"We knew when he was born that he didn't belong to us."
"He does belong to us."
"If he comes home, his life belongs to whatever government has the power to protect him and use him—or kill him. He's the single most important asset surviving from the war. The great weapon. That's all he'll be—that and such a celebrity he can't possibly have a normal childhood anyway. And would we be much help, Theresa? Do we understand what his life has been for the past seven years? What kind of parents can we be to the boy—the man—that he's become?"
"We would be wonderful," she said.
"And we know this because we're such perfect parents for the children we have at home with us."
Theresa rolled onto her back. "Oh, dear. Poor Peter. It must be killing him that Ender might come home."
"Take the wind right out of his sails."
"Oh, I'm not sure of that," said Theresa. "I bet Peter is already figuring out how to exploit Ender's return."
"Until he finds out that Ender is much too clever to be exploited."
"What preparation does Ender have for politics? He's been in the military all this time."
John Paul chuckled.
"All right, yes, of course the military is just as political as government."
"But you're right," said John Paul. "Ender's had protection there, people who intended to exploit him, yes, but he hasn't had to do any bureaucratic fighting for himself. He's probably a babe in the woods when it comes to maneuvering like that."
"So Peter really could use him?"
"That's not what worries me. What worries me is what Peter will do when he finds out that he can't use him."
Theresa sat back up and faced her husband. "You can't think Peter would raise a hand against Ender!"
"Peter doesn't raise his own hand to do anything difficult or dangerous. You know how he's been using Valentine."
"Only because she lets him use her."
"Exactly my point," said John Paul.
"Ender is not in danger from his own family."
"Theresa, we have to decide: What's best for Ender? What's best for Peter and Valentine? What's best for the future of the world?"
"Sitting here on our bed, in the middle of the night, the two of us are deciding the fate of the world?"
"When we conceived little Andrew, my dear, we decided the fate of the world."
"And had a good time doing it," she added.
"Is it good for Ender to come home? Will it make him happy?"
"Do you really think he's forgotten us?" she asked. "Do you think Ender doesn't care whether he comes home?"
"Coming home lasts a day or two. Then there's living here. The danger from foreign powers, the unnaturalness of his life at school, the constant infringements on his privacy, and let's not forget Peter's unquenchable ambition and envy. So I ask again, will Ender's life here be happier than it would be if . . ."
"If he stays out in space? What kind of life will that be for him?"
"The I.F. has made its commitment—total neutrality in regard to anything happening on Earth. If they have Ender, then the whole world—every government—will know they'd better not try to go up against the Fleet."
"So by not coming home, Ender continues to save the world on an ongoing basis," said Theresa. "What a useful life he'll have."
"The point is that nobody else can use him."
Theresa put on her sweetest voice. "So you think we should write back to Graff and tell him that we don't want Ender to come home?"
"We can't do anything of the kind," said John Paul. "We'll write back that we're eager to see our son and we don't think any bodyguard will be necessary."
It took her a moment to realize why he seemed to be reversing everything he'd said. "Any letters we send Graff," she said, "will be just as public as the letter he sent us. And just as empty. And we do nothing and let things take their course."
"No, my dear," said John Paul. "It happens that living in our own house, under our own roof, are two of the most influential formers of public opinion."
"But John Paul, officially we don't know that our children are sneaking around in the nets, manipulating events through Peter's network of correspondents and Valentine's brilliantly perverse talent for demagoguery."
"And they don't know that we have any brains," said John Paul. "They seem to think they were left at our house by fairies instead of having our genetic material throughout their little bodies. They treat us as convenient samples of ignorant public opinion. So . . . let's give them some public opinions that will steer them to do what's best for their brother."
"What's best," echoed Theresa. "We don't know what's best."
"No," said John Paul. "We only know what seems best. But one thing's certain—we know a lot more about it than any of our children do."
Valentine came home from school with anger festering inside her. Stupid teachers—it made her crazy sometimes to ask a question and have the teacher patiently explain things to her as if the question were a sign of Valentine's failure to understand the subject, instead of the teacher's. But Valentine sat there and took it, as the equation showed up in the holodisplay on everybody's desk and the teacher covered it point by point.
Then Valentine drew a little circle in the air around the element of the problem that the teacher had not addressed properly—the reason why the answer was not right. Valentine's circle did not show up on all the desks, of course; only the teacher's computer had that capability.
So the teacher then got to draw his own circle around that number and say, "What you're not noticing here, Valentine, is that even with this explanation, if you ignore this element you still can't get the right answer."
It was such an obvious ego-protective cover-up. But of course it was obvious only to Valentine. To the other students, who were barely grasping the material anyway (especially since it was being explained to them by an unobservant incompetent), it was Val who had overlooked the circled parenthetical, even though it was precisely because of that element that she had asked her question in the first place.
And the teacher gave her that simpering smile that clearly said, You aren't going to defeat me and humiliate me in front of this class.
But Valentine was not trying to humiliate him. She did not care about him. She simply cared that the material be taught well enough that if, God forbid, some member of the class became a civil engineer, his bridges wouldn't fall down and kill people.
That was the difference between her and the idiots of the world. They were all trying to look smart and keep their social standing. Whereas Valentine didn't care about social standing, she cared about getting it right. Getting the truth—when the truth was gettable.