Ender's Game (Ender's Saga, #1) - Orson Scott Card Page 0,87

“Ender Wiggin!” he shouted. The other boys also clapped and shouted Ender’s name.

Ender passed through the enemy gate. His soldiers followed him. The sound of them shouting his name followed him through the corridors.

“Practice tonight?” asked Crazy Tom.

Ender shook his head.

“Tomorrow morning then?”

“No.”

“Well, when?”

“Never again, as far as I’m concerned.”

He could hear the murmurs behind him.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” said one of the boys. “It’s not our fault the teachers are screwing up the game. You can’t just stop teaching us stuff because—”

Ender slammed his open hand against the wall and shouted at the boy. “I don’t care about the game anymore!” His voice echoed through the corridor. Boys from other armies came to their doors. He spoke quietly into the silence. “Do you understand that?” And he whispered. “The game is over.”

He walked back to his room alone. He wanted to lie down, but he couldn’t because the bed was wet. It reminded him of all that had happened today, and in fury he tore the mattress and blankets from the bedframe and shoved them out into the corridor. Then he wadded up a uniform to serve as a pillow and lay on the fabric of wires strung across the frame. It was uncomfortable, but Ender didn’t care enough to get up.

He had only been there a few minutes when someone knocked on the door.

“Go away,” he said softly. Whoever was knocking didn’t hear him or didn’t care. Finally Ender said to come in.

It was Bean.

“Go away, Bean.”

Bean nodded but didn’t leave. Instead he looked at his shoes. Ender almost yelled at him, cursed at him, screamed at him to leave. Instead he noticed how very tired Bean looked, his whole body bent with weariness, his eyes dark from lack of sleep; and yet his skin was still soft and translucent, the skin of a child, the soft curved cheek, the slender limbs of a little boy. He wasn’t eight years old yet. It didn’t matter he was brilliant and dedicated and good. He was a child. He was young.

No he isn’t, thought Ender. Small, yes. But Bean has been through a battle with a whole army depending on him and on the soldiers that he led, and he performed splendidly, and they won. There’s no youth in that. No childhood.

Taking Ender’s silence and softening expression as permission to stay, Bean took another step into the room. Only then did Ender see the small slip of paper in his hand.

“You’re transferred?” asked Ender. He was incredulous, but his voice came out sounding uninterested, dead.

“To Rabbit Army.”

Ender nodded. Of course. It was obvious. If I can’t be defeated with my army, they’ll take my army away. “Carn Carby’s a good man,” said Ender. “I hope he recognizes what you’re worth.”

“Carn Carby was graduated today. He got his notice while we were fighting our battle.”

“Well, who’s commanding Rabbit then?”

Bean held his hands out helplessly. “Me.”

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. I don’t know what’s going on here. 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?”

“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. They can’t break you down, no matter what they—”

“They already have.”

“No, Ender, they can’t—”

“I don’t care about their game anymore, Bean. 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.”

“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? Why should I want to beat anybody?” Ender pressed his palms against his eyes. “I hurt Bonzo really