Too bad none of the new xenos had been wakened yet — they would have killed for a chance to be along for the ride. But all in good time.

On the way, Ix explained to Ender as much as he had gleaned from talking to his son. "Po didn't want to leap to conclusions — he's a cautious boy — but from what he says, Sel thinks it's some kind of genetic merge between a formicoid species and a local worm — conceivably even the bloodworm that tried to wipe out our first generation."

"The one you take injections to control?"

"We have better methods now," said Ix. "Preventive rather than maintenance. They can't take hold. The original problem was that we were already deeply infected before we knew the problem existed — they had to be rooted out. But my generation never got the infection. You won't either. You'll see."

"Define 'formicoid, " said Ender.

"Look, I'm not sure myself, Po and I didn't talk long. But. my guess is that he meant 'formicoid' the way we'd say 'mammalian' or even 'chordate, rather than 'humanoid.»

Ender looked a little disappointed. "You've got to understand, I'm a little obsessed with the formics. My old enemy, you know? Anything that might bring me closer to understanding them.»

Ix said nothing. Either he understood or he didn't. Either way, what he cared about was that both his son and his mentor were out there, without food and with a vastly important scientific discovery that would make waves on Earth and in all the colonies.

With only one satellite in the sky so far — the original transport ship — there was no way to triangulate a global positioning system. That would come later, when Morgan's people placed their network of geosyncs into orbit. For now, they depended entirely on the maps that had been generated before they landed, and Po's description of the route they would need to follow. Ender was impressed that the kid's instructions were perfect. Not a missed landmark, not a wrong turn. No delays at all.

Even proceeding cautiously, they made good time. They were there five hours after the call from Po, and it was still daylight, though it wouldn't be for much longer. As they skimmed into the valley with all its cave entrances, Ender saw with some amusement that the young man waving to them was no more than a year or two older than he was. Why had he been surprised that Po could do a good, reliable job? Hadn't Ender himself been doing a man's job for years?

Ix was off the skimmer almost before it stopped, and ran to his son and embraced him. Ender might be governor, but Ix was in charge here, giving instructions to the marines about where to park and unload. Ender authorized the instructions with a wink, and then set to work helping the men with their work. He was tall enough now that he could do a decent share of it, though not as much as two adult men with marine training. They found things to chat about while they worked, and Ender broached a subject that he'd been thinking about through most of the voyage.

"A world like this," said Ender, "almost makes you sorry to leave again, doesn't it?"

"Not me," said one of them. "Everything's so dirty. Give me shipboard life and crappy food!"

But the other one said nothing, just glanced at Ender and then looked away. So he was considering it. Staying. That was something Ender would have to negotiate with Morgan. He would be sorry if the way he thwarted Morgan's plans made it impossible to work out a way for some of the crew to stay. Still, there'd be time to figure it out. Work out a trade — because there had to be at least a few of the younger generation born here on Shakespeare who were longing to get out of this place, this tiny village, and see a wider world. It was the old tradition of the sea. And of the circus. Lose a few crew members in every port or town, but pick up a few others who have an itchy foot or a dreamy eye.

Out of the cavern emerged an old man, who took more than a few moments to straighten up from being inside the cave. He spoke for a few moments to Po and Ix, and then, as they headed inside the cavern, dragging a sledge filled with roots and fruits — a sledge that Ix had made sure they loaded onto a skimmer — Sel Menach turned to look at Ender for the first time.

"Ender Wiggin," he said.

"Sel Menach," said Ender. "Po said you had a giant worm situation going on here."

Sel looked at the marines, who had their hands on their sidearms. "No weapons needed. We're not exactly talking with the things, but they understand rudimentary images."

"Things?" asked Ender.

"While we were feeding the one, two others came up. I don't know if it's enough to sustain a breeding population, but it's better than coming upon a species when only one specimen is left alive. Or none."

"'Formicoid' is a word that's been bandied about," said Ender.

"Can't be sure till we get the genetic material scoped and scanned," said Sel. "If they were really formics, they'd be dead. The adult bodies have carapaces; they're not furred, with an endoskeleton. Might not even be as close to formics as lemurs are to us — or they might be as close as chimps. But Ender," said Sel, his eyes glistening. "I talked to it. No, I thought to it. I gave it an image and it responded. And it gave me one back. Showed me how to hitch a ride on it through the tunnel."

Ender looked at Sel's scraped and torn clothing. "Rough ride."

"Rough road," said Sel. "The ride was fine."

"You know I came here for the formics," said Ender.

"Me too," said Sel, grinning. "To kill them."

"But now to understand them," said Ender.

"I think we've found a key here. Maybe not to every last door, but it'll open something." Then he put an arm across Ender's shoulder and led him away from the others. Ender usually disliked the arm-across-the-shoulder move — it was how one man asserted superiority over another. But there was no hint of that in Sel. It was more like an assertion of camaraderie. Even conspiracy. "I know we can't talk openly," said Sel, "but give it to me straight. Are you governor or not?"

"In fact as well as name," said Ender. "The threat was averted and he's back on the ship, cooperating as if that's all he ever intended."

"Maybe it was," said Sel.

Ender laughed. "And maybe this larva you've found will teach us calculus before the day is out."

"I'll be happy if it knows how to count to five."

Later, after night fell and the men sat around a fire eating the fresh, easily spoiled food Po's mother had sent for tonight's supper, Sel was expansive, full of speculation, full of hope. "These creatures metabolize gold and extrude it in their carapaces. Maybe they do it with whatever metal is in the ore, or maybe they bred separate subspecies for each metal they needed. Maybe this isn't the only population with survivors. Maybe we can locate iron miners, copper miners, tin, silver, aluminum, anything we need. But if this group is average, then we'll find some groups that are all dead, and some that have larger populations. It would be too freakish for this to be the last surviving group in the world."

"We'll get on it right away," said Ender. "While we still have marines from the ship to help in the search. And they can take. locals with them to learn how to fly the skimmers like experts before the ship goes away."

Ix laughed. "You almost said 'natives' instead of 'locals.»

"Yes," Ender admitted freely. "I did."

"It's all right," said Ix. "The formics didn't evolve here either. So 'native' just means 'born here, and that describes me and Po — everybody except the ancient ones of Sel's generation. Natives and newcomers, but in the next generation, we'll all be natives."

"Then you think that's the term we should use?"

"Native Shakespearians," said Ix. "That's what we are."

"I hope we don't have to do some kind of blood ceremony or initiation to be accepted into the tribe."