“Are they awake?” asked Ender.

“Of course,” said Human.

“What he means,” explained Ouanda, “is can the little mothers think? Do they understand language?”

“Them?” asked Human. “No, they're no smarter than the cabras. And only a little smarter than the macios. They only do three things. Eat, crawl, and cling to the carry. The ones on the outside of the tree, now– they're beginning to learn. I can remember climbing on the face of the mothertree. So I had memory then. But I'm one of the very few that remember so far back.”

Tears came unbidden to Ouanda's eyes. “All the mothers, they're born, they mate, they give birth and die, all in their infancy. They never even know they were alive.”

“It's sexual dimorphism carried to a ridiculous extreme,” said Ela. “The females reach sexual maturity early, but the males reach it late. It's ironic, isn't it, that the dominant female adults are all sterile. They govern the whole tribe, and yet their own genes can't be passed on–”

“Ela,” said Ouanda, “what if we could develop a way to let the little mothers bear their children without being devoured. A caesarean section. With a protein-rich nutrient substitute for the little mother's corpse. Could the females survive to adulthood?”

Ela didn't have a chance to answer. Ender took them both by the arms and pulled them away. “How dare you!” he whispered. “What if they could find a way to let infant human girls conceive and bear children, which would feed on their mother's tiny corpse?”

“What are you talking about!” said Ouanda.

“That's sick,” said Ela.

“We didn't come here to attack them at the root of their lives,” said Ender. “We came here to find a way to share a world with them. In a hundred years or five hundred years, when they've learned enough to make changes for themselves, then they can decide whether to alter the way that their children are conceived and born. But we can't begin to guess what it would do to them if suddenly as many females as males came to maturity. To do what? They can't bear more children, can they? They can't compete with the males to become fathers, can they? What are they for?”

“But they're dying without ever being alive–”

“They are what they are,” said Ender. “They decide what changes they'll make, not you, not from your blindly human perspective, trying to make them have full and happy lives, just like us.”

“You're right,” said Ela. “Of course, you're right, I'm sorry.” To Ela, the piggies weren't people, they were strange alien fauna, and Ela was used to discovering that other animals had inhuman life patterns. But Ender could see that Ouanda was still upset. She had made the raman transition: She thought of piggies as us instead of them. She accepted the strange behavior that she knew about, even the murder of her father, as within an acceptable range of alienness. This meant she was actually more tolerant and accepting of the piggies than Ela could possibly be; yet it also made her more vulnerable to the discovery of cruel, bestial behaviors among her friends.

Ender noticed, too, that after years of association with the piggies, Ouanda had one of their habits: At a moment of extreme anxiety, her whole body became rigid. So he reminded her of her humanity by taking her shoulder in a fatherly gesture, drawing her close under his arm.

At his touch Ouanda melted a little, laughed nervously, her voice low. “Do you know what I keep thinking?” she said. “That the little mothers have all their children and die unbaptized.”

“If Bishop Peregrino converts them,” said Ender, “maybe they'll let us sprinkle the inside of the mothertree and say the words.”

“Don't mock me,” Ouanda whispered.

“I wasn't. For now, though, we'll ask them to change enough that we can live with them, and no more. We'll change ourselves only enough that they can bear to live with us. Agree to that, or the fence goes up again, because then we truly would be a threat to their survival.”

Ela nodded her agreement, but Ouanda had gone rigid again. Ender's fingers suddenly dug harshly into Ouanda's shoulder. Frightened, she nodded her agreement. He relaxed his grip. “I'm sorry,” he said. “But they are what they are. If you want, they are what God made them. So don't try to remake them in your own image.”

He returned to the mothertree. Shouter and Human were waiting.

“Please excuse the interruption,” said Ender.

“It's all right,” said Human. “I told her what you were doing.”

Ender felt himself sink inside. “What did you tell her we were doing?”

“I said that they wanted to do something to the little mothers that would make us all more like humans, but you said they never could do that or you'd put back the fence. I told her that you said we must remain Little Ones, and you must remain humans.”

Ender smiled. His translation was strictly true, but he had the sense not to get into specifics. It was conceivable that the wives might actually want the little mothers to survive childbirth, without realizing how vast the consequences of such a simple-seeming, humanitarian change might be. Human was an excellent diplomat; he told the truth and yet avoided the whole issue.

“Well,” said Ender. “Now that we've all met each other, it's time to begin serious talking.”

Ender sat down on the bare earth. Shouter squatted on the ground directly opposite him. She sang a few words.

“She says you must teach us everything you know, take us out to the stars, bring us the hive queen and give her the lightstick that this new human brought with you, or in the dark of night she'll send all the brothers of this forest to kill all the humans in your sleep and hang you high above the ground so you get no third life at all.” Seeing the humans' alarm, Human reached out his hand and touched Ender's chest. “No, no, you must understand. That means nothing. That's the way we always begin when we're talking to another tribe. Do you think we're crazy? We'd never kill you! You gave us amaranth, pottery, the Hive Queen and the Hegemon.”

“Tell her to withdraw that threat or we'll never give her anything else.”

“I told you, Speaker, it doesn't mean–”

“She said the words, and I won't talk to her as long as those words stand.”

Human spoke to her.

Shouter jumped to her feet and walked all the way around the mothertree, her hands raised high, singing loudly.

Human leaned to Ender. “She's complaining to the great mother and to all the wives that you're a brother who doesn't know his place. She's saying that you're rude and impossible to deal with.”

Ender nodded. “Yes, that's exactly right. Now we're getting somewhere.”

Again Shouter squatted across from Ender. She spoke in Males' Language.

“She says she'll never kill any human or let any of the brothers or wives kill any of you. She says for you to remember that you're twice as tall as any of us and you know everything and we know nothing. Now has she humiliated herself enough that you'll talk to her?”

Shouter watched him, glumly waiting for his response.

“Yes,” said Ender. “Now we can begin.”

Novinha knelt on the floor beside Miro's bed. Quim and Olhado stood behind her. Dom Crist o was putting Quara and Grego to bed in their room. The sound of his off-tune lullaby was barely audible behind the tortured sound of Miro's breathing.

Miro's eyes opened.

“Miro,” said Novinha.

Miro groaned.

“Miro, you're home in bed. You went over the fence while it was on. Now Dr. Navio says that your brain has been damaged. We don't know whether the damage is permanent or not. You may be partially paralyzed. But you're alive, Miro, and Navio says that he can do many things to help you compensate for what you may have lost. Do you understand? I'm telling you the truth. It may be very bad for a while, but it's worth trying.”