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not?”
    “Because I can’t trust you.”
    “If I say I won’t repeat a story, I won’t repeat it.”
    “Oh, I know you can be discreet. I just don’t think I can trust you to do the job that needs doing.”
    “And what job is that?”
    “Healing Zeck Morgan.”
    “I tried. He won’t let me near him.”
    “I know,” said Graff. “So the thing you want to know, I’m going to tell to someone else. Someone who is also discreet. Someone who can heal him.”
    Dink thought about that for a few moments.
    “Ender Wiggin.”
    “That’s your nominee?” asked Graff.
    “No,” said Dink. “He’s yours. You think he can do anything.”
    Graff smiled a little Mona Lisa smile, if Mona Lisa had been a pudgy colonel.
    “I hope he can,” said Dink. “Should I send him to you?”
    “I’ll bet you,” said Graff, “that Ender never needs to come to me at all.”
    “He’ll just know what to do without being told.”
    “He’ll act like Ender Wiggin, and in the process he’ll find out what he needs to know from Zeck himself.”
    “Wiggin doesn’t talk to Zeck either.”
    “You mean that you haven’t seen him talk to Zeck.”
    Dink nodded. “Okay, that’s what I mean.”
    “Give him time,” said Graff.
    Dink got up from his chair.
    “I haven’t dismissed you, soldier.”
    Dink stopped and saluted. “Permission to leave your office and return to my barracks to continue feeling like a complete shit, sir.”
    “Denied,” said Graff. “Oh, you can feel like whatever you want, that’s not my business. But your effort on behalf of Zeck has been duly noted.”
    “I didn’t come here for a commendation.”
    “And you’re not getting one. All you’re getting from this is my good opinion of your character. It’s not easily won, but once won, my good opinion is hard to lose. It’s a burden you’ll have to carry with you for some time. Learn to live with it. Now get out of here, soldier.”
    9

    WIGGIN

    Zeck came upon Wiggin at one of the elevator wells. It wasn’t one much used by students-it was out of the normal lanes of traffic, and mostly teachers used it, when it was used at all. Zeck used it precisely for that reason. He could wait in line at the busier elevators for a long time, but somehow he never got to the front of the line until everyone else had gone. That was usually fine with Zeck, but at mealtime, when everyone was headed for the same destination, it was the difference between a hot meal with a lot of choices and a colder one with almost no choices left.
    So there was Wiggin, sitting with his back to the wall, gripping his left leg so tightly that his head rested on his own knee. He was obviously in pain.
    Zeck almost walked past him. What did he owe any of these people?
    Then he remembered the Samaritan who stopped for the injured man-and the priest and the Levite who didn’t. “Something wrong?” asked Zeck.
    “Thinking about something and didn’t watch where I was stepping,” said Wiggin through gritted teeth.
    “Bruise? Broken skin?”
    “Twisted ankle,” said Wiggin.
    “Swollen?”
    “I don’t know yet,” said Wiggin. “When I move it, it throbs.”
    “Bring your other leg up so I can compare ankles.”
    Wiggin did. Zeck pulled his shoes and socks off, despite the way Wiggin winced when he moved his left foot. The bare ankles looked exactly alike, as far as he could tell. “Doesn’t look swollen.”
    “Good,” said Wiggin. “Then I guess I’m okay.” He reached out and grabbed Zeck’s upper arm and began to pull himself up.
    “I’m not a fire pole,” said Zeck. “Let me help you up instead of just grabbing my arm.”
    “Sure, sorry,” said Wiggin.
    In a moment, Wiggin was up and wincing as he tried to walk off the injury. “Owie owie owie,” he breathed, in a parody of a suffering toddler. Then he gave Zeck a tiny smile. “Thanks.”
    “Don’t mention it,” said Zeck. “Now what did you want to talk to me about?”
    Wiggin smiled a little more