Read Online A War of Gifts: An Ender Story by Orson Scott Card - Free Book Online Page B

broadly. “I don’t know,” he said. No attempt to deny that this whole thing had been staged to have an opportunity to talk. “I just know that whatever your plan is, it’s working too well or it isn’t working at all.”
    “I don’t have a plan,” said Zeck. “I just want to go home.”
    “We all want to go home,” said Wiggin. “But we also want other things. Honor. Victory. Save the world. Prove you can do something hard. You don’t care about anything except getting out of here, no matter what it costs.”
    “That’s right.”
    “So, why? And don’t tell me you’re homesick. We all cried for mommy and daddy our first few nights here, and then we stopped. If there’s anybody here tough enough to take a little homesickness, it’s you.”
    “So now you’re my counselor? Forget it, Wiggin.”
    “What are you afraid of?” asked Wiggin.
    “Nothing,” said Zeck.
    “Kuso,” said Wiggin.
    “Now I’m supposed to pour out my heart to you, is that it? Because you asked what I was afraid of, and that shows me how insightful you are, and I tell you all my deepest fears, and you make me feel better, and then we’re lifelong friends and I decide to become a good soldier to please you.”
    “You don’t eat,” said Wiggin. “Humans can’t live in the kind of isolation you’re living in. I think you’re going to die. If your body doesn’t die, your soul will.”
    “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you don’t believe in souls.”
    “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious,” said Wiggin, “but you don’t know squat about what I believe. I have religious parents too.”
    “Having religious parents says nothing about what you believe.”
    “But nobody here is religious without religious parents,” said Wiggin. “Come on, how old were you when they took you? Six? Seven?”
    “I hear you were five.”
    “And now we’re so much older. You’re eight now?”
    “Almost nine.”
    “But we’re so mature.”
    “They picked us because we have a mental age much higher than the norm.”
    “I have religious parents,” said Wiggin. “Unfortunately not the same religion, which caused a little conflict. For instance, my mother doesn’t believe in infant baptism and my father does, so my father thinks I’m baptized and my mother doesn’t.”
    Zeck winced a little at the idea. “You can’t have a strong marriage when the parents don’t share the same faith.”
    “Well, my parents do their best,” said Wiggin. “And I bet your parents don’t agree on everything.”
    Zeck shrugged.
    “I bet they don’t agree on you.”
    Zeck turned away. “This is completely none of your business.”
    “I bet your mother was glad you went into space. To get you away from your father. That’s how much they disagree on religion.”
    Zeck turned around to face him, furious now. “What did those bunducks tell you about me? They have no right.”
    “Nobody told me anything,” said Wiggin. “It’s you, oomay. Back when people were still talking to you, when you first came into Rat Army, it was always, Your father this, your father that.”
    “You only just joined Rat yourself.”
    “People talk outside their armies,” said Wiggin. “And I listen. Always your father. Like your father was some kind of prophet. And I thought, I bet his mother’s glad he isn’t under his father’s influence anymore.”
    “My mother wants me to respect my father.”
    “She just doesn’t want you to live with him. He beat you, didn’t he?”
    Zeck shoved Wiggin. Before he even thought of doing it, there was his hand, shoving the kid away.
    “Come on,” said Wiggin. “You shower. People see the scars. I’ve seen the scars.”
    “It was purification. There’s no way a pagan like you would understand that.”
    “Purification of what?” asked Wiggin. “You were the perfect son.”
    “Graff’s been feeding you information from their observation of me, hasn’t he! That’s illegal!”
    “Come on,