The Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

  Puzzles.

  She had always been good at puzzles. And statistical analysis and languages were nothing more than puzzles. And the peacetime Force offered puzzles with real challenges to them: alien languages, devising and breaking sophisticated codes, devising strategies to counter alien tactics.

  It was supposed to be a clean-collar, predictable, desk job; that's what it had been for nine years. Then, in 2072, the second year into the war with the Dracon Chamber, Joanne Nicole found herself sitting in the mud, behind a rifle, killing Dracs.

  The training sergeant had been right.

  Damn him to hell.

  Sit in the mud, sight through the rain and drizzle down that weapon, and fry anything yellow. No puzzles there; just primitive survival.

  The human in the blue robes came to the first of the soldiers, bent down, and talked to him. The soldier pointed listlessly back up the slope. Joanne Nicole studied the man as she held the capsule between her thumb and forefinger and licked the end of the capsule with the tip of her tongue.

  The human slogged up the rise and stopped three meters away. The gold glitter of his Talman peeked from between the folds in his robe. He spoke in English.

  "We are here to pick up those who surrendered." He seemed to be in his late forties—greying hair above a dark brown face lined with years.

  Nicole lowered her hand and looked into the human's eyes. "What's it going for these days?"

  He looked confused. "What's what going for?"

  "Treason."

  The man laughed. His laugh was the infectious variety born from genuine mirth. Several of the whipped soldiers around him also laughed, not really knowing why. The human shook his head. "Are you the commanding officer?"

  "Yes."

  "Your name, please?"

  "Nicole. Major Joanne Nicole."

  "I am called Leonid Mitzak. Major, please ask your charges to enter the lander. Time is precious."

  "What if I don't? What if they don't go?"

  "I was led to understand that this unit has surrendered. Isn't this true?"

  "If it isn't?"

  "Does this game amuse you, Major?" Mitzak looked around at the faces, then back at Nicole. "The fight will continue, if that is what you prefer. If you have surrendered, then have your men move into the lander."

  She pushed herself to her feet. "Where are the Drac guards?"

  "If you have surrendered, there is no need for guards." He looked again at the soldiers, then back at her. "Is there?"

  She dropped the pill into the mud and let her hand fall to her side. "No. There's no need for guards."

  She began stumbling downhill toward the lander. One-by-one the soldiers in the mud stood and followed her. There were no wounded. The wounded had all taken the death drops rather than be taken alive to face the unknown. Everyone had heard about the tortures dished out by the terrorist Drac Mavedah on the planet Amadeen. For the same reason, many of the still healthy ones took the drops.

  The war had killed millions of Dracs and millions of humans; and every human knew what he would do to a Drac given the opportunity. Pain. Endless, excruciating pain. And pronide brought on the ultimate anesthetic.

  Nicole paused as she came to the foot of the lander's ramp. There was a red-uniformed Drac standing in the dark of the bay's door. The Drac waved its hand.

  "Hasu. Benga va nu! Hasu, dutshaat kizlode!" Get in. You hurry up! Get in, half-sexed excrement-head!

  And the excrement referred to was kiz; an animal native to the planet Draco that was so foul that both the species and the species' waste product carried the same name.

  Several obscene retorts in Drac came to Joanne Nicole's mind, but she resisted the temptation to reply in kind. Instead, she moved up the ramp and entered the lander. When everyone had settled on the deck, the bay doors closed, leaving the compartment in deep shadows cast by the lone light above the door to the craft's bridge.

  The human, Mitzak, and the Drac went through the door to the bridge, leaving the defeated soldiers alone. There was a quiet hum and Joanne Nicole felt the lander leave the soil of Catvishnu.

  TWO

  The first given is existence; its fact, not its form, nor its manner of change, nor the purposes ascribed to its aspects by its creatures.

  —The Story of Shizumaat. Koda Nuvida. The Talman

  Joanne Nicole awakened from a dreamless sleep to find her gaze fixed on the compartment's single light: trying to find some warmth, strength, in its feeble glow. She turned her head and saw that all the prisoners were buried in sleep or thoughts of their own.

  All silent.

  On some vague intellectual level they knew that somewhere out there the USE Force was creaming the hell out of some Drac command. Somewhere out there, the war was still far from decided: But in the total of the universe they could see, their universe, their guts all said the same thing: whipped. Defeated.

  The compartment light was picked up and reflected by another set of eyes; eyes that were no longer defeated, but, instead, burned with hate. The eyes belonged to Sergeant Benbo.

  Nicole settled back and watched him her eyelids barely open.

  ...She had just pulled her gown over her head, her lungs aching from the dust and smoke that filled the lower levels of the complex. A dark shadow filled the doorway to her quarters.

  "Are you Major Nicole?"

  In between coughs, she answered. "Yes."

  "Then get your titties covered up, Major. You're in command."

  "Me?"

  "You're all that's left, lady. Everybody else is dead." Benbo had tossed an object at her, and she caught it as it rebounded from her breast. It was a rifle. "Head for the east face surface, Major. Bring that with you; I'll find another."

  The sergeant disappeared into the smoke.

  When she drew her right hand away from the weapon, she saw that blood covered the rough surface of the front hand-grip....

  Nicole looked away from Benbo's frightening silence and closed her eyes as exhaustion again pulled at her. Storm Mountain gnawed at her sleep.

  ...Sergeant Benbo. With curses, kicks, punches, and screams he had intimidated his collection of paper wizards and electron collators into becoming infantry soldiers in what must have been history's briefest course in basic training.

  ...The noise—the sizzle of enemy weapons, the soldier screaming into the hiss of his radio, the others screaming in anger, the few screaming in pain, her own voice shouting orders—sound assaulting her eardrums from both inside and out....

  ...She couldn't see whether the mud-covered creature cowering at the bottom of the trench was male or female. Its eyes were wide with terror.

  Benbo slapped its face again and again.

  "Get up! Get up on that line, goddamn you, and fire that weapon! Get up on that line, you chicken yellow sonofabitch, or I'll slit you open and hang you by your own bleeding guts!"

  A gleaming blade leaped into the sergeant's hand and the soldier's hand flapped in the mud until it found a rifle. Twice the rifle fired as the soldier tried to kill Benbo. The sergeant pulled the creature to its feet and flung it against the side of the trench, facing the advancing enemy.

  "That's the way, you dumb sonofabitch! Now try shooting at the yellow fellows!"

  Benbo moved off into the rain, and the soldier opened up on the enemy, aiming through tear-filled eyes. Then Nicole recognized him: Lieutenant Morio Taiseido; gentle Morio....

  The night of the Noraanka Dima.

  ...She did her best at walking briskly from the corridor into the I-section anteroom; but one does not walk briskly in a full-length ballroom gown.

  Too much air resistance. One flows.

  ...the Noraanka Dima; the USE Force holiday in tribute to the five soldiers who had held an entire Shikazu assault group at bay for eight days during the war of the Four Stars. After the five soldiers had been killed, a brief truce was called, allowing honor guards from both the Shikazu Infantry and the USEF to attend the burial—the first Noraanka Dim
a.

  Joanne Nicole pressed the signal panel next to the door and looked up into the sensor in time to hear an embarrassed cough. She glanced down and realized that the overhead sensor had a good shot down the front of her gown. Se glared up at the sensor.

  "Not you, too, Taiseido?"

  There was a mumbled apology as the security door slid open, revealing Storm Mountain's intelligence center. Lieutenant Morio Taiseido and six ranks were on duty. Taiseido stood as she entered, while the ranks busied themselves studying their instruments.

  "Morio why does the Force have to go crazy once each year?" She held out her arms. "Just look at this insane costume."

  Taiseido grinned widely. "I have seen it, thank you, Major. And it should make a splendid display at the military ball. General Dell will be pleased."

  "Sit down and stick your tongue back in your mouth. Any traffic?"

  Taiseido resumed his seat, turned toward a screen, and called up an index of the signals overheard and processed by his watch. "Nothing unusual, Major." He turned back. "Why don't you go to the ball and leave the peasants to sort the signals?"

  —A sorter of signals. The next time Joanne Nicole saw Morio he was a killer....

  ...A break in the fighting.

  Toadface backing off from Storm Mountain's unexpected pimple of resistance as the first light of a grey, rainy morning pushed sluggishly at the shadows.

  One of the shadows stood up and became Sergeant Benbo. "Have to check the line. See you in a little while, Mo."

  Benbo crouched, ran off, and dissolved into the remaining shadows. Nicole looked at the shadow Benbo had been talking to. It was Morio. She spoke to him. "How are you making it, Morio?"

  "Okay." He was as still as the scorched rocks surrounding them. "Major, all this stuff... battle..."

  "What about it?"

  "I wasn't ready for it. It turned my guts to water."

  "You have a lot of company... had a lot of company."

  "Major, I never had any heroes before; just never thought in those terms." His eyes looked at her out of the darkness. "Amos—Sergeant Benbo. He is one hell of a man." The eyes disappeared. "Sleep. Have to get some sleep ...."

  ...A rough hand shook her shoulder.

  "Major?"

  She awakened in the bay of the Drac lander. Where every muscle before had been numb, they now ached as though she had been chain-whipped for days. She opened her eyes and saw Benbo squatting next to her.

  "Sergeant?"

  "In a few minutes we're docking with the lander's ..." He issued a single, harsh laugh. "I was about to say 'mother ship.'"

  She pushed herself into a sitting position and rubbed her eyes. When she lowered her hand she saw two Dracs carrying one of the human soldiers out of the compartment. "What's going on?"

  "Dead. Must've popped one of your bunch's good-bye pills."

  "Who?"

  "Corliss." Nicole couldn't remember any Corliss. Benbo saw the look on her face. "He was one of the mud soldiers—one of mine."

  Nicole watched as the hatch closed behind the two burdened Dracs. "How did you find out that we're about to dock?"

  Benbo nodded toward the closed hatch. "I overheard toadface."

  "Adze Dracon?"

  "Ni Adze."

  "Where did you pick up Drac?"

  "Amadeen. I was there when the fun turned from practical jokes into soldier-time." He looked down at the deck. "Everybody talks a little Drac on Amadeen. Then the Mavedah gave me a little refresher course." The soldier lifted his right hand and looked at it. Even in the darkness Nicole could see the pock marks. The Mavedah, the Drac terrorists on Amadeen, liked to use needles. Electrically charged, dipped in pain-causing chemicals; sometimes just for the sake of the screams and scars that could be made.

  She looked away from the hand. "How many Dracs are on board?"

  "Four that I know of. And that human, Mitzak. Major?"

  She turned her head and saw Benbo, hand still raised, looking back into her eyes. "Don't try it. Don't even think about it."

  "About what?"

  He lowered his hand. "Taking over this lander. Even if we could take it over, the rest of the Drac fleet out there would vaporize us in seconds. Besides, where could we go? Toadface owns Catvishnu."

  "Do you want them to work on that hand again?"

  "Don't worry about it, Major. This isn't the Mavedah. The clowns in the little red suits are Tsien Denvedah—regular troops. They aren't into pain—just victories." Benbo placed his hand on Nicole's shoulder. "We'll get our chance, Major. We just have to wait for it."

  The lander slowed again, rolled slightly, then braked just before the sounds of slamming locks vibrated the hull. The hatch at the front of the compartment opened, revealing one of the red-clad Dracs. It waved an impatient three-fingered hand.

  "Dasu! Dasu, nue shaddsaat!"

  The human, Mitzak, came from behind the Drac and spoke. "We are at the parent ship. Please prepare to disembark." The beaten soldiers struggled to their feet and began filing through the hatch. As she came to the hatch, Mitzak reached out a hand and stopped her. He looked concerned. "You and your charges will not be sent to the planet Hujiam, as is usual for war prisoners captured in this sector. All of you will be sent to Ditaar."

  "Why?"

  "The route to Hujiam is presently under attack by your forces—"

  "Gee, that's too bad."

  "—We could not assure your safety as is required by the war accords."

  Nicole studied the man's face. "Mitzak, in your face I see a problem."

  He stood motionless for an instant. "Major Nicole, the population of Hujiam is used to receiving prisoners, and the facilities to instruct prisoners are there. The population on Ditaar is not prepared to either receive or instruct prisoners. I am concerned that the Madah of Ditaar will be very harsh."

  "Madah?"

  He looked toward the other soldiers, then closed his eyes. "Perhaps I can find an assignment to care for you on Ditaar. I shall try."

  He turned and left through the hatch. Nicole looked back at the prisoners and saw Sergeant Benbo helping Lieutenant Taiseido to his feet. Sharp fingers jabbed her shoulder, and she turned to see the Drac guard pointing toward the hatch.

  "Chova, Irkmaan!"

  Joanne Nicole looked into the creature's yellow eyes.

  "Ne irkmaan, kizlode. Irkwoomaan!"

  THREE

  "When your warriors fall upon the Irrveden, you will capture alive as many of them as you can. Their children will be sent to the Sixth Denve to become future warriors. The ones captured will be told of Aakva's new Law of War, and of the ordeal that proved this law true. Then you will tell them that they may become a part of a new tribe, the Denvedah, and by so doing they may serve the new law....

  "Should you capture those who refuse to serve Aakva's Law of War, head them toward the Madah. Say to them that this wasteland is their new place. And that it is a fitting place for those who will fight for neither the Irrveden or the Denvedah."

  —The Story of Uhe, Koda Ovida, The Talman

  "Humans, this choice you have." The fat Drac officer in the brown uniform stood upon a raised platform inside the bay of the ill-maintained building at the edge of the military field, V'Butaan, Planet Ditaar. "This choice to be soldiers for humans, soldiers for the Dracon Chamber, or soldiers for no one: Madah. You die, you fight, you starve. Your choice."

  Leonid Mitzak remained silent until the Drac officer nodded at him and left. Mitzak looked over the small assembly. "Dracs do not hold prisoners. Station Master Harudak offers you the same that is offered to all those defeated by Drac forces. You may continue to fight for the USE Force, in which case you will be killed; at this point, a quite foolish gesture. You may enlist in the forces of the Dracon Chamber, in which case you will be put to work serving the Drac cause. Or you may be neither, in which case you will be cast into the Madah—you will become non-beings, living upon charity."

  Mitzak raised a hand and indicated the buil
ding. "Because the Dracon Chamber agreed to the war accords, the traditional treatment of the defeated is amended to include these facilities. For those of you who choose the Madah, this facility is available to you for housing, clothing, and food, should you find it impossible to subsist elsewhere."

  Sergeant Benbo looked around, then faced Mitzak. "You're telling us we're free to leave?"

  "Free to leave this building; not this planet. You are also free to stay, and I would advise staying." He wrapped his robe tightly about his shoulders, and Joanne Nicole thought she detected genuine concern on the man's face as he looked toward the room's open doors. "Out there you will not be under the protection of the accords; instead you will be a subject to Drac custom. And the custom of the Madah is harsh. The people of this city, V'Butaan, are not accustomed to having humans in their Madah. You can expect a degree of hostility from both the citizens and those in the Madah."

  Morio Taiseido spoke: "Mitzak, are there Dracs in this Madah?"

  "Of course:" He paused for a moment, then continued. "There is much you should learn before making your choice. But we are not equipped here to provide you with this education. However, I will do what I can. I have been assigned as Harudak's deputy. I can be found here when you need me." He stepped down from the platform and walked slowly from the room.

  Benbo turned toward Nicole. "What now, Major?"

  She turned to see the other prisoners looking back at her. Their faces were tired, confused.

  "Until we understand the situation, you people stay put. Taiseido?"

  Morio stepped forward. "Yes?"

  She took his arm and steered him toward Benbo. When the three of them were away from the others, the sergeant began.

  "You think it's a trap, Major?"

  "I don't know. They already have us by the short and sweet if they want to pack in our meat. I can't see what purpose is served by letting us loose. Morio?"