going to Lusitania."
Coming here. Thirty years from now. I'll be older than she is now. Coming here. By then I'll have my family, too. Novinha's and my children, if we have any, all grown, like hers.
And then, thinking of Novinha, he remembered Miro, remembered what Olhado had suggested several days ago, the day they found the nesting place for the hive queen.
"Would you mind terribly," said Ender, "if I sent someone to meet you on the way?"
"Meet us? In deep space? No, don't send someone to do that, Ender-- it's too terrible a sacrifice, to come so far when the computers can guide us in just fine--"
"It's not really for you, though I want him to meet you. He's one of the xenologers. He was badly injured in an accident. Some brain damage; like a bad stroke. He's-- he's the smartest person in Lusitania, says someone whose judgment I trust, but he's lost all his connections with our life here. Yet we'll need him later. When you arrive. He's a very good man, Val. He can make the last week of your voyage very educational."
"Can your friend arrange to get us course information for such a rendezvous? We're navigators, but only on the sea."
"Jane will have the revised navigational information in your ship's computer when you leave."
"Ender-- for you it'll be thirty years, but for me-- I'll see you in only a few weeks." She started to cry.
"Maybe I'll come with Miro to meet you."
"Don't!" she said. "I want you to be as old and crabbed as possible when I arrive. I couldn't put up with you as the thirty-year-old brat I see on my terininal."
"Thirty-five."
"You'll be there when I arrive!" she demanded.
"I will," he said. "And Miro, the boy I'm sending to you. Think of him as my son."
She nodded gravely. "These are such dangerous times, Ender. I only wish we had Peter."
"I don't. If he were running our little rebellion, he'd end up Hegemon of all the Hundred Worlds. We just want them to leave us alone."
"It may not be possible to get the one without the other," said Val. "But we can quarrel about that later. Good-bye, my dear brother."
He didn't answer. Just looked at her and looked at her until she smiled wryly and switched off the connection.
Ender didn't have to ask Miro to go; Jane had already told him everything.
"Your sister is Demosthenes?" asked Miro. Ender was used to his slurred speech now. Or maybe his speech was clearing a little. It wasn't as hard to understand, anyway.
"We were a talented family," said Ender. "I hope you like her."
"I hope she likes me." Miro smiled, but he looked afraid.
"I told her," said Ender, "to think of you as my son."
Miro nodded. "I know," he said. And then, almost defiantly, "She showed me your conversation with her."
Ender felt cold inside.
Jane's voice came into his ear. "I should have asked you," she said. "But you know you would have said yes."
It wasn't the invasion of privacy that Ender minded. It was the fact that Jane was so very close to Miro. Get used to it, he told himself. He's the one she's looking out for now.
"We'll miss you," said Ender.
"Those who will miss me, miss me already," said Miro, "because they already think of me as dead."
"We need you alive," said Ender.
"When I come back, I'll still be only nineteen. And brain-damaged."
"You'll still be Miro, and brilliant, and trusted, and loved. You started this rebellion, Miro. The fence came down for you. Not for some great cause, but for you. Don't let us down."
Miro smiled, but Ender couldn't tell if the twist in his smile was because of his paralysis, or because it was a bitter, poisonous smile.
"Tell me something," said Miro.
"If I won't," said Ender, "she will."
"It isn't hard. I just want to know what it was that Pipo and Libo died for. What it was the piggies honored them for."
Ender understood better than Miro knew: He understood why the boy cared so much about the question. Miro had learned that he was really Libo's son only hours before he crossed the fence and lost his future. Pipo, then Libo, then Miro; father, son, grandson; the three xenologers who had lost their futures for the piggies' sake. Miro hoped that in understanding why his forebears died, he might make more sense of his own sacrifice.
The trouble was that the truth might well leave Miro feeling that none of the sacrifices meant anything at all. So Ender