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"Sorry to be so much trouble," said Ender.
For a moment they thought this was the beginning of a conversation, the start of the process of healing. But having said this little bit, Ender closed his eyes and he was asleep again, the instruments unchanged from what they had said before he said a word.
Oh wonderful, thought Plikt. I beg him for a word, he gives it to me, and I know less now than I did before. We spent his few waking moments telling him what was going on instead of asking him the questions that we may never have the chance to ask again. Why do we all get stupider when we crowd around the brink of death?
But still she stood there, watching, waiting, as the others, in ones or twos, gave up and left the room again. Valentine came to her last of all and touched her arm. "Plikt, you can't stay here forever."
"I can stay as long as he can," she said.
Valentine looked into her eyes and must have seen something there that made her give up trying to persuade her. She left, and again Plikt was alone with the collapsing body of the man whose life was the center of her own.
Miro hardly knew whether to be glad or frightened by the change in Young Valentine since they had learned the true purpose of their search for new worlds. Where she had once been softspoken, even diffident, now she could hardly keep from interrupting Miro every time he spoke. The moment she thought she understood what he was going to say, she'd start answering--and when he pointed out that he was really saying something else, she'd answer that almost before he could finish his explanation. Miro knew that he was probably being oversensitive--he had spent a long time with speech so impaired that almost everyone interrupted him, and so he prickled at the slightest affront along those lines. And it wasn't that he thought there was any malice in it. Val was simply . . . on. Every moment she was awake--and she hardly seemed to sleep, at least Miro almost never saw her sleeping. Nor was she willing to go home between planets. "There's a deadline," she said. "They could give the signal to shut down the ansible networks any day now. We don't have time for needless rest."
Miro wanted to answer: Define "needless." He certainly needed more than he was getting, but when he said so, she merely waved him off and said, "Sleep if you want, I'll cover." And so he'd grab a nap and wake up to find that she and Jane had already eliminated three more planets--two of which, however, bore the earmarks of descolada-like trauma within the past thousand years. "Getting closer," Val would say, and then launch into interesting facts about the data until she'd interrupt herself--she was democratic about this, interrupting herself as easily as she interrupted him--to deal with the data from a new planet.
Now, after only a day of this, Miro had virtually given up speaking. Val was so focused on their work that she spoke of nothing else; and on that subject, there was little Miro needed to say, except periodically to relay some information from Jane that came through his earpiece instead of over the open computers of the ship. His near silence, though, gave him time to think. This is what I asked Ender for, he realized. But Ender couldn't do it consciously. His aiua does what it does because of Ender's deepest needs and desires, not because of his conscious decisions. So he couldn't give his attention to Val; but Val's work could become so exciting that Ender couldn't bear to concentrate on anything else.
Miro wondered: How much of this did Jane understand in advance?
And because he couldn't very well discuss it with Val, he subvocalized his questions so Jane could hear. "Did you reveal our mission to us now so that Ender would give his attention to Val? Or did you withhold it up until now so that Ender wouldn't?"
"I don't make that kind of plan," said Jane into his ear. "I have other things on my mind."
"But it's good for you, isn't it. Val's body isn't in any danger of withering away now."
"Don't be an ass, Miro. Nobody likes you when you're an ass."
"Nobody likes me anyway," he said, silently but cheerfully. "You couldn't have hidden out in her body if it was a pile of dust."
"I can't slip into it if Ender's there, utterly engrossed in what she's doing, either, can I," said Jane.
"Is he utterly engrossed?"
"Apparently so," said Jane. "His own body is falling apart. And more rapidly than Val's was."
It took Miro a moment to understand this. "You mean he's dying?"
"I mean Val is very much alive," said Jane.
"Don't you love Ender anymore?" asked Miro. "Don't you care?"
"If Ender doesn't care about his own life," said Jane, "why should I? We're both doing our best to set a ve
ry messy situation to rights. It's killing me, it's killing him. It very nearly killed you, and if we fail a whole lot of other people will be killed, too."
"You're a cold one," said Miro.
"Just a bunch of blips between the stars, that's what I am," said Jane.
"Merda de bode," said Miro. "What's this mood you're in?"
"I don't have feelings," said Jane. "I'm a computer program."
"We all know you have an aiua of your own. As much of a soul, if that's what you want to call it, as anyone else."
"People with souls can't be switched off by unplugging a few machines."
"Come on, they're going to have to shut down billions of computers and thousands of ansibles all at once in order to do you in. I'd say that's pretty impressive. One bullet would do for me. An overgrown electric fence almost polished me off."
