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

by Orson Scott Card

  CHAPTER 23 — ENDER'S GAME

  "General, you are the Strategos. You have the authority to do this, and you have the obligation."

  "I don't need disgraced former Battle School commandants to tell me my obligations."

  "If you do not arrest the Polemarch and his conspirators —"

  "Colonel Graff, if I do strike first, then I will bear the blame for the war that ensues."

  "Yes, you would, sir. Now tell me, which would be the better outcome — everybody blames you, but we win the war, or nobody blames you, because you've been stood up against a wall and shot after the Polemarch's coup results in worldwide Russian hegemony?"

  "I will not fire the first shot."

  "A military commander not willing to strike pre-emptively when he has firm intelligence —"

  "The politics of the thing —"

  "If you let them win it's the end of politics!"

  "The Russians stopped being the bad guys back in the twentieth century!"

  "Whoever is doing the bad things, that's the bad guy. You're the sheriff, sir, whether people approve of you or not. Do your job."

  *** With Ender there, Bean immediately stepped back into his place among the toon leaders. No one mentioned it to him. He had been the leading commander, he had trained them well, but Ender had always been the natural commander of this group, and now that he was here, Bean was small again. And rightly so, Bean knew. He had led them well, but Ender made him look like a novice. It wasn't that Ender's strategies were better than Bean's — they weren't, really. Different sometimes, but more often Bean watched Ender do exactly what he would have done. The important difference was in the way he led the others. He had their fierce devotion instead of the ever-so-slightly-resentful obedience Bean got from them, which helped from the start. But he also earned that devotion by noticing, not just what was going on in the battle, but what was going on in his commanders' minds. He was stern, sometimes even snappish, making it clear that he expected better than their best. And yet he had a way of giving an intonation to innocuous words, showing appreciation, admiration, closeness. They felt known by the one whose honour they needed. Bean simply did not know how to do that. His encouragement was always more obvious, a bit heavy-handed. It meant less to them because it felt more calculated. It was more calculated. Ender was just ... himself. Authority came from him like breath. They flipped a genetic switch in me and made me an intellectual athlete. I can get the ball into the goal from anywhere on the field. But knowing when to kick. Knowing how to forge a team out of a bunch of players. What switch was it that was flipped in Ender Wiggin's genes? Or is that something deeper than the mechanical genius of the body? Is there a spirit, and is what Ender has a gift from God? We follow him like disciples. We look to him to draw water from the rock. Can I learn to do what he does? Or am I to be like so many of the military writers I've studied, condemned to be second-raters in the field, remembered only because of their chronicles and explanations of other commanders' genius? Will I write a book after this, telling all about how Ender did it? Let Ender write that book. Or Graff. I have work to do here, and when it's done, I'll choose my own work and do it as well as I can. If I'm remembered only because I was one of Ender's companions, so be it. Serving with Ender is its own reward. But ah, how it stung to see how happy the others were, and how they paid no attention to him at all, except to tease him like a little brother, like a mascot. How they must have hated it when he was their leader. And the worst thing was, that's how Ender treated him, too. Not that any of them were ever allowed to see Ender. But during their long separation, Ender had apparently forgotten how he once relied on Bean. It was Petra that he leaned on most, and Alai, and Dink, and Shen. The ones who had never been in an army with him. Bean and the other toon leaders from Dragon Army were still used, still trusted, but when there was something hard to do, something that required creative flair, Ender never thought of Bean. Didn't matter. Couldn't think about that. Because Bean knew that along with his primary assignment as one of the squadron chiefs, he had another, deeper work to do. He had to watch the whole flow of each battle, ready to step in at any moment, should Ender falter. Ender seemed not to guess that Bean had that kind of trust from the teachers, but Bean knew it, and if sometimes it made him a little distracted in fulfilling his official assignments, if sometimes Ender grew impatient with him for being a little late, a little inattentive, that was to be expected. For what Ender did not know was that at any moment, if the supervisor signalled him, Bean could take over and continue Ender's plan, watching over all of the squadron leaders, saving the game. At first, that assignment seemed empty — Ender was healthy, alert. But then came the change. It was the day after Ender mentioned to them, casually, that he had a different teacher from theirs. He referred to him as "Mazer" once too often, and Crazy Tom said, "He must have gone through hell, growing up with that name." "When he was growing up," said Ender, "the name wasn't famous." "Anybody that old is dead," said Shen. "Not if he was put on a lightspeed ship for a lot of years and then brought back." That's when it dawned on them. "Your teacher is the Mazer Rackham?" "You know how they say he's a brilliant hero?" said Ender. Of course they knew. "What they don't mention is, he's a complete hard-ass." And then the new simulation began and they got back to work. Next day, Ender told them that things were changing. "So far we've been playing against the computer or against each other. But starting now, every few days Mazer himself and a team of experienced pilots will control the opposing fleet. Anything goes." A series of tests, with Mazer Rackham himself as the opponent. It smelled fishy to Bean. These aren't tests, these are set-ups, preparations for the conditions that might come when they face the actual Bugger fleet near their home planet. The I.F. is getting preliminary information back from the expeditionary fleet, and they're preparing us for what the Buggers are actually going to throw at us when battle is joined. The trouble was, no matter how bright Mazer Rackham and the other officers might be, they were still human. When the real battle came, the Buggers were bound to show them things that humans simply couldn't think of. Then came the first of these "tests" — and it was embarrassing how juvenile the strategy was. A big globe formation, surrounding a single ship. In this battle it became clear that Ender knew things that he wasn't telling them. For one thing, he told them to ignore the ship in the centre of the globe. It was a decoy. But how could Ender know that? Because he knew that the Buggers would show a single ship like that, and it was a lie. Which means that the Buggers expect us to go for that one ship. Except, of course, that this was not really the Buggers, this was Mazer Rackham. So why would Rackham expect the Buggers to expect humans to strike for a single ship? Bean thought back to those vids that Ender had watched over and over in Battle School — all the propaganda film of the Second Invasion. They never showed the battle because there wasn't one. Nor did Mazer Rackham command a strike force with a brilliant strategy. Mazer Rackham hit a single ship and the war was over. That's why there's no video of hand-to-hand combat. Mazer Rackham killed the queen. And now he expects the Buggers to show a central ship as a decoy, because that's how we won last time. Kill the queen, and all the Buggers are defenceless. Mindless. That's what the vids meant. Ender knows that, but he also knows that the Buggers know that we know it, so he doesn't fall for their sucker bait. The second thing that Ender knew and they didn't was the use of a weapon that hadn't been in any of their simulations till this first test. Ender called it "Dr. Device" and then said nothing more about it — until he ordered Alai to use it where the enemy fleet was most concentrated. To their surprise, the thing set off a chain reaction that leapt from ship to ship, until all but the most outlying Formic ships were destroyed. And it was an easy matter to mop up those stragglers. The playing field was clear when they finished. "Why was their strategy so stupid?" asked Bean. "That's what I was wondering," said Ender. "But we didn't lose a ship, so that's OK." Later, Ender told them what Mazer said — they were simulating a whole invasion sequence, and so he was taking the
simulated enemy through a learning curve. "Next time they'll have learned. It won't be so easy." Bean heard that and it filled him with alarm. An invasion sequence? Why a scenario like that? Why not warm-ups before a single battle? Because the Buggers have more than one world, thought Bean. Of course they do. They found Earth and expected to turn it into yet another colony, just as they've done before. We have more than one fleet. One for each Formic world. And the reason they can learn from battle to battle is because they, too, have faster-than-light communication across interstellar space. All of Bean's guesses were confirmed. He also knew the secret behind these tests. Mazer Rackham wasn't commanding a simulated Bugger fleet. It was a real battle, and Rackham's only function was to watch how it flowed and then coach Ender afterward on what the enemy strategies meant and how to counter them in future. That was why they were giving most of their commands orally. They were being transmitted to real crews of real ships who followed their orders and fought real battles. Any ship we lose, thought Bean, means that grown men and women have died. Any carelessness on our part takes lives. Yet they don't tell us this precisely because we can't afford to be burdened with that knowledge. In wartime, commanders have always had to learn the concept of "acceptable losses." But those who keep their humanity never really accept the idea of acceptability, Bean understood that. It gnaws at them. So they protect us child-soldiers by keeping us convinced that it's only games and tests. Therefore I can't let on to anyone that I do know. Therefore I must accept the losses without a word, without a visible qualm. I must try to block out of my mind the people who will die from our boldness, whose sacrifice is not of a mere counter in a game, but of their lives. The "tests" came every few days, and each battle lasted longer. Alai joked that they ought to be fitted with diapers so they didn't have to be distracted when their bladder got full during a battle. Next day, they were fitted out with catheters. It was Crazy Tom who put a stop to that. "Come on, just get us a jar to pee in. We can't play this game with something hanging off our dicks." Jars it was, after that. Bean never heard of anyone using one, though. And though he wondered what they provided for Petra, no one ever had the courage to brave her wrath by asking. Bean began to notice some of Ender's mistakes pretty early on. For one thing, Ender was relying too much on Petra. She always got command of the core force, watching a hundred different things at once, so that Ender could concentrate on the feints, the ploys, the tricks. Couldn't Ender see that Petra, a perfectionist, was getting eaten alive by guilt and shame over every mistake she made? He was so good with people, and yet he seemed to think she was really tough, instead of realizing that toughness was an act she put on to hide her intense anxiety. Every mistake weighed on her. She wasn't sleeping well, and it showed up as she got more and more fatigued during battles. But then, maybe the reason Ender didn't realise what he was doing to her was that he, too, was tired. So were all of them. Fading a little under the pressure, and sometimes a lot. Getting more fatigued, more error-prone as the tests got harder, as the odds got longer. Because the battles were harder with each new "test," Ender was forced to leave more and more decisions up to others. Instead of smoothly carrying out Ender's detailed commands, the squadron leaders had more and more of the battle to carry on their own shoulders. For long sequences, Ender was too busy in one part of the battle to give new orders in another. The squadron leaders who were affected began to use crosstalk to determine their tactics until Ender noticed them again. And Bean was grateful to find that, while Ender never gave him the interesting assignments, some of the others talked to him when Ender's attention was elsewhere. Crazy Tom and Hot Soup came up with their own plans, but they routinely ran them past Bean. And since, in each battle, he was spending half his attention observing and analysing Ender's plan, Bean was able to tell them, with pretty good accuracy, what they should do to help make the overall plan work out. Now and then Ender praised Tom or Soup for decisions that came from Bean's advice. It was the closest thing to praise that Bean heard. The other toon leaders and the older kids simply didn't turn to Bean at all. He understood why; they must have resented it greatly when the teachers placed Bean above them during the time before Ender was brought in. Now that they had their true commander, they were never again going to do anything that smacked of subservience to Bean. He understood — but that didn't keep it from stinging. Whether or not they wanted him to oversee their work, whether or not his feelings were hurt, that was still his assignment and he was determined never to be caught unprepared. As the pressure became more and more intense, as they became wearier and wearier, more irritable with each other, less generous in their assessment of each other's work, Bean became all the more attentive because the chances of error were all the greater. One day Petra fell asleep during battle. She had let her force drift too far into a vulnerable position, and the enemy took advantage, tearing her squadron to bits. Why didn't she give the order to fall back? Worse yet, Ender didn't notice soon enough, either. It was Bean who told him: Something's wrong with Petra. Ender called out to her. She didn't answer. Ender flipped control of her two remaining ships to Crazy Tom and then tried to salvage the overall battle. Petra had, as usual, occupied the core position, and the loss of most of her large squadron was a devastating blow. Only because the enemy was overconfident during mop-up was Ender able to lay a couple of traps and regain the initiative. He won, but with heavy losses. Petra apparently woke up near the end of the battle and found her controls cut off, with no voice until it was all over. Then her microphone came on again and they could hear her crying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Tell Ender I'm sorry, he can't hear me, I'm so sorry ..." Bean got to her before she could return to her room. She was staggering along the tunnel, leaning against the wall and crying, using her hands to find her way because she couldn't see through her tears. Bean came up and touched her. She shrugged off his hand. "Petra," said Bean. "Fatigue is fatigue. You can't stay awake when your brain shuts down." "It was my brain that shut down! You don't know how that feels because you're always so smart you could do all our jobs and play chess while you're doing it!" "Petra, he was relying on you too much, he never gave you a break —" "He doesn't take breaks either, and I don't see him —" "Yes you do. It was obvious there was something wrong with your squadron for several seconds before somebody called his attention to it. And even then, he tried to rouse you before assigning control to somebody else. If he'd acted faster you would have had six ships left, not just two." "You pointed it out to him. You were watching me. Checking up on me." "Petra, I watch everybody." "You said you'd trust me, but you don't. And you shouldn't, nobody should trust me." She broke into uncontrollable sobbing, leaning against the stone of the wall. A couple of officers showed up then, led her away. Not to her room. *** Graff called him in soon afterward. "You handled it just right," said Graff. "That's what you're there for." "I wasn't quick either," said Bean. "You were watching. You saw where the plan was breaking down, you called Ender's attention to it. You did your job. The other kids don't realise it and I know that has to gall you —" "I don't care what they notice —" "But you did the job. On that battle you get the save." "Whatever the hell that means." "It's baseball. Oh yeah. That wasn't big on the streets of Rotterdam." "Can I please go sleep now?" "In a minute. Bean, Ender's getting tired. He's making mistakes. It's all the more important that you watch everything. Be there for him. You saw how Petra was." "We're all getting fatigued." "Well, so is Ender. Worse than anyone. He cries in his sleep. He has strange dreams. He's talking about how Mazer seems to know what he's planning, spying on his dreams." "You telling me he's going crazy?" "I'm telling you that the only person he pushed harder than Petra is himself. Cover for him, Bean. Back him up." "I already am." "You're angry all the time, Bean." Graff's words startled him. At first he thought, No I'm not! Then he thought, Am I? "Ender isn't using you for anything important, and after having run the show that has to piss you off, Bean. But it's not Ender's fault. Mazer has been telling Ender that he has doubts about your ability to handle large numbers of
ships. That's why you haven't been getting the complicated, interesting assignments. Not that Ender takes Mazer's word for it. But everything you do, Ender sees it through the lens of Mazer's lack of confidence." "Mazer Rackham thinks I —" "Mazer Rackham knows exactly what you are and what you can do. But we had to make sure Ender didn't assign you something so complicated you couldn't keep track of the overall flow of the game. And we had to do it without telling Ender you're his backup." "So why are you telling me this?" "When this test is over and you go on to real commands, we'll tell Ender the truth about what you were doing, and why Mazer said what he said. I know it means a lot to you to have Ender's confidence, and you don't feel like you have it, and so I wanted you to know why. We did it." "Why this sudden bout of honesty?" "Because I think you'll do better knowing it." "I'll do better believing it whether it's true or not. You could be lying. So do I really know anything at all from this conversation?" "Believe what you want, Bean." *** Petra didn't come to practice for a couple of days. When she came back, of course Ender didn't give her the heavy assignments any more. She did well at the assignments she had, but her ebullience was gone. Her heart was broken. But dammit, she had slept for a couple of days. They were all just the tiniest bit jealous of her for that, even though they'd never willingly trade places with her. Whether they had any particular god in mind, they all prayed: Let it not happen to me. Yet at the same time they also prayed the opposite prayer: Oh, let me sleep, let me have a day in which I don't have to think about this game. The tests went on. How many worlds did these bastards colonise before they got to Earth? Bean wondered. And are we sure we have them all? And what good does it do to destroy their fleets when we don't have the forces there to occupy the defeated colonies? Or do we just leave our ships there, shooting down anything that tries to boost from the surface of the planet? Petra wasn't the only one to blow out. Vlad went catatonic and couldn't be roused from his bunk. It took three days for the doctors to get him awake again, and unlike Petra, he was out for the duration. He just couldn't concentrate. Bean kept waiting for Crazy Tom to follow suit, but despite his nickname, he actually seemed to get saner as he got wearier. Instead it was Fly Molo who started laughing when he lost control of his squadron. Ender cut him off immediately, and for once he put Bean in charge of Fly's ships. Fly was back the next day, no explanation, but everyone understood that he wouldn't be given crucial assignments now. And Bean became more and more aware of Ender's decreasing alertness. His orders came after longer and longer pauses now, and a couple of times his orders weren't clearly stated. Bean immediately translated them into a more comprehensible form, and Ender never knew there had been confusion. But the others were finally becoming aware that Bean was following the whole battle, not just his part of it. Perhaps they even saw how Bean would ask a question during a battle, make some comment that alerted Ender to something that he needed to be aware of, but never in a way that sounded like Bean was criticising anybody. After the battles one or two of the older kids would speak to Bean. Nothing major. Just a hand on his shoulder, on his back, and a couple of words. "Good game." "Good work." "Keep it up." "Thanks, Bean." He hadn't realised how much he needed the honour of others until he finally got it. *** "Bean, this next game, I think you should know something." "What?" Colonel Graff hesitated. "We couldn't get Ender awake this morning. He's been having nightmares. He doesn't eat unless we make him. He bites his hand in his sleep — bites it bloody. And today we couldn't get him to wake up. We were able to hold off on the ... test ... so he's going to be in command, as usual, but ... not as usual." "I'm ready. I always am." "Yeah, but ... look, advance word on this test is that it's ... there's no ..." "It's hopeless." "Anything you can do to help. Any suggestion." "This Dr. Device thing, Ender hasn't let us use it in a long time." "The enemy learned enough about how it works that they never let their ships get close enough together for a chain reaction to spread. It takes a certain amount of mass to be able to maintain the field. Basically, right now it's just ballast. Useless." "It would have been nice if you'd told me how it works before now." "There are people who don't want us to tell you anything, Bean. You have a way of using every scrap of information to guess ten times more than we want you to know. It makes them a little leery of giving you those scraps in the first place." "Colonel Graff, you know that I know that these battles are real. Mazer Rackham isn't making them up. When we lose ships, real men die." Graff looked away. "And these are men that Mazer Rackham knows, neh?" Graff nodded slightly. "You don't think Ender can sense what Mazer is feeling? I don't know the guy, maybe he's like a rock, but I think that when he does his critiques with Ender, he's letting his ... what, his anguish... Ender feels it. Because Ender is a lot more tired after a critique than before it. He may not know what's really going on, but he knows that something terrible is at stake. He knows that Mazer Rackham is really upset with every mistake Ender makes." "Have you found some way to sneak into Ender's room?" "I know how to listen to Ender. I'm not wrong about Mazer, am I?" Graff shook his head. "Colonel Graff, what you don't realise, what nobody seems to remember — that last game in Battle School, where Ender turned his army over to me. That wasn't a strategy. He was quitting. He was through. He was on strike. You didn't find that out because you graduated him. The thing with Bonzo finished him. I think Mazer Rackham's anguish is doing the same thing to him now. I think even when Ender doesn't consciously know that he's killed somebody, he knows it deep down, and it burns in his heart." Graff looked at him sharply. "I know Bonzo was dead. I saw him. I've seen death before, remember? You don't get your nose jammed into your brain and lose two gallons of blood and get up and walk away. You never told Ender that Bonzo was dead, but you're a fool if you think he doesn't know. And he knows, thanks to Mazer, that every ship we've lost means good men are dead. He can't stand it, Colonel Graff." "You're more insightful than you get credit for, Bean," said Graff. "I know, I'm the cold inhuman intellect, right?" Bean laughed bitterly. "Genetically altered, therefore I'm just as alien as the Buggers." Graff blushed. "No one's ever said that." "You mean you've never said it in front of me. Knowingly. What you don't seem to understand is, sometimes you have to just tell people the truth and ask them to do the thing you want, instead of trying to trick them into it." "Are you saying we should tell Ender the game is real?" "No! Are you insane? If he's this upset when the knowledge is unconscious, what do you think would happen if he knew that he knew? He'd freeze up." "But you don't freeze up. Is that it? You should command this next battle?" "You still don't get it, Colonel Graff. I don't freeze up because it isn't my battle. I'm helping. I'm watching. But I'm free. Because it's Ender's game." Bean's simulator came to life. "It's time," said Graff. "Good luck." "Colonel Graff, Ender may go on strike again. He may walk out on it. He might give up. He might tell himself, It's only a game and I'm sick of it, I don't care what they do to me, I'm done. That's in him, to do that. When it seems completely unfair and utterly pointless." "What if I promised him it was the last one?" Bean put on his headset as he asked, "Would it be true?" Graff nodded. "Yeah, well, I don't think it would make much difference. Besides, he's Mazer's student now, isn't he?" "I guess. Mazer was talking about telling him that it was the final exam." "Mazer is Ender's teacher now," Bean mused. "And you're left with me. The kid you didn't want." Graff blushed again. "That's right," he said. "Since you seem to know everything. I didn't want you." Even though Bean already knew it, the words still hurt. "But Bean," said Graff, "the thing is, I was wrong." He put a hand on Bean's shoulder and left the room. Bean logged on. He was the last of the squadron leaders to do so. "Are you there?" asked Ender over the headsets. "All of us," said Bean. "Kind of late for practice this morning, aren't you?" "Sorry," said Ender. "I overslept." They laughed. Except Bean. Ender took them through some manoeuvres, warming up for the battle. And then it was time. The display cleared. Bean waited, anxiety gnawing at his gut. The enemy appeared in the display. Their fleet was deployed around a planet that loomed in the centre of the display. There had been battl
es near planets before, but every other time, the world was near the edge of the display — the enemy fleet always tried to lure them away from the planet. This time there was no luring. Just the most incredible swarm of enemy ships imaginable. Always staying a certain distance away from each other, thousands and thousands of ships followed random, unpredictable, intertwining paths, together forming a cloud of death around the planet. This is the home planet, thought Bean. He almost said it aloud, but caught himself in time. This is a simulation of the Bugger defence of their home planet. They've had generations to prepare for us to come. All the previous battles were nothing. These Formics can lose any number of individual Buggers and they don't care. All that matters is the queen. Like the one Mazer Rackham killed in the Second Invasion. And they haven't put a queen at risk in any of these battles. Until now. That's why they're swarming. There's a queen here. Where? On the planet surface, thought Bean. The idea is to keep us from getting to the planet surface. So that's precisely where we need to go. Dr. Device needs mass. Planets have mass. Pretty simple. Except that there was no way to get this small force of human ships through that swarm and near enough to the planet to deploy Dr. Device. For if there was anything that history taught, it was this: Sometimes the other side is irresistibly strong, and then the only sensible course of action is to retreat in order to save your force to fight another day. In this war, however, there would be no other day. There was no hope of retreat. The decisions that lost this battle, and therefore this war, were made two generations ago when these ships were launched, an inadequate force from the start. The commanders who set this fleet in motion may not even have known, then, that this was the Buggers' home world. It was no one's fault. They simply didn't have enough of a force even to make a dent in the enemy's defences. It didn't matter how brilliant Ender was. When you have only one guy with a shovel, you can't build a dike to hold back the sea. No retreat, no possibility of victory, no room for delay or manoeuvre, no reason for the enemy to do anything but continue to do what they were doing. There were only twenty starships in the human fleet, each with four fighters. And they were the oldest design, sluggish compared to some of the fighters they'd had in earlier battles. It made sense — the Bugger home world was probably the farthest away, so the fleet that got there now had left before any of the other fleets. Before the better ships came on line. Eighty fighters. Against five thousand, maybe ten thousand enemy ships. It was impossible to determine the number. Bean saw how the display kept losing track of individual enemy ships, how the total count kept fluctuating. There were so many it was overloading the system. They kept winking in and out like fireflies. A long time passed — many seconds, perhaps a minute. By now Ender usually had them all deployed, ready to move. But still there was nothing from him but silence. A light blinked on Bean's console. He knew what it meant. All he had to do was press a button, and control of the battle would be his. They were offering it to him, because they thought that Ender had frozen up. He hasn't frozen up, thought Bean. He hasn't panicked. He has simply understood the situation, exactly as I understand it. There is no strategy. Only he doesn't see that this is simply the fortunes of war, a disaster that can't be helped. What he sees is a test set before him by his teachers, by Mazer Rackham, a test so absurdly unfair that the only reasonable course of action is to refuse to take it. They were so clever, keeping the truth from him all this time. But now was it going to backfire on them. If Ender understood that it was not a game, that the real war had come down to this moment, then he might make some desperate effort, or with his genius he might even come up with an answer to a problem that, as far as Bean could see, had no solution. But Ender did not understand the reality, and so to him it was like that day in the battle room, facing two armies, when Ender turned the whole thing over to Bean and, in effect, refused to play. For a moment Bean was tempted to scream the truth. It's not a game, it's the real thing, this is the last battle, we've lost this war after all! But what would be gained by that, except to panic everyone? Yet it was absurd to even contemplate pressing that button to take over control himself. Ender hadn't collapsed or failed. The battle was un-winnable; it should not even be fought. The lives of the men on those ships were not to be wasted on such a hopeless Charge of the Light Brigade. I'm not General Burnside at Fredericksburg. I don't send my men off to senseless, hopeless, meaningless death. If I had a plan, I'd take control. I have no plan. So for good or ill, it's Ender's game, not mine. And there was another reason for not taking over. Bean remembered standing over the supine body of a bully who was too dangerous to ever be tamed, telling Poke, Kill him now, kill him. I was right. And now, once again, the bully must be killed. Even though I don't know how to do it, we can't lose this war. I don't know how to win it, but I'm not God, I don't see everything. And maybe Ender doesn't see a solution either, but if anyone can find one, if anyone can make it happen, it's Ender. Maybe it isn't hopeless. Maybe there's some way to get down to the planet's surface and wipe the Buggers out of the universe. Now is the time for miracles. For Ender, the others will do their best work. If I took over, they'd be so upset, so distracted that even if I came up with a plan that had some kind of chance, it would never work because their hearts wouldn't be in it. Ender has to try. If he doesn't, we all die. Because even if they weren't going to send another fleet against us, after this they'll have to send one. Because we beat all their fleets in every battle till now. If we don't win this one, with finality, destroying their capability to make war against us, then they'll be back. And this time they'll have figured out how to make Dr. Device themselves. We have only the one world. We have only the one hope. Do it, Ender. There flashed into Bean's mind the words Ender said in their first day of training as Dragon Army: Remember, the enemy's gate is down. In Dragon Army's last battle, when there was no hope, that was the strategy that Ender had used, sending Bean's squad to press their helmets against the floor around the gate and win. Too bad there was no such cheat available now. Deploying Dr. Device against the planet's surface to blow the whole thing up, that might do the trick. You just couldn't get there from here. It was time to give up. Time to get out of the game, to tell them not to send children to do grown-ups' work. It's hopeless. We're done. "Remember," Bean said ironically, "the enemy's gate is down." Fly Molo, Hot Soup, Vlad, Dumper, Crazy Tom — they grimly laughed. They had been in Dragon Army. They remembered how those words were used before. But Ender didn't seem to get the joke. Ender didn't seem to understand that there was no way to get Dr. Device to the planet's surface. Instead, his voice came into their ears, giving them orders. He pulled them into a tight formation, cylinders within cylinders. Bean wanted to shout, Don't do it! There are real men on those ships, and if you send them in, they'll die, a sacrifice with no hope of victory. But he held his tongue, because, in the back of his mind, in the deepest corner of his heart, he still had hope that Ender might do what could not be done. And as long as there was such a hope, the lives of those men were, by their own choice when they set out on this expedition, expendable. Ender set them in motion, having them dodge here and there through the ever-shifting formations of the enemy swarm. Surely the enemy sees what we're doing, thought Bean. Surely they see how every third or fourth move takes us closer and closer to the planet. At any moment the enemy could destroy them quickly by concentrating their forces. So why weren't they doing it? One possibility occurred to Bean. The Buggers didn't dare concentrate their forces close to Ender's tight formation, because the moment they drew their ships that close together, Ender could use Dr. Device against them. And then he thought of another explanation. Could it be that there were simply too many Bugger ships? Could it be that the queen or queens had to spend all their concentration, all their mental strength just keeping ten thousand ships swarming through space without getting too close to each other? Unlike Ender, the Bugger queen couldn't turn control of her ships over to subordinates. She had no subordinates. The individual Buggers were like her hands and her feet. Now she had hundreds of hands and feet, or
perhaps thousands of them, all wiggling at once. That's why she wasn't responding intelligently. Her forces were too numerous. That's why she wasn't making the obvious moves, setting traps, blocking Ender from taking his cylinder ever closer to the planet with every swing and dodge and shift that he made. In fact, the manoeuvres the Buggers were making were ludicrously wrong. For as Ender penetrated deeper and deeper into the planet's gravity well, the Buggers were building up a thick wall of forces behind Ender's formation. They're blocking our retreat! At once Bean understood a third and most important reason for what was happening. The Buggers had learned the wrong lessons from the previous battles. Up to now, Ender's strategy had always been to ensure the survival of as many human ships as possible. He had always left himself a line of retreat. The Buggers, with their huge numerical advantage, were finally in a position to guarantee that the human forces would not get away. There was no way, at the beginning of this battle, to predict that the Buggers would make such a mistake. Yet throughout history, great victories had come as much because of the losing army's errors as because of the winner's brilliance in battle. The Buggers have finally, finally learned that we humans value each and every individual human life. We don't throw our forces away because every soldier is the queen of a one-member hive. But they've learned this lesson just in time for it to be hopelessly wrong — for we humans do, when the cause is sufficient, spend our own lives. We throw ourselves onto the grenade to save our buddies in the foxhole. We rise out of the trenches and charge the entrenched enemy and die like maggots under a blowtorch. We strap bombs on our bodies and blow ourselves up in the midst of our enemies. We are, when the cause is sufficient, insane. They don't believe we'll use Dr. Device because the only way to use it is to destroy our own ships in the process. From the moment Ender started giving orders, it was obvious to everyone that this was a suicide run. These ships were not made to enter an atmosphere. And yet to get close enough to the planet to set off Dr. Device, they had to do exactly that. Get down into the gravity well and launch the weapon just before the ship burns up. And if it works, if the planet is torn apart by whatever force it is in that terrible weapon, the chain reaction will reach out into space and take out any ships that might happen to survive. Win or lose, there'd be no human survivors from this battle. They've never seen us make a move like that. They don't understand that, yes, humans will always act to preserve their own lives — except for the times when they don't. In the Buggers' experience, autonomous beings do not sacrifice themselves. Once they understood our autonomy, the seed of their defeat was sown. In all of Ender's study of the Buggers, in all his obsession with them over the years of his training, did he somehow come to know that they would make such deadly mistakes? I did not know it. I would not have pursued this strategy. I had no strategy. Ender was the only commander who could have known, or guessed, or unconsciously hoped that when he flung out his forces the enemy would falter, would trip, would fall, would fail. Or did he know at all? Could it be that he reached the same conclusion as I did, that this battle was un-winnable? That he decided not to play it out, that he went on strike, that he quit? And then my bitter words, "the enemy's gate is down," triggered his futile, useless gesture of despair, sending his ships to certain doom because he did not know that there were real ships out there, with real men aboard, that he was sending to their deaths? Could it be that he was as surprised as I was by the mistakes of the enemy? Could our victory be an accident? No. For even if my words provoked Ender into action, he was still the one who chose this formation, these feints and evasions, this meandering route. It was Ender whose previous victories taught the enemy to think of us as one kind of creature, when we are really something quite different. He pretended all this time that humans were rational beings, when we are really the most terrible monsters these poor aliens could ever have conceived of in their nightmares. They had no way of knowing the story of blind Samson, who pulled down the temple on his own head to slay his enemies. On those ships, thought Bean, there are individual men who gave up homes and families, the world of their birth, in order to cross a great swatch of the galaxy and make war on a terrible enemy. Somewhere along the way they're bound to understand that Ender's strategy requires them all to die. Perhaps they already have. And yet they obey and will continue to obey the orders that come to them. As in the famous Charge of the Light Brigade, these soldiers give up their lives, trusting that their commanders are using them well. While we sit safely here in these simulator rooms, playing an elaborate computer game, they are obeying, dying so that all of humankind can live. And yet we who command them, we children in these elaborate game machines, have no idea of their courage, their sacrifice. We cannot give them the honour they deserve, because we don't even know they exist. Except for me. There sprang into Bean's mind a favourite scripture of Sister Carlotta's. Maybe it meant so much to her because she had no children. She told Bean the story of Absalom's rebellion against his own father, King David. In the course of a battle, Absalom was killed. When they brought the news to David, it meant victory, it meant that no more of his soldiers would die. His throne was safe. His life was safe. But all he could think about was his son, his beloved son, his dead boy. Bean ducked his head, so his voice would be heard only by the men under his command. And then, for just long enough to speak, he pressed the override that put his voice into the ears of all the men of that distant fleet. Bean had no idea how his voice would sound to them; would they hear his childish voice, or were the sounds distorted, so they would hear him as an adult, or perhaps as some metallic, machinelike voice? No matter. In some form the men of that distant fleet would hear his voice, transmitted faster than light, God knows how. "O my son Absalom," Bean said softly, knowing for the first time the kind of anguish that could tear such words from a man's mouth. "My son, my son Absalom. Would God I could die for thee, O Absalom, my son. My sons!" He had paraphrased it a little, but God would understand. Or if he didn't, Sister Carlotta would. Now, thought Bean. Do it now, Ender. You're as close as you can get without giving away the game. They're beginning to understand their danger. They're concentrating their forces. They'll blow us out of the sky before our weapons can be launched — "All right, everybody except Petra's squadron," said Ender. "Straight down, as fast as you can. Launch Dr. Device against the planet. Wait till the last possible second. Petra, cover as you can." The squadron leaders, Bean among them, echoed Ender's commands to their own fleets. And then there was nothing to do but watch. Each ship was on its own. The enemy understood now, and rushed to destroy the plummeting humans. Fighter after fighter was picked off by the inrushing ships of the Formic fleet. Only a few human fighters survived long enough to enter the atmosphere. Hold on, thought Bean. Hold on as long as you can. The ships that launched too early watched their Dr. Device burn up in the atmosphere before it could go off. A few other ships burned up themselves without launching. Two ships were left. One was in Bean's squadron. "Don't launch it," said Bean into his microphone, head down. "Set it off inside your ship. God be with you." Bean had no way of knowing whether it was his ship or the other that did it. He only knew that both ships disappeared from the display without launching. And then the surface of the planet started to bubble. Suddenly a vast eruption licked outward toward the last of the human fighters, Petra's ships, on which there might or might not still be men alive to see death coming at them. To see their victory approach. The simulator put on a spectacular show as the exploding planet chewed up all the enemy ships, engulfing them in the chain reaction. But long before the last ship was swallowed up, all the manoeuvring had stopped. They drifted, dead. Like the dead Bugger ships in the vids of the Second Invasion. The queens of the hive had died on the planet's surface. The destruction of the remaining ships was a mere formality. The Buggers were already dead. *** Bean emerged into the tunnel to find that the other kids were already there, congratulating each other and commenting on how cool the explosion effect was, and wondering if something like that could really happen. "Yes," said Bean. "
It could." "As if you know," said Fly Molo, laughing. "Of course I know it could happen," said Bean. "It did happen." They looked at him uncomprehendingly. When did it happen? I never heard of anything like that. Where could they have tested that weapon against a planet? I know, they took out Neptune! "It happened just now," said Bean. "It happened at the home world of the Buggers. We just blew it up. They're all dead." They finally began to realise that he was serious. They fired objections at him. He explained about the faster-than-light communications device. They didn't believe him. Then another voice entered the conversation. "It's called the ansible." They looked up to see Colonel Graff standing a ways off, down the tunnel. Is Bean telling the truth? Was that a real battle? "They were all real," said Bean. "All the so-called tests. Real battles. Real victories. Right, Colonel Graff? We were fighting the real war all along." "It's over now," said Graff. "The human race will continue. The Buggers won't." They finally believed it, and became giddy with the realisation. It's over. We won. We weren't practising, we were actually commanders. And then, at last, a silence fell. "They're all dead?" asked Petra. Bean nodded. Again they looked at Graff. "We have reports. All life activity has ceased on all the other planets. They must have gathered their queens back on their home planet. When the queens die, the Buggers die. There is no enemy now." Petra began to cry, leaning against the wall. Bean wanted to reach out to her, but Dink was there. Dink was the friend who held her, comforted her. Some soberly, some exultantly, they went back to their barracks. Petra wasn't the only one who cried. But whether the tears were shed in anguish or in relief, no one could say for sure. Only Bean did not return to his room, perhaps because Bean was the only one not surprised. He stayed out in the tunnel with Graff. "How's Ender taking it?" "Badly," said Graff. "We should have broken it to him more carefully, but there was no holding back in the moment of victory." "All your gambles paid off," said Bean. "I know what happened, Bean," said Graff. "Why did you leave control with him? How did you know he'd come up with a plan?" "I didn't," said Bean. "I only knew that I had no plan at all." "But what you said — 'the enemy's gate is down.' That's the plan Ender used." "It wasn't a plan," said Bean. "Maybe it made him think of a plan. But it was him. It was Ender. You put your money on the right kid." Graff looked at Bean in silence, then reached out and put a hand on Bean's head, tousled his hair a little. "I think perhaps you pulled each other across the finish line." "It doesn't matter, does it?" said Bean. "It's finished, anyway. And so is the temporary unity of the human race." "Yes," said Graff. He pulled his hand away, ran it through his own hair. "I believed in your analysis. I tried to give warning. If the Strategos heeded my advice, the Polemarch's men are getting arrested here on Eros and all over the fleet." "Will they go peacefully?" asked Bean. "We'll see," said Graff. The sound of gunfire echoed from some distant tunnel. "Guess not," said Bean. They heard the sound of men running in step. And soon they saw them, a contingent of a dozen armed marines. Bean and Graff watched them approach. "Friend or foe?" "They all wear the same uniform," said Graff. "You're the one who called it, Bean. Inside those doors" — he gestured toward the doors to the kids' quarters — "those children are the spoils of war. In command of armies back on Earth, they're the hope of victory. You are the hope." The soldiers came to a stop in front of Graff. "We're here to protect the children, sir," said their leader. "From what?" "The Polemarch's men seem to be resisting arrest, sir," said the soldier. "The Strategos has ordered that these children be kept safe at all costs." Graff was visibly relieved to know which side these troops were on. "The girl is in that room over there. I suggest you consolidate them all into those two barrack rooms for the duration." "Is this the kid who did it?" asked the soldier, indicating Bean. "He's one of them." "It was Ender Wiggin who did it," said Bean. "Ender was our commander." "Is he in one of those rooms?" asked the soldier. "He's with Mazer Rackham," said Graff. "And this one stays with me." The soldier saluted. He began positioning his men in more advanced positions down the tunnel, with only a single guard outside each door to prevent the kids from going out and getting lost somewhere in the fighting. Bean trotted along beside Graff as he headed purposefully down the tunnel, beyond the farthest of the guards. "If the Strategos did this right, the ansibles have already been secured. I don't know about you, but I want to be where the news is coming in. And going out." "Is Russian a hard language to learn?" asked Bean. "Is that what passes for humour with you?" asked Graff. "It was a simple question." "Bean, you're a great kid, but shut up, OK?" Bean laughed. "OK." "You don't mind if I still call you Bean?" "It's my name." "Your name should have been Julian Delphiki. If you'd had a birth certificate, that's the name that would have been on it." "You mean that was true?" "Would I lie about something like that?" Then, realizing the absurdity of what he had just said, they laughed. Laughed long enough to still be smiling when they passed the detachment of marines protecting the entrance to the ansible complex. "You think anybody will ask me for military advice?" asked Bean. "Because I'm going to get into this war, even if I have to lie about my age and enlist in the marines."