He moaned softly. But it was not a sound of pain. It was as if he were trying to talk, and couldn't.

“Can you move your jaw, Miro?” asked Quim.

Slowly Miro's mouth opened and closed.

Olhado held his hand a meter above Miro's head and moved it. “Can you make your eyes follow the movement of my hand?”

Miro's eyes followed. Novinha squeezed Miro's hand. “Did you feel me squeeze your hand?”

Miro moaned again.

“Close your mouth for no,” said Quim, “and open your mouth for yes.”

Miro closed his mouth and said, “Mm.”

Novinha could not help herself; despite her encouraging words, this was the most terrible thing that had happened to any of her children. She had thought when Lauro lost his eyes and became Olhado– she hated the nickname, but now used it herself– that nothing worse could happen. But Miro, paralyzed, helpless, so he couldn't even feel the touch of her hand, that could not be borne. She had felt one kind of grief when Pipo died, and another kind when Libo died, and a terrible regret at Marc o's death. She even remembered the aching emptiness she felt as she watched them lower her mother and father into the ground. But there was no pain worse than to watch her child suffer and be unable to help.

She stood up to leave. For his sake, she would do her crying silently, and in another room.

“Mm. Mm. Mm.”

“He doesn't want you to go,” said Quim.

“I'll stay if you want,” said Novinha. “But you should sleep again. Navio said that the more you sleep for a while–”

“Mm. Mm. Mm.”

“Doesn't want to sleep, either,” said Quim.

Novinha stifled her immediate response, to snap at Quim and tell him that she could hear his answers perfectly well for herself. This was no time for quarreling. Besides, it was Quim who had worked out the system that Miro was using to communicate. He had a right to take pride in it, to pretend that he was Miro's voice. It was his way of affirming that he was part of the family. That he was not quitting because of what he learned in the praqa today. It was his way of forgiving her, so she held her tongue.

“Maybe he wants to tell us something,” said Olhado.

“Mm.”

“Or ask a question?” said Quim.

“Ma. Aa.”

“That's great,” said Quim. “If he can't move his hands, he can't write.”

"Sem problema," said Olhado. "Scanning. He can scan. If we bring him in by the terminal, I can make it scan the letters and he just says yes when it hits the letters he wants.

“That'll take forever,” said Quim.

“Do you want to try that, Miro?” asked Novinha.

He wanted to.

The three of them carried him to the front room and laid him on the bed there. Olhado oriented the terminal so it displayed all the letters of the alphabet, facing so Miro could see them. He wrote a short program that caused each letter to light up in turn for a fraction of a second. It took a few trial runs for the speed to be right– slow enough that Miro could make a sound that meant this letter before the light moved on to the next one.

Miro, in turn, kept things moving faster yet by deliberately abbreviating his words.

P-I-G.

“Piggies,” said Olhado.

“Yes,” said Novinha. “Why were you crossing the fence with the piggies?”

“Mmmmm!”

“He's asking a question, Mother,” said Quim. “He doesn't want to answer any.”

“Aa.”

“Do you want to know about the piggies that were with you when you crossed the fence?” asked Novinha. He did. “They've gone back into the forest. With Ouanda and Ela and the Speaker for the Dead.” Quickly she told him about the meeting in the Bishop's chambers, what they had learned about the piggies, and above all what they had decided to do. “When they turned off the fence to save you, Miro, it was a decision to rebel against Congress. Do you understand? The Committee's rules are finished. The fence is nothing but wires now. The gate will stand open.”

Tears came to Miro's eyes.

“Is that all you wanted to know?” asked Novinha. “You should sleep.”

No, he said. No no no no.

“Wait till his eyes are clear,” said Quim. “And then we'll scan some more.”

D-I-G-A F-A-L–

“Diga ao Falante pelos Mortos,” said Olhado.

“What should we tell the Speaker?” asked Quim.

“You should sleep now and tell us later,” said Novinha. “He won't be back for hours. He's negotiating a set of rules to govern relations between the piggies and us. To stop them from killing any more of us, the way they killed Pipo and L– and your father.”

But Miro refused to sleep. He continued spelling out his message as the terminal scanned. Together the three of them worked out what he was trying to get them to tell the Speaker. And they understood that he wanted them to go now, before the negotiations ended.

So Novinha left Dom Crist o and Dona Crist to watch over the house and the little children. On the way out of the house she stopped beside her oldest son. The exertion had worn him out; his eyes were closed and his breathing was regular. She touched his hand, held it, squeezed it; he couldn't feel her touch, she knew, but then it was herself she was comforting, not him.

He opened his eyes. And, ever so gently, she felt his fingers tighten on hers. “I felt it,” she whispered to him. “You'll be all right.”

He shut his eyes against his tears. She got up and walked blindly to the door. “I have something in my eye,” she told Olhado. “Lead me for a few minutes until I can see for myself.”

Quim was already at the fence. “The gate's too far!” he shouted. “Can you climb over, Mother?”

She could, but it wasn't easy. “No doubt about it,” she said. “Bosquinha's going to have to let us install another gate right here.”

It was late now, past midnight, and both Ouanda and Ela was getting sleepy. Ender was not. He had been on edge for hours in his bargaining with Shouter; his body chemistry had responded, and even if he had gone home right now it would have been hours before he was capable of sleep.

He now knew far more about what the piggies wanted and needed. Their forest was their home, their nation; it was all the definition of property they had ever needed. Now, however, the amaranth fields had caused them to see that the prairie was also useful land, which they needed to control. Yet they had little concept of land measurement. How many hectares did they need to keep under cultivation? How much land could the humans use? Since the piggies themselves barely understood their needs, it was hard for Ender to pin them down.

Harder still was the concept of law and government. The wives ruled: to the piggies, it was that simple. But Ender had finally got them to understand that humans made their laws differently, and that human laws applied to human problems. To make them understand why humans needed their own laws, Ender had to explain to them human mating patterns. He was amused to note that Shouter was appalled at the notion of adults mating with each other, and of men having an equal voice with women in the making of the laws. The idea of family and kinship separate from the tribe was “brother blindness” to her. It was all right for Human to take pride in his father's many matings, but as far as the wives were concerned, they chose fathers solely on the basis of what was good for the tribe. The tribe and the individual– they were the only entities the wives respected.

Finally, though, they understood that human laws must apply within the borders of human settlements, and piggy laws must apply within the piggy tribes. Where the borders should be was entirely a different matter. Now, after three hours, they had finally agreed to one thing and one thing only: Piggy law applied within the forest, and all humans who came within the forest were subject to it. Human law applied within the fence, and all piggies who came there were subject to human government. All the rest of the planet would be divided up later. It was a very small triumph, but at least there was some agreement.