Ender in Exile (Ender's Saga, #5)

by Orson Scott Card

“That was hard,” said John Paul, “but we didn’t have a choice. They were going to take him anyway. This time, though. You know that if we went on the nets and put up vids of us pleading for our son to come home—we’d have a pretty good chance.” “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.”

Jane would have had a record of them reading and monitoring the essays of Locke and Demostenes

And there it was: The tacit recognition that Ender wasn’t going home. That he was never going to lead a normal life on Earth.

“Admiral Morgan is a leader,” said Mazer. “He gives orders and they’re passed down the chain. Knowing the grunts is the job of the petty officers.” Graff laughed. “And people wonder why we used children to command the final campaign.” “Every officer learns how to function within the system that promoted him,” said Mazer. “The system is still sick—it always has been and always will be. But Ender learned how real leadering is done.” “Or was born knowing it.”

Then Ender paused, looking at nothing, at the empty room, and thought, Good-bye, Mom. Good-bye, Dad. Good-bye, Peter. Good-bye, all the men and women and children of Earth. I’ve done all I could for you, and had all I could receive from you, and now someone else is responsible for you all.

Writing this sometimes feels as if I’m talking to you like old times. But at this moment it’s a painful reminder that it’s nothing like talking to you at all. As the official monster of the family, I hope you will compare me to a real monster like Achilles and give me some points for not being as awful as it is possible to be. I also have to tell you that I’ve learned that when no one else can be trusted—and I mean no one—there is family. And somehow I managed to be complicit in driving away two of the four people I could trust. Clumsy of me, n’est-ce pas? I love you, Valentine. I wish I had treated you better from childhood on up. Ender too. Now, happy reading.

“You can’t be happy if you’re pretending all the time.” Well, his life certainly didn’t contradict that statement. He was pretending all the time, and he certainly was not happy.

Ender was looking for old men and women. Most of them were surrounded by younger people, but Ender sought them out and tried to recognize the younger faces he had studied and memorized before this voyage even launched. Fortunately, he guessed right about the first one, and the second one, calling them by rank and name. He made it solemn, that first meeting with the pilots who had actually fought in the war. “I’m proud to meet you at last,” he said. “It’s been a long wait.” At once the crowd caught on to what he was doing, and backed away, thrusting the old people forward so Ender could find them all. Many of them wept as they shook Ender’s hands; some of the old women insisted on hugging him. They tried to speak to him, to tell him things, but he smiled and held up a hand, signaling, Wait a minute, there are more to greet. He shook every soldier’s hand, and when he occasionally guessed at the wrong name, they laughingly corrected him. Behind him, there was still silence from the loudspeakers. Ender had no idea what Morgan would do about the letter, but he had to keep things moving forward here on the ground, so there was never a gap in which Morgan could insert himself. The moment he had shaken the last old man’s hand, Ender raised that hand up and then turned around, signaling for the people to gather around him. They did—in fact, they already had, so he was now completely surrounded by the crowd. “There are names I didn’t get to call,” he said. “Men and women I didn’t ge...

who died here.” They cheered. “I honor Vitaly Kolmogorov, who led you for thirty-six years of war and peace!” Another cheer. “And Sel Menach, a man so modest he could not bear to face the attention he knew would be paid to him today!” Cheers and laughter. “Sel Menach, who will teach me everything I need to know in order to serve you. Because I’m here, he will now have time to get back to his real work.” A roar of laughter, and a cheer.

“I’m too eager not to give offense,” said Ender. “So eager I was too quick to take offense.”

“Don’t argue with him,” she said. “Listen first, argue after.” “Of course, Mom.” “You say ‘of course,’ but you aren’t good at listening, Abra, you always think you know what people are going to say, and you have to let them say it because sometimes you’re wrong.”

“Some people are born to lead,” said Ender. “They just think that way, whether they want to lead or not. While others are born craving authority, but they have no ability to lead. It’s very sad.” “Why would people want to do something they’re not good at?” Abra tried to imagine himself wanting to be a scholar, in spite of his reading problem. It was just absurd. “Leading is a strange thing,” said Ender. “People see it happening, but they don’t have a clue how it works.” “I know,” said Abra. “Most people are like that with machines. But they try to fix them anyway and make everything worse.” “So you understand exactly,” said Ender. “They don’t see what a leader does, they just see how everybody respects a good leader, and they want to have the attention and respect without understanding what you actually have to do to earn it.”

“The Hegemon is your brother, right?” asked Abra. “He’s Valentine’s brother,” said Ender. “But she’s your sister,” said Abra. “He’s Valentine’s brother,” said Ender, and his face looked sort of dark and Abra didn’t ask him what in the world he was talking about.

There is something that only parents can provide, and I need it, and I am not ashamed to ask it from you. From my mother, I need to know that I still belong, that I am part of you, that I do not stand alone. From my father, I need to know that I, as a separate being, have earned my place in this world. Let me resort to the scriptures that I know have meant much to you in your lives. From my mother, I need to know that she has watched my life and “kept all these sayings in her heart.” From my father, I need to hear these words: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant…. Enter into the joy of the Lord.” No, I don’t think I’m Jesus and I don’t think you’re God. I just happen to believe that every child needs to have what Mary gave; and the God of the New Testament shows us what a father must be in his children’s lives. Here is the irony: Because I had to ask for these things, I will be suspicious of your replies. So I ask you not only to give me these gifts, but also to help me believe that you mean them. In return, I give you this: I understand the impossibility of having me for a child. I believe that in every case, you chose to do what you believed would be best for me. Even if I disagree with your choices—and the more I think, the less I disagree—I believe that no one who knew no more than you did could have chosen better.

He tells me that in his childhood, after I was in Battle School, he decided that the only way to succeed in his work was to deceive people into thinking he was as lovable as me. (I thought he was joking, but he was not; I don’t believe my reputation in Battle School was “lovable” but Peter was dealing with the way I was remembered at home.) So from then on, he looked at all his choices and said, What would a good person do, and then did it. But he has now learned something very important about human nature. If you spend your whole life pretending to be good, then you are indistinguishable from a good person. Relentless hypocrisy eventually becomes the truth. Peter has made himself into a good man, even if he set out on that road for reasons that were far from pure.

you. Fifty-seven years ago, before you went to Shakespeare, I assembled your pay during the war (which was all retroactively at admiral rank), the cash bonuses voted for you and your jeesh during the first flush of gratitude, and your salary as governor of Shakespeare, and piggybacked them onto six different mutual funds of impeccable reputation. They will be audited continuously by the best software I could find, which, it may amuse you to know, is based on the kernel of the Fantasy Game (or “mind game,” as it was also called in Battle School). The program’s ability to constantly monitor itself and all data sources and inputs, and to reprogram itself in response to new information, made it seem the best choice to make sure your best interests, financially, were well watched out for.

Graff FIRST put Jane to work watching Enders cash

We are only human when we are part of a community. When you first came to Battle School, I tried to isolate you, but it could not be done. I surrounded you with hostility; you took most of your enemies and rivals and made friends of them. You freely taught everything you knew, and nurtured students that we teachers had, frankly, given up on; some of them ended up finding greatness in themselves, and achieved much. You were a part of them; they carried you inside them all their lives. You were better at our job than we were.

them—I can tell you that you were universally loved and respected, and all of them regarded you as the best member of their communities, their benefactor and friend. I tell you this because I fear that the lesson I taught you first was the one you learned the best: that you are always alone, that no one will ever help you, that whatever must be done, only you can do. I cannot speak to the deep recesses of your mind, but only to the uppermost part, the conscious mind that has spoken and written to me so eloquently all these years. So I hope you can hear my message and pass it along to the part of you that will not at first believe it: You are the least-alone person I have ever known. Your heart has always included within it everyone who let you love them, and many who did not. The meeting place of all these communities you formed was your own heart; they knew you held them there, and it made them one with each other. Yet the gift you gave them, none was able to give you, and I fear this is because I did my evil work too well, and built a wall in your mind that cannot let you receive the knowledge of what and who you are.

"The Least Alone Person I Have Ever Known"