The Ender Quintet (Omnibus)

by Card, Orson Scott

  The Speaker bowed his head a moment. The Lusos heard the words that he did not have to say: She never did.

  “Each child that came,” said the Speaker, “was another proof to Marcos that he had failed. That the goddess still found him unworthy. Why? He was loyal. He had never hinted to any of his children that they were not his own. He never broke his promise to Novinha. Didn’t he deserve something from her? At times it was more than he could bear. He refused to accept her judgment. She was no goddess. Her children were all bastards. This is what he told himself when he lashed out at her, when he shouted at Miro.”

  Miro heard his own name, but didn’t recognize it as anything to do with him. His connection with reality was more fragile than he ever had supposed, and today had given him too many shocks. The impossible magic with the piggies and the trees. Mother and Libo, lovers. Ouanda suddenly torn from being as close to him as his own body, his own self, she was now set back at one remove, like Ela, like Quara, another sister. His eyes did not focus on the grass; the Speaker’s voice was pure sound, he didn’t hear meanings in the words, only the terrible sound. Miro had called for that voice, had wanted it to speak Libo’s death. How could he have known that instead of a benevolent priest of a humanist religion he would get the original Speaker himself, with his penetrating mind and far too perfect understanding? He could not have known that beneath that empathic mask would be hiding Ender the destroyer, the mythic Lucifer of mankind’s greatest crime, determined to live up to his name, making a mockery of the life work of Pipo, Libo, Ouanda, and Miro himself by seeing in a single hour with the piggies what all the others had failed in almost fifty years to see, and then riving Ouanda from him with a single, merciless stroke from the blade of truth; that was the voice that Miro heard, the only certainty left to him, that relentless terrible voice. Miro clung to the sound of it, trying to hate it, yet failing, because he knew, could not deceive himself, he knew that Ender was a destroyer, but what he destroyed was illusion, and the illusion had to die. The truth about the piggies, the truth about ourselves. Somehow this ancient man is able to see the truth and it doesn’t blind his eyes or drive him mad. I must listen to this voice and let its power come to me so I, too, can stare at the light and not die.

  “Novinha knew what she was. An adulteress, a hypocrite. She knew she was hurting Marcão, Libo, her children, Bruxinha. She knew she had killed Pipo. So she endured, even invited Marcão’s punishment. It was her penance. It was never penance enough. No matter how much Marcão might hate her, she hated herself much more.”

  The Bishop nodded slowly. The Speaker had done a monstrous thing, to lay these secrets before the whole community. They should have been spoken in the confessional. Yet Peregrino had felt the power of it, the way the whole community was forced to discover these people that they thought they knew, and then discover them again, and then again; and each revision of the story forced them all to reconceive themselves as well, for they had been part of this story, too, had been touched by all the people a hundred, a thousand times, never understanding until now who it was they touched. It was a painful, fearful thing to go through, but in the end it had a curiously calming effect. The Bishop leaned to his secretary and whispered, “At least the gossips will get nothing from this—there aren’t any secrets left to tell.”

  “All the people in this story suffered pain,” the Speaker said. “All of them sacrificed for the people they loved. All of them caused terrible pain to the people who loved them. And you—listening to me here today, you also caused pain. But remember this: Marcão’s life was tragic and cruel, but he could have ended his bargain with Novinha at any time. He chose to stay. He must have found some joy in it. And Novinha: She broke the laws of God that bind this community together. She has also borne her punishment. The Church asks for no penance as terrible as the one she imposed on herself. And if you’re inclined to think she might deserve some petty cruelty at your hands, keep this in mind: She suffered everything, did all this for one purpose: to keep the piggies from killing Libo.”

  The words left ashes in their hearts.

  Olhado stood and walked to his mother, knelt by her, put an arm around her shoulder. Ela sat beside her, but she was folded to the ground, weeping. Quara came and stood in front of her mother, staring at her with awe. And Grego buried his face in Novinha’s lap and wept. Those who were near enough could hear him crying, “Todo papai é morto. Não tenho nem papai.” All my papas are dead. I don’t have any papa.

  Ouanda stood in the mouth of the alley where she had gone with her mother just before the speaking ended. She looked for Miro, but he was already gone.

  Ender stood behind the platform, looking at Novinha’s family, wishing he could do something to ease their pain. There was always pain after a speaking, because a speaker for the dead did nothing to soften the truth. But only rarely had people lived such lives of deceit as Marcão, Libo, and Novinha; rarely were there so many shocks, so many bits of information that forced people to revise their conception of the people that they knew, the people that they loved. Ender knew from the faces that looked up at him as he spoke that he had caused great pain today. He had felt it all himself, as if they had passed their suffering to him. Bruxinha had been most surprised, but Ender knew she was not worst injured. That distinction belonged to Miro and Ouanda, who had thought they knew what the future would bring them. But Ender had also felt the pain that people felt before, and he knew that today’s new wounds would heal much faster than the old ones ever would have done. Novinha might not recognize it, but Ender had stripped from her a burden that was much too heavy for her to bear any longer.

  “Speaker,” said Mayor Bosquinha.

  “Mayor,” said Ender. He didn’t like talking to people after a speaking, but he was used to the fact that someone always insisted on talking to him. He forced a smile. “There were many more people here than I expected.”

  “A momentary thing, for most of them,” said Bosquinha. “They’ll forget it by morning.”

  Ender was annoyed that she was trivializing it. “Only if something monumental happens in the night,” he said.

  “Yes. Well, that has been arranged.”

  Only then did Ender realize that she was extremely upset, barely under control at all. He took her by the elbow and then cast an arm over her shoulder; she leaned gratefully.

  “Speaker, I came to apologize. Your starship has been commandeered by Starways Congress. It has nothing to do with you. A crime was committed here, a crime so—terrible—that the criminals must be taken to the nearest world, Trondheim, for trial and punishment. Your ship.”

  Ender reflected for a moment. “Miro and Ouanda.”

  She turned her head, looked at him sharply. “You are not surprised.”

  “I also won’t let them go.”

  Bosquinha pulled herself away from him. “Won’t let them?”

  “I have some idea what they’re charged with.”

  “You’ve been here four days, and you already know something that even I never suspected?”

  “Sometimes the government is the last to know.”

  “Let me tell you why you will let them go, why we’ll all let them go to stand trial. Because Congress has stripped our files. The computer memory is empty except for the most rudimentary programs that control our power supply, our water, our sewer. Tomorrow no work can be done because we haven’t enough power to run any of the factories, to work in the mines, to power the tractors. I have been removed from office. I am now nothing more than the deputy chief of police, to see that the directives of the Lusitanian Evacuation Committee are carried out.”

  “Evacuation?”

  “The colony’s license has been revoked. They’re sending starships to take us all away. Every sign of human habitation here is to be removed. Even the gravestones that mark our dead.”

  Ender tried to measure her response. He had not thought Bosquinha was the kind who would bow to mindless authority. “Do you intend to submit to this?�
��

  “The power and water supplies are controlled by ansible. They also control the fence. They can shut us in here without power or water or sewers, and we can’t get out. Once Miro and Ouanda are aboard your starship, headed for Trondheim, they say that some of the restrictions will be relaxed.” She sighed. “Oh, Speaker, I’m afraid this isn’t a good time to be a tourist in Lusitania.”

  “I’m not a tourist.” He didn’t bother telling her his suspicion that it might not be pure coincidence, Congress noticing the Questionable Activities when Ender happened to be there. “Were you able to save any of your files?”

  Bosquinha sighed. “By imposing on you, I’m afraid. I noticed that all your files were maintained by ansible, offworld. We sent our most crucial files as messages to you.”

  Ender laughed. “Good, that’s right, that was well done.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We can’t get them back. Or, well, yes, we can, but they’ll notice it at once and then you’ll be in just as much trouble as the rest of us. And they’ll wipe out everything then.”

  “Unless you sever the ansible connection immediately after copying all my files to local memory.”

  “Then we really would be in rebellion. And for what?”

  “For the chance to make Lusitania the best and most important of the Hundred Worlds.”

  Bosquinha laughed. “I think they’ll regard us as important, but treason is hardly the way to be known as the best.”

  “Please. Don’t do anything. Don’t arrest Miro and Ouanda. Wait for an hour and let me meet with you and anyone else who needs to be in on the decision.”

  “The decision whether or not to rebel? I can’t think why you should be in on that decision, Speaker.”

  “You’ll understand at the meeting. Please, this place is too important for the chance to be missed.”

  “The chance for what?”

  “To undo what Ender did in the Xenocide three thousand years ago.”

  Bosquinha gave him a sharp-eyed look. “And here I thought you had just proved yourself to be nothing but a gossip-monger.”

  She might have been joking. Or she might not. “If you think that what I just did was gossip-mongering, you’re too stupid to lead this community in anything.” He smiled.

  Bosquinha spread her hands and shrugged. “Pois é,” she said. Of course. What else?

  “Will you have the meeting?”

  “I’ll call it. In the Bishop’s chambers.”

  Ender winced.

  “The Bishop won’t meet anywhere else,” she said, “and no decision to rebel will mean a thing if he doesn’t agree to it.” Bosquinha laid her hand on his chest. “He may not even let you into the Cathedral. You are the infidel.”

  “But you’ll try.”

  “I’ll try because of what you did tonight. Only a wise man could see my people so clearly in so short a time. Only a ruthless one would say it all out loud. Your virtue and your flaw—we need them both.”

  Bosquinha turned and hurried away. Ender knew that she did not, in her inmost heart, want to comply with Starways Congress. It had been too sudden, too severe; they had preempted her authority as if she were guilty of a crime. To give in smacked of confession, and she knew she had done nothing wrong. She wanted to resist, wanted to find some plausible way to slap back at Congress and tell them to wait, to be calm. Or, if necessary, to tell them to drop dead. But she wasn’t a fool. She wouldn’t do anything to resist them unless she knew it would work and knew it would benefit her people. She was a good Governor, Ender knew. She would gladly sacrifice her pride, her reputation, her future for her people’s sake.

  He was alone in the praça. Everyone had gone while Bosquinha talked to him. Ender felt as an old soldier must feel, walking over placid fields at the site of a long-ago battle, hearing the echoes of the carnage in the breeze across the rustling grass.

  “Don’t let them sever the ansible connection.”

  The voice in his ear startled him, but he knew it at once. “Jane,” he said.

  “I can make them think you’ve cut off your ansible, but if you really do it then I won’t be able to help you.”

  “Jane,” he said, “you did this, didn’t you! Why else would they notice what Libo and Miro and Ouanda have been doing if you didn’t call it to their attention?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Jane, I’m sorry that I cut you off, I’ll never—”

  He knew she knew what he would say; he didn’t have to finish sentences with her. But she didn’t answer.

  “I’ll never turn off the—”

  What good did it do to finish sentences that he knew she understood? She hadn’t forgiven him yet, that was all, or she would already be answering, telling him to stop wasting her time. Yet he couldn’t keep himself from trying one more time. “I missed you, Jane. I really missed you.”

  Still she didn’t answer. She had said what she had to say, to keep the ansible connection alive, and that was all. For now. Ender didn’t mind waiting. It was enough to know that she was still there, listening. He wasn’t alone. Ender was surprised to find tears on his cheeks. Tears of relief, he decided. Catharsis. A speaking, a crisis, people’s lives in tatters, the future of the colony in doubt. And I cry in relief because an overblown computer program is speaking to me again.

  Ela was waiting for him in his little house. Her eyes were red from crying. “Hello,” she said.

  “Did I do what you wanted?” he asked.

  “I never guessed,” she said. “He wasn’t our father, I should have known.”

  “I can’t think how you could have.”

  “What have I done? Calling you here to speak my father’s—Marcão’s death.” She began weeping again. “Mother’s secrets—I thought I knew what they were. I thought it was just her files—I thought she hated Libo.”

  “All I did was open the windows and let in some air.”

  “Tell that to Miro and Ouanda.”

  “Think a moment, Ela. They would have found out eventually. The cruel thing was that they didn’t know for so many years. Now that they have the truth, they can find their own way out.”

  “Like Mother did? Only this time even worse than adultery?”

  Ender touched her hair, smoothed it. She accepted his touch, his consolation. He couldn’t remember if his father or mother had ever touched him with such a gesture. They must have. How else would he have learned it?

  “Ela, will you help me?”

  “Help you what? You’ve done your work, haven’t you?”

  “This has nothing to do with speaking for the dead. I have to know, within the hour, how the Descolada works.”

  “You’ll have to ask Mother—she’s the one who knows.”

  “I don’t think she’d be glad to see me tonight.”

  “I’m supposed to ask her? Good evening, Mamãe, you’ve just been revealed to all of Milagre as an adulteress who’s been lying to your children all our lives. So if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask you a couple of science questions.”

  “Ela, it’s a matter of survival for Lusitania. Not to mention your brother Miro.” He reached over and turned to the terminal. “Log on,” he said.

  She was puzzled, but she did it. The computer wouldn’t recognize her name. “I’ve been taken off.” She looked at him in alarm. “Why?”

  “It’s not just you. It’s everybody.”

  “It isn’t a breakdown,” she said. “Somebody stripped out the log-on file.”

  “Starways Congress stripped all the local computer memory. Everything’s gone. We’re regarded as being in a state of rebellion. Miro and Ouanda are going to be arrested and sent to Trondheim for trial. Unless I can persuade the Bishop and Bosquinha to launch a real rebellion. Do you understand? If your mother doesn’t tell you what I need to know, Miro and Ouanda will both be sent twenty-two lightyears away. The penalty for treason is death. But even going to the trial is as bad as life imprisonment. We’ll all be dead or very very old before the
y get back.”

  Ela looked blankly at the wall. “What do you need to know?”

  “I need to know what the Committee will find when they open up her files. About how the Descolada works.”

  “Yes,” said Ela. “For Miro’s sake she’ll do it.” She looked at him defiantly. “She does love us, you know. For one of her children, she’d talk to you herself.”

  “Good,” said Ender. “It would be better if she came herself. To the Bishop’s chambers, in an hour.”

  “Yes,” said Ela. For a moment she sat still. Then a synapse connected somewhere, and she stood up and hurried toward the door.

  She stopped. She came back, embraced him, kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad you told it all,” she said. “I’m glad to know it.”

  He kissed her forehead and sent her on her way. When the door closed behind her, he sat down on his bed, then lay down and stared at the ceiling. He thought of Novinha, tried to imagine what she was feeling now. No matter how terrible it is, Novinha, your daughter is hurrying home to you right now, sure that despite the pain and humiliation you’re going through, you’ll forget yourself completely and do whatever it takes to save your son. I would trade you all your suffering, Novinha, for one child who trusted me like that.

  16

  THE FENCE

  A great rabbi stands teaching in the marketplace. It happens that a husband finds proof that morning of his wife’s adultery, and a mob carries her to the marketplace to stone her to death. (There is a familiar version of this story, but a friend of mine, a speaker for the dead, has told me of two other rabbis that faced the same situation. Those are the ones I’m going to tell you.)

  The rabbi walks forward and stands beside the woman. Out of respect for him the mob forbears, and waits with the stones heavy in their hands. “Is there anyone here,” he says to them, “who has not desired another man’s wife, another woman’s husband?”