Xenocide Part 38

"I wouldn't talk if I were you," said Valentine dryly. "You've done a few stints as a hero yourself over the centuries."

"It may not be necessary anyway," said Ela. "Quara knows a lot more about the descolada than she's telling. She may already know whether the intelligent adaptability of the descolada can be separated from its life-sustaining functions. If we could make a virus like that, we could test the effect of the descolada on pequenino intelligence without threatening the life of the subject."

"The trouble is," said Valentine, "Quara isn't any more likely to believe our story that the descolada is an artifact created by another species than Qing-jao was able to believe that the voice of her G.o.ds was just a genetically-caused obsessive-compulsive disorder."

"I'll do it," said Planter. "I will begin immediately because we have no time. Put me in a sterile environment tomorrow, and then kill all the descolada in my body using the chemicals you've got hidden away. The ones you mean to use on humans when the descolada adapts to the current suppressant you're using."

"You realize that it may be wasted," said Ela.

"Then it would truly be a sacrifice," said Planter.

"If you start to lose your mind in a way that clearly isn't related to your body's illness," said Ela, "we'll stop the experiment because we'll have the answer."

"Maybe," said Planter.

"You might well recover at that point."

"I don't care whether I recover," said Planter.

"We'll also stop it," said Ender, "if you start to lose your mind in a way that is is related to your body's illness, because then we'll know that the experiment is useless and we wouldn't learn anything from it anyway." related to your body's illness, because then we'll know that the experiment is useless and we wouldn't learn anything from it anyway."

"Then if I'm a coward, all I have to do is pretend to be mentally failing and my life will be saved," said Planter. "No, I forbid you to stop the experiment, no matter what. And if I keep keep my mental functions, you must let me continue to the end, to the death, because only if I keep my mind to the end will we know that our soul is not just an artifact of the descolada. Promise me!" my mental functions, you must let me continue to the end, to the death, because only if I keep my mind to the end will we know that our soul is not just an artifact of the descolada. Promise me!"

"Is this science or a suicide pact?" asked Ender. "Are you so despondent over discovering the probable role of the descolada in pequenino history that you simply want to die?"

Planter rushed to Ender, climbed his body, and pressed his nose against Ender's. "You liar!" he shouted.

"I just asked a question," whispered Ender.

"I want to be free!" shouted Planter. "I want the descolada out of my body and I never want it to come back! I want to use this to help free all the piggies so that we can be pequeninos in fact and not in name!"

Gently Ender pried him back. His nose ached from the violence of Planter's pressing.

"I want to make a sacrifice that proves that I'm free," said Planter, "not just acting out my genes. Not just trying for the third life."

"Even the martyrs of Christianity and Islam were willing to accept rewards in heaven for their sacrifice," said Valentine.

"Then they were all selfish pigs," said Planter. "That's what you say about pigs, isn't it? In Stark, in your common speech? Selfish pigs. Well, it's the right name for us piggies, isn't it! Our heroes were all trying to become fathertrees. Our brothertrees were failures from the start. The only thing we serve outside ourselves is the descolada. For all we know, the descolada might be be ourselves. But ourselves. But I I will be will be free free. I will know what I am, without the descolada or my genes or anything except me me."

"What you'll be is dead," said Ender.

"But free first first," said Planter. "And the first of my people to be free."

After w.a.n.g-mu and Jane had told Master Han all that had transpired that day, after he had conversed with Jane about his own day's work, after the house had fallen silent in the darkness of the night, w.a.n.g-mu lay awake on her mat in the corner of Master Han's room, listening to his soft but insistent snoring as she thought over all that had been said that day.

There were so many ideas, and most of them were so far above her that she despaired of truly understanding them. Especially what Wiggin said about purposes. They were giving her credit for having come up with the solution to the problem of the descolada virus, and yet she couldn't take the credit because she hadn't meant meant to do it; she had thought she was just repeating Qing-jao's questions. Could she take credit for something she did by accident? to do it; she had thought she was just repeating Qing-jao's questions. Could she take credit for something she did by accident?

People should only be blamed or praised for what they meant to do. w.a.n.g-mu had always believed this instinctively; she didn't remember anyone ever telling it to her in so many words. The crimes that she was blaming Congress for were all deliberate-- genetically altering the people of Path to create the G.o.dspoken, and sending the M.D. Device to destroy the haven of the only other sentient species that they knew existed in the universe.

But was that what they they meant to do, either? Maybe some of them, at least, thought that they were making the universe safe for humanity by destroying Lusitania-- from what w.a.n.g-mu had heard about the descolada, it could mean the end of all Earthborn life if it ever started spreading world to world among human beings. Maybe some of Congress, too, had decided to create the G.o.dspoken of Path in order to benefit all of humanity, but then put the OCD in their brains so that they couldn't get out of control and enslave all the inferior, "normal" humans. Maybe they all had good purposes in mind for the terrible things they did. meant to do, either? Maybe some of them, at least, thought that they were making the universe safe for humanity by destroying Lusitania-- from what w.a.n.g-mu had heard about the descolada, it could mean the end of all Earthborn life if it ever started spreading world to world among human beings. Maybe some of Congress, too, had decided to create the G.o.dspoken of Path in order to benefit all of humanity, but then put the OCD in their brains so that they couldn't get out of control and enslave all the inferior, "normal" humans. Maybe they all had good purposes in mind for the terrible things they did.

Certainly Qing-jao had a good purpose in mind, didn't she? So how could w.a.n.g-mu condemn her for her actions, when she thought she was obeying the G.o.ds?

Didn't everybody have some n.o.ble purpose in mind for their own actions? Wasn't everybody, in their own eyes, good good?

Except me, thought w.a.n.g-mu. In my own eyes, I'm foolish and weak. But they spoke of me as if I were better than I ever thought. Master Han praised me, too. And those others spoke of Qing-jao with pity and scornand I've felt those feelings toward her, too. Yet isn't Qing-jao acting n.o.bly, and me basely? I betrayed my mistress. She has been loyal to her government and to her G.o.ds, which are real to her her, though I no longer believe in them. How can I tell the good people from the bad, if the bad people all have some way of convincing themselves that they're trying to do good even though they're doing something terrible? And the good people can believe that they're actually very bad even though they're doing something good?

Maybe you can only do good if you think you're bad, and if you think you're good then you can only do bad.

But that paradox was too much for her. There'd be no sense in the world if you had to judge people by the opposite opposite of how they tried to seem. Wasn't it possible for a good person also to try to of how they tried to seem. Wasn't it possible for a good person also to try to seem seem good? And just because somebody claimed to be sc.u.m didn't mean that he good? And just because somebody claimed to be sc.u.m didn't mean that he wasn't wasn't sc.u.m. Was there any way to judge people, if you can't judge even by their purpose? sc.u.m. Was there any way to judge people, if you can't judge even by their purpose?

Was there any way for w.a.n.g-mu to judge even herself?

Half the time I don't even know the purpose of what I do. I came to this house because I was ambitious and wanted to be a secret maid to a rich G.o.dspoken girl. It was pure selfishness on my part, and pure generosity that led Qing-jao to take me in. And now here I am helping Master Han commit treason-- what is my purpose in that that? I don't even know why I do what I do. How can I know what other people's true purposes are? There's no hope of ever knowing good from bad.

She sat up in lotus position on her mat and pressed her face into her hands. It was as if she felt herself pressed against a wall, but it was a wall that she made herself, and if she could only find a way to move it aside-- the way she could move her hands away from her face whenever she wanted-- then she could easily push through to the truth.

She moved her hands away. She opened her eyes. There was Master Han's terminal, across the room. There, today, she had seen the faces of Elanora Ribeira von Hesse and Andrew Wiggin. And Jane's face.

She remembered Wiggin telling her what the G.o.ds would be like. Real Real G.o.ds would want to teach you how to be just like them. Why would he say such a thing? How could he know what a G.o.d would be? G.o.ds would want to teach you how to be just like them. Why would he say such a thing? How could he know what a G.o.d would be?

Somebody who wants to teach you how to know everything that they know and do everything that they do-- what he was really describing was parents, not G.o.ds.

Only there were plenty of parents who didn't do that. Plenty of parents who tried to keep their children down, to control them, to make slaves of them. Where she had grown up, w.a.n.g-mu had seen plenty of that.

So what Wiggin was describing wasn't parents, really. He was describing good good parents. He wasn't telling her what the G.o.ds were, he was telling her what goodness was. To want other people to grow. To want other people to have all the good things that you have. And to spare them the bad things if you can. That was parents. He wasn't telling her what the G.o.ds were, he was telling her what goodness was. To want other people to grow. To want other people to have all the good things that you have. And to spare them the bad things if you can. That was goodness goodness.

What were the G.o.ds, then? They would want everyone else to know and have and be all good things. They would teach and share and train, but never force.

Like my parents, thought w.a.n.g-mu. Clumsy and stupid sometimes, like all people, but they were good. They really did look out for me. Even sometimes when they made me do hard things because they knew it would be good for me. Even sometimes when they were wrong, they were good. I can judge them by their purpose after all. Everybody calls calls their purpose good, but my parents' purposes really their purpose good, but my parents' purposes really were were good, because they meant all their acts toward me to help me grow wiser and stronger and better. Even when they made me do hard things because they knew I had to learn from them. Even when they caused me good, because they meant all their acts toward me to help me grow wiser and stronger and better. Even when they made me do hard things because they knew I had to learn from them. Even when they caused me pain pain.

That was it. That's what the G.o.ds would be, if there were G.o.ds. They would want everyone else to have all that was good in life, just like good parents. But unlike parents or any other people, the G.o.ds would actually know know what was good and have the power to cause good things to happen, even when n.o.body else understood that they were good. As Wiggin said, what was good and have the power to cause good things to happen, even when n.o.body else understood that they were good. As Wiggin said, real real G.o.ds would be smarter and stronger than anybody else. They would have all the intelligence and power that it was possible to have. G.o.ds would be smarter and stronger than anybody else. They would have all the intelligence and power that it was possible to have.

But a being like that-- who was someone like w.a.n.g-mu to judge a G.o.d? She couldn't understand their purposes even if they told her, so how could she ever know know that they were good? Yet the other approach, to trust in them and believe in them absolutely-- wasn't that what Qing-jao was doing? that they were good? Yet the other approach, to trust in them and believe in them absolutely-- wasn't that what Qing-jao was doing?

No. If there were were G.o.ds, they would never act as Qing-jao thought they acted-- enslaving people, tormenting and humiliating them. G.o.ds, they would never act as Qing-jao thought they acted-- enslaving people, tormenting and humiliating them.

Unless torment and humiliation were good good for them... for them...

No! She almost cried aloud, and once again pressed her face into her hands, this time to keep silence.

I can only judge by what I understand. If as far as I can see, the G.o.ds that Qing-jao believes in are only evil, then yes, perhaps I'm wrong, perhaps I can't comprehend the great purpose they accomplish by making the G.o.dspoken into helpless slaves, or destroying whole species. But in my heart I have no choice but to reject such G.o.ds, because I can't see any good in what they're doing. Perhaps I'm so stupid and foolish that I will always be the enemy of the G.o.ds, working against their high and incomprehensible purposes. But I have to live my life according to what I I understand, and what I understand is that there are no such G.o.ds as the ones the G.o.dspoken teach us about. If they exist at all, they take pleasure in oppression and deception, humiliation and ignorance. They act to make other people smaller and themselves larger. Those would not be G.o.ds, then, even if they existed. They would be enemies. Devils. understand, and what I understand is that there are no such G.o.ds as the ones the G.o.dspoken teach us about. If they exist at all, they take pleasure in oppression and deception, humiliation and ignorance. They act to make other people smaller and themselves larger. Those would not be G.o.ds, then, even if they existed. They would be enemies. Devils.

The same with the beings, whoever they are, who made the descolada virus. Yes, they would have to be very powerful to make a tool like that. But they would also have to be heartless, selfish, arrogant beings, to think that all life in the universe was theirs to manipulate as they saw fit. To send the descolada out into the universe, not caring who it killed or what beautiful creatures it destroyed-- those could not be G.o.ds, either.

Jane, now-- Jane might be a G.o.d. Jane knew vast amounts of information and had great wisdom as well, and she was acting for the good of others, even when it would take her life-- even now, after her life was forfeit. And Andrew Wiggin, he might be a G.o.d, so wise and kind he seemed, and not acting for his own benefit but for the pequeninos. And Valentine, who called herself Demosthenes, she had worked to help other people find the truth and make wise decisions of their own. And Master Han, who was trying to do the right thing always, even when it cost him his daughter. Maybe even Ela, the scientist, even though she had not known all that she ought to have known-- for she was not ashamed to learn truth from a servant girl.

Of course they were not the sort of G.o.ds who lived off in the Infinite West, in the Palace of the Royal Mother. Nor were they G.o.ds in their own eyes-- they would laugh at her for even thinking of it. But compared to her her, they were G.o.ds indeed. They were so much wiser than w.a.n.g-mu, and so much more powerful, and as far as she could understand their purposes, they were trying to help other people become as wise and powerful as possible. Even wiser and more powerful than they were themselves. So even though w.a.n.g-mu might be wrong, even though she might truly understand nothing at all about anything, nevertheless she knew that her decision to work with these people was the right one for her to make.

She could only do good as far as she understood what goodness was. And these people seemed to her to be doing good, while Congress seemed to be doing evil. So even though in the long run it might destroy her-- for Master Han was now an enemy of Congress, and might be arrested and killed, and her along with him-- still she would do it. She would never see real G.o.ds, but she could at least work to help those people who were as close to being G.o.ds as any real person could ever be.

And if the G.o.ds don't like it, they can poison me in my sleep or catch me on fire as I'm walking in the garden tomorrow or just make my arms and legs and head drop off my body like crumbs off a cake. If they can't manage to stop a stupid little servant girl like me, they don't amount to much anyway.

Chapter 15

Life and Death

Ender's coming to see us. He comes and talks to me me all the time. all the time. And we we can talk directly into his mind. But he insists on coming. He doesn't feel like he's talking to us unless he sees us. He has a harder time distinguishing between his own thoughts and the ones we put in his mind when we converse from a distance. So he's coming. can talk directly into his mind. But he insists on coming. He doesn't feel like he's talking to us unless he sees us. He has a harder time distinguishing between his own thoughts and the ones we put in his mind when we converse from a distance. So he's coming. And you don't like this? He wants us to tell him answers and we don't know any answers. You know everything that the humans know. You got into s.p.a.ce, didn't you? You don't even need their ansibles to talk from world to world. They're so hungry for answers, these humans. They have so many questions. We have questions, too, you know. have questions, too, you know. They want to know why, why, why. Or how. Everything all tied up into a nice neat bundle like a coc.o.o.n. The only time we do that is when we're metamorphosing a queen. They like to understand everything. But so do we, you know. Yes, you'd like to think you're just like the humans, wouldn't you? But you're not like Ender. Not like the humans. He has to know the cause of everything, he has to make a story about everything and we don't know any stories. We know memories. We know things that happen. But we don't know why why they happen, not the way he wants us to. they happen, not the way he wants us to. Of course you do. We don't even care care why, the way these humans do. We find out as much as we need to know to accomplish something, but they always want to know why, the way these humans do. We find out as much as we need to know to accomplish something, but they always want to know more more than they need to know. After they get something to work, they're still hungry to know why it works and why the cause of its working works. than they need to know. After they get something to work, they're still hungry to know why it works and why the cause of its working works. Aren't we like that? Maybe you will will be, when the descolada stops interfering with you. be, when the descolada stops interfering with you. Or maybe we'll be like your workers. If you are, you won't care. They're all very happy. It's intelligence that makes you unhappy. The workers ore either hungry or not hungry. In pain or not in pain. They're never curious or disappointed or anguished or ashamed. And when it comes to things like that, these humans make you and me look like workers. I think you just don't know us well enough to compare. We've been inside your head and we've been inside Ender's head and we've been inside our own heads for a thousand generations and these humans make us look like we're asleep. Even when they're asleep they're not asleep. Earthborn animals do this thing, inside their brains-- a sort of mad firing-off of synapses, controlled insanity. While they're asleep. The part of their brain that records sight or sound, it's firing off every hour or two while they sleep, even when all the sights and sounds are complete random nonsense, their brains just keep on trying to a.s.semble it into something sensible. They try to make stories out of it. It's complete random nonsense with no possible correlation to the real world, and yet they turn it into these crazy stories. And then they forget them. All that work, coming up with these stories, and when they wake up they forget almost all of them. But when they do do remember, then they try to make stories about those crazy stories, trying to fit them into their real lives. remember, then they try to make stories about those crazy stories, trying to fit them into their real lives. We know about their dreaming. Maybe without the descolada, you'll dream, too. Why should we want to? As you say, it's meaningless. Random firings of the synapses of the neurons in their brains. They're practicing. They're doing it all the time. Coming up with stories. Making connections. Making sense out of nonsense. What good is it, when it means nothing? That's just it. They have a hunger we know nothing about. The hunger for answers. The hunger for making sense. The hunger for stories. We have stories. You remember deeds. They make up deeds. They change what their stories mean. They transform things so that the same memory can mean a thousand different things. Even from their dreams, sometimes they make up out of that randomness something that illuminates everything. Not one human being has anything like the kind of mind you have. The kind we have. Nothing as powerful. And their lives are so short, they die so fast. But in their century or so they come up with ten thousand meanings for every one that we discover. Most of them wrong. Even if the vast majority of them are wrong, even if ninety-nine of every hundred is stupid and wrong, out of ten thousand ideas that still leaves them with a hundred good ones. That's how they make up for being so stupid and having such short lives and small memories. Dreams and madness. Magic and mystery and philosophy. You can't say that you never think of stories. What you've just been telling me is a story. I know. See? Humans do nothing you can't do. Don't you understand? I got even this this story from Ender's mind. It's story from Ender's mind. It's his his. And he got the seed of it from somebody else, something he read, and combined it with things he thought of until it made sense to him. It's all there in his head. While we are like you you. We have a clear view of the world. I have no trouble finding my way through your mind. Everything orderly and sensible and clear. You'd be as much at ease in mine. What's in your head is reality reality, more or less, as best you understand it. But in Ender's mind, madness. Thousands of competing contradictory impossible visions that make no sense at all because they can't all fit together but they do do fit together, he makes them fit together, this way today, that way tomorrow, as they're needed. As if he can make a new idea-machine inside his head for every new problem he faces. As if he conceives of a new universe to live in, every hour a new one, often hopelessly wrong and he ends up making mistakes and bad judgments, but sometimes so perfectly right that it opens things up like a miracle and I look through his eyes and see the world his new way and it changes everything. Madness, and then illumination. We knew everything there was to know before we met these humans, before we built our connection with Ender's mind. Now we discover that there are so many ways of knowing the same things that we'll never find them all. fit together, he makes them fit together, this way today, that way tomorrow, as they're needed. As if he can make a new idea-machine inside his head for every new problem he faces. As if he conceives of a new universe to live in, every hour a new one, often hopelessly wrong and he ends up making mistakes and bad judgments, but sometimes so perfectly right that it opens things up like a miracle and I look through his eyes and see the world his new way and it changes everything. Madness, and then illumination. We knew everything there was to know before we met these humans, before we built our connection with Ender's mind. Now we discover that there are so many ways of knowing the same things that we'll never find them all. Unless the humans teach you. You see? We are scavengers also. You're a scavenger. We're a scavenger. We're supplicants supplicants. If only they were worthy of their own mental abilities. Aren't they? They are are planning to blow you up, you remember. There's so much possibility in their minds, but they are still, after all, individually stupid and small-minded and half-blind and half-mad. There's still the ninety-nine percent of their stories that are hideously wrong and lead them into terrible errors. Sometimes we wish we could tame them, like the workers. We tried to, you know, with Ender. But we couldn't do it. Couldn't make a worker of him. planning to blow you up, you remember. There's so much possibility in their minds, but they are still, after all, individually stupid and small-minded and half-blind and half-mad. There's still the ninety-nine percent of their stories that are hideously wrong and lead them into terrible errors. Sometimes we wish we could tame them, like the workers. We tried to, you know, with Ender. But we couldn't do it. Couldn't make a worker of him. Why not? Too stupid. Can't pay attention long enough. Human minds lack focus. They get bored and wander off. We had to build a bridge outside him, using the computer that he was most closely bonded with. Computers, now-- those those things can pay attention. And their memory is neat, orderly, everything organized and findable. things can pay attention. And their memory is neat, orderly, everything organized and findable. But they don't dream. No madness. Too bad.

Valentine showed up unbidden at Olhado's door. It was early morning. He wouldn't go to work till afternoon-- he was a shift manager at the small brickworks. But he was already up and about, probably because his family was. The children were trooping out the door. I used to see this on television back in the ancient days, thought Valentine. The family going out the door in the morning, all at the same time, and Dad last of all with the briefcase. In their own way, my parents acted out that life. Never mind how deeply weird their children were. Never mind how after we paraded off to school in the morning, Peter and I went prowling through the nets, trying to take over the world through the use of pseudonyms. Never mind that Ender was torn away from the family as a little boy and never saw any of them again, even on his one visit to Earth-- except me. I think my parents still imagined they were doing it right, because they went through a ritual they had seen on TV.

And here it is again. The children bursting through the door. That boy must be Nimbo, the one who was with Grego at the confrontation with the mob. But here he is, just a cliche child-- no one would guess that he had been part of that terrible night only a little while ago.

Mother gave them each a kiss. She was still a beautiful young woman, even with so many children. So ordinary, so like the cliche, and yet a remarkable woman, for she had married their father, hadn't she? She had seen past the deformity.

And Dad, not yet off to work, so he could stand there, watching them, patting them, kissing them, saying a few words. Light, clever, loving-- the predictable father. So, what's wrong with this picture? The dad is Olhado. He has no eyes. Just the silvery metal orbs punctuated with two lens apertures in the one eye, and the computer I/0 outlet in the other. The kids don't seem to notice. I'm still not used to it.

"Valentine," he said, when he saw her.

"We need to talk," she said.

He ushered her inside. He introduced his wife, Jaqueline. Skin so black it was almost blue, laughing eyes, a beautiful wide smile that you wanted to dive into, it was so welcoming. She brought a limonada limonada, ice-cold and sweating in the morning heat, and then discreetly withdrew. "You can stay," said Valentine. "This isn't all that private." But she didn't want to stay. She had work to do, she said. And she was gone.

"I've wanted to meet you for a long time," said Olhado.

"I was meetable," she said.

"You were busy."

"I have no business," said Valentine.

"You have Andrew's business."

"We're meeting now, anyway. I've been curious about you, Olhado. Or do you prefer your given name, Lauro?"

"In Milagre, your name is whatever people call you. I used to be Sule, for my middle name, Suleimdo."

"Solomon the wise."

"But after I lost my eyes, I was Olhado, then and forever."

"'The watched one'?"

"Olhado could mean that, yes, past participle of could mean that, yes, past participle of olhar olhar, but in this case it means 'The guy with the eyes.'"

"And that's your name."

"My wife calls me Lauro," he said. "And my children call me Father."

"And I?"

"Whatever.

"Sule, then."

"Lauro, if you must. Sule makes me feel like I'm six."

"And reminds you of the time when you could see."

He laughed. "Oh, I can see now now, thanks very much. I see very well."

"So Andrew says. That's why I've come to you. To find out what you see."

"Want me to play back a scene for you? A blast from the past? I have all my favorite memories stored on computer. I can plug in and play back anything you want. I have, for instance, Andrew's first visit in my family's home. I also have some top-flight family quarrels. Or do you prefer public events? Every Mayor's inaugural since I got these eyes? People do consult me about things like that-- what was worn, what was said. I often have trouble convincing them that my eyes record vision, not sound-- just like their their eyes. They think I should be a holographer and record it all for entertainment." eyes. They think I should be a holographer and record it all for entertainment."

"I don't want to see what you see. I want to know what you think."

"Do you, now?"

"Yes, I do."

"I have have no opinions. Not on anything you'd be interested in. I stay out of the family quarrels. I always have." no opinions. Not on anything you'd be interested in. I stay out of the family quarrels. I always have."

"And out of the family business. The only one of Novinha's children not to go into science."

"Science has brought everyone else so much happiness, it's hard to imagine why I wouldn't have gone into it."

"Not hard to imagine imagine," said Valentine. And then, because she had found that brittle-sounding people will talk quite openly if goaded, she added a little barb. "I imagine imagine that you simply didn't have the brains to keep up." that you simply didn't have the brains to keep up."