First Meetings by Orson Scott Card

seconds. Ender flashed the stragglers, and they dangled, helplessly frozen, while the others laughed. “When I give an order, you move. Got it? When we’re at the door and they clear it, I’ll be giving you orders in two seconds, as soon as I see the setup. And when I givethe order you better be out there, because whoever’s out there first is going to win, unless he’s a fool. I’m not. And you better not be, or I’ll have you back in the teacher squads.” He saw more than a few of them gulp, and the frozen ones looked at him with fear. “You guys who are hanging there. You watch. You’ll thaw out in about fifteen minutes, and let’s see if you can catch up to the others.”
    For the next half hour Ender had them jackknifing off walls. He called a stop when he saw that they all had the basic idea. They were a good group, maybe. They’d get better.
    “Now you’re warmed up,” he said to them, “we’ll start working.”
     
    Ender was the last one out after practice, since he stayed to help some of the slower ones improve on technique. They’d had good teachers, but like all armies they were uneven, and some of them could be a real drawback in battle. Their first battle might be weeks away. It might be tomorrow. A schedule was never posted. The commander just woke up and found a note by his bunk, giving him the time of his battle and the name of his opponent. So for the first while he was going to drive his boys until they were in top shape—all of them. Ready for anything, at any time. Strategy was nice, but it was worth nothing if the soldiers couldn’t hold up under the strain.
    He turned the corner into the residence wing and found himself face to face with Bean, the seven-year-old he had picked on all through practice that day. Problems. Ender didn’t want problems right now.
    “Ho, Bean.”
    “Ho, Ender.”
    Pause.
    “Sir,” Ender said softly.
    “We’re not on duty.”
    “In my army, Bean, we’re always on duty.” Ender brushed past him.
    Bean’s high voice piped up behind him. “I know what you’re doing, Ender, sir, and I’m warning you.”
    Ender turned slowly and looked at him. “Warning me?”
    “I’m the best man you’ve got. But I’d better be treated like it.”
    “Or what?” Ender smiled menacingly.
    “Or I’ll be the worst man you’ve got. One or the other.”
    “And what do you want? Love and kisses?” Ender was getting angry now.
    Bean was unworried. “I want a toon.”
    Ender walked back to him and stood looking down into his eyes. “I’ll give a toon,” he said, “to the boys who prove they’re worth something. They’ve got to be good soldiers, they’ve got to know how to take orders, they’ve got to be able to think for themselves in a pinch, and they’ve got to be able to keep respect. That’s how I got to be a commander. That’s how you’ll get to be a toon leader. Got it?”
    Bean smiled. “That’s fair. If you actually work that way, I’ll be a toon leader in a month.”
    Ender reached down and grabbed the front of his uniform and shoved him into the wall. “When I say I work a certain way, Bean, then that’s the way I work.”
    Bean just smiled. Ender let go of him and walked away, and didn’t look back. He was sure, without looking, that Bean was still watching, still smiling, still just a little contemptuous. He might make a good toon leader at that. Ender would keep an eye on him.
     
    Captain Graff, six foot two and a little chubby, stroked his belly as he leaned back in his chair. Across his desk sat Lieutenant Anderson, who was earnestly pointing out high points on a chart.
    “Here it is, Captain,” Anderson said. “Ender’s already got them doing a tactic that’s going to throw off everyone who meets it. Doubled their speed.”
    Graff nodded.
    “And you know his test scores. He thinks well, too.”
    Graff smiled. “All true, all true, Anderson, he’s a fine student, shows real promise.”
    They waited.
    Graff sighed. “So