“Human history can be explained as the struggle between the needs of women and the needs of men,” said Valentine, “but my point is that there are still heroes and monsters, great events and noble deeds.”

“When a brothertree gives his wood,” said Planter, “it's supposed to mean that he sacrifices for the tribe. Not for a virus.”

“If you can look beyond the tribe to the virus, then look beyond the virus to the world,” said Ender. “The descolada is keeping this planet habitable. So the brothertree is sacrificing himself to save the whole world.”

“Very clever,” said Planter. “But you forget– to save the planet, it doesn't matter which brothertrees give themselves, as long as a certain number do it.”

“True,” said Valentine. “It doesn't matter to the descolada which brothertrees give their lives. But it matters to the brothertrees, doesn't it? And it matters to the brothers like you, who huddle into those houses to keep warm. You appreciate the noble gesture of the brothertrees who died for you, even if the descolada doesn't know one tree from another.”

Planter didn't answer. Ender hoped that meant they were making some headway.

“And in the wars,” said Valentine, “the descolada doesn't care who wins or loses, as long as enough brothers die and enough trees grow from the corpses. Right? But that doesn't change the fact that some brothers are noble and some are cowardly or cruel.”

“Planter,” said Ender, “the descolada may cause you all to feel– to come more quickly to a murderous rage, for instance– so that disputes erupt into warfare instead of being settled among the fathertrees. But that doesn't erase the fact that some forests are fighting in self-defense and others are simply bloodthirsty. You still have your heroes.”

“I don't give a damn about heroes,” said Ela. “Heroes tend to be dead, like my brother Quim. Where is he now, when we need him? I wish he hadn't been a hero.” She swallowed hard, holding down the memory of recent grief.

Planter nodded– a gesture he had learned in order to communicate with humans. “We live in Warmaker's world now,” he said. “What is he, except a fathertree acting as the descolada instructs? The world is getting too warm. We need more trees. So he's filled with fervor to expand the forests. Why? The descolada makes him feel that way. That's why so many brothers and fathertrees listened to him– because he offered a plan to satisfy their hunger to spread out and grow more trees.”

“Does the descolada know that he was planning to put all these new trees on other planets?” said Valentine. “That wouldn't do much to cool Lusitania.”

“The descolada puts hunger in them,” said Planter. “How can a virus know about starships?”

“How can a virus know about mothertrees and fathertrees, brothers and wives, infants and little mothers?” said Ender. “This is a very bright virus.”

“Warmaker is the best example of my point,” said Valentine. “His name suggests that he was deeply involved and successful in the last great war. Once again there's pressure to increase the number of trees. Yet Warmaker chose to turn this hunger to a new purpose, spreading new forests by reaching out to the stars instead of plunging into wars with other pequeninos.”

“We were going to do it no matter what Warmaker said or did,” said Planter. “Look at us. Warmaker's group was preparing to spread out and plant new forests on other worlds. But when they killed Father Quim, the rest of us were so filled with rage that we planned to go and punish them. Great slaughter, and again, trees would grow. Still doing what the descolada demanded. And now that humans have burned our forest, Warmaker's people are going to prevail after all. One way or another, we must spread out and propagate. We'll snatch up any excuse we can find. The descolada will have its way with us. We're tools, pathetically trying to find some way to convince ourselves that our actions are our own idea.”

He sounded so hopeless. Ender couldn't think of anything to say that Valentine or he hadn't already said, to try to wean him away from his conclusion that pequenino life was unfree and meaningless.

So it was Ela who spoke next, and in a tone of calm speculation that seemed incongruous, as if she had forgotten the terrible anxiety that Planter was experiencing. Which was probably the case, as all this discussion had led her back to her own specialty. “It's hard to know which side the descolada would be on, if it were aware of all this,” said Ela.

“Which side of what?” asked Valentine.

“Whether to induce global cooling by having more forests planted here, or to use that same instinct for propagation to have the pequeninos take the descolada out to other worlds. I mean, which would the virus makers have wanted most? To spread the virus or regulate the planet?”

“The virus probably wants both, and it's likely to get both,” said Planter. “Warmaker's group will win control of the ships, no doubt. But either before or after, there'll be a war over it that leaves half the brothers dead. For all we know, the descolada is causing both things to happen.”

“For all we know,” said Ender.

“For all we know,” said Planter, “we may be the descolada.”

So, thought Ender, they are aware of that concern, despite our decision not to broach it with the pequeninos yet.

“Have you been talking to Quara?” demanded Ela.

“I talk to her every day,” said Planter. “But what does she have to do with this?”

“She had the same idea. That maybe pequenino intelligence comes from the descolada.”

“Do you think after all your talk about the descolada being intelligent that it hasn't occurred to us to wonder that?” said Planter. “And if it's true, what will you do then? Let all of your species die so that we can keep our little second-rate brains?”

Ender protested at once. “We've never thought of your brains as–”

“Haven't you?” said Planter. “Then why did you assume that we would only think of this possibility if some human told us?”

Ender had no good answer. He had to confess to himself that he had been thinking of the pequeninos as if they were children in some ways, to be protected. Worries had to be kept as secrets from them. It hadn't occurred to him that they were perfectly capable of discovering all the worst horrors on their own.

“And if our intelligence does come from the descolada, and you found a way to destroy it, what would we become then?” Planter looked at them, triumphant in his bitter victory. “Nothing but tree rats,” he said.

“That's the second time you've used that term,” said Ender. “What are tree rats?”

“That's what they were shouting,” said Planter, “some of the men who killed the mothertree.”

“There's no such animal,” said Valentine.

“I know,” said Planter. “Grego explained it to me. 'Tree rat' is a slang name for squirrels. He showed me a holo of one on his computer in jail.”

“You went to visit Grego?” Ela was plainly horrified.

“I had to ask him why he tried to kill us all, and then why he tried to save us,” said Planter.

“There!” cried Valentine triumphantly. “You can't tell me that what Grego and Miro did that night, stopping the mob from burning Rooter and Human– you can't tell me that that was just the acting out of genetic forces!”

“But I never said that human behavior was meaningless,” said Planter. “It's you that tried to comfort me with that idea. We know that you humans have your heroes. We pequeninos are the ones who are only tools of a gaialogical virus.”

“No,” said Ender. “There are pequenino heroes, too. Rooter and Human, for instance.”

“Heroes?” said Planter. “They acted as they did in order to win what they achieved– their status as fathertrees. It was the hunger to reproduce. They might have looked like heroes to you humans, who only die once, but the death they suffered was really birth. There was no sacrifice.”