A War of Gifts: An Ender Story by Orson Scott Card Page A

Muslims were involved, the students prostrating themselves and facing-not Mecca, which would have been impossible-but to portside, which faced the sun.
    But once the praying began, other Muslim students took note and at first a few, then more and more, joined in the praying. Zeck sat at the table, eating without conversation with his supposed comrades in Rat Army. He pretended not to notice or care, but he was delighted. Because Dink grasped the meaning almost at once. The prayer was a Muslim response to Dink’s Santa Claus campaign. There was no way the commandant could ignore this.
    “So maybe it’s a good thing,” Dink murmured to Flip, who was sitting next to him. Zeck knew it was not a good thing. Muslims had renounced terrorism many years ago, after the disastrous Sunni-Shiite war, and had even reconciled with Israel and made common economic cause. But everyone knew how much resentment still seethed within the Muslim world, with many Muslims believing they were treated unfairly by the Hegemony. Everyone knew of the imams and ayatollahs who claimed, loudly, that what was needed was not a secular Hegemony, but a Caliph to unify the world in worship of God. “When we live by Sharia, God will protect us from these monsters. When God sends a warning, we are wise to listen. Instead, we do the opposite, and God will not protect us when we are in rebellion against him.”
    It was language Zeck understood. Apart from their religious delusions, they had the courage of their faith. They were not afraid to speak up. And they had numbers enough to force people to listen to them. They would be heard by those who had long since stopped even pretending to listen to Zeck. The next prayer time was at the end of lunch. The Muslims had spread the word, and all those who intended to pray lingered in the mess hall. Zeck had already heard that the same thing happened in the commanders’ mess at breakfast, but now most of the Muslim commanders had come into the main mess hall to join their soldiers in prayer.
    Colonel Graff came into the mess hall just before the announced time of prayer.
    “Religious observance in Battle School is forbidden,” he said loudly. “Muslims have been granted an exemption from the requirement of daily prayers. So any Muslim student who insists on a public display of religious rituals will be disciplined, and any commanders or toon leaders who take part will immediately and permanently lose their rank.”
    Graff had already turned to leave when Ahmed called out, “What about Santa Claus?”
    “As far as I know,” said Graff, “there is no religious ritual associated with Santa Claus, and Santa Claus has not been sighted here in Battle School.”
    “Double standard!” shouted Ahmed, and several others echoed him. Graff ignored him and left the mess hall.
    The door had not closed when two dozen Marines came through the door and stationed themselves around the room.
    When the time for prayer came, Ahmed and several others immediately prostrated themselves. Marines came to them, forced them to their feet, and handcuffed them. The Marine lieutenant looked around the room. “Anyone else?”
    One more soldier lay down to pray; he was also handcuffed. No one else defied them. Five Muslims were taken from the room. Not roughly, but not all that gently, either. Zeck turned his attention back to his food.
    “This makes you happy, doesn’t it?” whispered Dink. Zeck turned a blank face toward him.
    “You did this,” said Dink softly.
    “I’m a Christian. I don’t tell Muslims when to pray.” Zeck regretted speaking as soon as he finished. He should have remained silent.
    “You’re not a good liar, Zeck,” said Dink. And now he was talking loud enough that the rest of the table could hear. “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s one of your best points-you’re used to telling the truth, so you never learned the skill of telling lies.”
    “I don’t lie,” said Zeck.
    “Your words were literally