The Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

  Tocchah. receiving no response, looked back down at the path and continued walking, but spoke to the darkness that followed it: "Have you ever noticed, Uhe, that you can never find a god when you need one?"

  "Yes, Tocchah. I have noticed."

  —The Story of Uhe, Koda Ovida, The Talman

  ...Her head in a vise ... lungs filled with oil-soaked cotton, her ears ringing so loudly....

  ...At some point she realized that she was walking; stumbling down some road through the smoke and silence.

  She stopped, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and looked at the blood on her hand. It was dark red and thick; almost dried. She wiped her face again. The blood had been coming from her nose, and the flow had already stopped.

  "Benbo?"

  She lowered her hand and stood, weaving in the street, looking for the sergeant. He was nowhere in sight. She closed her eyes, her head shattering with pain. There was nothing but smoke, and she sank down upon her knees and sat on her ankles. Confused; sleepy. There was something she knew she should be doing, but couldn't force herself to remember what.

  She opened her eyes to tiny slits. The smoke drifted to one side, letting her see the fuzzy outline of a structure. She closed her eyes, rubbed them, and looked again.

  A large building ... half of a large building. The land surrounding the ruined portion was swept clean save for a few uprooted smoking trees. The bright lemon-colored patches in the other side of the building eventually resolved into images of bodies.

  Mauled, broken, crushed bodies. They were Dracs ... Drac children. The flames were just beginning to lick at them.

  "Sergeant! Benbo, where in the hell are you?"

  The pain of her shout doubled her over until her forehead almost rested upon the ground.

  There was a weak cry. Almost like a treed kitten. She sat up, lowered her hands, and listened.

  More cries. There were several of them. From behind her came the sounds of shouting, cursing, wreckage being moved. The cries came from in front of her. From the crushed building. Nicole pushed herself to her feet and fought against waves of nausea as she stumbled toward the horror of the half-building.

  The weak cries seemed to come from there. Closer and she stepped inside the stones of the crumbled wall, realizing that the bodies that she could see weren't the ones doing the crying. She sagged against the stones. Even a Drac needs a mouth, throat, lungs, and life—all of the above—to cry out. The scraps of flesh exposed by the destruction were all missing too many things.

  Again the cries. She pushed from the wall and forced her way through the wreckage into the relatively undamaged portion of the building.

  More cries. Louder.

  "Where are you? Where in the hell—"

  Damn. She held her head until the pain subsided. "Wake up, Nicole. Drac. Speak in Drac."

  "Adze Dracon. Gis ... Gis nu cha?" She screamed it as loudly as she cold: "Gis nu cha?! Tean, gis nu cha?!"

  She went to her knees with the pain in her head. A thousand demons smashing their mallets on the insides of her skull. The smoke became thick and hot, and she half-heard the pop of intense heat cracking rock and exploding glass. "Echey nue cha! Echey viga!" She cursed, trying to remember what the words meant. She just couldn't remember ....

  Echey viga: here look. That's a big help. She spoke out loud: "Echey means here, and cha is to be. I am ni and we are nue."

  God, it rhymed.

  "Mary had a little ram, never went back to men.... Stick the bleeding verb on the end, except... except..."

  "Echey nue cha! Benga nu!"

  There was an exception. Hurry. Always hurry.

  She moved toward the dim outline of an oval window, then smashed her face on the floor. Her legs were across something soft. She reached back and felt an arm and a body. She pulled her legs off of it, knelt and faced it.

  Gingerly her hands went to her left. "Be alive, kid." She felt legs, then bent over to her right. "Can you hear me? Dasu. Get up!" She placed her hands on its narrow shoulders. "Dasu. Gavey nu? Come on, kid; get the hell up, Please get up." She moved her right hand up to the child's face to feel for its breath. But there wasn't any breath. There wasn't any face.

  Again the voice called: "Benga! Benga nu!"

  Nicole sat back upon her ankles and turned her head in the direction of the voice. "Ni benga," she whispered.

  The light from the oval window dimmed slightly, then a louder, deeper voice came from the window. "Hada! Hada! Talma hame cha?"

  Is there life inside?

  "How quaint. Is there life inside? Well, not a whole bunch, toad face. She shook her head, mumbling "Damn... damned if I know."

  "Ess? Adze nu!"

  Nicole shouted at the window. "Ae! Talma cha! Teani!"

  She stood up, lurched, climbed up on something shaky, until she was against the wall next to the window. "Gavey nu? Hey, sucker! Did you hear me? Talma cha! Talma cha!"

  "Ae!"

  She faced the window, reached deep within the opening, and felt solidly planted bars. A heavy grillwork was over the opening. She tried shaking it, but it didn't even rattle. "Go around to the other side!"

  The wall suddenly glowed with yellow light. Nicole looked behind and saw that the fire had cut off her escape route. Her gaze was drawn down by the sight of countless dismembered children. There was no time to react. The tiny voice called again: "Benga, Echey benga."

  It seemed to come from beneath her feet. She looked down and saw a heavy floor grill next to a winding stairwell. Pulling some of the trash from the grill, she knelt down next to it.

  "Tean! Hada, tean!"

  "Echey..."

  She pulled at the floor grill, and when it refused to budge, she ran at a crouch toward the stairs, climbed over the wreckage, stumbled down the steps, and soon was in a huge room, fire dripping from the ceiling.

  To her right, large wooden cases filled with rolled documents—huge books, rolled and flat papers—covered the floor. Beneath where the fire had eaten through the ceiling, the paper was blazing away. To her left was a wall lined with more book-filled cases, one of them tipped over in front of a heavy door.

  Nicole put her shoulder beneath the obstruction, pushed with her legs, and righted the case. She pulled open the door and two young Dracs slumped against her legs. A third leaned against the far wall of the tiny windowless room and looked at her through half-closed eyes. Its lips formed the word "Irkmaan."

  Nicole held out her hand. "Child... Benga, tean. The fire... aakva; aakva..." The words just wouldn't come. "Help. Help me."

  She squatted, grabbed one of the youngsters beneath its arms, and lifted it. Keeping an unwavering gaze on her, the third child moved cautiously toward the door. When it reached the door. it stopped.

  "Nue su korum, Irkmaan?"

  Nicole shook her head. "No—ne. I won't kill you. Ne korum."

  The child stooped down, tried to lift the other unconscious youngster, then slumped against the wall, exhausted.

  Nicole dragged the child she was holding into the big room. Half of the paper-covered floor was blazing, and she put the child down in the stairwell to go back for another load. Back at the door, she picked up the second child and helped the third to its feet.

  "Let's go: Benga."

  They reached the stairwell, Nicole deposited the two children with the first, then she stumbled up the stairwell to see if they could get out that way. As soon as the flame-filled opening for the upper floor came into view, she turned and ran back down the stairs. As she reached bottom, she knelt next to the semi-conscious Drac and shook it by the shoulders. "Wake up. Loamaak, tean! Is there an outside entrance to here—echey?"

  Nicole pointed at the flaming room. "Where? Is there a door? Gis istah cha? Echey?"

  The child nodded and pointed toward the wall away from the flames. "Istah." It pulled at its belt and held out a heavy key and strap. Nicole took the key, grabbed the first youngster, and began moving down the wall. She passed two of those
barred windows, then came to a door. Books and papers were piled up in front of it, and the flames were getting closer as she thrust the key into the lock.

  "This thing better open outward."

  She turned the key to the left, then the right. The lock wouldn't budge. Hell, the little jerk gave me the wrong key!

  "Queda, Irkmaan!"

  She looked through the flames and saw the one who had handed her the key bending over the third child.

  "Ess?"

  "Queda!" It lifted an arm and made a pushing motion with its hand. "Istah queda nu!"

  Nicole pushed the key hard, the door swung open onto the remains of a small sunken garden, and both she and the Drac sprawled through the opening. In the distance she could just make out a few dim figures moving nearer. Her lungs were too raw for her to call to them. She pulled the child away from the door and returned for the other two.

  The room was a furnace, and as a blast washed her face, she closed her eyes against the heat, her eyes feeling as though their sockets were made out of sandpaper.

  Shielding her eyes with her hand, Nicole moved down the wall until she stumbled over the two children in the stairwell. She pulled one up, threw it over her shoulder, and tried to pull the other up by its arm.

  "Dasu! Benga dasu!"

  Using her arm for a crutch, the child pulled itself up and began slapping her in the head.

  "Aakva!"

  "Are you crazy? Poorzhab?"

  "Su aakva!" It kept slapping her head." Su lode aakva!"

  "My head ..." Her hair was burning! She grabbed both of the children, shut her eyes.

  ...and ran for the door, her feet kicking slowly through heavy oil, the heat taking the breath from her lungs, unseen things striking her head, the chilling wonder of a cold paving stone against which to place her face... voices... hands... an end to pain....

  ...Motion.

  In some kind of vehicle. She could hear the hum and feel the roughness beneath the wheels. She tried to open her eyes, but she couldn't.

  She tried to lift a hand to touch her face, but her arm was bound. And numb. Her entire body was numb.

  "Major Nicole? Can you hear me? Major Nicole?"

  "Yes." The word came out harsh and dry. Her throat was on fire. "What's happened? ... Who are you?"

  "You've been badly burned, and the field surgeon thinks you might also have a concussion."

  "Mitzak?"

  "Yes."

  She swallowed, but there was nothing to swallow. "Throat dry."

  She felt a tube inserted between her lips, she sucked on it, and a slightly cool, soothing liquid filled her mouth. The tube was withdrawn, and she swallowed. "Mitzak, what about the kids? The three Drac kids?"

  "They are alive." He was silent for a long moment. "Three children out of a school of two hundred and sixty." He coughed. "You're being taken to a health science kovah, Major."

  They rode silently for a while, the roughness under the wheels smoothing out. "Mitzak, why are my eyes bandaged?"

  "Burned. The field surgeon packed and bandaged them. I don't know your prognosis. The surgeon never said." A sneer crept into Mitzak's voice. "It was very busy. You know, the war and all."

  "Where is ... Sergeant Benbo?"

  Mitzak coughed again. "They're dead, major. Your soldiers. All of your soldiers. There were four direct hits on the V'Butaan field ..."

  Nicole grabbed the edges of her litter as the voice faded and the darkness of her universe swam ....

  FIVE

  Nothingness is a tool of the mind: the useful naught of the mathematician, builder, and accounts keeper. Nothingness is not a state either of mind or of being. All that which exists will always exist; all who exist will always exist. All that changes is form and the perception, of form.

  —The Story of Ioa and Lurrvanna. Koda Schada, The Talman

  Time.

  The perception of time ceased.

  Darkness surrounded her.

  The ointment on her face, neck, and hands removed sensation from them. She could feel her body, but it was as though her head were floating free of it. It was an almost pleasant feeling. She was freed from the sensory overkill of everything that had gone before. Even more, she was freed from the everyday distractions, allowing the senses she could use to sharpen, making commonplace things new and exciting.

  There would be a buzz—an insect? A piece of electrical equipment? It was not important. The sound itself became a thing of substance, the peaks and valleys of the undulating waves surfaces upon which she could glide.

  ...The whine of compressors; the staleness of reprocessed air; dim talk:

  "This is cargo I never thought would soil my ship."

  Paper crackling.

  "Read this. kiz for brains. and take good care of her."

  An angry snort. a short silence, more paper crackling.

  "Magasienna! This? This is the ward of the—"

  "As I said. take good care of her..."

  ...She stopped her swim through blackness long enough to remember that sergeant who had explained her USEF insurance and liability retirement schedule.

  So much for an arm, so much for a leg, so much for an eye....

  ...Her first assignment after officer's school, shuffling electrons, keeping an eye on Drac commercial traffic. Intelligence had gotten the word from somewhere. They were preparing even then for the war; putting together the language, codes, slang, procedures, organization, power ....

  Dim voices in the distance ... the hum of a strong electrical field....

  ...Analysis of the situation on Amadeen.

  The humans requesting USEF units to protect them against Drac terrorists. Intercepting a message to the Dracon Fleet from the Amadeen Mavedah requesting Fleet protection against the terrorists of the Amadeen Front ....

  ...The training officer in alien systems.

  "To anticipate the moves of an opponent, you must be familiar with the rules that govern his thoughts, goals, and actions. What seems logical to you probably won't seem logical to some frog-faced thing that never heard of Aristotle or Boole. But what seems logical to it probably won't seem logical to you ....

  "...To be logical is to be consistent with a set of rules. And every race that exists in this galaxy has evolved its own set of rules; its own logic; its own unique perception of the universe and its relationship to that universe ....

  "...The ultimate nature of the universe is relationships, rules; what we call the laws of nature are rules common to most races. Everything else, the whole of intelligent life, is governed by rules of invention.

  "Justice on the planet Aluram is a different thing than it is among humans. The criminals on Aluram, as well as the criminal's parents, siblings, and children suffer the same punishment. If the punishment is death, all die. This is not 'justice' through human eyes. But if you could see through the eyes of an Aluramin, it would be 'justice.' The Aluramin decided 'good' and 'bad' for their race, then invented social sanctions against the 'bad.' And whether 'bad' behavior is a matter of environment or heredity, it makes good sense to remove those who do 'bad' from the race's gene pool. They have very little of what they call 'crime' on Aluram.

  "Very logical...."

  Another day? Another week? Another year? The voices would fade in and out ... the humming ...

  "...Mitzak?"

  "I am here."

  "Why? Why are you here?"

  "It should not concern you."

  "Why are you here?"

  A laugh. "You have become a talma, Major. You are my path out of this war and back to the Talman Kovah."

  "I don't understand."

  "There is no reason why you should..."

  "...The Shikazu race of Tenuet founded its 'logic' upon the premise that the Shikazu can never be conquered. The race flourished within this 'logic'—this sense of the nature of the universe. Then the Shikazu were conquered, and now they are extinct...."

  ...She walked upon Baina Ya again, stood upon the slips beneat
h the chalk cliffs of Kidege, and looked out to the sea. Her hair blew in the cool salt breeze.

  In the distance was Mallik's skimmer; its silver foils in the deep blue-green water mirroring the sunlight, blinding her.

  She spoke into the handset. "Mallik, how was your catch?"

  "Good, Jo. A fine haul, but nothing compared to what I will catch tonight."

  "Mallik!"

  "My scoops will net round, soft, and warm things—"

  "Mallik! You are on a radio! Do you want the world to hear?"

  "Joanne, the world knows ...."

  "...The Timans evolved next to two other intelligent races. Physically and numerically the Timans could not contest the other races, and any kind of physical combat was an early 'bad' to them. But the survival of their race dictated their set of 'goods.' It is 'logical' for a Timan to seek social control over others. And it is 'logical' for a Timan to use such control to manipulate others toward paths of self-destruction.

  "While the other races of the planet sharpened their skills at war, the Timans learned how to turn rules back upon themselves. And now, despite their still small numbers, the Timans are one of the most influential races represented in the Ninth Quadrant Federation. The two races that evolved with them are now extinct. Genocide to the Timan is logical...."

  ...The humming stopped. The voices were very close ....

  ...Someone handling her arm; a low, muttered "kiz," footsteps, voices:

  "Jetah Pur Sonaan, see this."

  Silence. A new voice. "The skin should be healing ... these cracked areas running with red and yellow fluid."

  "The human's skin reacts differently to the ointment than ours."

  "This was a conclusion that even your master could reach, Vunseleh."

  "Jetah, I meant no disrespect—"

  "Remove the bandages and wash off the ointment—" A deep shocked silence. "Her eyes. Her eyes, you fool! Hurry ...."

  It seemed so easy for her to direct her mind away from the threatening, the uncomfortable.