Ender's Shadow

the one who listened to his plan. And now she had died for it, and he could have saved her. Sure, he told her at the start to kill Achilles, but in the end she had been right to choose him -- he was the only one of the bullies who could have figured it all out and brought it off with such style. But Bean had also been right. Achilles was a champion liar, and when he decided that Poke would die, he began building up the lies that would surround the murder -- lies that would get Poke off by herself where he could kill her without witnesses; lies to alibi himself in the eyes of the younger kids.
      I trusted him, thought Bean. I knew what he was from the start, and yet I trusted him.
      Aw, Poke, you poor, stupid, kind, decent girl. You saved me and I let you down.
      It's not just my fault. She’s the one who went off alone with him.
      Alone with him, trying to save my life? What a mistake, Poke, to think of anyone but yourself!
      Am I going to die from her mistakes, too?
      No. I'll die from my own damn mistakes.
      Not tonight, though. Achilles had not set any plan in motion to get Bean off by himself. But from now on, when he lay awake at night, unable to drift off, he would think about how Achilles was just waiting. Biding his time. Till the day when Bean, too, would find himself in the river.
     
     
     
      Sister Carlotta tried to be sensitive to the pain these children were suffering, so soon after one of their own was strangled and thrown in the river. But Poke's death was all the more reason to push forward on the testing. Achilles had not been found yet -- with this Ulysses boy having already struck once, it was unlikely that Achilles would come out of hiding for some time. So Sister Carlotta had no choice but to proceed with Bean.
      At first the boy was distracted, and did poorly. Sister Carlotta could not understand how he could fail even the elementary parts of the test, when he was so bright he had taught himself to read on the street. It had to be the death of Poke. So she interrupted the test and talked to him about death, about how Poke was caught up in spirit into the presence of God and the saints, who would care for her and make her happier than she had ever been in life. He did not seem interested. If anything, he did worse as they began the next phase of the test.
      Well, if compassion didn't work, sternness might.
      "Don't you understand what this test is for, Bean?" she asked.
      "No," he said. The tone of his voice added the unmistakable idea "and I don't care.”
      "All you know about is the life of the street. But the streets of Rotterdam are only a part of a great city, and Rotterdam is only one city in a world of thousands of such cities. The whole human race, Bean, that's what this test is about. Because the Formics --”
      "The Buggers," said Bean. Like most street urchins, he sneered at euphemism.
      "They will be back, scouring the Earth, killing every living soul. This test is to see if you are one of the children who will be taken to Battle School and trained to be a commander of the forces that will try to stop them. This test is about saving the world, Bean.”
      For the first time since the test began, Bean turned his full attention to her. "Where is Battle School?”
      "In an orbiting platform in space," she said. "If you do well enough on this test, you get to be a spaceman!”
      There was no childlike eagerness in his face. Only hard calculation.
      "I've been doing real bad so far, haven't I," he said.
      "The test results so far show that you're too stupid to walk and breathe at the same time.”
      "Can I start over?”
      "I have another version of the tests, yes," said Sister Carlotta.
      "Do it.”
      As she brought out the alternate set, she smiled at him, tried to relax him again. "So you want to be a spaceman, is that it? Or is it the idea of being part of the International Fleet?”
      He ignored her.
      This time through the test, he finished everything, even though the tests were designed not to be finished in the allotted time. His scores were not perfect, but they were close. So close that nobody would believe the results.
      So she gave him yet another battery of tests, this one designed for older children -- the standard tests, in fact, that six-year-olds took when being considered for Battle School at the normal age. He did not do as well on these; there were too many experiences he had not had yet, to be able to understand