"I'm not a murderer, Mother."
"Vengeance for your father's death is not murder. Who do you think you are, Hamlet?"
And on and on she went.
Usually when she went off like this, Achilles only half-listened. But now the words dug at him. It really did feel like some kind of portentous fate that brought Wiggin to him at this very time. It was irrational--but only mathematics was rational, and not always at that. In the real world, irrational things happened, impossible coincidences happened, because probability required that coincidences rarely, but not never, occur.
So instead of ignoring her, he found himself wondering: How could I arrange for Ender Wiggin to die without having to kill him myself?
And from there, he went on to a more subtle plan: I have already half destroyed Ender Wiggin--how could I complete the process?
To murder him would make a martyr of him. But if Wiggin could be provoked into killing again--killing another child--he would be destroyed forever. It was his pattern. He sensed a rival; he goaded him into making an attack; then he killed him in self-defense. Twice he had done it and been exonerated. But his protectors weren't here--they were almost certainly all dead. Only the facts remained.
Could I get him to follow the pattern again?
He told his idea to his mother.
"What are you talking about?" she said.
"If he murders again--this time a sixteen-year-old, but still a child, no matter how tall--then his reputation will be destroyed forever. They'll put him on trial, they'll convict him this time--they can't believe he just happened to kill in 'self-defense' three times!--and that will be a far more thorough destruction than a merely ending the life of his body. I'll destroy his name forever."
"You're talking about letting him kill you?"
"Mother, people don't have to let Ender Wiggin kill them. They just have to provide him with the pretext, and he does the rest quite nicely by himself."
"But--you? Die?"
"As you said, Mother. To destroy Father's enemies is worth any sacrifice."
She leapt to her feet. "I didn't give birth to you just so you could throw your life away! You're half a head taller than him--he's a dwarf compared to you. How could he possibly kill you?"
"He was trained as a soldier. And not that long ago, Mother. What have I been trained as? A farmer. A mechanic. Whatever odd jobs have been required of a teenager who happens to be preternaturally large and clever and strong. Not war. Not fighting. I haven't fought anyone since I was so tiny and had to battle constantly to keep them from picking on me."
"Your father and I did not conceive you so that you could die at the hands of a Wiggin, like your father did!"
"Technically, Father died at the hands of a Delphiki. Julian to be precise."
"Delphiki, Wiggin--sides of the same coin. I forbid you to let him kill you."
"I told you, Mother. He'll find a way. It's what he does. He's a warrior."
"No!"
It took two hours to calm her down, and before that he had to put up with crying and screaming--he knew the neighbors had to be listening and trying to make sense of it. But finally she was asleep.
He went to the stock control office and used the computer there to send Wiggin a message:
I believe that I've misjudged you. How can we end this?
He did not expect an answer until the next day. But it came before he could log off.
When and where would you like to meet?
Was it really going to be this easy?
The time and place didn't matter much. It had to be a time and place where they couldn't be stopped by Virlomi and her minions; but there had to be enough light to make a vid. What good would it be to die for his father's sake, only to have the deed unrecorded, so that Wiggin could spin it however he wanted, and thus get away with yet another murder?
They made the appointment. Achilles logged off.