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came loose. Ender was dead in some far-off place, and he could not find his way here. "He's lost," she cried. "He's lost."
Vaguely she heard a stream of Samoan from Malu. And then the translation from Grace. "He isn't lost. She's led him here. The God has led him here but he's afraid to stay."
How could he be afraid? Peter, afraid? Ender, afraid? Ludicrous on both counts. What part of him had ever been a coward? What was it that he had ever feared?
And then she remembered-- what Ender feared was Peter, and Peter's fear had always been of Ender. "No," she said, only now it wasn't grief. Now it was frustration, anger, need. "No, listen to me, you belong here! This is you, the real you! I don't care what you're afraid of now! I don't care how lost you might be. I want you here. This is your home and it always has been. With me! We're good together. We belong together. Peter! Ender-- whoever you think you are-- do you think it makes any difference to me? You've always been yourself, the same man you are now, and this has always been your body. Come home! Come back!" And on and on she babbled.
And then his eyes opened, and his lips parted in a smile. "Now that's acting," he said. Angrily she pushed him down again. "How can you laugh at me like that!"
"So you didn't mean it," he said. "You don't like me after all."
"I never said I did like you," she answered.
"I know what you said."
"Well," she said. "Well."
"And it was true," he said. "Was and is."
"You mean I said something right? I hit upon truth?"
"You said that I belonged here," Peter answered. "And I do." His hand reached up to touch her cheek, but didn't stop there. He put his hand behind her neck, and drew her down, and held her close to him. Around them two dozen huge Samoans laughed and laughed.
***
This is you now, Jane said to him. This is the whole of you. One again. You are at one.
Whatever he had experienced during his reluctant control of the body was enough. There was no more timidity, no more uncertainty. This aiua she had led through the body now took grateful mastery, eagerly as if this were the first body he had ever had. And perhaps it was. Having been cut off, however briefly, would he even remember being Andrew Wiggin? Or was the old life gone?