"Oh, yes," she said. "I hated you first of all, except maybe Quim." She slid off the bed and walked to the terminal. One key at a time, she carefully logged on. A group of double-column addition problems appeared in the air above the terminal. "You want to see me do arithmetic?"
Ender got up and joined her at the terminal. "Sure," he said. "Those look hard, though."
"Not for me," she said boastfully. "I do them faster than anybody."
13
ELA
MIRO: The piggies call themselves males, but we're only taking their word for it.
OUANDA: Why would they lie?
MIRO: I know you're young and naive, but there's some missing equipment.
OUANDA: I passed physical anthropology. Who says they do it the way we do it?
MIRO: Obviously they don't. (For that matter, WE don't do it at all.) Maybe I've figured out where their genitals are. Those bumps on their bellies, where the hair is light and fine.
OUANDA: Vestigial nipples. Even you have them.
MIRO: I saw Leaf-eater and Pots yesterday, about ten meters off, so I didn't see them WELL, but Pots was stroking Leaf-eater's belly, and I think those belly-bumps might have tumesced.
OUANDA: Or they might not.
MIRO: One thing for sure. Leaf-eater's belly was wet--the sun was reflected off it--and he was enjoying it.
OUANDA: This is perverted.
MIRO: Why not? They're all bachelors, aren't they? They're adults, but their so-called wives haven't introduced any of them to the joys of fatherhood.
OUANDA: I think a sex-starved zenador is projecting his own frustrations onto his subjects.
--Marcos Vladimir "Miro" Ribeira von Hesse and Ouanda Quenhatta Figueira Mucumbi, Working Notes, 1970:1:4:30
The clearing was very still. Miro saw at once that something was wrong. The piggies weren't doing anything. Just standing or sitting here and there. And still; hardly a breath. Staring at the ground.
Except Human, who emerged from the forest behind them. He walked slowly, stiffly around to the front. Miro felt Ouanda's elbow press against him, but he did not look at her. He knew she was thinking the same thing he thought. Is this the moment that they will kill us, as they killed Libo and Pipo?
Human regarded them steadily for several minutes. It was unnerving to have him wait so long. But Miro and Ouanda were disciplined. They said nothing, did not even let their faces change from the relaxed, meaningless expression they had practiced for so many years. The art of noncommunication was the first one they had to learn before Libo would let either of them come with him. Until their faces showed nothing, until they did not even perspire visibly under emotional stress, no piggy would see them. As if it did any good--Human was too adroit at turning evasions into answers, gleaning facts from empty statements. Even their absolute stillness no doubt communicated their fear, but out of that circle there could be no escape. Everything communicated something.
"You have lied to us," said Human.
Don't answer, Miro said silently, and Ouanda was as wordless as if she had heard him. No doubt she was also thinking the same message to him.
"Rooter says that the Speaker for the Dead wants to come to us."
It was the most maddening thing about the piggies. Whenever they had something outrageous to say
, they always blamed it on some dead piggy who couldn't possibly have said it. No doubt there was some religious ritual involved: Go to their totem tree, ask a leading question, and lie there contemplating the leaves or the bark or something until you get exactly the answer you want.
"We never said otherwise," said Miro.
Ouanda breathed a little more quickly.
"You said he wouldn't come."
"That's right," said Miro. "He wouldn't. He has to obey the law just like anyone else. If he tried to pass through the gate without permission--"