“Four, if we don't hurry,” said Miro.

Ah. Here was the tension between them. Miro's sense of urgency was to save a piggy from being planted at the base of another tree. While Ouanda was concerned about something quite different. They had revealed enough of themselves to him; now he could let her interrogate him. He sat up straight and tipped his head back, to look up into the leaves of the tree above him, the spreading branches, the pale green of photosynthesis that confirmed the convergence, the inevitability of evolution on every world. Here was the center of all of Ela's paradoxes: evolution on this world was obviously well within the pattern that xenobiologists had seen on all the Hundred Worlds, and yet somewhere the pattern had broken down, collapsed. The piggies were one of a few dozen species that had survived the collapse. What was the Descolada, and how had the piggies adapted to it?

He had meant to turn the conversation, to say, Why are we here behind this tree? That would invite Ouanda's questions. But at that moment, his head tilted back, the soft green leaves moving gently in an almost imperceptible breeze, he felt a powerful deja vu. He had looked up into these leaves before. Recently. But that was impossible. There were no large trees on Trondheim, and none grew within the compound of Milagre. Why did the sunlight through the leaves feel so familiar to him?

“Speaker,” said Miro.

“Yes,” he said, allowing himself to be drawn out of his momentary reverie.

“We didn't want to bring you out here.” Miro said it firmly, and with his body so oriented toward Ouanda's that Ender understood that in fact Miro had wanted to bring him out here, but was including himself in Ouanda's reluctance in order to show her that he was one with her. You are in love with each other, Ender said silently. And tonight, if I speak Marcdo's death tonight, I will have to tell you that you're brother and sister. I have to drive the wedge of the incest tabu between you. And you will surely hate me.

“You're going to see– some–” Ouanda could not bring herself to say it.

Miro smiled. “We call them Questionable Activities. They began with Pipo, accidentally. But Libo did it deliberately, and we are continuing his work. It is careful, gradual. We didn't just discard the Congressional rules about this. But there were crises, and we had to help. A few years ago, for instance, the piggies were running short of macios, the bark worms they mostly lived on then–”

“You're going to tell him that first?” asked Ouanda.

Ah, thought Ender. It isn't as important to her to maintain the illusion of solidarity as it is to him.

“He's here partly to Speak Libo's death,” said Miro. “And this was what happened right before.”

“We have no evidence of a causal relationship–”

“Let me discover causal relationships,” said Ender quietly. “Tell me what happened when the piggies got hungry.”

"It was the wives who were hungry, they said. " Miro ignored Ouanda's anxiety. "You see, the males gather food for the females and the young, and so there wasn't enough to go around. They kept hinting about how they would have to go to war. About how they would probably all die. " Miro shook his head. "They seemed almost happy about it."

Ouanda stood up. “He hasn't even promised. Hasn't promised anything.”

“What do you want me to promise?” asked Ender.

“Not to– let any of this–”

“Not to tell on you?” asked Ender.

She nodded, though she plainly resented the childish phrase.

“I won't promise any such thing,” said Ender. “My business is telling.”

She whirled on Miro. “You see!”

Miro in turn looked frightened. “You can't tell. They'll seal the gate. They'll never let us through!”

“And you'd have to find another line of work?” asked Ender.

Ouanda looked at him with contempt. “Is that all you think xenology is? A job? That's another intelligent species there in the woods. Ramen, not varelse, and they must be known.”

Ender did not answer, but his gaze did not leave her face.

“It's like the Hive Queen and the Hegemon,” said Miro. “The piggies, they're like the buggers. Only smaller, weaker, more primitive. We need to study them, yes, but that isn't enough. You can study beasts and not care a bit when one of them drops dead or gets eaten up, but these are– they're like us. We can't just study their hunger, observe their destruction in war, we know them, we–”

“Love them,” said Ender.

“Yes!” said Ouanda defiantly.

“But if you left them, if you weren't here at all, they wouldn't disappear, would they?”

“No,” said Miro.

“I told you he'd be just like the committee,” said Ouanda.

Ender ignored her. “What would it cost them if you left?”

“It's like–” Miro struggled for words. “It's as if you could go back, to old Earth, back before the Xenocide, before star travel, and you said to them, You can travel among the stars, you can live on other worlds. And then showed them a thousand little miracles. Lights that turn on from switches. Steel. Even simple things– pots to hold water. Agriculture. They see you, they know what you are, they know that they can become what you are, do all the things that you do. What do they say– take this away, don't show us, let us live out our nasty, short, brutish little lives, let evolution take its course? No. They say, Give us, teach us, help us.”

“And you say, I can't, and then you go away.”

“It's too late!” said Miro. “Don't you understand? They've already seen the miracles! They've already seen us fly here. They've seen us be tall and strong, with magical tools and knowledge of things they never dreamed of. It's too late to tell them good-bye and go. They know what is possible. And the longer we stay, the more they try to learn, and the more they learn, the more we see how learning helps them, and if you have any kind of compassion, if you understand that they're– they're–”

“Human.”

“Ramen, anyway. They're our children, do you understand that?”

Ender smiled. “What man among you, if his son asks for bread, gives him a stone?”

Ouanda nodded. “That's it. The Congressional rules say we have to give them stones. Even though we have so much bread.”

Ender stood up. “Well, let's go on.”

Ouanda wasn't ready. “You haven't promised–”

“Have you read the Hive Queen and the Hegemon?”

“I have,” said Miro.

“Can you conceive of anyone choosing to call himself Speaker for the Dead, and then doing anything to harm these little ones, these pequeninos?”

Ouanda's anxiety visibly eased, but her hostility was no less. “You're slick, Senhor Andrew, Speaker for the Dead, you're very clever. You remind him of the Hive Queen, and speak scripture to me out of the side of your mouth.”

“I speak to everyone in the language they understand,” said Ender. “That isn't being slick. It's being clear.”

“So you'll do whatever you want.”

“As long as it doesn't hurt the piggies.”

Ouanda sneered. “In your judgment.”

“I have no one else's judgment to use.” He walked away from her, out of the shade of the spreading limbs of the tree, heading for the woods that waited atop the hill. They followed him, running to catch up.

“I have to tell you,” said Miro. “The piggies have been asking for you. They believe you're the very same Speaker who wrote the Hive Queen and the Hegemon.”

“They've read it?”

“They've pretty well incorporated it into their religion, actually. They treat the printout we gave them like a holy book. And now they claim the hive queen herself is talking to them.”

Ender glanced at him. “What does she say?” he asked.

“That you're the real Speaker. And that you've got the hive queen with you. And that you're going to bring her to live with them, and teach them all about metal and– it's really crazy stuff. That's the worst thing, they have such impossible expectations of you.”