The Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

  Nicole heard Kia's footsteps move from the room. Later, Benbo talked to Tora Soam, saying much the same things said by Tora Kia. But while he talked, Nicole remembered that moment upon Storm Mountain when the Tsien Denvedah was falling back.

  The universe was extremely small at that moment. There were absolutely no considerations beyond the fact that the Dracs were falling back. Cooler heads would have seen that any resistance at that point was futile. But on Catvishnu, there were no cooler heads. No one was thinking about anything other than scoring against the Dracs, and to hell with other considerations.

  Tora Soam spoke, and its words filtered through her growing headache. "Joanne Nicole, do you have a comment?"

  She stood. "I would return to my apartments. Tora Soam?"

  "Yes?"

  "Your game has failed. And it is not because anyone of us wanted it to fail. It failed because it had to fail. If a truce should happen, it will die as it has to die. The war, then, will resume. Before there is any solution, much more blood must be spent." Nicole held out her hand. "Baadek. Baadek!"

  A Drac hand enclosed hers. "Yes?"

  "Take me to my apartments. I have had enough of this foolishness."

  TWELVE

  "Without a key, a door is a wall. Without a door, a key is but matter. A door with a key in the presence of mind is an opening. Without mind, neither the key, the door, nor the opening can exist."

  —The Story of Lita, Koda Ovsinda, The Talman

  That night she awakened; the edges of some dream-sired horror still touching her; Mallik's name still on her lips. There was a sound from the corridor—boots moving against the stone floor; then the boots moving slowly away. On her bed with all doors closed, Nicole breathed easily and allowed her thoughts to move at their own initiative. And as Eam's thoughts spoke to it of the eventual end of life upon the planet Sindie, Nicole's thoughts spoke to her.

  There was a fierce, lonely ache in her body. When she recognized that the ache was for Mallik, she shut it off. Other things ... there were other things to think about.

  Tora Soam's dinner party game. It had been a disaster. A human of similar rank, entertaining a roomful of equivalent human brass, would have been mortified. The guests would have been mortified as well. But as Baadek was leading her away, Nicole could hear the Dracs renewing the conversation in amiable, unconcerned voices.

  They were discussing the game, the game, much as, in the past, Nicole had seen humans chewing over a bridge or poker hand that had been completed. That was some sort of danger signal to her, because they were not humans; and they were not playing games.

  But the ... alienness of those creatures is the thing that keeps escaping me. They could be human.

  Baadek had left Nicole at her door to return to the corridor and drive Benbo and Mitzak to their quarters. She would have liked to have talked with them more; but when she wanted the peace of her apartments, she reached out and called for Baadek.

  Why?

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Ever since her lights had been extinguished, she had been categorizing her experiences with the Dracs into analogs with humans.

  Vencha Eban, the Drac who cleaned the floors at the Chirn Kovah. It made no difference that it was a Drac and that I knew it was a Drac; I always think of Vencha as "the cleaning lady." Eban is a simple, hardworking, "Maggie the Mop."

  Baadek, the long-suffering family retainer. In my mind Baadek is every bit the comedic representation of the ex-slave running down the dirt road, tears in his eyes, blubbering his welcome as massa done come home fum de wawh.

  "Dammit, and what is Tora Soam?"

  The darkness around her absorbed the question, letting her see the answer. Mallik's father, Eliem Nicole. Ever since she could remember, Eliem Nicole was the fishing village of Kidege's sole lawyer. Quiet and thoughtful, it was a rare problem of any size in the town that didn't eventually find its resolution on Eliem Nicole's desk.

  More often than not, the problem's resolution cost the bearer nothing. And everyone knew that Eliem was no altruist; he did it for the sake of the problem. And he had taught her his fascination with problems—with the abstract problem of problems.

  Long before he was appointed to the Baina Ya bench, the people of Kidege addressed Eliem Nicole as "Judge." And Tora Soam was Judge Nicole with a strange voice; a voice that was becoming less strange as the seconds passed.

  The high-ranking Dracs that had been on the other side of the table sat in her mind as any greying, overweight collection of human officials would. Zigh Caida, the First Deputy of the Chamber, even had a face fixed in her mind. She thought for a long time, and then remembered: it was the Vice-commander of Storm Mountain, General Dell's, face. Kindly, old General Dell.

  Morio used to say that the General had adopted himself as my father. In a way, it had been true.

  She shook her head and moved to the edge of the sleeping platform. She felt as though she were in the center of an enormous puzzle; a game with no rules, no objectives, no purpose. Lita teasing its students with its "I win" game; caught in the web of an unknown logos. And her mind felt the need of a purpose; a need to know the rules.

  "Well, Nicole, you know at least one thing: these creatures are Dracs, not humans." The knotting in her gut as she made that statement told her more: they were not friends; they were deadly enemies.

  If I could just see! Damn it, if I could just see!

  She touched the edge of that well of self-pity, and backed away from it. And, from the pages of the Talman, Namvaac spoke to her.

  And 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."

  She sat straight up and strained her ears as a slight difference in sound touched the air. She turned her head right, then left, trying fruitlessly to determine the direction from which the sound was coming. Because of the curved, sound-absorbing walls of the sleeping room, the sound appeared to come from all directions.

  Nicole pushed herself up, felt her way to the sleeping room door, and opened it. The sounds became slightly louder—something between glass air chimes and a guitar.

  Music. The notes appeared to follow no familiar pattern. It was an incomprehensible wandering through minor scales. Sad, lonely wandering.

  She pressed the control that opened all of the doors, then felt her way to the apartment entrance. The sounds came from her left. She hesitated. She had never been down that part of the corridor.

  Nicole placed her left hand against the stones of the corridor wall and began feeling her way toward the sounds. As she walked along, several times the playing stopped, then resumed with a different but equally incomprehensible tune. She followed the sounds until the acoustic response to the instrument told her that she was across the corridor from a large, high-ceilinged chamber. She entered the room, leaned against the wall, and listened.

  The music took on a mournful, haunting quality; and she let herself open to it devoid of comparisons or preconceptions. Then the music spoke to her, calling up familiar but strangely combined emotions. The music stopped, but Nicole let the memory of the dying notes stroke her thoughts.

  "Who is that? Speak?" The voice was Tora Kia's.

  "Can you not see me, Tora Kia?"

  "No. The chamber is dark. What do you want?"

  "I heard you playing. I thought you could no longer play ... because of your arm."

  "I can still play with the other."

  There was movement, then steps coming toward her. She tensed, but Kia only took her by her arm and led her toward a couch. Nicole sat down and listened as the Drac moved away and again took up its instrument and played an odd assortment of notes. The playing stopped. "In your apartment
, Joanne Nicole, I heard you cry out."

  "It was nothing but a dream."

  "Baadek told me that you did not speak to my parent about what happened in the car. I should thank you."

  "I kept silent more for Baadek's sake than for yours, Kia."

  A quiet laugh. "Of Course. Still, I apologize for my actions and thank you for yours."

  She remained silent and Kia again began playing its instrument. The sounds were alien, but the instrument was the tidna: a harp with strings made of glass. But the music was different for another, indefinable reason. She let her head fall back upon the couch and listened, allowing the peculiar musical phrases to occupy her awareness. The music changed slightly, and, the patterns became something she could identify—feel familiar with.

  "Kia, what is that?"

  The music stopped. "A composition of my own. I wrote it upon Amadeen. Does it speak to you?"

  "It incorporates human music; human themes. I recognize them."

  "Joanne Nicole, a composition birthed in the blood covering Amadeen would be false unless it carried the sentiments of the Front as well as the Mavedah. Your composer, Tchaikovsky, did much the same for his composition on war. He used the themes of both his nation and that of the enemy."

  "What ... what do you know of human music?"

  There was a silence, then she heard the tidna being placed non too gently upon the stone floor. "That human, Mitzak, spoke to me something that seems to be truth. After my parent's game, Mitzak asked me what the difference is between ignorance and stupidity. Mitzak answered his own question by telling me that ignorance is self-inflicted stupidity. I had the feeling that Mitzak was talking about all of us. Both humans and Dracs."

  "Your parent's game? Kia, you knew it to be a game? Your performance was a part you played?"

  "Of course."

  "Why? Why did you cooperate?"

  "We live by talma—games. That, and Tora Soam is my parent. It needed my hate for the game."

  "But you knew it to be a game."

  "It is all games, Joanne Nicole. Everything that exists. Did you not absorb anything from listening to The Talma when you were in the Chirn Kovah?" Nicole heard the tidna being picked up then came a series of rapid scales, and combinations of scales. As abruptly as the playing began, it stopped. "I know of Tchaikovsky for the same reason that my parent knows of human behavior and the behaviors of other races. All have been studied in detail. My study was music. My parent studied life. Humans studied us before the war; did they not?"

  "Yes."

  "Our means of information processing, because of the outgrowths of talma, are considerably superior to yours." The strange song birthed in Kia's experience upon Amadeen filled the room. "My parent commands all that can be known about humans; what the humans know, and more."

  "The USEF Intelligence Corps—"

  "A joke. You see parts of surfaces. We see depths and beyond depths."

  "But still you cannot avoid war."

  "We cannot avoid it, Joanne Nicole: we cannot avoid it." She listened as Kia's Amadeen song continued, the notes becoming almost visible in her mind. And there were gaps; places where notes should have been—would have been except for the musician's missing arm. "And that is how I shall leave it." The tidna was replaced on the floor. "Could you hear where the missing hand should have played?"

  "Yes."

  "The composition would be untrue to Amadeen if all of the notes were there. This song is crippled, as it must be."

  Kia played for a moment, then paused. "It is strange, Joanne Nicole. In the dark like this, you are not ... not a human. With the darkness of your eyes, do you see the same?"

  "Yes. I see us as ... beings?"

  "I heard you cry out. I came to investigate."

  "It was only a dream, Tora Kia. I am all right."

  It was silent, then Nicole heard Kia stand and move toward her. "I too have dreams, Joanne Nicole." Tora Kia struggled with its thoughts and words. "I need ... there are things ... things I wish to talk about."

  "Talk to your parent."

  Tora Kia hissed a strangled laugh and she heard its boots moving toward the door. "Make your rest, Joanne Nicole."

  "Wait." She sat up. "Why me? Why do you want to talk to me?"

  The Drac spoke its words as though it were admitting to the greatest sin. "I cannot speak to them—not about war. Not about my war. My parent is always the gentle scholar. Baadek has never seen battle. You are a soldier."

  "I am a human. "

  "You are a human soldier." The boots moved in front of her, then she felt Tora Kia seat itself on the couch to her left. Do you not see that I have more in common with you than I have with my own race?"

  The silence hung heavily in the room. "I will listen."

  "It is perverse that you are the one I come to talk to. But this war is perverse." The sharp smell of happy paste assaulted her nostrils.

  Tora Kia remained silent so long that she thought it might have fallen asleep. But then it spoke. "Joanne Nicole, I have moments ... times when it seems that I am back in battle ... smell, the noise, the screams—it is all so real!... And then ... I am back in the security of my parent's home. I fear for my mind."

  Tora Kia laughed. "At the Chirn Kovah, the masters say that I cannot give birth because of my mind. That what I believe will not allow conception to take place. Soon I will be too old; the act of conception would kill me. This will end the Tora line." Then a sigh. "The paste loosens the words—and thoughts—as it dulls perception."

  Just the fumes from the drug made her slightly giddy. She reached out a hand and placed it upon Kia's arm, then moved it until her fingers felt Kia's hand holding the tiny container of the sharp-smelling drug. Nicole touched a fingertip to it, then brought the fingertip to her tongue. It stung for an instant, then all sensation of the drug was replaced by a relaxed warmness—

  —Flashes of light and metal splinters; blood, bone, and scraps of flesh; a face made out of pink goo; everything covered with mud—

  In the dark, Tora Kia was a voice; a voice in pain; a voice that wanted her to understand; that might understand her. "I still see the war, Kia. Awake ... and in my dreams." She was dizzy, and she gently leaned her head against Kia's shoulder, the drug making her head swim. "I wish ... I wish there was something ... something we—"

  The shoulder moved as Kia laughed. "There are times when I believe that Aakva still plays cruelly with its creatures."

  ...As though he—it—he were off in the distance, Kia began to talk about Amadeen; the horror of it.—but she saw the horror of Storm Mountain, and cried out. An arm went around her shoulders ... and she buried her face in Mallik's chest as his hand stroked her face. Strange hand; strange face.

  "Joanne. You are safe, now, Joanne."

  ...she seemed to fall endless distances, then a softness engulfed her face. Boots walking rapidly away....

  "Joanne Nicole? Joanne Nicole?"

  She opened her eyes, sat up upon the couch, then let her eyes close. "Baadek?"

  "Yes, it is Baadek. I have with me the human, Mitzak. Why do you sleep here?"

  Nicole pressed her fingers against her temples as icepicks began stirring the syrup between her lobes. "What do you two want?"

  "I came to bring you to the morning repast. Since I could not find you, I enlisted Mitzak's help. The morning repast, and Tora Soam, still wait upon you."

  She lowered her hands to her lap. "I am not very hungry. I would like to return to my apartments."

  Mitzak spoke: "Major, the morning repast includes a beverage with much the same properties, if not the flavor, of coffee."

  "You're pretty smug today." Receiving no reply, she stood up and allowed the pair to bring her, first, to her apartments, and then to the dining hall. There she, Mitzak, and Zigh Caida were introduced to the host, Tora Soam. After she had been seated and had sipped from the bowl of hot liquid that had been placed in her hands, Tora Soam's voice came from across the table.

  "Joanne Nicol
e, what is the attraction of this medication Kia uses?"

  The throbbing in her head diminishing only slightly, she answered: "I'm sure I don't know."

  "As I have, in the past, smelled the substance upon my child, I can now smell it upon you."

  "I am not a habitual user, Tora Soam. Its use for me was to cause relaxation, to lower inhibition."

  "For what purpose?" She ignored the question and returned her attention to the hot liquid in her bowl. "For what purpose, Joanne Nicole?" The direction of Tora Soam's voice changed. "Mitzak, explain."

  "There are different purposes. I cannot read her mind."

  An edge crept into the Drac's voice. "The crust beneath your feet is crumbling, human."

  "Nevertheless, I cannot read her mind. Nor can I read Kia's mind. You must find your answers from those who can supply them."

  "Do you presume to recite The Talman to a Drac—to me?" There was a pause, then Tora Soam again spoke: "Mitzak, have you ever used this substance?"

  "Yes. But I am only able to tell you my purpose; no one else's."

  "And that purpose is?"

  "I am able to tell you my purpose; I am not willing. It is none of your concern."

  There was a long silence, then Tora Soam spoke quietly. "We are all feeling the pressures of the day's circumstances." The remainder of the repast was conducted in silence.

  Later her headache having subsided, Joanne Nicole warmed in the sunlight as her sandaled feet felt the ancient stone paths of the Tora Estate. Baadek and Mitzak walked with her, each one holding one of her arms above the elbow to guide her. Although one of the hands was human, she could not tell it from the hand of the Drac.

  Baadek spoke: "Mitzak, your game with Tora Soam is dangerous."

  "It is no more dangerous than yours, Baadek."

  "I think you know that there is a difference."

  Mitzak snorted out a bitter laugh. "A difference of form, Baadek; not a difference of substance. Tora Soam is not ... itself these days."