Tatrix and I were to perish in some back street of Tharna. On the summit of the wall we encountered the crumpled form of a fallen guardsman. It moved.

There was a wrenching sound a rending of earth and rock and a settling of something heavy. Through the slits of her eyes she could see the shapes in the light growing large and taking form as buildings and trees roadways and paths and lawns and parks appeared. Arborlon was coming back into be- ing. She watched it materialize as if seeing it from behind a window streaked with rain hazy and indistinct. At its center like a gleaming arch of silver.
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Humankind. Was it something unavoidable when strangers met that the meeting had to be marked with blood? The buggers had casually killed human beings but only because they had a hive mind; to them individual life was as precious as nail parings and killing a human or two was simply their way of letting us know they were in the neighborhood. Could the piggies have such a reason for killing too? But the voice in his ear had spoken of torture a ritual murder similar to the execution of one of the piggies' own. The piggies were not a hive mind they were not the buggers and Ender Wiggin had to know why they had done what they did. "When did you hear about the death of the xenologer?" Ender turned. It was Plikt. She had followed him instead of going back to the Caves where the students lived. "Then while we spoke. " He touched his ear; implanted terminals were expensive but they were not all that rare. "I checked the news just before.
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