First meetings in the Enderverse

Across his desk sat Lieutenant Anderson, who was earnestly pointing out high points on a chart.
    “Here it is, Captain,” Anderson said. “Ender’s already got them doing a tactic that’s going to throw off everyone who meets it. Doubled their speed.”
    Graff nodded.
    “And you know his test scores. He thinks well, too.”
    Graff smiled. “All true, all true, Anderson, he’s a fine student, shows real promise.”
    They waited.
    Graff sighed. “So what do you want me to do?”
    “Ender’s the one. He’s got to be.”
    “He’ll never be ready in time, Lieutenant. He’s eleven, for heaven’s sake, man, what do you want, a miracle?”
    “I want him into battles, every day starting tomorrow. I want him to have a year’s worth of battles in a month.”
    Graff shook his head. “That would have his army in the hospital.”
    “No, sir. He’s getting them into form. And we need Ender.”
    “Correction, Lieutenant. We need somebody. You think it’s Ender.”
    “All right, I think it’s Ender. Which of the commanders if it isn’t him?”
    “I don’t know, Lieutenant.” Graff ran his hands over his slightly fuzzy bald head. “These are children, Anderson. Do you realize that? Ender’s army is nine years old. Are we going to put them against the older kids? Are we going to put them through hell for a month like that?”
    Lieutenant Anderson leaned even farther over Graff’s desk.
    “Ender’s test scores, Captain!”
    “I’ve seen his bloody test scores! I’ve watched him in battle, I’ve listened to tapes of his training sessions, I’ve watched his sleep patterns, I’ve heard tapes of his conversations in the corridors and in the bathrooms, I’m more aware of Ender Wiggins than you could possibly imagine! And against all the arguments, against his obvious qualities, I’m weighing one thing. I have this picture of Ender a year from now, if you have your way. I see him completely useless, worn down, a failure, because he was pushed farther than he or any living person could go. But it doesn’t weigh enough, does it, Lieutenant, because there’s a war on, and our best talent is gone, and the biggest battles are ahead. So give Ender a battle every day this week. And then bring me a report.”
    Anderson stood and saluted. “Thank you, sir.”
    He had almost reached the door when Graff called his name. He turned and faced the captain.
    “Anderson,” Captain Graff said. “Have you been outside, lately I mean?”
    “Not since last leave, six months ago.”
    “I didn’t think so. Not that it makes any difference. But have you ever been to Beaman Park, there in the city? Hmm? Beautiful park. Trees. Grass. No nullo, no battles, no worries. Do you know what else there is in Beaman Park?”
    “What, sir?” Lieutenant Anderson asked.
    “Children,” Graff answered.
    “Of course children,” said Anderson.
    “I mean children. I mean kids who get up in the morning when their mothers call them and they go to school and then in the afternoons they go to Beaman Park and play. They’re happy, they smile a lot, they laugh, they have fun. Hmmm?”
    “I’m sure they do, sir.”
    “Is that all you can say, Anderson?”
    Anderson cleared his throat. “It’s good for children to have fun, I think, sir. I know I did when I was a boy. But right now the world needs soldiers. And this is the way to get them.”
    Graff nodded and closed his eyes. “Oh, indeed, you’re right, by statistical proof and by all the important theories, and dammit they work and the system is right but all the same Ender’s older than I am. He’s not a child. He’s barely a person.”
    “If that’s true, sir, then at least we all know that Ender is making it possible for the others of his age to be playing in the park.”
    “And Jesus died to save all men, of course.” Graff sat up and looked at Anderson almost sadly. “But we’re the ones,” Graff said, “we’re the ones who are driving in the nails.”

    Ender Wiggins lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He never slept more than five hours a night-but the lights went off at 2200 and didn’t come on again until 0600. So he stared at the ceiling and thought. He’d had his army for three and a half weeks. Dragon Army. The name was assigned, and it wasn’t a lucky one. Oh, the charts said that about nine years ago a Dragon Army had done fairly well. But for the next six years the name had been attached to inferior armies, and finally, because of the