"Children aren't in armies, they aren't commanders, they don't rule over forty other kids, it's more than anybody can take and not get crazy." - Dink Meeker, Ender's Game

                I don’t belong here.

Dink was pressing his face into his pillow. He could still breathe, but just barely. He was trying to wipe away the tears, before they even came.

This time he said it aloud. “I don’t belong here.”

“…Sir?”

Dink lifted his head. There was one of the smaller boys standing in the doorway. What was his name? It was something like George, right?... James? Jonathon?

“It’s nearly lights out, Jordan,” Dink said. “Why are you here?”

The little boy was blinking rapidly. “It’s just that – see, some of the other boys, I mean, some of the other soldiers-”

“We’re not soldiers, Jordan,” Dink told the boy. “We’re just pawns.”

The boy didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “Um – right – well, they were talking, and they, um, were sort of, um, offending you, Commander, and, um… I… thought you might…want to know…”

Dink wondered why the boy trailed off, until he felt a hot tear drip onto his hand. But he still didn’t move, only watched the kid more intensely. “I don’t care,” said Dink. “You’re excused.”

“Um… sir?”

“What is it?” asked Dink tiredly. He just wanted to go to sleep. This new army didn’t suit him.

“Are…you alright?”

Dink sat up straight, looking at the other boy, who seemed terrified, like he had just committed a serious crime. Dink smiled at him. “That’s the first time since I left Earth,” he said, “that anyone has ever said that to me.”

The boy nodded hurriedly. “Oh, well, I was just, you know, wondering, I didn’t… I’ll just go now.”

Before Dink could say anything else, the boy was out the door. Dink sighed. Instead of making himself a friend, he’d proven, once again, that he was an idiot.

He lay back down, the tears streaming down his face. But he wasn’t even sobbing. It wasn’t like before, when he had had fits and screaming and shouting to get out of being a commander. He was just…laying there.

The lights seemed to turn on suddenly. Then he realized what time it was, and that his army was probably already up, and that they were expecting him to get up too, to do something with them. What is it that commanders always did?... He couldn’t think. They did something.

A few more boys came into the room. Christian was there too. Which surprised Dink, because Christian was in Salamander Army, and there was no way an eemo like Bonzo would let one of his toy soldiers go see a friend.

Christian sat down on the edge of the cold bed. “Dink,” he said, and his tone wasn’t pitiful. “Get up.”

“No,” Dink replied. “Go away.”

“Come on, you have an army.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. There are forty soldiers out there who are expecting you to get up and kick some butt. So go.”

Dink didn’t move.

Christian got up. “You’re not going to be able to convince him,” he told the other boys. “Leave him alone. I have to go, before Bonzo blows a blood vessel.”

“You in deep shit now, Chris!” said one of the boys. Dink rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he told the one who had said it. The kid looked taken aback. Then, one by one, they filed out. And they were gone.

Dink didn’t move. He stayed there all day. He wasn’t hungry, or thirsty, but he did have to go the bathroom. But he figured he’d get up eventually, and that’s when he’d do it. He’d just get up when he felt like it.

Which isn’t going to be soon, he thought.

Then, just before the lights turned off for the night again, a man entered the room.

“Do you know who I am?” the man asked.

“Yes,” replied Dink.

“Who am I?”

Dink was silent. The man smiled.

“My name is Graff. I-”

“Oh, Graff. I know you.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of me, at least, yes. Do you know what authority I have over you?”

Dink sighed. “You only have the authority I allow you to have over me. Which means, you have none.”

“Get out of bed, Dink. Be a commander.”

For the first time today, Dink was on his feet. “Why should I? Why should I even do anything you say? All you’re doing is pitting children against each other in the hopes that one bright spark will be more ruthless than the rest. This whole Battle School idea is retarded, because one day, we’re going to go home, and we’re doing to be deadly little brats, aren’t we? You’re making us think we’re adults, making us think we’re actually soldiers – and that’s ridiculous! Whatever happen the concept of a child…” He trailed off. Graff was smiling at him amusedly, a twinkling look in his eye.

He handed Dink a slip of paper. “Rat Army.”

Dink looked at the paper. “I don’t want-”

“Or you could stay as commander. Your choice.”

Dink shook his head and left the room.

Graff stood there for a few more moments, wondering what he had done wrong.