Card, Orson Scott - Ender's Saga 5 - Ender's Shadow

by Orson Scott Card

  CHAPTER 15 — COURAGE

  "Genetically, they're identical twins. The only difference is Anton's key."

  "So the Delphikis have two sons."

  "The Delphikis have one son, Nikolai, and he's with us for the duration. Bean was an orphan found on the streets of Rotterdam."

  "Because he was kidnapped."

  "The law is clear. Fertilised eggs are property. I know that this is a matter of religious sensitivity for you, but the I.F. is bound by law, not —"

  "The I.F. uses law where possible to achieve its own ends. I know you're fighting a war. I know that some things are outside your power. But the war will not go on forever. All I ask is this: Make this information part of a record — part of many records. So that when the war ends, the proof of these things can and will survive. So the truth won't stay hidden."

  "Of course."

  "No, not of course. You know that the moment the Formics are defeated, the I.F. will have no reason to exist. It will try to continue to exist in order to maintain international peace. But the League is not politically strong enough to survive in the nationalist winds that will blow. The I.F. will break into fragments, each following its own leader, and God help us if any part of the fleet ever should use its weapons against the surface of the Earth."

  "You've been spending too much time reading the Apocalypse."

  "I may not be one of the genius children in your school, but I see how the tides of opinion are flowing here on Earth. On the nets a demagogue named Demosthenes is inflaming the West about illegal and secret manoeuvres by the Polemarch to give an advantage to the New Warsaw Pact, and the propaganda is even more virulent from Moscow, Baghdad, Buenos Aires, Beijing. There are a few rational voices, like Locke, but they're given lip service and then ignored. You and I can't do anything about the fact that world war will certainly come. But we can do our best to make sure these children don't become pawns in that game."

  "The only way they won't be pawns is if they're players."

  "You've been raising them. Surely you don't fear them. Give them their chance to play."

  "Sister Carlotta all my work is aimed at preparing for the showdown with the Formics. At turning these children into brilliant, reliable commanders. I can't look beyond that mark."

  "Don't look. Just leave the door open for their families, their nations to claim them."

  "I can't think about that right now."

  "Right now is the only time you'll have the power to do it."

  "You overestimate me."

  "You underestimate yourself."

  *** Dragon Army had only been practising for a month when Wiggin came into the barracks only a few seconds after lights-on, brandishing a slip of paper. Battle orders. They would face Rabbit Army at 0700. And they'd do it without breakfast. "I don't want anybody throwing up in the battle room." "Can we at least take a leak first?" asked Nikolai. "No more than a decalitre," said Wiggin. Everybody laughed, but they were also nervous. As a new army, with only a handful of veterans, they didn't actually expect to win, but they didn't want to be humiliated, either. They all had different ways of dealing with nerves — some became silent, others talkative. Some joked and bantered, others turned surly. Some just lay back down on their bunks and closed their eyes. Bean watched them. He tried to remember if the kids in Poke's crew ever did these things. And then realised: They were hungry, not afraid of being shamed. You don't get this kind of fear until you have enough to eat. So it was the bullies who felt like these kids, afraid of humiliation but not of going hungry. And sure enough, the bullies standing around in line showed all these attitudes. They were always performing, always aware of others watching them. Fearful they would have to fight; eager for it, too. What do I feel? What's wrong with me that I have to think about it to know? Oh ... I'm just sitting here, watching. I'm one of those. Bean pulled out his flash suit, but then realised he had to use the toilet before putting it on. He dropped down onto the deck and pulled his towel from its hook, wrapped it around himself. For a moment he flashed back to that night he had tossed his towel under a bunk and climbed into the ventilation system. He'd never fit now. Too thickly muscled, too tall. He was still the shortest kid in Battle School, and he doubted if anyone else would notice how he'd grown, but he was aware of how his arms and legs were longer. He could reach things more easily. Didn't have to jump so often just to do normal things like palming his way into the gym. I've changed, thought Bean. My body, of course. But also the way I think. Nikolai was still lying in bed with his pillow over his head. Everybody had his own way of coping. The other kids were all using the toilets and getting drinks of water, but Bean was the only one who thought it was a good idea to shower. They used to tease him by asking if the water was still warm when it got all the way down there, but the joke was old now. What Bean wanted was the steam. The blindness of the fog around him, of the fogged mirrors, everything hidden, so he could be anyone, anywhere, any size. Someday they'll all see me as I see myself. Larger than any of them. Head and shoulders above the rest, seeing farther, reaching farther, carrying burdens they could only dream of. In Rotterdam all I cared about was staying alive. But here, well fed, I've found out who I am. What I might be. They might think I'm an alien or a robot or something, just because I'm not genetically ordinary. But when I've done the great deeds of my life, they'll be proud to claim me as a human, furious at anyone who questions whether I'm truly one of them. Greater than Wiggin. He put the thought out of his mind, or tried to. This wasn't a competition. There was room for two great men in the world at the same time. Lee and Grant were contemporaries, fought against each other. Bismarck and Disraeli. Napoleon and Wellington. No, that's not the comparison. It's Lincoln and Grant. Two great men working together. It was disconcerting, though, to realise how rare that was. Napoleon could never bear to let any of his lieutenants have real authority. All victories had to be his alone. Who was the great man beside Augustus? Alexander? They had friends, they had rivals, but they never had partners. That's why Wiggin has kept me down, even though he knows by now from the reports they give to army commanders that I've got a mind better than anybody else in Dragon. Because I'm too obviously a rival. Because I made it clear that first day that I intended to rise, and he's letting me know that it won't happen while I'm with his army. Someone came into the bathroom. Bean couldn't see who it was because of the fog. Nobody greeted him. Everybody else must have finished here and gone back to get ready. The newcomer walked through the fog past the opening in Bean's shower stall. It was Wiggin. Bean just stood there, covered with soap. He felt like an idiot. He was in such a daze he had forgotten to rinse, was just standing in the fog, lost in his thoughts. Hurriedly he moved under the water again. "Bean?" "Sir?" Bean turned to face him. Wiggin was standing in the shower entrance. "I thought I ordered everybody to get down to the gym." Bean thought back. The scene unfolded in his mind. Yes, Wiggin had ordered everybody to bring their flash suits to the gym. "I'm sorry. I ... was thinking of something else ..." "Everybody's nervous before their first battle." Bean hated that. To have Wiggin see him doing something stupid. Not remembering an order — Bean remembered everything. It just hadn't registered. And now he was patronising him. Everybody's nervous! "You weren't," said Bean. Wiggin had already stepped away. He came back. "Wasn't I?" "Bonzo Madrid gave you orders not to take your weapon out. You were supposed to just stay there like a dummy. You weren't nervous about doing that." "No," said Wiggin. "I was pissed." "Better than nervous." Wiggin started to leave. Then returned again. "Are you pissed?" "I did that before I showered," said Bean. Wiggin laughed. Then his smile disappeared. "You're late, Bean, and you're still busy rinsing. I've already got your flash suit down in the gym. All we need now is your ass in it." Wiggin took Bean's towel off its hook. "I'll have this waiting for you down there, too. Now move." Wiggin left. Bean turned the water off, furious. That was completely unnecessary, and Wiggin knew it. Making him go through the corridor wet and naked during the time when other armies would be coming ba
ck from breakfast. That was low, and it was stupid. Anything to put me down. Every chance he gets. Bean, you idiot, you're still standing here. You could have run down to the gym and beaten him there. Instead, you're shooting your stupid self in the stupid foot. And why? None of this makes sense. None of this is going to help you. You want him to make you a toon leader, not think of you with contempt. So why are you doing things to make yourself look stupid and young and scared and unreliable? And still you're standing here, frozen. I'm a coward. The thought ran through Bean's mind and filled him with terror. But it wouldn't go away. I'm one of those guys who freezes up or does completely irrational things when he's afraid. Who loses control and goes slack-minded and stupid. But I didn't do that in Rotterdam. If I had, I'd be dead. Or maybe I did do it. Maybe that's why I didn't call out to Poke and Achilles when I saw them there alone on the dock. He wouldn't have killed her if I'd been there to witness what happened. Instead I ran off until I realised the danger she was in. But why didn't I realise it before? Because I did realise it, just as I heard Wiggin tell us to meet in the gym. Realised it, understood it completely, but was too cowardly to act. Too afraid that something would go wrong. And maybe that's what happened — Achilles lay on the ground and I told Poke to kill him. I was wrong and she was right. Because any bully she caught that way would probably have held a grudge — and might easily have acted on it immediately, killing her as soon as they let him up. Achilles was the likeliest one, maybe the only one that would agree to the arrangement Bean had thought up. There was no choice. But I got scared. Kill him, I said, because I wanted it to go away. And still I'm standing here. The water is off. I'm dripping wet and cold. But I can't move. Nikolai was standing in the bathroom doorway. "Too bad about your diarrhoea," he said. "What?" "I told Ender about how you were up with diarrhoea in the night. That's why you had to go to the bathroom. You were sick, but you didn't want to tell him because you didn't want to miss the first battle." "I'm so scared I couldn't take a dump if I wanted to," said Bean. "He gave me your towel. He said it was stupid of him to take it." Nikolai walked in and gave it to him. "He said he needs you in the battle, so he's glad you're toughing it out." "He doesn't need me. He doesn't even want me." "Come on, Bean," said Nikolai. "You can do this." Bean towelled off. It felt good to be moving. Doing something. "I think you're dry enough," said Nikolai. Again, Bean realised he was simply drying and drying himself, over and over. "Nikolai, what's wrong with me?" "You're afraid that you'll turn out to be just a little kid. Well, here's a clue: You are a little kid." "So are you." "So it's OK to be really bad. Isn't that what you keep telling me?" Nikolai laughed. "Come on, if I can do it, bad as I am, so can you." "Nikolai," said Bean. "What now?" "I really do have to crap." "I sure hope you don't expect me to wipe your butt." "If I don't come out in three minutes, come in after me." Cold and sweating — a combination he wouldn't have thought possible. Bean went into the toilet stall and closed the door. The pain in his abdomen was fierce. But he couldn't get his bowel to loosen up and let go. What am I so afraid of? Finally, his alimentary system triumphed over his nervous system. It felt like everything he'd ever eaten flooded out of him at once. "Time's up," said Nikolai. "I'm coming in." "At peril of your life," said Bean. "I'm done, I'm coming out." Empty now, clean, and humiliated in front of his only real friend, Bean came out of the stall and wrapped his towel around him. "Thanks for keeping me from being a liar," said Nikolai. "What?" "About your having diarrhoea." "For you I'd get dysentery." "Now that's friendship." By the time they got to the gym, everybody was already in their flash suits, ready to go. While Nikolai helped Bean get into his suit, Wiggin had the rest of them lie down on the mats and do relaxation exercises. Bean even had time to lie down for a couple of minutes before Wiggin had them get up. 0656. Four minutes to get to the battle room. He was cutting it pretty fine. As they ran along the corridor, Wiggin occasionally jumped up to touch the ceiling. Behind him, the rest of the army would jump up and touch the same spot when they reached it. Except the smaller ones. Bean, his heart still burning with humiliation and resentment and fear, did not try. You do that kind of thing when you belong with the group. And he didn't belong. After all his brilliance in class, the truth was out now. He was a coward. He didn't belong in the military at all. If he couldn't even risk playing a game, what would he be worth in combat? The real generals exposed themselves to enemy fire. Fearless, they had to be, an example of courage to their men. Me, I freeze up, take long showers, and dump a week's rations into the head. Let's see them follow that example. At the gate, Wiggin had time to line them up in toons, then remind them. "Which way is the enemy's gate?" "Down!" they all answered. Bean only mouthed the word. Down. Down down down. What's the best way to get down off a goose? What are you doing up on a goose in the first place, you fool! The grey wall in front of them disappeared, and they could see into the battle room. It was dim — not dark, but so faintly lighted that the only way they could see the enemy gate was the light of Rabbit Army's flash suits pouring out of it. Wiggin was in no hurry to get out of the gate. He stood there surveying the room, which was arranged in an open grid, with eight "stars" — large cubes that served as obstacles, cover, and staging platforms — distributed fairly evenly if randomly through the space. Wiggin's first assignment was to C toon. Crazy Tom's toon. The toon Bean belonged to. Word was whispered down the file. "Ender says slide the wall." And then, "Tom says flash your legs and go in on your knees. South wall." Silently they swung into the room, using the handholds to propel themselves along the ceiling to the east wall. "They're setting up their battle formation. All we want to do is cut them up a little, make them nervous, confused, because they don't know what to do with us. We're raiders. So we shoot them up, then get behind that star. Don't get stuck out in the middle. And aim. Make every shot count." Bean did everything mechanically. It was habit now to get in position, freeze his own legs, and then launch with his body oriented the right way. They'd done it hundreds of times. He did it exactly right; so did the other seven soldiers in the toon. Nobody was looking for anyone to fail. He was right where they expected him to be, doing his job. They coasted along the wall, always within reach of a handhold. Their frozen legs were dark, blocking the lights of the rest of their flash suits until they were fairly close. Wiggin was doing something up near the gate to distract Rabbit Army's attention, so the surprise was pretty good. As they got closer, Crazy Tom said, "Split and rebound to the star — me north, you south." It was a manoeuvre that Crazy Tom had practised with his toon. It was the right time for it, too. It would confuse the enemy more to have two groups to shoot at, heading different directions. They pulled up on handholds. Their bodies, of course, swung against the wall, and suddenly the lights of their flash suits were quite visible. Somebody in Rabbit saw them and gave the alarm. But C was already moving, half the toon diagonally south, the other half north, and all angling downward toward the floor. Bean began firing; the enemy was also firing at him. He heard the low whine that said somebody's beam was on his suit, but he was twisting slowly, and far enough from the enemy that none of the beams was in one place long enough to do damage. In the meantime, he found that his arm tracked perfectly, not trembling at all. He had practised this a lot, and he was good at it. A clean kill, not just an arm or leg. He had time for a second before he hit the wall and had to rebound up to the rendezvous star. One more enemy hit before he got there, and then he snagged a handhold on the star and said, "Bean here." "Lost three," said Crazy Tom. "But their formation's all gone to hell." "What now?" said Dag. They could tell from the shouting that the main battle was in progress. Bean was thinking back over what he had seen as he approached the star. "They sent a dozen guys to this star to wipe us out," said Bean. "They'll come around the east and west sides." They all looked at him like he was insane. How could he know this? "We've got about one more second," said Bean. "All south," said Crazy Tom. They swung up to the south side of the star. There were no Rabbits on that face, but Crazy Tom immediately led them in an attack aro
und to the west face. Sure enough, there were Rabbits there, caught in the act of attacking what they clearly thought of as the "back" of the star — or, as Dragon Army was trained to think of it, the bottom. So to the Rabbits, the attack seemed to come from below, the direction they were least aware of. In moments, the six Rabbits on that face were frozen and drifting along below the star. The other half of the attack force would see that and know what had happened. "Top," said Crazy Tom. To the enemy, that would be the front of the star — the position most exposed to fire from the main formation. The last place they'd expect Tom's toon to go. And once they were there, instead of continuing to attempt to engage the strike force coming against them, Crazy Tom had them shoot at the main Rabbit formation, or what was left of it — mostly disorganised groups hiding behind stars and firing at Dragons coming down at them from several directions. The five of them in C toon had time to hit a couple of Rabbits each before the strike force found them again. Without waiting for orders, Bean immediately launched away from the surface of the star so he could shoot downward at the strike force. This close, he was able to do four quick kills before the whining abruptly stopped and his suit went completely stiff and dark. The Rabbit who got him wasn't one of the strike force — it was somebody from the main force above him. And to his satisfaction, Bean could see that because of his firing, only one soldier from C toon was hit by the strike force sent against them. Then he rotated out of view. It didn't matter now. He was out. But he had done well. Seven kills that he was sure of, maybe more. And it was more than his personal score. He had come up with the information Crazy Tom needed in order to make a good tactical decision, and then he had taken the bold action that kept the strike force from causing too many casualties. As a result, C toon remained in position to strike at the enemy from behind. Without any place to hide, Rabbit would be wiped out in moments. And Bean was part of it. I didn't freeze once we got into action. I did what I was trained to do, and I stayed alert, and I thought of things. I can probably do better, move faster, see more. But for a first battle, I did fine. I can do this. Because C toon was crucial to the victory, Wiggin used the other four toon leaders to press their helmets to the corners of the enemy gate, and gave Crazy Tom the honour of passing through the gate, which is what formally ended the game, bringing the lights on bright. Major Anderson himself came in to congratulate the winning commander and supervise clean-up. Wiggin quickly unfroze the casualties. Bean was relieved when his suit could move again. Using his hook, Wiggin drew them all together and formed his soldiers into their five toons before he began unfreezing Rabbit Army. They stood at attention in the air, their feet pointed down, their heads up — and as Rabbit unfroze, they gradually oriented themselves in the same direction. They had no way of knowing it, but to Dragon, that was when victory became complete — for the enemy was now oriented as if their own gate was down. *** Bean and Nikolai were already eating breakfast when Crazy Tom came to their table. "Ender says instead of fifteen minutes for breakfast, we have till 0745. And he'll let us out of practice in time to shower." That was good news. They could slow down their eating. Not that it mattered to Bean. His tray had little food on it, and he finished it immediately. Once he was in Dragon Army, Crazy Tom had caught him giving away food. Bean told him that he was always given too much, and Tom took the matter to Ender, and Ender got the nutritionists to stop overfeeding Bean. Today was the first time Bean ever wished for more. And that was only because he was so up from the battle. "Smart," said Nikolai. "What?" "Ender tells us we've got fifteen minutes to eat, which feels rushed and we don't like it. Then right away he sends around the toon leaders, telling us we have till 0745. That's only ten minutes longer, but now it feels like forever. And a shower — we're supposed to be able to shower right after the game, but now we're grateful." "And he gave the toon leaders the chance to bring good news," said Bean. "Is that important?" asked Nikolai. "We know it was Ender's choice." "Most commanders make sure all good news comes from them," said Bean, "and bad news from the toon leaders. But Wiggin's whole technique is building up his toon leaders. Crazy Tom went in there with nothing more than his training and his brains and a single objective — strike first from the wall and get behind them. All the rest was up to him." "Yeah, but if his toon leaders screw up, it looks bad on Ender's record," said Nikolai. Bean shook his head. "The point is that in his very first battle, Wiggin divided his force for tactical effect, and C toon was able to continue attacking even after we ran out of plans, because Crazy Tom was really, truly in charge of us. We didn't sit around wondering what Wiggin wanted us to do." Nikolai got it, and nodded. "Bacana. That's right." "Completely right," said Bean. By now everybody at the table was listening. "And that's because Wiggin isn't just thinking about Battle School and standings and merda like that. He keeps watching vids of the Second Invasion, did you know that? He's thinking about how to beat the Buggers. And he knows that the way you do that is to have as many commanders ready to fight them as you can get. Wiggin doesn't want to come out of this with Wiggin as the only commander ready to fight the Buggers. He wants to come out of this with him and the toon leaders and the seconds and if he can do it every single one of his soldiers ready to command a fleet against the Buggers if we have to." Bean knew his enthusiasm was probably giving Wiggin credit for more than he had actually planned, but he was still full of the glow of victory. And besides, what he was saying was true — Wiggin was no Napoleon, holding on to the reins of control so tightly that none of his commanders was capable of brilliant independent command. Crazy Tom had performed well under pressure. He had made the right decisions — including the decision to listen to his smallest, most useless-looking soldier. And Crazy Tom had done that because Wiggin had set the example by listening to his toon leaders. You learn, you analyse, you choose, you act. After breakfast, as they headed for practice, Nikolai asked him, "Why do you call him Wiggin?" "Cause we're not friends," said Bean. "Oh, so it's Mr. Wiggin and Mr. Bean, is that it?" "No. Bean is my first name." "Oh. So it's Mr. Wiggin and Who The Hell Are You." "Got it." *** Everybody expected to have at least a week to strut around and brag about their perfect won-lost record. Instead, the next morning at 0630, Wiggin appeared in the barracks, again brandishing battle orders. "Gentlemen, I hope you learned something yesterday, because today we're going to do it again." All were surprised, and some were angry — it wasn't fair, they weren't ready. Wiggin just handed the orders to Fly Molo, who had just been heading out for breakfast. "Flash suits!" cried Fly, who clearly thought it was a cool thing to be the first army ever to fight two in a row like this. But Hot Soup, the leader of D toon, had another attitude. "Why didn't you tell us earlier?" "I thought you needed the shower," said Wiggin. "Yesterday Rabbit Army claimed we only won because the stink knocked them out." Everybody within earshot laughed. But Bean was not amused. He knew that the paper hadn't been there first thing, when Wiggin woke up. The teachers planted it late. "Didn't find the paper till you got back from the showers, right?" Wiggin gave him a blank look. "Of course. I'm not as close to the floor as you." The contempt in his voice struck Bean like a blow. Only then did he realise that Wiggin had taken his question as a criticism — that Wiggin had been inattentive and hadn't noticed the orders. So now there was one more mark against Bean in Wiggin's mental dossier. But Bean couldn't let that upset him. It's not as if Wiggin didn't have him tagged as a coward. Maybe Crazy Tom told Wiggin about how Bean contributed to the victory yesterday, and maybe not. It wouldn't change what Wiggin had seen with his own eyes — Bean malingering in the shower. And now Bean apparently taunting him for making them all have to rush for their second battle. Maybe I'll be made toon leader on my thirtieth birthday. And then only if everybody else is drowned in a boat accident. Wiggin was still talking, of course, explaining how they should expect battles any time, the old rules were coming apart. "I can't pretend I like the way they're screwing around with us, but I do like one thing — that I've got an army that can handle it." As he put on his flash suit, Bean thought throu
gh the implications of what the teachers were doing. They were pushing Wiggin faster and also making it harder for him. And this was only the beginning. Just the first few sprinkles of a snot storm. Why? Not because Wiggin was so good he needed the testing. On the contrary — Wiggin was training his army well, and the Battle School would only benefit from giving him plenty of time to do it. So it had to be something outside Battle School. Only one possibility, really. The Bugger invaders were getting close. Only a few years away. They had to get Wiggin through training. Wiggin. Not all of us, just Wiggin. Because if it were everybody, then everybody's schedule would be stepped up like this. Not just ours. So it's already too late for me. Wiggin's the one they've chosen to rest their hopes on. Whether I'm toon leader or not will never matter. All that matters is: Will Wiggin be ready? If Wiggin succeeds, there'll still be room for me to achieve greatness in the aftermath. The League will come apart. There'll be war among humans. Either I'll be used by the I.F. to help keep the peace, or maybe I can get into some army on Earth. I've got plenty of life ahead of me. Unless Wiggin commands our fleet against the invading Buggers and loses. Then none of us has any life at all. All I can do right now is my best to help Wiggin learn everything he can learn here. The trouble is, I'm not close enough to him for me to have any effect on him at all. The battle was with Petra Arkanian, commander of Phoenix Army. Petra was sharper than Carn Carby had been; she also had the advantage of hearing how Wiggin worked entirely without formations and used little raiding parties to disrupt formations ahead of the main combat. Still, Dragon finished with only three soldiers flashed and nine partially disabled. A crushing defeat. Bean could see that Petra didn't like it, either. She probably felt like Wiggin had poured it on, deliberately setting her up for humiliation. But she'd get it, soon enough — Wiggin simply turned his toon leaders loose, and each of them pursued total victory, as he had trained them. Their system worked better, that's all, and the old way of doing battle was doomed. Soon enough, all the other commanders would start adapting, learning from what Wiggin did. Soon enough, Dragon Army would be facing armies that were divided into five toons, not four, and that moved in a free-ranging style with a lot more discretion given to the toon leaders. The kids didn't get to Battle School because they were idiots. The only reason the techniques worked a second time was because there'd only been a day since the first battle, and nobody expected to have to face Wiggin again so soon. Now they'd know that changes would have to be made fast. Bean guessed that they'd probably never see another formation. What then? Had Wiggin emptied his magazine, or would he have new tricks up his sleeve? The trouble was, innovation never resulted in victory over the long term. It was too easy for the enemy to imitate and improve on your innovations. The real test for Wiggin would be what he did when he was faced with slug fests between armies using similar tactics. And the real test for me will be seeing if I can stand it when Wiggin makes some stupid mistake and I have to sit here as an ordinary soldier and watch him do it. The third day, another battle. The fourth day, another. Victory. Victory. But each time, the score was closer. Each time, Bean gained more confidence as a soldier — and became more frustrated that the most he could contribute, beyond his own good aim, was occasionally making a suggestion to Crazy Tom, or reminding him of something Bean had noticed and remembered. Bean wrote to Dimak about it, explaining how he was being underused and suggesting that he would be getting better trained by working with a worse commander, where he'd have a better chance of getting his own toon. The answer was short. "Who else would want you? Learn from Ender." Brutal but true. No doubt even Wiggin didn't really want him. Either he was forbidden to transfer any of his soldiers, or he had tried to trade Bean away and no one would take him. *** It was free time of the evening after their fourth battle. Most of the others were trying to keep up with their classwork — the battles were really taking it out of them, especially because they could all see that they needed to practice hard to stay ahead. Bean, though, coasted through classwork like always, and when Nikolai told him he didn't need any more damned help with his assignments, Bean decided that he should take a walk. Passing Wiggin's quarters — a space even smaller than the cramped quarters the teachers had, just space for a bunk, one chair, and a tiny table — Bean was tempted to knock on the door and sit down and have it out with Wiggin once and for all. Then common sense prevailed over frustration and vanity, and Bean wandered until he came to the arcade. It wasn't as full as it used to be. Bean figured that was because everyone was holding extra practices now, trying to implement whatever they thought it was Wiggin was doing before they actually had to face him in battle. Still, a few were still willing to fiddle with the controllers and make things move on screens or in holo displays. Bean found a flat-screen game that had, as its hero, a mouse. No one was using it, so Bean started manoeuvring it through a maze. Quickly the maze gave way to the wall spaces and crawlspaces of an old house, with traps set here and there, easy stuff. Cats chased him — ho hum. He jumped up onto a table and found himself face to face with a giant. A giant who offered him a drink. This was the fantasy game. This was the psychological game that everybody else played on their desks all the time. No wonder no one was playing it here. They all recognised it and that wasn't the game they came here to play. Bean was well aware that he was the only kid in the school who had never played the fantasy game. They had tricked him into playing this once, but he doubted that anything important could be learned from what he had done so far. So screw 'em. They could trick him into playing up to a point, but he didn't have to go further. Except that the giant's face had changed. It was Achilles. Bean stood there in shock for a moment. Frozen, frightened. How did they know? Why did they do it? To put him face-to-face with Achilles, by surprise like that. Those bastards. He walked away from the game. Moments later, he turned around and came back. The giant was no longer on the screen. The mouse was running around again, trying to get out of the maze. No, I won't play. Achilles is far away and he does not have the power to hurt me. Or Poke either, not any more. I don't have to think about him and I sure as hell don't have to drink anything he offers me. Bean walked away again, and this time did not come back. He found himself down by the mess. It had just closed, but Bean had nothing better to do, so he sat down in the corridor beside the mess hall door and rested his forehead on his knees and thought about Rotterdam and sitting on top of a garbage can watching Poke working with her crew and how she was the most decent crew boss he'd seen, the way she listened to the little kids and gave them a fair share and kept them alive even if it meant not eating so much herself and that's why he chose her, because she had mercy-mercy enough that she just might listen to a child. Her mercy killed her. I killed her when I chose her. There better be a God. So he can damn Achilles to hell forever. Someone kicked at his foot. "Go away," said Bean, "I'm not bothering you." Whoever it was kicked again, knocking Bean's feet out from under him. With his hands he caught himself from falling over. He looked up. Bonzo Madrid loomed over him. "I understand you're the littlest dingleberry clinging to the butt hairs of Dragon Army," said Bonzo. He had three other guys with him. Big guys. They all had bully faces. "Hi, Bonzo." "We need to talk, pinprick." "What is this, espionage?" asked Bean. "You're not supposed to talk to soldiers in other armies." "I don't need espionage to find out how to beat Dragon Army," said Bonzo. "So you're just looking for the littlest Dragon soldiers wherever you can find them, and then you'll push them around a little till they cry?" Bonzo's face showed his anger. Not that it didn't always show anger. "Are you begging to eat out of your own asshole, pinprick?" Bean didn't like bullies right now. And since, at the moment, he felt guilty of murdering Poke, he didn't really care if Bonzo Madrid ended up being the one to administer the death penalty. It was time to speak his mind. "You're at least three times my weight," said Bean, "except inside your skull. You're a second-rater who somehow got an army and never could figure out what to do with it. Wiggin is going to grind you into the ground and he isn't even going to have to try. So d
oes it really matter what you do to me? I'm the smallest and weakest soldier in the whole school. Naturally I'm the one you choose to kick around." "Yeah, the smallest and weakest," said one of the other kids. Bonzo didn't say anything, though. Bean's words had stung. Bonzo had his pride, and he knew now that if he harmed Bean it would be a humiliation, not a pleasure. "Ender Wiggin isn't going to beat me with that collection of launchies and rejects that he calls an army. He may have psyched out a bunch of dorks like Carn and ... Petra." He spat her name. "But whenever we find crap my army can pound it flat." Bean affixed him with his most withering glare. "Don't you get it, Bonzo? The teachers have picked Wiggin. He's the best. The best ever. They didn't give him the worst army. They gave him the best army. Those veterans you call rejects — they were soldiers so good that the stupid commanders couldn't get along with them and tried to transfer them away. Wiggin knows how to use good soldiers, even if you don't. That's why Wiggin is winning. He's smarter than you. And his soldiers are all smarter than your soldiers. The deck is stacked against you, Bonzo. You might as well give up now. When your pathetic little Salamander Army faces us, you'll be so whipped you'll have to pee sitting down." Bean might have said more — it's not like he had a plan, and there was certainly a lot more he could have said — but he was interrupted. Two of Bonzo's friends scooped him up and held him high against the wall, higher than their own heads. Bonzo put one hand around his throat, just under his jaw, and pressed back. The others let go. Bean was hanging by his neck, and he couldn't breathe. Reflexively he kicked, struggling to get some purchase with his feet. But long-armed Bonzo was too far away for any of Bean's kicking to land on him. "The game is one thing," Bonzo said quietly. "The teachers can rig that and give it to their little Wiggin catamite. But there'll come a time when it isn't a game. And when that time comes, it won't be a frozen flash suit that makes it so Wiggin can't move. Comprendes?" What answer was he hoping for? It was a sure thing Bean couldn't nod or speak. Bonzo just stood there, smiling maliciously, as Bean struggled. Everything started turning black around the edges of Bean's vision before Bonzo finally let him drop to the floor. He lay there, coughing and gasping. What have I done? I goaded Bonzo Madrid. A bully with none of Achilles's subtlety. When Wiggin beats him, Bonzo isn't going to take it. He won't stop with a demonstration, either. His hatred for Wiggin runs deep. As soon as he could breathe again, Bean headed back to the barracks. Nikolai noticed the marks on his neck at once. "Who was choking you?" "I don't know," said Bean. "Don't give me that," said Nikolai. "He was facing you, look at the fingermarks." "I don't remember." "You remember the pattern of arteries on your own placenta." "I'm not going to tell you," said Bean. To that, Nikolai had no answer, though he didn't like it. Bean signed on as ^Graff and wrote a note to Dimak, even though he knew it would do no good. "Bonzo is insane. He could kill somebody, and Wiggin's the one he hates the most." The answer came back quickly, almost as if Dimak had been waiting for the message. "Clean up your own messes. Don't go crying to mama." The words stung. It wasn't Bean's mess, it was Wiggin's. And, ultimately, the teachers', for having put Wiggin in Bonzo's army to begin with. And then to taunt him because he didn't have a mother — when did the teachers become the enemy here? They were supposed to protect us from crazy kids like Bonzo Madrid. How do they think I'm going to clean this mess up? The only thing that will stop Bonzo Madrid is to kill him. And then Bean remembered standing there looking down at Achilles, saying, "You got to kill him." Why couldn't I have kept my mouth shut? Why did I have to goad Bonzo Madrid? Wiggin is going to end up like Poke. And it will be my fault again.