Children of the Fleet (Fleet School #1)(115)

The marine colonel looked at Dabeet, then at Monkey and Ignazio. His attitude changed visibly. “Good show, then,” he said.

“I think,” said the astrogation teacher, “that they were also on the team that detached the ship before it blew.”

“You seriously did that?” asked the colonel.

“Is the station completely pulverized and everybody dead?” asked Monkey. “No? Then yes, we did it very seriously.” She pointed at Dabeet. “He was the one who blew the airlock on the ship. Also found the Vacoplaz and figured out what was going on. Dabeet Ochoa.”

“And she came out and brought me back to the station,” said Dabeet. “She almost died doing it. Her name is Munk.”

“Cynthia Munk,” said Ignazio, ducking as she slapped at his head.

Dabeet named the rest of the team, starting with Ignazio.

“You planned this?” asked the colonel.

“Hell no,” said Monkey. “How could we figure somebody would bring two thousand–plus packets of Vacoplaz to blow up a school full of children? We just made it up as we went along.”

The colonel turned to the teachers. “I thought this wasn’t a military school anymore.”

“We’re space kids,” said Ignazio. Considering that he had grown up in Cádiz, that was stretching the truth a little. But not much. They were space kids now. Even Dabeet. All of them.

Monkey backed him up. “This wasn’t a military situation, not with the ship and the Vacoplaz. It was an equipment malfunction and we did exactly what we would have done on any mining ship in the Belt.”

The marine colonel grinned. “Got it,” he said. He waved a hand toward the treat-strewn table. “Carry on.”

As he was leaving, Dabeet asked, “Are all the kids OK? All the teachers? All the kitchen staff?”

The colonel turned. “No casualties among station personnel. Didn’t know you had kitchen staff aboard.”

“Maybe they stayed in the kitchen,” said Ignazio. “In which case, maybe they’ll serve dinner.”

“I’ll check on that,” said the history teacher. “Everybody must be about starving by now.”

“Two officers dead, two seriously injured. One from each battleroom. We’ve listened to the recording of your announcement.” He looked at Dabeet. “You, right?”

Dabeet nodded.

“If you ever need a job as a drill sergeant,” he said. Then he grinned. “You asked about the other kids,” he said. “And the teachers, and the kitchen staff. That’s how a commander thinks. That’s what I heard in that recording. A commander.”

Then the marines and the teachers left and it was just the three of them again.

“A commander,” said Ignazio, in exaggerated awe.

“Still a yelda,” said Monkey. “But you’ve got kintamas.”

“Giant ones,” said Ignazio. “Don’t know how you get your pants on.”





19

—So what’s your plan now? Live forever? Not much point in that, I can tell you. Endless voyaging at lightspeed is indistinguishable from prison.

—Except you get a better quality of visitor.

—You visited me on that horrible voyage only because you wanted something from me.

—And I got it. Because you wanted to give it.

—When you consider, sir, how little you intervene, will it make any difference whether you live to see the fruits of your labors?

—Curiosity is a reasonable ambition.

—There are no reasonable ambitions. They all involve hope for a future in which your favorite things remain unchanged, and the things you detest are transformed into something wonderful.

—My curiosity is just as satisfied with bad results.

—There is no curiosity without hope, and there is no hope without disappointment. If all the colonies failed, or if the Formics return with a vast armada and do to Earth what we did to their home world, would you really want to be there to see it?

—Must you always see the worst?

—I’m never disappointed. Pleasantly surprised sometimes. But not often.

—I watched my son discover what kind of man he is, what kind he wants to be. I’m glad I have lived this long.

—Living forever requires fabulous wealth. But in your absence, don’t expect your network of influence to endure. The people who cooperate with you will either die or will assume that you’ve died already. You’ll come out of your lightspeed voyage and discover that you’re powerless, but you can afford a good hotel.

—I think you’ve depressed me enough for one day. I’m going to go see my son.

—And tell him the gladsome tidings?

—If you mean, tell him that I’m his father—I don’t think so. He wouldn’t be impressed, he’d be angry that I hadn’t told him before. And he’d be disappointed that I’m not smarter than I am.

—But pleased that he’s smarter than you.

—There is that. But I don’t think he cares as much about measured intelligence as he used to.

—Ender Wiggin is more your son than Dabeet is. You spent so much more time with him.

—He’s like a son to me, yes. And so is Julian. But neither of them is more my son than Dabeet. You’re forgetting the joy that comes from knowing that your genes have reproduced themselves in a person who is likely to survive.