"And our little boy is going to wonder why we don't do it."
"No he's not."
"Oh, you think he's so smart he'll figure out what we're doing? Why we're doing nothing?"
"Why wouldn't he?"
"Because he doesn't know us," said Theresa. "He doesn't know what we think or feel. As far as he can tell, we've forgotten all about him."
"One thing I feel good about, in this whole mess," said John Paul. "We're still good at manipulating our genius children."
"Oh, that," said Theresa dismissively. "It's easy to manipulate your children when they're absolutely sure you're stupid."
"What makes me saddest," said John Paul, "is that Locke is getting credit for caring about Ender more than anybody. So when his identity does come out, it'll look as though he loyally stepped in to protect his brother."
"He's our boy, that Peter," said Theresa. "Oh, what a piece of work he is."
"I have a philosophical question. I wonder if what we call 'goodness' is actually a maladaptive trait. As long as most people have it, and the rules of society promote it as a virtue, then the natural rulers have a clear field of action. It's because of Ender's goodness that it's Peter we'll have at home on Earth."
"Oh, Peter's good," said Theresa bitterly.
"Yes, I forgot," said John Paul. "It's for the good of the human race that he'll become ruler of the world. An altruistic sacrifice."
"When I read his simpering essays I want to claw his eyes out."
"He's our son, too," said John Paul. "As much a product of our genes as Ender or Val. And we did goad him into this."
Theresa knew he was right. But it didn't help. "He didn't have to enjoy himself so much, did he?"
CHAPTER 2
To: hgraff%[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subj: You know the truth
You know who decides what to write. No doubt you can even guess why. I'm not going to try to defend my essay, or how it's being used by others.
You once used the sister of Andrew Wiggin to persuade him to go back into space and win that little war you were fighting. She did her job, didn't she? Such a good girl, fulfills all her assignments.
Well I have an assignment for her. You once sent her brother to her, for comfort and company. He'll need her again, more than ever, only he can't come to her. No house by the lake this time. But there's no reason she can't go out into space to be with him. Enlist her in the I.F., pay her as a consultant, whatever it takes. But she and her brother need each other. More than either of them needs Life On Earth.
Don't second-guess her on this. Remember that she's smarter than you are, and she loves her younger brother more than
you do, and besides, you're a decent man. You know this is right and good. You always try to bring about what's right and good, don't you?
Do us both a favor. Take this letter and shred it and stick it where the sun don't shine.
Your devoted and humble servant--everybody's devoted and humble servant--the humble and devoted servant of truth and noble jingoism--Demosthenes.
How does a thirteen-year-old admiral spend his days?
Not commanding a ship--that was made plain to Ender from the day he received his commission. "You have a rank commensurate with your achievements," said Admiral Chamrajnagar, "but you will have duties commensurate with your training."
What was his training? To play at virtual war on the simulator. Now there was no one left to fight, so he was trained for...nothing.
Oh, one other thing: to lead children into combat, to squeeze the last ounce of effort and concentration and talent and intelligence from them. But the children had no purpose here, and one by one, they were going home.