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gang with him. I talked him out of using them—made it
personal, one-on-one. Just like Bonzo. I wasn't a good fighter then. I
didn't know how. All I could do was go crazy on him.
Hurt
him so bad he'd never dare to come after me again. Hurt him so bad that
his gang would leave me alone, too. I had to
be
crazy in order to scare them with how crazy I was. So I think that
incident is going to be part of the trial, too."
    "Your self-absorption
is really quite sweet—you really are convinced you're the
center of the universe."
    "Center of the court
martial," said Ender. "It's about me, or people wouldn't be so anxious
to keep me from knowing about it. The absence of information
is
information."
    "You kids are so
smart," said Mazer, with just enough sarcasm to make Ender smile.
    "Stilson's dead, too,
isn't he," said Ender. It wasn't really a question.
    "Ender, not everyone
you fight with dies." But there was just a titch of hesitation
after
he said it. And so Ender knew. Everyone he
had fought with—really
fought
—was
dead. Bonzo. Stilson. And all the formics, every hive queen, every
bugger, every larva, every egg, however they reproduced, it was over.
    "You know," said Ender
quietly, "I think about them all the time. How they'll never have any
more children. That's what being alive is, isn't it? The ability to
replicate. Even people without children, their bodies are still making
new cells all the time. Replicating. Only that's over for Bonzo and
Stilson. They never lived long enough to reproduce. Their line is cut
off.
I
was nature, red in tooth and claw, for
them. I determined their unfitness."
    Ender knew even as he
said it that this was unfair. Mazer was under orders not to discuss
these matters with him and even if he guessed right, not to
confirm
them. But ending the conversation would confirm it, and even denying
the truth had confirmed it. Now Ender was practically forcing him to
speak, to reassure him, to answer his perceived need. "You don't have
to respond," said Ender. "I'm not really as depressed as I sound. I
don't blame myself, you know."
    Mazer's eyes flickered.
    "No, I'm not insane,"
said Ender. "I regret their deaths. I know that I'm
responsible
for killing Stilson and Bonzo and all the formics in the universe. But
I'm not to blame. I didn't seek out Stilson or Bonzo. They came to
me
,
with a threat of real damage. A credible threat. Tell them that in the
court martial. Or run the recording you're doubtless making of this
conversation. My intention was not to kill them, but my intention was
definitely to stop them from damaging me. And the only way to do that
was to act brutally. I'm sorry that they died from their injuries. I'd
undo that if I could. But I didn't have the skill to hurt them enough
to prevent future attacks, and yet not kill them. Or whatever it was
that I did to them. If they're mentally damaged or crippled, I'll do
what I can for them, unless their families would rather I stay away. I
don't want to cause any more harm.
    "But here's the thing,
Mazer Rackham: I knew what I was doing. It's ridiculous for Hyrum Graff
to be on trial for this. He had no idea of the way I thought, when it
came to Stilson. He couldn't have known what I'd do. Only I knew. And I
meant to hurt him—I meant to hurt him bad. Not Graff's
fault. The fault was Stilson's. If he had left me alone—and I
gave him every chance to walk away. I begged him to leave me alone. If
he'd done that, he'd be alive. He chose. Just because he thought I was
weaker than him, just because he thought I couldn't protect myself,
doesn't mean it stopped being his fault. He chose to attack me
precisely because he thought there would be no consequences. Only there
were
consequences."
    Mazer cleared his
throat a little. And then spoke. "This has gone far enough."
    "With Bonzo, however,
Graff was taking a terrible risk. What if Bonzo and his friends hurt
me? What if I died? Or was brain-damaged? Or was simply made fearful
and timid? He would lose