Ender's Shadow ew-6

by Orson Scott Card

  "You're mean, Bean."

  "Help me, Nikolai."

  "Looks like our friendship goes only one way."

  Bean had never felt like this before – this knife in his heart, just because of the words he was hearing, just because somebody else was angry with him. It wasn't just because he wanted Nikolai to think well of him. It was because he knew that Nikolai was at least partly right. Bean was using his friendship against him.

  It wasn't because of that pain, however, that Bean decided to back off. It was because a soldier who was with him against his will would not serve him well. Even if he was a friend. "Look, if you won't, you won't. I'm sorry I made you mad. I'll do it without you. And you're right, I'll do fine. Still friends, Nikolai?"

  Nikolai took his offered hand, held it. "Thank you," he whispered.

  Bean went immediately to Shovel, the only one on Ender's list who was also from C toon. Shovel wasn't Bean's first choice – he had just the slightest tendency to delay, to do things halfheartedly. But because he was in C toon, Shovel had been there when Bean advised Crazy Tom. He had observed Bean in action.

  Shovel set aside his desk when Bean asked if they could talk for a minute. As with Nikolai, Bean clambered up onto the bunk to sit beside the larger boy. Shovel was from Cagnes-sur-Mer, a little town on the French Riviera, and he still had that open-faced friendliness of Provence. Bean liked him. Everybody liked him.

  Quickly Bean explained what Ender had asked him to do – though he didn't mention that it was just a sideshow. Nobody would give up a daily practice for a something that wouldn't be crucial to victory. "You were on the list Ender gave me, and I'd like you to —"

  "Bean, what are you doing?"

  Crazy Tom stood in front of Shovel's bunk.

  At once Bean realized his mistake. "Sir," said Bean, "I should have talked to you first. I'm new at this and I just didn't think."

  "New at what?"

  Again Bean laid out what he had been asked to do by Ender.

  "And Shovel's on the list?"

  "Right."

  "So I'm going to lose you and Shovel from my practices?"

  "Just one practice per day."

  "I'm the only toon leader who loses two."

  "Ender said one from each toon. Five, plus me. Not my choice."

  "Merda," said Crazy Tom. "You and Ender just didn't think of the fact that this is going to hit me harder than any of the other toon leaders. Whatever you're doing, why can't you do it with five instead of six? You and four others – one from each of the other toons?"

  Bean wanted to argue, but realized that going head to head wasn't going to get him anywhere. "You're right, I didn't think of that, and you're right that Ender might very well change his mind when he realizes what he's doing to your practices. So when he comes in this morning, why don't you talk to him and let me know what the two of you decide? In the meantime, though, Shovel might tell me no, and then the question doesn't matter anymore, right?"

  Crazy Tom thought about it. Bean could see the anger ticking away in him. But leadership had changed Crazy Tom. He no longer blew up the way he used to. He caught himself. He held it in. He waited it out.

  "OK, I'll talk to Ender. If Shovel wants to do it."

  They both looked at Shovel.

  "I think it'd be OK," said Shovel. "To do something weird like this."

  "I won't let up on either of you," said Crazy Tom. "And you don't talk about your wacko toon during my practices. You keep it outside."

  They both agreed to that. Bean could see that Crazy Tom was wise to insist on that. This special assignment would set the two of them apart from the others in C toon. If they rubbed their noses in it, the others could feel shut out of an elite. That problem wouldn't show up as much in any of the other toons, because there'd only be one kid from each toon in Bean's squad. No chat. Therefore no nose-rubbing.

  "Look, I don't have to talk to Ender about this," said Crazy Tom. "Unless it becomes a problem. OK?"

  "Thanks," said Bean.

  Crazy Tom went back to his own bunk.

  I did that OK, thought Bean. I didn't screw up.

  "Bean?" said Shovel.

  "Eh?"

  "One thing."

  "Eh."

  "Don't call me Shovel."

  Bean thought back. Shovel's real name was Ducheval. "You prefer 'Two Horses'? Sounds kind of like a Sioux warrior."

  Shovel grinned. "That's better than sounding like the tool you use to clean the stable."

  "Ducheval," said Bean. "From now on."

  "Thanks. When do we start?"

  "Freetime practice today."

  "Bacana."

  Bean almost danced away from Ducheval's bunk. He had done it. He had handled it. Once, anyway.

  And by the time breakfast was over, he had all five on his toon. With the other four, he checked with their toon leaders first. No one turned him down. And he got his squad to promise to call Ducheval by his right name from then on.

  ***

  Graff had Dimak and Dap in his makeshift office in the battleroom bridge when Bean came. It was the usual argument between Dimak and Dap – that is, it was about nothing, some trivial question of one violating some minor protocol or other, which escalated quickly into a flurry of formal complaints. Just another skirmish in their rivalry, as Dap and Dimak tried to gain some advantage for their proteges, Ender and Bean, while at the same time trying to keep Graff from putting them in the physical danger that both saw looming. When the knock came at the door, voices had been raised for some time, and because the knock was not loud, it occurred to Graff to wonder what might have been overheard.

  Had names been mentioned? Yes. Both Bean and Ender. And also Bonzo. Had Achilles's name come up? No. He had just been referred to as "another irresponsible decision endangering the future of the human race, all because of some insane theory about games being one thing and genuine life-and-death struggles being another, completely unproven and unprovable except in the blood of some child!" That was Dap, who had a tendency to wax eloquent.

  Graff, of course, was already sick at heart, because he agreed with both teachers, not only in their arguments against each other, but also in their arguments against his own policy. Bean was demonstrably the better candidate on all tests; Ender was just as demonstrably the better candidate based on his performance in actual leadership situations. And Graff was being irresponsible to expose both boys to physical danger.

  But in both cases, the child had serious doubts about his own courage. Ender had his long history of submission to his older brother, Peter, and the mind game had shown that in Ender's unconscious, Peter was linked to the Buggers. Graff knew that Ender had the courage to strike, without restraint, when the time came for it. That he could stand alone against an enemy, without anyone to help him, and destroy the one who would destroy him. But Ender didn't know it, and he had to know.

  Bean, for his part, had shown physical symptoms of panic before his first battle, and while he ended up performing well, Graff didn't need any psychological tests to tell him that the doubt was there. The only difference was, in Bean's case Graff shared his doubt. There was no proof that Bean would strike.

  Self-doubt was the one thing that neither candidate could afford to have. Against an enemy that did not hesitate – that could not hesitate – there could be no pause for reflection. The boys had to face their worst fears, knowing that no one would intervene to help. They had to know that when failure would be fatal, they would not fail. They had to pass the test and know that they had passed it. And both boys were so perceptive that the danger could not be faked. It had to be real.

  Exposing them to that risk was utterly irresponsible of Graff. Yet he knew that it would be just as irresponsible not to. If Graff played it safe, no one would blame him if, in the actual war, Ender or Bean failed. That would be small consolation, though, given the consequences of failure. Whichever way he guessed, if he was wrong, everybody on Earth might pay the ultimate price. The only thing th
at made it possible was that if either of them was killed, or damaged physically or mentally, the other was still there to carry on as the sole remaining candidate.

  If both failed, what then? There were many bright children, but none who were that much better than commanders already in place, who had graduated from Battle School many years ago.

  Somebody has to roll the dice. Mine are the hands that hold those dice. I'm not a bureaucrat, placing my career above the larger purpose I was put here to serve. I will not put the dice in someone else's hands, or pretend that I don't have the choice I have.

  For now, all Graff could do was listen to both Dap and Dimak, ignore their bureaucratic attacks and maneuvers against him, and try to keep them from each other's throats in their vicarious rivalry.

  That small knock at the door – Graff knew before the door opened who it would be.

  If he had heard the argument, Bean gave no sign. But then, that was Bean's specialty, giving no sign. Only Ender managed to be more secretive – and he, at least, had played the mind game long enough to give the teachers a map of his psyche.

  "Sir," said Bean.

  "Come in, Bean." Come in, Julian Delphiki, longed-for child of good and loving parents. Come in, kidnapped child, hostage of fate. Come and talk to the Fates, who are playing such clever little games with your life.

  "I can wait," said Bean.

  "Captain Dap and Captain Dimak can hear what you have to say, can't they?" asked Graff.

  "If you say so, sir. It's not a secret. I would like to have access to station supplies."

  "Denied."

  "That's not acceptable, sir."

  Graff saw how both Dap and Dimak glanced at him. Amused at the audacity of the boy? "Why do you think so?"

  "Short notice, games every day, soldiers exhausted and yet still being pressured to perform in class – fine, Ender's dealing with it and so are we. But the only possible reason you could be doing this is to test our resourcefulness. So I want some resources."

  "I don't remember your being commander of Dragon Army," said Graff. "I'll listen to a requisition for specific equipment from your commander."

  "Not possible," said Bean. "He doesn't have time to waste on foolish bureaucratic procedures."

  Foolish bureaucratic procedures. Graff had used that exact phrase in the argument just a few minutes ago. But Graff's voice had not been raised. How long had Bean been listening outside the door? Graff cursed himself silently. He had moved his office up here specifically because he knew Bean was a sneak and a spy, gathering intelligence however he could. And then he didn't even post a guard to stop the boy from simply walking up and listening at the door.

  "And you do?" asked Graff.

  "I'm the one he assigned to think of stupid things you might do to rig the game against us, and think of ways to deal with them."

  "What do you think you're going to find?"

  "I don't know," said Bean. "I just know that the only things we ever see are our uniforms and flash suits, our weapons and our desks. There are other supplies here. For instance, there's paper. We never get any except during written tests, when our desks are closed to us."

  "What would you do with paper in the battleroom?"

  "I don't know," said Bean. "Wad it up and throw it around. Shred it and make a cloud of dust out of it."

  "And who would clean this up?"

  "Not my problem," said Bean.

  "Permission denied."

  "That's not acceptable, sir," said Bean.

  "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, Bean, but it matters less than a cockroach's fart whether you accept my decision or not."

  "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, sir, but you clearly have no idea what you're doing. You're improvising. Screwing with the system. The damage you're doing is going to take years to undo, and you don't care. That means that it doesn't matter what condition this school is in a year from now. That means that everybody who matters is going to be graduated soon. Training is being accelerated because the Buggers are getting too close for delays. So you're pushing. And you're especially pushing Ender Wiggin."

  Graff felt sick. He knew that Bean's powers of analysis were extraordinary. So, also, were his powers of deception. Some of Bean's guesses weren't right – but was that because he didn't know the truth, or because he simply didn't want them to know how much he knew, or how much he guessed? I never wanted you here, Bean, because you're too dangerous.

  Bean was still making his case. "When the day comes that Ender Wiggin is looking for ways to stop the Buggers from getting to Earth and scouring the whole planet the way they started to back in the First Invasion, are you going to give him some bullshit answer about what resources he can or cannot use?"

  "As far as you're concerned, the ship's supplies don't exist."

  "As far as I'm concerned," said Bean, "Ender is this close to telling you to fry up your game and eat it. He's sick of it – if you can't see that, you're not much of a teacher. He doesn't care about the standings. He doesn't care about beating other kids. All he cares about is preparing to fight the Buggers. So how hard do you think it will be for me to persuade him that your program here is crocked, and it's time to quit playing?"

  "All right," said Graff. "Dimak, prepare the brig. Bean is to be confined until the shuttle is ready to take him back to Earth. This boy is out of Battle School."

  Bean smiled slightly. "Go for it, Colonel Graff. I'm done here anyway. I've got everything I wanted here – a first-rate education. I'll never have to live on the street again. I'm home free. Let me out of your game, right now, I'm ready."

  "You won't be free on Earth, either. Can't risk having you tell these wild stories about Battle School," said Graff.

  "Right. Take the best student you ever had here and put him in jail because he asked for access to the supply closet and you didn't like it. Come on, Colonel Graff. Swallow hard and back down. You need my cooperation more than I need yours."

  Dimak could barely conceal his smile.

  If only confronting Graff like this were sufficient proof of Bean's courage. And for all that Graff had doubts about Bean, he didn't deny that he was good at maneuver. Graff would have given almost anything not to have Dimak and Dap in the room at this moment.

  "It was your decision to have this conversation in front of witnesses," said Bean.

  What, was the kid a mind reader?

  No, Graff had glanced at the two teachers. Bean simply knew how to read his body language. The kid missed nothing. That's why he was so valuable to the program.

  Isn't this why we pin our hopes on these kids? Because they're good at maneuver?

  And if I know anything about command, don't I know this – that there are times when you cut your losses and leave the field?

  "All right, Bean. One scan through supply inventory."

  "With somebody to explain to me what it all is."

  "I thought you already knew everything."

  Bean was polite in victory; he did not respond to taunting. The sarcasm gave Graff a little compensation for having to back down. He knew that's all it was, but this job didn't have many perks.

  "Captain Dimak and Captain Dap will accompany you," said Graff. "One scan, and either one of them can veto anything you request. They will be responsible for the consequences of any injuries resulting from your use of any item they let you have."

  "Thank you, sir," said Bean. "In all likelihood I won't find anything useful. But I appreciate your fair-mindedness in letting us search the station's resources to further the educational objectives of the Battle School."

  The kid had the jargon down cold. All those months of access to the student data, with all the notations in the files, Bean had clearly learned more than just the factual contents of the dossiers. And now Bean was giving him the spin that he should use in writing up a report about his decision. As if Graff were not perfectly capable of creating his own spin.

  The kid is patronizing me. Little bastard thinks that he's in control. />
  Well, I have some surprises for him, too.

  "Dismissed," said Graff. "All of you."

  They got up, saluted, left.

  Now, thought Graff, I have to second-guess all my future decisions, wondering how much my choices are influenced by the fact that this kid really pisses me off.

  ***

  As Bean scanned the inventory list, he was really searching primarily for something, anything, that might be made into a weapon that Ender or some of his army could carry to protect him from physical attack by Bonzo. But there was nothing that would be both concealable from the teachers and powerful enough to give smaller kids sufficient leverage over larger ones.

  It was a disappointment, but he'd find other ways to neutralize the threat. And now, as long as he was scanning the inventory, was there anything that he might be able to use in the battleroom? Cleaning supplies weren't very promising. Nor would the hardware stocks make much sense in the battleroom. What, throw a handful of screws?

  The safety equipment, though ...

  "What's a deadline?" asked Bean.

  Dimak answered. "Very fine, strong cord that's used to secure maintenance and construction workers when they're working outside the station."

  "How long?"

  "With links, we can assemble several kilometers of secure deadline," said Dimak. "But each coil unspools to a hundred meters."

  "I want to see it."

  They took him into parts of the station that children never went to. The decor was far more utilitarian here. Screws and rivets were visible in the plates on the walls. The intake ducts were visible instead of being hidden inside the ceiling. There were no friendly lightstripes for a child to touch and get directions to his barracks. All the palm pads were too high for a child to comfortably use. And the staff they passed saw Bean and then looked at Dap and Dimak as if they were crazy.

  The coil was amazingly small. Bean hefted it. Light, too. He unspooled a few decameters of it. It was almost invisible. "This will hold?"

  "The weight of two adults," said Dimak.

  "It's so fine. Will it cut?"

  "Rounded so smoothly it can't cut anything. Wouldn't do us any good if it went slicing through things. Like spacesuits."