Ender nodded. "Carn Carby's a good man. I hope he recognizes what you're worth."
The words came to Bean like a longed-for blessing. He swallowed the emotion that welled up inside him. He still had more of his message to deliver.
"Carn Carby was graduated today," said Bean. "He got his notice while we were fighting our battle."
"Well," said Ender. "Who's commanding Rabbit then?" He didn't sound all that interested. The question was expected, so he asked it.
"Me," said Bean. He was embarrassed; a smile came inadvertently to his lips.
Ender looked at the ceiling and nodded. "Of course. After all, you're only four years younger than the regular age."
"It isn't funny," said Bean. "I don't know what's going on here." Except that the system seems to be running on sheer panic. "All the changes in the game. And now this. I wasn't the only one transferred, you know. They graduated half the commanders, and transferred a lot of our guys to command their armies."
"Which guys?" Now Ender did sound interested.
"It looks like--every toon leader and every assistant."
"Of course. If they decide to wreck my army, they'll cut it to the ground. Whatever they're doing, they're thorough."
"You'll still win, Ender. We all know that. Crazy Tom, he said, 'You mean I'm supposed to figure out how to beat Dragon Army?' Everybody knows you're the best." His words sounded empty even to himself. He wanted to be encouraging, but he knew that Ender knew better. Still he babbled on. "They can't break you down, no matter what they--"
"They already have."
They've broken trust, Bean wanted to say. That's not the same thing. You aren't broken. They're broken. But all that came out of his mouth were empty, limping words. "No, Ender, they can't--"
"I don't care about their game anymore, Bean," said Ender. "I'm not going to play it anymore. No more practices. No more battles. They can put their little slips of paper on the floor all they want, but I won't go. I decided that before I went through the door today. That's why I had you go for the gate. I didn't think it would work, but I didn't care. I just wanted to go out in style."
I know that, thought Bean. You think I didn't know that? But if it comes down to style, you certainly got that. "You should've seen William Bee's face. He just stood there trying to figure out how he had lost when you only had seven boys who could wiggle their toes and he only had three who couldn't."
"Why should I want to see William Bee's face?" said Ender. "Why should I want to beat anybody?"
Bean felt the heat of embarrassment in his face. He'd said the wrong thing. Only . . . he didn't know what the right thing was. Something to make Ender feel better. Something to make him understand how much he was loved and honored.
Only that love and honor were part of the burden Ender bore. There was nothing Bean could say that would not make it all the heavier on Ender. So he said nothing.
Ender pressed his palms against his eyes. "I hurt Bonzo really bad today, Bean. I really hurt him bad."
Of course. All this other stuff, that's nothing. What weighs on Ender is that terrible fight in the bathroom. The fight that your friends, your army, did nothing to prevent. And what hurts you is not the danger you were in, but the harm you did in protecting yourself.
"He had it coming," said Bean. He winced at his own words. Was that the best he could come up with? But what else could he say? No problem, Ender. Of course, he looked dead to me, and I'm probably the only kid in this school who actually knows what death looks like, but . . . no problem! Nothing to worry about! He had it coming!
"I knocked him out standing up," said Ender. "It was like he was dead, standing there. And I kept hurting him."
So he did know. And yet . . . he didn't actually know. And Bean wasn't about to tell him. There were times for absolute honesty between friends, but this wasn't one of them.
"I just wanted to make sure he never hurt me again."
"He won't," said Bean. "They sent him home."
"Already?"
Bean told him what Itu had said. All the while, he felt like Ender could see that he was concealing something. Surely it was impossible to deceive Ender Wiggin.
"I'm glad they graduated him," said Ender.
Some graduation. They're going to bury him, or cremate him, or whatever they're doing with corpses in Spain this year.
Spain. Pablo de Noches, who saved his life, came from Spain. And now a body was going back there, a boy who turned killer in his heart, and died for it.