Enders In Exile

there when Graff came in person to speak to those who were going
to be awake during the voyage. It was only about a hundred
colonists—most of them preferred the sleeping
option—and Graff's job was to make clear to them that it was
the ship's captain who ruled absolutely, and to impress on them the
captain's almost unlimited powers of punishment.
"You will do whatever you are asked to do by a crew member, and you
will do it instantly."
    "Or what?" asked
someone.
    Graff did not take
umbrage—the voice sounded more frightened than challenging.
"The captain's power extends to life and death. Depending on the
seriousness of the infraction. And he is the sole judge of how serious
your offense is. There are no appeals. Am I clear?"
    Everyone understood. A
few of them even took the last-minute option to travel in
stasis—not because they intended to mutiny, but because they
didn't like the idea of being cooped up for years with someone who had
that kind of power over them.
    When the meeting ended,
there was a tremendous amount of noise and bustle, as some headed for
the table where last-minute stasis could be arranged, and others headed
for their dormitories, and a few gathered around Graff—the
celebrity hounds, of course, since he was almost as famous, in his own
way, as Virlomi, and he hadn't been available till now.
    Virlomi was making her
way to the stasis sign-up table when she heard a loud
noise—many gasps and exclamations at once—from the
people around Graff. She looked over but couldn't see what was going
on. Graff was just standing there, smiling at somebody, and seemed
perfectly normal. Only the glances—glares,
really—of a few of the bystanders drew her eye to the woman
huffing her way out of the room, clearly coming from Graff's little
crowd.
    It was Nichelle Firth,
of course, holding her dear little infant Randall.
    Well, whatever she had
done, apparently it didn't bother Graff, though it bothered other
people.
    Still, it was a worry
that Nichelle had sought out an opportunity to confront Graff. Her
hostility led to action; bad news.
    Why hasn't she been
openly hostile to me? I'm just as famous as . . .
    Famous, but why?
Because the Hegemony defeated me and took me into captivity. And the
enemies arrayed against me? Suriyawong. Peter Wiggin. The whole
civilized world along with them. Pretty much the same list that opposed
and hated Achilles Flandres.
    No wonder she
volunteered for my colony, and not one of the others. She thinks that
I'm a kindred soul, having been beaten by the same foes. She doesn't
understand—or at least she didn't when she signed up for my
colony—that I agree with those who defeated me, that I was
wrong and needed to be stopped. I am not Achilles. I am not like
Achilles.
    If the goddess wanted
to punish Virlomi for having impersonated her to gain power and unite
India, there would be no surer way than this: to have everyone think
she was like Achilles—and like her for it.
    Fortunately, Nichelle
Firth was only one person, and nobody liked her because she liked
nobody. Whatever her opinions were, they would not affect Virlomi.
    I keep reassuring
myself of that, thought Virlomi. Does that mean that in the deepest
recesses of my mind, this woman's strange opinions are already
affecting me?
    Of course it does.
    Satyagraha. This, too,
I will bear.

CHAPTER
12

    To: GovDes%[email protected]/voy
From: [email protected]
Subj: Strange encounter
    Dear Ender,
    Yes, I'm still alive.
I've been going into stasis for ten months out of each year so that I
can see this project through. This is only possible because I have a
staff that I literally trust with my life. Actuarial tables suggest
that I will still be alive when you reach Shakespeare.
    I'm writing to you now,
however, because you were close to Bean. I have attached documentation
concerning his genetic illness. We know now that Bean's real name was
Julian Delphiki; he was kidnapped as a frozen embryo and was the sole
survivor of an illegal genetic experiment. The alteration in his genes
made him extraordinarily intelligent. Alas, it also affected his growth
pattern. Very small in childhood—the Bean you knew. No growth
spurt at puberty. Just a steady onward progress until death from
giantism. Bean, not wishing to be hospitalized and pathetic at the end
of his life, has embarked on a lightspeed voyage of
exploration. He will live as long as he lives, but to all intents and
purposes, he is gone from Earth and from the