To: mazerrackham%nonexistent@unguessable.com/imaginary.heroes

From: hgraff%educadmin@ifcom.gov

{self-shred protocol}

Subj: How about a little voyage?

Dear Mazer,

I know as well as anyone that you almost refused to come home from your last voyage, and I'm certainly not going to let them send you anywhere now. But you took too big a risk testifying for me (or for Ender; or for truth and justice; I don't presume to guess your motives) and the heat is on. The best way, I think, for you to become less visible and therefore less likely to be further interfered with is to let it be known that you will be the commander of a certain colony ship. The one that's going to carry Ender away to safety.

Once you're fully ignored because you're supposedly going on a forty-year voyage, it will be easy enough to reassign you at the last minute to another ship that isn't leaving till later. No publicity that time. You'll just happen not to go.

As for Ender, we'll let him in on the lie from the start. He doesn't need or deserve any more surprises. But he also doesn't need you or me to protect him. I think he's proven that many times over.

—Hyrum

PS: It's just too cute for you to use your real name as your secret identity on Unguessable.com . Who knew you had a sense of irony?

Mother and Father were both out of the house. That was a bad thing, because it meant Peter could get in full carpet-chewing mode if he felt like it, and things were definitely heading that way.

"I can't believe I got suckered into this," said Peter.

"Suckered into what?"

"Having Locke and Demosthenes push for Ender not to come home."

"You haven't been paying attention," said Valentine. "Demosthenes is pushing for Ender to come back and restore America to its former greatness. And Locke is the conciliatory moderate, trying to find a middle way, as he always does, the miserable appeaser."

"Oh shut up," said Peter. "It's too late for you to start playing dumb. But I had no way of knowing they were going to turn that stupid court martial into a smear campaign against the Wiggin name!"

"Oh, I see," said Valentine. "It's not Ender, it's the fact that you can't take advantage of being Locke without revealing who you are, and who you are is Ender's brother. Now that won't be such a nice boost for you."

"I can't accomplish anything unless I get into a position of influence, and now it's going to be a lot harder because Ender killed people."

"In self-defense."

"When he was a baby."

"I distinctly remember," said Valentine, "that you once promised to kill him."

"I didn't mean it."

Valentine had her doubts. She was the only one who didn't trust Peter's sudden bout of niceness several Christmases ago, when apparently he was anointed by Saint Nick—or Uriah Heap—with the unguent of altruism. "My point is that Ender didn't kill everybody who threatened him."

And there it was—a flash of the old rage. She watched, amused, as Peter fought it down, got it under control.

"It's too late to change our position on Ender's return." He said it like an accusation, as if this had all been her idea.

Well, in a way, it had. But not the actual implementation—that was all Peter's script.

"But before we let it be discovered who Locke really is, we have to rehabilitate Ender's reputation. That's not going to be easy. I just can't figure out which of us should do it. On the one hand, Demosthenes would be right in character—but nobody would trust his motives. On the other hand, if Locke does it openly, then everybody will think I had an ulterior motive when it comes out who I really am."

Valentine didn't even smirk, though she knew—had known for years—that Colonel Graff and probably half the I.F. command knew who Locke and Demosthenes really were. They had kept the secret so that it wouldn't compromise Ender. But at some point, somebody was going to let it slip—and it wasn't going to be on Peter's own timing.

"No, I think what we have to do," said Peter, "is bring Ender home after all. But not to the United States, or at least not under the control of the U.S. government. I think Locke needs to speak with compassion about the young hero who can't help how he was exploited." Peter put on his Locke voice—a conciliatory whine that if he ever used it in public, Locke would be out of business in a trice. "Let him come home, as a citizen of the world he saved. Let the Hegemon's Council protect him. If no one threatens him, the boy poses no danger." Peter looked at her triumphantly and went back to his own voice. "See? We bring him home, and then when my identity comes out, I'm a loyal brother, yes, but I also acted for the good of the whole world, and not for the advantage of the United States."

"You're forgetting a couple of things," said Valentine.

Peter glared at her. He hated it when she accused him of making a mistake, but he had to listen to her because she was often right. Even though he usually pretended that he had already thought of her objection.

"First, you're assuming that Ender wants to come home."

"Of course he wants to come home."

"You don't know that. We don't know him. Second, you're assuming that if he does come home, he'll be such a cuddly kid that everybody will decide he isn't really a child-killing monster."

"We've both watched the vids of the court martial," said Peter. "Those men love Ender Wiggin. You could see it in everything they said and did. All that mattered to them was protecting him. Which is exactly how everybody used to act when Ender lived here."

"He never actually lived here," said Valentine. "We moved after he left, remember?"

Another glare. "Ender makes people want to die for him."

"Or kill him," she said with a smile.

"Ender makes adults love him."

"So we're back to the first problem."

"He wants to come home," said Peter. "He's human. Humans want to go home."

"But where is Ender's home?" asked Valentine. "He's spent more than half his life in Battle School. What does he even remember about living with us? An older brother who was constantly bullying him, threatening to kill him—"

"I'll apologize," said Peter. "I really am sorry I acted like that."

"But you can't apologize if he doesn't come home. Besides, Peter, he's a smart kid. Smarter than us—there's a reason we weren't taken into Battle School and he was. So he'll figure out exactly how you're using him. Hegemon's Council—that is such itshay. He won't stay under your thumb."

"He's been trained for war. Not for politics," said Peter.

His hint of a smile was so smug Valentine wanted to smash a baseball bat into his face a little. "It doesn't matter," said Valentine. "You can't bring him home no matter what Locke writes."

"And why is that?"

"Because you didn't create the forces that dread him and fear his return, you just exploited them. They aren't going to change their minds, not even for Locke. And also, Demosthenes won't let you."

Peter looked at her with amused contempt. "Oh, going freelance, eh?"

"I think I can scare people into keeping Ender in space better than you can make them pity him enough to bring him home."

"I thought you loved him best. I thought you wanted him home."

"I wanted him home for the past seven years, Peter," said Valentine, "and you were glad he was gone. But now—to bring him home so that he can be under the protection of the Hegemon's Council—which means under your control, since you've got the thing packed with your toadies—"

"Locke's toadies," Peter corrected her.

"I'm not helping you bring Ender home so he can be a tool to advance your career."

"So you'd make your beloved little brother stay in permanent exile in space, just to spite your nasty older brother?" asked Peter. "Wow, I'm glad I'm not the one you love."

"You nailed it, Peter," said Valentine. "I've spent all these years under your thumb. I know exactly how it feels. Ender would hate it. I know, because I hate it."

"You've loved the whole thing. Being Demosthenes—you know what power feels like."

"I know what it feels like to have power flow through me and into your hands," said Valentine.

"Is that what this is about? You're suddenly power hungry?"

"Peter, you're such an idiot about the people you supposedly know best. I'm not telling you I want your power. I'm telling you that I'm getting out from under your thumb."

"Fine, I'll just write the Demosthenes essays myself."

"No you won't, because people would know something was wrong. You can't do Demosthenes."

"Anything you can do . . ."

"I've changed all the passwords. I've hidden all of Demosthenes' memberships and money and you can't get to any of it."

Peter gazed at her with pity. "I'll find it all if I want to."

"It wouldn't do you any good. Demosthenes is retiring from politics, Peter. He's going to plead ill health and offer a ringing endorsement . . . of Locke!"

Peter looked horrorstruck. "You can't! It would destroy Locke to have Demosthenes' endorsement!"

"You see? I do have some weapons you fear."

"Why would you do this? All these years, and suddenly now you've decided to pack up your dolls and dishes and leave the tea party?"

"I never played with dolls, Peter. Apparently you did."

"Stop this," said Peter sternly. "Really. It's not funny. Let's get Ender home. I won't try to control him the way you're saying."

"You mean the way you control me."

"Come on, Val," said Peter. "Just a couple more years and I can unmask myself as Locke—and as Ender's brother. Sure, salvaging his reputation will help me, but it'll help Ender, too."

"I think you should do it. Salvage away, Peter. But I don't think Ender should come home. Instead, I'll go to him. Mom and Dad will, too, I bet."

"They're not going to pay for you to have a jaunt into space—not all the way to Eros. That would take months anyway. Right now it's practically on the other side of the sun."