Ender’s Game

“They’ve become people of the land,” said Valentine. “No one cares now that Demosthenes is sending the seventh volume of his history today. No one here will read it.”

Ender pressed a button and his desk showed him the next page. “Very insightful, Valentine. How many more volumes until you’re through?”

“Just one. The story of Ender Wiggin.”

“What will you do, wait to write it until I’m dead?”

“No. Just write it, and when I’ve brought it up to the present day, I’ll stop.”

“I have a better idea. Take it up to the day we won the final battle. Stop it there. Nothing that I’ve done since then is worth writing down.”

“Maybe,” said Valentine. “And maybe not.”

The ansible had brought them word that the new colony ship was only a year away. They asked Ender to find a place for them to settle in, near enough to Ender’s colony that the two colonies could trade, but far enough apart that they could be governed separately. Ender used the helicopter and began to explore. He took one of the children along, an eleven-year-old boy named Abra; he had been only three when the colony was founded, and he remembered no other world than this. He and Ender flew as far as the copter would carry them, then camped for the night and got a feel for the land on foot the next morning.

It was on the third morning that Ender suddenly began to feel an uneasy sense that he had been in this place before. He looked around; it was new land, he had never seen it. He called out to Abra.

“Ho, Ender!” Abra called. He was on top of a steep low hill. “Come up!”

Ender scrambled up, the turves coming away from his feet in the soft ground. Abra was pointing downward. “Can you believe this?” he asked.

The hill was hollow. A deep depression in the middle, partially filled with water, was ringed by concave slopes that cantilevered dangerously over the water. In one direction the hill gave way to two long ridges that made a V-shaped valley: in the other direction the rose to a piece of white rock, gri

“It’s like a giant died here,” said Abra, “and the Earth grew up to cover his carcass.”

Now Ender knew why it had looked familiar. The Giant’s corpse. He had played here too many times as a child not to know this place. But it was not possible. The computer in the Battle School could not possibly have seen this place. He looked through his binoculars in a direction he knew well, fearing and hoping that he would see what belonged in that place.

Swings and slides. Monkey bars. Now overgrown, but the shapes still unmistakable.

“Somebody had to have built this,” Abra said. “Look, this skull place, it’s not rock, look at it. This is concrete.”

“I know,” said Ender. “They built it for me.”

“What?”

“I know this place, Abra. The buggers built it for me.”

“The buggers were all dead fifty years before we got here.”

“You’re right, it’s impossible, but I know what I know. Abra, I shouldn’t take you with me. It might be dangerous. If they knew me well enough to build this place, they might be pla

“To get even with you.”

“For killing them.”

“So don’t go, Ender. Don’t do what they want you to do.”

“lf they want to get revenge, Abra, I don’t mind. But perhaps they don’t. Perhaps this is the closest they could come to talking. To writing me a note.”

“They didn’t know how to read and write.”

“Maybe they were learning when they died.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not sticking around here if you’re taking off somewhere. I’m going with you.”

“No. You’re too young to take the risk of―”

“Come on! You’re Ender Wiggin. Don’t tell me what eleven-year-old kids can do!”

Together they flew in the copter, over the playground, over the woods, over the well in the forest clearing. Then out to where there was, indeed, a cliff, with a cave in the cliff wall and a ledge right where the End of the World should be. And there in the distance, just where it should be in the fantasy game, was the castle tower.

He left Abra with the copter. “Don’t come after me, and go home in an hour if I don’t come back.”

“Eat it, Ender, I’m coming with you.”

“Eat it yourself, Abra, or I’ll stuff you with mud.”

Abra could tell, despite Ender’s joking tone, that he meant it, and so he stayed.

The walls of the tower were notched and ledged for easy climbing. They meant him to get in.

The room was as it had always been. Ender remembered well enough to look for a snake on the floor, but there was only a rug with a carved snake’s head at one corner. Imitation, not duplication; for a people who made no art, they had done well. They must have dragged these images from Ender’s own mind, finding him and learning his darkest dreams across the lightyears. But why? To bring him to this room, of course. To leave a message for him. But where was the message, and how would he understand it?

The mirror was waiting for him on the wall. It was a dull sheet of metal, in which the rough shape of a human face had been scratched. They tried to draw the image I should see in the picture.

And looking at the mirror, he could remember breaking it, pulling it from the wall, and snakes leaping out of the hidden place, attacking him, biting him wherever their poisonous fangs could find purchase.

How well do they know me, wondered Ender. Well enough to know how often I have thought of death, to know that I am not afraid of it? Well enough to know that even if I feared death, it would not stop me from taking that mirror from the wall.

He walked to the mirror, lifted, pulled away. Nothing jumped from the space behind it. Instead, in a hollowed-out place, there was a white ball of silk with a few frayed strands sticking out here and there. An egg? No. The pupa of a queen bugger, already fertilized by the larval males, ready, out of her own body, to hatch a hundred thousand buggers, including a few queens and males. Ender could see the slug-like males clinging to the walls of a dark tu

How do I know this, thought Ender. How can I see these things, like memories in my own mind.

As if in answer, he saw the first of all his battles with the bugger fleets. He had seen it before on the simulator; now he saw it as the hive-queen saw it, through many different eyes. The buggers formed their globe of ships, and then the terrible fighters came out of the darkness and the Little Doctor destroyed them in a blaze of light. He felt then what the hive-queen felt, watching through her workers’ eyes as death came to them too quickly to avoid, but not too quickly to be anticipated. There was no memory of pain or fear, though. What the hive-queen felt was sadness, a sense of resignation. She had not thought these words as she saw the humans coming to kill, but it was in words that Ender understood her: They did not forgive us, she thought. We will surely die.

“How can you live again?” he asked.

The queen in her silken cocoon had no words to give back; but when he closed his eyes and tried to remember, instead of memory came new images. Putting the cocoon in a cool place, a dark place, but with water, so she wasn’t dry; no, not just water, but water mixed with the sap of a certain tree, and kept tepid so that certain reactions could take place in the cocoon. Then time. Days and weeks, for the pupa inside to change. And then, when the cocoon had changed to a dusty brown color, Ender saw himself splitting open the cocoon, and helping the small and fragile queen emerge. He saw himself taking her by the forelimb and helping her walk from her birthwater to a nesting place, soft with dried leaves on sand. Then I am alive, came the thought in his mind. Then I am awake. Then I make my ten thousand children.