The Ender Quintet (Omnibus)

by Card, Orson Scott

  She pushed herself away from the wall and went to the door. “Come on,” she said. “Back to work.”

  “Let’s not announce our engagement,” he said softly.

  “Why not?” she asked. “Ashamed already?”

  “No,” he said. “Maybe it’s petty of me, but when we announce it, I don’t want Quara there.”

  “That’s very small of you,” said Jane. “You need to be more magnanimous and patient, like me.”

  “I know,” said Miro. “I’m trying to learn.”

  They drifted back into the main chamber of the shuttle. The others were working on preparing their genetic message for broadcast on the frequency that the descoladores had used to challenge them when they first showed up closer to the planet. They all looked up. Ela smiled wanly. Firequencher waved cheerfully.

  Quara tossed her head. “Well I hope we’re done with that little emotional outburst,” she said.

  Miro could feel Jane seethe at the remark. But Jane said nothing. And when they were both sitting down and strapped back into their seats, they looked at each other, and Jane winked.

  “I saw that,” said Quara.

  “We meant you to,” said Miro.

  “Grow up,” Quara said disdainfully.

  An hour later they sent their message. And at once they were inundated with answers that they could not understand, but had to. There was no time for quarreling then, or for love, or for grief. There was only language, thick, broad fields of alien messages that had to be understood somehow, by them, right now.

  13

  “TILL DEATH ENDS ALL SURPRISES”

  “I can’t say that I’ve much enjoyed

  the work the gods required of me.

  My only real pleasure

  was my days of schooling,

  in those hours between the gods’ sharp summonses.

  I am gladly at their service, always,

  but oh it was so sweet

  to learn how wide the universe could be,

  to test myself against my teachers,

  and to fail sometimes without much consequence.”

  from The God Whispers of Han Qing-jao

  “Do you want to come to the university and watch us turn on our new godproof computer network?” asked Grace.

  Of course Peter and Wang-mu wanted to. But to their surprise, Malu cackled with delight and insisted that he must go, too. The god once dwelt in computers, didn’t she? And if she found her way back, shouldn’t Malu be there to greet her?

  This complicated matters a little—for Malu to visit the university required notifying the president so he could assemble a proper welcome. This was not needed for Malu, who was neither vain nor much impressed with ceremonies that didn’t have some immediate purpose. The point was to show the Samoan people that the university still had proper respect for the old ways, of which Malu was the most revered protector and practitioner.

  From luaus of fruit and fish on the beach, from open fires, palm mats, and thatch-roof huts, to a hovercar, a highway, and the bright-painted buildings of the modern university—it felt to Wang-mu like a journey through the history of the human race. And yet she had already made that journey once before, from Path; it seemed a part of her life, to step from the ancient to the modern, back and forth. She felt rather sorry for those who knew only one and not the other. It was better, she thought, to be able to select from the whole menu of human achievements than to be bound within one narrow range.

  Peter and Wang-mu were discreetly dropped off before the hovercar took Malu to the official reception. Grace’s son took them on a brief tour of the brand-new computer facility. “These new computers all follow the protocols sent to us from Starways Congress. There will be no more direct connections between computer networks and ansibles. Rather there must be a time delay, with each infopacket inspected by referee software that will catch unauthorized piggybacking.”

  “In other words,” said Peter, “Jane will never get back in.”

  “That’s the plan.” The boy—for despite his size, that’s what he seemed to be—grinned broadly. “All perfect, all new, all in total compliance.”

  Wang-mu felt sick inside. This is how it would be all over the Hundred Worlds—Jane blocked out of everything. And without access to the enormous computing capacity of the combined networks of all of human civilization, how could she possibly regain the power to pop a starship Out and In again? Wang-mu had been glad enough to leave Path. But she was by no means certain that Pacifica was the world where she wanted to live the rest of her life. Especially if she was to stay with Peter, for there was no chance he would be content for long with the slower, more lackadaisical timeflow of life in the islands. Truth be known, it was too slow for her, too. She loved her time with the Samoans, but the impatience to be doing something was growing inside her. Perhaps those who grew up among these people might somehow sublimate their ambition, or perhaps there was something in the racial genotype that suppressed it or replaced it, but Wang-mu’s incessant drive to strengthen and expand her role in life was certainly not going to go away just because of a luau on the beach, however much she enjoyed it and would treasure the memory of it.

  The tour wasn’t over yet, of course, and Wang-mu dutifully followed Grace’s son wherever he led. But she hardly paid attention beyond what was needed to make polite responses. Peter seemed even more distracted, and Wang-mu could guess why. He would have not only the same feelings Wang-mu had, but he must also be grieving for the loss of connection with Jane through the jewel in his ear. If she did not recover her ability to control data flow through the communications satellites orbiting this world, he would not hear her voice again.

  They came to an older section of campus, some rundown buildings in a more utilitarian architectural style. “Nobody likes coming here,” he said, “because it reminds them of how recently our university became anything more than a school for training engineers and teachers. This building is three hundred years old. Come inside.”

  “Do we have to?” asked Wang-mu. “I mean, is it necessary? I think we get the idea from the outside.”

  “Oh, but I think you want to see this place. Very interesting, because it preserves some of the old ways of doing things.”

  Wang-mu of course agreed to follow, as courtesy required, and Peter wordlessly went along. They came inside and heard the humming of ancient air-conditioning systems and felt the harsh refrigerated air. “These are the old ways?” asked Wang-mu. “Not as old as life on the beach, I think.”

  “Not as old, that’s true,” said their guide. “But then, we’re not preserving the same thing here.”

  They came into a large room with hundreds and hundreds of computers arranged in crowded rows along tables that stretched from end to end. There was no room for anyone to sit at these machines; there was barely enough space between the tables for technicians to slide along to tend to them. All the computers were on, but the air above all the terminals was empty, giving no clue about what was going on inside them.

  “We had to do something with all those old computers that Starways Congress made us take offline. So we put them here. And also the old computers from most of the other universities and businesses in the islands—Hawaiian, Tahitian, Maori, on and on—everyone helped. It goes up six stories, every floor just like this, and three other buildings, though this one is the biggest.”

  “Jane,” said Peter, and he smiled.

  “Here’s where we stored everything she gave us. Of course, on the record these computers are not connected by any network. They are only used for training students. But Congress inspectors never come here. They saw all they wanted to see when they looked at our new installation. Up to code, complying with the rules—we are obedient and loyal citizens! Here, though, I’m afraid there have been some oversights. For instance, there seems to be an intermittent connection with the university’s ansible. Whenever the ansible is actually passing messages offworld, it is connected to no computers except through the off
icial safeguarded time-delayed link. But when the ansible is connected to a handful of eccentric destinations—the Samoan satellite, for instance, or a certain faroff colony that is supposedly incommunicado to all ansibles in the Hundred Worlds—then an old forgotten connection kicks in, and the ansible has complete use of all of this.”

  Peter laughed with genuine mirth. Wang-mu loved the sound of it, but also felt just a little jealousy at the thought that Jane might well come back to him.

  “And another odd thing,” said Grace’s son. “One of the new computers has been installed here, only there’ve been some alterations. It doesn’t seem to report correctly to the master program. It neglects to inform that master program that there is a hyperfast real-time link to this nonexistent old-style network. It’s a shame that it doesn’t report on this, because of course it allows a completely illegal connection between this old, ansible-connected network and the new godproof system. And so requests for information can be passed, and they’ll look perfectly legal to any inspection software, since they come from this perfectly legal but astonishingly flawed new computer.”

  Peter was grinning broadly. “Well, somebody had to work pretty fast to get this done.”

  “Malu told us that the god was going to die, but between us and the god we were able to devise a plan. Now the only question is—can she find her way back here?”

  “I think she will,” said Peter. “Of course, this isn’t what she used to have, not even a small fraction of it.”

  “We understand that she has a couple of similar installations here and there. Not many, you’re right, and the new time-delay barriers will make it so that yes, she has access to all the information, but she can’t use most of the new networks as part of her thought processes. Still, it’s something. Maybe it’s enough.”

  “You knew who we were before we got here,” said Wang-mu. “You were already part of Jane’s work.”

  “I think the evidence speaks for itself,” said Grace’s son.

  “Then why did Jane bring us here?” asked Wang-mu. “What was all this nonsense about needing to have us here so we could stop the Lusitania Fleet?”

  “I don’t know,” said Peter. “And I doubt anyone here knows, either. Maybe, though, Jane simply wanted us in a friendly environment, so she could find us again. I doubt there’s anything like this on Divine Wind.”

  “And maybe,” Wang-mu said, following her own speculations, “maybe she wanted you here, with Malu and Grace, when the time came for her to die.”

  “And for me to die as well,” said Peter. “Meaning me as Ender, of course.”

  “And maybe,” said Wang-mu, “if she was no longer going to be there to protect us through her manipulations of data, she wanted us to be among friends.”

  “Of course,” said Grace’s son. “She is a god, she takes care of her people.”

  “Her worshipers, you mean?” asked Wang-mu.

  Peter snorted.

  “Her friends,” said the boy. “In Samoa we treat the gods with great respect, but we are also their friends, and we help the good ones when we can. Gods need the help of humans now and then. I think we did all right, don’t you?”

  “You did well,” said Peter. “You have been faithful indeed.”

  The boy beamed.

  Soon they were back in the new computer installation, watching as with great ceremony the president of the university pushed the key to activate the program that turned on and monitored the university ansible. Immediately there were messages and test programs from Starways Congress, probing and inspecting the university’s system to make sure there were no lapses in security and that all protocols had been properly followed. Wang-mu could feel how tense everyone was—except Malu, who seemed incapable of dread—until, a few minutes later, the programs finished their inspection and made their report. The message came immediately from Congress that this network was compliant and secure. The fakes and fudges had not been detected.

  “Any time now,” murmured Grace.

  “How will we know if all of this has worked?” asked Wang-mu softly.

  “Peter will tell us,” answered Grace, sounding surprised that Wang-mu had not already understood this. “The jewel in his ear—the Samoan satellite will speak to it.”

  Olhado and Grego stood watching the readout from the ansible that for twenty years had connected only to the shuttle and Jakt’s starship. It was receiving a message again. Links were being established with four ansibles on other worlds, where groups of Lusitanian sympathizers—or at least friends of Jane’s—had followed Jane’s instructions on how to partially circumvent the new regulations. No actual messages were sent, because there was nothing for the humans to say to each other. The point was simply to keep the link alive so Jane might travel on it and link herself with some small part of her old capacity.

  None of this had been done with any human participation on Lusitania. All the programming that was required had been accomplished by the relentlessly efficient workers of the Hive Queen, with the help of pequeninos now and then. Olhado and Grego had been invited at the last minute, as observers only. But they understood. Jane was talking to the Hive Queen and the Hive Queen talked to the fathertrees. Jane had not worked through humans because the Lusitanian humans she worked with had been Miro, who had other work to do for her, and Ender, who had removed the jewel from his ear before he died. Olhado and Grego had talked this out as soon as the pequenino Waterjumper had explained to them what was going on and asked them to come observe. “I think she was feeling a bit defiant,” said Olhado. “If Ender rejected her and Miro was busy—”

  “Or gaga-eyed over Young Valentine, don’t forget,” said Grego.

  “Well, she’d do it without human help.”

  “How can it work?” said Grego. “She was connected to billions of computers before. At most she’ll have several thousand now, at least directly usable. It’s not enough. Ela and Quara are never coming home. Or Miro.”

  “Maybe not,” said Olhado. “It won’t be the first time we’ve lost family members in the service of a higher cause.” He thought of Mother’s famous parents, Os Venerados, who lacked only the years now for sainthood—if a representative of the Pope should ever come to Lusitania to examine the evidence. And their real father, Libo, and his father, both of whom died before Novinha’s children ever guessed that they were kin. All dead in the cause of science, Os Venerados in the struggle to contain the descolada, Pipo and Libo in the effort to communicate with and understand the pequeninos. Their brother Quim had died as a martyr, trying to heal a dangerous breach in the relationship between humans and pequeninos on Lusitania. And now Ender, their adoptive father, had died in the cause of trying to find a way to save Jane’s life and, with her, faster-than-light travel. If Miro and Ela and Quara should die in the effort to establish communications with the descoladores, it would be a part of the family tradition. “What I wonder,” said Olhado, “is what’s wrong with us, that we haven’t been asked to die in a noble cause.”

  “I don’t know about noble causes,” said Grego, “but we do have a fleet aimed at us. That will do, I think, for getting us dead.”

  A sudden flurry of activity at the computer terminals told them that their wait was over. “We’ve linked with Samoa,” said Waterjumper. “And now Memphis. And Path. Hegira.” He did the little jig that pequeninos invariably did when they were delighted. “They’re all going to come online. The snooper programs didn’t find them.”

  “But will it be enough?” asked Grego. “Do the starships move again?”

  Waterjumper shrugged elaborately. “We’ll know when your family gets back, won’t we?”

  “Mother doesn’t want to schedule Ender’s funeral until they’re back,” said Grego.

  At the mention of Ender’s name, Waterjumper slumped. “The man who took Human into the Third Life,” he said. “And there’s almost nothing of him to bury.”

  “I’m just wondering,” said Grego, “if it will be days or weeks or
months before Jane finds her way back into her powers—if she can do it at all.”

  “I don’t know,” said Waterjumper.

  “They only have a few weeks of air,” said Grego.

  “He doesn’t know, Grego,” said Olhado.

  “I know that,” said Grego. “But the Hive Queen knows. And she’ll tell the fathertrees. I thought . . . word might have seeped down.”

  “How could even the Hive Queen know what will happen in the future?” asked Olhado. “How can anyone know what Jane can or can’t accomplish? We’ve linked again with worlds outside of this one. Some parts of her core memory have been restored to the ansible net, however surreptitiously. She might find them. She might not. If found, they might be enough, or might not. But Waterjumper doesn’t know.”

  Grego turned away. “I know,” he said.

  “We’re all afraid,” said Olhado. “Even the Hive Queen. None of us wants to die.”

  “Jane died, but didn’t stay dead,” said Grego. “According to Miro, Ender’s aiúa is supposedly off living as Peter on some other world. Hive queens die and their memories live on in their daughters’ minds. Pequeninos get to live as trees.”

  “Some of us,” said Waterjumper.

  “But what of us?” said Grego. “Will we be extinguished? What difference does it make then, the ones of us who had plans, what does it matter the work we’ve done? The children we’ve raised?” He looked pointedly at Olhado. “What will it matter then, that you have such a big happy family, if you’re all erased in one instant by that . . . bomb?”

  “Not one moment of my life with my family has been wasted,” said Olhado quietly.

  “But the point of it is to go on, isn’t it? To connect with the future?”

  “That’s one part, yes,” said Olhado. “But part of the purpose of it is now, is the moment. And part of it is the web of connections. Links from soul to soul. If the purpose of life was just to continue into the future, then none of it would have meaning, because it would be all anticipation and preparation. There’s fruition, Grego. There’s the happiness we’ve already had. The happiness of each moment. The end of our lives, even if there’s no forward continuation, no progeny at all, the end of our lives doesn’t erase the beginning.”