Ender's Shadow

by Orson Scott Card

  Alarm bells went off. Sister Carlotta had assumed that their son was an adult. After all, they were not a young couple. "How old is your son?"

  "Eight years old now," said Julian. "They sent us a picture. Quite a little man in his uniform. They don't let many letters come through."

  Their son was in Battle School. They appeared to be in their forties, but they might not have started to have a family until late, and then tried in vain for a while, going through a tubal pregnancy before finding out that Elena could no longer conceive. Their son was only a couple of years older than Bean.

  Which meant that Graff could compare Bean's genetic code with that of the Delphiki boy and find out if they were from the same cloned egg. There would be a control, to compare what Bean was like with Anton's key turned, as opposed to the other, whose genes were unaltered.

  Now that she thought about it, of course any true sibling of Bean's would have exactly the abilities that would bring the attention of the I.F. Anton's key made a child into a savant in general; the particular mix of skills that the I.F. looked for were not affected. Bean would have had those skills no matter what; the alteration merely allowed him to bring a far sharper intelligence to bear on abilities he already had.

  If Bean was in fact their child. Yet the coincidence of twenty-three fertilized eggs and the twenty-three children that Volescu had produced in the "clean room"--what other conclusion could she reach?

  And soon the answer came, first to Sister Carlotta, but immediately thereafter to the Delphikis. The I.F. investigators had gone to the clinic with the doctor and together they had discovered that the eggs were missing.

  It was hard news for the Delphikis to bear, and Sister Carlotta discreetly waited outside while Elena and Julian took some time alone together. But soon they invited her in. "How much can you tell us?" Julian asked. "You came here because you suspected our babies might have been taken. Tell me, were they born?"

  Sister Carlotta wanted to hide behind the veil of military secrecy, but in truth there was no military secret involved--Volescu's crime was a matter of public record. And yet . . . weren't they better off not knowing?

  "Julian, Elena, accidents happen in the laboratory. They might have died anyway. Nothing is certain. Isn't it better just to think of this as a terrible accident? Why add to the burden of the loss you already have?"

  Elena looked at her fiercely. "You will tell me, Sister Carlotta, if you love the God of truth!"

  "The eggs were stolen by a criminal who . . . illegally caused them to be brought through gestation. When his crime was about to be discovered, he gave them a painless death by sedative. They did not suffer."

  "And this man will be put on trial?"

  "He has already been tried and sentenced to life in prison," said Sister Carlotta.

  "Already?" asked Julian. "How long ago were our babies stolen?"

  "More than seven years ago."

  "Oh!" cried Elena. "Then our babies . . . when they died . . ."

  "They were infants. Not a year old yet."

  "But why our babies? Why would he steal them? Was he going to sell them for adoption? Was he . . ."

  "Does it matter? None of his plans came to fruition," said Sister Carlotta. The nature of Volescu's experiments was a secret.

  "What was the murderer's name?" asked Julian. Seeing her hesitation, he insisted. "His name is a matter of public record, is it not?"

  "In the criminal courts of Rotterdam," said Sister Carlotta. "Volescu."

  Julian reacted as if slapped--but immediately controlled himself. Elena did not see it.

  He knows about his father's mistress, thought Sister Carlotta. He understands now what part of the motive had to be. The legitimate son's children were kidnapped by the bastard, experimented on, and eventually killed--and the legitimate son didn't find out about it for seven years. Whatever privations Volescu fancied that his fatherlessness had caused him, he had taken his vengeance. And for Julian, it also meant that his father's lusts had come back to cause this loss, this pain to Julian and his wife. The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children unto the third and fourth generation. . . .

  But didn't the scripture say the third and fourth generation of them that hate me? Julian and Elena did not hate God. Nor did their innocent babies.

  It makes no more sense than Herod's slaughter of the babes of Bethlehem. The only comfort was the trust that a merciful God caught up the spirits of the slain infants into his bosom, and that he brought comfort, eventually, to the parents' hearts.

  "Please," said Sister Carlotta. "I cannot say you should not grieve for the children that you will never hold. But you can still rejoice in the child that you have."

  "A million miles away!" cried Elena.

  "I don't suppose . . . you don't happen to know if the Battle School ever lets a child come home for a visit," said Julian. "His name is Nikolai Delphiki. Surely under the circumstances . . ."

  "I'm so sorry," said Sister Carlotta. Reminding them of the child they had was not such a good idea after all, when they did not, in fact, have him. "I'm sorry that my coming led to such terrible news for you."

  "But you learned what you came to learn," said Julian.

  "Yes," said Sister Carlotta.

  Then Julian realized something, though he said not a word in front of his wife. "Will you want to return to the airport now?"

  "Yes, the car is still waiting. Soldiers are much more patient than cab drivers."

  "I'll walk you to the car," said Julian.

  "No, Julian," said Elena, "don't leave me."

  "Just for a few moments, my love. Even now, we don't forget courtesy." He held his wife for a long moment, then led Sister Carlotta to the door and opened it for her.

  As they walked to the car, Julian spoke of what he had come to understand. "Since my father's bastard is already in prison, you did not come here because of his crime."

  "No," she said.

  "One of our children is still alive," he said.

  "What I tell you now I should not tell, because it is not within my authority," said Sister Carlotta. "But my first allegiance is to God, not the I.F. If the twenty-two children who died at Volescu's hand were yours, then a twenty-third may be alive. It remains for genetic testing to be done."

  "But we will not be told," said Julian.

  "Not yet," said Sister Carlotta. "And not soon. Perhaps not ever. But if it is within my power, then a day will come when you will meet your second son."

  "Is he . . . do you know him?"

  "If it is your son," she said, "then yes, I know him. His life has been hard, but his heart is good, and he is such a boy as to make any father or mother proud. Please don't ask me more. I've already said too much."

  "Do I tell this to my wife?" asked Julian. "What will be harder for her, to know or not know?"

  "Women are not so different from men. You preferred to know."

  Julian nodded. "I know that you were only the bearer of news, not the cause of our loss. But your visit here will not be remembered with happiness. Yet I want you to know that I understand how kindly you have done this miserable job."

  She nodded. "And you have been unfailingly gracious in a difficult hour."

  Julian opened the door of her car. She stooped to the seat, swung her legs inside. But before he could close the door for her, she thought of one last question, a very important one.

  "Julian, I know you were planning to have a daughter next. But if you had gone on to bring another son into the world, what would you have named him?"

  "Our firstborn was named for my father, Nikolai," he said. "But Elena wanted to name a second son for me."

  "Julian Delphiki," said Sister Carlotta. "If this truly is your son, I think he would be proud someday to bear his father's name."

  "What name does he use now?" asked Julian.

  "Of course I cannot say."

  "But . . . not Volescu, surely."

  "No. As far as I'm concerned, he'll never hear that n
ame. God bless you, Julian Delphiki. I will pray for you and your wife."

  "Pray for our children's souls, too, Sister."

  "I already have, and do, and will."

  Major Anderson looked at the boy sitting across the table from him. "Really, it's not that important a matter, Nikolai."

  "I thought maybe I was in trouble."

  "No, no. We just noticed that you seemed to be a particular friend of Bean. He doesn't have a lot of friends."

  "It didn't help that Dimak painted a target on him in the shuttle. And now Ender's gone and done the same thing. I suppose Bean can take it, but smart as he is, he kind of pisses off a lot of the other kids."

  "But not you?"

  "Oh, he pisses me off, too."

  "And yet you became his friend."

  "Well, I didn't mean to. I just had the bunk across from him in launchy barracks."

  "You traded for that bunk."

  "Did I? Oh. Eh."

  "And you did that before you knew how smart Bean was."

  "Dimak told us in the shuttle that Bean had the highest scores of any of us."

  "Was that why you wanted to be near him?"

  Nikolai shrugged.

  "It was an act of kindness," said Major Anderson. "Perhaps I'm just an old cynic, but when I see such an inexplicable act I become curious."

  "He really does kind of look like my baby pictures. Isn't that dumb? I saw him and I thought, he looks just like cute little baby Nikolai. Which is what my mother always called me in my baby pictures. I never thought of them as me. I was big Nikolai. That was cute little baby Nikolai. I used to pretend that he was my little brother and we just happened to have the same name. Big Nikolai and Cute Little Baby Nikolai."

  "I see that you're ashamed, but you shouldn't be. It's a natural thing for an only child to do."

  "I wanted a brother."

  "Many who have a brother wish they didn't."

  "But the brother I made up for myself, he and I got along fine." Nikolai laughed at the absurdity of it.

  "And you saw Bean and thought of him as the brother you once imagined."

  "At first. Now I know who he really is, and it's better. It's like . . . sometimes he's the little brother and I'm looking out for him, and sometimes he's the big brother and he's looking out for me."

  "For instance?"

  "What?"

  "A boy that small--how does he look out for you?"

  "He gives me advice. Helps me with classwork. We do some practice together. He's better at almost everything than I am. Only I'm bigger, and I think I like him more than he likes me."

  "That may be true, Nikolai. But as far as we can tell, he likes you more than he likes anybody else. He just . . . so far, he may not have the same capacity for friendship that you have. I hope that my asking you these questions won't change your feelings and actions toward Bean. We don't assign people to be friends, but I hope you'll remain Bean's."

  "I'm not his friend," said Nikolai.

  "Oh?"

  "I told you. I'm his brother." Nikolai grinned. "Once you get a brother, you don't give him up easy."

  15

  COURAGE

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

  "So the Delphiki have two sons."

  "The Delphiki 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. Fertilized 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 maneuvers 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 practicing 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 battleroom."

  "Can we at least take a leak first?" asked Nikolai.

  "No more than a decaliter," 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 realized: 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 realized 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. T
hey 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 realize 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.