Ender's Game (Ender's Saga, #1) - Orson Scott Card Page 0,104
up the desk, he felt a hand jab roughly between his thighs and another hand grab his hair. In a moment he had been turned upside down. His face and shoulders were being pressed into the floor by the old man’s knee, while his back was excruciatingly bent and his legs were pinioned by the old man’s arm. Ender was helpless to use his arms, he couldn’t bend his back to gain slack so he could use his legs. In less than two seconds the old man had completely defeated Ender Wiggin.
“All right,” Ender gasped. “You win.”
The man’s knee thrust painfully downward. “Since when,” asked the man, his voice soft and rasping, “do you have to tell the enemy when he has won?”
Ender remained silent.
“I surprised you once, Ender Wiggin. Why didn’t you destroy me immediately afterward? Just because I looked peaceful? You turned your back on me. Stupid. You have learned nothing. You have never had a teacher.”
Ender was angry now, and made no attempt to control or conceal it. “I’ve had too many teachers, how was I supposed to know you’d turn out to be a—”
“An enemy, Ender Wiggin,” whispered the old man. “I am your enemy, the first one you’ve ever had who was smarter than you. There is no teacher but the enemy. No one but the enemy will tell you what the enemy is going to do. No one but the enemy will ever teach you how to destroy and conquer. Only the enemy shows you where you are weak. Only the enemy tells you where he is strong. And the rules of the game are what you can do to him and what you can stop him from doing to you. I am your enemy from now on. From now on I am your teacher.”
Then the old man let Ender’s legs fall. Because he still held Ender’s head to the floor, the boy couldn’t use his arms to compensate, and his legs hit the surface with a loud crack and a sickening pain. Then the old man stood and let Ender rise.
Slowly Ender pulled his legs under him, with a faint groan of pain. He knelt on all fours for a moment, recovering. Then his right arm flashed out, reaching for his enemy. The old man quickly danced back and Ender’s hand closed on air as his teacher’s foot shot forward to catch Ender on the chin.
Ender’s chin wasn’t there. He was lying flat on his back, spinning on the floor, and during the moment that his teacher was off balance from his kick, Ender’s feet smashed into the old man’s other leg. He fell in a heap—but close enough to strike out and hit Ender in the face. Ender couldn’t find an arm or a leg that held still long enough to be grabbed, and in the meantime blows were landing on his back and arms. Ender was smaller—he couldn’t reach past the old man’s flailing limbs. Finally he managed to pull away and scramble back near the door.
The old man was sitting cross-legged again, but now the apathy was gone. He was smiling. “Better, this time, boy. But slow. You will have to be better with a fleet than you are with your body or no one will be safe with you in command. Lesson learned?”
Ender nodded slowly. He ached in a hundred places.
“Good,” said the old man. “Then we’ll never have to have such a battle again. All the rest with the simulator. I will program your battles now, not the computer; I will devise the strategy of your enemy, and you will learn to be quick and discover what tricks the enemy has for you. Remember, boy. From now on the enemy is more clever than you. From now on the enemy is stronger than you. From now on you are always about to lose.”
The old man’s face grew serious again. “You will be about to lose, Ender, but you will win. You will learn to defeat the enemy. He will teach you how.”
The teacher got up. “In this school, it has always been the practice for a young student to be chosen by an older student. The two become companions, and the older boy teaches the younger one everything he knows. Always they fight, always they compete, always they are together. I have chosen you.”
Ender spoke as the old man walked to the door. “You’re too old to be a student.”