#enderxchange

I. Transfer

They had never known one another. Never met before, not really. But Ender had known, from his sister Valentine, that he had a brother who was admitted to Battle School. He had been only two when the older had left, and Ender was sure he remembered faded images of the other's eyes and face, though whether that was really his memory or the pictures of Peter scattered around the house was anyone's guess. He remembered Valentine saying that Peter had been a brute, a bully at school and to her. Even to the young Ender, though of course there was no real memory of it. Now, though, Peter was among the best and the brightest up in the floating fortress. And, despite the monitor being placed on his neck, Ender had no intentions of joining him. Valentine had been found to empathetic, to kind to be sent, and Ender was sure a similar title would befall him. After all, they had one Wiggin child, they did not need another, and Ender was content to remain on Earth as a secret third.

But then the bullies had come, and something within Ender had swelled. Not just the desire to win, but to win completely, and to hurt. He had not known where the drive had come from, the desire to not only defend but conquer, but apparently the Wiggin boys were such good little fighters that the I.F. just had to have another. So they came to Ender, they told him that although his brother was proving himself, they wanted him in the program as well, to act as a backup. They needed another mind that thought like Peter, and that would be him. At first he had been reluctant, he had not wanted to leave Valentine or his life on Earth, but they needed him, to ensure the safety of the world, of Valentine, of his family, of everyone. So he agreed, and was taken into space, to meet the brother he had never even known, and to fight along side him to save the human race.

The first time he ever set eyes on his brother he did not know the other. Peter had blonde curls, and looked so much older then those baby pictures on the wall. But his features were familiar, and the name on his uniform made it clear: Wiggin. At long last Ender had met his brother, in passing at the game room, and they had not said a word to one another. It did not take long for the children in the school to take note that two students shared the same last name along with similar faces. The older kids did not question it, and the only launchie who broke this unspoken rule was Shen. “Hey, you and that other Wiggin kid related?” Ender did not have a response to his only friend, so instead he just shrugged, and although it was painfully apparent Shen wanted to ask more he moved on to talk about other things. Ender was not sure why he had not simply said yes, he supposed it was because he did not know how to feel about it himself. He and Peter were strangers, not really brothers. They were two students in a school, side by side, working. He did not feel he could claim Peter like that, mark the boy as a part of him and his life back on Earth. So he chose a vague choice, and continued playing on his desk as he carried on a half-hearted conversation with Shen.

Time passed, and things at the school became better for Ender. It took work, and a great deal of effort to prove himself, but at last he was fitting in with his Launch group, they had become one, like a team. He saw Peter around, here and there, and their gaze would meet in the halls. Ender could not help but note the fire within his brother's eyes, that spark of ambition, of that need and want to be something great. It was easy to see why he had been chosen, and how at the age of ten he was the commander of Asp army. Somehow Ender thought the snake suited Peter, but why, he could not name a reason. He watched as Asp army slowly pull itself up in the standings, studying his brother from afar. It seemed that they were handling their separate paths well, until the day that Ender found the note on his bed.

They had just gotten done with another session in the battleroom, and the young Launchies had discovered a few new tactics they hoped would be useful in one of the “real” battles. There was a mixture of laughter and sighs as they filed into their barracks, and Ender was among them with a smile, happily sandwiched between Shen and Alai. They went back to their bunks, Ender deciding he would spend some time on the fantasy game, but when he tried to log in he found it was impossible. Instead, there was a note on his desk. And as easily as that, he was promoted.

Peter waited for his new recruit, it was not a trade, but an assignment. One of his better soldiers had been transferred, not a toon leader, but one that had great potential. However, he was confident in his abilities as a leader, he knew he would be able to force this boy to fit into his rising army. After all he was a good commander, it was no secret. He was harsh, maybe even brutal at times, but he got his army to follow him, to respect him, possibly even to love him and his thirst for victory. They also had a want of greatness, of prestige, and they were promised it, so long as they worked for it. And work they did, to the bone, excessive training coupled with their battles.

The new recruit came down the hall. He was small, too small, and a frown crossed Peter's lips. A launchie, not doubt, and worse still it soon became clear that it was the other Wiggin. Peter remembered the first time he had seen his brother, they had passed by one another in the game room, after Ender had bested some of the older children. Their eyes had met for a moment, and then Peter had let them linger for an only a second before he continued walking. He had been shocked by how different the other was now, for only images of him as a tottering toddler remained in his mind from his days on earth. He was so quick, now, intelligent, observant and, above all, talented. So from then on Peter kept tabs on the other, and when they met again he let himself linger, analyze. Ender had been an outcast in his launch group, whereas Peter had quickly taken command, and become the leader, half through persuasion, and half because of physical prowess and the power it held. Ender picked up the games and rules of Battle School quickly, and even though he was quiet it was easy to tell that already he had a firm grasp on the desk system and the hierarchy. But still, he was simply a launchie, and Peter was a commander. His position had been secure, but now he was not so sure.

The boy stopped in front of Peter, standing at attention. “Ender Wiggin, sir, transferred from launch to Asp.” Well, at least the little Bugger hand manners. Just what were the teachers trying to pull? Promoting him so young, and throwing him into his older brother's army. Something was going on, but Peter did not have time to muse over their mind games at the moment. He had a launchie to deal with.

“Good. Take your bunk at the back of the room. Get yourself settled in, put on your new uniform then meet me in my room.”

“Yes sir.”

As Peter walked away he could hear the others calling at Ender, some picking on his size, others offering a greeting, though some kept an icy silence, their disapproval was no doubt clear on their faces. And Peter knew why. They didn't want this little pinprick ruining the progress they had made, they did not want all their hard work to be destroyed by this one fumbling, weak link. But Peter would be damned if he let that happen. All the work he had done was not going to be destroyed by that little third.

It was a short walk back to his quarters, and with a sigh he sat on the bed, allowing his body to relax. He wished he would have been able to speak with Ender in front of the rest of his army, that way there would be no room for any kind of accusations because of their obvious relation, but at the same time the rules he would have to set in place, and the talk he would be forced to have would have alienated the small child further from his comrades. Peter did not know where this conversation was going to lead, so in the end it was best if the pair came to an understanding in private.

There was the knock at the door and Peter told the other to enter, and he could not help the dangerous smile that spread on his lips. Ender stepped into the small room, now dressed in his oversized uniform with the pictures of the Asp upon it. “Well, well, long time no see little bugger.” Peter began, at last rising to his feet, and Ender simply looked up at him. For a moment they stood in silence, Ender debating if he should speak or not as Peter waited. He could see a touch of fear in his brother's eyes, and he knew he vaguely remembered, or had been told about Peter from when they were together. Even at that age Peter had not been a brother, he had only one thing on his mind, and that was being chosen.

“Listen, and listen well. You don't remember me, and I hardly remember you,” What a liar Peter could be. “We are barely brothers. And I am not going to treat you like one.” Ender nodded, sharply replying, “Yes, sir.” It seemed there was a tinge of emotion in his voice, but Peter could not read it and he did not care to. “You will be a member of D toon. You will be expected to work twice as hard as any of the others during practice. During your free play you will work with one of the toon leaders in the battleroom. I will rotate them out daily. You will work with them until you are caught up with the rest of them. Disobey a single word they say and you will answer to me. Are we clear?”

“Sir,” Ender began to speak, and it was obvious by the inflection in his voice that he was forming a question, and Peter quickly put a stop to this. He stepped up to Ender, moving so he was in the smaller boy's face, very serious, “I did not ask for your opinion, soldier, I asked if we were clear.” A little smile came to his plush lips, “It is a yes or no question.” He watched as Ender swallowed, though the youth's face remained placid, a skill that even Peter had to commend. “Yes, sir.” With that Peter released the boy, his point made clear. Not even the slightest disobedience would be allowed, at least, not from Ender.

“Well, now that you understand my rules, you are dismissed. Practice at 1500.”

II. Battles

Bones aching, drenched with sweat, Ender was exhausted. His fist practice with a real army, and they had broken him in. Drills, drills, firing practice, trajectory exercises, and more drills. In his Launch group Ender had been skillful in the battleroom, but now among an army he looked like a penguin trying to fly with eagles. But his toon leader had been fair, tried to help him as much as he could, though it was obvious he resented getting burdened with the kid. A boy on the toon, Lyles, took Ender under his wing, correcting and helping him when the leader could not, but Ender knew this was for his benefit and not out of kindness. He picked up the theories and uses of the formations quickly, but his body was so tiny compared to the others that it was often hard for him to properly contort himself to the right position. He was not good at firing at quick targets, but again, that would come with practice, which it seemed he would be getting more than enough of. But he did not only learn the elements of battleroom war, he also watched as Peter went around to his toons, talking to the leaders, scolding the boys when the messed up. Upon closer inspection, however, it became obvious that Peter was not just being cruel for the sake of it. He did use an element of fear against them, used his power and authority to demand obedience, but Ender would hear the praise in his voice when a straggler finally got it right, he could see the light come into their faces when he offered his rare, meager approval. He forced them to get to where they needed to be with threats of violence, and he made them want to get there by offering them a rare treat.

A few days came and went, and Ender obeyed Peter and trained in private with the toon leaders, all of who were more than a little sore that they had to give up their free play. But Ender was studious, and he learned quickly, and soon they seemed to accept him as he caught on to their instructions. The benefit of being a fast learner that was instructors did not get annoyed with your stupidity, and the benefit of being quiet was that people loved to hear themselves talk. By the time his first battle came he felt more confident in his abilities.

It was early in the morning, just after lights on. Everyone was up and getting ready, when Peter came into the the room, dressed in his flash suit, helmet tucked under his arm. “Alright, we got a Battle with Spider at 0630. Get up, get dressed, let's go!”

In less than five minutes they were ready, following Peter as he ran through the halls of the school, following the line of lights that would lead them to their destination. They reached the gate and their toons formed up with one another, Ender joining D, looking at the blank wall before him that hid the field. He took a deep breath to calm himself, relaxing his body, letting his warm muscles melt. There was no room for anxiety, for jumpiness, he knew that would be hazardous. “A, flank right and up, B, left and down, cover us if you can, distract otherwise. C and D, you'll be offense.” Peter spoke quickly and decisively, “When the gate opens I'll give formations. Get ready boys,” And just then his eyes landed on Ender, and the younger knew the last noun was directed at him. But that was fine, he would prove that he was not a burden, not useless. He would prove himself to Peter, show that with a little more work he would be one of the best soldiers he had. If it had been anyone else Ender knew he would not have sought out this approval, he would have sought to validate himself, thought not for the pleasure of a superior. But he fought to be worthy in his brother's eyes, he wanted to show that he, too, was chosen for a reason. Even if he had not wanted to go, like Peter had. He wanted Peter to be proud, or rather, he at least wanted him to accept, even silently, that they were connected. That would be enough. Even if Peter was violent, he was clever, he was a good leader, and Ender admired that.

Suddenly the wall vanished, and the room was revealed. There was a forest of stars, speckled here and there, all about, but in the middle it seemed there was a large gap. It was only a second later when Peter gave his final orders, “Bounce from the stars, A, B, file at the gap, C, D, wedge, go!” He had not even finished speaking before they were jumping out of the gate, grabbing hand holds, hurling themselves at stars, always making sure to stick close to their unit. Ender followed, managing to keep up with the other boys.

The battle was chaotic, dizzying, but they reached the gap and formed up, the boys told to create the wedges holding onto one another with one hand, the other's aiming their guns. The boys who filed at the flanks covered the two massive formations. The Spider was trying to encircle the moving group, trying to swallow the wedges, but the fire coming above and below courtesy of Asp was doing some major damage in the plan. They reached the far side, and with orders from their toon leaders C pushed off in different directions from one another, going to attack the defense, while D headed for the gate. They reached it with ease, the ritual was performed, and Asp had scored another victory.

Ender had been disabled, his legs frozen, but he had been able to freeze a few enemies completely, and he felt some pride in that. Some of the other boys patted him on the back, saying he didn't so half bad for a midget. It was simple praise, but good to hear. Despite the victory, though, Ender could not help but feel unsettled as he thought of their strategy. For the rest of the day Ender meditated on the battle, replaying different scenarios in his mind, different tactics, and different outcomes, finding his armies weakness, until it was time for practice.

Three days later there was another battle.

It was against Phoenix, and Asp waited at their gate, warmed up from their jog, bodies ready for the battle that was to come. They waited for Peter to give his orders, but he did not say a word. There was a silence in the air and the toon leaders all shifted, looking to one another, frowns on their faces. They wanted to ask, but knew better. They wanted at least a basic direction before the gate opened and final orders were given, but Peter was not willing to grant that wish. A moment more and the gate was gone, and the room came into view. Stars were sparse, and the light was brilliant and almost blinding, as if they were at high noon. Immediately Peter's words filled the air, “We're gonna leapfrog it, A and C, take the first over watch position, B and D, move in towards the enemy, go!” A and C were out, hugging the wall until they reached a star that had a good view of the field, their eyes narrowing against the harsh lights. B and D followed, following their toon leader's orders as they headed from star to star in an uneven pattern. Ender followed, watching as the Battle Room became utter chaos. B had split in half, one section to the north, the other south, while D was steadily moving down, but from an outsiders perspective it would look as if the boys were simply flinging themselves about haphazardly. This organized chaos was amazing, it protected the attacking soldiers, while those behind the stars fired a path ahead, taking out the enemy. But Phoenix was handling this madness gracefully, their counterattack succeeding in disabling some of the over watchers. When the attackers reached positions passed the current watchers the roles were reversed, and Ender found himself tucked behind a star, happily putting his target training to good use. He disabled three soldiers, and froze two. The advancing group again took their place behind stars, and it was time for D to move, but just as they were about to go a soldier came flying over them, firing like a mad man. It was a suicide mission and he was quickly frozen, but not before he had taken out D's leader. Then, on cue, other soldiers began to advance on the leaderless toon. Peter was to far away to give them orders, he was up with B, and no one else said a word, they simply began to fire at the approaching enemy, but Ender saw beyond this attack. They were taking out this flank to get a clear shot to the gate, these were just decoys. “We need to retreat!” He turned to Lyles, a member of his toon, and one of the few people in the army who had grown to like Ender, “You got jello for brains? We got 'em,” He did not see the plan, and there was no time to explain. “Trust me, if we don't do this we are going to lose a lot more than a toon,” For a moment Lyles seemed hesitant, he did not know how Peter would react to part of his unit retreating. But something about Ender's face, his voice, convinced him. Lyles barked out the order for the younger boy, knowing they were more likely to listen to a vet then to a prick, “D, retreat! Now!” All turned to look as Lyles sprung from his star, back up towards their own gate, and with a mixture of confusion and fear what was left of D followed, holding in their protests as they had been trained to do. Ender used the frozen body of the toon leader to push back some of the closer troops, giving himself time to escape, joining the rest of the boys. “Grab those stars!” He shouted, gesturing with his weapon for the outside layer of the mass to grab onto the objects if they could. “Cover us!” Three of the boys managed to stop themselves against the few stars that came into their path, and Ender was one of them. “When the enemy gets to you, jump back off and head towards our gate.” They nodded, and Ender bounced off again. When the retreating group began to slow Ender ordered all those who could to grab onto stars, just as the group that had been covering began their retreat. An effective peeling system was put into place, as D took out the advancing soldiers while they moved back to their own gate, to protect it from the group of five boys that had slipped past the chaos and had been steadily, stealthy moving their way back towards the Asp's gate. By the end of it only four boys remained in D toon, but they had stopped the enemy from getting through the gate, and on the opposite front Asp managed to arrive at their destination and perform the ending ritual. Once all were unfrozen and back in the corridor the boys from D surrounded Ender, laughter in their voices, giving him hard, friendly slaps, even their leader, who Ender had used as a human battering ram, approached. “You did good,” he said, “But if you ever hurl me like that again I'll kill ya, you little fart.” But there was a smile on his face, and it was easy to see he was glad that his toon had been put to use, and that they had won. Only Peter did not seem pleased, though his face was like stone, unmoving, just watching. He is mad at me. Why? Ender thought, and then he realized. It was because he was new, he was still green, this was only his second battle and he had been able to command a toon that only a week ago would have never listened to him if their lives depended upon it. He had shown Peter up without meaning to, by trying to aid his army. He was suddenly scared of his brother, of that look in his eyes, that darkness dancing in its bright hues, and the only comfort Ender took was that he would not attack him in front of his army. That would show his displeasure, and a weakness, it would push his followers away from him. Peter was too smart to let his rage make such a huge mistake.

“Be quiet,” Peter ordered, his voice calm, barely raised, but they fell silent. “We won by the skin of our teeth today, I don't even know what the hell that was. Go get yourselves cleaned up, go to classes, and then get your asses to practice. We are working overtime.” No one groaned or protested, but the disappointment and displeasure was painful on their faces. “Dismissed.” They began to leave, a communal sigh shared between them after having the sweetness of their victory taken away from them. “You.” He said as Ender began to move, and the boy stopped. “Wiggin. I would like to talk with you. In private.” The boy nodded, watching as the rest of the army vanished into the curve of the school. No one would be coming back down this way until free play. They were alone, and it was terrifying. “What the hell was that?” Peter's voice came out in almost a whisper, and Ender's brows drew together. “I was trying to--”

“Shut up.” Peter interrupted, standing his ground, looking impossibly tall. “Because of you and your little plan you left us out there to be slaughtered.”

“Sir, if we had not retreated they would have reached out gate.”

“What do you take me for, a moron? I saw those bastards sneaking by. I did not go after them because I knew if all my toons followed the plan, we would make it through their gate with enough time blow them kisses.”

Ender's own anger was starting to build, his frustration. But he pushed it down, tried to keep it from boiling, “This way was a sure way to victory,” he began to explain, but once again Peter stopped him before he could finished, “Are you still questioning me? Your way cost us, our standings are going to drop, and drastically.” That was why he was angry, the standings. He wanted his army to excel in everything, not just in rank, but in individual categories as well. “Peter, we--” The wind was knocked out of him, and Ender felt a sudden vice on his neck, causing him to panic and struggle. He was pinned against a wall, his head throbbing, and Peter's face close to his, a sickening grin plastered there. Ender had seen him be rough with his troops, and he had heard stories in passing from Valentine, when he questioned her, but he had never seen this face for himself. “What? Do you know it all, hm? The little third to great to listen to his big brother, knows it all because he was sent to Battle School too? Cause he was made for it?” Peter paused, his grip tight, and Ender reached up to try and pry the strong hand away, though it was in vain. “Listen, and listen good, little bitch. This is my army, and I know how to run it. You better keep your place and remember you are still green, you don't know shit. If you ever risk a victory again to try and show off, you will regret it.” The hand tightened completely, and Ender's sight began to blur. “Dearly.”

The moment the grip was released Ender crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, almost grasping for it with his hands. “Now, get yourself cleaned up and get to class, wouldn't want the strategic genius to be late.” And as Peter left, Ender could feel the tears burning in his eyes, and his hand reached up to cradle his battered neck.

III. Solution

After the battle with Phoenix things changed, and Peter was very displeased. This had not been the effect he had wanted to have on his army. He was sure that Ender had not complained to anyone, the boy seemed to keep to himself, but the army could sense the shift in Ender. How he became more timid. He still worked just as hard, if not harder, but there was a fear in him now, a hesitance after he had spoken with Peter. Naturally the members of D noticed it the most, but others did as well, and hushed whispers began, irritated gossip formed. No one spoke outright, and on the surface things appeared normal, but Peter could sense the rift in his army. And it kept him awake at night.

He lay in his bed as the lights went out, looking into the darkness at the ceiling above. It had been over a week, and the situation had not mended itself. The soldiers were worried and upset, because what they saw as a good act had not been recognized, rather it had been punished. Some were frightened, many were outraged. He had not even spoken with the boy in public, and just from subtle clues his army had easily picked it up. It seemed they knew him as well as he knew them, and the thought infuriated him. His brow drew together and he rolled over onto his side, allowing his hand to dangle off the little bed and into the darkness. He needed to mend this, before it got beyond his control. One error, and then any other mistake would seem bigger and greater, until it all blew up. He had hoped the talk he had with Ender would have knocked him down, not built him up among the army.

There was no easy solution. He could not apologize to Ender, he would seem weak, and he would not deny that he had been right. The boy was full of himself, or so Peter believed. But it was not without reason. The little shit was good, and his quick thinking might very well have won them the game, though it cost them some points in the charts. But winning, that was what was most important. There was another groan, and Peter rolled over onto his back again, arms behind his head, eyes squeezed shut. Damn him, Ender had been nothing but a nuisance to Peter since the day he was born. He had been the promise child, proof that those in charge knew that he and Valentine would fail. Peter had feared his little brother, and resented him. Since Ender was old enough to be left in Peter's care he had been cruel. He would steal his toys, trip him, to his face declare how much he hated Ender, how much he wanted him to die. He had meant those words, though he wished he had not. If it was not for the monitors, for the fact that Ender was a third, Peter would have loved him. He wanted to love him, to embrace his brother, to help him. But ambition would not allow it. Until, at last, Peter had been chosen. Peter had won, and he could show a first and final act of tenderness towards the despised brother.

Now, Ender had followed him, and again he was a threat, competition. Peter had worked to break his cycle of physical violence. Granted, it was one of the ways he had been able to win command of his launch group, by scaring most and physically harming one child who had questioned his authority. At the time the adults had not stepped in, and Peter figured it was like a Spartan's training. Be brutal, be sly, steal, harm, kill, even, so long as you do not get caught then we will be proud of you. But as he grew he soon realized he needed to show a level of kindness in order to make it any further, he needed to retain his vicious nature, but add in a layer that made boys want to follow him. So slowly he began to show a small tenderness for his friends, and he expanded it out, to the point that his praises and affections were sought. And in this way he had been able to advance up through the ranks, all the way up to commander.

But now, it was like he was back to square one, again fighting his urge to crush what was a threat to his future.

The gears in his brain clicked and turned as he rolled over one final time to bury his face in his pillow. He never should have raised a hand against Ender. Now, he was not so sure he would be able remedy the situation, until he heard a soft sound as a slip of paper was pushed under his door.

It was supposed to have been another battle, but in the morning Peter came to find it was a promotion. Aggarwal, C toon's leader, had been promoted to commander of Badger. Initially, Peter was annoyed that he was getting a new transfer so soon, then he was glad for his friend. He would be a good commander, Peter knew it. They had been in one another's launch group, and it was about time the other got his own army. Now he was tasked with deciding who would be his replacement. He sat down on his bed, looking off, when it came into his mind. And the paper crumpled in his hands. A solution to both problems at once. He did not know If he should be thankful, or disgusted. He pulled up his desk and quickly typed a message, sent it out, and waited. Ten minuted later, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” He said, setting aside the crumpled paper with a sigh. Ender walked in, his face placid, which caused Peter's stomach to twist oddly. “You wanted to see me, sir?” For a moment Peter said nothing, just observed Ender, causing the younger to become uncomfortable, though he did not shift, did not tense. “Aggarwal was promoted,” Peter said simply, and Ender nodded. “Yes sir, to Badger.”

Another moment of silence.

Most of the other kids don't understand why Dink spends this much time in the library. Sometimes they shuffle close, to see if maybe he's found something interesting, some font of strategic brilliance that they had overlooked. They always leave disappointed; there's nothing that catches Dink's interest that's interesting to anyone else.

Actually, that's untrue. What Dink reads would be terribly interesting to anyone who let themselves admit that they needed it, but this is Battle School, where recognizing a desire to be home again is a cardinal sin. So Dink sits alone most days on this end of the library, scores of old novels loaded onto his desk, searching for a whiff of home, the scent of something that tickles his memory.

Some days he reads about children, and it makes him angry. Some days he reads about the past, and it makes him determined.

And some days, just some days, he reads this-- ancient novels about people and romance, subjects that carry him far away from here, then flit away, leaving him sitting at his desk with lead in his shoes. He knows he doesn't understand it, at least not the way those people with their boots on the earth do. In this he is a child, and he knows it.

Still, he thinks he gets it, at least a little, in his way. When he catches Petra in the corridor and they both pause. She throws him a quip and he bears it with easy humor. She has to be strong, Petra-- the least he can do is to ensure she doesn't need to puff up and be even stronger around him. He wants to; wants to make it easier on her. Wants to be someone she wants to spend time with. That, he understands.

It's nothing like the novels. And yet he starts to notice it more and more around him as he reads. It makes sense, in a messed-up sort of way. They are like children, but not. They are like adults, but not. Somewhere in the in-between spaces, they make their own funhouse-mirror versions of all the things that children do, that adults do.

He notices it in Petra and himself first. That's not hard. After all, he's involved.

He notices it in Alai and Ender second.

Quite literally, as a matter of fact. First, there's Petra, practically slamming him up against the bulkhead because she's so angry. They took one of her best toon leaders, she says, in-between expletives. They took one of her best toon leaders early. Now she has to reorganize her army, because she relied on this toon leader. The teachers are clearly trying to sabotage her.

Dink lets her rage at him, his hands held up so she knows he's not a threat. "I know," he keeps saying. "The teachers are rotten, they're screwing us over," he says. "You're right," he repeats, ad infinitum.

Finally, she relaxes. "Kuso. I'll figure this one out."

"You will," Dink says, knowing full well that's not the way you're supposed to talk with a rival. He's supposed to put her down. Well, not today. "Who is it, anyway?"

She runs her fingers through her short hair and tosses a pointed look down the hall, towards the game room. That's where Dink spots them: Ender and Alai, Alai bent over a launchie game, the outline of Ender's head and part of his face visible just a few inches away.

That's pain on Ender's face, Dink realizes with a jolt. He's not sure what to do with the information.

"That's rough," he says, dragging his attention back to Petra.

"Spare me your pity, Meeker," Petra mutters, but one of her hands is rubbing at her arm, a breach of posture he almost never sees in her.

"You're graduating in, what, a month, though?" he says. "You'll be okay. There's only so much the bastards can still do to you."

She takes that better. "Of course I will, dullbob," she says, swatting him over the head. He lets her.

When she leaves, his eyes dart back towards Ender. Alai's already gone.

---

Alai walks the corridors for a long time.

He knows he's being watched, but he doesn't much care. Rat Army's Meeker isn't going to do anything to a simple soldier like Alai, and eventually he'll have to go back to sleep, rest up for another day of training.

So does Alai, actually. But he knows he'll be distracted if he doesn't let this seep out of him now. That's why he wanders, repeating old words over and over in his mind, begging empty space for guidance. Ender will have a hard enough time ahead of him, without knowing he's sent Alai adrift without an anchor.

Except that's the nice way of looking at it, isn't it? Even with this self-inflicted hurt, he's still trying to come up with pretty excuses. Half-excuses: there's truth behind the thought, but it's overly simple. The real truth is that tomorrow he will wake-up, and his commander will order him to train, and this time he will have to imagine Ender's face behind the helmet of their enemy. He'll be trained to rain bolts down on Ender's head. He knows it. He knows it as well as he does the voice in the back of his mind that keeps telling him not to show his throat to someone who might cut it.

He doesn't want to think of Ender like that, but he does. Now one certainty has gone out of the world, and he finds himself grasping for another. The oldest one, deep in his heart, a ball of unconditional love that he can surrender to, that will never be his enemy.

"Meeker," he says. "Is there any reason you are breathing down my neck?"

"Is that how you address your own commander?" Meeker seems somewhat amused. Alai is not, but he matches the expression with a lazy smile anyway.

"Only when his back is turned."

"I figure you won't be calling Ender sir any time soon either," Meeker says, "So I'll let that one slide."

The name drop is deliberate. It doesn't take a Battle Schooler to notice it. Alai ignores it. They have no business sharing weaknesses, him a soldier leaning away from the light, Dink a seasoned commander with brown-brown gleaming off his face, the black buried in the shadow cast by his nose.

"Is there anything I can do for you, sir?" Alai asks, drawing it out, making it sloppy.

"I'm sorry," Meeker says. "I'm sorry this is what they make us. I'm sorry this is what we've got to turn it into. Don't let it go, okay? Don't let them win."

There is something about the way Meeker says these words that makes Alai feel faintly uncomfortable, as if caught in an act he didn't realize he was putting on. Again, his mind reaches for the white-hot core of himself. It cools him down.

"Sure," he says, saluting Meeker with naked impertinence. He knows Meeker will take it in stride, but push no further; otherwise he wouldn't have done it. It's not wise tempting those who want undivided power, you have to ply them until you can shift the balance subtly-- Bernard taught him that a long time ago.

And Meeker is the opposite of Bernard.

As expected, Meeker just shakes his head and chuckles. "You've got a lot of attitude for an emossin' brat who doesn't even have his own toon yet," he said. "Look, I'm just saying. Don't let them take everything you are. Winning the game's not worth it. Okay?"

Alai meets him with a blank stare. He came here because he needed silence, not assurances.

Meeker lets out a sigh. "This is crazy," he mutters. "We're all crazy." But he pulls away and passes Alai by, leaving the point by the wayside. Now there is breathing room again. Alai inhales deeply. He places his hand over his heart and releases the breath.

One, two, three, four. Allah is with him. He has lost not the anchor, but a door.

In that very moment, the lights go out.

---

He spends the night in his bunk, recounting every step of his conversation with Ender. It is not Alai's way to do it like this-- he chooses his philosophy and then lets the chips fall where they may, no regrets. But Ender has always been a different case, driving him to impulse, then to rationalize it retroactively.

Meeker is right, he thinks. We're all crazy. But I'm the craziest, because it's almost 0500 and I haven't slept yet, and we've got training in two hours. Instead I'm sitting here thinking about Ender. What's this thing whispering into my ear? It must want me to lose - there's no time for these matters here, no space.

What calms him eventually is thoughts of his mother. Sitting by his bedside, making him recite his prayers quietly, secretly. The quran has a prayer for everything, and now he's grateful for it. Even if he can't sleep, even if he can share his experiences with no one in this school, at least he can speak.

When the lights flicker on, he has to blink away the glare. There is a fuzz that wraps around his head. Sleeplessness, he knows, but the knowledge doesn't make it any less unpleasant.

He slips out of bed before any of the others stir. They'll all be heading to the showers soon, but Alai has no interest in it. Let him be groddy and tired today; it matches his mood perfectly.

Instead he walks back into the halls that he wandered so late last night. It's not so far from here to the barracks newly assigned to Dragon. Alai knows the way because there aren't many unused doors here, so it's a simple matter of subtraction. Once he's there, though, he's not sure what to do. Behind that door are dozens of boys he's never met.

The barracks of other armies aren't technically off-limits, but custom says that they should be. The absurd thought of knocking occurs to him for just a moment, his fist lifting up and hovering in mid-air, but then he thinks better of it.

He steps away instead, continues further down the hallway as if that had been his intention all along.

"Are you stalking me?"

It is the work of years of watching his parents and then his teachers move gracefully that keeps Alai from startling. When he turns, it's in one fluid motion, his awareness of his companion's identity clear on his face. Alai has often been surprised, but he has rarely been caught in the act. It's one of his few great weapons.

"I thought I'd come see how badly you'd wrecked your shiny new barracks already," he drawls.

Ender smiles at him, but there's restraint in it now. Alai can see it clear as day.

"We haven't started smearing our excrement on the walls," Ender says. "But it's a near thing."

"You should hurry up with that," Alai says, "It'll help cover up the smell of your unwashed hordes."

"Oh, they're washed," Ender says, "I made sure of that."

Alai chuckles, but it sounds hollow to his ears. This is awkward, and it hurts, a burn in his chest he wishes to blame on nasopharyngitis. So he acts on impulse, his hand shooting forward to touch Ender's. The familiarity should make him feel better; Ender's automatic response doubly so.

But it doesn't. It can't. They are soldiers on two sides of a divide, no matter how much he wishes they weren't, and he must not be discouraged from following the script.

"Meeker told me you were going crazy without me already," Alai says, grinning.

Ender looks like he wants to say something, then opts to say something else instead. "I'm doing okay."

It neither continues the familiar patter of their old back-and-forth, nor does it offer any kind of truth. Alai's grin goes nowhere, but inside, he stumbles. "That's what they all say, and then they fall over, begging me to come back."

Ender's gaze drops back to their hands.

Just for a second, but it's enough. A jolt of pain tears through Alai's chest and he's not sure if it's his or Ender's. He doesn't know what to do with it. His mother taught him to adhere to his duty, for that was what was asked of him. His duty is clear here, but his heart is not.

"I should get back to my army," Ender says. There's a funny undertone in his voice. Alai realizes he hasn't said anything in at least a minute and they've just been standing here, staring at each other like strangers, like the opposite of strangers.

He slips his fingers through Ender's. Impulse again. Always with you, Ender. Ender, who looks startled, but then hides it. It's an invisible wall Alai has seen before, a wall pointed directly at many of their students, miles of distance, miles of protection. And if he chooses not to lie to himself, then he must choose to acknowledge that he's seen the bricks come in well before now, and he helped put them there, because he knows what will be asked of them.

"Meeker's right," he says. "This is pretty crazy." He doesn't know what else to say. He hopes Ender does.

"I think we're done here, Alai." Ender's voice is soft. There's nothing to find in his tone now: Alai can hear the bricks coming in there, too.

"I don't," Alai says. "I don't think we're done," he clarifies. "Just got to win this one. And lucky us, that's what you're good at."

Except he only gets about half of that out of his mouth-- because Ender's mouth is on his cheek, the opposite cheek, the one Alai didn't kiss when it was his turn. "I'll beat them," Ender whispers. Then he pulls away, adds: "But we're done. For now, we're done." He doesn't sound happy. He doesn't sound sad. He sounds... he sounds exactly as Alai did, when he said his own goodbyes to Ender.

It stings. He wonders if it's revenge.

Except it's Ender, so it can't be.

Ender slips past him back into the hallway. Alai watches him leave, though it's pointless. There's no sign of the boy from this angle. There's just the legend, his head held high and his shoulders squared.

"Fada’aa rabbahu annee maghloobun fantasir," he whispers very softly under his breath, then starts walking, blindly, again. He walks a long time.

--

Petra's leaving in three weeks. Dink reminds himself he won't be around for much longer himself, and that it's stupid to spend too much time thinking about it. It's the books that are making him linger - all that talk about boys and girls and longing gazes-- he had to toss Romeo and Juliet off his desk because the asinine tragedy of it all made him vaguely ill. Who'd be that stupid? You'd think lovers would prefer each other alive.

There is a faint thud in the seat next to him. "So, Meeker," Alai says casually, "What you reading now? Dao? Giáp? Hannibal?"

"Austen," Dink says dryly.

"Who'd he beat?"

"Pride and prejudice," Dink says, cheerfully this time, and endures the odd look Alai sends him. "You should give it a shot." His eyes darted back to his desk. "'It sometimes is a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him.' I should convince someone to tell Petra that. It'll brighten my day."

Alai snorts. "You're slated for another game in a couple of days, and you're reading stories about romance?" he said. "You have unique ideas about training."

"Who cares about training," Dink says. "Haven't you heard? They're starting to screw up the games. Soon I'll have as much to do with my army winning as I do with the rotation of the earth. When I'm done playing, when they're done with us, I want to know how to be a bonafide real human being. So I got to look at how everyone else does it. You should too."

"You ever think there's something rotten about all of this?" Alai says, his face molding into a wan smile.

"Every day," Dink says, passing his copy of Pride and Prejudice on to Alai's desk. "But I can't let it eat me. I don't want to wind up like Petra and Ender, all swallowed alive by the game. Someone's got to know the right side up."

"And you want to be that someone."

"And so do you," Dink says, "Whether you want to admit it or not. So read. It's good for you."

He would remember the times they would stay up late talking strategy and huddle over one desk, bumping into each other and laughing. He would remember the practices in the battle room, when Alai was a launchie still, and Ender was in Salamander. It seemed like they could read each other’s minds, sometimes. He would remember the times where he almost messed up a launch across the battle room, because he did not want to let go of Alai’s hands. He would remember talking about pointless things, like what food they liked best, and what was their favorite color, until late into the night, and falling asleep on each other’s beds because they were so exhausted. He would remember the times they would walk together between classes and even if they never properly held hand, Ender would let his hands bruch Alai’s more often than was entirely accidental. That was a thing of the past, now.

He was floating again after practice one day. Graff had finally let them use stars during practice, so floating was a little bit more dangerous than it used to be. He wore his flash suit and helmet when floating now, so he did not accidentally hurt himself by crashing into something. He ended up injured too much to risk injury when he could avoid it. He was glad he had worn his helmet when he his one of the stars and bounced off into another. He stopped himself so he would not ricochet anymore, and sat on top of one of the stars. He sat there, staring down at the enemy’s gate for awhile. It was not quite as peaceful, but it was better than nothing. He took off his helmet and let it float away. The star shifted suddenly and someone sat down next to him.  He looked up. Alai.