The Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

Hanging onto the cargo braces, we stand silently watching Ruche and his two bodyguards standing in the clearing. At their feet are two litters, a shroud-wrapped body upon each. The ship's sensors show that Ruche has at least a company of Octoberists hidden in the woods. A trap for us? Perhaps it is only Ruche's precaution in case the trap is ours.

  As we land I look away from the Octoberists and watch Davidge. His expression is strangely calm. Last night I heard he and Kita arguing. He insisted that she remain behind. She insisted that he remain behind. The meeting though is with all of us, the ones who "run things," as Paul Ruche had put it. They at last accepted that they both would go and I hear them making love as though for the last time.

  I no longer question this love between this young woman and this old man. I am learning to see beyond surfaces; a skill Will and Kita knew back on Friendship. As I listened to them, I ached for Falna's touch. At that moment I could have forgiven it anything, just to have its arms around me.

  The platform lands and I force myself into the present moment. Reaper shuts down the controls, releases his straps, and steps down onto the grassy surface of the clearing. The three of us follow, instinctively placing distance between each of us so that we cannot all be taken out with one shot.

  We stop five paces from the three Octoberists. Now that we are closer, I see that one of his bodyguards is the head of Black October's thought police, the woman Akilah Hareef. The third one I do not recognize. Ruche fixes Davidge with a stare and says, "The agreement was that we are to be unarmed. The three of us are unarmed, and the three of you are unarmed." The Octoberist I do not recognize holds up a hand scanner. "That one," Ruche says nodding toward Reaper, "is armed."

  Kita smiles and says, "He balances out those hundred and forty-two armed soldiers you have watching us from the edge of the woods." As I listen, I remember the knife in my boot. I guess Ruche doesn't consider my blade a weapon next to the pistols and disrupters Reaper has tucked here and there.

  Ruche's expression does not change. He nods at the bodies of Ali Enayat and Sally Redfeather. "As we agreed, here are your assassins."

  Without looking away from Ruche, Davidge says, "Reaper."

  Reaper moves until he is between the litters. He kneels down next to one and uncovers the face of the Alley Cat, the first to volunteer. It is stained with dried blood, the hair matted with it. The eyes are open and Reaper closes them. Turning to face the other litter he pulls the wrapping from the face of the corpse. It is Sally Redfeather, eyes closed, her face waxy yellow, her mouth hanging open. Reaper covers her face, stands, and looks at Paul Ruche, "She was no assassin, squid. She saved all of your lives."

  "She killed Raymond," says Akilah Hareef.

  "Raymond Sica was an asshole who gave an order that, had it been followed, would have done for Black October what firing those missiles did for the Tean Sindie."

  "They were killing us; killing our people!"

  "And now they are dead." Reaper squats down, picks Sally's body up in his arms, and takes her back to the platform.

  "What is this meeting about?" asks Davidge.

  The head of Black October frowns as he seems to have difficulty arriving at a decision. The decision postponed, he continues to watch as Reaper stands from placing Sally's body on the platform and returns for Ali Enayat. As he picks up the remains of our first volunteer, Ruche looks into Davidge's eyes. "I needed to see you face to face. I don't trust these broadcast images."

  "You're being televised right now," says Kita.

  Akilah holds up Sally's hand-portable, her own image on the tiny screen. "We know."

  "There are no screens between you and me right now," Ruche says to Davidge. "I want to see you—your face, your eyes―when you tell me what you are doing here, on Amadeen, in this fight that has nothing to do with you."

  I nod as I realize that Black October gets prohibited communications from the quarantine force orbiters. How many other groups do the same, I wonder.

  "Tell me now," Roche orders. "Why are you here? What do you get out of this?"

  "We are here to police the truce," Davidge repeats. "What we get out of it is the chance for the truce to work. Possibly we get peace."

  I can see all of Paul Ruche's thinking displayed on his face: Do you think I am a fool? I have seen a hundred thousand instances where Dracs have lied, betrayed, set up good men and women, and tortured and killed them. You are standing there with a Drac as your equal, your so-called police force even has a Drac name, and you had Raymond Sica murdered because he was only trying to defend us against the Tean Sindie's bloody attack.

  Reaper places his burden down on the platform next to Sally. Ruche studies him for a moment, then faces Davidge. "So, little Niagat," says Ruche, "you're after Aydan's blade, are you?"

  In surprise I blurt out, "You know The Talman?"

  "To defeat an enemy, one must know its thoughts," he answers without looking away from Davidge. "I know the story of Aydan and its search for peace." He drops his gaze for a moment, and thinks. Once he finds his Mind, he looks first at Kita, then me, then Davidge. "Aydan put together an army to end the war between the nations on Sindie; an army whose only purpose was peace."

  He holds out an arm toward the woods. "I'll tell you what those men and women want. They want every last Drac in the universe dead. I'll tell you what those Dracs in the Mavedah, Tean Sindie, Sitarmeda, and Thuyo Koradar want. They want every last human in the universe dead. And you want a truce. Tell me, Aydan, what can be gained from truce talks?"

  Davidge smiles and shakes his head. "Perhaps what the Dracs say is true: to get a human's attention takes a mirror, a loud voice, and a sharp stick." He takes a deep breath and nods. "I guess it's not as obvious as I thought. The point of the truce, Paul Ruche, is the truce itself."

  "What does that mean?"

  "If the Front and the Mavedah, and all of the human and Drac splinter groups do make it to the table, they will talk, and swear, and bellow, and curse, and threaten, and will reach no agreement, but the truce will hold. Then, in time, children will grow and your replacements will come to the table. Perhaps they too will talk, swear, bellow, curse, and threaten and reach no agreement, but the noise level will be lower and the truce will hold. All this time humans and Dracs will be venturing farther and farther from their weapons. They will be rebuilding their lives, their towns and cities, their schools, farms, and businesses. The young, not burdened with memories, will see where money might be made by selling to the other side. Money might be saved by employing them, putting them through the same schools that ours attend, and the truce will hold. Eventually, the ones who show up at the talks will be men, women, and Dracs who really don't understand why so many old ones are so insanely attached to the past. The talks will be populated by those who no longer want to waste time on talks that don't do anything or go anywhere. They will sign the peace."

  "For me, then," says Ruche, "it is a pointless gesture. I get nothing I want. Black October gets nothing it has fought and sacrificed for all these years."

  "You asked me what would be gained from truce talks. I answered."

  "And this is all you want: the truce to hold so that at some point in the future there will be a signed peace?"

  Paul Ruche turns away, looks at Akilah Hareef, and she nods in return. "Willis Davidge," she says, "the only Drac I ever heard about who wanted only peace was Aydan, who, if the story is to be believed, killed millions of its enemies before it adopted its noble goal."

  "Say what you will," remarks Ruche's bodyguard with the scanner, "we and the Dracs have at least accomplished that."

  After dosing him with a withering glance, Akilah Hareef looks back at Davidge. "In the story of Aydan, Niagat is told how to pass the test for a warmaster's blade."

  Davidge quotes, 'Return when your goal is peace alone and you hold a willing knife at your own throat to achieve it. That is the price of a warmaster's blade.'

  As I hear Akilah Hareef make her offer, the talma is clear to me fro
m beginning to end. I am stunned by it: its simplicity, its beauty, its horror. "We will put down our weapons and come to the talks if we see the Navi Di earn its Aydan's blade."

  The world turns so slowly, the figures about me moving like insects through resin. Davidge does not ask what the woman means, or if she is serious, or argue that the goal of Aydan's test was peace not the dubious agreement of a fraction of one side, or point out that it is probably nothing more than a meaningless bluff.

  Davidge does none of these.

  In one liquid movement the old human bends down, pulls the knife from my boot, and stands holding the knife above his head. I reach to stop him, but Kita throws her arms around me, immobilizing my arms with a strength I did not know she possessed. When I break free and can see, Davidge's hand is at his side, the blood is flowing down the front of his jacket, and he is sinking to his knees, his eyes open, his gaze fixed on Akilah Hareef. His words, other words, parade before me.

  "How many bodies more will it take before we are considered for real?"

  "All my children. All my children."

  I rush to his side, and am there only in time to lower him gently to the ground. Peace? Can any peace be worth this?

  Yes. Of course. Only one life.

  Only one.

  I look at Akilah Hareef. Her mouth is open in a parody of astonishment. Paul Ruche is studying Davidge, waiting still for a trick. The Octoberist with the scanner takes a hesitant step forward. As he squats down next to Davidge, he looks at me and I see the confusion, the tears in his eyes. Reaper rushes up, pushes Ruche out of the way, and drops to his knees next to me.

  "What in the hell happened?" He glares at me, then Ruche, then Hareef. "Who―"

  I point at Davidge's hand, my knife still clutched in his fingers. I pry the knife from his hand and hold it. Kita stands there next to Davidge, her eyes closed, the tears on her cheeks. I want to rip the blade across Hareef's guts, cut off Ruche's suspicious face, gouge out all the crying eyes around me.

  I do none of it. Instead I thrust the blade into the ground, leave it, and pick Davidge up in my arms. As I stand I face Kita. "You knew."

  Her lips form the word "yes," but there is no sound.

  The Ovjetah, Zenak Abi, Kita Yamagata, Davidge. Aside from myself, who did not know this talma? There is so much anger I need to throw at someone, but the only one who deserves it is dead in my arms. It was his hand. I swing Davidge's body around and look at Paul Ruche, the head of Black October, All I do is look and keep looking until he turns and begins walking toward the tree line, followed a moment later by Akilah Hareef. The remaining Octoberist looks from my face to Davidge's body. He shakes his head, turns slowly and follows the others to the tree line.

  "Let's go, Ro." Reaper is standing there, his arms out, offering to help carry Davidge. I turn away from him and, holding Davidge close to me, I walk toward the platform. "You were to be my parent," I whisper to the still shape in my arms. "I am alone once more." I lower him and place his body next to his dead comrades.

  When all of us are aboard, the platform lifts off, I face into the wind, and try to believe that I am in a dream in which I know I am in a dream, which means I can change it at will. But I can will no changes, for I am not in a dream, and the pain will never end.

  FORTY-FOUR

  The truce still holds.

  As I stand in the shadows looking down at the night mists, the truce still holds.

  Thuyo Koradar and The Fives make some noise and some plans. The noise is just noise and the plans―well, if you want to hear God laugh, make a plan. Bombers, suicide attackers, nutball war chiefs, and everyone else begin seeing twenty-nines wherever they go. There are more twenty-nines than The Peace has either time or personnel to inscribe. The Mavedah's own people, the Front's own people, are marking the sign of The Peace everywhere.

  Many saw on their monitors what happened when Hareef made her offer and Davidge earned his Aydan's blade. The story spreads. Through Black October, through the Front, The Fives, The Rose, and Greenfire. Through the Mavedah, the Tean Sindie, Sitarmeda, and Thuyo Koradar. Through all of the peoples of Amadeen.

  The truce holds. Black October comes to the table to talk. Tean Sindie comes the next day. By the end of the dry season, the last of the splinter groups, The Rose, sits at the table. They talk, and swear, and bellow, and curse, and threaten, and they reach no agreements, but the truce holds.

  In twenty days another faction forms among discontented humans, but a galaxy of twenty-nines appears on land, forest, streets, and buildings before they can perform their first atrocity. They are frightened off. Eight days later, a lone Drac suicide bomber lets its pain drive it north of Douglasville where The Peace stops it dead. The executioner found it unnecessary to leave a twenty-nine. Those who live on the street marked it with the numbers.

  More come forward to join The Peace, the Mavedah donates two additional ships to the Navi Di, and the Front retaliates by setting up Navi Di offices and observers in all their units. Four months after Davidge earned his blade, Green Fire officially disbands.

  Cudak, Kita, and I are the authorization team, and I hardly look at her. Of all of those I blame for Will Davidge's death, second only to myself, I blame Kita. It makes no sense, but in my entire life, where had sense ever been a part? I do not accept his death, although the entire planet of Amadeen seems to have accepted it, taking it on as an icon.

  There are things I wanted to do.

  There are things I wanted Davidge to be there to see.

  That foolish child inside me, the one who cries "unfair!" is still there.

  From the shadows I watch the mists and find so much of my purpose for peace gone; so much of my purpose for life gone. As I watch the night avians race through the haze below, I feel a hand on my arm. Without looking I know it is Kita. "What is it?"

  "There is someplace we have to go."

  I look at her and notice for the first time how puffy her face seems. "Where?"

  "Gitoh."

  "Why?"

  "The Mavedah has opened it up."

  I look back at the fog. "What is in Gitoh?"

  "Something Will wanted you to see. It was his last wish."

  The thin scab across the wound of my grief is scraped clear with a few words. Numbly I follow her across the clearing and into the Aeolus.

  In less than an hour the ship puts down in Gitoh. At first the inhabitants look upon us with suspicion, until they see the twenty-nines marked on our armbands. There are waves, a cheer. There is a Drac who meets us and it leads the way between the bombed-out buildings of the city. The streets are cleared of rubble and the bomb craters filled in. There is a small business repairing appliances in a burned-out building. Another business sells seeds and food plants. A third business sells old clothes. At the end of one street is a pile of rubble that once must have been a huge building. When we reach it, there are twenty or so local Dracs there, all wearing their shabby best. Part of the bottom of the building has been painfully excavated and there is a concrete stairway going down. There is no electricity and the stairs are illuminated with candles. I look at Kita. "What is this place?"

  She nods. "These are the archives of about sixty lines here in Gitoh. It has been over twelve years since they've been used. The Yazi archives are here."

  We enter one of the sub-basements. The candles fill the huge room with a warm yellow light. The room is filled with Dracs and a few humans. Some I recognize, most I do not. There is an open armored shelf containing ornate books of various thicknesses. A blue-robed Jetah takes a very thin book from this shelf and places it on a podium.

  I stop dead and face Kita. "I cannot do this! I am not prepared." I lower my gaze to the floor mosaic and speak to her in a whisper. "He is not here. I wanted him to be here for me the way he was there for so many others."

  Kita looks up at me and smiles. "He is here, Ro."

  I shake my head. "No, the only ghosts I believe in are evil."

  "Ro, he is here," sh
e insists. I look at her and she is holding her palms pressed flat against her middle.

  I am so stupid. She is carrying Will's child. I take her in my arms and hold her. Her arms steal about my waist and we stand there until all pain turns to love. At last she looks up at me. "I have a letter from Will. He wrote it the night before he died. It's for you."

  "What―what does it say?"

  "I haven't read it."

  I release her and she reaches into a pocket and hands me an envelope. I break the seal, take out the sheet, and open it.

  Dear Ro ,

  On this day you begin the rites to become an adult. Know that I am very proud of you and that I believe you will continue to grow and improve upon the especially valuable being you already are. I once told you that I wish I could have been there to watch you grow. From when I first met you on Friendship through all of our time together, until here on Amadeen, I have watched you grow and celebrated your accomplishments. I have gotten my wish.

  My love is with you always,

  Uncle Willy.

  As I look at that Uncle Willy signature, I can almost see him with that mischievous smile on his face. I look at Kita, hand her the letter, and face the Gitoh Archivist.

  It reveals itself to me, as The Talman said the steps of the universe's plan of my life would. In time there will be a relaxation of the quarantine and I will travel to Sindie on Draco to tell Matope, the veteran in the wheelchair, that we have remembered and the war is done. From there I will go to Timan to honor my promise to Lahvay ni 'do Timan, Dakiz of the Ri Mou Tavii, to teach his students the problem and the peace of Amadeen. Afterward, I will go to Friendship, find a cave, and help Kita and the Jeriba line teach her child how to gather the wood, smoke the snake, and withstand the winter. From there I will see where talma leads.

  Before you here I stand, Ro of the line of Yazi,

  Born of Avo, the teacher of English,

  Student of Willis Davidge, the giver of peace...