Enders In Exile

all the time.
    Yes, and they do other
things all the time, another part of his mind said.
    Shut up, said the part
that liked touching Alessandra.
    What if this did go
according to Alessandra's script—or her mother's. Were there
worse fates? He was coming to a colony world. Colonies were all about
reproduction. He liked this girl. There wasn't going to be a huge pool
of girls to choose from in the colony; there were few his age among the
passengers in stasis, so it would be mostly the girls born on
Shakespeare that he would have to choose from, and they would
be—not from Earth.
    While he argued with
himself, she held his hand more tightly and moved closer to him. Beside
him. Now he could feel her warmth—or imagined he could. Now
her body touched his upper arm; now her other hand, the one he was not
holding, stroked his hair. Now she brought his hand up to her chest.
Pressed the back of his hand, not to her breast—that would be
too obvious—but to her chest, where her heart was beating. Or
was that his own pulse he felt pounding in his hand?
    "On this voyage I've
come to know you," she whispered. "Not the famous boy who saved the
world, but this teenager, this young man of about
my own age, so careful, so thoughtful of other people, so patient with
them. With me, with my mother. You think I haven't seen that? Never
wanting to hurt anyone, never wanting to offend, but never letting
anyone come close, either, except your sister. Is that your future,
Ender? You and your sister, in a circle that lets no one else inside?"
    Yes, thought Ender.
That's what I decided. When Valentine showed up, I thought: Yes, I can
let her in. I can trust this one person.
    I can't trust you,
Alessandra, thought Ender. You're here in service of someone else's
plans. Maybe you mean what you're saying, maybe you're sincere. But
you're also being used. You are a weapon aimed at my heart. Someone
dressed you today. Someone told you what to do, and how to do it. Or if
you really know all this yourself, then you're too much for me. I'm too
caught up in this. I want too much for it to go forward as you seem to
be offering.
    I will not let this go
on, thought Ender.
    But even with that
decision, he couldn't just leap to his feet and say, Get thee hence,
temptress, like Joseph did with Potiphar's wife. He would have to make
her
want
to stop, so that it would never seem to
Admiral Morgan that he refused her. Morgan would certainly watch the
playback of this. On the eve of his own marriage, Morgan could not see
Ender absolutely refuse Alessandra.
    "Alessandra," said
Ender, speaking just as softly as she was. "Do you really want to live
your mother's life?"
    For the first time,
Alessandra hesitated, uncertain.
    Ender took his hand
back, leaned on the chair's armrests, rose to his feet. He reached for
her, gathered her into an embrace, and decided that for this to work,
he would need to kiss her.
    So he did. He was not
good at it. To his relief, neither was she. It was awkward, they missed
each other a little and had to re-center, and neither of them knew what
they were actually supposed to do. Oddly enough, this kiss broke the
mood and when they were done with it, they both laughed. "There," said
Ender. "We've done it. Our first kiss.
My
first
kiss, of anyone, ever."
    "Mine too," she said.
"The first one I've even wanted."
    "We
could
go farther," said Ender. "We're both equipped for it—we make
a complete matching set, I'm sure."
    She laughed again.
That's right, thought Ender. Laughing is the right mood, not the other.
    "I meant what I said,
about your mother," said Ender. "She did this, right at your age.
Conceived you when she was fourteen, you were born when she was
fifteen. The age you are now. And she married the boy, yes?"
    "And it was wonderful,"
said Alessandra. "Mother told me, so many times, how happy she was with
him. How good it was. How much they both loved me."
    Of course your mother
said that, thought Ender. She's a good person, she wouldn't want to
tell you what a nightmare it was, being fifteen and having so much
responsibility.
    But maybe it
was
good, said another part of his mind. The part that was keenly aware
that their bodies were still pressed together, that his fingers were
pressing gently against the back of her shirt, moving slightly,
caressing the skin and body under the cloth.
    "Your mother was under
the domination of someone stronger than her," said Ender. "Your
grandmother. She wanted to get free."
    That did it.