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"He goes to mass, he takes communion, he confesses regularly, but he's still a speaker for the dead and I don't think he really believes in God. I'll go alone."
Miro looked at Quim with new admiration. "You're one tough son of a bitch, aren't you?"
"Welders and smiths are tough. Sons of bitches have problems of their own. I'm just a servant of God and of the church, with a job to do. I think recent evidence suggests that I'm in more danger from my brother than I am among the most heretical of pequeninos. Since the death of Human, the pequeninos have kept the worldwide oath--not one has ever raised a hand in violence against a human being. They may be heretics, but they're still pequeninos. They'll keep the oath."
"I'm sorry I hit you."
"I received it as if it were an embrace, my son."
"I wish it had been one, Father Estevao."
"Then it was."
Quim turned to the tree and began to beat out a tattoo. Almost at once, the sound began to shift, changing in pitch and tone as the hollow spaces within the tree changed shape. Miro waited a few moments, listening, even though he didn't understand the language of the fathertrees. Rooter was speaking with the only audible voice the fathertrees had. Once he had spoken with a voice, once had articulated with lips and tongue and teeth. There was more than one way to lose your body. Miro had passed through an experience that should have killed him. He had come out of it crippled. But he could still move, however clumsily, could still speak, however slowly. He thought he was suffering like Job. Rooter and Human, far more crippled than he, thought they had received eternal life.
"Pretty ugly situation," said Jane in his ear.
Yes, said Miro silently.
"Father Estevao shouldn't go alone," she said. "The pequeninos used to be devastatingly effective warriors. They haven't forgotten how."
So tell Ender, said Miro. I don't have any power here.
"Bravely spoken, my hero," said Jane. "I'll talk to Ender while you wait around here for your miracle."
Miro sighed and walked back down the hill and through the gate.
9
PINEHEAD
Qing-jao sat before her terminal, her eyes closed, thinking. Wang-mu was brushing Qing-jao's hair; the tugs, the strokes, the very breath of the girl was a comfort to her.
This was a time when Wang-mu could speak freely, without fear of interrupting her. And, because Wang-mu was Wang-mu, she used hair-brushing time for questions. She had so many questions.
The first few days her questions had all been about the speaking of the gods. Of course, Wang-mu had been greatly relieved to learn that almost always tracing a single woodgrain line was enough--she had been afraid after that first time that Qing-jao would have to trace the whole floor every day.
But she still had questions about everything to do with purification. Why don't you just get up and trace a line every morning and have done with it? Why don't you just have the floor covered in carpet? It was so hard to explain that the gods can't be fooled by silly stratagems like that.
What if there were no wood at all in the whole world? Would the gods burn you up like paper? Would a dragon come and carry you off?
Qing-jao couldn't answer Wang-mu's questions except to say that this is what the gods required of her. If there were no woodgrain, the gods wouldn't require her to trace it. To which Wang-mu replied that they should make a law against wooden floors, then, so that Qing-jao could be shut of the whole business.
Those who hadn't heard the voice of the gods simply couldn't understand.
Today, though, Wang-mu's question had nothing to do with the gods--or, at least, had nothing to do with them at first.
"What is it that finally stopped the Lusitania Fleet?" asked Wang-mu.
Almost, Qing-jao simply took the question in stride; almost she answered with a laugh: If I knew that, I could rest! But then she realized that Wang-mu probably shouldn't even know that the Lusitania Fleet had disappeared.
"How would you know anything about the Lusitania Fleet?"
"I can read, can't I?" said Wang-mu, perhaps a little too proudly.
But why shouldn't she be proud? Qing-jao had told her, truthfully, that Wang-mu learned very quickly indeed, and figured out many things for herself. She was very intelligent, and Qing-jao knew she shouldn't be surprised if Wang-mu understood more than was told to her directly.
"I can see what you have on your terminal," said Wang-mu, "and it always has to do with the Lusitania Fleet. Also you discussed it with your father the first day I was here. I didn't understand most of what you said, but I knew it had to do with the Lusitania Fleet." Wang-mu's voice was suddenly filled with loathing. "May the gods piss in the face of the man who launched that fleet."
