Enders In Exile

as if some
adult had insisted on playing their games with them. It would ruin
things. Especially because Abra was secretly convinced that he would be
very bad at children's games. When he was little, and tried to build
with blocks, he would weep when other children
knocked down his structures. But the other children couldn't seem to
understand why he would build, if
not
to see
things get knocked down.
    Here is what Ender's
coming meant to Abra: Ender Wiggin was the governor, and yet he was
young, the same age as Po. Adults talked to Ender as if he were one of
them. No, as if he were their superior. They brought problems to him
for solutions. They laid their disputes before him and abided by his
decisions, listening to his explanations, asking him questions, coming
to accept
his
understanding.
    I am like him, thought
Abra. Adults consult me about their machines the way they consult Ender
about their other problems. They stand and listen to my explanations.
They do what I tell them they should do to fix the problem. He and I
live the same life—we are not really children. We have no
friends.
    Well, Ender had his
sister, of course, but she was a strange recluse, who would stay
indoors all day, except for her morning walk in summer, her afternoon
walk in winter. They said she was writing books. All the adult
scientists wrote things and sent them off to the other worlds, and then
read the papers and books that were sent back. But what she was writing
wasn't science at all. It was history. The past. Why would that matter,
when there was so much to do and discover in the present? Ender could
not possibly be interested in such things. Abra could not even imagine
what they would talk about. "Today I gave Lo and Amato permission to
divorce." "Did it happen a hundred years ago?" "No." "Then I don't
care."
    Abra also had siblings.
Po treated him well. They all did. But they did not play with him. They
played with each other.
    Which was fine. Abra
didn't
want
to "play." He wanted to do things
that were real, things that mattered. He took as much pleasure from
fixing machines and building things as they ever did from their games
and mock fights and knocking-down. And now that Mother said he didn't
have to go to school anymore, so there wouldn't be the constant
humiliation of being unable to read and write, Abra spent his free time
following Ender Wiggin everywhere.
    Governor Wiggin noticed
him, because he spoke to Abra from time to time—explaining
things sometimes; just as often asking him questions. But mostly he let
Abra tag along, and if other adults who were talking about
serious matters sometimes glanced at Abra as if to ask Ender why he had
this
child
with him, Ender simply ignored their
silent question and soon they all carried on as if Abra were not there.
    So when Ender left on
his expedition to search for an appropriate site for the new starship
to land and found another colony, no one even questioned the fact that
Abra would be going with him. Father did take Abra aside and talk to
him, though. "This is a heavy responsibility," he said. "You are not to
do anything dangerous. If something happens to the governor, your first
responsibility is to report it to me by satfone. Your location will
already be tracked and we'll send help at once. Don't try to deal with
it yourself until we have been notified. Do you understand?"
    Of course Abra
understood. To Father, Abra was merely going along as backup. Mother's
advice was a bit less pessimistic about Abra's value. "Don't argue with
him," she said. "Listen first, argue after."
    "Of course, Mom."
    "You say 'of course,'
but you aren't good at listening, Abra, you always think you know what
people are going to say, and you have to let them say it because
sometimes you're wrong."
    Abra nodded. "I'll
listen to
Ender,
Mother."
    She rolled her
eyes—even though she yelled at the other children when they
did that to her. "Yes, I suppose you will. Only Ender is wise enough to
know more than my Abra!"
    "I don't think I know
everything, Mom." How could he get her to see that he only got
impatient with adults when they thought they understood machinery and
didn't? The rest of the time, he didn't speak at all. But since most of
the time adults thought they knew what had gone wrong with a broken
machine, and most of the time they were mistaken, most of his
conversation with adults consisted of correcting them—or
ignoring them. What else would they talk about except machinery, and
Abra