No. I shouldn’t. “You’re

goingtoshrivelupifyoustay

in thewater.Also, thesharksmightgetyou.”He smiled. “The sharks

learned to leave me alone alongtimeago.”Buthepulledhimselfontotheraft,bringingawashofwateracrossitasittipped. It was cold onValentine’sback.“Ender,Peter’sgoingtodo

it.He’s smartenough to takethe time it takes, but he’sgoing to win his way into

power—ifnotrightnow,thenlater. I’m not sure yetwhether that’ll be a goodthingorabadthing.Petercanbe cruel, but he knows thegettingandkeepingofpower,and there are signs that oncethe bugger war is over, andmaybe even before it ends,the world will collapse intochaos again. The RussianEmpire was on its way tohegemony before the First

Invasion. If they try for itafterward—”“So evenPetermight be a

betteralternative.”“You’ve been discovering

some of the destroyer inyourself, Ender. Well, sohave I. Peter didn’t have amonopoly on that, whateverthetestersthought.AndPeterhas some of the builder inhim. He isn’t kind, but hedoesn’t break every good

thing he sees anymore.Onceyou realize that power willalwaysendupwiththesortofpeople who crave it, I thinkthat there are worse peoplewho could have it thanPeter.”“With that strong a

recommendation,Icouldvoteforhimmyself.”“Sometimes it seems

absolutely silly. A fourteen-year-oldboyandhiskidsister

plotting to take over theworld.”She tried to laugh. Itwasn’tfunny.“Wearen’tjustordinary children, are we.Noneofus.”“Don’t you sometimes

wishwewere?”Shetriedtoimagineherself

being like the other girls atschool. Tried to imagine lifeif she didn’t feel responsibleforthefutureoftheworld.“Itwouldbesodull.”

“I don’t think so.”Andhestretchedoutontheraft,asifhe could lie on the waterforever.Itwas true.Whatever they

did to Ender in the BattleSchool, they had spent hisambition. He really did notwanttoleavethesun-warmedwatersofthisbowl.No, she realized. No, he

believes that he doesn’twanttoleavehere,butthereisstill

toomuchofPeter inhim.Ortoomuch ofme.None of uscould be happy for long,doingnothing.Orperhapsit’sjust that none of us could behappy living with no othercompanythanourself.Soshebegantoprodagain.

“What is the one name thateveryone in the worldknows?”“MazerRackham.”“And what if you win the

next war, the way Mazerdid?”“Mazer Rackham was a

fluke. A reserve. Nobodybelieved in him. He justhappened to be in the rightplaceattherighttime.”“But suppose you do it.

Supposeyoubeatthebuggersand your name is known thewayMazer Rackham’s nameisknown.”“Let somebody else be

famous. Peter wants to befamous. Let him save theworld.”“I’m not talking about

fame, Ender. I’m not talkingabout power, either. I’mtalking about accidents, justlike the accident that MazerRackhamhappened to be theone who was there whensomebody had to stop thebuggers.”“If I’m here,” said Ender,

“then I won’t be there.Somebodyelsewill.Letthemhavetheaccident.”His tone of weary

unconcern infuriated her.“I’m talking about my life,you self-centered littlebastard.” If her wordsbotheredhim,hedidn’tshowit.Justlaythere,eyesclosed.“When you were little andPetertorturedyou,it’sagoodthing I didn’t lie back and

wait for Mom and Dad tosave you. They neverunderstood how dangerousPeterwas.Iknewyouhadthemonitor,but Ididn’twait forthem, either. Do you knowwhat Peter used to do tomebecause I stopped him fromhurtingyou?”“Shut up,” Ender

whispered.Because she saw that his

chestwas trembling, because

sheknewthatshehadindeedhurt him, because she knewthat just like Peter, she hadfound his weakest place andstabbed him there, she fellsilent.“I can’t beat them,”Ender

said softly. “I’ll be out therelikeMazerRackhamoneday,and everybody will bedependingonme,andIwon’tbeabletodoit.”“If you can’t, Ender, then

nobody could. If you can’tbeat them, then they deserveto win because they’restrongerandbetterthanus.Itwon’tbeyourfault.”“Tellittothedead.”“Ifnotyou,thenwho?”“Anybody.”“Nobody, Ender. I’ll tell

yousomething.Ifyoutryandlose then it isn’t your fault.But if you don’t try and welose, then it’s all your fault.

Youkilledusall.”“I’m a killer no matter

what.”“Whatelseshouldyoube?

Human beings didn’t evolvebrains in order to lie aroundon lakes. Killing’s the firstthingwelearned.Andagoodthing we did, or we’d bedead, and the tigers wouldowntheearth.”“I could never beat Peter.

NomatterwhatIsaidordid.

Inevercould.”So it came back to Peter.

“Hewasyearsolderthanyou.Andstronger.”“Soarethebuggers.”She could see his

reasoning. Or rather, hisunreasoning.Hecouldwinallhewanted,butheknewinhisheart that there was alwayssomeone who could destroyhim.Healwaysknewthathehad not really won, because

there was Peter, undefeatedchampion.“Youwant to beat Peter?”

sheasked.“No,”heanswered.“Beat the buggers. Then

come home and see whonotices Peter Wigginanymore.Lookhimintheeyewhenall theworld lovesandreveresyou.That’llbedefeatin his eyes, Ender. That’showyouwin.”

“Youdon’tunderstand,”hesaid.“YesIdo.”“No you don’t. I don’t

wanttobeatPeter.”“Thenwhatdoyouwant?”“Iwanthimtoloveme.”Shehadnoanswer.As far

assheknew,Peterdidn’tloveanybody.Ender said nothing more.

Justlaythere.Andlaythere.Finally Valentine, the

sweat dripping off her, themosquitosbeginningtohoverastheduskcameon,tookonefinaldipinthewaterandthenbegan to push the raft in toshore. Ender showed no signthat he knew what she wasdoing, but his irregularbreathingtoldherthathewasnot asleep.When they got tothe shore, she climbed ontothe dock and said, “I loveyou, Ender. More than ever.

Nomatterwhatyoudecide.”He didn’t answer. She

doubted that hebelievedher.Shewalked back up the hill,savagely angry at them formaking her come to Enderlike this. For she had, afterall, done just what theywanted.ShehadtalkedEnderinto going back into histraining, and he wouldn’tsoonforgiveherforthat.

Ender came in the door,still wet from his last dip inthe lake. Itwasdarkoutside,and dark in the room whereGraffwaitedforhim.“Are we going now?”

askedEnder.“If you want to,” Graff

said.“When?”“Whenyou’reready.”Ender showered and

dressed. Hewas finally used

to thewaycivilianclothesfittogether, but he still didn’tfeel right without a uniformoraflashsuit.I’llneverwearaflashsuitagain,hethought.That was the Battle Schoolgame, and I’m through withthat. He heard the cricketschirpingmadlyinthewoods;in the near distance he heardthe crackling sound of a cardrivingslowlyongravel.What else should he take

with him? He had readseveral of the books in thelibrary, but they belonged tothe house and he couldn’ttake them.Theonly thingheowned was the raft he hadmade with his own hands.Thatwouldstayhere,too.The lightswereonnow in

theroomwhereGraffwaited.He, too, had changedclothing. He was back inuniform.

Theysatinthebackseatofthecartogether,drivingalongcountry roads to come at theairport from the back. “Backwhen the population wasgrowing,” said Graff, “theykept this area in woods andfarms. Watershed land. Therainfall here starts a lot ofrivers flowing, a lot ofunderground water movingaround. The Earth is deep,and right to the heart it’s

alive,Ender.Wepeopleonlyliveon the top, like thebugsthat live on the scum of thestillwaterneartheshore.”Endersaidnothing.“Wetrainourcommanders

thewaywedobecausethat’swhat it takes—they have tothink in certain ways, theycan’tbedistractedbyalotofthings, so we isolate them.You.Keepyouseparate.Andit works. But it’s so easy,

whenyounevermeetpeople,when you never know theEarth itself, when you livewithmetalwalls keeping outthecoldofspace,it’seasytoforget why Earth is worthsaving. Why the world ofpeople might be worth thepriceyoupay.”So that’swhyyoubrought

mehere,thoughtEnder.Withallyourhurry,that’swhyyoutook three months, to make

me love Earth. Well, itworked. All your tricksworked. Valentine, too; shewas another one of yourtricks, tomakemerememberthat I’m not going to schoolformyself.Well,Iremember.“I may have used

Valentine,” said Graff, “andyou may hate me for it,Ender, but keep this inmind—it only works becausewhat’s between you, that’s

real, that’s what matters.Billions of those connectionsbetween human beings.That’swhatyou’refightingtokeepalive.”Enderturnedhisfacetothe

window and watched thehelicoptersanddirigibles riseandfall.They took a helicopter to

the I.F. spaceport at StumpyPoint.Itwasofficiallynamedfor a dead Hegemon, but

everybody called it StumpyPoint, after the pitiful littletown that had been pavedover when they made theapproachestothevastislandsof steel and concrete thatdottedPamlicoSound.Therewere still waterbirds takingtheir fastidious little steps inthe saltwater, where mossytrees dipped down as if todrink.Itbegantorainlightly,and the concrete was black

and slick; it was hard to tellwhere it left off and theSoundbegan.Graff led him through a

mazeofclearances.Authoritywas a little plastic ball thatGraff carried. He dropped itintochutes,anddoorsopenedand people stood up andsaluted and the chutes spatout the ball and Graff wenton.Endernoticedthatatfirsteveryone watched Graff, but

astheypenetrateddeeperintothe spaceport, people beganwatching Ender. At first itwasthemanofrealauthoritytheynoticed,but later,whereeveryonehadauthority,itwashiscargotheycaredtosee.Only when Graff strapped

himself into the shuttle seatbeside him did Ender realizeGraff was going to launchwithhim.“How far?” asked Ender.

“Howfarareyougoingwithme?”Graff smiled thinly. “All

theway,Ender.”“Are they making you

administrator of CommandSchool?”“No.”SotheyhadremovedGraff

fromhispostatBattleSchoolsolelytoaccompanyEndertohis next assignment. HowimportantamI,hewondered.

AndlikeawhisperofPeter’svoice inside his mind, heheardthequestion,HowcanIusethis?He shuddered and tried to

thinkofsomethingelse.Petercould have fantasies aboutruling the world, but Enderdidn’t have them. Still,thinking back on his life inBattle School, it occurred tohim that although he hadnever sought power, he had

alwayshadit.Buthedecidedthat it was a power born ofexcellence, notmanipulation.He had no reason to beashamedof it.Hehadnever,except perhaps with Bean,used his power to hurtsomeone. And with Bean,things had workedwell afterall. Bean had become afriend, finally, to take theplaceofthelostAlai,whointurn took the place of

Valentine. Valentine, whowas helping Peter in hisplotting. Valentine, who stillloved Ender no matter whathappened.Andfollowingthattrainof thought ledhimbackto Earth, back to the quiethours in the center of theclearwater ringed by a bowlof tree-covered hills. That isthe Earth, he thought. Not aglobethousandsofkilometersaround, but a forest with a

shining lake, a house hiddenatthecrestofthehill,highinthe trees, a grassy slopeleading upward from thewater, fish leaping and birdsstrafing to take the bugs thatlived at the border betweenwater and sky.Earthwas theconstantnoiseofcricketsandwinds and birds. And thevoice of one girl,who spoketo him out of his far-offchildhood. The same voice

that had once protected himfrom terror. The same voicethathewoulddo anything tokeep alive, even return toschool, even leave Earthbehindagainforanotherfouror forty or four thousandyears.EvenifshelovedPetermore.His eyes were closed, and

he had not made any soundbut breathing; still, Graffreached out and touched his

hand across the aisle. Enderstiffened in surprise, andGraff soonwithdrew, but fora moment Ender was struckwiththestartlingthoughtthatperhaps Graff felt someaffection for him. But no, itwas just another calculatedgesture.Graffwas creating acommander out of a littleboy.NodoubtUnit17in thecourseof studies includedanaffectionate gesture from the

teacher.TheshuttlereachedtheIPL

satellite in only a few hours.Inter-PlanetaryLaunchwasacity of three thousandinhabitants,breathingoxygenfrom the plants that also fedthem,drinkingwaterthathadalready passed through theirbodies ten thousand times,livingonlytoservicethetugsthatdidall theoxworkin thesolar system and the shuttles

that took their cargoes andpassengers back to the Earthor theMoon. It was a worldwhere, briefly, Ender felt athome, since its floors slopedupward as they did in theBattleSchool.Their tug was fairly new;

the I.F. was constantlycasting off its old vehiclesand purchasing the latestmodels. It had just brought avast load of drawn steel

processed by a factory shipthat was taking apart minorplanets in the asteroid belt.The steel would be droppedtotheMoon,andnowthetugwaslinkedtofourteenbarges.Graff dropped his ball intothe reader again, however,and the barges wereuncoupled from the tug. Itwould be making a fast runthis time, to a destination ofGraff’s specification, not to

bestateduntilthetughadcutloosefromIPL.“It’s no great secret,” said

the tug’s captain. “Wheneverthe destination is unknown,it’sforISL.”ByanalogywithIPL,EnderdecidedthelettersmeantInter-StellarLaunch.“This time it isn’t,” said

Graff.“Wherethen?”“I.F.Command.”“I don’t have security

clearance even to knowwherethatis,sir.”“Your ship knows,” said

Graff. “Just let the computerhavealookatthis,andfollowthe course it plots.” Hehandedthecaptaintheplasticball.“And I’m supposed to

close my eyes during thewhole voyage, so I don’tfigureoutwhereweare?”“Oh,no,ofcoursenot.I.F.

Command is on the minorplanetEros,which shouldbeabout three months awayfrom here at the highestpossible speed.Which is thespeedyou’lluse,ofcourse.”“Eros? But I thought that

the buggers burned that to aradioactive—ah. When did Ireceive security clearance toknowthis?”“You didn’t. So when we

arrive at Eros, you will

undoubtedly be assigned topermanentdutythere.”The captain understood

immediately, and didn’t likeit. “I’m a pilot, you son of abitch,andyougotnorighttolockmeuponarock!”“I will overlook your

derisive language to asuperior officer. I doapologize, but my orderswere to take the fastestavailablemilitary tug.At the

moment I arrived, that wasyou.Itisn’tasthoughanyonewere out to get you. Cheerup. The war may be over inanother fifteen years, andthen the location of I.F.Commandwon’thavetobeasecret anymore. By the way,you shouldbe aware, in caseyou’re one of those whorelies onvisuals for docking,that Eros has been blackedout.Itsalbedoisonlyslightly

brighter than a black hole.Youwon’tseeit.”“Thanks,”saidthecaptain.Itwasnearly amonth into

the voyage before hemanaged to speak civilly toColonelGraff.The shipboard computer

had a limited library—itwasgeared primarily toentertainment rather thaneducation. So during thevoyage, after breakfast and

morningexercises,EnderandGraff would usually talk.About Command School.About Earth. Aboutastronomy and physics andwhatever Ender wanted toknow.And above all, he wanted

toknowaboutthebuggers.“We don’t know much,”

saidGraff.“We’veneverhada live one in custody. Evenwhenwecaughtoneunarmed

andalive,hediedthemomentit became obvious he wascaptured. Even the he isuncertain—the most likelything, in fact, is that mostbugger soldiers are females,butwithatrophiedorvestigialsexual organs.We can’t tell.It’s their psychology thatwouldbemostuseful toyou,andwehaven’texactlyhadachancetointerviewthem.”“Tell me what you know,

and maybe I’ll learnsomethingthatIneed.”So Graff told him. The

buggers were organisms thatcould conceivably haveevolved on Earth, if thingshad gone a different way abillion years ago. At themolecular level, there werenosurprises.Eventhegeneticmaterialwasthesame.Itwasno accident that they lookedinsectlike to human beings.

Though their internal organswere now much morecomplexandspecialized thanany insects, and they hadevolved an internal skeletonand shed most of theexoskeleton, their physicalstructure still echoed theirancestors, who could easilyhave been very much likeEarth’s ants. “But don’t befooled by that,” said Graff.“It’sjustasmeaningfultosay

that our ancestors couldeasily have been very muchlikesquirrels.”“Ifthat’sallwehavetogo

on, that’s something,” saidEnder.“Squirrels never built

starships,” saidGraff. “Thereareusuallya fewchangesonthe way from gathering nutsand seeds to harvestingasteroids and puttingpermanent research stations

onthemoonsofSaturn.”The buggers could

probably see about the samespectrum of light as humanbeings, and there wasartificial lighting in theirships and groundinstallations. However, theirantennae seemed almostvestigial. There was noevidence from their bodiesthat smelling, tasting, orhearing were particularly

important to them. “Ofcourse,wecan’tbesure.Butwe can’t see any way thatthey could have used soundfor communication. Theoddest thing of all was thatthey also don’t have anycommunication devices ontheir ships. No radios,nothingthatcouldtransmitorreceiveanykindofsignal.”“Theycommunicateshipto

ship. I’ve seen the videos,

theytalktoeachother.”“True. But body to body,

mind to mind. It’s the mostimportant thing we learnedfrom them. Theircommunication, howeverthey do it, is instantaneous.Lightspeed is no barrier.When Mazer Rackhamdefeated their invasion fleet,they all closed up shop. Atonce.Therewasnotimeforasignal. Everything just

stopped.”Ender remembered the

videos of uninjured buggerslyingdeadattheirposts.“Weknewthen that itwas

possible. To communicatefaster than light. That wasseventy years ago, and onceweknewwhatcouldbedone,wedidit.Notme,mindyou,Iwasn’tbornthen.”“Howisitpossible?”“I can’t explain philotic

physics to you. Half of itnobody understands anyway.What matters is we built theansible. The official name isPhilotic ParallaxInstantaneousCommunicator,but somebody dredged thename ansible out of an oldbook somewhere and itcaught on. Not that mostpeople even know themachineexists.”“That means that ships

could talk toeachotherevenwhen they’reacross thesolarsystem,”saidEnder.“It means,” said Graff,

“thatshipscould talk toeachother even when they’reacross the galaxy. And thebuggers can do it withoutmachines.”“So they knew about their

defeat the moment ithappened,” said Ender. “Ialways figured—everybody

always said that theyprobablyonlyfoundout theylost the battle twenty-fiveyearsago.”“It keeps people from

panicking,” said Graff. “I’mtelling you things that youcan’t know, by the way, ifyou’re ever going to leaveI.F. Command. Before thewar’sover.”Ender was angry. “If you

know me at all, you know I

cankeepasecret.”“It’s a regulation. People

under twenty-five areassumedtobeasecurityrisk.It’s very unjust to a goodmany responsible children,but it helps narrow thenumberofpeoplewhomightletsomethingslip.”“What’sallthesecrecyfor,

anyway?”“Because we’ve taken

some terrible risks, Ender,

and we don’t want to haveevery net on earth second-guessingthosedecisions.Yousee, as soon as we had aworkingansible,wetuckeditinto our best starships andlaunched them to attack thebuggershomesystems.”“Do we know where they

are?”“Yes.”“So we’re not waiting for

theThirdInvasion.”

“We are the ThirdInvasion.”“We’re attacking them.

Nobodysaysthat.Everybodythinkswehaveahugefleetofwarshipswaitinginthecometshield—”“Not one. We’re quite

defenselesshere.”“What if they’ve sent a

fleettoattackus?”“Thenwe’redead.Butour

ships haven’t seen such a

fleet,notasignofone.”“Maybe they gave up and

they’re planning to leave usalone.”“Maybe. You’ve seen the

videos. Would you bet thehuman raceon the chanceofthemgivingupandleavingusalone?”Ender tried to grasp the

amounts of time that hadgoneby.“Andtheshipshavebeen traveling for seventy

years—”“Someof them.Andsome

forthirtyyears,andsomefortwenty.Wemakebettershipsnow. We’re learning how toplaywithspacealittlebetter.But every starship that is notstill under construction is onitsway to a buggerworld oroutpost. Every starship, withcruisers and fighters tuckedinto its belly, is out thereapproaching the buggers.

Decelerating.Becausethey’realmost there. The first shipswe sent to the most distantobjectives, the more recentships to the closer ones.Ourtiming was pretty good.They’ll all be arriving incombat range within a fewmonths of each other.Unfortunately, our mostprimitive,outdatedequipmentwill be attacking theirhomeworld. Still, they’re

armedwellenough—wehavesome weapons the buggersneversawbefore.”“Whenwilltheyarrive?”“Withinthenextfiveyears,

Ender.Everything is readyatI.F. Command. The masteransible is there, in contactwithallourinvasionfleet;theships are all working, readytofight.Allwelack,Ender,isthe battle commander.Someone who knows what

thehelltodowiththoseshipswhentheygetthere.”“Andwhatifnooneknows

whattodowiththem?”“We’ll just do our best,

with the best commanderwecanget.”Me, thought Ender. They

want me to be ready in fiveyears. “Colonel Graff, thereisn’tachanceI’llbereadytocommandafleetintime.”Graff shrugged. “So. Do

yourbest.Ifyouaren’tready,we’ll make do with whatwe’vegot.”ThateasedEnder’smind.But only for a moment.

“Of course, Ender, whatwe’ve got right now isnobody.”Ender knew that this was

another of Graff’s games.Make me believe that it alldepends on me, so I can’tslackoff,soIpushmyselfas

hardaspossible.Game or not, though, it

mightalsobetrue.Andsohewould work as hard aspossible.ItwaswhatValhadwanted of him. Five years.Onlyfiveyearsuntilthefleetarrives, and I don’t knowanything yet. “I’ll only befifteen in five years,” Endersaid.“Going on sixteen,” said

Graff.“Italldependsonwhat

youknow.”“ColonelGraff,”hesaid.“I

just want to go back andswiminthelake.”“After we win the war,”

saidGraff. “Or lose it.We’llhave a few decades beforetheygetbackheretofinishusoff. The house will be there,and I promise you can swimtoyourheart’scontent.”“But I’ll stillbe tooyoung

forsecurityclearance.”

“We’ll keep you underarmedguardatalltimes.Themilitaryknowshowtohandlethesethings.”They both laughed, and

Ender had to remind himselfthat Graff was only actinglike a friend, that everythinghe did was a lie or a cheatcalculated to turn Ender intoanefficientfightingmachine.I’ll become exactly the toolyou want me to be, said

Ender silently, but at least Iwon’tbefooledintoit.I’lldoit because I choose to, notbecause you trickedme, youslybastard.The tug reached Eros

before they could see it. Thecaptain showed them thevisual scan, thensuperimposed the heat scanon the same screen. Theywerepracticallyontopofit—onlyfourthousandkilometers

out—but Eros, only twenty-four kilometers long, wasinvisible if it didn’t shinewithreflectedsunlight.The captain docked the

ship on one of the threelandingplatforms thatcircledEros. It could not landdirectly because Eros hadenhancedgravity,andthetug,designed for towing cargoes,could never escape thegravitywell.Hebadetheman

irritable good-bye, but EnderandGraff remained cheerful.The captain was bitter athavingtoleavehistug;Enderand Graff felt like prisonersfinally paroled from jail.When they boarded theshuttle that would take themto the surface of Eros, theyrepeated perversemisquotations of lines fromthe videos that the captainhad endlessly watched, and

laughed like madmen. Thecaptain grew surly andwithdrewbypretendingtogoto sleep. Then, almost as anafterthought, Ender askedGraffonelastquestion.“Why are we fighting the

buggers?”“I’ve heard all kinds of

reasons,” said Graff.“Because they have anovercrowded system andthey’ve got to colonize.

Because they can’t stand thethought of other intelligentlife in the universe. Becausethey don’t think we areintelligent life. Because theyhave some weird religion.Becausetheywatchedouroldvideobroadcasts anddecidedwe were hopelessly violent.Allkindsofreasons.”“Whatdoyoubelieve?”“It doesn’t matter what I

believe.”

“Iwanttoknowanyway.”“They must talk to each

otherdirectly,Ender,mindtomind. What one thinks,another can also think; whatone remembers, another canalso remember. Why wouldthey ever develop language?Whywouldtheyeverlearntoread and write? How wouldthey know what reading andwriting were if they sawthem? Or signals? Or

numbers? Or anything thatweusetocommunicate?Thisisn’t just a matter oftranslatingfromonelanguagetoanother.Theydon’thavealanguage at all. We usedevery means we could thinkoftocommunicatewiththem,but they don’t even have themachinery to know we’resignaling.Andmaybethey’vebeentryingtothinktous,andtheycan’tunderstandwhywe

don’trespond.”“So the whole war is

becausewecan’ttalktoeachother.”“If the other fellow can’t

tell you his story, you cannever be sure he isn’t tryingtokillyou.”“What ifwe just left them

alone?”“Ender, we didn’t go to

themfirst,theycametous.Ifthey were going to leave us

alone,theycouldhavedoneita hundred years ago, beforetheFirstInvasion.”“Maybe they didn’t know

we were intelligent life.Maybe—”“Ender,believeme,there’s

a century of discussion onthis very subject. Nobodyknows the answer. When itcomesdowntoit,though,thereal decision is inevitable: Ifoneofushastobedestroyed,

let’s make damn sure we’retheonesaliveattheend.Ourgeneswon’tletusdecideanyother way. Nature can’tevolveaspeciesthathasn’tawill to survive. Individualsmight be bred to sacrificethemselves, but the race as awhole can never decide tocease to exist. So if we canwe’llkilleverylastoneofthebuggers, and if they canthey’ll kill every last one of

us.”“As for me,” said Ender,

“I’minfavorofsurviving.”“I know,” said Graff.

“That’swhyyou’rehere.”

14

ENDER’STEACHER

“Took your time, didn’tyou, Graff? The voyageisn’t short, but the three-month vacation seemsexcessive.”“I prefer not to deliver

damagedmerchandise.”“Some men simply have

nosenseofhurry.Ohwell,it’s only the fate of theworld. . . .Nevermindme.You must understand ouranxiety.We’reherewiththe

ansible, receiving constantreports of the progress ofour starships. We have toface the coming war everyday. If you can call themdays.He’ssuchaverylittleboy.”“There’s greatness in

him.Amagnitudeofspirit.”“A killer instinct, too, I

hope.”“Yes.”“We’ve planned out an

impromptu course of studyforhim.Allsubject toyourapproval,ofcourse.”“I’ll look at it. I don’t

pretend toknowthesubjectmatter, AdmiralChamrajnagar. I’m onlyherebecauseIknowEnder.So don’t be afraid that I’lltry to second-guess theorder of your presentation.Onlythepace.”“How much can we tell

him?”“Don’twastehis timeon

the physics of interstellartravel.”“What about the

ansible?”“Ialready toldhimabout

that, and the fleets. I saidthey would arrive at theirdestination within fiveyears.”“It seems there’s very

littleleftforustotellhim.”

“You can tell him aboutthe weapons systems. Hehastoknowenoughtomakeintelligentdecisions.”“Ah. We can be useful

after all, how very kind.We’ve devoted one of thefive simulators to hisexclusiveuse.”“Whatabouttheothers?”“Theothersimulators?”“Theotherchildren.”“You were brought here

to take care of EnderWiggin.”“Justcurious.Remember,

theywereallmystudentsatonetimeoranother.”“And now they are all

mine.Theyareenteringintothe mysteries of the fleet,Colonel Graff, to whichyou,asasoldier,haveneverbeenintroduced.”“Youmakeitsoundlikea

priesthood.”

“And a god. And areligion. Even those of uswho command by ansibleknow the majesty of flightamong the stars. I can seeyou find my mysticismdistasteful.Iassureyouthatyour distaste only revealsyour ignorance. Soonenough Ender Wiggin willalsoknowwhat I know;hewill dance the gracefulghost dance through the

stars, and whatevergreatnessthereiswithinhimwill be unlocked, revealed,setforthbeforetheuniverseforall to see.Youhave thesoul of a stone, ColonelGraff, but I sing to a stoneas easily as to anothersinger.Youmaygotoyourquarters and establishyourself.”“I have nothing to

establishexcepttheclothing

I’mwearing.”“Youownnothing?”“They keepmy salary in

an account somewhere onEarth. I’ve never needed it.Except to buy civilianclothesonmy—vacation.”“A non-materialist. And

yetyouareunpleasantlyfat.A gluttonous ascetic? Suchacontradiction.”“When I’m tense, I eat.

Whereaswhenyou’retense,

youspoutsolidwaste.”“I like you, Colonel

Graff. I think we shall getalong.”“I don’t much care,

Admiral Chamrajnagar. Icame here for Ender. Andneither of us came here foryou.”

Ender hatedEros from themoment he shuttled downfrom the tug. He had been

uncomfortable enough onEarth,wherefloorswereflat;Eros was hopeless. It was aroughly spindle-shaped rockonlysixandahalfkilometersthick at its narrowest point.Since the surface of theplanetoid was entirelydevotedtoabsorbingsunlightand converting it to energy,everyonelivedinthesmooth-walled rooms linked bytunnels that laced the interior

of theasteroid.Theclosed-inspace was no problem forEnder—what bothered himwas that all the tunnel floorsnoticeably sloped downward.From the start, Ender wasplagued by vertigo as hewalked through the tunnels,especially the ones thatgirdled Eros’s narrowcircumference.Itdidnothelpthat gravity was only half ofEarth-normal—the illusionof

being on the verge of fallingwasalmostcomplete.There was also something

disturbing about theproportions of the rooms—theceilingswere too low forthe width, the tunnels toonarrow. It was not acomfortableplace.Worst of all, though, was

the number of people. Enderhad no important memoriesof the scale of the cities of

Earth. His idea of acomfortable number ofpeoplewastheBattleSchool,wherehehadknownbysighteverypersonwhodweltthere.Here, though, ten thousandpeople livedwithin the rock.There was no crowding,despite the amount of spacedevoted to life support andother machinery. Whatbothered Ender was that hewasconstantlysurroundedby

strangers.Theyneverlethimcometo

know anyone. He saw theother Command Schoolstudents often, but since henever attended any classregularly,theyremainedonlyfaces. He would attend alecture here or there, butusuallyhewastutoredbyoneteacher after another, oroccasionallyhelpedtolearnaprocess by another student,

whomhemetonceandneversaw again. He ate alone orwith Colonel Graff. Hisrecreationwas in a gym, butherarelysawthesamepeopleinittwice.He recognized that they

wereisolatinghimagain,thistime not by setting the otherstudents to hating him, butrather by giving them noopportunity to becomefriends.Hecouldhardlyhave

been close to most of themanyway—except for Ender,the other students were allwellintoadolescence.SoEnderwithdrewintohis

studies and learned quicklyand well. Astrogation andmilitary history he absorbedlike water; abstractmathematics was moredifficult, but whenever hewas given a problem thatinvolved patterns in space

and time, he found that hisintuition was more reliablethanhiscalculation—heoftensawatonceasolutionthathecould only prove afterminutes or hours ofmanipulatingnumbers.Andforpleasure,therewas

the simulator, the mostperfect videogame he hadever played. Teachers andstudents trained him, step bystep, in its use. At first, not

knowing the awesomepowerof the game, he had playedonly at the tactical level,controllingasingle fighter incontinuousmaneuverstofindand destroy an enemy. Thecomputer-controlled enemywas devious and powerful,and whenever Ender tried atactic he found the computerusing it against him withinminutes.The game was a

holographic display, and hisfighter was represented onlyby a tiny light. The enemywas another light of adifferent color, and theydanced and spun andmaneuvered through a cubeof space thatmusthavebeenten meters to a side. Thecontrols were powerful. Hecouldrotatethedisplayinanydirection, so he could watchfromanyangle,andhecould

move the center so that theduel took place nearer orfartherfromhim.Gradually, as he became

more adept at controlling thefighter’s speed, direction ofmovement, orientation, andweapons,thegamewasmademore complex. He mighthave two enemy ships atonce; there might beobstacles,thedebrisofspace;he began to have to worry

about fuel and limitedweapons;thecomputerbeganto assign him particularthings to destroy oraccomplish,sothathehadtoavoiddistractionsandachieveanobjectiveinordertowin.Whenhehadmastered the

one-fighter game, theyallowedhimtostepbackintothe four-fighter squadron.Hespokecommandstosimulatedpilots of four fighters, and

insteadofmerelycarryingoutthe computer’s instructions,he was allowed to determinetactics himself, decidingwhich of several objectiveswas the most valuable anddirecting his squadronaccordingly. At any time hecouldtakepersonalcommandof one of the fighters for ashort time,andatfirsthedidthis often; when he did,however, the other three

fighters inhis squadronweresoon destroyed, and as thegames became harder andharder he had to spendmoreand more of his timecommanding the squadron.When he did, he won moreandmoreoften.Bythetimehehadbeenat

CommandSchool for a year,he was adept at running thesimulator at any of fifteenlevels, from controlling an

individual fighter tocommanding a fleet. He hadlongsincerealizedthatasthebattleroom was to BattleSchool, so the simulatorwasto Command School. Theclasseswerevaluable,butthereal educationwas thegame.People dropped in from timeto time to watch him play.They never spoke—hardlyanyone ever did, unless theyhad something specific to

teach him. The watcherswould stay, silentlywatchinghim run through a difficultsimulation, and then leavejust as he finished.What areyoudoing,hewanted to ask.Judging me? Determiningwhetheryouwanttotrustthefleet to me? Just rememberthatIdidn’taskforit.He found that a great deal

of what he had learned atBattle School transferred to

the simulator. He wouldroutinely reorient thesimulator every fewminutes,rotating it so that he didn’tget trapped into an up-downorientation, constantlyreviewing his position fromthe enemy point of view. Itwas exhilarating at last tohave such control over thebattle,tobeabletoseeeverypointofit.It was also frustrating to

havesolittlecontrol, too,forthe computer-controlledfighterswereonlyasgoodasthe computer allowed. Theytook no initiative. They hadno intelligence. He began towish for his toon leaders, sothat he could count on someof the squadrons doing wellwithout having his constantsupervision.At theendofhis firstyear

he was winning every battle

on the simulator, and playedthe game as if the machinewere a natural part of hisbody.Oneday,eatingamealwithGraff,heasked,“Is thatallthesimulatordoes?”“Iswhatall?”“Thewayitplaysnow.It’s

easy, and it hasn’t got anyharderforawhile.”“Oh.”Graffseemedunconcerned.

But then, Graff always

seemed unconcerned. Thenextdayeverythingchanged.Graff went away, and in hisplace they gave Ender acompanion.

He was in the roomwhenEnderawoke in themorning.He was an old man, sittingcross-legged on the floor.Ender looked at himexpectantly, waiting for the

man to speak. He saidnothing. Ender got up andshowered and dressed,content to let the man keephis silence if he wanted. Hehad long since learned thatwhen somethingunusualwasgoingon,somethingthatwaspart of someone else’s planand not his own, he wouldfindoutmore informationbywaiting than by asking.Adults almost always lost

their patience before Enderdid.The man still hadn’t

spoken when Ender wasreadyandwenttothedoortoleave the room. The doordidn’t open. Ender turned toface the man sitting on thefloor. He looked to be aboutsixty, by far the oldest manEnder had seen on Eros. Hehad a day’s growth of whitewhiskers that grizzled his

faceonlyslightlylessthanhisclose-cut hair. His facesagged a little and his eyeswere surrounded by creasesandlines.HelookedatEnderwith an expression thatbespokeonlyapathy.Ender turned back to the

door and tried again to openit.“All right,”hesaid,giving

up.“Why’sthedoorlocked?”The old man continued to

lookathimblankly.So this is a game, thought

Ender.Well, if theywantmeto go to class, they’ll unlockthe door. If they don’t, theywon’t.Idon’tcare.Ender didn’t like games

where the rules could beanything and the objectivewasknowntothemalone.Sohe wouldn’t play. He alsorefusedtogetangry.Hewentthrougharelaxingexerciseas

he leaned on the door, andsoonhewascalmagain.Theold man continued to watchhimimpassively.It seemed to go on for

hours, Ender refusing tospeak, the old man seemingto be a mindless mute.Sometimes Ender wonderedif he were mentally ill,escaped from some medicalward somewhere in Eros,living out some insane

fantasyhereinEnder’sroom.But the longer it went on,with no one coming to thedoor,noonelookingforhim,the more certain he becamethat this was somethingdeliberate, meant todisconcerthim.Enderdidnotwant togive theoldman thevictory. To pass the time hebegan to do exercises. Somewere impossible without thegym equipment, but others,

especially from his personaldefense class, he could dowithoutanyaids.The exercises moved him

around the room. He waspracticing lunges and kicks.Onemove took himnear theoldman,ashehadcomenearhim before, but this time theold claw shot out and seizedEnder’sleftleginthemiddleofakick. ItpulledEnderoffhis feet and landed him

heavilyonthefloor.Ender leapt to his feet

immediately, furious. Hefound the old man sittingcalmly, cross-legged, notbreathingheavily,asifhehadnever moved. Ender stoodpoisedtofight,buttheother’simmobility made itimpossible for Ender toattack. What, kick the oldman’s head off? And thenexplain it to Graff—oh, the

oldmankickedme,andIhadtogeteven.He went back to his

exercises; the old man keptwatching.Finally, tired and angry at

thiswastedday,aprisonerinhisroom,Enderwentbacktohisbedtogethisdesk.Asheleaned over to pick up thedesk, he felt a hand jabroughly between his thighsand another hand grab his

hair. In a moment he hadbeenturnedupsidedown.Hisface and shoulders werebeing pressed into the floorby theoldman’sknee,whilehis back was excruciatinglybent and his legs werepinioned by the old man’sarm. Ender was helpless touse his arms, he couldn’tbendhisbacktogainslacksohecouldusehis legs. In lessthantwosecondstheoldman

had completely defeatedEnderWiggin.“All right,” Ender gasped.

“Youwin.”The man’s knee thrust

painfully downward. “Sincewhen,” asked the man, hisvoice soft and rasping, “doyou have to tell the enemywhenhehaswon?”Enderremainedsilent.“I surprised you once,

Ender Wiggin. Why didn’t

you destroy me immediatelyafterward? Just because Ilooked peaceful? You turnedyourbackonme.Stupid.Youhave learned nothing. Youhaveneverhadateacher.”Enderwasangrynow,and

madenoattempttocontrolorconceal it. “I’ve had toomany teachers, how was Isupposed toknowyou’d turnouttobea—”“An enemy, Ender

Wiggin,” whispered the oldman. “I am your enemy, thefirstoneyou’veeverhadwhowas smarter than you. Thereis no teacher but the enemy.No one but the enemy willtell you what the enemy isgoing to do. No one but theenemy will ever teach youhow to destroy and conquer.Only the enemy shows youwhereyouareweak.Onlytheenemy tells you where he is

strong. And the rules of thegamearewhatyoucando tohim and what you can stophim fromdoing toyou. I amyour enemy from now on.From now on I am yourteacher.”Then the old man let

Ender’s legs fall.Becausehestill heldEnder’shead to thefloor,theboycouldn’tusehisarms to compensate, and hislegs hit the surface with a

loud crack and a sickeningpain.ThentheoldmanstoodandletEnderrise.Slowly Ender pulled his

legs under him, with a faintgroanofpain.Hekneltonallfours for a moment,recovering. Then his rightarm flashedout, reaching forhis enemy. The old manquickly danced back andEnder’shandclosedonairashis teacher’s foot shot

forwardtocatchEnderonthechin.Ender’s chin wasn’t there.

Hewaslyingflatonhisback,spinning on the floor, andduring the moment that histeacherwasoffbalance fromhis kick, Ender’s feetsmashed into the old man’sotherleg.Hefellinaheap—butcloseenoughtostrikeoutand hit Ender in the face.Endercouldn’tfindanarmor

a leg that held still longenoughtobegrabbed,andinthe meantime blows werelandingonhisbackandarms.Ender was smaller—hecouldn’t reach past the oldman’s flailing limbs. Finallyhemanagedtopullawayandscramblebacknearthedoor.The old man was sitting

cross-legged again, but nowtheapathywasgone.Hewassmiling. “Better, this time,

boy.Butslow.Youwillhaveto be betterwith a fleet thanyouarewithyourbodyornoonewill be safe with you incommand.Lessonlearned?”Ender nodded slowly. He

achedinahundredplaces.“Good,” said the oldman.

“Then we’ll never have tohave such a battle again.Allthe rest with the simulator. Iwill program your battlesnow,notthecomputer;Iwill

devise the strategy of yourenemy, and youwill learn tobe quick and discover whattrickstheenemyhasforyou.Remember, boy. From nowon the enemy ismore cleverthan you. From now on theenemy is stronger than you.Fromnowonyouarealwaysabouttolose.”The old man’s face grew

serious again. “You will beabout to lose,Ender,butyou

will win. You will learn todefeat the enemy. He willteachyouhow.”Theteachergotup.“Inthis

school,ithasalwaysbeenthepractice for a young studentto be chosen by an olderstudent. The two becomecompanions, and the olderboy teaches the younger oneeverythingheknows.Alwaysthey fight, always theycompete, always they are

together.Ihavechosenyou.”Enderspokeastheoldman

walked to the door. “You’retoooldtobeastudent.”“Oneisnevertoooldtobe

astudentoftheenemy.Ihavelearned from the buggers.Youwilllearnfromme.”Astheoldmanpalmedthe

door open,Ender leaped intotheairandkickedhim in thesmall of the back with bothfeet.He hit hard enough that

hereboundedontohisfeet,asthe old man cried out andcollapsedonthefloor.Theoldmangotupslowly,

holdingontothedoorhandle,his face contorted with pain.He seemed disabled, butEnderdidn’ttrusthim.Yetinspite of his suspicion hewascaught off guard by the oldman’sspeed.Inamomenthefound himself on the floornear the opposite wall, his

nose and lip bleeding wherehis face had hit the bed. Hewas able to turn enough tosee the old man standing inthe doorway, wincing andholding his back. The oldmangrinned.Ender grinned back.

“Teacher,” he said. “Do youhaveaname?”“MazerRackham,”saidthe

oldman.Thenhewasgone.

From then on, Ender waseither with Mazer Rackhamor alone. The oldman rarelyspoke, but he was there; atmeals, at tutorials, at thesimulator, in his room atnight. Sometimes Mazerwould leave, but always,whenMazerwasn’tthere,thedoorwas locked, and no onecame until Mazer returned.Enderwentthroughaweekinwhich he called him Jailor

Rackman.Mazeransweredtothe name as readily as to hisown,andshowednosignthatit bothered him at all. Endersoongaveitup.Therewerecompensations.

MazertookEnderthroughthevideosoftheoldbattlesfromthe First Invasion and thedisastrous defeats of the I.F.intheSecondInvasion.Thesewerenotpiecedtogetherfromthe censored public videos,

but whole and continuous.Since many videos wereworking in themajor battles,they studied bugger tacticsand strategies from manyangles. For the first time inhis life, a teacher waspointingoutthingsthatEnderhad not already seen forhimself. For the first time,Ender had found a livingmindhecouldadmire.“Why aren’t you dead?”

Ender asked him. “Youfought your battle seventyyears ago. I don’t thinkyou’reevensixtyyearsold.”“Themiracleofrelativity,”

said Mazer. “They kept meherefortwentyyearsafterthebattle, even though I beggedthemtoletmecommandoneofthestarshipstheylaunchedagainst the bugger homeplanet and the buggercolonies.Thenthey—cameto

understandsomethingsaboutthewaysoldiersbehaveinthestressofbattle.”“Whatthings?”“You’veneverbeen taught

enough psychology tounderstand. Enough to saythat they realized that eventhoughIwouldneverbeabletocommandthefleet—I’dbedead before the fleet evenarrived—I was still the onlypersonabletounderstandthe

thingsIunderstoodabout thebuggers. Iwas, theyrealized,theonlypersonwhohadeverdefeated the buggers byintelligence rather than luck.They needed me here to—teach the person who wouldcommandthefleet.”“So they sent youout in a

starship, got you up to arelativisticspeed—”“And then I turned around

and came home.A very dull

voyage,Ender.Fiftyyears inspace. Officially, only eightyearspassedforme,butitfeltlike five hundred. All so Icould teach the nextcommander everything Iknew.”“Am I to be the

commander,then?”“Let’s say that you’re our

bestbetatpresent.”“There are others being

prepared,too?”

“No.”“That makes me the only

choice,then,doesn’tit?”Mazershrugged.“Except you. You’re still

alive, aren’t you? Why notyou?”Mazershookhishead.“Why not? You won

before.”“I cannot be the

commander for good andsufficientreasons.”

“Show me how you beatthebuggers,Mazer.”Mazer’s face went

inscrutable.“You’ve shown me every

other battle seven times atleast. I think I’ve seen waysto beat what the buggers didbefore, but you’ve nevershown me how you actuallydidbeatthem.”“Thevideoisaverytightly

keptsecret,Ender.”

“I know. I’ve pieced ittogether, partly. You, withyour tiny reserve force, andtheir armada, those great bigheavy-bellied starshipslaunching their swarms offighters. You dart in at oneship, fire at it, an explosion.That’s where they alwaysstop the clips.After that, it’sjust soldiers going intobugger ships and alreadyfindingthemdeadinside.”

Mazer grinned. “So muchfortightlykeptsecrets.Comeon,let’swatchthevideo.”They were alone in the

video room, and Enderpalmed thedoor locked.“Allright,let’swatch.”The video showed exactly

what Ender had piecedtogether. Mazer’s suicidalplunge into the heart of theenemy formation, the singleexplosion,andthen—

Nothing. Mazer’s shipwent on, dodged the shockwave, and wove his wayamongtheotherbuggerships.They did not fire on him.They did not change course.Two of them crashed intoeach other and exploded—aneedless collision that eitherpilot could have avoided.Neither made the slightestmovement.Mazer sped up the action.

Skipped ahead. “We waitedfor three hours,” he said.“Nobody could believe it.”Then the I.F. ships beganapproaching the buggerstarships.Marinesbegantheircutting and boardingoperations. The videosshowed the buggers alreadydeadattheirposts.“So you see,” saidMazer,

“you already knew all therewastosee.”

“Whydidithappen?”“Nobodyknows.Ihavemy

personal opinions. But thereare plenty of scientists whotellmeI’mlessthanqualifiedtohaveopinions.”“You’re the one who won

thebattle.”“I thought that qualified

me tocomment, too,butyouknow how it is.Xenobiologists andxenopsychologists can’t

accepttheideathatastarpilotscooped them by sheerguesswork. I think they allhate me because, after theysawthesevideos,theyhadtolive out the rest of theirnatural lives here on Eros.Security, you know. Theyweren’thappy.”“Tellme.”“The buggers don’t talk.

Theythinktoeachother,andit’s instantaneous, like the

philotic effect. Like theansible. But most peoplealways thought that meant acontrolled communication,like language—I think you athought and thenyou answerme.Ineverbelievedthat.It’stoo immediate, the way theyrespond together to things.You’veseenthevideos.Theyaren’t conversing anddeciding among possiblecourses of action.Every ship

acts like part of a singleorganism.Itrespondsthewayyour body responds duringcombat, different partsautomatically, thoughtlesslydoing everything they’resupposed to do. They aren’thavingamental conversationbetweenpeoplewithdifferentthought processes. All theirthoughtsarepresent,together,atonce.”“Asingleperson,andeach

bugger is like a hand or afoot?”“Yes. I wasn’t the first

persontosuggestit,butIwasthe first person to believe it.And something else.Something so childish andstupid that thexenobiologistslaughedmetosilencewhenIsaid it after the battle. Thebuggers are bugs. They’relike ants and bees. A queen,theworkers.Thatwasmaybe

a hundredmillion years ago,but that’s how they started,thatkindofpattern.It’sasurethingnoneof thebuggerswesaw had any way of makingmore little buggers. Sowhenthey evolved this ability tothink together,wouldn’t theystill keep the queen?Wouldn’t the queen still bethecenterofthegroup?Whywouldthateverchange?”“So it’s the queen who

controlsthewholegroup.”“I had evidence, too. Not

evidence that any of themcould see. It wasn’t there inthe First Invasion, becausethatwas exploratory.But theSecond Invasion was acolony.Tosetupanewhive,orwhatever.”“And so they brought a

queen.”“Thevideosof theSecond

Invasion, when they were

destroying our fleets out inthecometshell.”Hebegantocall them up and display thebuggers’ patterns. “Showmethequeen’sship.”It was subtle. Ender

couldn’tseeitforalongtime.The bugger ships keptmoving, all of them. Therewas no obvious flagship, noapparent nerve center. Butgradually, as Mazer playedthe videos over and over

again,Enderbegantoseetheway that all the movementsfocused on, radiated from acenterpoint.Thecenterpointshifted, but it was obvious,after he looked long enough,thattheeyesofthefleet,theIof the fleet, the perspectivefromwhichalldecisionswerebeing made, was oneparticular ship.He pointed itout.“You see it. I see it. That

makes two people out of allof those who have seen thisvideo.Butit’strue,isn’tit.”“Theymakethatshipmove

justlikeanyothership.”“Theyknowit’stheirweak

point.”“But you’re right. That’s

the queen. But then you’dthink thatwhenyouwent forit, they would haveimmediately focused all theirpower on you. They could

have blown you out of thesky.”“I know. That part I don’t

understand. Not that theydidn’t try to stop me—theywere firingatme.But it’sasiftheyreallycouldn’tbelieve,until it was too late, that Iwouldactuallykillthequeen.Maybeintheirworld,queensare never killed, onlycaptured, only checkmated. Idid something they didn’t

think an enemy would everdo.”“And when she died, the

othersalldied.”“No,theyjustwentstupid.

The first ships we boarded,the buggers were still alive.Organically. But they didn’tmove, didn’t respond toanything, even when ourscientists vivisected some ofthemtoseeifwecouldlearna few more things about

buggers. After a while theyall died. No will. There’snothing in those little bodieswhenthequeenisgone.”“Why don’t they believe

you?”“Because we didn’t find a

queen.”“Shegotblowntopieces.”“Fortunes of war. Biology

takes second place tosurvival. But some of themarecomingaroundtomyway

ofthinking.Youcan’tliveinthis place without theevidence staring you in theface.”“Whatevidence is there in

Eros?”“Ender, look around you.

Human beings didn’t carvethis place. We like tallerceilings, for one thing. Thiswas the buggers’ advancepost in the First Invasion.They carved this place out

before we even knew theywere here.We’re living in abugger hive. But we alreadypaid our rent. It cost themarines a thousand lives toclear them out of thesehoneycombs, room by room.Thebuggersfoughtforeverymeterofit.”Now Ender understood

why the rooms had alwaysfelt wrong to him. “I knewthis place wasn’t a human

place.”“This was the treasure

trove. If they had knownwewouldwinthatfirstwar,theyprobably would never havebuilt this place. We learnedgravitymanipulation becausethey enhanced the gravityhere.Welearnedefficientuseofstellarenergybecausetheyblacked out this planet. Infact, that’s how wediscovered them. In a period

of three days, Eros graduallydisappeared from telescopes.We sent a tug to find outwhy. It found out. The tugtransmitted its videos,including the buggersboardingandslaughteringthecrew. It kept right ontransmitting through theentire bugger examination ofthe boat. Not until theyfinally dismantled the entiretug did the transmissions

stop. Itwas theirblindness—they never had to transmitanything bymachine, and sowith the crew dead, it didn’toccur to them that anybodycouldbewatching.”“Why did they kill the

crew?”“Whynot?Tothem,losing

a few crew members wouldbe like clipping your nails.Nothing to get upset about.They probably thought they

were routinely shuttingdownour communications byturning off the workersrunning the tug. Notmurdering living, sentientbeings with an independentgenetic future. Murder’s nobigdealtothem.Onlyqueen-killing, really, is murder,because only queen-killingclosesoffageneticpath.”“Sotheydidn’tknowwhat

theyweredoing.”

“Don’t start apologizingforthem,Ender.Justbecausethey didn’t know they werekilling human beings doesn’tmean they weren’t killinghumanbeings.Wedohavearight to defend ourselves asbestwecan,andtheonlywaywefoundthatworksiskillingthe buggers before they killus.Thinkofitthisway.Inallthe bugger wars so far,they’ve killed thousands and

thousands of living, thinkingbeings.Andinallthosewars,we’vekilledonlyone.”“If you hadn’t killed the

queen,Mazer,wouldwehavelostthewar?”“I’d say the odds would

have been three to twoagainstus.IstillthinkIcouldhavetrashedtheirfleetprettybadly before they burned usout.Theyhavegreatresponsetime and a lot of firepower,

but we have a fewadvantages, too.Every singleone of our ships contains anintelligent human beingwho’s thinking on his own.Everyoneofusiscapableofcoming up with a brilliantsolution to a problem. Theycan only come up with onebrilliant solution at a time.The buggers think fast, buttheyaren’tsmartallover.Butonourside,evenwhensome

incredibly timid and stupidcommanders lost the majorbattles of the SecondInvasion, some of theirsubordinates were able to doreal damage to the buggerfleet.”“What about when our

invasion reaches them? Willwejustgetthequeenagain?”“The buggers didn’t learn

interstellar travel by beingdumb. That was a strategy

that could work only once. Isuspect that we’ll never getnear a queen unless weactuallymakeittotheirhomeplanet. After all, the queendoesn’thave tobewith themto direct a battle. The queenonlyhastobepresenttohavelittle baby buggers. TheSecond Invasion was acolony—the queen wascomingtopopulatetheEarth.Butthistime—no,thatwon’t

work. We’ll have to beatthem fleet by fleet. Andbecause they have theresources of dozens of starsystemstodrawon,myguessis they’ll outnumber us by alot,ineverybattle.”Ender remembered his

battle against two armies atonce. And I thought theywerecheating.When therealwar begins, it’ll be like thatevery time. And there won’t

beanygateIcangofor.“We’ve only got two

things going for us, Ender.We don’t have to aimparticularly well. Ourweaponshavegreatspread.”“Then we aren’t using the

nuclear missiles from theFirstandSecondInvasions?”“Dr.Device ismuchmore

powerful. Nuclear weapons,after all, were weak enoughto be used on Earth at one

time.TheLittleDoctorcouldnever be used on a planet.Still, I wish I’d had oneduringtheSecondInvasion.”“Howdoesitwork?”“I don’t know, not well

enough to build one. At thefocal point of two beams, itsets up a field in whichmoleculescan’tholdtogetheranymore. Electrons can’t beshared.Howmuchphysicsdoyouknow,atthatlevel?”

“We spend most of ourtime on astrophysics, but Iknowenoughtogettheidea.”“Thefieldspreadsout ina

sphere,butitgetsweakerthefartheritspreads.Exceptthatwhere it actually runs into alot of molecules, it getsstronger and starts over. Thebigger the ship, the strongerthenewfield.”“Soeachtimethefieldhits

a ship, it sends out a new

sphere—”“And if their ships are too

closetogether,itcansetupachainthatwipesthemallout.Thenthefielddiesdown,themolecules come backtogether,andwhereyouhadaship,younowhavealumpofdirt with a lot of ironmolecules in it. Noradioactivity, no mess. Justdirt.Wemay be able to trapthem close together on the

firstbattle,buttheylearnfast.They’ll keep their distancefromeachother.”“So Dr. Device isn’t a

missile—Ican’tshootaroundcorners.”“That’s right. Missiles

wouldn’t do any good now.Welearnedalotfromtheminthe First Invasion, but theyalsolearnedfromus—howtosetuptheEcstaticShield,forinstance.”

“The Little Doctorpenetratestheshield?”“Asifitweren’tthere.You

can’tseethroughtheshieldtoaimandfocusthebeams,butsince the generator of theEcstatic Shield is always inthe exact center, it isn’t hardtofigureitout.”“Why haven’t I ever been

trainedwiththis?”“Youalwayshave.Wejust

letthecomputertendtoitfor

you.Yourjobistogetintoasuperiorstrategicpositionandchoose a target. Theshipboard computers aremuch better at aiming theDoctorthanyouare.”“Why is it called Dr.

Device?”“Whenitwasdeveloped,it

was called a MolecularDetachment Device. M.D.Device.”Ender still didn’t

understand.“M.D. The initials stand

for Medical Doctor, too.M.D. Device, therefore Dr.Device.Itwasajoke.”Enderdidn’t see what was funnyaboutit.

They had changed thesimulator. He could stillcontrol the perspective andthedegreeofdetail,butthere

were no ship’s controlsanymore. Instead, it was anew panel of levers, and asmallheadsetwithearphonesandasmallmicrophone.The technician who was

waiting there quicklyexplained how to wear theheadset.“But how do I control the

ships?”askedEnder.Mazer explained. He

wasn’tgoing tocontrol ships

anymore. “You’ve reachedthe next phase of yourtraining.Youhaveexperienceineverylevelofstrategy,butnow it’s time for you toconcentrate on commandingan entire fleet. As youworked with toon leaders inBattle School, so now youwill work with squadronleaders. You have beenassigned three dozen suchleaders to train. You must

teach them intelligent tactics;youmustlearntheirstrengthsand limitations; you mustmakethemintoawhole.”“When will they come

here?”“They’re already in place

in their own simulators.Youwill speak to them throughthe headset. The new leverson your control panel enableyou to see from theperspective of any of your

squadron leaders. This moreclosely duplicates theconditions you mightencounter in a real battle,where you will know onlywhatyourshipscansee.”“How can I work with

squadron leaders I neversee?”“Andwhywouldyouneed

toseethem?”“To know who they are,

howtheythink—”

“You’ll learnwhotheyareand how they think from theway they work with thesimulator. But even so, Ithink you won’t beconcerned. They’re listeningto you right now. Put on theheadset so you can hearthem.”Enderputontheheadset.“Salaam,”saidawhisperin

hisears.“Alai,”saidEnder.

“Andme,thedwarf.”“Bean.”And Petra, and Dink;

CrazyTom,Shen,HotSoup,FlyMolo,CarnCarby,allthebest students Ender hadfoughtwithorfoughtagainst,everyone that Ender hadtrusted in Battle School. “Ididn’t know youwere here,”he said. “I didn’t know youwerecoming.”“They’ve been flogging us

through the simulator forthree months now,” saidDink.“You’llfindthatI’mbyfar

thebesttactician,”saidPetra.“Dink tries, but he has themindofachild.”So they began working

together, each squadronleader commandingindividual pilots, and Endercommanding the squadronleaders. They learned many

waysofworking together, asthe simulator forced them totry different situations.Sometimesthesimulatorgavethem a larger fleet to workwith;Ender set themup thenin three or four toons thatconsisted of three or foursquadrons each. Sometimesthe simulator gave them asinglestarshipwithitstwelvefighters, and he chose threesquadron leaders with four

fighterseach.It was pleasure; it was

play. The computer-controlled enemy was nonetoo bright, and they alwayswon despite their mistakes,theirmiscommunications.Butin the three weeks theypracticed together, Endercame to know them verywell.Dink,whodeftlycarriedout instructionsbutwasslowto improvise; Bean, who

couldn’t control large groupsofshipseffectivelybutcoulduse a few like a scalpel,reacting beautifully toanything the computer threwathim;Alai,whowasalmostas good a strategist as Enderand could be entrusted to dowellwithhalfafleetandonlyvagueinstructions.The better Ender knew

them, the faster he coulddeploy them, the better he

could use them. Thesimulator would display thesituationonthescreen.InthatmomentEnderlearnedforthefirst time what his own fleetwouldconsistofandhowtheenemy fleetwas deployed. Ittookhimonly a fewminutesnow to call the squadronleadersthatheneeded,assignthem to certain ships orgroups of ships, and givethemtheirassignments.Then,

as the battle progressed, hewouldskipfromoneleader’spoint of view to another’s,making suggestions and,occasionally,givingordersasthe need arose. Since theothers could see only theirown battle perspective, hewould sometimes give themorders thatmade no sense tothem;butthey,too,learnedtotrustEnder.Ifhetoldthemtowithdraw, they withdrew,

knowingthateithertheywerein an exposed position, ortheirwithdrawalmightenticethe enemy into a weakenedposture. They also knew thatEnder trusted them to do asthey judged best when hegave them no orders. If theirstyle of fighting were notright for the situation theywere placed in, Enderwouldnothavechosenthemforthatassignment.

Thetrustwascomplete,theworkingofthefleetquickandresponsive.Andattheendofthree weeks, Mazer showedhim a replay of their mostrecent battle, only this timefrom the enemy’s point ofview.“This is what he saw as

you attacked. What does itremind you of? Thequickness of response, forinstance?”

“We look like a buggerfleet.”“You match them, Ender.

You’re as fast as they are.Andhere—lookatthis.”Ender watched as all his

squadrons moved at once,each responding to its ownsituation, all guided byEnder’s overall command,but daring, improvising,feinting, attacking with anindependencenobugger fleet

hadevershown.“The bugger hive-mind is

very good, but it can onlyconcentrateonafewthingsatonce.Allyoursquadronscanconcentrate a keenintelligence on what they’redoing,andwhatthey’vebeenassigned todo is alsoguidedbyaclevermind.Soyouseethat you do have someadvantages. Superior, thoughnot irresistible, weaponry;

comparablespeedandgreateravailable intelligence. Theseare your advantages. Yourdisadvantage is that youwillalways, always beoutnumbered, and after eachbattle your enemy will learnmoreaboutyou,howtofightyou, and those changes willbeputintoeffectinstantly.”Ender waited for his

conclusion.“So Ender, we will now

begin your education. Wehave programmed thecomputer to simulate thekinds of situations we mightexpectinencounterswiththeenemy. We are using themovementpatternswesawinthe Second Invasion. Butinstead of mindlesslyfollowing these samepatterns, Iwillbecontrollingtheenemysimulation.Atfirstyou will see easy situations

that you are expected to winhandily. Learn from them,because I will always bethere, one step aheadofyou,programming more difficultand advanced patterns intothe computer so that yournext battle is more difficult,so thatyouarepushed to thelimitofyourabilities.”“Andbeyond?”“The time is short. You

must learn as quickly as you

can. When I gave myself tostarshiptravel,justsoIwouldstill be alive when youappeared, my wife andchildren all died, and mygrandchildren were my ownagewhen Icameback. Ihadnothingtosaytothem.Iwascut off from all the peoplethat I loved, everything Iknew, living in this aliencatacomb and forced to donothing of importance but

teach student after student,each one so hopeful, eachone,ultimately,aweakling,afailure.Iteach,Iteach,butnoone learns. You, too, havegreat promise, like so manystudents before you, but theseeds of failure may be inyou, too. It’s my job to findthem,todestroyyouifIcan,andbelieveme,Ender,ifyoucanbedestroyedIcandoit.”“SoI’mnotthefirst.”

“No, of course you’re not.But you’re the last. If youdon’t learn, there’ll be notimetofindanyoneelse.SoIhave hope for you, if onlybecauseyouare theonlyonelefttohopefor.”“What about the others?

Mysquadronleaders?”“Which of them is fit to

takeyourplace?”“Alai.”“Behonest.”

Enderhadnoanswer,then.“I am not a happy man,

Ender.Humanitydoesnotaskustobehappy.Itmerelyasksustobebrilliantonitsbehalf.Survival first, then happinessas we can manage it. So,Ender,Ihopeyoudonotboreme during your trainingwithcomplaints that you are nothaving fun. Take whatpleasure you can in theinterstices of your work, but

yourworkisfirst, learningisfirst, winning is everythingbecause without it there isnothing. When you can giveme back my dead wife,Ender,thenyoucancomplainto me about what thiseducationcostsyou.”“Iwasn’t trying to get out

ofanything.”“But you will, Ender.

Because I am going to grindyou down to dust, if I can.

I’m going to hit you witheverythingIcanimagine,andIwillhavenomercy,becausewhen you face the buggersthey will think of things Ican’t imagine, andcompassionforhumanbeingsisimpossibleforthem.”“Youcan’tgrindmedown,

Mazer.”“Oh,can’tI?”“BecauseI’mstrongerthan

you.”

Mazer smiled. “We’ll seeaboutthat,Ender.”

Mazerwakenedhimbeforemorning;theclocksaid0340,and Ender felt groggy as hepadded along the corridorbehindMazer. “Early to bedand early to rise,” Mazerintoned,“makesamanstupidandblindintheeyes.”Hehadbeendreamingthat

buggerswerevivisectinghim.Only instead of cutting openhis body, they were cuttingup his memories anddisplaying them likeholographs and trying tomakesenseof them.Itwasavery odd dream, and Endercouldn’teasilyshakelooseofit,evenashewalkedthroughthe tunnels to the simulatorroom.Thebuggerstormentedhim in his sleep, and Mazer

wouldn’t leave him alonewhenhewasawake.Betweenthe two of them he had norest. Ender forced himselfawake. Apparently Mazermeant it when he said hemeanttobreakEnderdown—andforcinghimtoplaywhentired and sleepywas just thesort of cheap and easy trickEnder should have expected.Well, today, it wouldn’twork.

Hegottothesimulatorandfound his squadron leadersalready on the wire, waitingforhim.Therewasnoenemyyet, so he divided them intotwoarmiesandbeganamockbattle, commanding bothsides so he could control thetest that each of his leaderswas going through. Theybegan slowly, but soonwerevigorousandalert.Then the simulator field

went blank, the shipsdisappeared, and everythingchanged at once.At the nearedge of the simulator fieldthey could see the shapes,drawninholographiclight,ofthree starships from thehuman fleet. Each wouldhave twelve fighters. Theenemy, obviously aware ofthe human presence, hadformed a globewith a singleship at the center.Enderwas

notfooled—itwouldnotbeaqueen ship. The buggersoutnumbered Ender’s fighterforcebytwotoone,but theywere also grouped muchcloser together than theyshould have been—Dr.Device would be able to domuch more damage than theenemyexpected.Ender selected one

starship,made it blink in thesimulator field, and spoke

into the microphone. “Alai,thisisyours;assignPetraandVlad to the fighters as youwish.”He assigned the othertwo starships with theirfighter forces, except for onefighterfromeachstarshipthathe reserved for Bean. “Slipthewall andgetbelow them,Bean, unless they startchasing you—then run backto the reserves for safety.Otherwise, get in a place

where I can call on you forquickresults.Alai,formyourforce into a compact assaultat one point in their globe.Don’t fire until I tell you.Thisismaneuveronly.”“This one’s easy, Ender,”

Alaisaid.“It’s easy, so why not be

careful? I’d like to do thiswithout the loss of a singleship.”Endergroupedhisreserves

in two forces that shadowedAlai at a distance; Beanwasalready off the simulator,though Ender occasionallyflipped to Bean’s point ofview to keep track of wherehewas.ItwasAlai, however,who

playedthedelicategamewiththe enemy. He was in abullet-shaped formation, andprobed the enemy globe.Wherever he came near, the

bugger ships pulled back, asif to draw him in toward theship in the center. Alaiskimmed to the side; thebugger ships kept up withhim, withdrawing whereverhewasclose,returningtothesphere pattern when he hadpassed.Feint, withdraw, skim the

globe to another point,withdraw again, feint again;and then Ender said, “Go on

in,Alai.”His bullet started in,while

hesaidtoEnder,“Youknowthey’lljustletmethroughandsurround me and eat mealive.”“Justignorethatshipinthe

middle.”“Whateveryousay,boss.”Sure enough, the globe

began to contract. Enderbrought thereserves forward;theenemyshipsconcentrated

on the side of the globenearer the reserves. “Attackthem there, where they’remost concentrated,” Endersaid.“This defies four thousand

years of military history,”saidAlai,movinghisfightersforward. “We’re supposed toattack where we outnumberthem.”“In this simulation they

obviously don’t know what

ourweaponscando.It’llonlywork once, but let’s make itspectacular.Fireatwill.”Alai did. The simulation

responded beautifully: firstoneortwo,thenadozen,thenmost of the enemy shipsexploded in dazzling light asthe field leapt from ship toship in the tight formation.“Stayoutof theway,”Endersaid.Theshipsonthefarsideof

theglobe formationwerenotaffectedbythechainreaction,but itwas a simplematter tohunt them down and destroythem. Bean took care ofstragglers that tried toescapetowardhis endof space.Thebattle was over. It had beeneasier than most of theirrecentexercises.Mazer shrugged when

Ender toldhimso.“This isasimulationofa real invasion.

Therehad tobeonebattle inwhichtheydidn’tknowwhatwecoulddo.Nowyourworkbegins. Try not to be tooarrogantaboutthevictory.I’llgive you the real challengessoonenough.”Enderpracticedtenhoursa

day with his squadronleaders,butnotallatonce;hegavethemafewhours in theafternoon to rest. Simulatedbattles under Mazer’s

supervision came every twoor three days, and as Mazerhad promised, they werenever so easy again. Theenemyquickly abandoned itsattempt to surround Ender,and never again grouped itsforces closely enough toallowachain reaction.Therewas something new everytime, something harder.Sometimes Ender had only asingle starship and eight

fighters; once the enemydodged through an asteroidbelt; sometimes the enemyleft stationary traps, largeinstallations that blew up ifEnder brought one of hissquadrons too close, oftencrippling or destroying someofEnder’sships.“Youcannotabsorb losses!” Mazershouted at him after onebattle. “When you get into arealbattleyouwon’thavethe

luxuryofaninfinitesupplyofcomputer-generated fighters.You’llhavewhatyoubroughtwith you and nothing more.Now get used to fightingwithoutunnecessarywaste.”“It wasn’t unnecessary

waste,” Ender said. “I can’twinbattles if I’mso terrifiedof losing a ship that I nevertakeanyrisks.”Mazer smiled. “Excellent,

Ender. You’re beginning to

learn.Butinarealbattle,youwould have superior officersand, worst of all, civiliansshouting those things at you.Now, if the enemy had beenatallbright,theywouldhavecaught you here, and takenTom’s squadron.” Togetherthey went over the battle; inthe next practice, Enderwould showhis leaderswhatMazer had shown him, andthey’d learn to cope with it

thenexttimetheysawit.They thought they had

been ready before, that theyhad worked smoothlytogether as a team. Now,though, having foughtthrough real challengestogether, they all began totrust each other more thanever, and battles becameexhilarating.They toldEnderthat the ones who weren’tactually playing would come

into the simulator rooms andwatch. Ender imagined whatit would be like to have hisfriends there with him,cheering or laughing orgasping with apprehension;sometimes he thought itwould be a great distraction,butothertimeshewishedforit with all his heart. Evenwhen he had spent his dayslyingout in thesunlightonaraftinalake,hehadnotbeen

so lonely. Mazer Rackhamwas his companion, was histeacher, but was not hisfriend.He made no complaint,

though. Mazer had told himthere would be no pity, andhisprivateunhappinessmeantnothing to anyone. Most ofthe time it meant nothingeven to Ender. He kept hismind on the game, trying tolearn from the battles. And

not just theparticular lessonsof that battle, but what thebuggers might have done ifthey had been more clever,andhowEnderwouldreactifthey did it in the future. Helived with past battles andfuture battles both, wakingand sleeping, and he drovehis squadron leaders with anintensity that occasionallyprovokedrebelliousness.“You’re too kind to us,”

said Alai one day. “Whydon’t you get annoyed withus for not being brilliantevery moment of everypractice.Ifyoukeepcoddlingus like this we’ll think youlikeus.”Someoftheotherslaughed

intotheirmicrophones.Enderrecognized the irony, ofcourse, and answered with alongsilence.Whenhefinallyspoke, he ignored Alai’s

complaint. “Again,” he said,“and this time without self-pity.” They did it again, anddiditright.But as their trust in Ender

as a commander grew, theirfriendship, remembered fromthe Battle School days,graduallydisappeared. Itwasto each other that theybecame close; it was witheach other that theyexchanged confidences.

Ender was their teacher andcommander, as distant fromthemasMazerwasfromhim,andasdemanding.They fought all the better

for it. And Ender was notdistractedfromhiswork.At least, notwhile hewas

awake. As he drifted off tosleep each night, it waswiththoughts of the simulatorplayingthroughhismind.Butin the night he thought of

other things. Often herememberedthecorpseoftheGiant, decaying steadily; hedid not remember it, though,inthepixelsofthepictureonhis desk. Instead it was real,the faint odor of death stilllingeringnearit.Thingswerechanged in his dreams. Thelittle village that had grownup between the Giant’s ribswas composed of buggersnow, and they saluted him

gravely, like gladiatorsgreeting Caesar before theydiedforhisentertainment.Hedidnothatethebuggersinhisdream; and even though heknew that they had hiddentheir queen fromhim, he didnot try to search for her. Healways left the Giant’s bodyquickly, and when he got tothe playground, the childrenwere always there, wolvenandmocking;theyworefaces

that he knew. SometimesPeter and sometimes Bonzo,sometimes Stilson andBernard; just as often,though, the savage creatureswereAlaiandShen,DinkandPetra;sometimesoneofthemwould be Valentine, and inhisdreamhealsoshovedherunder the water and waitedforhertodrown.Shewrithedin his hands, fought to comeup, but at last was still. He

dragged her out of the lakeand onto the raft, where shelaywithherfaceintherictusof death. He screamed andwept over her, crying againandagainthatitwasagame,agame,hewasonlyplaying!—Then Mazer Rackham

shookhimawake.“Youwerecallingout inyour sleep,”hesaid.“Sorry,”Endersaid.

“Nevermind. It’s time foranotherbattle.”Steadily the pace

increased.Therewereusuallytwo battles a day now, andEnder held practices to aminimum. He would use thetimewhiletheothersrestedtopore over the replays of pastgames,tryingtospothisownweaknesses, trying to guesswhat would happen next.Sometimes he was fully

prepared for the enemy’sinnovations; sometimes hewasnot.“I think you’re cheating,”

EndertoldMazeroneday.“Oh?”“You can observe my

practicesessions.Youcanseewhat I’m working on. Youseem to be ready foreverythingIdo.”“Most of what you see is

computer simulations,”

Mazersaid.“Thecomputerisprogrammed to respond toyour innovations only afteryouusethemonceinbattle.”“Then the computer is

cheating.”“You need to get more

sleep,Ender.”Buthecouldnotsleep.He

lay awake longer and longereachnight,andhissleepwasless restful. He woke tooofteninthenight.Whetherhe

waswakinguptothinkmoreabout the game or to escapefrom his dreams, he wasn’tsure. It was as if someonerodehiminhissleep,forcinghim to wander through hisworst memories, to live inthem again as if they werereal.Nightswere so real thatdaysbegantoseemdreamliketo him. He began to worrythat he would not thinkclearlyenough,thathewould

be too tiredwhen he played.Always when the gamebegan, the intensity of itawoke him, but if hismentalabilities began to slip, hewondered,wouldhenoticeit?And he seemed to be

slipping. He never had abattle anymore in which hedid not lose at least a fewfighters. Several times theenemywas able to trick himintoexposingmoreweakness

thanhemeant to;other timesthe enemy was able to wearhim down by attrition untilhis victory was as much amatter of luck as strategy.Mazer would go over thegamewithalookofcontemptonhisface.“Lookatthis,”hewould say. “You didn’t havetodothis.”AndEnderwouldreturn to practice with hisleaders, trying to keep uptheir morale, but sometimes

lettingsliphisdisappointmentwith their weaknesses, thefactthattheymademistakes.“Sometimes we make

mistakes,”Petrawhisperedtohim once. It was a plea forhelp.“And sometimes we

don’t,” Ender answered her.If she got help, it would notbefromhim.Hewouldteach;letherfindherfriendsamongtheothers.

Then came a battle thatnearlyendedindisaster.Petraled her force too far; theywere exposed, and shediscovered it in a momentwhenEnderwasn’twith her.In only a few moments shehad lost all but two of herships. Ender found her then,orderedhertomovetheminacertain direction; she didn’tanswer. There was nomovement.And inamoment

thosetwofighters,too,wouldbelost.Enderknewatoncethathe

had pushed her too hard—because of her brilliance hehad called on her to play farmore often and under muchmore demandingcircumstances than all but afewoftheothers.Buthehadno time now to worry aboutPetra, or to feel guilty aboutwhat he had done to her.He

called on Crazy Tom tocommand the two remainingfighters, thenwenton, tryingto salvage the battle; Petrahad occupied a key position,and now all of Ender’sstrategy came apart. If theenemyhadnotbeentooeagerandclumsyinexploitingtheiradvantage,Enderwouldhavelost. But Shen was able tocatchagroupoftheenemyintootightaformationandtook

them out with a single chainreaction. Crazy Tom broughthis two surviving fighters inthrough the gap and causedhavoc with the enemy, andthough his ships and Shen’sas well were finallydestroyed,FlyMolowasableto mop up and complete thevictory.Attheendofthebattle,he

could hear Petra crying out,trying to get a microphone,

“Tell him I’m sorry, I wasjustsotired,Icouldn’t think,that was all, tell Ender I’msorry.”She was not there for the

next fewpractices, andwhenshe did come back she wasnotasquickasshehadbeen,not as daring.Much of whathad made her a goodcommander was lost. Endercouldn’t use her anymore,except in routine, closely

supervised assignments. Shewas no fool. She knewwhathad happened. But she alsoknewthatEnderhadnootherchoice,andtoldhimso.The fact remained that she

had broken, and she was farfrombeingtheweakestofhissquad leaders. It was awarning—he could not presshis commanders more thantheycouldbear.Now,insteadofusinghisleaderswhenever

heneededtheirskills,hehadto keep in mind how oftenthey had fought. He had tospell them off, which meantthat sometimes he went intobattle with commanders hetrusted a little less. As heeased the pressure on them,he increased the pressure onhimself.Lateonenighthewokeup

in pain. There was blood onhis pillow, the taste of blood

in his mouth. His fingerswere throbbing. He saw thatin his sleep he had beengnawingonhisownfist.Theblood was still flowingsmoothly.“Mazer!”hecalled.Rackhamwokeupandcalledatonceforadoctor.As the doctor treated the

wound, Mazer said, “I don’tcare how much you eat,Ender,self-cannibalismwon’tgetyououtofthisschool.”

“Iwasasleep,”Endersaid.“I don’t want to get out ofCommandSchool.”“Good.”“Theothers.Theoneswho

didn’tmakeit.”“What are you talking

about?”“Before me. Your other

students, who didn’t make itthrough the training. Whathappenedtothem?”“They didn’t make it.

That’s all. We don’t punishthe ones who fail. They just—don’tgoon.”“LikeBonzo.”“Bonzo?”“Hewenthome.”“NotlikeBonzo.”“What, then? What

happened to them? Whentheyfailed?”“Why does it matter,

Ender?”Enderdidn’tanswer.

“None of them failed atthis point in their course,Ender. You made a mistakewith Petra. She’ll recover.But Petra is Petra, and youareyou.”“PartofwhatIamisher.Is

whatshemademe.”“You won’t fail, Ender.

Not this early in the course.You’ve had some tight ones,but you’ve alwayswon.Youdon’t know what your limits

areyet,butifyou’vereachedthem already you’re a gooddealfeeblerthanIthought.”“Dotheydie?”“Who?”“Theoneswhofail.”“No, they don’t die. Good

heavens, boy, you’re playinggames.”“I think thatBonzodied. I

dreamedabout it last night. Iremembered the way helooked after I jammed his

face withmy head. I think Imust have pushed his nosebackintohisbrain.Thebloodwascomingoutofhiseyes.Ithinkhewasdeadrightthen.”“Itwasjustadream.”“Mazer, I don’t want to

keep dreaming these things.I’m afraid to sleep. I keepthinkingofthingsthatIdon’twanttoremember.Mywholelife keeps playing out as if Iwerearecorderandsomeone

elsewantedtowatchthemostterriblepartsofmylife.”“We can’t drug you if

that’swhatyou’rehopingfor.I’m sorry if you have baddreams. Shouldwe leave thelightonatnight?”“Don’t make fun of me!”

Ender said. “I’m afraid I’mgoingcrazy.”The doctor was finished

with thebandage.Mazer toldhimhecouldgo.Hewent.

“Are you really afraid ofthat?”Mazerasked.Ender thoughtabout itand

wasn’tsure.“In my dreams,” said

Ender, “I’m never surewhetherI’mreallyme.”“Strange dreams are a

safety valve, Ender. I’mputting you under a littlepressure for the first time inyour life. Your body isfinding ways to compensate,

that’s all. You’re a big boynow. It’s time to stop beingafraidofthenight.”“Allright,”Endersaid.He

decided then that he wouldnever tell Mazer about hisdreamsagain.The days wore on, with

battleseveryday,untilatlastEnder settled into the routineof thedestructionof himself.Hebegantohavepainsinhisstomach. They put him on a

blanddiet,butsoonhedidn’thaveanappetite foranythingatall. “Eat,”Mazer said,andEnder would mechanicallyput food inhismouth.But ifnobody told him to eat, hedidn’teat.Twomoreof his squadron

leaderscollapsedthewaythatPetrahad;thepressureontherest became all the greater.The enemy outnumberedthem by three or four to one

in every battle now; theenemy also retreated morereadily when things wentbadly,regroupingtokeepthebattle going longer andlonger. Sometimes battleslasted for hours before theyfinally destroyed the lastenemy ship. Ender beganrotating his squadron leaderswithin the same battle,bringing in fresh and restedonestotaketheplaceofthose

who were beginning to getsluggish.“You know,” said Bean

one time, as he took overcommandofHotSoup’sfourremaining fighters, “thisgame isn’t quite as fun as itusedtobe.”Then one day in practice,

as Ender was drilling hissquadron leaders, the roomwent black and he woke upon the floor with his face

bloody where he had hit thecontrols.They put him to bed then,

and for three days he wasvery ill. He rememberedseeing faces in his dreams,but they weren’t real faces,andheknewitevenwhilehethought he saw them. Hethought he saw Valentinesometimes, and sometimesPeter; sometimes his friendsfrom the Battle School, and

sometimes the buggersvivisecting him. Once itseemed very real when hesaw Colonel Graff bendingover him, speaking softly tohim, like a kind father. Butthen he woke up and foundonly his enemy, MazerRackham.“I’mawake,”saidEnder.“So I see,” Mazer

answered. “Took you longenough. You have a battle

today.”SoEndergotupandfought

the battle and won it. Butthere was no second battlethatday,and they lethimgotobedearlier.Hishandswereshakingasheundressed.During the night he

thought he felt handstouching him gently. Handswith affection in them, andgentleness. He dreamed heheardvoices.

“Youhaven’tbeenkind tohim.”“That wasn’t the

assignment.”“How long can he go on?

He’sbreakingdown.”“Long enough. It’s nearly

finished.”“Sosoon?”“Afewdays,andthenhe’s

through.”“How will he do, when

he’salreadylikethis?”

“Fine. Even today, hefoughtbetterthanever.”In his dream, the voices

sounded like Colonel GraffandMazerRackham.Butthatwasthewaydreamswere,thecraziest things could happen,becausehedreamedheheardone of the voices saying, “Ican’t bear to seewhat this isdoing tohim.”And theothervoice answered, “I know. Ilovehimtoo.”Andthenthey

changed into Valentine andAlai, and in his dream theywereburyinghim,onlyahillgrew up where they laid hisbodydown, and he dried outand became a home forbuggers,liketheGiantwas.All dreams. If there was

love or pity for him, it wasonlyinhisdreams.He woke up and fought

anotherbattleandwon.Thenhe went to bed and slept

againanddreamedagainandthen he woke up and wonagain and slept again and hehardly noticed when wakingbecame sleeping. Nor did hecare.The next day was his last

day in Command School,though he didn’t know it.Mazer Rackham was not inthe room with him when hewoke up. He showered anddressedandwaitedforMazer

to come unlock the door.Hedidn’t come. Ender tried thedoor.Itwasopen.Was it an accident that

Mazerhadlethimbefreethismorning?Noonewithhimtotellhimhemusteat,hemustgotopractice,hemustsleep.Freedom.Thetroublewas,hedidn’t know what to do. Hethoughtforamomentthathemight find his squadronleaders, talk to them face to

face, but he didn’t knowwhere theywere.Theycouldbe twenty kilometers away,for all he knew. So, afterwandering through thetunnels for a little while, hewent to themesshallandatebreakfast near a fewmarineswho were telling dirty jokesthatEndercouldnotbegintounderstand. Then he went tothe simulator room forpractice.Eventhoughhewas

free, he could not think ofanythingelsetodo.Mazerwaswaitingforhim.

Enderwalkedslowlyintotheroom. His step was slightlyshuffling, and he felt tiredanddull.Mazer frowned. “Are you

awake,Ender?”Therewereotherpeoplein

the simulator room. Enderwondered why they werethere,butdidn’tbothertoask.

It wasn’t worth asking; noone would tell him anyway.He walked to the simulatorcontrols and sat down, readytostart.“Ender Wiggin,” said

Mazer. “Please turn around.Today’s game needs a littleexplanation.”Ender turned around. He

glanced at the men gatheredatthebackoftheroom.Mostof them he had never seen

before. Some were evendressedincivilianclothes.HesawAnderson and wonderedwhathewasdoingthere,whowas taking care of theBattleSchool if he was gone. Hesaw Graff and rememberedthelakeinthewoodsoutsideGreensboro,andwantedtogohome.Takemehome,hesaidsilentlytoGraff.Inmydreamyousaidyou lovedme.Takemehome.

But Graff only nodded tohim, a greeting, not apromise, andAnderson actedasthoughhedidn’tknowhimatall.“Pay attention, please,

Ender. Today is your finalexamination in CommandSchool. These observers arehere to evaluate what youhave learned. If you prefernottohavethemintheroom,we’ll have them watch on

anothersimulator.”“They can stay.” Final

examination. After today,perhapshecouldrest.“Forthistobeafairtestof

your ability, not just to dowhat you have practicedmany times, but also tomeetchallenges you have neverseen before, today’s battleintroduces a new element. Itis staged around a planet.This will affect the enemy’s

strategy,andwillforceyoutoimprovise.Pleaseconcentrateonthegametoday.”Ender beckoned Mazer

closer,andaskedhimquietly,“Am I the first student tomakeitthisfar?”“If you win today, Ender,

youwillbethefirststudenttodoso.MorethanthatI’mnotatlibertytosay.”“Well, I’m at liberty to

hearit.”

“Youcanbeaspetulantasyou want, tomorrow. Today,though, I’d appreciate it ifyouwouldkeepyourmindonthe examination. Let’s notwaste all that you’ve alreadydone.Now,howwillyoudealwiththeplanet?”“I have to get someone

behindit,orit’sablindspot.”“True.”“And the gravity is going

toaffect fuel levels—cheaper

togodownthanup.”“Yes.”“Does the Little Doctor

workagainstaplanet?”Mazer’s face went rigid.

“Ender, the buggers neverdeliberately attacked acivilian population in eitherinvasion.Youdecidewhetherit would be wise to adopt astrategy that would invitereprisals.”“Istheplanettheonlynew

thing?”“Can you remember the

last time I’ve given you abattle with only one newthing? Let me assure you,Ender, thatIwillnotbekindto you today. I have aresponsibility to the fleet notto let a second-rate studentgraduate. I will do my bestagainst you, Ender, and Ihavenodesiretocoddleyou.Just keep inmind everything

youknowaboutyourselfandeverything you know aboutthe buggers, and you have afair chance of amounting tosomething.”Mazerlefttheroom.Ender spoke into the

microphone. “Are youthere?”“All of us,” said Bean.

“Kindoflateforpracticethismorning,aren’tyou?”So they hadn’t told the

squadron leaders. Endertoyedwith the ideaof tellingthem how important thisbattlewastohim,butdecidedit would not help them tohave an extraneous concernon their minds. “Sorry,” hesaid.“Ioverslept.”They laughed.They didn’t

believehim.He led them through

maneuvers, warming up forthe battle ahead. It took him

longer thanusual toclearhismind, to concentrate oncommand, but soon enoughhe was up to speed,responding quickly, thinkingwell. Or at least, he toldhimself, I think that I’mthinkingwell.Thesimulatorfieldcleared.

Enderwaitedfor thegametoappear.WhatwillhappenifIpass the test today? Is thereanotherschool?Anotheryear

or two of grueling training,another year of isolation,another year of peoplepushingmethiswayandthatway, another year withoutanycontrolovermyownlife?Hetriedtorememberhowoldhe was. Eleven. How manyyearsagodidheturneleven?How many days? It musthave happened here at theCommand School, but hecouldn’t remember the day.

Maybe he didn’t even noticeitatthetime.Nobodynoticedit,exceptperhapsValentine.And as he waited for the

gametoappear,hewishedhecould simply lose it, lose thebattle badly and completelyso that they would removehim from training, likeBonzo,and lethimgohome.Bonzo had been assigned toCartagena. Hewanted to seetravel orders that said

Greensboro.Successmeantitwould go on. Failure meanthecouldgohome.No, that isn’t true, he told

himself.Theyneedme,andifI fail, theremightnotbeanyhometoreturnto.Buthedidnotbelieveit.In

hisconsciousmindheknewitwas true, but inotherplaces,deeperplaces,hedoubtedthatthey needed him. Mazer’surgency was just another

trick. Just another way tomakeme do what they wantme to do. Another way tokeep me from resting. Fromdoing nothing, for a long,longtime.Then the enemy formation

appeared, and Ender’swearinessturnedtodespair.The enemy outnumbered

him a thousand to one; thesimulator glowed green withthem.Theyweregroupedina

dozen different formations,shifting positions, changingshapes,moving in seeminglyrandom patterns through thesimulator field.He could notfind a path through them—aspace that seemed openwould close suddenly, andanother appear, and aformation that seemedpenetrable would suddenlychange and be forbidding.Theplanetwasatthefaredge

ofthefield,andforallEnderknewtherewerejustasmanyenemyshipsbeyondit,outofthesimulator’srange.As for his own fleet, it

consistedof twentystarships,each with only four fighters.He knew the four-fighterstarships—they were old-fashioned, sluggish, and therange of their Little Doctorswas half that of the newerones. Eighty fighters, against

atleastfivethousand,perhapstenthousandenemyships.He heard his squadron

leaders breathing heavily; hecould also hear, from theobserversbehindhim,aquietcurse. It was nice to knowthatoneof theadultsnoticedthat it wasn’t a fair test. Notthat it made any difference.Fairness wasn’t part of thegame, that was plain. Therewas no attempt to give him

even a remote chance atsuccess. All that I’ve beenthrough, and they nevermeanttoletmepassatall.HesawinhismindBonzo

and his vicious little knot offriends, confronting him,threateninghim;hehadbeenable to shame Bonzo intofighting him alone. Thatwouldhardlyworkhere.Andhe could not surprise theenemy with his ability as he

haddonewith theolderboysin the battleroom. Mazerknew Ender’s abilities insideandout.The observers behind him

began to cough, to movenervously. They werebeginning to realize thatEnder didn’t know what todo.I don’t care anymore,

thoughtEnder.Youcankeepyourgame.Ifyouwon’teven

givemeachance,whyshouldIplay?LikehislastgameinBattle

School, when they put twoarmiesagainsthim.Andjustasheremembered

that game, apparently Beanremembered it, too, for hisvoice came over the headset,saying, “Remember, theenemy’sgateisdown.”Molo, Soup, Vlad,

Dumper, and Crazy Tom all

laughed. They remembered,too.AndEnderalsolaughed.It

was funny.The adults takingall this so seriously, and thechildren playing along,playingalong,believingittoountilsuddenlytheadultswenttoofar,triedtoohard,andthechildren could see throughtheirgame.Forgetit,Mazer.Idon’tcareifIpassyourtest,Idon’t care if I follow your

rules.Ifyoucancheat,socanI. I won’t let you beat meunfairly—I’ll beat youunfairlyfirst.InthatfinalbattleinBattle

School, he had won byignoring the enemy, ignoringhisownlosses;hehadmovedagainsttheenemy’sgate.And the enemy’s gatewas

down.If I break this rule, they’ll

neverletmebeacommander.

It would be too dangerous.I’llneverhavetoplayagameagain.Andthatisvictory.He whispered quickly into

the microphone. Hiscommanders took their partsof the fleet and groupedthemselves into a thickprojectile,acylinderaimedatthe nearest of the enemyformations. The enemy, farfrom trying to repel him,welcomedhimin,sohecould

be thoroughly entrappedbefore they destroyed him.Mazer is at least taking intoaccount the fact that by nowthey would have learned torespect me, thought Ender.Andthatdoesbuymetime.Ender dodged downward,

north, east, and down again,not seeming to follow anyplan, but always ending up alittle closer to the enemyplanet. Finally the enemy

began to close in onhim tootightly. Then, suddenly,Ender’s formation burst. Hisfleet seemed to melt intochaos. The eighty fightersseemed to follow no plan atall, firing at enemy ships atrandom, working their wayintohopelessindividualpathsamongthebuggercraft.After a few minutes of

battle, however, Enderwhispered to his squadron

leaders once more, andsuddenly a dozen of theremaining fighters formedagain into a formation. Butnowtheywereonthefarsideof one of the enemy’s mostformidable groups; they had,with terrible losses, passedthrough—and now they hadcovered more than half thedistance to the enemy’splanet.The enemy sees now,

thought Ender. SurelyMazerseeswhatI’mdoing.Or perhaps Mazer cannot

believe that I would do it.Well, so much the better forme.Ender’s tiny fleet darted

this way and that, sendingtwoorthreefightersoutasifto attack, then bringing themback. The enemy closed in,drawing in ships andformations that had been

widely scattered, bringingthem in for the kill. Theenemywasmostconcentratedbeyond Ender, so he couldnot escape back into openspace, closing him in.Excellent, thought Ender.Closer.Comecloser.Then he whispered a

command and the shipsdroppedlikerockstowardtheplanet’s surface. They werestarships and fighters,

completely unequipped tohandle the heat of passagethrough an atmosphere. ButEnderneverintendedthemtoreachtheatmosphere.Almostfrom themoment they beganto drop, they were focusingtheir Little Doctors on onethingonly.Theplanetitself.One, two, four, seven of

hisfighterswereblownaway.It was all a gamble now,whether any of his ships

wouldsurvivelongenoughtogetinrange.Itwouldnottakelong, once they could focusontheplanet’ssurface.Justamoment with Dr. Device,that’s all I want. It occurredto Ender that perhaps thecomputer wasn’t evenequippedtoshowwhatwouldhappentoaplanetiftheLittleDoctorattacked it.WhatwillIdothen,shoutBang,you’redead?

Ender took his hands offthe controls and leaned in towatch what happened. Theperspective was close to theenemyplanetnow,astheshiphurtled into its well ofgravity. Surely it’s in rangenow, thought Ender. It mustbeinrangeandthecomputercan’thandleit.Then the surface of the

planet, which filled half thesimulatorfieldnow,beganto

bubble; there was a gout ofexplosion, hurling debris outtoward Ender’s fighters.Ender tried to imagine whatwas happening inside theplanet.Thefieldgrowingandgrowing, the moleculesbursting apart but findingnowhere for the separateatomstogo.Within three seconds the

entire planet burst apart,becoming a sphere of bright

dust, hurtling outward.Ender’s fighters were amongthe first to go; theirperspective suddenlyvanished, and now thesimulator could only displaythe perspective of thestarships waiting beyond theedges of the battle. Itwas asclose as Enderwanted to be.The sphere of the explodingplanet grew outward fasterthan the enemy ships could

avoidit.AnditcarriedwithittheLittleDoctor,notsolittleanymore, the field takingapart every ship in its path,erupting each one into a dotoflightbeforeitwenton.Only at the very periphery

ofthesimulatordidtheM.D.field weaken. Two or threeenemy ships were driftingaway. Ender’s own starshipsdid not explode. But wherethe vast enemy fleet had

been, and the planet theyprotected, there was nothingmeaningful. A lump of dirtwas growing as gravity drewmuchofthedebrisdownwardagain.Itwasglowinghotandspinning visibly; it was alsomuch smaller than the worldhadbeenbefore.Muchof itsmass was now a cloud stillflowingoutward.Ender took off his

headphones, filled with the

cheers of his squadronleaders, and only thenrealizedthattherewasjustasmuchnoise in the roomwithhim. Men in uniform werehuggingeachother,laughing,shouting; others wereweeping; some knelt or layprostrate, and Ender knewthey were caught up inprayer. Ender didn’tunderstand. It seemed allwrong. They were supposed

tobeangry.Colonel Graff detached

himself from the others andcame to Ender. Tearsstreamed down his face, buthewassmiling.Hebentover,reached out his arms, and toEnder’ssurpriseheembracedhim, held him tightly, andwhispered,“Thankyou,thankyou, Ender. Thank God foryou,Ender.”Theotherssooncame,too,

shaking his hand,congratulating him. He triedtomakesenseofthis.Hadhepassed the test after all? Itwas his victory, not theirs,and a hollow one at that, acheat;why did they act as ifhehadwonwithhonor?The crowd parted and

Mazer Rackham walkedthrough. He came straight toEnderandheldouthishand.“You made the hard

choice, boy. All or nothing.End them or end us. Butheaven knows there was noother way you could havedoneit.Congratulations.Youbeatthem,andit’sallover.”Allover.Beatthem.Ender

didn’t understand. “I beatyou.”Mazer laughed, a loud

laugh that filled the room.“Ender,youneverplayedme.You never played a game

sinceIbecameyourenemy.”Ender didn’t get the joke.

He had played a great manygames, at a terrible cost tohimself. He began to getangry.Mazer reached out and

touched his shoulder. Endershruggedhimoff.Mazerthengrew serious and said,“Ender, for the past fewmonths you have been thebattle commander of our

fleets. This was the ThirdInvasion. There were nogames, the battles were real,and the only enemy youfoughtwas the buggers.Youwon every battle, and todayyou finally fought them attheir home world, where thequeen was, all the queensfrom all their colonies, theyall were there and youdestroyed them completely.They’llneverattackusagain.

Youdidit.You.”Real.Not a game.Ender’s

mind was too tired to copewith it all. Theyweren’t justpointsoflightintheair,theywere real ships that he hadfoughtwithandrealshipshehad destroyed. And a realworldthathehadblastedintooblivion. He walked throughthe crowd, dodging theircongratulations, ignoringtheirhands,theirwords,their

rejoicing.Whenhegot tohisownroomhestrippedoffhisclothes,climbedintobed,andslept.

Ender awoke when theyshookhim. It tookamomentto recognize them.Graff andRackham.Heturnedhisbackonthem.Letmesleep.“Ender,we need to talk to

you,”saidGraff.

Ender rolled back to facethem.“They’ve been playing out

the videos on Earth all day,all night since the battleyesterday.”“Yesterday?”He had slept

throughuntilthenextday.“You’re a hero, Ender.

They’ve seen what you did,you and the others. I don’tthinkthere’sagovernmentonEarth that hasn’t voted you

theirhighestmedal.”“I killed them all, didn’t

I?”Enderasked.“All who?” asked Graff.

“The buggers? That was theidea.”Mazer leaned in close.

“That’s what the war wasfor.”“All their queens. So I

killedalltheirchildren,allofeverything.”“They decided that when

they attacked us. It wasn’tyour fault. It’s what had tohappen.”Ender grabbed Mazer’s

uniform and hung onto it,pulling him down so theywere face to face. “I didn’twant tokill themall. Ididn’twanttokillanybody!I’mnotakiller!Youdidn’twantme,you bastards, you wantedPeter,butyoumademedoit,you tricked me into it!” He

was crying. He was out ofcontrol.“Of coursewe tricked you

into it. That’s the wholepoint,” said Graff. “It had tobe a trick or you couldn’thavedoneit.It’sthebindwewere in. We had to have acommander with so muchempathy that he would thinklike the buggers, understandthemandanticipate them.Somuch compassion that he

could win the love of hisunderlings and work withthem like a perfect machine,asperfectasthebuggers.Butsomebody with that muchcompassion could never bethe killer we needed. Couldnevergointobattlewillingtowinatallcosts.Ifyouknew,you couldn’t do it. If youwere the kind of personwhowoulddoitevenifyouknew,you could never have

understood the buggers wellenough.”“And it had to be a child,

Ender,” said Mazer. “Youwere faster than me. Betterthan me. I was too old andcautious. Any decent personwho knows what warfare iscan never go into battlewithawholeheart.Butyoudidn’tknow. We made sure youdidn’t know. You werereckless and brilliant and

young. It’s what you werebornfor.”“We had pilots with our

ships,didn’twe.”“Yes.”“Iwasorderingpilotstogo

in and die and I didn’t evenknowit.”“Theyknewit,Ender,and

they went anyway. Theyknewwhatitwasfor.”“Youneveraskedme!You

never toldme the truthabout

anything!”“You had to be aweapon,

Ender. Like a gun, like theLittle Doctor, functioningperfectly but not knowingwhat youwere aimed at.Weaimed you. We’reresponsible. If there wassomethingwrong,wedidit.”“Tellmelater,”Endersaid.

Hiseyesclosed.Mazer Rackham shook

him. “Don’t go to sleep,

Ender,” he said. “It’s veryimportant.”“You’refinishedwithme,”

Ender said. “Now leave mealone.”“That’s why we’re here,”

Mazer said. “We’re trying totell you.They’re not throughwithyou,notatall.It’scrazydownthere.They’regoing tostart a war. Americansclaiming theWarsaw Pact isabout to attack, and the

Russiansaresaying thesamething about the Hegemon.Thebuggerwar isn’t twenty-fourhoursdeadandtheworlddownthereisbacktofightingagain,asbadasever.Andallof them are worried aboutyou. All of them want you.Thegreatestmilitaryleaderinhistory,theywantyoutoleadtheir armies. TheAmericans.The Hegemon. Everybodybut the Warsaw Pact, and

theywantyoudead.”“Fine with me,” said

Ender.“Wehavetotakeyouaway

fromhere.ThereareRussianmarinesalloverEros,andthePolemarch is Russian. Itcould turn to bloodshed atanytime.”Ender turned his back on

themagain.Thistimetheylethim. He did not sleep,though.Helistenedtothem.

“I was afraid of this,Rackham. You pushed himtoohard.Someofthoselesseroutposts could have waiteduntil after. You could havegivenhimsomedaystorest.”“Are you doing it, too,

Graff?TryingtodecidehowIcould have done it better?You don’t knowwhatwouldhave happened if I hadn’tpushed.Nobodyknows.Ididit the way I did it, and it

worked.Aboveall,itworked.Memorizethatdefense,Graff.Youmayhavetouseit,too.”“Sorry.”“Icanseewhatit’sdoneto

him.ColonelLikisaysthere’sa good chance he’ll bepermanently damaged, but Idon’t believe it. He’s toostrong. Winning meant a lottohim,andhewon.”“Don’t tell me about

strong. The kid’s eleven.

Give him some rest,Rackham. Things haven’texploded yet.We can post aguardoutsidehisdoor.”“Or post a guard outside

anotherdoorandpretendthatit’shis.”“Whatever.”They went away. Ender

sleptagain.

Time passed without

touching Ender, except withglancing blows. Once heawokeforafewminuteswithsomething pressing his hand,pushingdownwardonit,witha dull, insistent pain. Hereached over and touched it;itwasaneedlepassingintoavein. He tried to pull it out,but it was taped on and hewas too weak. Another timeheawoke indarkness tohearpeople near him murmuring

and cursing. His ears wereringing with the loud noisethat had awakened him; hedid not remember the noise.“Get the lights on,” someonesaid. And another time hethought he heard someonecryingsoftlynearhim.Itmighthavebeenasingle

day; it might have been aweek; from his dreams, itcould have been months. Heseemed to pass through

lifetimes in his dreams.Through the Giant’s Drinkagain, past thewolf-children,reliving the terrible deaths,the constant murders; heheard a voice whispering intheforest,Youhadtokillthechildren to get to theEnd ofthe World. And he tried toanswer,Ineverwantedtokillanybody.Nobody ever askedme if I wanted to killanybody. But the forest

laughedathim.AndwhenheleaptfromthecliffattheEndof the World, sometimes itwas not clouds that caughthim,butafighterthatcarriedhim to a vantage point nearthe surface of the buggers’world, so he could watch,overandover,theeruptionofdeathwhenDr.Devicesetoffa reaction on the planet’sface; then closer and closer,until he could watch

individual buggers explode,turn to light, then collapseinto a pile of dirt before hiseyes. And the queen,surrounded by infants; onlythe queen was Mother, andthe infants were Valentineand all the children he hadknown inBattleSchool.Oneof them had Bonzo’s face,and he lay there bleedingthrough the eyes and nose,saying, You have no honor.

Andalways thedreamendedwith a mirror or a pool ofwateror themetal surfaceofa ship, something thatwouldreflect his face back to him.At first itwasalwaysPeter’sface, with blood and asnake’s tail coming from themouth.Afterawhile,though,it began to be his own face,old and sad, with eyes thatgrieved for a billion, billionmurders—but they were his

owneyes,andhewascontenttowearthem.That was the world Ender

lived in for many lifetimesduring the five days of theLeagueWar.When he awoke again he

was lying in darkness. In thedistance he could hear thethump, thump of explosions.Helistenedforawhile.Thenheheardasoftfootstep.He turned over and flung

outahand, tograspwhoeverwassneakinguponhim.Sureenough,hecaughtsomeone’sclothingandpulledhimdowntowardhisknees,readytokillhimifneedbe.“Ender,it’sme,it’sme!”Heknewthevoice.Itcame

out of his memory as if itwereamillionyearsago.“Alai.”“Salaam, pinprick. What

were you trying to do, kill

me?”“Yes. I thought you were

tryingtokillme.”“I was trying not to wake

you up. Well, at least youhave some survival instinctleft. The way Mazer talksabout it, you were becomingavegetable.”“I was trying to. What’s

thethumping?”“There’s a war going on

here. Our section is blacked

outtokeepussafe.”Enderswunghislegsoutto

sit up. He couldn’t do it,though. His head hurt toobad.Hewincedinpain.“Don’t sit up, Ender. It’s

all right. It looks like wemight win it. Not all theWarsaw Pact people wentwith the Polemarch.A lot ofthem came over when theStrategostoldthemyouwereloyaltotheI.F.”

“Iwasasleep.”“So he lied. You weren’t

plotting treason in yourdreams, were you? Some ofthe Russians who came intold us that when thePolemarch ordered them tofind you and kill you, theyalmost killed him. Whateverthey may feel about otherpeople,Ender, theyloveyou.Thewholeworldwatchedourbattles. Videos, day and

night. I’ve seen some.Complete with your voicegiving the orders. It’s allthere,nothingcensored.Goodstuff. You’ve got a career inthevids.”“I don’t think so,” said

Ender.“I was joking. Hey, can

you believe it? We won thewar. We were so eager togrowupsowecouldfight init,anditwasusallthetime.I

mean,we’rekids,Ender.Andit was us.” Alai laughed. “Itwas you, anyway. You weregood, bosh. I didn’t knowhowyou’d get us out of thatlast one. But you did. Youweregood.”Ender noticed the way he

spokeinthepast.Iwasgood.“WhatamInow,Alai?”“Stillgood.”“Atwhat?”“At—anything. There’s a

millionsoldierswho’dfollowyou to the end of theuniverse.”“I don’t want to go to the

endoftheuniverse.”“Sowhere do youwant to

go?They’llfollowyou.”Iwanttogohome,thought

Ender, but I don’t knowwhereitis.Thethumpingwentsilent.“Listentothat,”saidAlai.They listened. The door

opened.Someonestoodthere.Someone small. “It’s over,”hesaid.ItwasBean.Asiftoproveit,thelightswenton.“Ho,Bean,”Endersaid.“Ho,Ender.”Petrafollowedhimin,with

Dinkholdingher hand.Theycame to Ender’s bed. “Hey,thehero’sawake,”saidDink.“Whowon?”askedEnder.“We did, Ender,” said

Bean.“Youwerethere.”

“He’snotthatcrazy,Bean.He meant who won justnow.” Petra took Ender’shand. “There was a truce onEarth. They’ve beennegotiating for days. Theyfinally agreed to accept theLockeProposal.”“He doesn’t know about

theLockeProposal—”“It’sverycomplicated,but

whatitmeanshereisthattheI.F.willstayinexistence,but

without the Warsaw Pact init. So the Warsaw Pactmarines are going home. Ithink Russia agreed to itbecause they’re facing arevolt of the Islamic States.Everybody’s got troubles.Aboutfivehundreddiedhere,butitwasworseonEarth.”“The Hegemon resigned,”

said Dink. “It’s crazy downthere.Whocares.”“You OK?” Petra asked

him,touchinghishead.“Youscaredus.Theysaidyouwerecrazy, andwesaid they werecrazy.”“I’m crazy,” said Ender.

“ButIthinkI’mOK.”“When did you decide

that?”askedAlai.“WhenI thoughtyouwere

about to kill me, and Idecided to kill you first. Iguess I’m just a killer to thecore. But I’d rather be alive

thandead.”They laughed and agreed

with him. Then Ender beganto cry and embraced Beanand Petra, who were closest.“I missed you,” he said. “Iwantedtoseeyousobad.”“You saw us pretty bad,”

Petra answered. She kissedhischeek.“I saw you magnificent,”

said Ender. “The ones Ineeded most, I used up

soonest.Badplanningonmypart.”“Everybody’s OK now,”

said Dink. “Nothing waswrongwithanyofusthatfivedaysofcowering inblacked-out rooms in themiddle of awarcouldn’tcure.”“I don’t have to be your

commander anymore, do I?”askedEnder.“Idon’twanttocommandanybodyagain.”“You don’t have to

command anybody,” saidDink,“butyou’realwaysourcommander.”Thentheyweresilentfora

while.“Sowhatdowedonow?”

asked Alai. “The buggerwar’s over, and so’s the wardown there on Earth, andeven the war here. What dowedonow?”“We’re kids,” said Petra.

“They’llprobablymakeusgo

to school. It’s a law. Youhave to go to school tillyou’reseventeen.”They all laughed at that.

Laughed until tears streameddowntheirfaces.

15

SPEAKERFORTHEDEAD

The lakewas still; therewasno breeze. The two men sattogether in chairs on thefloating dock. A smallwoodenraftwastiedupatthedock; Graff hooked his footintheropeandpulledtheraftin, then let it drift out, thenpulleditinagain.“You’velostweight.”“Onekind of stress puts it

on,anothertakesitoff.Iamacreatureofchemicals.”

“Itmusthavebeenhard.”Graff shrugged. “Not

really. I knew I’d beacquitted.”“Some of us weren’t so

sure.Peoplewerecrazyforawhile there. Mistreatment ofchildren, negligent homicide—those videos of Bonzo’sand Stilson’s deaths werepretty gruesome. To watchonechilddothattoanother.”“As much as anything, I

think the videos saved me.The prosecution edited them,but we showed the wholething.ItwasplainthatEnderwas not the provocateur.After that, it was just asecond-guessinggame. I saidI did what I believed wasnecessaryforthepreservationof the human race, and itworked;wegot the judges toagreethattheprosecutionhadto prove beyond doubt that

Ender would have won thewar without the training wegave him. After that, it wassimple. The exigencies ofwar.”“Anyway, Graff, it was a

great relief to us. I knowwequarreled, and I know theprosecutionusedtapesofourconversations against you.But by then I knew that youwere right, and I offered totestifyforyou.”

“I know, Anderson. Mylawyerstoldme.”“So what will you do

now?”“I don’t know. I’m still

relaxing. I have a few yearsof leave accrued. Enough totake me to retirement, and Ihave plenty of salary that Inever used, sitting around inbanks. I could live on theinterest. Maybe I’ll donothing.”

“It sounds nice. But Icouldn’t stand it. I’ve beenoffered the presidency ofthreedifferentuniversities,onthe theory that I’m aneducator. They don’t believemewhenIsay thatall Ievercared about at the BattleSchoolwasthegame.I thinkI’llgowiththeotheroffer.”“Commissioner?”“Now that the wars are

over, it’s time to play games

again. It’ll be almost likevacation, anyway. Onlytwenty-eight teams in theleague.Thoughafteryearsofwatching those childrenflying, football is likewatchingslugsbashintoeachother.”Theylaughed.Graffsighed

and pushed the raft with hisfoot.“Thatraft.Surelyyoucan’t

floatonit.”

Graff shook his head.“Enderbuiltit.”“That’sright.Thisiswhere

youtookhim.”“It’s even been deeded

overtohim.Isawtoitthathewas amply rewarded. He’llhave all the money he everneeds.”“If theyever lethimcome

backtouseit.”“Theyneverwill.”“With Demosthenes

agitating for him to comehome?”“Demosthenes isn’t on the

netsanymore.”Anderson raised an

eyebrow. “What does thatmean?”“Demosthenes has retired.

Permanently.”“Youknowsomething,you

old farteater.You knowwhoDemosthenesis.”“Was.”

“Well,tellme!”“No.”“You’re no fun anymore,

Graff.”“Ineverwas.”“At least you can tell me

why. There were a lot of uswho thought Demostheneswould be Hegemonsomeday.”“Therewasneverachance

of that. No, evenDemosthenes’ mob of

political cretins couldn’tpersuade the Hegemon tobring Ender back to Earth.Enderisfartoodangerous.”“He’sonlyeleven.Twelve,

now.”“All the more dangerous

becausehecouldsoeasilybecontrolled. In all the world,the name of Ender is one toconjure with. The child-god,themiracle worker, with lifeanddeathinhishands.Every

petty tyrant-to-be would liketohavetheboy,tosethiminfront of an army and watchtheworld either flock to joinor cower in fear. If Endercame to Earth, he’d want tocomehere, torest, tosalvagewhathecanofhischildhood.But they’d never let himrest.”“I see. Someone explained

thattoDemosthenes?”Graff smiled.

“Demosthenesexplained it tosomeone else. Someone whocould have usedEnder as noone else could have, to ruletheworldandmaketheworldlikeit.”“Who?”“Locke.”“Locke is the one who

argued for Ender to stay onEros.”“All is not always as it

seems.”

“It’s too deep for me,Graff. Give me the game.Nice, neat rules. Referees.Beginnings and endings.Winners and losers and theneverybodygoeshometotheirfamilies.”“Get me tickets to some

games now and then, allright?”“You won’t really stay

hereandretire,willyou?”“No.”

“You’re going into theHegemony,aren’tyou?”“I’m the new Minister of

Colonization.”“Sothey’redoingit.”“As soon as we get the

reports back on the buggercolonyworlds. I mean, therethey are, already fertile,withhousingandindustryinplace,and all the buggers dead.Very convenient. We’llrepeal the population

limitationlaws—”“Which everybody hates

—”“And all those thirds and

fourths and fifthswill get onstarships and head out forworldsknownandunknown.”“Willpeoplereallygo?”“People always go.

Always.Theyalwaysbelievethey can make a better lifethanintheoldworld.”“Whatthehell,maybethey

can.”

AtfirstEnderbelievedthattheywouldbringhimbacktoEarth as soon as thingsquieted down. But thingswere quiet now, had beenquiet for a year, and it wasplain to him now that theywould not bring him back atall, that he was much moreuseful as a name and a story

than hewould ever be as aninconvenient flesh-and-bloodperson.And there was the matter

of the court martial on thecrimes of Colonel Graff.Admiral Chamrajnagar triedtokeepEnder fromwatchingit,butfailed;Enderhadbeenawarded the rank of admiral,too, and this was one of thefew times he asserted theprivileges the rank implied.

So he watched the videos ofthe fights with Stilson andBonzo, watched as thephotographs of the corpseswere displayed, listened asthepsychologistsandlawyersargued whether murder hadbeencommittedorthekillingwas in self-defense. Enderhad his own opinion, but noone asked him. Throughoutthe trial, it was really Enderhimself under attack. The

prosecutionwastooclevertochargehimdirectly,buttherewere attempts to make himlook sick, perverted,criminallyinsane.“Never mind,” saidMazer

Rackham. “The politiciansare afraid of you, but theycan’t destroy your reputationyet.Thatwon’tbedoneuntilthe historians get at you inthirtyyears.”Enderdidn’tcareabouthis

reputation. He watched thevideos impassively, but infacthewasamused.InbattleI killed ten billion buggers,whose queens, at least, wereasaliveandwiseasanyman,whohadnotevenlaunchedathirdattackagainstus,andnoonethinkstocallitacrime.All his crimes weighed

heavy on him, the deaths ofStilsonandBonzonoheavierandnolighterthantherest.

And so, with that burden,he waited through the emptymonthsuntiltheworldthathehad saved decided he couldcomehome.One by one, his friends

reluctantly left him, calledhome to their families, to bereceived with heroes’welcomesinhometownstheybarely remembered. Enderwatched the videos of theirhomecomings, and was

touched when they spentmuch of their time praisingEnder Wiggin, who taughtthem everything, they said,who taught them and ledthemintovictory.Butiftheycalled for him to be broughthome, the words werecensoredfromthevideosandnooneheardtheplea.For a time, the only work

inEroswascleaningupafterthe bloody League War and

receiving the reports of thestarships, oncewarships, thatwere now exploring thebuggercolonyworlds.But now Eros was busier

thanever,morecrowdedthanit had ever been during thewar, as colonists werebrought here to prepare fortheir voyages to the emptybugger worlds. Ender tookpart in thework, asmuch astheywouldlethim;itdidnot

occur to them that thistwelve-year-oldboymightbeasgiftedatpeaceashewasatwar.But hewas patientwiththeir tendency to ignorehim,and learned to make hisproposals and suggest hisplans through the few adultswho listened to him, and letthem present them as theirown. He was concerned, notaboutgettingcredit,butaboutgettingthejobdone.

Theonethinghecouldnotbear was the worship of thecolonists.Helearnedtoavoidthe tunnelswhere they lived,because they would alwaysrecognize him—the worldhadmemorizedhisface—andthen they would scream andshout and embrace him andcongratulate him and showhim the children they hadnamedafterhimand tellhimhowhewassoyoungitbroke

their hearts and they didn’tblame him for any of hismurdersbecauseitwasn’thisfaulthewasjustachild—He hid from them as best

hecould.There was one colonist,

though, he couldn’t hidefrom.Hewasn’t insideEros that

day.HehadgoneupwiththeshuttletothenewISL,wherehe had been learning to do

surfaceworkonthestarships;it was unbecoming to anofficer to do mechanicallabor,Chamrajnagartoldhim,butEnderansweredthatsincethe trade he had masteredwasn’t much called for now,it was about time he learnedanotherskill.Theyspoketohimthrough

hishelmetradioandtoldhimthat someone was waiting tosee him as soon as he could

comein.Endercouldn’tthinkof anyone he wanted to see,and so he didn’t hurry. Hefinished installing the shieldfortheship’sansibleandthenhooked his way across theface of the ship and pulledhimselfupintotheairlock.She was waiting for him

outside the changing room.For a moment he wasannoyedthattheywouldletacolonist come to bother him

here, where he came to bealone; then he looked again,andrealizedthatiftheyoungwoman were a little girl, hewouldknowher.“Valentine,”hesaid.“Hi,Ender.”“What are you doing

here?”“Demosthenes retired.

NowI’mgoingwith the firstcolony.”“It’sfiftyyearstogetthere

—”“Only two years if you’re

aboardtheship.”“But if you ever came

back,everybodyyouknewonEarthwouldbedead—”“That was what I had in

mind. I was hoping, though,thatsomeoneIknewonErosmightcomewithme.”“I don’t want to go to a

world we stole from thebuggers. I just want to go

home.”“Ender,you’renevergoing

back to Earth. I saw to thatbeforeIleft.”Helookedatherinsilence.“Itellyouthatnow,sothat

if you want to hate me, youcan hate me from thebeginning.”Theywent to Ender’s tiny

compartment in the ISL andshe explained. Peter wantedEnder back on Earth, under

the protection of theHegemon’s Council. “Theway things are right now,Ender, that would put youeffectively under Peter’scontrol,sincehalfthecouncilnow does just what Peterwants. The ones that aren’tLocke’slapdogsareunderhisthumbinotherways.”“Do they know who he

reallyis?”“Yes. He isn’t publicly

known, but people in highplaces know him. It doesn’tmatter anymore.He has toomuch power for them toworry about his age. He’sdone incredible things,Ender.”“Inoticedthetreatyayear

agowasnamedforLocke.”“That was his

breakthrough.Heproposed itthrough his friends from thepublic policy nets, and then

Demosthenes got behind it,too.Itwasthemomenthehadbeen waiting for, to useDemosthenes’ influence withthe mob and Locke’sinfluence with theintelligentsia to accomplishsomething noteworthy. Itforestalled a really viciouswarthatcouldhavelastedfordecades.”“He decided to be a

statesman?”

“I think so. But in hiscynical moments, of whichthere are many, he pointedout to me that if he hadallowed the League to fallapart completely, he’d havehad to conquer the worldpiecebypiece.AslongastheHegemony existed, he coulddoitinonelump.”Ender nodded. “That’s the

PeterthatIknew.”“Funny,isn’tit?ThatPeter

wouldsavemillionsoflives.”“WhileIkilledbillions.”“I wasn’t going to say

that.”“Sohewantedtouseme?”“He had plans for you,

Ender. He would publiclyreveal himself when youarrived,goingtomeetyouinfrontof all thevideos.EnderWiggin’s older brother, whoalsohappenedtobethegreatLocke,thearchitectofpeace.

Standing next to you, hewouldlookquitemature.Andthe physical resemblancebetween you is stronger thanever.Itwouldbequitesimpleforhim,then,totakeover.”“Whydidyoustophim?”“Ender, you wouldn’t be

happy spending the rest ofyourlifeasPeter’spawn.”“Why not? I’ve spent my

lifeassomeone’spawn.”“Metoo.IshowedPeterall

the evidence that I hadassembled, enough to provein the eyesof thepublic thathe was a psychotic killer. Itincludedfull-colorpicturesoftorturedsquirrelsandsomeofthemonitorvideosofthewayhe treated you. It took someworktogetitalltogether,butbythetimehesawit,hewaswilling to give me what Iwanted. What I wanted wasyourfreedomandmine.”

“It’s not my idea offreedom to go live in thehouse of the people that Ikilled.”“Ender, what’s done is

done.Theirworldsareemptynow,andoursisfull.Andwecan take with us what theirworlds have never known—cities full ofpeoplewho liveprivate, individual lives,wholove and hate each other fortheir own reasons. In all the

bugger worlds, there wasnevermorethanasinglestorytobe told;whenwe’re there,the world will be full ofstories, and we’ll improvisetheir endings day by day.Ender,EarthbelongstoPeter.And ifyoudon’tgowithmenow, he’ll have you there,anduseyouupuntilyouwishyou’d never been born.Nowis the only chance you’ll gettogetaway.”

Endersaidnothing.“I know what you’re

thinking, Ender. You’rethinking that I’m trying tocontrol you just as much asPeter or Graff or any of theothers.”“Itcrossedmymind.”“Welcome to the human

race. Nobody controls hisownlife,Ender.Thebestyoucan do is choose to fill theroles given you by good

people, by people who loveyou. I didn’t come herebecause I wanted to be acolonist. I camebecause I’vespent my whole life in thecompanyofthebrotherthatIhated. Now I want a chanceto know the brother that Ilove, before it’s too late,before we’re not childrenanymore.”“It’s already too late for

that.”

“You’re wrong, Ender.You think you’re grown upand tired and jaded witheverything, but in your heartyou’rejustasmuchakidasIam. We can keep it secretfrom everybody else. Whileyou’re governing the colonyand I’m writing politicalphilosophy, they’ll neverguess that in the darkness ofnight we sneak into eachother’s room and play

checkers and havepillowfights.”Ender laughed, but he had

noticed some things shedroppedtoocasuallyforthemto be accidental.“Governing?”“I’m Demosthenes, Ender.

I went out with a bang. Apublic announcement that Ibelieved so much in thecolonizationmovement that Iwas going in the first ship

myself.Atthesametime,theMinister of Colonization, aformer colonel named Graff,announced that the pilot ofthecolonyshipwouldbe thegreat Mazer Rackham, andthe governor of the firstcolony it established wouldbeEnderWiggin.”“They might have asked

me.”“I wanted to ask you

myself.”

“But it’s alreadyannounced.”“No. They’ll be

announcing it tomorrow, ifyouaccept.Mazeracceptedafewhoursago,backinEros.”“You’re telling everyone

that you’re Demosthenes? Afourteen-year-oldgirl?”“We’re only telling them

that Demosthenes is goingwith the colony. Let themspend the next fifty years

poringoverthepassengerlist,tryingtofigureoutwhichoneof them is the greatdemagogue of the Age ofLocke.”Ender laughed and shook

his head. “You’re actuallyhavingfun,Val.”“I can’t think why I

shouldn’t.”“All right,” said Ender.

“I’ll go. Maybe even asgovernor, as longasyouand

Mazer are there to help me.My abilities are a littleunderusedatpresent.”She squealed and hugged

him, for all the world like atypical teenage girl who justgot the present that shewantedfromherlittlebrother.“Val,”hesaid.“Ijustwant

onethingclear.I’mnotgoingfor you. I’m not going inorder to be governor, orbecause I’m bored here. I’m

going because I know thebuggersbetter thananyotherlivingsoul,andmaybeifIgothere I can understand thembetter. I stole their futurefrom them; I can only begintorepaybyseeingwhatIcanlearnfromtheirpast.”

The voyage was long. Bytheendofit,Valhadfinishedthefirstvolumeofherhistory

of the bugger wars andtransmitted it by ansible,under Demosthenes’ name,backtoEarth,andEnderhadwon something better thanthe adulation of thepassengers. They knew himnow, and he had won theirloveandtheirrespect.Heworkedhardonthenew

world.Hequicklyunderstoodthe differences betweenmilitary and civilian

leadership, and governed bypersuasion rather than fiat,and by working as hard asanyone at the tasks involvedinsettingupaself-sustainingeconomy. But his mostimportant work, as everyoneagreed, was exploring whatthe buggers had left behind,trying to find amongstructures, machinery, andfields long untended somethings that human beings

could use, could learn from.Therewere no books to read—the buggers never neededthem.With all thingspresentin their memories, all thingsspokenas theywere thought,when the buggers died theirknowledgediedwiththem.And yet. From the

sturdiness of the roofs thatcovered their animal shedsandtheirfoodsupplies,Enderlearned that winter would be

hard, with heavy snows.From fences with sharpenedstakes that pointed outwardhe learned that there weremarauding animals that werea danger to the crops or theherds. From the mill helearned that the long, foul-tasting fruits thatgrew in theovergrown orchards weredried and ground into meal.Andfromtheslingsthatoncewere used to carry infants

along with adults into thefields, he learned that eventhough the buggers were notmuch for individuality, theydidcarefortheiryoung.Life settled down, and

years passed. The colonylived in wooden houses andusedthetunnelsofthebuggercity for storage andmanufactories. They weregoverned by a council now,and administrators were

elected,sothatEnder,thoughtheystillcalledhimgovernor,was in fact only a judge.There were crimes andquarrels, alongside kindnessand cooperation; there werepeoplewho loved each otherand people who did not; itwasahumanworld.Theydidnot wait so eagerly for eachnew transmission from theansible; the names that werefamous on Earth meant little

to themnow.Theonlynamethey knew was that of PeterWiggin, the Hegemon ofEarth; the only news thatcame was news of peace, ofprosperity, of great shipsleaving the littoral ofEarth’ssolar system, passing thecomet shield and filling upthebuggerworlds.Soontherewould be other colonies onthis world, Ender’s World;soon there would be

neighbors; already they werehalfway here; but no onecared. They would help thenewcomers when they came,teach them what they hadlearned,butwhatmattered inlife now was who wouldmarry whom, and who wassick, and when was plantingtime, and why should I payhimwhen the calf died threeweeksafterIgotit.“They’ve become people

of the land,” said Valentine.“No one cares now thatDemosthenes is sending theseventhvolumeofhishistorytoday.No one herewill readit.”Enderpressedabuttonand

hisdeskshowedhimthenextpage. “Very insightful,Valentine. How many morevolumes until you’rethrough?”“Just one. The story of

EnderWiggin.”“Whatwillyoudo,waitto

writeituntilI’mdead?”“No. Just write it, and

whenI’vebroughtituptothepresentday,I’llstop.”“Ihaveabetter idea.Take

it up to the day we won thefinal battle. Stop it there.Nothing that I’ve done sincethenisworthwritingdown.”“Maybe,” said Valentine.

“Andmaybenot.”

The ansible had broughtthem word that the newcolony ship was only a yearaway. They asked Ender tofindaplaceforthemtosettlein, near enough to Ender’scolony that the two coloniescould trade, but far enoughapart that they could begoverned separately. Enderusedthehelicopterandbegantoexplore.Hetookoneofthe

children along, an eleven-year-oldboynamedAbra;hehadbeenonlythreewhenthecolony was founded, and heremembered no other worldthan this.He andEnder flewasfarawayasEnder thoughtthe new colony should be,thencampedforthenightandgotafeelforthelandonfootthenextmorning.Itwasonthethirdmorning

thatEndersuddenlybegan to

feel an uneasy sense that hehadbeeninthisplacebefore.Helookedaround;itwasnewland,hehadneverseenit.HecalledouttoAbra.“Ho, Ender!” Abra called.

Hewasontopofasteeplowhill.“Comeup!”Ender scrambled up, the

turvescomingawayfromhisfeet in the soft ground.Abrawas pointing downward.“Can you believe this?” he

asked.The hill was hollow. A

deep depression in themiddle, partially filled withwater,wasringedbyconcaveslopes that cantilevereddangerously over the water.Inonedirection thehillgaveway to two long ridges thatmade a V-shaped valley; inthe other direction the hillrosetoapieceofwhiterock,grinning like a skull with a

treegrowingoutofitsmouth.“It’s like a giant died

here,” said Abra, “and theEarth grew up to cover hiscarcass.”Now Ender knew why it

had looked familiar. TheGiant’scorpse.Hehadplayedhere too many times as achild not to know this place.But it was not possible. ThecomputerintheBattleSchoolcould not possibly have seen

thisplace.Helookedthroughhis binoculars in a directionhe knew well, fearing andhoping that he would seewhatbelongedinthatplace.Swingsandslides.Monkey

bars.Nowovergrown,buttheshapesstillunmistakable.“Somebody had to have

built this,”Abra said. “Look,thisskullplace, it’snot rock,lookatit.Thisisconcrete.”“I know,” said Ender.

“Theybuiltitforme.”“What?”“I know this place, Abra.

Thebuggersbuiltitforme.”“Thebuggerswerealldead

fifty years before we gothere.”“You’re right, it’s

impossible,butIknowwhatIknow.Abra, I shouldn’t takeyou with me. It might bedangerous. If they knew mewell enough to build this

place,theymightbeplanningto—”“Togetevenwithyou.”“Forkillingthem.”“Sodon’tgo,Ender.Don’t

dowhattheywantyoutodo.”“If they want to get

revenge, Abra, I don’t mind.But perhaps they don’t.Perhaps this is the closestthey could come to talking.Towritingmeanote.”“Theydidn’tknowhow to

readandwrite.”“Maybetheywerelearning

whentheydied.”“Well,I’msureashellnot

stickingaroundhereifyou’retaking off somewhere. I’mgoingwithyou.”“No. You’re too young to

taketheriskof—”“Come on! You’re Ender

Wiggin. Don’t tell me whateleven-year-oldkidscando!”Together they flew in the

copter, over the playground,overthewoods,overthewellin the forest clearing. Thenout to where there was,indeed,acliff,withacaveinthecliffwallandaledgerightwhere the End of theWorldshould be. And there in thedistance, justwhere it shouldbe in the fantasy game, wasthecastletower.He left Abra with the

copter.“Don’tcomeafterme,

and go home in an hour if Idon’tcomeback.”“Eat it,Ender, I’mcoming

withyou.”“Eat it yourself, Abra, or

I’llstuffyouwithmud.”Abra could tell, despite

Ender’s joking tone, that hemeantit,andsohestayed.The walls of the tower

were notched and ledged foreasy climbing. They meanthimtogetin.

The room was as it hadalways been. Enderremembered well enough tolookforasnakeonthefloor,buttherewasonlyarugwitha carved snake’s head at onecorner. Imitation, notduplication;forapeoplewhomade no art, they had donewell.Theymusthavedraggedthese images from Ender’sown mind, finding him andlearning his darkest dreams

across the lightyears. Butwhy? To bring him to thisroom, of course. To leave amessage for him. But wherewas the message, and howwouldheunderstandit?Themirrorwaswaitingfor

himonthewall.Itwasadullsheet of metal, in which theroughshapeofahuman facehad been scratched. Theytried to draw the image Ishouldseeinthepicture.

And looking at the mirrorhe could remember breakingit, pulling it from the wall,andsnakesleapingoutof thehidden place, attacking him,biting him wherever theirpoisonous fangs could findpurchase.How well do they know

me, wondered Ender. Wellenough to know how often Ihave thought of death, toknow that I am not afraid of

it.Well enough to know thateven if I feared death, itwould not stop me fromtaking that mirror from thewall.He walked to the mirror,

lifted, pulled away. Nothingjumped from the spacebehind it. Instead, in ahollowed-outplace,therewasawhiteballofsilkwithafewfrayed strands sticking outhere and there. An egg? No.

Thepupa of a queen bugger,alreadyfertilizedbythelarvalmales, ready, out of her ownbody, to hatch a hundredthousandbuggers,includingafewqueensandmales.Endercould see in his mind theslug-like males clinging tothewallsofadarktunnel,andthe large adults carrying theinfant queen to the matingroom; each male in turnpenetrated the larval queen,

shuddered in ecstasy, anddied, dropping to the tunnelfloorandshriveling.Thenthenew queen was laid beforethe old, a magnificentcreature clad in soft andshimmeringwings,whichhadlong since lost the power offlight but still contained thepower of majesty. The oldqueenkissedhertosleepwiththe gentle poison in her lips,then wrapped her in threads

from her belly, andcommanded her to becomeherself,tobecomeanewcity,anewworld, togivebirth tomany queens and manyworlds—How do I know this,

thoughtEnder.HowcanIseethesethings,likememoriesinmyownmind.Asifinanswer,hesawthe

firstofallhisbattleswiththebugger fleets.He had seen it

before on the simulator; nowhe saw it as the hive-queensaw it, through manydifferent eyes. The buggersformed their globe of ships,and then the terrible fighterscameoutof thedarknessandthe Little Doctor destroyedthem in a blaze of light. Hefelt thenwhat thehive-queenfelt, watching through herworkers’ eyes as death cameto them tooquickly toavoid,

but not too quickly to beanticipated. There was nomemory of pain or fear,though.What the hive-queenfelt was sadness, a sense ofresignation. She had notthought these words as shesaw the humans coming tokill, but it was inwords thatEnder understood her: Thehumans did not forgive us,she thought. We will surelydie.

“Howcanyouliveagain?”heasked.The queen in her silken

cocoonhadnowords togiveback;butwhenheclosedhiseyes and tried to remember,insteadofmemorycamenewimages.Puttingthecocooninacoolplace,adarkplace,butwithwater,soshewasn’tdry,sothatcertainreactionscouldtake place in the cocoon.Then time. Days and weeks,

forthepupainsidetochange.And then, when the cocoonhadchangedtoadustybrowncolor, Ender saw himselfsplittingopenthecocoon,andhelping the small and fragilequeen emerge. He sawhimself taking her by theforelimb and helping herwalkfromherbirthwatertoanestingplace, softwithdriedleaves on sand. Then I amalive,camethethoughtinhis

mind.ThenIamawake.ThenI make my ten thousandchildren.“No,”saidEnder.“Ican’t.”Anguish.“Your children are the

monsters of our nightmaresnow. If I awoke you, wewouldonlykillyouagain.”There flashed through his

mind a dozen images ofhumanbeingsbeingkilledbybuggers, but with the image

came a grief so powerful hecouldnotbearit,andhewepttheirtearsforthem.“If you could make them

feelasyoucanmakemefeel,then perhaps they couldforgiveyou.”Onlyme,herealized.They

foundmethroughtheansible,followed it and dwelt in mymind. In the agony of mytortureddreams theycame toknowme,evenasIspentmy

days destroying them; theyfound my fear of them, andfound also that I had noknowledge I was killingthem. In the fewweeks theyhad, they built this place forme, and the Giant’s corpseand the playground and theledgeattheEndoftheWorld,so Iwould find thisplacebytheevidenceofmyeyes.Iamthe only one they know, andso they can only talk to me,

and throughme.We are likeyou; the thoughtpressed intohismind.Wedidnotmeantomurder, and when weunderstood, we never cameagain. We thought we werethe only thinking beings inthe universe, until we metyou, but never didwe dreamthat thoughtcouldarise fromthe lonely animals whocannot dream each other’sdreams. How were we to

know? We could live withyou in peace. Believe us,believeus,believeus.He reached into the cavity

and took out the cocoon. Itwas astonishingly light, tohold all the hope and futureofagreatracewithinit.“I’ll carry you,” said

Ender,“I’llgofromworldtoworlduntilIfindatimeandaplace where you can comeawake in safety.And I’ll tell

your story to my people, sothatperhaps in time theycanforgive you, too. The waythatyou’veforgivenme.”He wrapped the queen’s

cocoon in his jacket andcarriedherfromthetower.“What was in there?”

askedAbra.“Theanswer,”saidEnder.“Towhat?”“My question.” And that

wasallhesaidof thematter;

they searched for five moredays and chose a site for thecolony far to the east andsouthofthetower.Weeks later he came to

Valentineandtoldhertoreadsomethinghehadwritten;shepulledthefilehenamedfromtheship’scomputer,andreadit.It was written as if the

hive-queen spoke, telling allthattheyhadmeanttodo,and

all that they had done. Hereare our failures, and here isour greatness; we did notmean to hurt you, and weforgive you for our death.From their earliest awarenessto the great wars that sweptacross their home world,Ender told the story quickly,as if it were an ancientmemory. When he came tothe tale of the great mother,the queen of all, who first

learnedtokeepand teach thenew queen instead of killingherordrivingheraway, thenhelingered,tellinghowmanytimes she had finally todestroythechildofherbody,the new self that was notherself, until she bore onewhounderstoodherquestforharmony. This was a newthing in the world, twoqueens that lovedandhelpedeachotherinsteadofbattling,

and together they werestronger than any other hive.They prospered; they hadmore daughters who joinedthem in peace; it was thebeginningofwisdom.If only we could have

talked toyou, thehive-queensaid in Ender’s words. Butsince it could not be,we askonly this: that you rememberus, not as enemies, but astragic sisters, changed into a

foul shape by fate orGod orevolution.Ifwehadkissed,itwould have been themiracleto make us human in eachother’s eyes. Instead wekilledeachother.Butstillwewelcome you now asguestfriends. Come into ourhome, daughters of Earth;dwell in our tunnels, harvestour fields; what we cannotdo,youarenowourhandstodo for us. Blossom, trees;

ripen, fields; be warm forthem, suns; be fertile forthem, planets: they are ouradopted daughters, and theyhavecomehome.ThebookthatEnderwrote

wasnotlong,butinitwasallthegoodandall theevil thatthehive-queenknew.Andhesigned it, not with his name,butwithatitle:

SPEAKERFORTHEDEAD

On Earth, the book waspublishedquietly,andquietlyit was passed from hand tohand, until it was hard tobelieve that anyone on Earthmight not have read it.Mostwho read it found itinteresting; somewho read itrefused to set it aside. Theybegan to live by it as bestthey could, and when theirloved ones died, a believerwould arise beside the grave

to be the Speaker for theDead, and saywhat the deadonewouldhavesaid,butwithfull candor, hiding no faultsand pretending no virtues.Those who came to suchservices sometimes foundthem painful and disturbing,but there were many whodecided that their life wasworthwhile enough, despitetheir errors, that when theydiedaSpeakershouldtellthe

truthforthem.On Earth it remained a

religion among manyreligions. But for those whotraveled the great cave ofspace and lived their lives inthe hive-queen’s tunnels andharvested the hive-queen’sfields, it was the onlyreligion.Therewasnocolonywithout its Speaker for theDead.No one knew and no one

really wanted to know whowas the original Speaker.Enderwasnotinclinedtotellthem.When Valentine was

twenty-five years old, shefinished the last volume ofher history of the buggerwars.Sheincludedattheendthe complete text of Ender’slittle book, but did not saythatEnderwroteit.By ansible she got an

answer from the ancientHegemon, Peter Wiggin,seventy-seven years old withafailingheart.“I knowwhowrote it,” he

said.“Ifhecanspeakfor thebuggers, surely he can speakforme.”Back and forth across the

ansible Ender and Peterspoke,withPeterpouringoutthe story of his days andyears, his crimes and his

kindnesses. And when hedied, Ender wrote a secondvolume, again signed by theSpeaker for the Dead.Together,histwobookswerecalled the Hive-Queen andtheHegemon, and theywereholywrit.“Come on,” he said to

Valentineoneday. “Let’s flyawayandliveforever.”“We can’t,” she said.

“There are miracles even

relativity can’t pull off,Ender.”“We have to go. I’m

almosthappyhere.”“Sostay.”“I’ve lived too long with

pain.Iwon’tknowwhoIamwithoutit.”So they boarded a starship

and went from world toworld. Wherever theystopped, he was alwaysAndrew Wiggin, itinerant

speakerfor thedead,andshewas always Valentine,historianerrant,writingdownthestoriesofthelivingwhileEnderspokethestoriesofthedead. And always Endercarriedwith him a drywhitecocoon,lookingfortheworldwhere the hive-queen couldawaken and thrive in peace.Helookedalongtime.

1

Drekka

DannyNorthgrewupsurroundedbyfairies,ghosts,talkinganimals,livingstones,walkingtrees,andgodswhocalledupwindandbroughtdownrain,madefirefromairanddrewironoutofthedepthoftheearthaseasilyasordinarypeoplemightdrawupwaterfromawell.TheNorthfamilylivedona

compoundinashelteredvalleyinwesternVirginia,

andmostofthemneverwenttotown,foritwasamatterofsomeshamethatgodsshouldnowbeforcedtobuysuppliesandsellcropsjustlikecommonpeople.TheFamilyhadsplicedandintertwinedsooftenoverthecenturiesthatalmostalladultsexceptone’sownparentswerecalledAuntandUncle,andallthechildrenwerelumpedtogetheras“thecousins.”

TothedozensanddozensofNorthcousins,“town”wasadistantthing,like“ocean”and“space”and“government.”Whatdidtheycareaboutsuchthings,exceptthatduringschoolhours,AuntieTwengorAuntieUckwouldrapthemontheheadwithathimbledfingeriftheydidn’tcomeupwiththerightanswers?Schoolwassomethingthe

childrenenduredinthemornings,sotheycouldspendtheafternoonslearninghowtocreatethethingsthatcommonerscalledfairies,ghosts,golems,trolls,werewolves,andothersuchmiraclesthatweretheheritageoftheNorthfamily.Itwastheirheritage,butnot

everychildinherited.Great-uncleZogwasnotoriousformuttering,“Theblood’stoo

thin,theblood’stoothin,”becauseitwashisconsideredopinionthattheNorthshadgrownweakinthethirteenandahalfcenturiessincetheEvilOneclosedthegates.“Whyelsedowehavesomanyweaklingswhocan’tsendtheiroutselfmorethanahundredyards?”hesaidonce.“Whyelsedowehavesofewchildrenwhocanraiseaclantoutofanythingsturdierthan

pollenanddust,orheartbindwithoneoftheirclan?WhydowehavethesemiserabledrekkaslikeDannyineverygeneration?PuttingtheminHammernipHillhasn’tmadeusstronger.Nothingmakesusstronger.”Dannyheardthiswhenhe

waseleven,whenitwasn’tasurethingyetthathewasadrekka.Plentyofchildrendidn’tshowanytalenttill

theywereintheirteens.OrsoMamasaid,reassuringhim;butfromGreat-uncleZog’swordsDannybegantodoubther.Howcoulditbe“plenty”ofchildrenwhoshowednotalentwhenDannywasnowtheonlychildinthefamilyovertheageofninewhocouldn’tevenfigureoutwhetherhehadanoutself,letalonesenditouttoexplore.Whentheotherkidsused

theiroutselvestospyonDanny’sschoolpapersandcopythem,hecouldn’tevendetectthattheywerethere,letalonestopthem.“Drivethemaway,can’t

you?”demandedAuntLummy.“You’retheonlydecentstudentinthisschool,butthey’reallgettingthesamemarksasyoubecauseyouletthemcheat!”“Iknowhowthey’redoing

it,”saidDanny,“buthowcanIdrivethemawaywhenIcan’tseethemorfeelthem?”“Justmakeyourselfbig,”

saidAuntLummy.“Holdontoyourownspace.Don’tletthemcrowdyou!”Butthesewordsmeant

nothingtoDanny,nomatterhowhetriedtoactthemout,andthecheatingwentonuntilLummyandtheotherAuntswhotaughttheschoolwere

forcedtomakeseparatetests,oneforDannyandoneforalltheothersathisgradelevel.Theinstantresultwasthatbyagetwelve,Dannywassoontheonlystudentinhisgradelevel,theothershavingbeenputbackwheretheybelonged.Intheoutsideworld,Dannywouldhavebeendoingninthgradework,twoyearsaheadofhisage.Theotherkidsresentedhim

morethanever,andthereforetauntedhimorfrozehimoutasadrekka.“You’renotoneofus,”theysaid—ofteninthoseexactwords.Duringfreetimetheyrefusedtolethimcomealongonanyoftheirescapades;hewasneverchosenforateam;hewasnevertoldwhenoneoftheauntswassharingoutcookiesorsomeothertreat;andhealwayshadtocheckhis

drawerforspiders,snakes,ordogpoo.Hegotusedtoitquickly,andheknewbetterthantotellanyoftheadults.Whatgoodwoulditdohim?Howmuchfunwouldhehaveifsomeadultforcedtheotherstotakehimalong?Whatkindsofprankswouldtheydoiftheyhadbeenwhippedforpooinghiscleanclothes?Sointhisidyllicworldof

fairiesandghosts,godsandtalkinganimals,Dannywasaprofoundlysolitarychild.Hekneweverybody;

everybodywaskintohim.Buthehadbeenmadeashamedofeverythinghedidwell,andevenmoreashamedofeverythinghecouldnotdo,andheregardedeventhoseofthecousinswhotreatedhimkindlyasiftheirkindnesswerepity.Forwhocould

genuinelylikeaboysounworthy,whoseexistencemeantnomorethanthis?:thatthebloodlinesoftheNorthfamilywereweakandgettingweaker,withDannytheweakestofthemall.TheironywasthatDanny

hadbeenkeptasachildapartsincehewasborn—butfortheoppositereason.Hisfather,Alf,aRockbrotherwithanaffinityforpure

metals,hadfoundawaytogetinsidethesteelofmachinesandmakethemrunalmostwithoutfriction,andwithoutlubrication.Itwassuchausefulandunprecedentedskillthathehadbeenmaderulerofthefamily,andwasthereforerenamedasOdin;butDannycalledhimBaba.Danny’smother,Gerd,was

onlyslightlylessremarkable,

alightmagewhohadlearnedtochangethecolorofreflectedlightsothatshecouldmakethingsnearlyinvisible,orhidetheminshadows,ormakethemglowasbrightasthesun.ForyearsAlfandGerdhadbeenforbiddentomarrybyoldGyish,whowasthentheOdin,forfearthatthejoiningoftwosuchpotentbloodlinesmightcreatesomethingawful

—agatemage,whichtheNorthswereforbiddenevertohaveagain,oramanmage,whichalltheFamiliesweresworntodestroy.ButwhenGyishretiredafter

losingthelastwar,andmachine-mageAlfwasmadeOdininhisplace,theFamilyvotedalmostunanimouslytoallowthemarriage.Danny’sbirthwastheresult,asclosetoaroyalchildastheNorths

hadhadinmanygenerations.Inhisearlychildhood,

Dannywaspamperedbyalltheadults.Hewasthegoldenboy,andgreatthingswereexpectedofhim.Hehadbeenbrightasachild—quicktoread,cleverwithallthefamilylanguages,dextrouswithhisfingers,anathleticrunnerandleaper,curioustoafault,andcleveroftonguesohecouldmakealmost

anyonelaugh.Butashegotolder,thesetraitscouldnotmakeupforhisutterlackofharmonywithanyofthemagicsofthefamily.Dannytriedeverything.He

gardenedalongsidethecousinswhohadawaywithherbsandtreesandgrasses—theoneswho,asadultmages,wouldcontinuetomaketheNorthfarmssoastonishinglyproductive.Buttheseedshe

plantedgrewweakly,andhecouldnotfeelthethrobbingpulseofatree.Heroamedthewoodswith

thosewhohadawaywithanimals—theoneswho,iftheycouldonlyformadeepbondwithwolforbearor(failingeverythinggrand)squirrelorsnake,wouldbecomeeyefriendorclawbrotherandroamtheworldinanimalshape

whenevertheywished.Butthecreaturesranfromhim,orsnarledorsnappedathim,andhemadenofriendsamongthebeasts.Hetriedtounderstandwhat

itmeantto“serve”stoneorwater,windortheelectricityoflightningintheair.Butthestonesbruisedhisfingersandmovedforhimonlyifhethrewthem;thewindonlyblewhishairintoatangled

mop;andstormsandpondslefthimwet,cold,andpowerless.Farfrombeingprecocious,withmagichewasslow.Worsethanslow.Hewasinert,makingnovisibleprogressatall.Yet,exceptforthe

loneliness,hedidn’thatehislife.Hislongrovingsinthewoodswereapleasuretohim.Sinceneithertreenoranimalwasdrawntohim,he

simplyran,becomingswiftandtireless,mileaftermile.Atfirstheranonlywithinthelimitsofthefamilycompound,becausethetreesthatguardedtheperimeterwouldsnatchathimandthengivethealarm,bringingtheadultseedguardsandevenUnclePoot,theonlysapkininthefamilyrightnow,towarnhimnottoleave.Butduringthispastwinter

—perhapsbecausethetreesweredormantandlessalert—hehadfoundthreedifferentroutesthatallowedhimtoavoidthesentineltreesentirely.Heknewthatasaprobabledrekkahewasbeingwatched—Dannyneverknewwhentheoutselfofsomeadultmightbefollowinghim.Sohetookdifferentroutestothesesecretpassagewayseachtime.Asfarasheknew,

hehadneverbeenseenleaving.Noonehadchallengedhimaboutit,atleast.Liberatednow,hewould

runandrun,milesinwhateverdirectionhechose.Andhewasfast!Hecouldcovermilesandstillbehomebysuppertime.Hewouldonlystopwhenhecametoahighway,afence,ahouse,afactory,atown,andfromthe

shelterofthewoodsorhedgesorweedshewouldwatchthedrowthersgoabouttheirlivesandthink:Iambynatureoneofthem.Withoutaffinitiesorpowers.Livingbythelaboroftheirhandsorthewordsoftheirmouth.Withoneslightdifference:

Drowthersdidn’tknowtheywerebereftofallthatwasnobleintheworld.Theyhadnosenseoflostheritage.The

Northfamilyignoredthem,carednothingaboutthem.ButifDannytriedtoleave,alltheFamilysecretswouldbeatrisk.Thestoriestoldondarknights,oftraitors,ofwarsbetweentheWestilianfamilies,allendedthesameway:AnyonewhodefiedtheFamilyandfledthecompoundwithoutpermissionwouldbehunteddownandkilled.

InthesetwilighttimesNorthsmaynothaveallthepowertheyusedtohavebeforeLokiclosedthegates,beforethecenturiesofwarwiththeotherfamilies.Buttheyweresuperbhunters.Nobodyevadedthem.Dannyknewhetookhislifeinhishandseverytimeheleft.Hewasinsanetodoit.Yethefeltsofreeoutsidethecompound.Theworldwasso

large,sofullofpeoplewhodidnotdespisehimyet.Theyhavenotalentslike

ours,andyettheybuildtheseroads,thesefactories,thesehouses.Wehavetoimporttheirmachinestoair-conditionourhomes.WetieintotheirInternettogetournewsandsendemailstothetrustedroverstheFamilysendsoutintotheworld.Wedriveincarsandtruckswe

buyfromthem.Howdarewefeelsuperior?Noneofthesethingsareinourpower,andwhentheWestilfamiliesruledtheworldasgodsofthePhrygians,theHittites,theGreeks,theCelts,thePersians,theHindi,theSlavs,andofcoursetheNorse,thelivesofcommonpeoplewerenasty,brutish,andshort—nastier,shorter,andmorebrutalbecauseofour

demandsonthem.Theworldwouldbebetterif

therehadneverbeensuchgodsasthese.Takingwhateverwewantedbecausewecould,killinganyonewhogotinourway,deposingkingsandsettingupnewones,sendingourdisciplesouta-conquering—whodidwethinkwewere?Inthelong-lostworldofWestil,whereeveryonewastalented,

thenitmightbefair,foreveryonemighthaveachance.ButhereinMittlegard—onEarth—whereonlythefewWestilianfamilieshadsuchpowers,itwasunjust.Thesewerethethoughtsthat

DannywasfreetothinkashewatchedtheteenagerscomeoutofthehighschoolsofBuenaVistaandLexingtonandrideoffinbusesordrive

offintheircars.Athomeheneverlethimselfthinksuchthings,becauseifhedidhisfacemightrevealhisrepugnanceordismayatsomethingthatarelativedidorsomeoldstoryofanancestor’sadventures.Hisonlyhopeofhavinganykindofusefullifewastoconvincethemthathecouldbetrustedtobeallowedoutintotheworld,thathisloyaltytothe

Familywasunshakeable.Meanwhile,heporedover

thebooksthatchildrenwereallowedtoread,especiallythemythologies,tryingtounderstandtherealhistoryoftheWestiliansfromthetantalizingtalesthedrowthershadcollected.HeonceaskedAuntieUckwhichofthetalesfromBulfinch’sMythologyweretrue,andshejustglaredathimandsaid,“Allof

them,”whichwasjuststupid.Somewheretherewere

booksthattoldthetruestories.Heknewthatfamilyhistorieswerekept—historiesthatwentbackthousandsofyears.Howelsecouldtheadultsmaketheircrypticreferencestothisorthatpersonoreventinthedistantpast?Alltheadultsknewthesehistories,andsomedaytheothercousinswouldbe

giventhesesecrets—butnotDanny,theonebestsuitedtoread,understand,andremember.Ifheeverlearnedthetruthaboutanything,hewouldhavetofinditouthimself.Meanwhile,hehadtostay

alive.Whichmeantthatasmuchashelovedtorunoutsidethecompound,heonlydiditnowandthen,whenhecouldn’tstandtobe

confinedinhislonelinessanotherday;whenitbegantoseemthatitmightbebetterjusttogouptoHammernipHill,dighisowngrave,liedowninit,andwaitforsomeonetocomeupandfinishthejob.Whenhewasanalytical

aboutit,herealizedthatrunningoutsidethecompoundwasakindofsuicide.AgameofRussian

roulette,withoutanyideaofhowmanychamberstherewereintherevolver,norhowmanybulletstheremightbe.Justruntoasecretpassagewayandkeeponrunning—thatwashowhepulledthetrigger.Hislifewasnotunrelenting

solitudeandhostility,ofcourse.Therewereauntsanduncleswhohadlovedhimfromchildhoodon,andthey

seemedtolovehimstill,thoughsomewerecertainlymoredistantnow.AndsinceBabaandMamathemselveshadneverparticularlydotedonhim,certainlyhecoulddetectnodifferenceintheirindifferencenow.Inmanywayshislifeathomewasnormal.Normalish,anyway.Andmaybehewouldfinda

waytomakehimselfusefultotheFamilysotheywouldlet

himlive.Hehadtriedtogetthemto

lethimbecomethefamilycomputerexpert.“Letmesetupalocalareanetwork,”hesaid.“I’vebeenreadingaboutitonline.Wecouldhavecomputersineveryhouse,ineveryroom,andtheycouldsharethesameinternetconnectionsowewouldn’thavetopaythecablecompanyadollarmore.”

Butalltheycouldthinktosaywas,“Howdidyoulearnaboutthesethings?”“Igoogledthem,”hesaid.Theresultwasthatthe

familymadeanewrulethatkidscouldaccesscomputersonlywithanadultintheroom,andyouhadtobeabletodemonstrateatanymomentjusthowthestuffyouhadonthescreenwasrelatedtotheclassroom

assignmentyouweresupposedtobedoing.“Thanksalot,drekka,”Lem

andStemsaidastheybeathimupalittlebehindthehaybarnthenextday.TheywereparticularlyannoyedbecauseDanny’sinquiryhadledtoAuntieTwengfindingtheirfilesofpornography,whichgotthemascreamingtongue-lashingfromtheirdrekkamother,MizJane,and

awhippingfromoneofUnclePoot’smostsavagehickories.SonowDannywastryingto

makehimselfusefulbyhelpingtrainthekidswhowerejustlearningtocreateclantswiththeiroutselves.NotthatDannyknewanythingaboutclanting,butsincethekidscouldn’tseetheirownclants,Dannywatchedhowtheclantstookshapeandthenreportedto

themontheirresults.Pureobservation,butbecauseDannywasdoingit,anadultwasfreetodosomethingelse.Thetroublewasthatthe

threechildrenwhoseclantshewassupervisingwereTina,Mona,andCrista,andinsteadofworkingontheirassignment—tomaketheirclantasclosetolifesizeaspossible—theywere

remainingunderafootinheightandtryingtomakethemselvesasvoluptuousastheycould.Allthreegirlswerejuststartingtodevelopaswomenintheirrealbodies,buttheminiaturefemalebodiestheywereformingoutoffallentwigs,leaves,andnutshellswereshapingupwithhugebreastsandexaggeratedhips.Forestfairies,adrowtherwould

havecalledthem.Orsluts.“I’llreportthis,youknow,”

saidDanny.Butitwaswastedbreath—noneofthemwasgoodenoughatclantingtobeabletohearanythingthroughtheirclants.Theycouldsee,however—theoutselfcouldseewhetheritwasformedintoaclantornot—andoneofthemnoticedDanny’slipsmoving.Almostatonce,allthreeof

theforestfairiesturnedtofacehim.Twoofthemflauntedtheirchests;theotherturnedaround,thrustherbuttockstowardhim,andwaggleditbackandforth.Theycouldnothavemadetheircontemptmoreclear.Dannydidn’tcare.Itwas

betterthangettingbeatenupbyLemandStem.Butitwashisresponsibilitytomakesuretheyworkedonwhat

theyweresupposedtoworkon.Hehadnoauthorityhimself,andevenifhehad,hecouldn’thavedoneanythingiftheychosetodefyhim.Adultscouldusetheirownoutselvestogivethegirls’clantsashove,whichtheywouldfeelintheirownbodiesaswell.ButDannyhadnooutself,orhadn’tfoundone,anyway.Theonlythinghecoulddowasfindan

adultandreportthem—butbythetimeanadultarrived,they’dbeworkingonwhattheyweresupposedtoworkon,andtheadultwouldbeannoyedatDanny.Notthattheadultwould

doubtDanny’sword—hewasknownnottolie,andbesides,theyknewexactlywhatTina,Mona,andCristawerelike.ButtheveryfactthatDannyhadtofetchanadultto

enforcetherulesmeantthathereallywasn’tworthverymuchasaclant-minder.SometimesDannywasconscientiousenoughtoreportsuchanticsasthese,butmostofthetimeDannyputhisownsurvivalaheadofthegoalofpushingthechildrentodeveloptheirskills,andletthemgetawaywithwhatevertheywanted.Thedangerwasthatwhen

thesechildrengrewup,theywouldrememberhowworthlessDannyhadbeenasachild-minder,andfarfrombeinggratefulthathehadn’treportedthemwhentheywereyoung,they’drealizehecouldn’tbetrustedtotakecareoftheirownchildren.Thenhe’djustbePoorUncleDannythedrekka.OrPoorOldDanny,thebodyunderthenamelessheadstoneon

HammernipHill.Allhecoulddowaskickout

atthem,dispersingthestuffoutofwhichtheirclantswereformed,sothey’dhavetotakeafewmomentstogatherthemupagainandshapethemselvesagain.Ittookonlyasecondortwo—they’dbeenmakingforestfairiesofthissizesincetheywerenineorten,andDannywasthedarlinglittleeight-year-old

thattheylikedtopamperwhenadultswerearoundortorturewhentheyweren’t.Well,eventhoughDanny

couldn’tmakeaclantthesizeofathimble,hehadlistenedwellduringtheearlylessonsandrememberedthingsthatthosewithtalentoftenforgot.Forinstance,heknewthewarningaboutlettingdrowtherscaptureasmallandfragileclant.“Youholdthe

clant,”UnclePoothadtoldthem,“andtheclantholdsyou.Ifyouletthemcaptureyouwhenyou’relittle,theycankeepyouroutselffromreturningtoyourbody,whichleavesyoucompletelyhelpless.”“Whycan’twejusttoss

awaytheclant?”Dannyhadasked—forinthosedays,hestillexpectedtobeabletousetheselessons.

“Youhavetobeabletospinandleaptocastawaythebitsfromwhichyoumadetheclant,”saidUnclePoot.“Iftheytrapyousoyoucan’tmovefarenough,thebitsofclantstayboundtoyou.It’sjustthewayitworks.”“I’lljustmakemyclant

withscissors,”Friggy,Danny’sbestfriendinthosedays,hadboasted.“ThenI’llcutmywayout.”

“Makeyourclantwithscissors?”UnclePoothadlaughed.“Whynotmakeitwithagunandshootyourcaptorsthroughthesacktheycaughtyouin?”“Theclantsthatchildren

makearefaintandsmall,”saidDanny.“Theyhavenostrengthinthem.”“That’sright,”saidUncle

Poot.“ThesonofOdinneverforgets.It’sonlytrulyaclant

whenit’sfull-sizeandeverybitassolidasyouareinyourownbody.Untilthenit’sasmallorafaintoraface,anditcouldnomoreliftapairofscissorsthanaboulder.”Rememberingsuchlessons,

Dannypulledhistee-shirtoffoverhisheadandthenidlyscratchedhisside,asifthathadbeenhispurpose.Thegirlsmadetheirclantspointathimandpantomimerolling

onthegroundwithlaughter—theyreallywerequitegoodatgivinglifelikemovementstotheirsmalls—butallthatmatteredtoDannywasthattheyweren’tpayingattentiontothedangertheywerein.IttookonlyamomentforDannytohavehisshirtdownontopofthetwonearestfairiesandanothermomentforhimtogatheritintoasackcontainingthem.

Thethirdwasfree,anditleaptandscamperedupthesack,uphisarms,intohisface.Butitwasamereannoyance—hesweptitawaywithabrushofhishandandthepiecesofitfelltotheground.Heexpectedthatgirl—hehadnowayofknowingwhichitwas,sincetheyweren’tgoodenoughyettoputtheirfaceontheclantstheymade—todropher

outselfbacktothegroundandformtheclantagain,sohedidn’twaitaroundtosee.Insteadhegrippedthetee-shirtinhisteethandbegantoclimbthenearestbranchytree.Nooneclimbedtreesbetter

thanDanny,andthistimehemovedsofastitseemedtohimthathewasflying,justtappingthebrancheswithhishandsandfeet.Meanwhile

thefairiesinthebagkepttryingtojumpandspinsotheycouldshedtheirclantsandreturntotheirbodies,buttheydidn’thavethestrengthtodomuchmorethanjostlethebagalittle.Atahighbranch,Danny

stoppedclimbing,tookthetee-shirtoutofhismouth,andtieditsotightlytoaslenderbranchthattherewashardlyroomfortheclantstomoveat

all.Thenhelethimselfbackdownthetree,takingmuchlongerjumpsdownwardthanhehadmanagedonthewayup.Whenhereachedthebottom,thethirdgirl’sclantwasnowheretobeseen.SoDannywalkedbackto

thehouse,totellUnclePootwhathehaddone.ButitwasGreat-UncleZog

andGrandpaGyishwhointerceptedhimonthepath,

andtheygavehimnochanceatalltoexplainthathewasonlyteachingthegirlsalesson.“Wherearethey!”screamed

GrandpaGyish.“Whatkindofdrekkabagsa

child!”Great-UncleZogbellowedathim.“I’llhaveyouupthehillforthis,youfairy-thief,youchild-abuser!”AndthenhewasshakingDannysohardthathewas

afraidhisheadwouldcomeclearoff.YearsofflyingwiththeeagleshadcausedoldZog’sarmsandshoulderstobulkupandhehadsomuchstrengththathecouldbreakabigman’sneckwithaswipeofhishand—he’ddoneitmorethanonceinthewars.SoitwasareliefwhenAuntieUckandAuntieTwengshowedupandclungtobothZog’sarms,dragging

himawayfromDanny.Asitwas,Zogdidn’tletgo

—theAuntsdraggedhim,buthedraggedDanny,hisgriplikeatalononDanny’sshoulder.Hestaggeredtokeephisfeetunderhimsothathedidn’thavehisfullweightdanglingfromZog’smassivegrip.Whowouldhavethoughtanoldmancouldbesostrong?Afewminuteslater,the

adultswhowereinthecompoundhadgathered,andDannyfoundhimselfinthemidstofsomethinglikeatrial—butwithoutthelegalformstheysawintheTVshows.TherewasDannyandtherewashisaccuser,Crista,theoldestofthegirls,andtherewasGyish,presidinglikeajudgeinBaba’sabsence,withZogastheprosecutor.Butthat’swherethe

resemblancetoafairtrialleftoff,fortherewasnoonetospeakinDanny’sdefense.NotevenDanny—wheneverhetriedtospeakZogslappedhimorGyishshoutedhimintosilence.SotheonlystoryanyonecouldhearwasCrista’s.“Weweretryingsohardto

makeourclantsbig,”shesaid,“thatwedidn’tevenseethatDannywassneakingup

onuswithagiantsack.HecaughtallthreeofusbutIjustbarelymanagedtogetoutbeforehesealedtheneckofitwithTinaandMonainside.AndthenhebrokemyclantinpiecesandbeforeIcouldputmyselftogetherhewasgone,upinthesky.”“Heflew?”demanded

Gyish.“Yes!”criedCrista.“He

flewawayanddroppedthe

bagoutsidethecompoundandnowwe’llnevergetthemback!”Ittookamomentbeforeshe

realizedthatshehadpushedtoohard.Fortheadultswereallshakingtheirheadsandsomewerelaughingderisively.“Danny?Fly?”saidUncle

Poot.“Ifonlyhecould.”“YoucanseethatCrista’s

lying,”saidUncleMook.

“Maybeeverythingshesaid’salie.”“It’snotalie!”shouted

Gyish—hehadmadenopretenseofimpartiality.“Isawthepoorgirls’bodieslyinghelplessinthehouse!Childrensoyoungdon’thavethestrengthtobringtheiroutselvesbackwhentheirclantiscaptured!Northeskilltowakeuptheirownbodieswhentheiroutselves

areclanting!Theymightneverwakeup!”“Let’shearfromDanny,”

saidAuntLummymildly.Zogturnedonhersavagely.

“Adrekkahasnovoicehere!”“ButthesonofOdinand

Gerdhastherighttospeakinhisowndefense,”saidLummy.AndMook,herhusband,movedclosertoher,standingbesideher,togive

moreforcetowhatshesaid.“Whatwillwehearfrom

himbutlies?”saidGyish.“Iknowwhatdrekkasanddrowthersare—they’llsayanythingtosavetheirworthlesslives!”“Ifheissodeterminedto

savehislife,”saidAuntLummy,“whywouldheharmthesechildren,whomwetrustedtohiscare?”“Becausetheyhateus!

Drekkashateusworsethandrowthersdo!”Gyishwasalmostfrothingatthemouth.DannyrealizedthathewasseeingnowwhatlaybehindthemutteringandgrumblingthatwereGyish’susualformofspeech.Theoldman’swrathandshameathavinglostthewarandtheseatofOdinhadmadehimintothispoisonousoldgnome—orsoheseemed,becausehe

stoopedtopointaquaveringfingeratAuntLummyasifhemeanttojabitthroughherheartifshetookonemoresteptowardhim.“Piffle,”saidAuntieUck.

“You’rebehavinglikeachild,GrandpaGyish,andZog,you’rejustabully.Letgooftheboyatonce—you’veprobablybrokenhisshoulderandyouknowwedon’thaveafirst-ratehealer

anymore.”SheturnedtoGyishagain.“Whichyou’llrueifyouletyourangergiveyouastroke!”IttookUck’sno-nonsense

toneandunintimidatedlooktogetGyishbacktohisnormallevelofgrumbling,whileZogtossedDannyonthegroundandstoodthere,fistsclenched,waitingforDannytobesuchafoolastotrytoriseagain.

Heneedn’thaveworried.Danny’sshoulderhurtsobadlythathecouldonlyliethere,holdingitwithhisotherhand,tryingnottocry.“Danny,”saidUncleMook,

“telluswhathappened.”“Ialreadytoldyouwhat

happened!”shoutedCrista.UnclePootsilencedher

withaglare.“Wealreadyheardyourlies,girl.Nowwe’llseeifDannycancome

upwithbetterones.”“Well,boy?”askedZog.

“Youheardthem!Answer!”“Theywerestayingsmall,”

saidDanny,“andgivingthemselveshugeboobs.”“Sowhat!”shoutedGyish.

“Sowhatiftheywere!It’swhattheydo!They’restupidlittlegirls,it’swhattheydo!”“IknewthatifIwentto

fetchyou,UnclePoot,they’dlieandsaytheyweretrying

tobebig.”“Iwouldn’thavebelieved

them,”answeredPoot.“Butyouwouldn’thave

punishedthem,either,”saidDanny.“Sothey’djusthavekeptondoingit.”Heheardtheotheradultsmurmurtheiragreement.“Sonowyou’reacritic,is

thatit?”UnclePootreplied.“TellingmethatI’mnotgoodattrainingyoungsters?”

“Itdoesn’texcuseyouputtingtheminasack!”saidZog.Andtheadultsmurmuredtheiragreementatthat,too.“Ididn’thaveasack,”said

Danny.“Istoodthererightinfrontofthemandtookoffmyshirtandwalkedrightovertothem.ItwasplainenoughwhatIwasdoing—ifthey’dbeenpayinganyattention.Ididn’texpecttoactuallycatch

themwithmyshirt!Ijustwantedtogivethemascare,remindthemtotaketheirstudyseriously.ButwhenIfoundthattwoofthemwereintheshirt,Ididn’tknowwhattodo.IfIjustletthemgo,they’dmockmeandI’dneverbeabletogetthemtodowhat’srightwithoutbotheringsomeadult.Thewholepointofhavingmewatchthemissononeofyou

hastobebothered,isn’tit?”Evenashesaidit,though,

Dannyrealizedthathehadjustdeclaredthatitwasimpossibleforhimtotendtheclantsiftheotherchildrendidn’twanthimto;hewouldn’tsavetheadultsanytimeatall,andsotheymightaswellhaveoneofthemdothemindingandleaveDannyoutofit.Butwhatchoicehadhehad?TheaccusationCrista

madewassoterrible,andwithGyishandZogcallinghimadrekka,onewhocouldbekilledwheneveritwasconvenient,therewasagreatdangerthatthetrialwouldendsuddenlywithZogtearinghisheadoffandtossingitintothetrees.“Soyoutrappedthemin

yourtee-shirt,”saidAuntLummy.“Andyoudidn’tletthemgo.Wherearethey

now?”“Crista’sclantwasgoingfor

myeyesandsoIdidbrushheraside.Andthentogetawayfromher,Iclimbedatree.”“Andyetyouarenotina

tree,”saidUncleMook.“Andyouseemtohaveneitheryourshirtnortheclantsoftwodisobedientandstupidgirls.”“Itiedtheshirttoabranch

andclimbeddownandIwas

justgoingtofetchUnclePootandturntheirclantsovertohimwhenGreatUncleZogandGrandpaGyishattackedme.”“Nograndpaofyours!”

shoutedGyish,thoughthiswasonlypartlytrue,sinceDanny’smother,Gerd,wasGyish’sfirstborngranddaughter.“Ibelieveyou,”saidMook.

“Butwhatyoudon’tknow—

whatyoucouldnotpossiblyunderstand—ishowterrifiedthosegirlsarenow.There’snothingworseforaninexperiencedchildthantohaveyouroutselftrappedandbeunabletobringitback.It’slikeyou’resuffocatingandcan’tdrawbreath.”Theotherspresent

murmuredtheiragreement.“I’msorry,”saidDanny.“I

reallyam.It’snotasifI

plannedit.Ionlydidwhatcametomind,totrytogetthemtoworkonwhattheywereassigned.Ididn’tknowthatitwouldhurtthem.”“Lookathisshoulder,”said

AuntieTweng.“Lookatthatbruise.It’slikeatruckranoverhim.”“Hewastryingtoget

away!”saidZogdefensively.“Hewasinagony,”said

Tweng.“Howdareyou

punishtheboybeforetherestofuswerecalled?”“Ididn’tpunishhim!”Zog

roared.“Ibroughthim!”“Youknowyourstrength,

andyou’reresponsibleforwhatyoudowithit,”saidTweng.“YouandGrandpaGyishdidthistohim?It’satleastasbadasanythinghedidtothosetwogirls—why,Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifhisclaviclewasbrokenalong

withafewthousandcapillaries.”SinceneitherZognorGish

wasevenslightlyeducatedinthedrowthersciences,theyhadnoideawhattheywerebeingaccusedofhavingdone,buttheywereclearlyangryandabashedathavingthetablesturnlikethis.“Andwhileyou’retorturing

thischild,”saidTweng,“andrefusingtolethimspeak,has

anyonethoughtthatonlyheknowswherehehungthattee-shirtwithabraceofstupiddisobedientfairiesinside?”Dannycouldhavekissed

herthenandthere,ifhe’dthoughtthatAuntieTwengwouldstandforit.Withinafewmoments,unclesPootandMookhadDannyonhisfeetandhelpedhimkeephisbalance—hewasfaintwith

pain—asheledthembacktothetree.ItwasfartherthanDanny

hadremembered,orperhapspainmagnifiedthedistance,sinceeverystepjostledhimandmadeithurtworse.Butfinallytheywerethere,withalltheauntsanduncles—andnowafairentourageofcousins,too—staringupintothetree.“Idon’tseeit,”saidZog.

“He’slying.”“Hesaidheputithighin

thetree,”saidAuntieTweng.“Ofcourseyoucan’tseeit.Theleavesareintheway.”“Ican’tclimbthatthing,”

saidUncleMook.“Canyougetthetreeitself

tobringthemdown?”AuntLummyaskedUnclePoot.“Isitonalivingbranch?”

PootaskedDanny.“Greenwithleaves?”

“Yes,”saidDanny.“Thenweshouldtryanother

way,”saidPoot,hisvoicenowgentle,“beforeweaskthisscarletoakforsuchasacrifice.”“ThenZog,”saidAuntie

Teng.“Sendupabirdtountietheshirtandbringthemdown.”Zogwhirledonher,butthen

seemedtoswallowthefirstterriblethinghehadmeantto

say.Insteadhespokesoftly.“Youknowmyheartbounddiedinthewar.SuchbirdsasIcanspeaktonowhavenosuchskillastheuntyingofaknottedshirt.Icanmakethemattackandkill,butnotuntieaknot.”“Thensomeonehastoclimb

thetree,”saidUnclePoot.“Makeaclantfirst,”said

AuntieTweng,“andseehowhighitis,andhowdangerous

theclimbmightbe.”UnclePootwasoneofthe

foremostclantersoftheFamily,andhemusthavebeenshowingoffalittle,forhesatdownatthebaseofthetreeandformedhisoutselfintoaclantusingtheleavesandtwigsofthelivingoak.Thesmallerbranchesmerelybenttowardeachothertoformtheleavesintothevagueshapeofaman.Itprogressed

upthetreebyjoininghigherleavesintotheshapeandlettingloweronesfallawaybehindit.Soonitcamebackdown,littlemorethanarapidquiveringoftheleavesandbranches,yetalwaysshapedlikeaman,andUnclePootopenedhiseyesagain.“Howcouldyouclimbso

high?”heaskedDanny.“Howcouldsuchslenderbranchesbearyourweight?”

“Idon’tknow,”saidDanny.“Iclimbedupthemandtheydidn’tbreakandIdidn’tfall.”“Ican’tsendanotherchild

upthere,”saidUnclePoot.“Asweweresorecentlyreminded,wehavenohealercapableofdealingwithgraveinjuries.”“Thenletmego,”said

Danny.“Withthatshoulder?”asked

AuntLummy.“Idon’tthink

so!”“Icandoit,”saidDanny.

“It’sonlypain.Icanstillmovemyarm.”Soheclimbedthetreefor

thesecondtimetoday,slowlythistime,testingthestrengthinhisleftarmandshouldereverytimebeforerelyingonthemtoholdhim.Whenhewasfarenoughup

thetreethathecouldseenoneofthepeoplebelow

him,hecametoaplacewherehecouldn’tfindanykindofhandholdatall.Thenexthigherbranchwassimplyoutofreach.Yethehadcomethisway.Thishighinthetreetherewerenoalternateroutes.Iwasmovingfaster,Danny

thought.Iwasalmostrunningupthetree.Imusthaveleaptupwardandreacheditwithoutrealizingit.

Yetheknewthiswasnottrue.Suchaleapasthishewouldhavenoticedandremembered—iffornootherreasonthantobragthathehaddoneit.Hehadclimbedthetreein

thesamekindofsingle-mindedtrancethatcameoverhimwhenheran.Hedidn’trememberpickinghiswayorwatchinghisfootstepswhenheranhisfastest,and

likewisehehadnomemoryofgrippingthisbranchorthatonewhenhehadmadehisfirstclimb,thoughherememberedeveryhandholdandeveryreachonthissecondtimeupthetree.Heclosedhiseyes.How

couldhepossiblygobackdownandtellthemthatwhathehadclimbedbefore,hecouldnotclimbasecondtime?Whatcouldthey

possiblythink,exceptthatherefusedtogo?Whatifsomeoneelsegottothissameplace,andsawthetee-shirthangingfaroutofreach?Whatwouldtheythink?OnlythatDannydidn’twanttofreethegirlsfromtheirimprisonment.ThenUnclePootwouldaskthetreetosacrificeandbreakthelivingbranch,andDanny’spunishmentwouldbesevere

indeed.Whowouldthinkhimanythingbutadrekkathen?Yetheknewtherewasa

wayup,andnotjustbecauseofthelogicthatthetee-shirtwasknottedaroundabranch,soDannymusthavebeenthere;heknewtherewasawaybecausehecouldsenseit,whereitbeganandwhereitled,eventhoughtherewerenohandholdsthathiseyescouldsee.

Soheclosedhiseyesandreachedupward,slidinghishandalongtheroughtrunk.Ah,ifonlyyoucouldspeaktome,ScarletOak,ifonlywewerefriends.Ifonlyyoucouldbendyourbranchtome.Andasthatyearningmixed

withhisdespair,hetwistedandflunghisbodyupward.Whatdiditmatterifhemissedthebranchandfell?

Hisdayswerenumberedanyway,ifhedidnotbringthosegirlsbackdown.Hishandgrippedabranch.

Heopenedhiseyes.Itwasnotthenextbranch

up,theonethathehadreachedforinvainamomentbefore.Itwastheverybranchthetee-shirthungon.HowdidIgetfromthereto

here?Butevenasheasked

himselfthequestion,heansweredit.Icouldnothavedoneitwithhandsandfeet.Noristhereanymagicthatletsatwelve-year-oldboyleapupwardthreetimeshisownheight.No,therewassuchamagic,

onlyDannyhadneverseenit.Thewholeworldhadnotseenitsince632A.D.Hehadtoclosehiseyesandbreathedeeplyashetookitin.

Imusthavemadeagate.Alittleone,agatethattakesmeonlytheretohere.ImusthavemadeitwhenIclimbedthefirsttime,andwhenIleaptagainjustnowIpassedthroughit.Hehadreadaboutgateslike

thisinbooks.TheywerethegatesthatwerewithinthereachofPathbrothers,orevenlockfriendssometimes,backinthedayswhengatemagery

wasstillpracticedintheworld.Andnowthathewasthinkingofitthisway,Dannycouldseejustwherethegatebeganandended.Itwasnothingvisible,notevenaquiveringintheairorarearrangementoftheleaves,likeUnclePoot’stemporaryclanthadbeen.Hesimplyknewthatitwasthere,knewwhereitbeganandended,feltitalmostasifitwereapartof

him.Dannyhadmadeagate.

Howmanyothershadhemade,notknowingit?Itmustbegateslikethisthathadallowedhimtogetpastthewatchingtreesattheperimeter.Howlonghadhebeenmakingthem?Howmanywerethere?Assoonasthequestion

formedinhismind,theanswercame.Hecouldsense

theplacementofeverygatethathehadevermade.Therewerescarcelytwodozenofthem,butfromhisreadingheknewthatthiswasreallyquitealot.EvenaPathbrothercouldonlymakeadozengatesofanysize,becauseeachgaterequiredthataportionofthegatemage’soutselfremainbehindwithit.Atrained,experiencedgatemagecould

closethegatesthathehadmadehimself,erasethemandgatherhisoutselffragmentsbackintothewhole.ButDannyhadnoideahowsuchathingwasdone.Andtherewasnoonetoteachhim.I’vemadetwodozengates

withoutknowingthatIwasdoingit,withoutfeelingitatall.YetI’vebeenfindingtheonesthatleadoutsidethecompound,becauseIcould

sensewithoutrealizingitexactlywheretheywereandwheretheyledandhowtousethem.Noweveryoneofthemis

lyingaboutinsidethecompound,waitingforsomeonetostumbleintoitandfindhimselfabruptlyinanotherplace.Itonlyhadtohappenonce,andthediscovererwouldknowtherewasagatemageintheworld

again,andonewithstrengthenoughtomakeagateratherthanmerelyfindandopenupagatethatsomeoneelsehadmade.Dannyexultedatthe

knowledgethathewasnotadrekkaatall,butinsteadaratherpowerfulmageoftherarestkind.ButeatingawayatthethrilloftriumphwasthefactthattobeagatemageintheNorthfamilywas

worsethanbeingdrekka.Forthelastgatemageinthe

worldhadbeenLokithetrickster,themonsterLokiwhohadsealedupeveryGreatGateintheworldsothoroughlythatalltrafficbetweenWestilandMittlegardwascutoffatonce.IthadshatteredthepowerofeveryFamilyintheworld,forthemightiestofpowerscouldonlybe

sustainedbyfrequentpassagesbackandforth.MagicgatheredinoneworldwasmagnifiedahundredtimesbypassagethroughaGreatGateintotheother.LittlegatesliketheonesthatDannymadehadnosuchpower—theyledfromEarthtoanotherspotonEarth,andmeantnothingexceptthathisbodymovedfromtheretohere.ButtheGreatGateshad

beenwhatturnedthemagesofWestilintogodswhentheycameheretoMittlegard.Andwhentheyclosed,

whenLokimadeitimpossibleforanyonetoevenfindthem,eventhegatesthathadstoodforthreethousandyearsormorebeforehistime,thegodsbecamemeremages,andeasytofindandkillifsomeonewasdeterminedto;theycoulddiefromtheblows

ofdrowtherswordsorthedartsfromdrowtherbows.Theyhadtolearncaution,toisolatethemselves,topretendthattheywereordinarypeople.Tohide,astheNorthfamilywashiddenhereintheVirginiahills,wherepeoplewhokepttothemselveswerenotexceptionalandothersmostlyleftthemalone.Thewarshadbeenfoughtat

firsttoforcetheNorthsto

reopenthegates,fornoonebelievedthatLoki’sactionswerenotpartofsomenefariousplan.OnlyaftertheFamilieshaddecimatedeachotherandtheNorthshadfledwithLeivEirikssontoVinland—onlythen,seeinghowhelplesstheNorthshadbeenagainstfivecenturiesofonslaughts,didtheotherFamiliesfinallybelievethatLokihadactedalone,thatthe

NorthswerenotholdingontosomesecretWestilGatethatwouldenablethemtobuilduppowerthatnootherFamilycouldwithstand.Evenso,onceAmericawas

conqueredtheFamiliesmadewarontheNorthsagainfromtimetotime,wheneverthepainofbeingcutofffromWestilbecametoomuchtobear,ifonlytopunishtheNorthsorperhapsdestroy

themutterly—whatelsedidtheydeserve?Butastrucesandtreaties

wereformedandbroken,madeanewandonceagainbroken,theyalwaysincludedthisclause:Thatifanygatemagewasbornintotheworld,intoanyFamilybutmostespeciallytheNorths,hewouldbekilled.Andnotjustkilled,buthisorherbodycutupandonepiecesenttoeach

oftheotherFamiliesasproofthatitwasdone.Otherwise,whichever

Familygotagatemakerfirstwouldhaveadevastatingadvantageandcoulddestroytheothersiftheywerenotstoppedintime.AlltheFamiliesfearedtheotherswouldcheat,becausethat’swhattheythemselveswoulddo.Ifanyoftheadultshadsent

aclanttowatchDannyandsawwhathejustdidtoreachthisspot,thenwhenhecamebackdownthey’dhackhimtodeathonthespot,andcarenothing.ForiftheNorthswerecaughtwithagatemageofanydegreeofpowerleftaliveandmakinggates,theotherFamilieswoulduniteagainandthistimetheywouldnotstoptilleveryNorthwasdead.

Iamamagewithpowertodowhatnootherlivingmagecando;andyetIamadeadman.IfLokihadnotplayedhismonstrous,inexplicableprankandclosedthegates,thediscoveryofmypowerwouldbeacauseforcelebration.IwouldatoncebecomeoneoftheleadingmembersoftheFamily,andmerebeastmageslikeZogwoulddefertome,andLem

andStemwouldneverdaretoraisetheirhandagainstme.ButLokiclosedthegates,andnowit’sacrimeformetobreathe.IfIwereagoodboy,I’dflingmyselffromthistreeanddie,savingthemthetroubleofkillingme.ButDannywasnotthat

goodaboy.Heowedthemnothing.He

wasnotoneofthem.Hedidnotaccepttheirpowerover

him.Hewouldnotletthemkillhimifhecouldavoidit.Theonlytroublewas,he

didn’tactuallyknowhowtousehispower.Hehadmadeagate,butunconsciously;hecouldmapwithhismindallthegatesthathehadevermade,becausetheywereapartofhim.Buthehadnoideawhattodoinordertocreateanother.Usefulasitmightberightnowtomakea

gatethatwouldtakehimfromthistreetoptoaplacesomewhereinCanadaorBrazil,hehadnevermadeagatethattookhimmorethanfiftyyards,andnevermadeasingleoneonpurpose.Soheinchedhiswayoutto

wherehehadtiedtheshirt,unfastenedit,openedit,andreleasedthetwofeeblefairyclants.Atoncethegirls’outselvesletgoofthepieces

oftheirclantsandletthetwigsandleavesandnutshellstumbleorfluttertotheground.Upstairsintheschoolhouse,theireyeswereopening;nodoubttheywerewailingandclingingtoeachotherandmakingnoiseabouthowterrifiedthey’dbeen.Andit’sanearcertaintythat

they’llneverwavetheirclantyboobsandbuttsatmeagain,thoughtDanny,ifI

wereeversettowatchoverthemagain.Somyplanwasagoodone,exceptforthepartwhereitnearlygotmekilled.Dannymadehiswayslowly

downthetree,pausinghereandtheretotrytohearwhatwasgoingonbelowhim.Thenhenoticedthathisshoulderdidnothurtatallanymore.Thatithadnothurtsincehemadetheleapthroughthegateandhung

fromthebranchwherehisshirtwastied.Helookedathisshoulderandsawnotraceofinjury—notabruise,notascratch.Gatesheal.Hehadvaguely

knownthat,butsinceitwasapositiveaspectofgatemagery,noonespokeofitmuch.WhenAuntieUckreferredtonothavingafirst-ratehealer,shewastalkingaboutthelackofa

Meadowfriendwhospecializedinherbsandcouldenhancetheirhealingpowers.Butbefore632A.D.,anyinjurycouldbehealedbypullingorpushingsomeonethroughagate.Iftheysawhisshoulder,

theywouldknow.Theinjuryhadbeensevereenoughitcouldnothavehealedwithoutamark.Onlyagatemagecouldbeunscathed.

Pullingonhisshirtwouldnotbeenough.Oneoftheauntswouldinsistonseeingthewound,dressingit.Hehadtohaveasuitableinjurytoshowthem.Yethowcouldheinflictitonhimself,hereinthetree?Hegrippedhisshoulder

withallhismight,jabbinghislongish,dirtythumbnailintoseveralspots.Ithurt,andtherewereredmarks,buthad

itbeenenoughtobruisehimself?Hecouldonlyhopeashepulledhisshirtonagain.Whenhegottothebottom

ofthetree,onlyUncleMookandAuntLummywerewaitingforhim.LummywasMama’syoungestsisterandlookedlikeher,onlyplumperandnotasirritableasMamaalwaysseemedtobe.Butthen,AuntLummywasnota

greatlightmage;shewasgoodwithrabbits,askillnotmuchcalledforonceshehadpersuadedthemtoleavethevegetablegardenalone.Soshespentherdaystryingtoteachalltheusefullanguages,writtenandspoken,tochildrenwhomostlycouldnotunderstandwhattheymighteverbeusedfor.AndshewaskindtoDanny.

SowasUncleMook.And

thesewerethetwowhohadbeenleftbehindtowaitforhim.Dannydroppedfromthe

lowestbranchtothegroundandfacedthem.“HowmuchtroubleamIin?”heaskedthem.“Withme,”saidAunt

Lummy,“noneatall.”“Thosegirlsshouldhave

beenwrappedinasacklongago,toteachthemsenseand

manners,”saidUncleMook.“ButZogandGyishare

nowyourenemies,”saidAuntLummy,“andtheywantyoudead,toputitplainly.Andmanytherearewhothinktheyhaveapoint,andthattheonlyreasonyou’restillaliveisbecauseyourparentsarewhotheyare.”“AsifMamawouldmiss

meifIdied,”saidDanny,“orBabawouldevennoticeIwas

gone.”“Don’tbeunjust,”said

UncleMook.“Yourparentsarecomplicatedpeople,butIassureyouthattheycareagreatdealaboutyouandthinkaboutyouallthetime.”“ButiftheFamilydecidedI

wasdrekkaanddangerousandhadtobekilled,BabawouldputmeupinHammerniphimself,andMamawouldshovelonthe

dirt.”“Nonsense,”saidAunt

Lummy.“Ofcoursetheywould,”

saidUncleMook.“It’stheirduty.”“Now,Mooky,”saidAunt

Lummy.“Theboyisoldenoughto

knowthetruth,”Mooksaidtoher.AndthentoDanny,“TheyknowtheirdutytotheFamilyandtheywilldoit.

Butrightnowthemadnessisoverandit’stimeforyoutocomebackhometoeat.Withus,Ithink,incasesomebodytakesitintheirheadtomakeapreemptivestrikebeforeyourfolkscomehome.”“Oh,Mooky,”saidAunt

Lummyimpatiently.“Don’tscaretheboy!”“Heshouldbescared,”said

Mook.“Heshouldhavecutoffahandbeforeheputthose

children’sclantsinasack.Nowheknowsit,butthedeed’sbeendone.Everythinghedoesfromnowonwillbeviewedwithsuspicion.Ifwemeantokeephimsafe,wehavetohelphimlearntobeasinnocuousaspossible.Nomorestruttingaroundabouthowsmartheisinschool—”“Heneverstruts,”saidAunt

Lummy.Dannywasgratefulthatshedefendedhim,buthe

realizedthattherehadbeentimeswhenheflauntedhissuperiorityinclasswork.“Itlookslikestruttingtothe

otherchildren,”saidMook,“andyouknowit.”AuntLummysighed.“If

onlyhecouldleavehereandgrowupinsafetysomewhereelse.”“Don’tputathoughtlike

thatintohishead!”criedMook.

“DoyouthinkIhaven’tthoughtofitathousandtimes?”saidDannytruthfully.“ButIknowthey’dtrackmedownandfindme,andIwon’tdoanythinglikethat.TheonlylifeI’lleverhaveishere,andallIcanhopetoaffectishowlongitlasts.”“That’stheattitude,”said

Mook.“Humility,acceptance,willingnesstosacrifice.”

Theyledhimbacktothehouse,andDannyatewellthatnight,sinceLummy’sbesttalentwasneitherwithrabbitsnorstudents,butwithcooking.Afterdinner,sheinsistedonapplyingherfavoriteandsmelliestsalvestohisinjuries,andwhenshepulledhisshirtoff,hewasrelievedtoseethathisself-inflictedreplacementinjurieshadleftbruises,thoughsmall

ones.“Well,”saidLummy,

“eitherZogisgettingweakerinhisoldageorhewasbeinggentlerthanitseemed,becauseyou’reonlybruisedalittle.”“Dannyhastheresilienceof

youth,”saidUncleMook.“They’retougherthantheylook,thesechildren.”Well-salvedandstinkingto

highheaven,Dannywentto

bed.Onlythen,aloneinthedarkness,didheallowhimselftoknowwhathemustknow:thatheintendedtosurvive,nomatterwhat.Nowtheentirebusinessof

hislifewastofigureoutawaytoescapefromtheNorthFamilycompoundinsuchawaythattheycouldneverfindhim.Fortunately,unlikesomanyotherswhohadendedtheirliveson

HammernipHill,Dannyhadthepowertomovehimselffromanyplacetoanywhere—ifonlyhecouldfigureoutjusthowhispowerworked,andhowtomakeitdothingsthatheconsciouslydesired.

Thisisaworkoffiction.Allofthecharacters,organizations,andeventsportrayedinthisnovelareeither

productsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.

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