The Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

  I frowned as I faced Nev. "Poorzhab means insane. What does ashzhab mean?"

  The Drac dropped its glance and placed its hand on Gothig's shoulder. "Criminally insane, Davidge. The word means criminally insane."

  It took two days for Gothig's operatives to arrange the permissions to visit the colony, and to charter transportation. During that two days, I could not stand the pain of imagining what Zammis had gone through—was going through. The guilt was almost a physical presence. I would see Zammis in my mind, saying those very prophetic words: "Uncle, I can carry you. We shouldn't separate."

  We shouldn't separate.

  I told the kid I couldn't make it. I told it to go and I watched as it ran across that purple plain.

  Remember me, I had told Zammis.

  Remember me.

  I felt like running out and booking passage on the first ship off Draco, wherever it went.

  Alone in the meditation chamber I would cry. Helpless, frustrated, needing to change the past and powerless to do anything about it. What if I had let Zammis carry me? Perhaps neither of us would have made it off Fyrine IV. We would have been together, though.

  Deep within my darkness, Estone Nev came into my apartment and entered the meditation chamber. It waited a moment, then said to me, "Davidge, we are leaving for Sindievu to take a charter flight to Vakudin. Are you coming?"

  I looked at Nev and said, "I should never have let Zammis go on without me."

  "You had no alternative, Davidge."

  "I did have an alternative, Nev. We could have stayed together."

  "Davidge, that is a talma that would likely have achieved death for both of you." It lifted a hand and placed it on my shoulder. "Listen, human. You are assuming blame for something that was out of your control. It does not serve talma."

  "What in the hell does serve talma?"

  "Travel with us to the Sa Ashzhab Kovah, Davidge. That is where Zammis is. That is where a new talma, if one is possible, must begin."

  It was dark through the windows of the plane as it hissed through the night across an ocean. Twice I saw lonely little lights below. Blue, cold, and all but lost within the depths of so much black. What were they? Ships? Signal lights? Was some poor lonely Drac up keeping watch in all that dark?

  Those dangerous thoughts of suicide that used to tease me when I was stranded on Fyrine IV touched me again. All that Jerry and I were to each other, all that Zammis and I were to each other, gone, taken away like a leaf caught in a hurricane. How dark can it get, I asked the night.

  Then the words of Namvaac in the Koda Sitarmeda drifted into my mind. It was a time of civil war and endless horrors. Between the weapons and the determination of the warring sides, all that had taken centuries to build had been swept away, leaving starving hoards picking among the rubble for enough food to last another day. In the darkness of a ruin, Namvaac had come upon one of its students, and the student was working a talma of self-death. The jetah took the student's knife and demanded to know what was going on.

  ... the student said to Namvaac, "Jetah, the darkness covers all the Universe. It is such an all-powerful evil, I feel so small and helpless within it. Next to this darkness the black of death seems so bright."

  Namvaac studied the hooked blade, then handed it back to the student. "Where you are now, child, Tochalla has been before you. It, too, was in darkness. It, too, had a knife. But Tochalla also had talma."

  There are an infinite number of paths from the present to the desired future. Talma is both the most efficient path and the discipline for finding the path. Until the infinite number of paths have been exhausted, the Dracs look upon quitting—any kind of quitting—as a character defect.

  The short version was what I used to tell Zammis: "Don't throw dirt on it until it's dead."

  Something Grandpop used to say to wrestle down my projections about what might happen. I thought about the old guy and wished I had known him better. I only spent the one summer when I was eight with him; it took that long for my father to forgive his father for whatever it was and let me visit. The next winter, Grandpop had a stroke and died. When they read his will, Grandpop had left me an envelope. My father brought it home with him. I took the envelope to my room and opened it with trembling fingers. In it was a sheet of paper that contained only seven words: "Now you can throw dirt on it."

  I laughed then and I kept the reason why I laughed a secret between me and Grandpop. I smiled at the memory and let it chase away the dark. Zammis was still alive. I was still alive. Talma was still possible.

  As we met the sun, the ocean below still dark, Estone Nev sat next to me and asked in English. "Have you slept?"

  "A little. How about you?"

  "No sleep at all. I was thinking of Jeriba, how thrilled my sibling was when it became pregnant the first time. I used to tell it that, to hear Jeriba, one would think no one had ever been pregnant before." The Drac raised its brow and smiled. "I was an insufferable little ... " Nev looked at me and held out a hand. "Gafu."

  "Brat," I answered.

  "Yes. I was an insufferable little brat. I was jealous, as well. Jeriba was getting so much attention. But nothing I could say or do diminished the joy my sibling was experiencing. When Jeriba miscarried, I thought my sibling would kill itself. I think that's why it entered the flight denve and went to war. The last communication I had from Jeriba was the news that it had conceived. That was only a few days before the Battle of Fyrine IV." Estone Nev turned its head and faced me. "Did my sibling get to see Zammis before it died!"

  "No," I answered in a whisper. "I had to tear Zammis from the womb."

  Nev was silent for a long time. When it spoke, it said, "It must have been very hard for you, rearing a Drac child by yourself."

  I thought on it for a bit, then shook my head. "No, Nev. It wasn't hard. It was the most important part, the most fun of my whole life."

  The airport was on an island that had two fishing villages and a dock. At the dock we took a sleek high-speed ferry to an even smaller island, Vakudin. The heavily forested island ringed with white sand sat like a jewel in the greenish-blue sea. We had to come much closer before we could see the powered fences, the watch towers, the guards, and the ruvaak, tireless trained guard animals that looked like a cross between a hairy alligator and a nightmare. When we reached land, a guard took us to the visitors' waiting room in the main administrative building, where we were, for all intents and purposes, forgotten. After an hour of this, Gothig's patience evaporated. It said to Nev and me, "Come, children, it is time to cross the Akkujah."

  We wandered hallways for a few minutes until, after turning a corner, we faced the records office. Gothig, with Nev and I backing it up, cornered the clerk of records. The clerk, Toccvo Leint, immediately began running off at the mouth about patient confidentiality, going through proper channels, and such, when Gothig placed its hand on the fellow's shoulder and asked again. From the expression on the clerk's face, I assumed it was making a choice between letting us know what we wanted or forgoing the continued use of its shoulder and arm. The clerk decided that it could help us after all.

  First, Gothig wanted to know by what lights Zammis was considered insane. Second, it wanted to know by what lights Zammis was considered criminal.

  Jetah Toccvo Leint called up the records, studied them, and then told us, "I remember this case. Jeriba Zammis, ever since it was rescued from Fyrine IV, professed to love humans." Toccvo Leint looked at us as though that explained all.

  Receiving little but dumbfounded stares in return, the clerk continued. "For that reason, Jeriba Zammis is dangerously insane. Long before the ship that brought it to Draco had landed, Jeriba Zammis had committed several major assaults, according to witnesses, and eventually reached a point where it couldn't even speak a coherent sentence."

  Estone Nev leaned over the clerk. "Let me look at the records, insect." The clerk passed the dot file and a reader to Nev, and, after studying them, Estone Nev looked up at Toccvo Leint an
d said, "It is obvious that Jeriba Zammis has been, on several occasions, beaten almost to death."

  The clerk began waving its arms in embarrassment. "According to the case investigators, Jeriba Zammis's condition was due to harm it inflicted upon itself, and some injuries incidental to those it attacked defending themselves." As the records clerk said it, it didn't look as though it believed a word.

  I moved forward until I, too, towered over the clerk. "I have a question." The clerk surveyed the three of us and nodded at me.

  "I will be pleased to answer it, if I can."

  "When Zammis fell into your hands, why wasn't the Jeriba line notified? Why was it kept a secret?"

  The clerk looked away from me as though its answer was beyond my ability to comprehend. Instead, Toccvo Leint appealed to Gothig with its response. "It was kept from you, Jeriba Gothig, to protect you and your line from the terrible scandal. Certainly you understand."

  Jerry's parent looked at the clerk for a bone-chilling moment, and then said in an icy voice, "I do not know where the talma of justice will wind, Toccvo Leint, but depend on the wealth of my line keeping all paths open. For now, have us taken to see Jeriba Zammis."

  We entered the outdoor patient pens, feeling sick. All around us, Dracs stared with vacant eyes, or screamed, or foamed at the mouth, or were curled up in a corner somewhere trembling at unseeable terrors. The rather beefy guard took the three of us to a pen on the edge of the compound where the warden-director of the Sa Ashzhab Kovah met us. The warden frowned at me and shook its head at Gothig. "Turn back now, while it is still possible, Jeriba Gothig. Beyond this gate lies nothing but pain and sorrow."

  Gothig grabbed the director by the front of its wraps. "Hear me, kizlode: If Jeriba Zammis is within these fences, bring my grandchild; else, I shall bring the might of the Jeriba line down upon your pointed head!"

  The director lifted its head, twitched its lips, then nodded. "Very well. Very well, you pompous Kazzmidth! We tried—to protect the Jeriba reputation. We tried! But now you shall see." The director nodded and pursed its lips. "Yes, now you shall see." The director nodded at a guard, and the over-muscled creature opened the gate to the pen and stood aside to allow us to enter.

  Among trees and grass, Jeriba Zammis sat upon a stone bench, staring at the ground. Its eyes never blinked, its hands never moved. Gothig frowned at me, but I could spare nothing for Shigan's parent. I walked to Zammis. "Zammis, do you know me?"

  The Drac retrieved its thoughts from a million warrens and raised its yellow eyes to me. I saw no sign of recognition. "Who are you?"

  I squatted down, placed my hands on its arms and shook them. "Dammit, Zammis, don't you know me? I'm your uncle. Remember that? Uncle Davidge?"

  The Drac weaved on the bench, then shook its head. It lifted an arm and waved to an orderly. "I want to go to my room. Please, let me go to my room."

  I stood and grabbed Zammis by the front of its hospital gown. "Zammis, it's me!"

  The yellow eyes, dull and lifeless, stared back at me. The orderly placed a yellow hand upon my shoulder. "Let it go, Irkmaan."

  "Zammis!" I turned to Nev and Gothig. "Say something!"

  The Drac orderly pulled a sap from its pocket, then slapped it suggestively against the palm of its hand. "Let it go, Irkmaan."

  Gothig stepped forward. "Explain this!"

  I looked at Zammis but addressed the guard. "What have you bastards done to Zammis? A little shock? A little drug? Rot out its mind?"

  The orderly sneered at me, then shook his head. "You, Irkmaan, do not understand. This one would not be happy as an Irkmaan vul—a human lover. We are making it possible for this one to function in Drac society. You think this is wrong?"

  I looked at Zammis and shook my head. I remembered too well my treatment at the hands of my fellow humans. "Wrong? No. I just don't know."

  The orderly turned to Gothig. "Please understand, Jeriba Gothig. We could not subject the Jeriba line to this disgrace. Your grandchild is almost well and will soon enter a reeducation program. In no more than two years, you will have a grandchild worthy of carrying on the Jeriba line. Is this wrong?"

  Gothig only shook its head. I squatted down in front of Zammis and looked up into its yellow eyes. I reached up and took its right hand in both of mine. "Zammis?"

  Zammis looked down, moved its left hand over, and picked up my left hand and spread the fingers. One at a time Zammis pointed at the fingers of my hand, then it looked into my eyes, then examined the hand again. "Yes . . ."

  Zammis pointed again. "One, two, three, four, five!" Zammis looked into my eyes. "Four, five!"

  I nodded. "Yes. Yes."

  Zammis pulled my hand to its cheek and held it close. "Uncle . . . Uncle. I told you I'd never forget you."

  We brought Zammis back to the estate. Then came a revealing challenge: trying to find a mental health jetah who didn't think Gothig and Nev were crazy for tolerating me. It took three days, but one was found. It prescribed a regimen of withdrawal from the drugs they had Zammis on at the Sa Ashzhab Kovah. It would be two days before the jetah would arrive, and I spent the entire time with Zammis in its apartment, sitting next to it on its sleeping pallet. Zammis stayed quiet, trembling, crying silent tears, and holding onto my arm with both hands. Physically Zammis was a fullgrown adult, but what I saw before me was a sick, terrified child.

  I looked for monsters, people, cultures to blame, someone I could kill and make everything all right. There was nothing except my memories of Zammis's parent and myself trying to kill each other on that cold, wet sandbar.

  "Nu gejh, Irkmaan!"

  You die, Earthman.

  "Kiz da yuomeen, Shizumaat!"

  Yeah, and Shizumaat eats it.

  How did I get from there to here? I thought of the hellish winds and deadly winters on Fyrine IV and realized what brought Jerry and me together, and then left Zammis to make my life whole. It wasn't that we were all driven together by the unforgiving planet. It was that Fyrine IV was clean. There wasn't anyone else there. I wondered how the galaxy could be given a mental enema to make it half as clean. A problem for someone smarter than me.

  I looked down at Jerry's child and said, "Zammis. Zammis?" I placed my free hand against its cheek. "Zammis?"

  "Uncle, don't leave me," it whispered.

  "I'm not going anywhere. Zammis, when were you the most happy?"

  "Happy?"

  I nodded. "Yes. When the nightmares begin crowding you, where do you go to hide? In your mind, where do you go to be safe?"

  Zammis looked away from my face and its gaze moved over the cut stone walls of the apartment. I could see it went to its safe place and then smiled at the same time fresh tears came to its eyes. "The cave, Uncle. I hide in the cave."

  I patted its cheek and nodded. "Me, too. How would you like to go back?"

  "Go back?"

  "To the cave, to Fyrine IV. How would you like to go back?"

  Zammis sat up and smiled hopefully for a moment, then frowned at me. "Uncle, you always said you hated it there."

  "I was a fool. I want to go back. Do you want to go back?"

  "Together, Uncle?"

  "Of course, together."

  Zammis buried its face in my neck and held on to me as it hadn't done since it was little. God, how many tears are there left to cry?

  I never counted the years that passed. Mistaan had words for those who count time as though their recognition of its passing marked their place in the Universe. Mornings, the weather as clear as weather gets on Fyrine IV, I would visit my friend's grave. Next to it, Estone Nev, Zammis, Ty and I buried Gothig. Shigan's parent had taken the healing Zammis, liquidated the Jeriba line's estate, then moved the whole shebang to Fyrine IV. When told the story, it was Ty who named the planet "Friendship."

  One blustery day I knelt between the graves, replaced some rocks, then added a few more. I pulled my snakeskins tight against the wind, then sat down and looked out to sea. Still the rollers steamed in under the
grey-black cover of clouds. Soon the ice would come. I looked at my scarred, wrinkled hands, then at the grave.

  "I couldn't stay in the colony with them, Jerry. Don't get me wrong; it's nice. Damned nice. But I kept looking out my window, seeing the ocean, thinking of the cave. I'm alone, in a way. But it's good. I know what and who I am, Jerry, and that's all there is to it, right?"

  I heard a noise. I crouched over, placed my hands upon my withered knees, and pushed myself to my feet. The Drac was coming from the colony compound, a child in its arms.

  I rubbed my beard. "Eh, Ty, so that is your first child?"

  The Drac nodded. "I would be pleased, Uncle, if you would teach it what it must be taught: the line, The Talman; and about the life on Friendship."

  I took the bundle into my arms. Chubby three-fingered arms waved at the air, then grasped my snakeskins. "Yes, Ty, this one is a Jeriba." I looked up at Ty. "And how is your parent, Zammis?"

  Ty shrugged. "It is as well as can be expected. My parent wishes you well."

  I nodded. "And the same to it, Ty. Zammis ought to get out of that air-conditioned capsule and come back to live in the cave. It'll do it good."

  Ty grinned and nodded its head. "I will tell my parent, Uncle."

  I stabbed my thumb into my chest. "Look at me! You don't see me sick, do you?"

  "No, Uncle."

  "You tell Zammis to kick that doctor out of there and to come back to the cave, hear?"

  "Yes, Uncle." Ty smiled. "Is there anything you need?"

  I nodded and scratched the back of my neck. "Toilet paper. Just a couple of packs. Maybe a couple of bottles of whiskey—no, forget the whiskey. I'll wait until Haesni, here, puts in its first year. Just the toilet paper."

  Ty bowed. "Yes, Uncle, and may the many mornings find you well."

  I waved my hand impatiently. "They will, they will. Just don't forget the toilet paper."

  Ty bowed again. "I won't, Uncle."