First Meetings (10 page)

“Few measure up to my standards, but most try.”

“So you decided in class that I was going to be the mother of your children?”

“Theresa,” said John Paul, “we’re both at prime reproductive age. We both size up everyone we see as potential reproductive partners.”

“Maybe I sized you up differently from the way you sized me up.”

“I know you did,” said John Paul. “But my endeavor for the next while is to make myself irresistible to you.”

“Didn’t it occur to you that saying it right out loud would be extremely off-putting?”

“Come on,” said John Paul. “You knew what I was about from the start. What would I accomplish by pretending?”

“Maybe I want to be courted a little. I have all the needs of an ordinary human female.”

“Excuse me,” said John Paul, “but some women would think that I was making a pretty damn good start at courting you. You get really bad news, you have a bad phone conversation, you cry in your office, and when you come out, here I am, with comfort food that you know I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to prepare for you, without your asking
—and
I tell you that I love you and my intention is to be your partner in science, politics, and family-making. I think that’s
damned
romantic.”

“Well, yes. But something’s still missing.”

“I know. I was waiting for just the right moment to tell you how much I want to take that ridiculous sweater off of you. I thought I’d wait, though, until you wanted me to do it so badly that you almost couldn’t stand it.”

She found herself laughing and blushing. “It’ll be a long time before
that
happens, buster.”

“As long as it takes. I’m a Polish Catholic boy. The kind of girl we marry is the kind that doesn’t give you the milk until you buy the cow.”

“That’s
such
an attractive analogy.”

“What about ‘Eggs until you buy the chicken’?”

“Try ‘Bacon until you buy the pig’?”

“Ouch,” he said. “But if you insist, I’ll try to think of you in porcine terms.”

“You’re not going to kiss me tonight.”

“Who’d want to? You have salad in your teeth.”

“I’m too emotionally on edge to make any kind of rational decision right now.”

“I was counting on that.”

“And here’s a thought,” she said. “What if
this
is their plan?”

“Whose plan?”

“Them. The same them we’ve been talking about. What if the reason they didn’t send you back to Poland is because they wanted you to marry a really smart girl—maybe the daughter of the world’s leading military theoretician. Of course, they couldn’t be sure you’d end up in my section of Human Community.”

“Yes, they could,” he said thoughtfully.

“Ah,” she said. “So you didn’t want my section.”

He stared at the remnants of the food. “What an interesting idea. We might be somebody’s idea of a eugenics program.”

“Ever since co-ed colleges began,” she said, “it’s been a
marriage market for people with money to meet and marry people with brains.”

“And vice versa.”

“But sometimes two people with brains get together.”

“And when they have babies, watch out.”

Then they both burst out laughing.

“That is way arrogant, even for me,” said John Paul. “As if you and I were so valuable that they’d bet the farm on us falling in love with each other.”

“Maybe they knew we were both so irresistibly charming that if we ever met, we couldn’t help falling in love.”

“It’s happening to
me
,” said John Paul.

“Well, it’s not happening to me at all,” she said.

“Oh, but I do love a challenge.”

“What if we find out that it’s true? That they really are pushing us together?”

“So what?” said John Paul. “What does it matter if, by following my heart, I also fulfill someone else’s plan?”

“What if we don’t like the plan?” she said. “What if this is like Rumpelstiltskin? What if we have to give up what we love best in order to have what we want most?”

“Or vice versa.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I,” said John Paul. “Even in cultures where marriages are arranged by the parents, you’re never actually forbidden to fall in love with your mate.”

“I’m not in love, Mr. Wiggin.”

“All right then,” he said. “Tell me to go away.”

She said nothing.

“You aren’t telling me to go away.”

“I should,” she said. “In fact, I already did, several times, and you didn’t go.”

“I wanted to make sure you knew exactly what you were throwing away. But now that you’ve eaten my food and heard my confessions, I’m ready to take no for an answer, if you want to say it.”

“Well, I’m not going to say it. As long as you understand that
not
saying no doesn’t mean yes.”

He laughed. “I understand that. I also understand that not saying yes doesn’t mean no.”

“In some circumstances. About some things.”

“So the kiss is still a definite no?” he said.

“I have salad in my teeth, remember?”

He got up onto his knees, leaned over to her, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “No teeth, no salad,” he said.

“I don’t even like you yet,” she said. “And here you are taking liberties.”

He kissed her forehead. “You realize that about three dozen people have seen us sitting here eating. And any one of them might walk by and see me kissing you.”

“Scandal,” she said.

“Ruin,” he said.

“We’ll be reported to the authorities,” she said.

“It might just make their day,” he said.

And since it was an emotional day, and she really did like him, and her feelings were in such a turmoil that she didn’t know what was right or good or wise, she yielded to impulse and kissed him back. On the lips. A brief childlike kiss, but a kiss all the same.

Then the mushrooms came, and while John Paul paid for
them and tipped the delivery girl, Theresa leaned against the door of her office and tried to think about what had happened today, what was still happening with this Wiggin boy, what might happen in the future, with her career, with her life, with him.

Nothing was clear. Nothing was certain.

And yet, despite all the bad things that had happened and all the tears she had shed, she couldn’t help but think that today had been, on balance, a very good day.

“
Whatever your gravity is when you get to the door
. remember—the enemy’s gate is down. If you step through your own door like you’re out for a stroll, you’re a big target and you deserve to get hit. With more than a flasher.” Ender Wiggin paused and looked over the group. Most were just watching him nervously. A few understanding. A few sullen and resisting.

First day with this army, all fresh from the teacher squads, and Ender had forgotten how young new kids could be. He’d been in it for three years, they’d had six months—nobody over nine years old in the whole bunch. But they were his. At eleven, he was half a year early to be a commander. He’d had a toon of his own and knew a few tricks, but there were forty in his new army. Green. All marksmen with a flasher, all in top shape, or they wouldn’t be here—but they were all just as likely as not to get wiped out first time into battle.

“Remember,” he went on, “they can’t see you till you get through that door. But the second you’re out, they’ll be on you. So hit that door the way you want to be when they shoot at you. Legs up under you, going straight
down
.” He pointed at a sullen kid who looked like he was only seven, the smallest of them all. “Which way is down, greenoh!”

“Toward the enemy door.” The answer was quick. It was also surly, as if to say, Yeah, yeah, now get on with the important stuff.

“Name, kid?”

“Bean.”

“Get that for size or for brains?”

Bean didn’t answer. The rest laughed a little. Ender had chosen right. This kid
was
younger than the rest, must have been advanced because he was sharp. The others didn’t like him much, they were happy to see him taken down a little. Like Ender’s first commander had taken him down.

“Well, Bean, you’re right onto things. Now I tell you this, nobody’s gonna get through that door without a good chance of getting hit. A lot of you are going to be turned into cement somewhere. Make sure it’s your legs. Right? If only your legs get hit, then only your legs get frozen, and in nullo that’s no sweat.” Ender turned to one of the dazed ones. “What’re legs for? Hmmm?”

Blank stare. Confusion. Stammer.

“Forget it. Guess I’ll have to ask Bean here.”

“Legs are for pushing off walls.” Still bored.

“Thanks, Bean. Get that, everybody?” They all got it, and didn’t like getting it from Bean. “Right. You can’t see with legs, you can’t
shoot
with legs, and most of the time they just get in the way. If they get frozen sticking straight out you’ve turned yourself into a blimp. No way to hide. So how do legs go?”

A few answered this time, to prove that Bean wasn’t the only one who knew anything. “Under you. Tucked up under.”

“Right. A shield. You’re kneeling on a shield, and the shield is your own legs. And there’s a trick to the suits. Even when your legs are flashed, you can
still
kick off. I’ve never seen anybody do it but me—but you’re all gonna learn it.”

Ender Wiggin turned on his flasher. It glowed faintly green in his hand. Then he let himself rise in the weightless workout room, pulled his legs under him as though he were kneeling, and flashed both of them. Immediately his suit stiffened at the knees and ankles, so that he couldn’t bend at all.

“Okay, I’m frozen, see?”

He was floating a meter above them. They all looked up at him, puzzled. He leaned back and caught one of the handholds on the wall behind him, and pulled himself flush against the wall.

“I’m stuck at a wall. If I had legs, I’d use legs, and string myself out like a string
bean
, right?”

They laughed.

“But I don’t have legs, and that’s
better
, got it? Because of this.” Ender jackknifed at the waist, then straightened out violently. He was across the workout room in only a moment. From the other side he called to them. “Got that? I didn’t use hands, so I still had use of my flasher.
And
I didn’t have my legs floating five feet behind me. Now watch it again.”

He repeated the jackknife, and caught a handhold on the wall near them. “Now, I don’t just want you to do that when they’ve flashed your legs. I want you to do that when you’ve still got legs, because it’s better. And because they’ll never be expecting it. All right now, everybody up in the air and kneeling.”

Most were up in a few seconds. Ender flashed the stragglers, and they dangled, helplessly frozen, while the others laughed. “When I give an order, you move. Got it? When we’re at the door and they clear it, I’ll be giving you orders in two seconds, as soon as I see the setup. And when I give
the order you better be out there, because whoever’s out there first is going to win, unless he’s a fool. I’m not. And you better not be, or I’ll have you back in the teacher squads.” He saw more than a few of them gulp, and the frozen ones looked at him with fear. “You guys who are hanging there. You watch. You’ll thaw out in about fifteen minutes, and let’s see if you can catch up to the others.”

For the next half hour Ender had them jackknifing off walls. He called a stop when he saw that they all had the basic idea. They were a good group, maybe. They’d get better.

“Now you’re warmed up,” he said to them, “we’ll start working.”

Ender was the last one out after practice, since he stayed to help some of the slower ones improve on technique. They’d had good teachers, but like all armies they were uneven, and some of them could be a real drawback in battle. Their first battle might be weeks away. It might be tomorrow. A schedule was never posted. The commander just woke up and found a note by his bunk, giving him the time of his battle and the name of his opponent. So for the first while he was going to drive his boys until they were in top shape—all of them. Ready for anything, at any time. Strategy was nice, but it was worth nothing if the soldiers couldn’t hold up under the strain.

He turned the corner into the residence wing and found himself face to face with Bean, the seven-year-old he had picked on all through practice that day. Problems. Ender didn’t want problems right now.

“Ho, Bean.”

“Ho, Ender.”

Pause.

“Sir,” Ender said softly.

“We’re not on duty.”

“In my army, Bean, we’re always on duty.” Ender brushed past him.

Bean’s high voice piped up behind him. “I know what you’re doing, Ender, sir, and I’m warning you.”

Ender turned slowly and looked at him. “Warning me?”

“I’m the best man you’ve got. But I’d better be treated like it.”

“Or what?” Ender smiled menacingly.

“Or I’ll be the worst man you’ve got. One or the other.”

“And what do you want? Love and kisses?” Ender was getting angry now.

Bean was unworried. “I want a toon.”

Ender walked back to him and stood looking down into his eyes. “I’ll give a toon,” he said, “to the boys who prove they’re worth something. They’ve got to be good soldiers, they’ve got to know how to take orders, they’ve got to be able to think for themselves in a pinch, and they’ve got to be able to keep respect. That’s how I got to be a commander. That’s how you’ll get to be a toon leader. Got it?”

Bean smiled. “That’s fair.
If
you actually work that way, I’ll be a toon leader in a month.”

Ender reached down and grabbed the front of his uniform and shoved him into the wall. “When I say I work a certain way, Bean, then that’s the way I work.”

Bean just smiled. Ender let go of him and walked away, and didn’t look back. He was sure, without looking, that Bean was still watching, still smiling, still just a little con
temptuous. He might make a good toon leader at that. Ender would keep an eye on him.

Captain Graff, six foot two and a little chubby, stroked his belly as he leaned back in his chair. Across his desk sat Lieutenant Anderson, who was earnestly pointing out high points on a chart.

“Here it is, Captain,” Anderson said. “Ender’s already got them doing a tactic that’s going to throw off everyone who meets it. Doubled their speed.”

Graff nodded.

“And you know his test scores. He thinks well, too.”

Graff smiled. “All true, all true, Anderson, he’s a fine student, shows real promise.”

They waited.

Graff sighed. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Ender’s the one. He’s got to be.”

“He’ll never be ready in time, Lieutenant. He’s eleven, for heaven’s sake, man, what do you want, a miracle?”

“I want him into battles, every day starting tomorrow. I want him to have a year’s worth of battles in a month.”

Graff shook his head. “That would be his army in the hospital.”

“No, sir. He’s getting them into form. And we need Ender.”

“Correction, Lieutenant. We need somebody. You think it’s Ender.”

“All right, I think it’s Ender. Which of the commanders if it isn’t him?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant.” Graff ran his hands over his
slightly fuzzy bald head. “These are children, Anderson. Do you realize that? Ender’s army is nine years old. Are we going to put them against the older kids? Are we going to put them through hell for a month like that?”

Lieutenant Anderson leaned even farther over Graff’s desk.

“Ender’s test scores, Captain!”

“I’ve seen his bloody test scores! I’ve watched him in battle, I’ve listened to tapes of his training sessions, I’ve watched his sleep patterns, I’ve heard tapes of his conversations in the corridors and in the bathrooms, I’m more aware of Ender Wiggin that you could possibly imagine! And against all the arguments, against his obvious qualities, I’m weighing one thing. I have this picture of Ender a year from now, if you have your way. I see him completely useless, worn down, a failure, because he was pushed farther than he or any living person could go. But it doesn’t weigh enough, does it, Lieutenant, because there’s a war on, and our best talent is gone, and the biggest battles are ahead. So give Ender a battle every day this week. And then bring me a report.”

Anderson stood and saluted. “Thank you, sir.”

He had almost reached the door when Graff called his name. He turned and faced the captain.

“Anderson,” Captain Graff said. “Have you been outside, lately I mean?”

“Not since last leave, six months ago.”

“I didn’t think so. Not that it makes any difference. But have you ever been to Beaman Park, there in the city? Hmm? Beautiful park. Trees. Grass. No mallo, no battles, no worries. Do you know what else there is in Beaman Park?”

“What, sir?” Lieutenant Anderson asked.

“Children,” Graff answered.

“Of course children,” said Anderson.

“I mean children. I mean kids who get up in the morning when their mothers call them and they go to school and then in the afternoons they go to Beaman Park and play. They’re happy, they smile a lot, they laugh, they have fun. Hmmm?”

“I’m sure they do, sir.”

“Is that all you can say, Anderson?”

Anderson cleared his throat. “It’s good for children to have fun, I think, sir. I know I did when I was a boy. But right now the world needs soldiers. And this is the way to get them.”

Graff nodded and closed his eyes. “Oh, indeed, you’re right, by statistical proof and by all the important theories, and dammit they work and the system is right, but all the same Ender’s older than I am. He’s not a child. He’s barely a person.”

“If that’s true, sir, then at least we all know that Ender is making it possible for the others of his age to be playing in the park.”

“And Jesus died to save all men, of course.” Graff sat up and looked at Anderson almost sadly. “But we’re the ones,” Graff said, “we’re the ones who are driving in the nails.”

Ender Wiggin lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He never slept more than five hours a night—but the lights went off at 2200 and didn’t come on again until 0600. So he stared at the ceiling and thought.

He’d had his army for three and a half weeks. Dragon Army. The name was assigned, and it wasn’t a lucky one. Oh, the charts said that about nine years ago a Dragon Army had done fairly well. But for the next six years the name had been attached to inferior armies, and finally, because of the superstition that was beginning to play about the name, Dragon Army was retired. Until now. And now, Ender thought, smiling, Dragon Army was going to take them by surprise.

The door opened quietly. Ender did not turn his head. Someone stepped softly into his room, then left with the sound of the door shutting. When soft steps died away Ender rolled over and saw a white slip of paper lying on the floor. He reached down and picked it up.

“Dragon Army against Rabbit Army, Ender Wiggin and Carn Carby, 0700.”

The first battle. Ender got out of bed and quickly dressed. He went rapidly to the rooms of each of the toon leaders and told them to rouse their boys. In five minutes they were all gathered in the corridor, sleepy and slow. Ender spoke softly.

“First battle, 0700 against Rabbit Army. I’ve fought them twice before but they’ve got a new commander. Never heard of him. They’re an older group, though, and I knew a few of their olds tricks. Now wake up. Run, doublefast, warmup in workroom three.”

For an hour and a half they worked out, with three mock battles and calisthenics in the corridor out of the nullo. Then for fifteen minutes they all lay up in the air, totally relaxing in the weightlessness. At 0650 Ender roused them and they hurried into the corridor. Ender led them down
the corridor, running again, and occasionally leaping to touch a light panel on the ceiling. The boys all touched the same light panel. And at 0658 they reached their gate to the battleroom.

The members of toons C and D grabbed the first eight handholds in the ceiling of the corridor. Toons A, B, and E crouched on the floor. Ender hooked his feet into two handholds in the middle of the ceiling, so he was out of everyone’s way.

“Which way is the enemy’s door?” he hissed.

“Down!” they whispered back, and laughed.

“Flashers on.” The boxes in their hands glowed green. They waited for a few seconds more, and then the gray wall in front of them disappeared and the battleroom was visible.