AN: Hullo! Here's chapter one! A bit late I'm very sorry about that. My account has been acting up - letting me leave reviews and answer PMs, but not publish anything. I'm really sorry! Also, the italics aren't working for some REALLY annoying reason, so if you see a word like /this/, with the slashes, that means it should be italicized and I wasn't able to make it work. Dreadfully sorry about that, I'm trying to figure out how to fix it. Also, for those of you who have already looked at the (last? First try?) of this chapter, I am terribly sorry. As I said my account is acting up.
Disclaimer: I do not own Ender's Game, only Saida and my personal favorite OC - Onyx. In case you don't know - he shows up in every story I write. So, recap - I don't own Ender, Valentine, Peter, Graff, or anything related to ender's Game by Orson Scott card - just my OCs and the idea for the orphanage. However, I'm really quite fuzzy in the detail about book 2 and 3, so if the orphanage idea DOES belong to Card, my apologies.
Recruits - Chapter 1
SAIDA_DRAHKON_
Saida watched as the nurses and doctors moved throughout the room like a well oiled machine, each one knowing exactly what the other was doing. Most of the time anyway, according to Voice.
Voice always knew when someone was not working efficiently with others, when one was happy or sad or lost and confused. Voice even told her about the monitor's ability to read thoughts. She was the reason that the monitor couldn't always read her, while sometimes the people at Battle School heard only the silence that haunts the universe, coming in waves before gently floating away, little by little.
"Saida, I suppose by now you're just absolutely sick of having that horrid monitor. Well, I have good news for you. That monitor is going to come out today. We're going to just take it right out, and it won't hurt a bit."
Saida nodded.
The nurse was a liar and a fraud, of course. Probably said that exact same thing to every child who failed the program. It was probably a universal script all nurses had to say - the way they used to on tests in school that everyone had to take. That's why she could count on it to be false - the truth was never spread by all adults - and definitely not by the government. Yet since they always said this, and someone always screamed, it was logical that it was all a sugar-coated lie. That was okay, though. Lies you could trust. The truth is what's dangerous.
"So if you'll just come over here, Saida, just sit right up here on the examining table. The doctor will be in to see you in a moment." The monitor was going away. Voice wouldn't have to shield her when they tried to read her mind, she wouldn't have to feel it digging into the back of her neck with mechanical claws and watching her every move.
When had freedom been compromised in the name of a war that hadn't been fought in years? When had the almighty America lost this war and not even realized it? Now she could think such thoughts without being accused of treason. Now she could do whatever she wanted. The other monitor children - for she was in such a place, a place where orphans went to stay and get tested, hooked up to machines and drilled to become perfect little soldiers - they all hoped they would be accepted. The other children were blind. Her teachers had loved her. Her teachers were blind. Did they not know that only the enemy taught you how to survive at a place like Battle School?
"This won't take long, Saida," assured the doctor as he walked in, closing the white door behind him.
Saida sighed.
"It's designed to be removed. Without infection, without damage. But there'll be some tickling, and some people say they have a feeling of something missing. You'll keep looking around for something. Something you were looking for, but you can't find it, and you can't remember what it was. So I'll tell you. It's the monitor you're looking for, and it isn't there. In a few days that feeling will pass." No, no it won't. Because I will never feel like something is missing. Maybe, just maybe, I'll actually feel complete.
The doctor was twisting something at the back of Saida's head, sending little tingling pulses all along her spine. Voice was panicking, attempting to reassure her with glimpses of the universe, stories that would always remain untold in words. Suddenly a searing, white hot pain lanced through her entire body as Saida felt her back arch as she screamed. Her body was shutting down, pain overwhelming her senses.
As she was teetering on the edge of darkness, she felt the Voice pull herself into the other's mind, where she could protect Saida from the physical pain. Here in the Voice's mind, she was safe. There were no lies, no truths, no games. Just... existence.
She was mildly aware of the doctor's shouting as the nurses scrambled to pin her body down. If she was still in her body, Saida would have smirked. The smallest thing goes wrong, and one can see how the well-oiled machine is in truth rusted and weak, cogs falling off and dropping in the dirt until the motor is run down and broken. Everything breaks in the end.
Saida returned to Mr. Demonte's class 30 minutes before the bell. Voice had helped her mind and body heal before returning her to this plane of existence. She always owed Voice for something, yet Voice never wanted to be repaid. It was a different feeling, but she had long ago decided she liked it.
"Please have a seat, Miss Saida Drahkon," said a man as she walked in. It was a new man, and she and Voice immediately decided they liked Mr. Demonte better. He did not try to hide the pain and hate in his eyes, and this one did. He was not only a liar and a fraud, but also a manipulator. They are worse than truth-bearers, for they use both lies and truths as their weapons.
"It's pronounced 'Sade-uh Dra-kon,' sir. Not "Said-a Dragon." she replied, smoothly sliding into her seat, not bothering to turn around as everyone whispered and pointed to her bandaged neck. Let them see. Let them see that I no longer have to hide my truths. Let them be terrified of the truth I am, but do not let them see the lies I might become.
"Are you correcting a teacher, Miss Drahkon?"
"No, sir. I'm correcting an International Fleet officer," she replied back evenly, eyes never leaving his stormy blue ones as they widened in shock. Her own held a glint of pride and mischief that she was sure to cover up. It was easy with eyes that were all colors blended together. Harder to tell what is hidden behind the chaos.
"And why would you think that?" he asked, growing angry. Red hot anger, not ice cold. Not smart anger, like her's and Voice's. Voice showed her how to use her anger, and take advantage of his.
"Why else would you be wearing International Fleet cuff links and buttons? Do all of your shirts have those? Is that supposed to be considered 'under cover?'" Voice chided her for her sarcasm in her head, even as she sent her feelings of pride and joy. Voice knew it couldn't be helped - Saida was too attached to the Old America - the one before the war.
"...Fine. I am Colonel Graff, of the International Fleet."
"Why are you here, Mr. Graff?" Suddenly, he smiled, teeth pulling back from gleaming white teeth. A monster's smile, suggests Voice. I agreed.
"To see if you are as smart as you seem. I was not disappointed. You are being extended an invitation to Battle School."
"I'm afraid I must accept," sighed Saida, Voice grumbled too. Saida did not want to leave earth, yet she did not want to stay more. Graff simply nodded and left, and Mr. Demonte came back in several minutes later, looking as tired and haggard as ever.
"Saida. Congratulations," he whispered and embraced her in a hug, what she knew to be her first and last for a very, very long time. She hugged him back. "Stay strong - May Christ be with you," the words were whispered in her ear as he pulled back, looking at her with sad eyes.
"I will, teacher," Saida replied, allowing someone - the first and only one - to see her sorrow, her fear, her rage. It was only a fair trade for everything he had taught her - all the secrets he had whispered in her ear. Secrets of lost religions and myths, of culture and art and music. Of the Lost Things.
Her teacher only nodded.
By the end of the class, the most violent students were glaring at her. Everyone in this particular class period had washed out - and she hadn't. They hated her for it. Voice's temper reared its head at their arrogance and jealousy, and Saida did her best to soothe her. It would not do for Voice to be angry - not when it came time to win a fight with words, to earn the nickname "Silver-tongue" Loki Demonte had given her when she talked him out of committing suicide at the age of four. Yes, she would do anything to keep that namesake.
As the bell rang, Saida made sure not to appear rushed or panicked, and at the same time made sure everyone know she was well aware of their intentions. Some squirmed, uneasy about attacking a six year old girl - especially one going to Battle School. Others - the most vicious ones - grinned at the idea. Saida idly wondered if all such people were idiots, or if she was just lucky.
"Hey, space cadet," sneered the leader, Onyx, as soon as she had walked out the front door. Voice encouraged her to keep walking, but she stayed. There was no way out - Voice still had trouble understanding the way Homo Sapiens worked - how they lived, how they thought. Saida decided she would wonder why she was referring to humans as "they" another time.
"What, got nothing to say now that you're better than us?" I've always been better, you just haven't seen it. Hands grabbed her arms and pulled down on blonde hair, so that Saida stared Onyx in the eyes. His eyes were different, too. Powerful. Red was always power - crimson was always destruction. It was hard to tell the difference, with Onyx.
"Humph. Fine then - looks like the princess can't spare the time to speak with her subjects." The others laughed and Saida felt sick. Was this always to be the fate of humanity? To follow around the top dog until they are replaced and scramble away with their tail between their legs?
"May I pass?" she simply asked, tone even and controlled. Voice understood, now. Understood why she could not just walk away. She lived with these people - they would be the last, the only ones on earth to remember her. Saida would make sure they did not remember a sniveling coward.
"Oooh... It speaks!" sneered one of the older boys. Saida nearly replied that it was more of shock he knew what those words meant, but she bit her tongue. She would have her chance.
"Not for long." It was a promise, one that Onyx would not be able to keep. "Let's give her a going away makeover, huh boys? Maybe a nice shiner or two." More laughter. Could they not see the evil corroding their sanity? Why did they follow one leader - did no one have the ability to think independently anymore?
No matter, she decided. Defeat the leader, win the battle - and if you're lucky. The war.
"Oh yes, brilliant plan, Onyx," her voice had dropped, quiet and dangerous like the actors always did, way back when they still made those types of movies. They were right - it was much more effective than yelling. The entire group of boys stilled, and Onyx was the only one who managed to keep his "tough guy" act going.
"You are going to beat me up just hours before I go to Battle School - that's not suspicious at all. What do you think the punishment would be for damaging the government's property?" A low blow to both him and herself, but they both knew it was true. "What do you think your future would be? Maybe you could live the rest of your life in prison washing uniforms for the IF officers - just like you're lovely murderer of a father." The last part was said in a whisper, and Onyx stumbled away from Saida and motioned for the two goons to unhand her.
"What would your mother have said, Onyx?" Saida walked forward now, smiling slightly. "Her son that she was alway so proud of because he always did the right thing and isn't like his father at all gets sent to prison for assault of a minor. A minor that is to be sent off to Battle School, no less. Just imagine the look on her face."
Crimson eyes lock onto Saida's multicolored ones before Onyx gave her a sharp nod, turned on his heel, and stalked off, his gang following behind. It was not a permanent solution, Saida knew, and would not work on most enemies, though she did not have to fend him away forever - just for another day, so that Graff could meet her with a boy he was taking to the shuttle as well. (She pitied the boy, and wondered if she should fear him instead.)
Either way, it would be long enough for Onyx to keep his unspoken promise and make sure she was not forgotten. Long enough for the tale of the six year old Silver-tongued girl to spread like wildfire throughout the school, just as the girl in question disappeared off the face of the earth - though they would doubtlessly know how that happened within hours.
Didn't matter.
She still had her legacy - one all hers, not the International Fleet's. And she had allies. For all his stupidity at times, she had no doubt Onyx would become a high ranking government official one day. And he would remember her, oh yes. He would remember her, and he would help her and Voice achieve their goal.
So for the first time in her life, Saida threw back her head and laughed as thunder clouds rolled in and lightning arced across the sky.
ANDREW_"ENDER"_WIGGIN_
The monitor lady smiled very nicely and tousled his hair and said, "Andrew, I suppose by now you're just absolutely sick of having that horrid monitor. Well, I have good news for you. That monitor is going to come out today. We're going to just take it right out, and it won't hurt a bit."
Ender nodded.
It was a lie, of course, that it wouldn't hurt a bit. But since adults always said it when it was going to hurt, he could count on that statement as an accurate prediction of the future. Sometimes lies were more dependable than the truth.
"So if you'll just come over here, Andrew, just sit right up here on the examining table. The doctor will be in to see you in a moment." The monitor gone. Ender tried to imagine the little device missing from the back of his neck. I'll roll over on my back in bed and it won't be pressing there. I won't feel it tingling and taking up the heat when I shower.
And Peter won't hate me anymore. I'll come home and show him that the monitor's gone, and he'll see that I didn't make it, either. That I'll just be a normal kid now, like him. That won't be so bad then. He'll forgive me that I had my monitor a whole year longer than he had his. We'll be - Not friends, probably. No, Peter was too dangerous. Peter got so angry. Brothers, though. Not enemies, not friends, but brothers. Able to live in the same house. He won't hate me, he'll just leave me alone. And when he wants to play buggers and astronauts, maybe I won't have to play, maybe I can just go read a book.
But Ender knew, even as he thought it, that Peter wouldn't leave him alone. There was something in Peter's eyes, when he was in his mad mood, and whenever Ender saw that look, that glint, he knew that the one thing Peter would not do was leave him alone. I'm practicing piano, Ender. Come turn the pages for me. Oh, is the monitor boy too busy to help his brother? Is he too smart? Got to go kill some buggers, astronaut? No, no, I don't want your help. I can do it on my own, you little bastard, you little Third.
"This won't take long, Andrew," said the doctor. Ender nodded. "It's designed to be removed. Without infection, without damage. But there'll be some tickling, and some people say they have a feeling of something missing. You'll keep looking around for something. Something you were looking for, but you can't find it, and you can't remember what it was. So I'll tell you. It's the monitor you're looking for, and it isn't there. In a few days that feeling will pass."
The doctor was twisting something at the back of Ender's head. Suddenly a pain stabbed through him like a needle from his neck to his groin. Ender felt his back spasm, and his body arched violently backward; his head struck the bed. He could feel his legs thrashing, and his hands were clenching each other, wringing each other so tightly that they ached.
"Deedee!" shouted the doctor. "I need you!" The nurse ran in, gasped. "Got to relax these muscles. Get it to me, now! What are you waiting for!" Something changed hands; Ender could not see. He lurched to one side and fell off the examining table.
"Catch him!" cried the nurse.
"Just hold him steady-"
"You hold him, doctor, he's too strong for me-"
"Not the whole thing! You'll stop his heart-"
Ender felt a needle enter his back just above the neck of his shirt. It burned, but wherever in him the fire spread, his muscles gradually unclenched. Now he could cry for the fear and pain of it.
"Are you all right, Andrew?" the nurse asked.
Andrew could not remember how to speak. They lifted him onto the table. They checked his pulse, did other things; he did not understand it all. The doctor was trembling; his voice shook as he spoke.
"They leave these things in the kids for three years, what do they expect? We could have switched him off, do you realize that? We could have unplugged his brain for all time."
"When does the drug wear off'?" asked the nurse.
"Keep him here for at least an hour. Watch him. If he doesn't start talking in fifteen minutes, call me. Could have unplugged him forever. I don't have the brains of a bugger."
He got back to Miss Pumphrey's class only fifteen minutes before the closing bell. He was still a little unsteady on his feet.
"Are you all right Andrew?" asked Miss Pumphrey. He nodded. "Were you ill?" He shook his head. "You don't look well."
"I'm OK."
"You'd better sit down, Andrew." He started toward his seat, but stopped. Now what was I looking for? I can't think what I was looking for. "Your seat is over there," said Miss Pumphrey. He sat down, but it was something else he needed, something he had lost. I'll find it later.
"Your monitor," whispered the girl behind him. Andrew shrugged. "His monitor," she whispered to the others. Andrew reached up and felt his neck. There was a bandaid. It was gone. He was just like everybody else now.
"Washed out, Andy?" asked a boy who sat across the aisle and behind him. Couldn't think of his name. Peter. No, that was someone else.
"Quiet, Mr. Stilson," said Miss Pumphrey. Stilson smirked.
Miss Pumphrey talked about multiplication. Ender doodled on his desk, drawing contour maps of mountainous islands and then telling his desk to display them in three dimensions from every angle. The teacher would know, of course, that he wasn't paying attention, but she wouldn't bother him. He always knew the answer, even when she thought he wasn't paying attention.
In the corner of his desk a word appeared and began marching around the perimeter of the desk. It was upside down and backward at first, but Ender knew what it said long before it reached the bottom of the desk and turned right side up. Third Ender smiled. He was the one who had figured out how to send messages and make them march. Even as his secret enemy called him names, the method of delivery praised him.
It was not his fault he was a Third. It was the government's idea, they were the ones who authorized it. How else could a Third like Ender have got into school? And now the monitor was gone. The experiment entitled Andrew Wiggin hadn't worked out after all. If they could, he was sure they would like to rescind the waivers that had allowed him to be born at all. Didn't work, so erase the experiment.
The bell rang. Everyone signed off their desks or hurriedly typed in reminders to themselves. Some were dumping lessons or data into their computers at home. A few gathered at the printers while something they wanted to show was printed out.
Ender spread his hands over the child-size keyboard near the edge of the desk and wondered what it would feel like to have hands as large as a grown-up's. They must feel so big and awkward, thick stubby fingers and beefy palms. Of course, they had bigger keyboards - but how could their thick fingers draw a fine line, the way Ender could, a thin line so precise that he could make it spiral seventy-nine times from the center to the edge of the desk without the lines ever touching or overlapping. It gave him something to do while the teacher droned on about arithmetic. Arithmetic! Valentine had taught him arithmetic when he was three.
"Are you all right Andrew?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You'll miss the bus." Ender nodded and got up. The other kids were gone. They would be waiting, though, the bad ones. His monitor wasn't perched on his neck, hearing what he heard and seeing what he saw. They could say what they liked. They might even hit him now. No one could see anymore, and so no one would come to Ender's rescue. There were advantages to the monitor, and he would miss them.
It was Stilson, of course. He wasn't bigger than most other kids, but he was bigger than Ender. And he had some others with him. He always did. "Hey, Third." Don't answer. Nothing to say.
"Hey, Third, we're talkin to you, Third, hey bugger-lover, we're talkin to you." Can't think of anything to answer. Anything I say will make it worse. So will saying nothing.
"Hey, Third, hey, turd, you flunked out, huh? Thought you were better than us, but you lost your little birdie, Thirdie, got a bandaid on your neck."
"Are you going to let me through?" Ender asked.
"Are we going to let him through? Should we let him through?" They all laughed. "Sure we'll let you through. First we'll let your arm through, then your butt through, then maybe a piece of your knee." The others chimed in now.
"Lost your birdie, Thirdie. Lost your birdie, Thirdie." Stilson began pushing him with one hand, someone behind him then pushed him toward Stilson.
"See-saw, marjorie daw," somebody said.
"Tennis!"
"Ping-pong!" This would not have a happy ending. So Ender decided that he'd rather not be the unhappiest at the end. The next time Stilson's arm came out to push him, Ender grabbed at it. He missed.
"Oh, gonna fight me, huh? Gonna fight me, Thirdie?" The people behind Ender grabbed at him, to hold him. Ender did not feel like laughing, but he laughed.
"You mean it takes this many of you to fight one Third?"
"We're people, not Thirds, turd face. You're about as strong as a fart!" But they let go of him. And as soon as they did, Ender kicked out high and hard, catching Stilson square in the breastbone. He dropped.
It took Ender by surprise. He hadn't thought to put Stilson on the ground with one kick. It didn't occur to him that Stilson didn't take a fight like this seriously, that he wasn't prepared for a truly desperate blow. For a moment, the others backed away and Stilson lay motionless. They were all wondering if he was dead. Ender, however, was trying to figure out a way to forestall vengeance. To keep them from taking him in a pack tomorrow.
I have to win this now, and for all time, or I'll fight it every day and it will get worse and worse. Ender knew the unspoken rules of manly warfare, even though he was only six. It was forbidden to strike the opponent who lay helpless on the ground; only an animal would do that.
So Ender walked to Stilson's supine body and kicked him again, viciously, in the ribs. Stilson groaned and rolled away from him. Ender walked around him and kicked him again, in the crotch. Stilson could not make a sound; he only doubled up and tears streamed out of his eyes. Then Ender looked at the others coldly.
"You might be having some idea of ganging up on me. You could probably beat me up pretty bad. But just remember what I do to people who try to hurt me. From then on you'd be wondering when I'd get you, and how bad it would be." He kicked Stilson in the face. Blood from his nose spattered the ground nearby.
"It wouldn't be this bad," Ender said. "It would be worse." He turned and walked away. Nobody followed him. He turned a corner into the corridor leading to the bus stop.
He could hear the boys behind him saying, "Geez. Look at him. He's wasted." Ender leaned his head against the wall of the corridor and cried until the bus came. I am just like Peter. Take my monitor away, and I am just like Peter.
AN: End of chapter one! So, please review! Reviews are incentive! Also, any questions shall either be answered in the AN next chapter, or, if they are spoilers, I will either A) Reply 'SPOILERS' like Dr. River Song from Doctor Who, or B) tell you - depending on what your preference is. I'll ask first.
Also, what did you think about Saida? Like her? Hate her? Think she's a Mary Sue? I have some ideas about how to fix that, but suggestions are more than welcomed!
Oh, and, if you can guess who Voice is, I'll give you one Spoiler of your choice! It's actually a bit obvious, now that I think about it...
Anyway, please review and I hoped you enjoyed!