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And that night as Ender came into the commanders' mess hall, he was greeted with applause and cheers, and his table was crowded with respectful commanders, many of them two or three years older than he was. He was friendly, but while he ate he wondered what the teachers would do to him in his next battle. He didn't need to worry. His next two battles were easy victories, and after that he never saw the battleroom again.
It was 2100 and Ender was a little irritated to hear someone knock at his door. His army was exhausted, and he had ordered them all to be in bed after 2030. The last two days had been regular battles, and Ender was expecting the worst in the morning.
It was Bean. He came in sheepishly, and saluted.
Ender returned his salute and snapped. "Bean, I wanted everybody in bed."
Bean nodded but didn't leave. Ender considered ordering him out. But as he looked at Bean, it occurred to him for the first time in weeks just how young Bean was. He had turned eight a week before, and he was still small and--no, Ender thought, he wasn't young. Nobody was young. Bean had been in battle, and with a whole army depending on him he had come through and won. And even though he was small, Ender could never think of him as young again.
Ender shrugged and Bean came over and sat on the edge of the bed. The younger boy looked at his hands for a while, and finally Ender grew impatient and asked, "Well, what is it?"
"I'm transferred. Got orders just a few minutes ago."
Ender closed his eyes for a moment. "I knew they'd pull something new. Now they're taking--where are you going?"
"Rabbit Army."
"How can they put you under an idiot like Carn Carby!"
"Carn was graduated. Support squad."
Ender looked up. "Well, who's commanding Rabbit, then?"
Bean held his hands out helplessly.
"Me," he said.
Ender nodded, and then smiled. "Of course. After all, you're only four years younger than the regular age."
"It isn't funny," Bean said. "I don't know what's going on here. First all the changes in the game. And now this. I wasn't the only one transferred, either, Ender. Ren, Peder, Brian, Wins, Younger. All commanders now."
Ender stood up angrily and strode to the wall. "Every damn toon leader I've got!" he said, and whirled to face Bean. "If they're going to break up my army, Bean, why did they bother making me a commander at all?"
Bean shook his head. "I don't know. You're the best, Ender. Nobody's ever done what you've done. Nineteen battles in fifteen days, sir, and you won every one of them, no matter what they did to you."
"And now you and the others are commanders. You know every trick I've got, I trained you, and who am I supposed to replace you with? Are they going to stick me with six greenohs?"
"It stinks, Ender, but you know that if they gave you five crippled midgets and armed you with a roll of toilet paper you'd win."
They both laughed, and then they noticed that the door was open.
Lieutenant Anderson stepped in. He was followed by Captain Graff.
"Ender Wiggin," Graff said, holding his hands across his stomach.
"Yes, sir," Ender answered.
"Orders."
Anderson extended a slip of paper. Ender read it quickly, then crumpled it, still looking at the air where the paper had been. After a few minutes he asked, "Can I tell my army?"
"They'll find out," Graff answered. "It's better not to talk to them after orders. It makes it easier."
"For you or for me?" Ender asked. He didn't wait for an answer. He turned quickly to Bean, took his hand for a moment, and then headed for the door.
"Wait," Bean said. "Where are you going? Tactical or Support School?"
"Command School," Ender answered, and then he was gone and Anderson closed the door.
