The Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

  I frowned, then pointed at the capsule. "Nasesay? The capsule?"

  "Ae, capsule nasesay. Echey masu." Jerry pointed at its feet.

  I shook my head. "Jerry, if you gavey how these rocks got smooth"—I pointed at one—"then you gavey that masuing the nasesay up here isn't going to do a damned bit of good." I made a sweeping up and down movement with my hands. "Waves." I pointed at the sea below. "Waves, up here." I pointed to where we stood. "Waves, echey."

  "Ae, gavey." Jerry looked around the top of the rise, then rubbed the side of its face. The Drac squatted next to some small rocks and began piling one on top of another. "Viga, Davidge."

  I squatted next to it and watched while its nimble fingers constructed a circle of stones that quickly grew into a dollhouse-sized arena. Jerry stuck one of its fingers in the center of the circle. "Echey, nasesay."

  The days on Fyrine IV seemed to be three times longer than any I had seen on any other habitable planet. I use the designation "habitable" with reservations. It took us most of the first day to painfully roll Jerry's nasesay up to the top of the rise. The night was too black to work and was bone-cracking cold. We removed the couch from the capsule, which made just enough room for both of us to fit inside. The body heat warmed things up a bit; and we killed time between sleeping, nibbling on Jerry's supply of ration bars (they taste a bit like fish mixed with cheddar cheese), and trying to come to some agreement about language.

  "Eye."

  "Thuyo."

  "Finger."

  "Zurath."

  "Head."

  The Drac laughed. "Lode."

  "Ho, ho, very funny."

  "Ho, ho."

  It was when the talking stopped and the sleeping was to begin that I would find myself inside my own head, behind enemy lines. It'd be right there, a few centimeters away, a Drac. Yellow, loathsome, slick-skinned, noseless, toad face.

  The rolls on my ship had a lot of blank spaces because of the pilots the Dracs had whacked. I knew a lot of the names: Ozawa, Chandler, the Starov twins: Mikhail and Whatsisname.

  Whatsisname.

  I knew a lot of names, I could remember a lot of faces. I didn't know anyone, though. I felt bad when my fellow pilots went down, but only because it meant my team had taken a hit. It wasn't as though any friends had taken one.

  Friends. Who were my friends?

  That one group commander, Dunlap, the one before Santos, used to say, "If you have to ask questions like 'Who are my friends,' you are in trouble."

  Dunlap was trying to get us to hang together, rely on each other, work as a team—no. Work as a family.

  I asked the question, who are my friends, and still didn't have an answer an hour later. I wondered how much trouble Dunlap would say I was in.

  In the dim green glow of one of the capsule's fading battery lights, I looked at the Drac and realized that I had spent more time in close contact with this thing than I had with any human, except my parents.

  Trouble. Dunlap didn't know what trouble was.

  At dawn on the second day, we rolled and pushed the capsule into the center of the rise and wedged it between two large rocks, one of which had an overhang that we hoped would hold down the capsule when one of those big soakers hit. Around the rocks and capsule, we laid a foundation of large stones and filled in the cracks with smaller stones. ' By the time the wall was knee high, we discovered that building with those smooth, round stones and no mortar wasn't going to work. After some experimentation, we figured out how to break the stones to give us flat sides with which to work. It's done by picking up one stone and slamming it down on top of another.

  We took turns, one slamming and one building. The stone was almost a volcanic glass, and we also took turns extracting rock splinters from each other. It took nine of those endless days and nights to complete the walls, during which waves came close many times and once washed us ankle deep. For six of those nine days, it rained. ; The capsule's survival equipment included a plastic blanket, and that became our roof. It sagged in at the center, and the hole we put in it there allowed the water to run out, keeping us almost dry and giving us a supply of fresh water. If a wave of any determination came along, we could kiss the roof goodbye; but we both had confidence in the walls, which were almost two meters thick at the bottom and at least a meter thick at the top.

  After we finished, we sat inside and admired our work for about an hour, until it dawned on us that we had just worked ourselves out of jobs.

  "What now, Jerry?"

  "Ess?"

  "What do we do now?"

  The Drac looked at the shelter, then up at the gloomy sky. "Now wait, we." The Drac shrugged. "Else what, ne?"

  I nodded. "Gavey."

  I got to my feet and walked to the passageway we had built. With no wood for a door, where the walls would have met, we bent one out and extended it about three meters around the other wall with the opening away from the prevailing winds.

  The never-ending winds were still at it, but the rain had stopped. The shack wasn't much to look at, but looking at it stuck there in the center of that deserted island made me feel good. As Shizumaat observed, "Intelligent life making its stand against the universe." Or, at least, that's the sense I could make out of Jerry's hamburger of English. I shrugged and picked up a sharp splinter of stone and made another mark in the large standing rock that served as my log. Ten scratches in all, and under the seventh, a small x to indicate the big wave that just covered the top of the island.

  I threw down the splinter. "Damn, I hate this place!"

  "Ess?" Jerry's head poked around the edge of the opening. "Who talking at, Davidge?"

  I glared at the Drac, then waved my hand at it. "Nobody."

  "Ess va 'nobody'?"

  "Nobody. Nothing."

  "Ne gavey, Davidge."

  I poked at my chest with my finger. "Me! I'm talking to myself! You gavey that stuff, toad face!"

  Jerry shook its head. "Davidge, now I sleep. Talk not so much nobody, ne?" It disappeared back into the opening.

  "And so's your mother!" I turned and walked down the slope. Except, strictly speaking, toad face, you don't have a mother—or father. "If you had your choice, who would you like to be trapped on a desert island with?" I wondered if anyone ever picked a wet freezing corner of Hell shacked up with a hermaphrodite.

  Half of the way down the slope, I followed the path I had marked with rocks until I came to my tidal pool that I had named "Rancho Sluggo." Around the pool were many of the water-worn rocks, and underneath those rocks, below the pool's waterline, lived the fattest orange slugs either of us had ever seen. I made the discovery during a break from house building and showed them to Jerry.

  Jerry shrugged. "And so?"

  "And so what? Look, Jerry, those ration bars aren't going to last forever. What are we going to eat when they're all gone?"

  "Eat?" Jerry looked at the wriggling pocket of insect life and grimaced. "Ne, Davidge. Before then pickup. Search us find, then pickup."

  "What if they don't find us? What then?"

  Jerry grimaced again and turned back to the half-completed house. "Water we drink, then until pickup." He had muttered something about kiz excrement and my tastebuds, then walked out of sight.

  Since then I had built up the pool's walls, hoping the increased protection from the harsh environment would increase the herd. I looked under several rocks, but no increase was apparent. And, again, I couldn't bring myself to swallow one of the things. I replaced the rock I was looking under, stood and looked out to the sea. Although the eternal cloud cover still denied the surface the drying rays of Fyrine, there was no rain and the usual haze had lifted.

  In the direction past where I had pulled myself up on the beach, the sea continued to the horizon. In the spaces between the whitecaps, the water was as grey as a loan officer's heart. Parallel lines of rollers formed approximately five kilometers from the island. The center, from where I was standing, would smash on the island, while the remainder s
teamed on. To my right, in line with the breakers, I could just make out another small island perhaps ten kilometers away. Following the path of the rollers, I looked far to my right, and where the grey-white of the sea should have met the lighter grey of the sky, there was a black line on the horizon.

  The harder I tried to remember the briefing charts on Fyrine IV's land masses, the less clear it became. Jerry couldn't remember anything either—at least nothing it would tell me. Why should we remember? The battle was supposed to be in space, each one trying to deny the other an orbital staging area in the Fyrine system. Neither side wanted to set foot on Fyrine, much less fight a battle there. Still, whatever it was called, it was land and considerably larger than the sand and rock bar we were occupying.

  How to get there was the problem. Without wood, fire, leaves, or animal skins, Jerry and I were destitute compared to the average poverty-stricken caveman. The only thing we had that would float was the nasesay. The capsule. Why not? The only real problem to overcome was getting Jerry to go along with it.

  That evening, while the greyness made its slow transition to black, Jerry and I sat outside the shack nibbling our quarter portions of ration bars. The Drac's yellow eyes studied the dark line on the horizon, then it shook its head. "Ne, Davidge. Dangerous is."

  I popped the rest of my ration bar into my mouth and talked around it. "Any more dangerous than staying here?"

  "Soon pickup, ne?"

  I studied those yellow eyes. "Jerry, you don't believe that any more than I do." I leaned forward on the rock and held out my hands. "Look, our chances will be a lot better on a larger land mass. Protection from the big waves, maybe food."

  "Not maybe, ne?" Jerry pointed at the water. "How nasesay steer, Davidge? In that, how steer? Ess eh soakers, waves, beyond land take, gavey? Bresha," Jerry's hands slapped together."Ess eh bresha rocks on, ne? Then we death."

  I scratched my head. "The waves are going in that direction from here, and so is the wind. If the land mass is large enough, we don't have to steer, gavey?"

  Jerry snorted. "Ne large enough, then?"

  "I didn't say it was a sure thing."

  "Ess?"

  "A sure thing; certain, gavey?" Jerry nodded. "And for smashing up on the rocks, it probably has a beach like this one."

  "Sure thing, ne!"

  I shrugged. "No, it's not a sure thing, but, what about staying here? We don't know how big those waves can get. What if one just comes along and washes us off the island? What then?"

  Jerry looked at me, its eyes narrowed. "What there, Davidge? Irkmaan base, ne?"

  I laughed. "I told you, we don't have any bases on Fyrine IV."

  "Why want go, then?"

  "Just what I said, Jerry. I think our chances would be better."

  "Ummm." The Drac folded its arms. "Viga, Davidge, nasesay stay. I know."

  "Know what?"

  Jerry smirked, then stood and went into the shack. After a moment it returned and threw a two-meter long metal rod at my feet. It was the one the Drac had used to bind my arms. "Davidge, I know."

  I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. "What are you talking about? Didn't that come from your capsule?"

  "Ne, Irkmaan."

  "I bent down and picked up the rod. Its surface was uncorroded and at one end were arabic numerals—a part number. For a moment a flood of hope washed over me, but it drained away when I realized it was a civilian part number. I threw the rod on the sand. "There's no telling how long that's been here, Jerry. It's a civilian part number and no civilian missions have been in this part of the galaxy since the war. Might be left over from an old seeding operation or exploratory mission..."

  The Drac nudged it with the toe of his boot. "New, gavey?"

  I looked up at it. "You gavey stainless steel?"

  Jerry snorted and turned back toward the shack. "I stay, nasesay stay; where you want, you go, Davidge!"

  With the black of the long night firmly bolted down on us, the wind picked up, shrieking and whistling in and through the holes in the walls. The plastic roof flapped, pushed in and sucked out with such violence it threatened to either tear or sail off into the night. Jerry sat on the sand floor, its back leaning against the nasesay as if to make clear that both Drac and capsule were staying put, although the way the sea was picking up seemed to weaken Jerry's argument.

  "Sea rough now is, Davidge, ne?"

  "It's too dark to see, but with this wind ..." I shrugged more for my own benefit than the Drac's, since the only thing visible inside the shack was the pale light coming through the roof. Any minute we could be washed off that sandbar. "Jerry, you're being silly about that rod. You know that."

  "Surda." The Drac sounded contrite if not altogether miserable.

  "Ess?"

  "Ess eh 'Surda'?"

  "Jerry remained silent for a moment. "Davidge, gavey 'not certain not is'?"

  I sorted out the negatives. "You mean 'possible,' 'maybe,' 'perhaps'?"

  "Ae, possiblemaybeperhaps. Dracon fleet Irkmaan ships have. Before war buy; after war capture. Rod possiblemaybeperhaps Dracon is."

  "So, if there's a secret base on the big island, surda it's a Dracon base?"

  "Possiblemaybeperhaps, Davidge."

  "Jerry, does that mean you want to try it? The nasesay?"

  "Ne."

  "Ne? Why, Jerry? If it might be a Drac base—"

  "Ne! Ne talk!" The Drac seemed to choke on the words.

  "Jerry, we talk, and you better believe we talk! If I'm going to death it on this island, I have a right to know why."

  The Drac was quiet for a long time. "Davidge."

  "Ess?"

  "Nasesay you take. Half ration bars you leave. I stay."

  I shook my head to clear it. "You want me to take the capsule alone?"

  "What you want is, ne?"

  "Ae, but why? You must realize by now there won't be any pickup."

  "Possiblemaybeperhaps."

  "Surda, nothing. You know there isn't going to be a pickup. What is it? You afraid of the water? If that's it—"

  "Davidge, up your mouth shut. Nasesay you have. Me ne you need, gavey?"

  I nodded in the dark. The capsule was mine for the taking; what did I need a grumpy Drac along for—especially since our truce could expire at any moment? The answer made me feel a little silly—human. Perhaps it's the same thing. The Drac was all that stood between me and utter aloneness. Still, there was the small matter of staying alive. "We should go together, Jerry."

  "Why?"

  I felt myself blush. If humans have this need for companionship, why are they also ashamed to admit it? "We just should. Our chances would be better."

  "Alone your chances better are, Davidge. Your enemy I am."

  I nodded again and grimaced in the dark. "Jerry, you gavey 'loneliness'?"

  "Ne gavey."

  "Lonely. Being alone, by myself."

  "Gavey you alone. Take nasesay; I stay."

  "That's it... see, I don't want to. It's—"

  "You want together go?" interrupted the Drac. A low, dirty chuckle came from the other side of the shack. "You Dracon like? You me death, Irkmaan." Jerry chuckled some more. "Irkmaan poorzhab in head, poorzhab."

  "Forget it!" I slid down from the wall, smoothed out the sand, and curled up with my back toward the Drac. The wind seemed to die down a bit and I closed my eyes to try and sleep. In a bit, the snap, crack of the plastic roof blended in with the background of shrieks and whistles and I felt myself drifting off, when my eyes opened wide at the sound of footsteps in the sand. I tensed, ready to spring.

  "Davidge?" Jerry's voice was very quiet.

  "Yeah?"

  I heard the Drac sit on the sand next to me. "You loneliness, Davidge. About it hard you talk, ne?"

  "So what?" The Drac mumbled something that was lost in the wind. "What?" I turned over and saw Jerry looking through a hole in the wall.

  "Why I stay. Now, you I tell, ne?"

  I shrugged. "Okay; why not?"r />
  Jerry seemed to struggle with the words, then opened its mouth to speak. Its eyes opened wide. "Magasienna."

  I sat up. "Ess?"

  Jerry pointed at the hole. "Soaker!"

  I pushed it out of the way and looked through the hole. Steaming toward our island was an insane mountainous fury of white-capped rollers. It was hard to tell in the dark, but the one in front looked taller than the one that had wet our feet a few days before. The ones following it were bigger. Jerry put a hand on my shoulder and I looked into the Drac's eyes. We broke and ran for the capsule. We heard the first wave rumbling up the slope as we felt around in the dark for the recessed doorlatch. I just got my finger on it when the wave smashed against the shack, collapsing the roof. In half a second we were underwater, the currents inside the shack agitating us like socks in a washing machine.

  The water receded, and as I cleared my eyes, I saw that the windward wall of the shack had caved in. "Jerry!" Through the collapsed wall, I saw the Drac staggering around outside.

  "Irkmaan?" Behind him I could see the second roller gathering speed.

  "Kizlode, what'n the hell're you doing out there? Get in here!"

  I turned to the capsule, still lodged firmly between the two rocks, and found the handle. As I opened the door, Jerry stumbled through the missing wall and fell against me. "Davidge . . . forever soakers go on! Forever!"

  "Get in!" I helped the Drac through the door and didn't wait for it to get out of the way. I piled in on top of Jerry and latched the door just as the second wave hit. I could feel the capsule lift a bit and rattle against the overhang of the one rock.

  "Davidge, we float?"

  "No. The rocks are holding us. We'll be all right once the breakers stop."

  "Over you move."

  "Oh." I got off Jerry's chest and braced myself against one end of the capsule. After a bit, the capsule came to rest and we waited for the next one. "Jerry?"

  "Ae?"

  "What was it that you were about to say?"

  "Why I stay?"

  "Yeah."

  "About it hard me talk, gavey?"

  "I know, I know."

  The next breaker hit and I could feel the capsule rise and rattle against the rock. "Davidge, gavey 'vi nessa?"