The Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

  Zammis makes a joke about being on a trip to Earth once and stuck in the middle of a work called Moby Dick for twenty-eight days until it was rescued by a maintenance and exercise break. "Damn your eyes!" shouts Jeriba Zammis, "what's that pump stopping for?' Roared Radney, pretending not to have heard the sailors' talk, 'Thunder away at it!'

  "'Aye, aye, sir,' said Steelkilt, merry as a cricket."

  And so on. In a more serious vein, Zammis points out that, if I want to, I can have The Talman programmed for the voyage. "It would give you a solid foundation for memorizing the work, for when you stand the rites."

  The charterer apologizes and says that in another six days there will be a second ship available for charter, and in a month a third. Moving a charter from a larger port on another planet would effectively triple the price and would take at least forty days.

  Sanda joins us at the charter office and Rotek I Hye excuses herself and leaves as the investigator reports using its pocket computer to refresh its memory. "The ship is registered on Rhana and is one of three such ships owned by Moss Transportation, which is wholly owned by Eli Moss, captain of the Aeolus. Although he has never actually been charged with violating any laws, he has a bit of a reputation as a smuggler."

  I ask, "Was Moss in the military?"

  Sanda nods as it pages to a particular reference. "He was an attack pilot in the USEF, seeing action only in the Buldahk Insurrection eleven years ago. Shortly afterward he was dismissed under dishonorable conditions for disobeying orders and striking three superior officers. After his dismissal, he flew as a mercenary for several quadrant powers, principally for the Dracon Chamber. Five years ago he took his savings and began his cargo line."

  "Did he ever serve the Timans?" asks Zammis.

  "No. The only connection with Timan I can find is that he does regular runs there, bringing in the few human and Drac passengers who need to travel there on business, and to bring in specialized instruments and equipment available only outside Timan."

  "For Timan Nisak?" I ask.

  "Yes. Among others."

  I point at Sanda's computer. "What of the crew?"

  "The co-pilot is a female named Yora Beneres. When Moss was cashiered from the USEF she resigned her own commission. She's been with Moss ever since. The engineer is a male named Ghazi Mrabet. He's been with Moss for the past three years, and appears to be something of a magician with machinery." Sanda raises a disapproving eyebrow. "Prior to his employment with Moss, Mrabet's principal notoriety was based on his well-publicized sexual liaisons with some rather well-known Dracs, most notably the artist Xian Ti."

  "He knows Xian Ti, the sculptor?" blurts out Jeriba Zammis, thoroughly starstruck and quite missing Sanda's point.

  "Yes. Quite." The investigator pages down and says, "The remaining member of the crew, cargo master and steward Ernst Brandt, served with the Tsien Denvedah, becoming a seventh officer before he resigned to join the same mercenary unit for which Moss was fighting."

  I am stunned. "A human in the Tsien Denvedah?"

  Sanda looks at me as though I had recently emerged from beneath a rock. "Of course. Humans have been in the Denve for the past two decades. Dracs are in the USEF, as well."

  "When in the Denve," interrupts Zammis, "did this Ernst Brandt have a specialty?"

  Sanda taps a finger on its computer's tiny screen, "Military intelligence. His nickname is Reaper."

  "Reaper?"

  "It's an agricultural term the significance of which escapes me," answered the investigator.

  "Among some humans," Zammis interrupted, "the Grim Reaper is a euphemism for Death."

  I acknowledge the explanation with raised eyebrows and a sinking feeling.

  Jeriba Zammis walks to a window and looks through it to the enclosed mall connected to the space port. A scattering of humans and Dracs walk slowly, pausing to look in the store windows while the moving walkways speed small crowds of pedestrians to their various destinations. "Tell me, Mirili Sanda," says Zammis. "If there were two ships available for this charter instead of just one, what are the odds of the second ship being similar to the Aeolus and its crew?"

  "Charter work is something for which ships register when they can't get anything else. I've seen worse ships and more disreputable crews, Jeriba Zammis, but not much better."

  "What of this involvement with Timan Nisak?"

  "A ship equipped to land on Timan gets that way because it travels to Timan. Nisak is the largest single interplanetary business concern there. Chances are good that if a human or Drac ship is used in business on Timan, it will at some time or other deal with Nisak or a subsidiary of Nisak."

  Zammis turns from the window and looks at Sanda. "Then it is merely a coincidence?"

  Sanda holds out its hands. "That is possible."

  Facing the window once more, Zammis says, "Sanda, please post that information to the estate. Uncle might be back by now and Ty will show it to him. It's Uncle's decision, not mine."

  "Back?" I inquire.

  Zammis glances at me and returns its gaze to the mall. "Yes. Uncle went skiing this morning."

  As I point out to myself that there is no point in asking why or with whom, Zammis asks Sanda, "Incidentally, what is the significance of the ship's name, Aeolus?"

  "Moss named the ship after it was refitted, and the name wasn't English or Esper so I wondered and did some research." Sanda glanced at me and then told Zammis, "In ancient belief on Earth, among the tribe of Greeks, Aeolus was the god of the winds."

  "The Greeks. Zeus, Athens, Aristotle and all that?"

  "Yes."

  I face Jeriba Zammis. "Humans often name their machines and other possessions. I have seen humans address weapons, helmets, luck charms, landtraks, flyers, cook stoves, and satellites with names of endearment. Usually the names are only a way to make an inanimate object something more: a friend or companion. There are no rules or customs, as such."

  Zammis rubs its chin. "I have witnessed this same behavior on Earth. The chief executive officer of Baine Whitley refers to her computer as 'The Bitch.' I can't recall Uncle ever naming such things, however." Zammis looks at Sanda. "What are the names of Moss's other ships?"

  "The Max Stearn, named after a fellow USEF pilot of Moss's whose ship and crew were completely destroyed in the Buldahk Insurrection shortly before Moss was dismissed from the USEF. The remaining ship is the Edmund Fitzgerald, named for a freshwater ore ship on Earth owned by the Columbia Line that sank with its entire crew during a storm in the Common Era year of 1975."

  I look at Jeriba Zammis. "Jetah, I cannot pretend to know anything about business, but naming one of his ships after a pilot who died in a wreck and naming another ship after another wreck seems needlessly morose."

  "It does tend to open one's mind on the subject of travel insurance." Zammis nods and hold out his hands. "I'd prefer waiting the extra time and using one of the off-planet charters, but it's up to Uncle."

  TWENTY-ONE

  When we return to the estate, Ty is directing a scarcely controlled chaos. Undev Orin, Mizy Untav, and the other retainers race from floor to floor and wing to wing, their arms piled with things. When I reach my rooms, all my things are packed.

  I return to the main hall and track Jeriba Ty to its office, where Zammis is on the link issuing instructions and jumping from address to address. Ty is on the com finishing off some last minute instructions to someone. As it pauses to take a breath, I ask, "What is happening?"

  For a moment Ty looks at me as though it is has no idea who I am or where I am located in the enigma of its current activities. When the eyebrows rise, signifying recognition, Ty says, "The Aeolus leaves tonight for Timan. There are approximately half a million things that need doing before boarding." Ty immediately begins punching a number into its corn.

  "Why so soon?" Suddenly I am angry and touched by panic. "No one asked me when I wanted to go!"

  "Quite correct," Ty responds as it finishes punching in the number.
/>   "Well, what if I refuse to go?"

  Ty studies me for a breath and says, "If you refuse to go, you do not go." Frowning, Ty leans forward and speaks quietly so that Zammis cannot overhear. "Yazi Ro, it is not my habit to give out unsolicited advice, but in your case I am making an exception. You really ought to get to know your Talman." With that, Jeriba Ty leans back and begins talking into the com.

  For some reason I feel that I need to talk to the human. On the fly, Undev Orin tells me that Davidge is in the cave. The walk to the cave under the approaching night overcast confuses me. Friendship seemed like such a cold, forbidding place. Now that the prospect of Planet Timan looms before me, the melting ice, the blue strip between the blankets of gray in the sky above, the raging sea seem like indispensable luxuries.

  Before, when Davidge and I discussed the possibility of following Zenak Abi's talma to Planet Timan, I made up my mind to go. If peace is truly possible, that is where I have to be to make life with myself bearable. My outburst at Jeriba Ty had more to do with feeling caught in a current, powerless to influence the events before me. The fear, though, is real.

  As I reach the entrance to the cave, I hear a seductive, haunting voice singing in a language I do not know very well. I think it is Japanese, the human tongue spoken by most of the prisoners we took after the Battle of Butaan Ji. The singing man and his dead daughter.

  The song coming from the cave, though, is not sad. It reminds me of the song Pina would sing at times before we loved. I wonder if I might interrupt Kita Yamagata and Davidge in a human love-making, but then I hear Davidge bellow "Shit!" This well known human sentiment is followed by the sound of pottery being smashed. Yamagata is no longer singing her song.

  I enter the cave and see the woman, seated on one of the chemical-glass-covered firewood logs. She is wearing a deep purple suit that covers everything except her head. Around her neck is a golden chain and suspended from it is an amulet similar to a Drac Talman. As she sees me, she nods a little bow and smiles.

  The interior of the cave is black from the flames and condensed vapor, the odor of chemicals strong in the air. Balanced on the rocks of the fireplace, there is a battery-powered lamp casting everything in a harsh blue light. Before either she or I can say anything, Davidge's voice comes from one of the back chambers. "Esha may be able to divest itself of material possessions, but we don't live in a tropical paradise!" He emerges from the entrance on my right holding a small pair of boots, blackened and gummy-looking. "Look at these. Haesni worked so hard on them."

  "And what is the lesson Haesni now has an opportunity to learn from this?" asks Yamagata, her face quite serious, but her eyes filled with mocking laughter.

  Davidge aims a brief scowl at her, then softens his face and sits next to the investigator, holding the boots before him. "Fairness is an illusion. Neither effort nor intention holds title to the nature or form of either the present or the future." His lips crack in a tiny smile. "And if sincere effort has no title, what interest can the bellow or the lamentation hold?"

  "The humans on Amadeen have a different way of saying it," I observe.

  Davidge faces me and asks, "What's that?"

  "Tough shit."

  Both of them laugh at that and Davidge gets to his feet, tossing the boots aside. "Well, after Yazi Ro's abbreviated version of the Koda Ovsinda, about the only thing left to do is to find another cave." He waves a hand at the walls. "It'll be decades before this will be a safe place to bring up a youngster."

  I walk over to him and ask something that has bothered me since I first met Willis E. Davidge. "Why bring up a youth in a cave? Why do you do this?"

  Davidge frowns at me as he puts on his hooded coat. "As to why I rear the children here, I find meaning in it. It's the first meaning I ever found in my life. There is nothing more important." He grins. "As to why I do it in a cave, Ro, of all the persons I have ever met, you are the one I thought would understand without explaining." With that, he turns, picks up his coat, and heads for the opening.

  In a flash I shout at his back, "I am not one of your students!"

  Kita Yamagata stands, places a hand on my arm, and says, "If that is so, you may want to ask yourself why you are here."

  "The talma. The path to peace on Amadeen. That is why I am here."

  She nods, her eyes looking up at me. "What is the point of putting you together with Will if he learns nothing from you, if you learn nothing from him? We are all students, Yazi Ro; and we are all teachers." She pauses as though weighing something she might say.

  "What is it?" I ask.

  She weighs it once more, purses her lips, narrows her eyes, and says, "Learn your Talman, Ro. It's not only the peace on Amadeen that may be at stake." She pats my arm. "At stake as well is the peace of your own being."

  I want to shake her hand off my arm, but I do not, for I fear she is right. A burdensome thing to hear from a Drac; more burdensome still from a human. I look at the golden locket hanging from her neck. It is her Talman, carrying the strange sign of a dragon. At the battle of Butaan Ji, I saw a similar sign. It was a tattoo on the back of one of the dead defenders. I watched as a Mavedah soldier cut the skin from the dead man's back, saving the tattoo for a trophy. I watched and felt nothing.

  Kita Yamagata smiles at me and turns to put on her hooded coat.

  "Yamagata," I say.

  "Kita," she corrects. "With humans the line name comes last." She smiles widely. "Which is funny, because that is not always true. With my people the given name does come last, Of course, with my people my name is not Kita Yamagata; it is Yamagata Kita."

  "Kita, then. Do you know The Talman?"

  "My father and mother reared me within Earth's Talman Kovah." She continues fastening her coat.

  Old myths, cryptic lessons, they seem to make no difference on Amadeen. The only one on Amadeen I know who memorized its Talman was Zenak Abi, traitor, fugitive, and gunslinger. Too, Abi is the only person I met on Amadeen who appeared happy. Strangely enough, Abi also lives in a cave, if the Jetah still lives.

  "Kita, what is it that Davidge thinks I ought to understand about his cave?"

  "The answer is less important than what you learn finding the answer." She holds her hands up, indicating the cave. "The answers are in here." She reaches out a hand and touches the side of my head with her fingertips. "And in here."

  After she leaves, I look around at the blackened walls, the fireplace, the remains of the chairs, the beds, the firewood glued together with melted explosive. There are crudely made pots and plates, baked to a light red color. I see eating utensils carved from wood. The covers and branches that made Davidge's bed are nothing but ashes, but Haesni's was not touched by the flames, The covers, though, are spread with the residue of the burning igniter's smoke.

  I take off my coat, hang it from a blackened peg, and turn back to the bed. I pull back the top cover and see its underside, untouched by the residue. The cover is made from long colorful strips of soft, pliable snakeskin, each strip carefully stitched into the cover. There is a small tear in the cover exposing the insulating medium that fills the layers. I pull some out and see that it is composed of seeds, each seed carrying a soft crown of delicate white fibers. The seeds tell me there is indeed a season on Friendship when the ice is gone and things grow. Seed pods are gathered, opened, and the fluff-covered seeds quilted into layers of snakeskin for a coming winter.

  So much cold and ice, the winds strong and frightening. What the heart must feel when the spring comes. The ice melts, the first growing thing shows life, the first animal who hides from the cold is seen emerging from the dark. It must have taken endless hours collecting the seed pods, catching and skinning snakes, curing and softening the skins, stitching them together.

  I look more closely. The thread is handmade from some kind of plant fiber. I do not doubt that in Davidge's cave the needles that were used were made as well.

  In the center of winter's intolerable cold, what must it be like to sleep u
pon such a bed, warm beneath such a quilt? Everything worn, eaten, slept on and beneath, hunted with, and used is something that was fashioned with mind-driven hands. No child could do all of this without knowing that it matters, that the work it does has value, that personal responsibility is a survival tool.

  Forty-one Drac children had been brought to adulthood in caves with Davidge. In the cave's primitive surroundings these children learned self reliance, teamwork, trust, to look beyond appearances at an individual's character, how to work, how to adapt, how to improvise, how to endure. By becoming one with this icy horror of a planet, they turned it into a home. The Jeriba Estate with its extravagant luxuries is only a stopping place for Davidge's students, all of whom are as just as comfortable in cave or castle. There is no work beneath them, no challenge too exalted or too frightening to try.

  Most of all, such children become grateful for the many gifts of existence that others take for granted. I understand a little of how Davidge's students become complete beings, able to become successful at whatever they choose to do, even if that choice is to become a meditative monk living in isolation and deprivation on Earth.

  What then for Yazi Ro, one who can find dark on a star's burning surface? If I do not have it and cannot take it, I do without and use this to make my dark darker still. When I made or repaired something with which to prolong my existence on Amadeen, I was not grateful or congratulatory for the means of survival. Instead I cursed the circumstances that made such survival necessary.

  I look at the boots Haesni made. The tops are made of the same snakeskin, double layered and filled with seed down. The soles are made from many layers of snakeskin adhering to each other, glued together with some substance harvested from the land or sea. The residue from the smoke begins to affect my fingers, the skin burning. The back of my throat burns, as well.