The Santa Claus thing was over. Dink didn’t imagine that he controlled it anymore—it had grown way past him now. But when the Muslim kids were arrested in the mess hall, it stopped being a game. It stopped being just a way to tweak the nose of authority. There were real consequences, and as Zeck had pointed out, they were more Dink’s fault than anyone else’s.

So Dink asked all his friends to ask everybody they knew to stop doing the stocking thing. To stop giving gifts that had anything to do with Santa Claus.

And, within a day, it stopped.

He thought that would be the end of it.

But it wasn’t the end. Because of Zeck.

Nothing Zeck did, of course. Zeck was Zeck, completely unchanged. Zeck didn’t do anything in practice except fly around, and he didn’t do anything in battle except take up space. But he went to class, he did his schoolwork, he turned in his assignments.

And everybody ignored him. They always had. But not like this.

Before, they had ignored him in a kind of tolerant, almost grudgingly respectful way: He’s an idiot, but at least he’s consistent.

Now they ignored him in a pointed way. They didn’t even bother teasing him or jostling him. He just didn’t exist. If he tried to speak to anybody, they turned away. Dink saw it, and it made him feel bad. But Zeck had brought it on himself. It’s one thing to be an outsider because you’re different. It’s another thing to get other people in trouble for your own selfish reasons. And that’s what Zeck had done. He didn’t care about the no-religion rule—he violated it all the time himself. He just used Dink’s Sinterklaas present to Flip as a means of making a lame point with the commandant.

So I was childish too, thought Dink. I knew when to stop. He didn’t.

Not my fault.

And yet Dink couldn’t stop observing him. Just glances. Just…noticing. He had read a little bit about primate behavior, as part of the theory of group loyalties. He knew how chimps and baboons that were shut out of their troop behaved, what happened to them. Depression. Self-destruction. Before, Zeck had seemed to thrive on isolation. Now that the isolation was complete, he wasn’t thriving anymore.

He looked drawn. He would start walking in some direction and then just stop. Then go again, but slowly. He didn’t eat much. Things weren’t going well for him.

And if there was one thing Dink knew, it was that the counselors and teachers weren’t worth a bucket of hog snot when it came to actually helping a kid with real problems. They had their agenda—what they wanted to make each kid do. But if it was clear the kid wouldn’t do it, then they lost interest. The way they had lost interest in Dink. Even if Zeck asked for help, they wouldn’t give it. And Zeck wouldn’t ask.

Despite knowing how futile it was, Dink tried anyway. He went to Graff and tried to explain what was happening to Zeck.

“Interesting theory,” said Graff. “He’s being shunned, you think.”

“I know.”

“But not by you?”

“I’ve tried to talk to him a couple of times, he shuts me out.”

“So he’s shunning you.”

“But everybody else is shunning him.”

“Dink,” said Graff, “ego te absolvo.”

“Whatever you might think,” said Dink, “that wasn’t Dutch.”

“It was Latin. From the Catholic confessional. I absolve you of your sin.”

“I’m not Catholic.”

“I’m not a priest.”

“You don’t have the power to absolve anybody from anything.”

“But it was worth a try. Go back to your barracks, Dink. Zeck is not your problem.”

“Why don’t you just send him back home?” asked Dink. “He’s never going to be anything in this army. He’s a Christian, not a soldier. Why can’t you let him go home and be a Christian?”

Graff leaned back in his chair.

“Okay, I know what you’re going to say,” said Dink.

“You do?”

“The same thing everybody always says. If I let him do it, then I have to let everybody else do it.”

“Really?”

“If Zeck’s noncompliance or whatever it is gets him sent home, then pretty soon you’ll have a lot more kids being noncompliant. So they can go home, too.”

“Would you be one of those?” asked Graff.

“I think your school is a waste of time,” said Dink. “But I believe in the war. I’m not a pacifist, I’m just anti-incompetence.”

“But you see, I wasn’t going to make that argument,” said Graff. “Because I already know the answer. If the only way a kid can go home is acting like Zeck and being treated like Zeck, there’s not a kid in this school who’d do it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But I do,” said Graff. “Remember, you were all tested and observed. Not just for logic, memory, spatial relationships, verbal ability, but also character attributes. Quick decision-making. Ability to grasp the whole of a situation. The ability to get along well with other people.”

“So how the hell did Zeck get here in the first place?”

“Zeck is brilliant at getting along with people,” said Graff. “When he wants to.”

Dink didn’t believe it.

“Zeck can handle even megalomaniacal sociopaths and keep them from harming other people. He’s a natural peacemaker in a human community, Dink. It’s his best gift.”

“That’s just kuso,” said Dink. “Everybody hated him right from the start.”

“Because he wanted you to. He’s getting exactly what he wants, right now. Including you coming here to talk to me. All exactly what he wants.”

“I don’t think so,” said Dink.

“That’s because you don’t know the thing that I was debating with myself about telling you.”

“So tell me.”

“No,” said Graff. “The side arguing for discretion won, and I won’t tell.”

Dink ignored the obfuscation. Graff wanted him to beg. Instead, Dink thought about what Graff had said about Zeck’s abilities. Had Zeck somehow been playing him? Him and everybody else?

“Why?” asked Dink. “Why would he deliberately alienate everybody?”

“Because nobody hated him enough,” said Graff. “He needed to be so hated that we gave up on him and sent him home.”

“I think you give him credit for more plans than he actually has,” said Dink. “He didn’t know what would happen.”

“I didn’t say his plan was conscious. He just wants to go home. He believes he has to go home.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t trust you.”

“If I say I won’t repeat a story, I won’t repeat it.”

“Oh, I know you can be discreet. I just don’t think I can trust you to do the job that needs doing.”

“And what job is that?”

“Healing Zeck Morgan.”

“I tried. He won’t let me near him.”

“I know,” said Graff. “So the thing you want to know, I’m going to tell to someone else. Someone who is also discreet. Someone who can heal him.”

Dink thought about that for a few moments.

“Ender Wiggin.”

“That’s your nominee?” asked Graff.

“No,” said Dink. “He’s yours. You think he can do anything.”

Graff smiled a little Mona Lisa smile, if Mona Lisa had been a pudgy colonel.

“I hope he can,” said Dink. “Should I send him to you?”

“I’ll bet you,” said Graff, “that Ender never needs to come to me at all.”

“He’ll just know what to do without being told.”

“He’ll act like Ender Wiggin, and in the process he’ll find out what he needs to know from Zeck himself.”

“Wiggin doesn’t talk to Zeck either.”

“You mean that you haven’t seen him talk to Zeck.”

Dink nodded. “Okay, that’s what I mean.”

“Give him time,” said Graff.

Dink got up from his chair.

“I haven’t dismissed you, soldier.”

Dink stopped and saluted. “Permission to leave your office and return to my barracks to continue feeling like a complete shit, sir.”

“Denied,” said Graff. “Oh, you can feel like whatever you want, that’s not my business. But your effort on behalf of Zeck has been duly noted.”

“I didn’t come here for a commendation.”

“And you’re not getting one. All you’re getting from this is my good opinion of your character. It’s not easily won, but once won, my good opinion is hard to lose. It’s a burden you’ll have to carry with you for some time. Learn to live with it. Now get out of here, soldier.”