Xenocide (Ender Wiggins Saga)

isn't just the logical conclusion of things that human beings have already figured out and written somewhere?"
    "You think of things all the time," said Miro.
    "I'm trying to conceive of something inconceivable. I'm trying to find answers to questions that human beings have never even tried to ask."
    "Can't you do that?"
    "If I can't think original thoughts, does that mean that I'm nothing but a computer program that got out of hand?"
    "Hell, Jane, most people never have an original thought in their lives." He laughed softly. "Does that mean they're just ground-dwelling apes that got out of hand?"
    "You were crying," she said.
    "Yes."
    " You don't think I can think of a way out of this. You think I'm going to die."
    "I believe you can think of a way. I really do. But that doesn't stop me from being afraid."
    "Afraid that I'll die."
    "Afraid that I'll lose you."
    "Would that be so terrible? To lose me?"
    "Oh God," he whispered.
    "Would you miss me for an hour?" she insisted. "For a day? For a year?"
    What did she want from him? Assurance that when she was gone she'd be remembered? That someone would yearn for her? Why would she doubt that? Didn't she know him yet?
    Maybe she was human enough that she simply needed reassurance of things she already knew.
    "Forever," he said.
    It was her turn to laugh. Playfully. "You won't live that long," she said.
    " Now you tell me," he said.
    This time when she fell silent, she didn't come back, and Miro was left alone with his thoughts.
     
     
     
    Valentine, Jakt, and Plikt had remained together on the bridge, talking through the things they had learned, trying to decide what they might mean, what might happen. The only conclusion they reached was that while the future couldn't be known, it would probably be a good deal better than their worst fears and nowhere near as good as their best hopes. Wasn't that how the world always worked?
    "Yes," said Plikt. "Except for the exceptions."
    That was Plikt's way. Except when she was teaching, she said little, but when she did speak, it had a way of ending the conversation. Plikt got up to leave the bridge, headed for her miserably uncomfortable bed; as usual, Valentine tried to persuade her to go back to the other starship.
    "Varsam and Ro don't want me in their room," said Plikt.
    "They don't mind a bit."
    "Valentine," said Jakt, "Plikt doesn't want to go back to the other ship because she doesn't want to miss anything."
    "Oh," said Valentine.
    Plikt grinned. "Good night."
    Soon after, Jakt also left the bridge. His hand rested on Valentine's shoulder for a moment as he left. "I'll be there soon," she said. And she meant it at the moment, meant to follow him almost at once. Instead she remained on the bridge, thinking, brooding, trying to make sense of a universe that would put all the nonhuman species ever known to man at risk of extinction, all at once. The Hive Queen, the pequeninos, and now Jane, the only one of her kind, perhaps the only one that ever could exist. A veritable profusion of intelligent life, and yet known only to a few. And all of them in line to be snuffed out.
    At least Ender will realize at last that this is the natural order of things, that he might not be as responsible for the destruction of the buggers three thousand years ago as he had always thought. Xenocide must be built into the universe. No mercy, not even for the greatest players in the game.
    How could she have ever thought otherwise? Why should intelligent species be immune to the threat of extinction that looms over every species that ever came to be?
    It must have been an hour after Jakt left the bridge before Valentine finally turned off her terminal and stood up to go to bed. On a whim, though, she paused before leaving and spoke into the air. "Jane?" she said. "Jane?"
    No answer.
    There was no reason for her to expect one. It was Miro who wore the jewel in his ear. Miro and Ender both. How many people did she think Jane could monitor at one time? Maybe two was the most she could handle.
    Or maybe two thousand. Or two million. What did Valentine know of the limitations of a being who existed as a phantom in the philotic web? Even if Jane heard her, Valentine had no right to expect that she would answer her call.
    Valentine stopped in the corridor, directly between Miro's door and the door to the room she shared with Jakt. The doors were not soundproof. She could hear Jakt's soft snoring inside their compartment. She also heard another sound.