The Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

  "Uncle?"

  "What?"

  "Existence is the first given?"

  I shrugged. "That's what Shizumaat says; I'll buy it."

  "But, Uncle, how do we know that existence is real?"

  I lowered my work, looked at Zammis, shook my head, then resumed stitching the boots. "Take my word for it."

  The Drac grimaced. "But, Uncle, that is not knowledge; that is faith."

  I sighed, thinking back to my sophomore year at the University of Nations—a bunch of adolescents lounging around a cheap flat experimenting with booze, powders, and philosophy. At a little more than one Earth year old, Zammis was developing into an intellectual bore. "So, what's wrong with faith?"

  Zammis snickered. "Come now, Uncle. Faith?"

  "It helps some of us along this drizzle-soaked coil."

  "Coil?"

  I scratched my head. "This mortal coil; life. Shakespeare, I think."

  Zammis frowned. "It is not in The Talman."

  "He, not it. Shakespeare was a human."

  Zammis stood, walked to the fire and sat across from me. "Was he a philosopher, like Mistan or Shizumaat?"

  "No. He wrote plays—like stories, acted out."

  Zammis rubbed its chin. "Do you remember any of Shakespeare?"

  I held up a finger. " 'To be, or not to be; that is the question.'"

  The Drac's mouth dropped open; then it nodded its head. "Yes. Yes! To be or not to be; that is the question!" Zammis held out its hands. "How do we know the wind blows outside the cave when we are not there to see it? Does the sea still boil if we are not there to feel it?"

  I nodded. "Yes."

  "But, Uncle, how do we know?"

  I squinted at the Drac. "Zammis, I have a question for you. Is the following statement true or false: What I am saying right now is false."

  Zammis blinked. "If it is false, then the statement is true. But... if it's true . . . the statement is false, but..." Zammis blinked again, then turned and went back to rubbing fat into the tent "I'll think upon it, Uncle."

  "You do that, Zammis."

  The Drac thought upon it for about ten minutes, then turned back. "The statement is false."

  I smiled. "But that's what the statement said, hence it is true, but..." I let the puzzle trail off. Oh, smugness, thou temptest even saints.

  "No, Uncle. The statement is meaningless in its present context." I shrugged. "You see, Uncle, the statement assumes the existence of truth values that can comment upon themselves devoid of any other reference. I think Lurrvena's logic in The Talman is clear on this, and if meaninglessness is equated with falsehood..."

  I sighed. "Yeah, well—"

  "You see, Uncle, you must first establish a context in which your statement has meaning."

  I leaned forward, frowned, and scratched my beard. "I see. You mean I was putting Descartes before the horse?"

  Zammis looked at me strangely, and even more so when I collapsed on my mattress cackling like a fool.

  Deep in winter, I saw a crack of sunlight come through the clouds. As I stood next to Jerry's grave in the scrub forest, I watched the sunbeams touch the ocean and became overwhelmed at the beauty of it. Before I could take a few steps toward the cave to call Zammis out to see it, the sight had vanished in a snow squall, returning the world to whites and endless grays. I sat on the ice next to Jerry's grave.

  "Maybe it's a good thing Zammis didn't see it, Jerry. It'd have us dragging all our firewood outside for signal fires." I thought for a moment. "Maybe not. The kid doesn't seem to hate the place like you and me. The way Zammis explores and collects rocks, maybe it'll be a geologist. It collects plants and bugs, too. Did I tell you about that one bug Zammis dragged in at the end of last summer? It was dead, but it had an egg sac full of nasty little biters who were very much alive. We had to boil, crush, or shovel out damn near everything in the cave to get rid of the little bastards."

  I laughed at the memory and imagined Jerry laughing, too. God, I wished that Jerry could see Zammis; that Zammis could meet and know its parent. Then words came into my head, Tochalla in the Koda Hiveda, The Talman. It was Tochalla who began the movement to reassemble the Talmani and to rebuild the Talman Kovah after its destruction half a millennium earlier. Tochalla faced a tougher problem than I had trying to tell Zammis about its parent. Tochalla was trying to tell the world about lessons and a discipline that had been crushed and forbidden five centuries before. In the intervening five hundred years, the surviving memories and fragments had taken on lives of their own, twisted by faulty memories and embellished by generations of imaginative, self-serving scoundrels. "We will take it all," wrote Tochalla. "We will gather in everything, much as Rhada did with all the many versions of the Laws of Aakva, and we will examine, test, discuss, and challenge everything. If we are honest and mean only to serve truth, then what remains will be the truth of it."

  The truth of it.

  All I had was a few memories and a lot of feelings. Perhaps, instead of hiding them, if I gave them freely to Zammis, some part of the truth of its parent and its line would come through.

  I glanced up and saw another sunbeam reach the sea as a crack opened in the cloud cover. I raced to the top of the path to call down to Zammis, but, far below me, I saw the kid standing at the edge of the cliff, looking over the sea at the light from above. Its arms were outstretched. The opening in the cloud cover closed, Zammis lowered its arms, and went into the cave.

  "Uncle, why does the line of Jeriba have only five names? You say that human lines have many names."

  I put down my sewing and nodded. "The five names of the Jeriba line are things to which their bearers must add deeds. The deeds are important—not the names."

  "Gothig is Shigan's parent as Shigan is my parent."

  "Of course. You know that from your recitations."

  Zammis frowned. "Then I must name my child Ty when I become a parent?"

  "Yes. And Ty must name its child Haesni. Do you see something wrong with that?"

  "I would like to name my child Davidge, after you."

  I smiled and shook my head. "The Ty name has been served by great bankers, merchants, inventors, and—well, you know your recitation. The name Davidge hasn't been served by much. Think of what Ty would miss by not being Ty."

  Zammis thought a while, then nodded. "Uncle, do you think Gothig is alive?"

  "As far as I know."

  "What is Gothig like?"

  I thought back to Jerry talking about its parent, Gothig. "It taught music, and is very strong. Jerry . . . Shigan said that its parent could bend metal bars with its fingers. Gothig is also very dignified. I imagine that right now Gothig is also very sad. Gothig must think that the line of Jeriba has ended."

  Zammis frowned and its yellow brow furrowed. "Uncle, we must make it to Draco. We must tell Gothig the line continues."

  "We will."

  "How do you know we will?"

  "I made a promise to your parent, Zammis. I promised to teach you line and book and to stand with you before the Jeriba archives and see you into adulthood."

  "How will you keep this promise, Uncle?"

  "I don't know. The Talman tells me to do the best I can and leave the rest to the event stream of the universe."

  "But how, Uncle?"

  I lowered my sewing to my lap and looked at Zammis. "In the spring we're going to see where those birds were going. Maybe that's how." I shrugged and returned to my sewing. "Maybe not. How it turns out isn't up to us."

  "Faith again, Uncle?"

  "Reality, Zammis. Genuine, washable, colorfast, one hundred percent, guaranteed non-shrinkable reality, and that's a fact."

  Spring. The winter's ice began thinning, and boots, tent, and packs were ready. We were putting the finishing touches on our new insulated suits. As Jerry had given The Talman to me to learn, the golden cube now hung around Zammis's neck. The Drac would drop the tiny golden book from the cube and study it for hours at a time.

  "Uncle?"


  "What?"

  "Why do Dracs speak and write in one language and the humans in another?"

  I laughed. "Zammis, the humans speak and write in many languages. English is just one of them."

  "How do the humans speak among themselves?"

  I shrugged. "They don't always; when they do, they use interpreters—people who can speak both languages."

  "You and I speak both English and Drac; does that make us interpreters?"

  "I suppose we could be, if you could ever find a human and a Drac who want to talk to each other. Remember, there's a war going on."

  "How will the war stop if they do not talk?"

  "Good question. Maybe they'll run out of ammunition or bodies to kill. I suppose they will talk, eventually."

  Zammis smiled. "I think I would like to be an interpreter and help end the war." The Drac put its sewing aside and stretched out on its new mattress. Zammis had outgrown even its old mattress, which it now used for a pillow. "Uncle, do you think that we will find anybody beyond the scrub forest?"

  "I hope so. If we don't, it'll be one hell of a long hike for nothing."

  "If we find someone, will you go with me to Draco?"

  "I promised your parent that I would."

  "After I make my recitation, what will you do?"

  I stared at the fire, a question I never asked myself smoking on the table. "I don't know." I shrugged. "The war might keep us from getting to Draco for a long time."

  "After that, what?"

  "I suppose I'll stay in the service."

  Zammis propped itself up on an elbow. "Go back to being a fighter pilot?"

  "Sure. That's about all I know how to do."

  "And kill Dracs?"

  I put my own sewing down and studied the Drac. Things had changed since Jerry and I had slugged it out—more things than I had realized. I shook my head. "No. I probably won't be a pilot—not a service one. Maybe I can land a job flying commercial ships." I shrugged. "Maybe the service won't give me any choice."

  Zammis sat up, was still for a moment; then it stood, walked over to my mattress, and knelt before me on the sand. "Uncle, I don't want to leave you."

  "Don't be silly. You'll have your own kind around you. Your grandparent, Gothig, Shigan's siblings, their children—you'll forget all about me."

  "Will you forget about me?"

  I looked into those yellow eyes, then reached out my hand and touched Zammis's cheek. "No, I won't forget about you. But, remember this, Zammis: you're a Drac and I'm a human, and that's how this part of the universe is divided."

  Zammis took my hand from his cheek, spread the fingers and studied them. "Whatever happens, Uncle, I will never forget you."

  The ice was gone, and the Drac and I stood in the wind-blown drizzle, packs on our backs, before the grave. Zammis was as tall as I was, which made it a little taller than Jerry. To my relief, the boots fit. Zammis hefted its pack up higher on its shoulders, then turned from the grave and looked out at the sea. I followed Zammis's glance and watched the rollers steam in and smash on the rocks. I looked at the Drac. "What are you thinking?"

  Zammis looked down, then turned toward me. "Uncle, I didn't think of it before, but... I will miss this place."

  I burst out with a laugh. "Nonsense! This place?" I slapped the Drac on the shoulder. "Why would you miss this place?"

  Zammis looked back out to sea. "I have learned many things here. You have taught me many things here, Uncle. My life happened here."

  "Only the beginning, Zammis. You have a life ahead of you." I nodded my head at the grave. "Say goodbye."

  Zammis turned toward the grave, stood over it, then knelt to one side and began removing the rocks. After a few moments, it had exposed the hand of a skeleton with three fingers. Zammis nodded, then wept. "I am sorry. Uncle, but I had to do that. This has been nothing but a pile of rocks to me. Now it is more." Zammis replaced the rocks, then stood.

  I cocked my head toward the scrub forest. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up in a minute."

  "Yes, Uncle."

  Zammis moved off toward the naked trees, and I looked down at the grave. "What do you think of Zammis, Jerry? It's bigger than you were. I guess snake agrees with the kid." I squatted next to the grave, picked up a small rock, and added it to the pile. "I guess this is it. We're either going to make it to Draco, or die trying." I stood and looked at the sea. "Yeah, I guess I learned a few things here. I'll miss it, in a way." I turned back to the grave and hefted my pack up. "Ehdevva sahn, Jeriba Shigan. So long, Jerry."

  I turned and followed Zammis into the forest.

  The days that followed were full of wonder for Zammis. For me the sky was still the same, dull grey, and the few variations of plant and animal life that we found were nothing remarkable. Once we got beyond the scrub forest, we climbed a gentle rise for a day, and then found ourselves on a wide, flat, endless plain. It was ankle deep in a purple weed that stained our boots the same color. The nights were still too cold for hiking, and we would hole up in the tent. Both the greased tent and suits worked well, keeping out the almost constant rain. In time there were clumps of scrub trees resembling the ones above the cave. We made camp there, giving us some relief from the winds.

  Nights we slept. Days we hiked and talked and sang. I avoided teaching Zammis some of the raunchier barracks ditties I knew, but there were others. Some of them made me think. I mean, just how long had it been since anyone worked on a railroad? The song wasn't particularly meaningful or catchy, but there it was, being sung by a Drac on a planet that never even saw a railroad. Verily, someone's in the kitchen with Dinah, playing on the old banjo.

  In response to Zammis's question, we stopped in one of the scrub clumps, pitched the tent, and began constructing a banjo. With the end off a hollow log, some snakeskin stretched over it, a stick scraped flat for a neck, and some dried and twisted snakegut for strings, we had something that sounded like a ukulele being played underwater. I remembered how to tune a uke, but I couldn't do more than play a few chords and pick out a couple of tunes. Back on the hike, Zammis took to the crude instrument and began picking. Soon we had music for our singing, and I broke down and taught Zammis just a couple of the not too raunchy service songs.

  It was fun. More fun than I remembered ever having with anyone. If we never found a ship or anything else, I could happily spend the rest of my life hiking with Zammis, singing songs, and seeing what's over the horizon.

  One day, shortly after beginning our day's hike, we saw it. A ship. It screamed overhead, then disappeared over the horizon before either of us could say a word. I had no doubt that the craft I had seen was in landing attitude.

  "Uncle! Did it see us?"

  I shook my head. "No, I doubt it. But it was landing. Do you hear? It was landing somewhere ahead."

  "Uncle?"

  "Let's get moving! What is it?"

  "Was it a Drac ship, or a human ship?"

  I cooled in my tracks. I had never stopped to think about it. I waved my hand. "Come on. It doesn't matter. Either way, you go to Draco. You're a noncombatant, so the USE forces couldn't do anything, and if they're Dracs, you're home free."

  We began walking. "But, Uncle, if it's a Drac ship, what will happen to you?"

  I shrugged. "Prisoner of war. The Dracs say they abide by the interplanetary war accords, so I should be all right." Fat chance, said the back of my head to the front of my head. The big question was whether I preferred being a Drac POW or a permanent resident of Fyrine IV. I had figured that out long ago. "Come on, let's pick up the pace. We don't know how long it will take to get there, or how long it will be on the ground."

  Pick 'em up; put 'em down. Except for a few breaks, we didn't stop—even when night came. Our exertion kept us warm. The horizon never seemed to grow nearer. The longer we slogged ahead the duller my mind grew. It must have been days, my mind gone numb as my feet, when I fell through the purple weed into a hole. Immediately, everything grew dark, and I felt a pain in m
y right leg. I felt the blackout coming, and I welcomed its warmth, its rest, its peace.

  "Uncle? Uncle? Wake up! Please, wake up!"

  I felt slapping against my face, although it felt somehow detached. Agony thundered into my brain, bringing me wide awake. Damned if I didn't break my leg. I looked up and saw the weedy edges of the hole. My rear end was seated in a trickle of water. Zammis squatted next to me. "What happened?"

  Zammis motioned upward. "This hole was only covered by a thin crust of dirt and plants. The water must have taken the ground away. Are you all right?"

  "My leg. I think I broke it." I leaned my back against the muddy wall. "Zammis, you're going to have to go on by yourself."

  "I can't leave you. Uncle!"

  "Look, if you find anyone, you can send them back for me."

  "What if the water in here comes up?" Zammis felt along my leg until I winced. "I must carry you out of here. What must I do for the leg?"

  The kid had a point. Drowning wasn't in my schedule. "We need something stiff. Bind the leg so it doesn't move."

  Zammis pulled off its pack, and kneeling in the water and mud, went through its pack, then through the tent roll. Using the tent poles, it wrapped my leg with snakeskins torn from the tent. Then, using more snakeskins, Zammis made two loops, slipped one over each of my legs, then propped me up and slipped the loops over its shoulders. It lifted, and I blacked out.

  On the ground, covered with the remains of the tent, Zammis was shaking my arm. "Uncle? Uncle?"

  "Yes?" I whispered.

  "Uncle, I'm ready to go." It pointed to my side. The skins from the tent were covering a lump of something. "Your food is here, and when it rains, just pull the tent over your face. I'll mark the trail I make so I can find my way back."