The Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

I notice the power switch on my knife is still energized. The weapon's charge is down to fourteen percent. Stupid. Suddenly I am very tired. I want to find a safe, dark place, curl into a ball, wipe my memory, and sleep for a thousand years. I turn off the switch.

  "What are you going to do with us?"

  A decision seems to make itself. I stand, take a step, and stop next to the pair. Extending my hand, I hold out the Talman and chain to her.

  "It probably belongs to another line, but the words are the same." Tears, another thing we have in common with the humans, blur my vision. "The line died with the soldier who carried this."

  She takes it, nods her thanks, and places the chain around the child's neck. I do not ask her if she can read Drac.

  I stay behind at the crossroads and watch the woman's back as she walks toward the north stepping over the rubble and around the holes, the baby still in her arms. The sun is almost gone, the sky red as the desert dust. I face the west and wonder what I should do.

  I should make my way back to the Sikov commander and report. They are all dead, Ghah Jov: Anta split from its crotch to its right shoulder by an energy knife; Ki, its pieces splattered across the ground where a rocket's blast carried them; Pina riddled with bullets, the tracks in the sand showing how it dragged itself across the ground before it died; and Adoveyna stretched out on the ground without a mark on its body as though it were sleeping. When I lift Adoveyna I feel the blood on my fingers.

  Ah, yes.

  I must report the village of Riehm Vo liberated. I should report as well the woman whom I let return to her own people, in addition to the baby Drac I allowed her to take with her.

  I can imagine Joy's brow rising as it waits for the soldier before it to explain several counts of treason. Should I tell it the woman herself killed two humans who were determined to kill the Drac child? That was the firing Anta had heard when it scouted the position. Should I tell Joy that if I had, instead, brought her with me back to the Sikov, the woman would be executed and the baby thrown into a holding center for children with no lines to await training as future killers for the Mavedah? Joy could not see what was wrong with that. A few days ago I would not be able to see it either. But now I see Nan sleeping in love's arms, a rest so complete all I can do is quench my envy by letting them stay together.

  I cannot go back to the Sikov or the Mavedah. Let them believe all of us died. I turn and look at the woman in the distance. I believe she can protect the baby from her commanders in the Front, but she could not protect me. I would be killed, or forced to commit treason and then killed.

  She stops, turns, and faces me. Lifting a hand, she waves it. A human gesture. I raise a hand and hold it as she faces north again and continues walking, the baby still in her arms. I should take my knife and cut her down this instant. It would redeem me, place my footsteps back on the known path. The road turns behind some ruins and she is gone. I lower my hand and look down at the energy knife in my other hand. I should have gotten the name of the woman. Those who change the entire course of a life need to be named.

  I glance up at the sky and see the sun reflected from one of the several orbiting quarantine stations that ring Amadeen. It hangs in the sky like an evening star. In it sit the humans and Dracs who monitor the instruments that detect and destroy ships that attempt to rise from the surface or attempt to land on the surface from space. Far beyond that belt of death is where I must find my answers. There are none left on Amadeen.

  I will not see Joy to report the liberation of all this rubble. I must avoid the Mavedah. Instead, there is a traitor I must see.

  I pull the control block from the knife, crush it beneath my boot, and throw the knife far from the edge of the road. I turn to the west and walk, leaving my helmet and armor in the dust.

  THREE

  Zenak Abi's name is a curse leveled at those who would betray species and line to follow a fantasy. Yet I betray all to which I have sworn to find something my pain tells me must be there.

  I cross the Mavedah lines in the dark, the sounds of battle coming from the north. There is no challenge. The humans are far away from these posts and moments to sleep too precious. Later, at an unfamiliar settlement where no one recognizes me, I offer a Madah outcast some rations in exchange for information. The vemadah gives me the information I need and fades into the shadows. I gave it the Talmans of my dead comrades and the vemadah will see that their deaths are recorded for the benefit of anyone who might care. Anta's sibling, Trahn, may be still alive. The rest of them, though, came from the holding center for the lineless. The Twelve was their line.

  In the village of Namdas, nestled in the foothills of the Silver Mountains, I see the market where farmers and merchants buy and sell things as though there is no fire in the sky. Namdas has only been hit twice during the past few years, both times by accident; shortfalls of missiles intended for the Mavedah headquarters farther to the east. I think to buy some of the sweet grain cakes there on sale, but I have no money and only my boot knife to trade. I keep my knife, drink at a well, and take the road into the mountains.

  As the hot dawn fills the sky, I see the house. It is in the woods above Namdas, high on the slope of Mt.Atahdd. The smell of trees fills the air. The house is little more than a rouga, what the humans call a hutch or shack. In the dust outside the shack two Drac children play at killing.

  "Nu geph, Irkmaan!" growls the older child as it brandishes a wooden energy knife made from a drying board. The other child, holding a stick as though it is a rifle, sullenly falls down feigning a welcome death, its release from having to take the role of the human. When it resurrects and demands the exchange of weapons and roles, the older child refuses. A protest, another demand, the name kizlode is hurled followed shortly by a swift kick and the pair grappling in the dust.

  I am rooted to the spot by a memory of two years past. There was one of many truces in effect. Standing guard on eleven humans, holding them in case the negotiations for the proposed prisoner exchange actually succeed. The humans talk among themselves, one saying that he cannot see how the war can ever end. He tells his companion the wounds are too many, too old, and too deep. He describes how his children and the children of his friends play. For fun they play at killing Dracs the way these children before Neleh Ve's shack play at killing humans.

  There was no prisoner exchange that time. Tuva Culik, the compound warden, came running from its office, its skin reddish with rage. Culik had heard that the humans had begun executing their prisoners. From Culik's belt the warden pulled a pulse weapon and fired into the humans. The humans roared and charged the fence. I cut into them with an energy knife. Two other guards joined in and the four of us fired into the eleven unarmed humans until there was nothing left but a lumpy puddle of steaming muck. Afterward, silence. Then another message.

  It was a false rumor. The humans still honored the agreement. Tuva Culik had been wrong. We had murdered the eleven humans. When the Front heard about what we had done to their comrades, the rumor was righted. The humans executed forty-four soldiers of the Mavedah and the truce was ended. Culik had been proven right after all.

  "Tuka nue!" commands an adult voice weary with scolding.

  The children halt their war and face a Drac adult who is holding a bundle of hand-washed clothes in its arms. It carries no weapons.

  "Neleh Ve?" I ask.

  Its eyes, the lids narrowed, study me for a moment. Without removing its gaze from my eyes, the Drac gestures with its head toward the house and says to the children, "Tean, benga." With the children in the shack, the Drac shifts the washing, resting it on a hip, leaving its right arm free. "I am Neleh Ve."

  "Yazi Ro," I answer. "It is good to see children again."

  "The battle cry of the childless," says Neleh Ve without changing expression. "Is there something you want?"

  "I look for the JetahTalman, Zenak Abi. I was told you could instruct me where to go."

  Amusement touches Ve's lips. "What use has a soldier of t
he Mavedah with a master of paths?"

  "Perhaps the path of the Mavedah no longer serves me." I frown at Ve and invite a wound with my question. "I have no weapons, no armor. How do you know I was Mavedah?"

  "Your eyes, Yazi Ro. They belong to a killer."

  I take the wound and add it to my collection. "Zenak Abi," I repeat. "Where may I find the Jetah?"

  Ve gestures with its head toward the mountain. "Up there somewhere."

  I look up at the mountain, its peaks capped with snow. "It is a big mountain. Is there a particular trail I should follow?"

  "Go, and if Abi wants to talk with you, it will find you. Be warned, though, that the Jetah can defend itself."

  "I mean the Jetah no harm. I only seek information."

  "So said many who sought to slay the traitor." Neleh Ve turns and begins spreading its wash on the drying boards. I am dismissed.

  Neleh Ve has no reason to believe differently about me. There is no reason why I should concern myself about what it thinks. I feel the need, though. I feel the need to tell Ve that I am no longer one of them. My only proof, though, is that I have killed no one today. I aim my steps up the mountain as the children in the shack resume their pretend killing.

  I still hear their voices as I turn on my receiver and listen to a little zidydrac before the music is interrupted to inform us that the village of Riehm Vo has been retaken by the Front. I think about the dead woman I beheaded and know that I have added luster to some Amadeen Front soldier's resolve to exterminate every Drac from the face of the planet. As the music returns, I place the receiver on a rock and leave it there, the music fading as I climb.

  There are trees on the mountain, great towering things with craggy black skin and reddish-green leaves as wide as my hand is long. Among the rocks and grasses are flowers, berry hushes, and blossoming vines that reach high into the trees. The air is cooler and there is a breeze. I can hear the sounds of battle, but they are distant, not as loud as the dark-brown furred shade nit at my feet. Its sound is a chip-chip and it sits within a thicket on its hind legs, its thin black tail wrapped around its legs, making its sound, warning me not to approach.

  I search my pockets. The creature defends its territory. It is not begging me for ancient battle rations. Still, I find an end of ration bar, pinch off a piece, and toss it to the nit. It springs back, increases its cry in volume, and paws at the air with its front legs. I back away a step and, after a moment, the creature quiets, leans forward and sniffs at the piece of food. Darting out to pick it up, the nit rushes back to the safety of the deep thicket. As it eats I turn and look around me.

  Something inside me is outraged at this corner of Amadeen that has missed the warring. Where is the justice that claimed the lives of Anta, Ki, Pina, and Adoveyna, yet lets a bloody shade nit live? I cross my legs and sit where I am.

  I have no argument with justice. I lost my belief in such things long before my parent died. My argument is with reality. My comrades should not be dead. Instead we should all be here on the side of this mountain, cooling ourselves in the shade, tossing bits of food to the nits. There is a pain in me so intense that I cannot afford to let it claim me.

  Suddenly I feel something dig into my back. "I see I have a visitor," says a voice from behind me. "Let me see your hands, child, and do not clutter them with weapons, I beg you."

  I sit up and hold my hands out to my sides as I condemn myself as a fool. "Zenak Abi?" I ask.

  With steps as silent as the mist, it moves slowly around me until I can see it. The Drac is old but looks to be strong. It wears pieces of camouflage uniforms, human trousers, a Drac jacket and boots, a soft human brimmed hat. All that remains of a Talman master's robe, the blue stripe at the hem, it wears draped around its neck. In its hands it holds a long walking stick. "I am Abi. Who might you be?"

  I lower my hands to my sides and climb to my feet. "I am Yazi Ro." I think for a moment and then add, "I used to serve in the Mavedah. The Okori Sikov of the Ninth Shordan."

  The old one's brow rises in amusement. "Eh, a proud band, the Okori Sikov." Abi lowers the end of its staff to the ground. Grasping it with both hands, the Jetah rests its weight on it. "And what is a hero of the Okori Sikov doing so far from the fighting?"

  I feel the heat coming to my face. "Your mockery is out of place, old one. I come here for answers, not to provide you with entertainment."

  It grins at me, the broken edge of its upper mandible quite visible. "Perhaps I cannot remember the answers, Yazi Ro, unless I am entertained."

  I turn, see the trunk of a fallen tree, and go to it. I sit down, cross my arms, and rest my elbows on my knees. I do this to avoid slitting open the old fool with the knife hidden in my boot. I feel twice the fool for coming here. Perhaps my questions have no answers.

  Abi squats down before me, leans the stick between its neck and shoulder, and studies me. The longer the Jetah stares at me, the more foolish I feel. Just as I am about to rise and flee from the mountain, Abi says, "What is your question, soldier? Ask it honestly and I will provide you with an answer as honest as your question."

  I remain quiet as my anger wrestles with my thoughts, leaving nothing clear. My question? Who knows what my question is? Why is there a war? Why is peace impossible? Why was I born into the center of this holocaust? Why are my comrades dead? Why is my parent dead? Why is life and the world excrement?

  I can feel the tears dribble down my face. My question. What is my question? My mind is blanked by the futility of it all. "Very well, old fool. Why do you wear human trousers?"

  Zenak Abi's face becomes very serious. It nods once, then levels its gaze at me. "The purpose, child," Abi says in English, "is to cover my ass."

  I am stunned, then I laugh. Through this crack in my grief all of the laughter I had confined for years explodes. When I can see again, Zenak Abi, too, is laughing.

  FOUR

  Abi leads me high up the mountain, deep into the frozen cleft between two peaks where the boulders stand on the ground like so many frost giants. The snow is fresh and ankle deep. I am not used to the cold and I feel my muscles growing numb, my thoughts coming slow and thick. It is the beginning of dark by the time we reach the entrance to Abi's cave.

  Before I enter I look down from the mountain toward the east. There the gentle hills of the Shorda spread to the horizon. Dull glows of red and orange beneath the haze show the death machines have not yet run out of fuel. They make me feel the fool yet again. So much blood, so much pain, so many years. If the fighting could have been stopped others would have stopped it long ago. Who is Yazi Ro to stop a war? Ro who still has bloody hands. I turn and enter the cave, pulling the cover cloth down behind me.

  Inside it is much warmer. We sit on boxes and other containers salvaged from some ruin. One side of my container is cut, allowing me to sit on a springy seat of leafy branches and rest my back against the side opposite. Abi cooks cakes on the griddle it has made, filling the chamber with the smells of wood smoke and sweet spice.

  "Have you heard anything about the new truce?" I ask. "There have been rumors. Nothing from the broadcast stations. Some say a rumor is all it is."

  Abi slides two of the cakes onto a large leaf and hands them to me. "Before the truce could be signed, the Tean Sindie attacked the negotiation site, took everyone hostage, executed all of the humans, and admonished the Mavedah negotiators never again to negotiate with the monsters of the Front. Some tea?"

  The Tean Sindie; children of the racehome world; the "pure Mavedah" whom no one seems able to control. They could have let the truce happen for a few days. Just a few.

  I eat my cakes hot, allowing the warmth to radiate from my center to my limbs. It is quiet in the cave. Safe. I do not feel that I have to stand guard every second. Next to life on the dirt, the security I feel within that frozen mountain is strangely obscene.

  With my belly full and my muscles relaxed for the first time since the founding, I put the Tean Sindie, truces, and Amadeen out of my mind an
d let sleep overtake me. At first l awaken, see Abi sitting on its crate, then drowse as images of love and war flit through the edges of my perception. A last look at Abi reading a book, then I give in, too weary to resist my dreams,

  "The Selector," hisses a voice.

  Choi Leh stands there above the children, paying no attention to the sounds of firing outside. Leh is massive, a horrible burn scar on the left side of its face, its left arm limp and dead at its side. Choi Leh's leather clothes and boots are worn, its armor and weapon scarred. Ravin Nis, the Jetah of the lineless children, watches Choi Leh, eager to please, terrified not to. We all want to please the Selector, but our reasons are different. If we are chosen to fill the ranks of the Mavedah, we will eat.

  Leh steps down from the dais and begins to walk among us, its stride long, and determined. The word passes among the children in whispers: "Mavedah. Mavedah."

  "This one," says Leh nodding toward Vulrih Apisa, the largest of us. Hateful Apisa is cruel and a bully, but now its face is proud. "See here," says its expression. "I was the first chosen. I do matter. I am something." Ravin Nis takes Apisa by the arm and points toward the dais.

  "This one," says Choi Leh, pointing at another, Nis following with whispered instructions to go to the dais. Choi Leh picks four more, then pauses before Bikudih Ri. Ri is small but eager to please. Leh lifts its good arm and smacks Ri's head, sending the child to the floor. Choi Leh waits a moment watching Ri cry then moves on.

  At last Choi Leh stands in front of me. I know I am very young, not as large as most, and the Mavedah Selector must doubt me. There will be a test. It looks down at me, its burns more horrible now that they are close. "My face," it growls. "Do you see something in it?"

  "It is burned," I answer, still looking into its eyes. They are dark, more brown than yellow.

  "Do you find it beautiful?" Leh asks.

  "I find it ugly."

  Choi Leh takes a swing at my head, I squat, and as the arm flashes above my head, I drive my head into Leh's middle, right where I think its belly slit is. Leh cries out as it falls to the floor on its backside. Leh holds its middle, gasps, springs to its feet, and gives me another look.