Ender's Game

Wiggin.'

The scanner glowed green for a moment. Ender closed his locker and tried to reopen it. He couldn't. Then he put his hand on the scanner and said, 'Ender Wiggin.' The locker popped open. So did three other compartments.

One of them contained four jumpsuits like the one he was wearing, and one white one. Another compartment contained a small desk, just like the ones at school. So they weren't through with studies yet.

It was the largest compartment that contained the prize. It looked like a spacesuit at first glance, complete with helmet and gloves. But it wasn't. There was no airtight seal. Still, it would effectively cover the whole body. It was thickly padded. It was also a little stiff.

And there was a pistol with it. A lasergun, it looked like, since the end was solid, clear glass. But surely they wouldn't let children have lethal weapons—

'Not laser,' said a man. Ender looked up. It was one he hadn't seen before. A young and kind-looking man. 'But it has a tight enough beam. Well-focused. You can aim it and make a three-inch circle of light on a wall a hundred meters off.'

'What's it for?' Ender asked.

'One of the games we play during recreation. Does anyone else have his locker open?' The man looked around. 'I mean, have you followed directions and coded in your voices and hands? You can't get into the lockers until you do. This room is your home for the first year or so here at the Battle School, so get the bunk you want and stay with it. Ordinarily we let you elect your chief officer and install him in the lower bunk by the door, but apparently that position has been taken. Can't recode the lockers now. So think about whom you want to choose. Dinner in seven minutes. Follow the lighted dots on the floor. Your color code is red yellow yellow—whenever you're assigned a path to follow, it will be red yellow yellow, three dots side by side—go where those lights indicate. What's your color code, boys?'

'Red, yellow, yellow.'

'Very good. My name is Dap. I'm your mom for the next few months.'

The boys laughed.

'Laugh all you like, but keep it in mind. If you get lost in the school, which is quite possible, don't go opening doors. Some of them lead outside.' More laughter. 'Instead just tell someone that your mom is Dap, and they'll call me. Or tell them your color, and they'll light up a path for you to get home. If you have a problem, come talk to me. Remember, I'm the only person here who's paid to be nice to you, but not too nice. Give me any lip and I'll break your face, OK?'

They laughed again. Dap had a room full of friends, Frightened children are so easy to win.

'Which way is down, anybody tell me?'

They told him.

'OK, that's true. But that direction is toward the outside. The ship is spinning, and that's what makes it feel like that is down. The floor actually curves around in that direction. Keep going long enough that way, and you come back to where you started. Except don't try it. Because up that way is teachers' quarters, and up that way is the bigger kids. And the bigger kids don't like Launchies butting in. You might get pushed around. In fact, you will get pushed around. And when you do, don't come crying to me. Got it? This is Battle School, not nursery school.'

'What are we supposed to do, then?' asked a boy, a really small black kid who had a top bunk near Ender's.

'If you don't like getting pushed around, figure out for yourself what to do about it, but I warn you—murder is strictly against the rules. So is any deliberate injury. I understand there was one attempted murder on the way up here. A broken arm. That kind of thing happens again, somebody ices out. You got it?'

'What's icing out?' asked the boy with his arm puffed up in a splint.

'Ice. Put out in the cold. Sent Earthside. Finished at Battle School.'

Nobody looked at Ender.

'So, boys, if any of you are thinking of being troublemakers, at least be clever about it. OK?'

Dap left. They still didn't look at Ender.

Ender felt the fear growing in his belly. The kid whose arm he broke—Ender didn't feel sorry for him. He was a Stilson. And like Stilson, he was already gathering a gang. A little knot of kids, several of the bigger ones, they were laughing at the far end of the room, and every now and then one of them would turn to look at Ender.

With all his heart, Ender wanted to go home. What did any of this have to do with saving the world? There was no monitor now. It was Ender against the gang again, only they were right in his room. Peter again, but without Valentine.

The fear stayed, all through dinner as no one sat by him in the mess hall. The other boys were talking about things—the big scoreboard on one wall, the food, the bigger kids. Ender could only watch in isolation.

The scoreboards were team standings. Won-loss records, with the most recent scores. Some of the bigger boy's apparently had bets on the most recent games. Two teams, Manticore and Asp, had no recent score—that box was flashing. Ender decided they must be playing right now.

He noticed that the older boys were divided into groups, according to the uniforms they wore. Some with different uniforms were talking together, but generally the groups each had their own area. Launchies—their own group, and the two or three next older groups all had plain blue uniforms. But the big kids, the ones that were on teams, they were wearing much more flamboyant clothing. Ender tried to guess which ones went with which name. Scorpion and Spider were easy. So were Flame and Tide.

A bigger boy came to sit by him. Not just a little bigger—he looked to be twelve or thirteen. Getting his man's growth started.

'Hi,' he said.

'Hi,' Ender said.

'I'm Mick.'

'Ender.'

'That's a name?'

'Since I was little. It's what my sister called me.'

'Not a bad name here. Ender. Finisher. Hey.'

'Hope so.'

'Ender, you the bugger in your launch?'

Ender shrugged.

'I noticed you eating all alone. Every launch has one like that. Kid that nobody takes to right away. Sometimes I think the teachers do it on purpose. The teachers aren't very nice. You'll notice that.'

'Yeah.'

'So you the bugger?'

'I guess so.'

'Hey. Nothing to cry about, you know?' He gave Ender his roll, and took Ender's pudding. 'Eat nutritious stuff. It'll keep you strong.' Mick dug into the pudding.

'What about you?' asked Ender.

'Me? I'm nothing. I'm a fart in the air conditioning. I'm always there, but most of the time nobody knows it.'

Ender smiled tentatively.

'Yeah, funny, but no joke. I got nowhere here. I'm getting big now. They're going to send me to my next school pretty soon. No way it'll be Tactical School for me. I've never been a leader, you see. Only the guys who get to be leaders have a shot at it.'

'How do you get to be a leader?'

'Hey, if I knew, you think I'd be like this? How many guys my size you see in here?'

Not many. Ender didn't say it.

'A few. I'm not the only half-iced bugger-fodder. A few of us. The other guys—they're all commanders. All the guys from my launch have their own teams now. Not me.'

Ender nodded.