And, now that he thought about it, he wanted to see her.

“He’s on the phone with some European bigwig,” she told him. “Either sucking up or getting sucked up to, depending on how big and powerful the country is.”

“So that’s why everybody’s up early.”

“He tries to get up early enough to catch a significant part of the working day in Europe. Which is hard, because it’s usually only a few hours in the morning. Their morning.”

“So I’ll talk to you.”

“Well, that’s a puzzler,” said Theresa. “Business so important that you’d get up at five-thirty to see Peter, and yet so unimportant that when you find out he’s on a phone call, you can actually talk to me about it.”

She said it with such verve that Bean might have missed the bitter complaint behind her words. “So he still treats you like a ceremonial mother?” asked Bean.

“Does the butterfly consult with the cocoon?”

“So…how do your other children treat you?” asked Bean.

Her face darkened. “This is your business?”

He wasn’t sure if the question was pointed irony—as in, that’s none of your business—or a simple question—this is what you came for? He took it the first way.

“Ender’s my friend,” said Bean. “More than anybody else except Petra. I miss him. I know there’s an ansible on his ship. I just wondered.”

“I’m forty-six years old,” said Theresa. “When Val and Andrew get to their destination, I’ll be…old. Why should they write to me?”

“So they haven’t.”

“If they have, the I.F. hasn’t seen fit to inform me.”

“They’re bad at mail delivery, as I recall. They seem to think that the best family therapy method is ‘out of sight, out of mind.’”

“Or Andrew and Valentine can’t be bothered.” Theresa typed something. “There. Another letter I’ll never send.”

“Who are you writing to?”

“Whom. You foreigners are wrecking the English language.”

“I’m not speaking English. I’m speaking Common. There’s no ‘whom’ in Common.”

“I’m writing to Virlomi and telling her to wise up to the fact that Suriyawong is still in love with her and she has no business trying to play god in India when she could do it for real by marrying and having babies.”

“She doesn’t love Suri,” said Bean.

“Someone else, then?”

“India. It’s way past patriotism with her.”

“Matriotism. Nobody thinks of India as the fatherland.”

“And you’re the matriarch. Dispensing maternal advice to Battle School grads.”

“Just the ones from Ender’s Jeesh who happen now to be heads of state or insurrectionary leaders or, in this case, fledgling deities.”

“Just one question for you,” said Bean.

“Ah. Back to the subject.”

“Is Ender getting a pension?”

“Pension? Yes, I think so. Yes. Of course.”

“And what is his pension doing while he’s puttering along at lightspeed?”

“Gathering interest, I imagine.”

“So you’re not administering it?”

“Me? I don’t think so.”

“Your husband?”

“I’m the one who handles the money,” said Theresa. “Such as it is. We don’t get a pension. Come to think of it, we don’t get a salary, either. We’re just hangers-on. Camp followers. We’re both on leave of absence at the University because it was too dangerous for potential hostages to be out where enemies could kidnap us. Of course, the main kidnapper is dead, but…here we stay.”