First meetings in the Enderverse

his head. “No plans. I’ll be here for a few more months. Reports, winding down. I’ve had offers. Personnel development for DCIA, executive vice-president for U and P, but I said no. Publisher wants me to do memoirs of the war. I don’t know.”
    They sat on a bench and watched leaves shivering in the breeze. Children on the monkey bars were laughing and yelling, but the wind and the distance swallowed their words. “Look,” Graff said, pointing. A little boy jumped from the bars and ran near the bench where the two men sat. Another boy followed him, and holding his hands like a gun he made an explosive sound. The child he was shooting at didn’t stop. He fired again.
    “I got you! Come back here!”
    The other little boy ran on out of sight.
    “Don’t you know when you’re dead?” The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked a rock back to the monkey bars. Anderson smiled and shook his head. “Kids,” he said. Then he and Graff stood up and walked on out of the park.

    Investment Counselor

    Andrew Wiggin turned twenty the day he reached the planet Sorelledolce. Or rather, after complicated calculations of how many seconds he had been in flight, and at what percentage of lightspeed, and therefore what amount of subjective time had elapsed for him, he reached the conclusion that he had passed his twentieth birthday just before the end of the voyage. This was much more relevant to him than the other pertinent fact-that four hundred and some-odd years had passed since the day he was born, back on Earth, back when the human race had not spread beyond the solar system of its birth.
    When Valentine emerged from the debarkation chamber-alphabetically she was always after himAndrew greeted her with the news. “I just figured it out,” he said. “I’m twenty.”
    “Good,” she said. “Now you can start paying taxes like the rest of us.”
    Ever since the end of the war of Xenocide, Andrew had lived on a trust fund set up by a grateful world to reward the commander of the fleets that saved humanity. Well, strictly speaking, that action was taken at the end of the Third Bugger War, when people still thought of the Buggers as monsters and the children who commanded the fleet as heroes. By the time the name was changed to the War of Xenocide, humanity was no longer grateful, and the last thing any government would have dared to do was authorize a pension trust fund for Ender Wiggin, the perpetrator of the most awful crime in human history.
    In fact, if it had become known that such a fund existed, it would have become a public scandal. But the interstellar fleet was slow to convert to the idea that destroying the Buggers had been a bad idea. And so they carefully shielded the trust fund from public view, dispersing it among many mutual funds and as stock in many different companies, with no single authority controlling any significant portion of the money. Effectively, they had made the money disappear, and only Andrew himself and his sister Valentine knew where the money was, or how much of it there was.
    One thing, though, was certain: By law, when Andrew reached the subjective age of twenty, the tax-exempt status of his holdings would be revoked. The income would start being reported to the appropriate authorities. Andrew would have to file a tax report either every year or every time he concluded an interstellar voyage of greater than one year in objective time, the taxes to be annualized and interest on the unpaid portion duly handed over.
    Andrew was not looking forward to it.
    “How does it work with your book royalties?” he asked Valentine.
    “The same as anyone,” she answered, “except that not many copies sell, so there isn’t much in the way of taxes to pay.”
    Only a few minutes later she had to eat her words, for when they sat down at the rental computers in the starport of Sorelledolce, Valentine discovered that her most recent book, a history of the failed Jung Calvin colonies on the planet Helvetica, had achieved something of a cult status.
    “I think I’m rich,” she murmured to Andrew.
    “I have no idea whether I’m rich or not,” said Andrew. “I can’t get the computer to stop listing my holdings.”
    The names of companies kept scrolling up and back, the list going on and on.
    “I thought they’d just give you a check for whatever was in the bank when you turned twenty,” said Valentine.
    “I should be so lucky,” said Andrew. “I can’t sit here and wait