Ender's Game (Ender's Saga, #1) - Orson Scott Card Page 0,88

bad today, Bean. I really hurt him bad.”

“He had it coming.”

“I knocked him out standing up. It was like he was dead, standing there. And I kept hurting him.”

Bean said nothing.

“I just wanted to make sure he never hurt me again.”

“He won’t,” said Bean. “They sent him home.”

“Already?”

“The teachers didn’t say much, they never do. The official notice says he was graduated, but where they put the assignment—you know, tactical school, support, precommand, navigation, that kind of thing—it just said Cartagena, Spain. That’s his home.”

“I’m glad they graduated him.”

“Hell, Ender, we’re just glad he’s gone. If we’d known what he was doing to you, we would’ve killed him on the spot. Was it true he had a whole bunch of guys gang up on you?”

“No. It was just him and me. He fought with honor.” If it weren’t for his honor, he and the others would have beaten me together. They might have killed me, then. His sense of honor saved my life. “I didn’t fight with honor,” Ender added. “I fought to win.”

Bean laughed. “And you did. Kicked him right out of orbit.”

A knock on the door. Before Ender could answer, the door opened. Ender had been expecting more of his soldiers. Instead it was Major Anderson. And behind him came Colonel Graff.

“Ender Wiggin,” said Graff.

Ender got to his feet. “Yes sir.”

“Your display of temper in the battleroom today was insubordinate and is not to be repeated.”

“Yes sir,” said Ender.

Bean was still feeling insubordinate, and he didn’t think Ender deserved the rebuke. “I think it was about time somebody told a teacher how we felt about what you’ve been doing.”

The adults ignored him. Anderson handed Ender a sheet of paper. A full-sized sheet. Not one of the little slips of paper that served for internal orders within the Battle School; it was a full-fledged set of orders. Bean knew what it meant. Ender was being transferred out of the school.

“Graduated?” asked Bean. Ender nodded. “What took them so long? You’re only two or three years early. You’ve already learned how to walk and talk and dress yourself. What will they have left to teach you?”

Ender shook his head. “All I know is, the game’s over.” He folded up the paper. “None too soon. Can I tell my army?”

“There isn’t time,” said Graff. “Your shuttle leaves in twenty minutes. Besides, it’s better not to talk to them after you get your orders. It makes it easier.”

“For them or for you?” Ender asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned quickly to Bean, took his hand for a moment, and then headed for the door.

“Wait,” said Bean. “Where are you going? Tactical? Navigational? Support?”

“Command School,” Ender answered.

“Pre-command?”

“Command,” said Ender, and then he was out the door. Anderson followed him closely. Bean grabbed Colonel Graff by the sleeve. “Nobody goes to Command School until they’re sixteen!”

Graff shook off Bean’s hand and left, closing the door behind him.

Bean stood alone in the room, trying to grasp what this might mean. Nobody went to Command School without three years of Pre-command in either Tactical or Support. But then, nobody left Battle School without at least six years, and Ender had had only four.

The system is breaking up. No doubt about it. Either somebody at the top is going crazy, or something’s gone wrong with the war, the real war, the bugger war. Why else would they break down the training system like this, wreck the game the way they did? Why else would they put a little kid like me in command of an army?

Bean wondered about it as he walked back down the corridor to his own bed. The lights went out just as he reached his bunk. He undressed in darkness, fumbling to put his clothing in a locker he couldn’t see. He felt terrible. At first he thought he felt bad because he was afraid of leading an army, but it wasn’t true. He knew he’d make a good commander. He felt himself wanting to cry. He hadn’t cried since the first few days of homesickness after he got here. He tried to put a name on the feeling that put a lump in his throat and made him sob silently, however much he tried to hold it down. He bit down on his hand to stop the feeling, to replace it with pain. It didn’t help. He would never see Ender again.

Once he named the feeling, he could control it. He lay back and forced himself to go through