Ender's Shadow

bumped, as if it were rolling over irregularities in an invisible road.
      When they got up to a high altitude, they rendezvoused with two fuel planes, in order to take on the rest of the rocket fuel needed to achieve escape velocity. The plane could never have lifted off the ground with that much fuel on board.
      During the refueling, a man emerged from the control cabin and stood at the front of the rows of seats. His sky blue uniform was crisp and perfect, and his smile looked every bit as starched and pressed and unstainable as his clothes.
      "My dear darling little children," he said. "Some of you apparently can't read yet. Your seat harnesses are to remain in place throughout the entire flight. Why are so many of them unfastened? Are you going somewhere?”
      Lots of little clicks answered him like scattered applause.
      "And let me also warn you that no matter how annoying or enticing some other child might be, keep your hands to yourself. You should keep in mind that the children around you scored every bit as high as you did on every test you took, and some of them scored higher.”
      Bean thought: That's impossible. Somebody here had to have the highest score.
      A boy across the aisle apparently had the same thought. "Right," he said sarcastically.
      "I was making a point, but I'm willing to digress," said the man. "Please, share with us the thought that so enthralled you that you could not contain it silently within you.”
      The boy knew he had made a mistake, but decided to tough it out. "Somebody here has the highest score.”
      The man continued looking at him, as if inviting him to continue.
      Inviting him to dig himself a deeper grave, thought Bean.
      "I mean, you said that everybody scored as high as everybody else, and some scored higher, and that's just obviously not true.”
      The man waited some more.
      "That's all I had to say.”
      "Feel better?" said the man.
      The boy sullenly kept his silence.
      Without disturbing his perfect smile, the man's tone changed, and instead of bright sarcasm, there was now a sharp whiff of menace. "I asked you a question, boy.”
      "No, I don't feel better.”
      "What's your name?" asked the man.
      "Nero.”
      A couple of children who knew a little bit about history laughed at the name. Bean knew about the emperor Nero. He did not laugh, however. He knew that a child named Bean was wise not to laugh at other kids' names. Besides, a name like that could be a real burden to bear. It said something about the boy's strength or at least his defiance that he didn't give some nickname.
      Or maybe Nero was his nickname.
      "Just ... Nero?" asked the man.
      "Nero Boulanger.”
      "French? Or just hungry?”
      Bean did not get the joke. Was Boulanger a name that had something to do with food?
      "Algerian.”
      "Nero, you are an example to all the children on this shuttle. Because most of them are so foolish, they think it is better to keep their stupidest thoughts to themselves. You, however, understand the profound truth that you must reveal your stupidity openly. To hold your stupidity inside you is to embrace it, to cling to it, to protect it. But when you expose your stupidity, you give yourself the chance to have it caught, corrected, and replaced with wisdom. Be brave, all of you, like Nero Boulanger, and when you have a thought of such surpassing ignorance that you think it's actually smart, make sure to make some noise, to let your mental limitations squeak out some whimpering fart of a thought, so that you have a chance to learn.”
      Nero grumbled something.
      "Listen -- another flatulence, but this time even less articulate than before. Tell us, Nero. Speak up. You are teaching us all by the example of your courage, however half-assed it might be.”
      A couple of students laughed.
      "And listen -- your fart has drawn out other farts, from people equally stupid, for they think they are somehow superior to you, and that they could not just as easily have been chosen to be examples of superior intellect.”
      There would be no more laughter.
      Bean felt a kind of dread, for he knew that somehow, this verbal sparring, or rather this one-sided verbal assault, this torture, this public exposure, was going to find some twisted path that led to him. He did not know how he sensed this, for the uniformed man had not so much as glanced at Bean, and Bean had made no sound, had done nothing to call attention to