Enders In Exile

Valentine really couldn't stop him and the two of you had no idea
what was going on among us children. It was partly a desire to save the
people I knew, most particularly my own protector, Valentine, from the
predations of the formics.
    It was partly a hope
that I might turn out to be a very important boy. It was partly the
challenge of it, the hope of victory over the other children competing
to be great commanders. It was partly a wish to leave a world where
every day I was reminded that Thirds are illegal, unwanted, despised,
taking more than their family's share of the world's resources.
    It was partly my sense
that while you cried (Mother) and you blustered (Father) it would make
a positive difference in our family's life for me to go. No longer
would you be the ones who had an extra child and yet were not suffering
the penalties of law. With that monitor gone, there'd be no more
visible excuse. I could hear you telling people, "The government
authorized his birth so he could enter military training, only when the
time came, he refused to go."
    I existed for one
reason only. When the time came, I believed I had no decent choice but
to fulfil the purpose of my creation.
    I did it, didn't I? I
dominated the other children in Battle School, though I was not the
best strategist (that was Bean). I led my jeesh and, unwittingly, many
pilots to complete victory in the war—though again at a
crucial moment it was Bean who helped me see my way through. I am not
ashamed of having needed help. The task was too great for me, too great
for Bean, and too great for any of the other children, but my role was
to lead by getting the best from everyone.
    But when the victory
was won, I could not go home. There was Graff's court martial. There
was the international situation, with nations fearing what might happen
if America had the great war hero to command their Earthbound troops.
    But I confess that
there was something else. I became aware that both my brother and my
sister were writing essays whose deliberate effect was to keep me from
coming home to Earth again. Peter's reasons I could guess at; they were
an outgrowth of our relationship as young children. Peter cannot live
in the same world with me. Or at least he could not then.
    Here was the mystery to
me. I was a twelve-year-old boy during most of my year on Eros. I was
barred from returning to Earth. My siblings were siding with those who
wanted me kept away. And not once on any of the newsvids did I see a
quotation or a statement from my parents, pleading with the
powers-that-be to let their boy come home. Nor did I hear of any effort
on your part to come and see me, since I could not go to you.
    Instead, once Valentine
showed up, I got hints, ranging from the blunt to the oblique, that for
some reason it was my obligation to write to YOU. Through the two years
of our voyage—forty years to you—Valentine reported
to me on her correspondence with you, and told me that I should write,
I must write. And through all of this, knowing that you could easily
obtain my address and that your letters would get through to me as
easily as they got through to Valentine, I never heard from you.
    I have waited.
    Now you are getting
rather old. Peter is nearly sixty years of age and he rules the
world—all his dreams have come true, though there seem to
have been many nightmares along the way. From news reports I gather
that you have been at his side almost continuously, working for him and
his cause. You have made statements to the press in support of him, and
at times of crisis you stood by him quite bravely. You have been
admirable parents. You know how the job is done.
    And still I waited.
    Recently, having
learned the answers to a set of questions unrelated to you, I
determined that because half of this silence between us has been mine,
I would wait no longer to write to you. Still, I do not understand how
it became my obligation to open this door. How did I skip directly from
the irresponsibility of a six-year-old to the complete responsibility
that seemed to devolve on me to reestablish our relationship after it
became possible again?
    I thought: You were
ashamed of me. My "victory" came along with the scandal of my killings;
you wanted to put me from your mind. Who am I, then, to insist that you
recognize me? Yet I killed Stilson when I was still a child living in
your house. You cannot blame the Battle School for that. Why didn't you
stand up and take responsibility for