Ender in Exile Read online

  Instantly the whole range of dangers that Ender faced loomed before her. The Russians would assume that Ender was a weapon that America would use against them. The Chinese would think the same--that America, armed with this Ender-weapon, might become aggressive about intruding into China's sphere of influence again. Both nations would breathe easier if Ender were dead. Though of course they'd have to make it look like the assassination had been carried out by some kind of terrorist movement. Which meant that they wouldn't just snipe Ender out of existence, they'd probably blow up his school.

  No, no, no, Val told herself. Just because that's the kind of thing Demosthenes would say doesn't mean it's what you have to think!

  But the image of somebody blowing Ender up or shooting him or whatever method they used--all the methods kept flashing through her mind. Wouldn't it be ironic--yet typically human--for the person who saved the human race to be assassinated? It was like the murder of Abraham Lincoln or Mohandas Gandhi. Some people just didn't know who their saviors were. And the fact that Ender was still a kid wouldn't even slow them down.

  He can't come home, she thought. Mother will never see it, I could never say it to her, but...even if they weren't going to assassinate him, what would his life be like here? Ender was never one to seek fame or status, and yet everything he did would end up on the vids with people commenting on how he did his hair (Vote! Like it or hate it?) and what classes he was taking in school (What will the hero be when he grows up? Vote on the career you think The Wiggin should prepare for!).

  What a nightmare. It wouldn't be coming home. They could never bring Ender home anyway. The home he left didn't exist. The kid who was taken out of that home didn't exist either. When Ender was here--not even a whole year ago--when Val went to the lake and spent those hours with him, Ender seemed so old. Playful sometimes, yes, but he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. Now the burden had been taken off--but the aftermath would cling to him, would tie him down, tear down his life.

  The years of childhood were gone. Period. Ender didn't get to be a little boy growing up into an adolescent in his father's and mother's house. He was already an adolescent now--in years and hormones--and an adult in the responsibilities he'd borne.

  If school feels empty to me, how will it feel to Ender?

  Even as she finished writing her essay on Russia's nukes and the cost of defeat, she was mentally structuring another essay. The one explaining why Ender Wiggin should not be brought back to Earth because he'd be the target of every crank and spy and paparazzo and assassin and a normal life would be impossible.

  She didn't write it, though. Because she knew there was a huge problem: Peter would hate it.

  Because Peter already had his plans. His online persona, Locke, had already started laying the groundwork for Ender's homecoming. It was clear to Valentine that when Ender returned, Peter intended to come out of the closet as the real author of the Locke essays--and therefore the person who came up with the terms of the truce that was still holding between the Warsaw Pact and the I.F. Peter meant to piggyback on Ender's fame. Ender saved the human race from the formics, and his big brother Peter saved the world from civil war in the aftermath of Ender's victory. Double heroes!

  Ender would hate the notoriety. Peter was so hungry for it that he intended to steal as much of Ender's as he could get.

  Oh, he'd never admit that, thought Valentine. Peter will have all kinds of reasons why it's for Ender's own good. Probably the very reasons I've thought of.

  And since that's the case, am I doing just what Peter does? Have I come up with all these reasons for Ender not to come home, solely because in my heart I don't want him here?

  At that thought, such a wave of emotion swept over her that she found herself weeping at her homework table. She wanted him home. And even though she understood that he couldn't really come home--Colonel Graff was right--she still yearned for the little brother who was stolen from her. All these years with the brother I hate, and now, for the sake of the brother I love, I'll work to keep him from...

  From me? No, I don't have to keep him from me. I hate school, I hate my life here, I hate hate hate being under Peter's thumb. Why should I stay? Why shouldn't I go out into space with Ender? At least for a while. I'm the one he's closest to. I'm the only one he's seen in the past seven years. If he can't come home, one bit of home--me--can come to him!

  It was all a matter of persuading Peter that it wasn't in his best interest to have Ender come back to Earth--without letting Peter know that she was trying to manipulate him.

  It just made her tired, because Peter wasn't easy to manipulate. He saw through everything. So she had to be quite forthright and honest about what she was doing--but do it with such subtle overtones of humility and earnestness and dispassion and whatever that Peter could get past his own condescension toward everything she said and decide that he had thought that way all along and...

  And is my real motive that I want to get off planet myself? Is this about Ender or about me getting free?

  Both. It can be both. And I'll tell Ender the truth about that--I won't be giving up anything to be with him. I'd rather be with him in space and never see Earth again than stay here, with or without him. Without him: an aching void. With him: the pain of watching him lead a miserable, frustrated life.

  Val began to write a letter to Colonel Graff. Mother had been careless enough to include Graff's address. That was almost a security breach. Mother was so naive sometimes. If she were an I.F. officer, she would have been cashiered long ago.

  At dinner that night, Mother couldn't stop talking about Ender's homecoming. Peter listened with only half his attention, because of course Mother couldn't see past her personal sentimentality about her "lost little boy coming back to the nest" whereas Peter understood that Ender's return would be horribly complicated. So much to prepare for--and not just the stupid bedroom. Ender could have Peter's own bed, for all he cared--what mattered was that for a brief window of time, Ender would be the center of the world's attention, and that was when Locke would emerge from the cloak of anonymity and put an end to the speculation about the identity of the "great benefactor of humanity who, because of his modesty in remaining anonymous, cannot receive the Nobel prize that he so richly deserves for having led us to the end of the last war of mankind."

  That from a rather gushy fan of Locke's--who also happened to be the head of the opposition party in Great Britain. Naive to imagine even for a moment that the brief attempt by the New Warsaw Pact to take over the I.F. was the "last war." There's only one way to have a "last war," and that's to have the whole of Earth under a single, effective, powerful, but popular leader.

  And the way to introduce that leader would be to find him on camera, standing beside the great Ender Wiggin with his arm flung across the hero's shoulders because--and who should be surprised by this?--the "Boy of War" and the "Man of Peace" are brothers!

  And now Father was blathering about something. Only he had addressed something to Peter directly and so Peter had to play the dutiful son and listen as if he cared.

  "I really think you need to commit to the career you want to pursue before your brother gets home, Peter."

  "And why is that?" asked Peter.

  "Oh, don't pretend to be so naive. Don't you realize that Ender Wiggin's brother can get into any college he wants?"

  Father pronounced the words as if they were the most brilliant ever spoken aloud by someone who had not yet been deified by the Roman senate or sainted by the Pope or whatever. It would never occur to Father that Peter's perfect grades and his perfect score on all the college-entry tests would already get him into any school he wanted. He didn't have to piggyback on his brother's fame. But no, to Father everything good in Peter's life would always be seen as flowing from Ender. Ender Ender Ender Ender what a stupid name.

  If Father's thinking this way, no doubt everybody else will, too. At least everybody below a certain minimum intelligence.

  All
Peter had been seeing was the publicity bonus that Ender's homecoming would offer. But Father had reminded him of something else--that everything he did would be discounted in people's minds precisely because he was Ender the Great's older brother. People would see them standing side by side, yes--but they'd wonder why Ender's brother had not been taken into Battle School. It would make Peter look weak and inferior and vulnerable.

  There he'd stand, noticeably taller, the brother who stayed home and didn't do anything. "Oh, but I wrote all the Locke essays and shut down the conflict with Russia before it could turn into a world war!" Well, if you're so smart, why weren't you helping your little brother save the human race from complete destruction?

  Public relations opportunity, yes. But also a nightmare.

  How could he use the opportunity Ender's great victory offered, yet not have it look like he was nothing but a hanger-on, sucking at his brother's fame like a remora? How ghastly if his announcement sounded like some sad kind of me-too-ism. Oh, you think my brother's cool? Well, I'll have you know that I saved the world too. In my own sad, needy little way.

  "Are you all right, Peter?" asked Valentine.

  "Oh, is something wrong?" asked Mother. "Let me look at you, dear."

  "I'm not taking my shirt off or letting you use a rectal thermometer on me, Mother, because Val is hallucinating and I look just fine."

  "I'll have you know that if and when I start hallucinating," said Val, "I can think of something better than seeing your face looking pukish."

  "What a great commercial idea," said Peter, almost by reflex now. "Choose Your Own Hallucination! Oh, wait, they have that one--they call it 'illegal drugs.'"

  "Don't sneer at us needy ones," said Val. "Those who are addicted to ego don't need drugs."

  "Children," said Mother. "Is this what Ender will find when he comes home?"

  "Yes," said Val and Peter simultaneously.

  Father spoke up. "I'd like to think he might find you a bit more mature."

  But by now Peter and Val were laughing uproariously. They couldn't stop, so Father sent them from the table.

  Peter glanced through Val's essay on Russian nukes. "This is so boring."

  "I don't think so," said Valentine. "They have the nukes and that keeps other countries from slapping them down when they need it--which is often."

  "What's this thing you've got against Russia?"

  "It's Demosthenes who has something against Russia," said Val with fake nonchalance.

  "Good," said Peter. "So Demosthenes will not be worried about Russian nuclear weapons, he'll be worried about Russia getting its hands on the most valuable weapon of them all."

  "The Molecular Disruption Device?" asked Val. "The I.F. will never bring it within firing range of Earth."

  "Not the M.D. Device, you poor sap. I'm referring to our brother. Our civilization-destroying junior sib."

  "Don't you dare talk about him with scorn!"

  Peter's expression turned into a mocking simper. But behind his visage there was anger and hurt. She still had the power to get to him, just by making it clear how much more she loved Ender.

  "Demosthenes is going to write an essay pointing out that America must get Andrew Wiggin back to Earth immediately. No more delays. The world is too dangerous a place for America not to have the immediate services of the greatest military leader the world has ever known."

  Immediately a fresh wave of hatred for Peter swept over Valentine. Partly because she realized his approach would work far better than the essay she had already written. She hadn't internalized Demosthenes as well as she thought. Demosthenes would absolutely call for Ender's immediate return and enlistment in the American military.

  And that would be as destabilizing, in its own way, as a call for forward deployment of nukes. Demosthenes' essays were watched very carefully by the rivals and enemies of the United States. If he called for Ender to come home at once, they would all start maneuvering to keep Ender in space; and some, at least, would openly accuse America of having aggressive intentions.

  It would then be Locke's place, in a few days or weeks, to come up with a compromise, a statesmanlike solution: Leave the kid in space.

  Valentine knew exactly why Peter had changed his mind. It was that stupid remark of Father's at dinner--his reminder that Peter would be in Ender's shadow, no matter what he did.

  Well, even political sheep sometimes said something that had a good result. Now Val wouldn't even have to persuade Peter of the need to keep Ender away from Earth. It would be all his idea instead of hers.

  Theresa once again sat on the bed, crying. Strewn about her were printouts of the Demosthenes and Locke essays that she knew would keep Ender from returning home.

  "I can't help it," she said to her husband. "I know it's the right thing--just as Graff wanted us to understand it. But I thought I'd see him again. I really did."

  John Paul sat beside her on the bed and put his arms around her. "It's the hardest thing we ever did."

  "Not giving him up in the first place?"

  "That was hard," said John Paul, "but we didn't have a choice. They were going to take him anyway. This time, though. You know that if we went on the nets and put up vids of us pleading for our son to come home--we'd have a pretty good chance."

  "And our little boy is going to wonder why we don't do it."

  "No he's not."

  "Oh, you think he's so smart he'll figure out what we're doing? Why we're doing nothing?"

  "Why wouldn't he?"

  "Because he doesn't know us," said Theresa. "He doesn't know what we think or feel. As far as he can tell, we've forgotten all about him."

  "One thing I feel good about, in this whole mess," said John Paul. "We're still good at manipulating our genius children."

  "Oh, that," said Theresa dismissively. "It's easy to manipulate your children when they're absolutely sure you're stupid."

  "What makes me saddest," said John Paul, "is that Locke is getting credit for caring about Ender more than anybody. So when his identity does come out, it'll look as though he loyally stepped in to protect his brother."

  "He's our boy, that Peter," said Theresa. "Oh, what a piece of work he is."

  "I have a philosophical question. I wonder if what we call 'goodness' is actually a maladaptive trait. As long as most people have it, and the rules of society promote it as a virtue, then the natural rulers have a clear field of action. It's because of Ender's goodness that it's Peter we'll have at home on Earth."

  "Oh, Peter's good," said Theresa bitterly.

  "Yes, I forgot," said John Paul. "It's for the good of the human race that he'll become ruler of the world. An altruistic sacrifice."

  "When I read his simpering essays I want to claw his eyes out."

  "He's our son, too," said John Paul. "As much a product of our genes as Ender or Val. And we did goad him into this."

  Theresa knew he was right. But it didn't help. "He didn't have to enjoy himself so much, did he?"

  CHAPTER 2

  To: hgraff%[email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subj: You know the truth

  You know who decides what to write. No doubt you can even guess why. I'm not going to try to defend my essay, or how it's being used by others.

  You once used the sister of Andrew Wiggin to persuade him to go back into space and win that little war you were fighting. She did her job, didn't she? Such a good girl, fulfills all her assignments.

  Well I have an assignment for her. You once sent her brother to her, for comfort and company. He'll need her again, more than ever, only he can't come to her. No house by the lake this time. But there's no reason she can't go out into space to be with him. Enlist her in the I.F., pay her as a consultant, whatever it takes. But she and her brother need each other. More than either of them needs Life On Earth.

  Don't second-guess her on this. Remember that she's smarter than you are, and she loves her younger brother more than
you do, and besides, you're a decent man. You know this is right and good. You always try to bring about what's right and good, don't you?

  Do us both a favor. Take this letter and shred it and stick it where the sun don't shine.

  Your devoted and humble servant--everybody's devoted and humble servant--the humble and devoted servant of truth and noble jingoism--Demosthenes.

  How does a thirteen-year-old admiral spend his days?

  Not commanding a ship--that was made plain to Ender from the day he received his commission. "You have a rank commensurate with your achievements," said Admiral Chamrajnagar, "but you will have duties commensurate with your training."

  What was his training? To play at virtual war on the simulator. Now there was no one left to fight, so he was trained for...nothing.

  Oh, one other thing: to lead children into combat, to squeeze the last ounce of effort and concentration and talent and intelligence from them. But the children had no purpose here, and one by one, they were going home.

  They each came to Ender to say good-bye. "You'll be home soon," said Hot Soup. "They've got to prepare a hero's welcome." He was heading to Tactical School, to complete the bits of work remaining before he could earn his high school diploma. "So I can get into college right away."

  "Fifteen-year-olds always do great in college," said Ender.

  "I have to concentrate on my studies," said Han Tzu. "Finish college, find out what I'm supposed to do with my life, and then find someone to marry and start a family."

  "Get on with the cycle of life?" said Ender.

  "A man without a wife and babies is a menace to civilization," said Han Tzu. "One bachelor is an irritation. Ten thousand bachelors are a war."

  "I love it when you recite Chinese wisdom."

  "I'm Chinese, so I get to make it up." Han Tzu grinned at him. "Ender, come see me. China's a beautiful country. More variety inside China than in the rest of the world."

  "I will if I can," said Ender. He didn't have the heart to point out that China was full of human beings, and that the mix of good and bad, strong and weak, courageous and fearful was bound to be about the same as in any other country or culture or civilization...or village, or house, or heart.