“Nu geph, lawman.” Thang, thang! The guns flashed and another kizlode shaddsaat bit the dust.
I quit.
There were a lot of us on Earth, and scattered throughout the rest of the quadrant as well, I suppose. Discharged vets, stumbling around, trying to make sense of things, trying to find where they fit, or if they fit. A news report on the vids said that newly discharged vets had the highest suicide rate among the groups studied.
Yay, team.
“You know how much yellow blood I got on my hands?” a vet asked me in a bar. I didn’t venture a guess, but the guy, a USEF assault force warrant officer, didn’t notice. He sat at the bar, staring at his hands and muttering something about having more in common with the Dracs than he did with the street slime back on Earth.
I finally called my parents. Why didn’t you call before, Willy? We’ve been worried sick. We thought you were dead.
Had a few things I had to straighten out, Dad.
Things?
I can’t explain right now.
Well, we understand, son… It must have been awful—
Dad, I’d like to come home for a while.
Home? Why, sure. Sure, son.
Even before I put down the money on the used Dearman Electric, I knew I was making a mistake going home. I felt the need of a home, but the one I had left at the age of eighteen wasn’t it. But I headed there because there was nowhere else to go.
I drove alone in the dark, using only the old roads, the quiet hum of the Dearman’s motor the only sound. The December midnight was clear, and I could see the stars through the car’s bubble canopy. Fyrine IV drifted into my thoughts, the raging ocean, the endless winds. I pulled off the road onto the shoulder and killed the lights. In a few minutes, my eyes adjusted to the dark and I stepped outside and shut the door.
Kansas has a big sky, and the stars seemed close enough to touch. Snow crunched under my feet as I looked up, trying to pick Fyrine out of the thousands of visible stars.
Fyrine is in the constellation Pegasus, but my eyes were not practiced enough to pick the winged horse out from the surrounding stars. I shrugged, felt a chill, and decided to get back in the car. As I put my hand on the doorlatch, I saw a constellation that I did recognize, north, hanging just above the horizon: Draco. The Dragon, its tail twisted around Ursa Minor, hung upside down in the sky. Eltanin, the Dragon’s nose, is the homestar of the Dracs. Its second planet, Draco, was Zammis’s home, if Zammis was there. We called the snake-like string of stars Draco for the Dragon. The Dracs call their planet Draco for an all-but-forgotten Ovjetah. Coincidence! Why not?
Zammis. Where was Zammis?
Commitment. That’s something the Dracs knew how to do. In the Koda Itheda, when Aydan was searching for the warmasters who would lead its armies and the world to peace, it wanted the warmasters to commit to peace. There was Niagat’s little “test.”
“Aydan,” spoke Niagat, “I would serve Heraak; I would see an end to war; I would be one of your warmasters.”
“Would you kill to achieve this, Niagat?”
“I would kill”
“Would you kill Heraak to achieve this?”
“Kill Heraak, my master?” Niagat paused and considered the question. “If I cannot have both, I would see Heraak dead to see an end to war.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“And, Aydan, I would do the killing.”
“And now, Niagat, would you die to achieve this?”
“I would risk death as does any warrior.”
“Again, Niagat, that is not my question. If an end to war can only be purchased at the certain cost of your own life, would you die by your own hand to achieve peace!”
Niagat studied upon the thing that had been asked. “I am willing to take the gamble of battle. In this gamble there is the chance of seeing my goal. But my certain death, and by my own hand—there would be no chance of seeing my goal. No, I would not take my own life for this. That would be foolish. Have I passed your test?”
“You have failed, Niagat. Your goal is not peace; your goal is to live in peace. 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.”
Niagat never did get its warmaster’s blade, but Aydan did eventually fill its ranks with warmasters and warriors who placed peace before everything. Where in the universe to find such conviction, to find such commitment.
Commitment.
That was the thing that was crippling my life. I had made a promise to Jerry. It was a promise that sat on the other side of the bloody quadrant, but it was still waiting to be kept.
Headlights from an approaching car blinded me, and I turned toward the car as it pulled to a stop. The window on the driver’s side opened and someone spoke from the darkness. “You need some help?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.” I held up a hand. “I was just looking at the stars.”
“Quite a night, isn’t it?”
“Sure is.”
“Sure you don’t need any help?”
I shook my head. “Thanks… wait. Where is the nearest commercial spaceport?”
“About an hour ahead in Salina.”
“Thanks.” I saw a hand wave from the window, then the other car pulled away. I took another look at Eltanin, then got back in my car.
There was a rathole motel in Salina that had all I needed for a reasonable price. I went to a market and an office supply center, then posted my “do not disturb” notice on the room’s computer and got to work. What was strange was that I couldn’t write it. I needed to recite it. I switched the computer to voice input, did the calibration, and then began speaking in English, the translation moving automatically through my mind:
I, Mistaan, who created the marks-that-speak, set down before you the words of Shizumaat who recited before me the Myth of Aakva, the Story of Uhe and the First Truth.
Sindie was the world.
And the world was said to be made by Aakva, the God of the Day Light.
And Aakva was said to make on the world special creatures of yellow skin and hands and feet each of three fingers. And it was said to make the creatures of one kind, that each could bear its young, or the young of another. And it was said to make the creatures make thought and give voice that the creatures could worship the Parent of All…
I spoke and watched as the words appeared on the monitor: the Myth of Aakva and the formation of the law, the world without the law, and again, a law of peace that could only last if nothing in the universe ever changed.
…the clouds over the Madah were barren, and those lands west of the Akkujah saw no water, and the ground cracked and turned to fine powder. The noon sky burned with a blinding blue, while the morning and evening skies were the reds and yellows of cooling iron. The lakes and rivers became mud and dust, and the creatures that swam within them died. The Ocean of lce became a black sea of putrid oil. The wild creatures of the land fled from the Madah to the mountains, and from there to the lands of the Diruvedah and the Kuvedah.
The proud hunters of the Mavedah could not blood their spears, and so they watched their children cry and grow thin. The hunters clawed at the land, gathering roots, insects, and the skins of the few trees that still lived. But in time even these were gone. And the hunters watched their children scream and stare. The hunters clawed at the bottoms of streams and wellbeds, chasing the precious water as it left the ground below. But the water ran more swiftly than the hunters could dig. And the hunters watched their children die…
And then one of the hunters, as the tribe ate its only child, rose to proclaim a new vision, a new law of war. The great Uhe led the Mavedah out of the scorching desert of death and crossed the Akkujah Mountains into a war that saved its people and unified the Sindie.
As I recited, I felt the tears on my cheeks, because I was back in the cave, Jerry watching me as I recited, its eyes caught between the force of the stories and the sight of
a human telling them in formal Dracon.
…a Sindie shaper of iron, in Butaan to perform its duty to Aakva through labor, gave birth to a child. The shaper of iron’s name was Caduah, and Caduah named its child Shizumaat.
…Caduah was a dutiful child of Aakva, and the parent instructed its child in the ways and truths of the God of the Day Light…
There was the ever faithful Namndas, whose story always made Jerry smile.
…I had entered the Aakva Kovah the year before Shizumaat, and was placed in charge of Shizumaat’s class. I drew this duty because the servants of the temple considered me the least worthy of my own class. While my companions sat at the feet of the servants and engaged in learned discourse, I would chase dirt.
There was, as well, the book that always made Jerry cry, the third of Mistaan’s books, which begins with the trial and the execution of Shizumaat:
“You are young, Mistaan. To brave this wall of hate and warriors’ iron that surrounds me shows me your youth. When you are older you shall call this youth foolishness.”
By the end of three weeks, I was finished. While the computer printed our a hard copy, I stretched out on my bed and thought about what I was going to do. It might do some good. Eleven thousand years of wisdom—even alien wisdom—cannot be absorbed and not leave behind a truth or two. Then again, perhaps I was raising casting pearls before swine to new heights. In any event, it was all I had of value. I went to the computer, called up my motel bill, and paid it.
Three days later I was in Dallas standing before the little gray man who ran Lone Star Publishing, Inc. He looked up at me and frowned. “So, what do you want, Davidge? I thought you quit.”
I threw a thousand-page manuscript on his desk. “This.”
He poked it with a finger. “What is it?”
“The Drac bible; it’s called The Talman.”
“So what?”
“So it’s the only book translated from Drac into English; so it’s the explanation for how every Drac conducts itself; so it’ll make you a bundle of credits.”
He leaned forward, scanned several pages, then looked up at me. “You know, Davidge, I don’t like you worth a damn.”
“I can’t tell you what a relief that is. I don’t like you either.”
He returned to the manuscript. “Why now?”
“Now is when I need money.”
He shrugged. “The best I can offer would be around eight or ten thousand. This is untried stuff.”
“I need twenty-four thousand. You want to go for less than that, I’ll take it to someone else.”
He looked at me and frowned. “What makes you think anyone else would be interested?”
“Let’s quit playing around. There are a lot of survivors of the war—both military and civilian—who would like to understand what happened.” I leaned forward and tapped the manuscript. “That’s what’s in there.”
“Twenty-four thousand is lot for a first manuscript.”
I gathered up the pages. “I’ll find someone who has some coin to invest in a sure thing.”
He placed his hand on the manuscript. “Hold on, Davidge.” He frowned. “Twenty-four thousand?”
“Not a quarter-note less.”
He pursed his lips, then glanced at me. “I suppose you’ll be Hell on wheels regarding final approval.”
I shook my head. “All I want is the money. You can do whatever you want with the manuscript.”
He leaned back in his chair, looked at the manuscript, then back at me. “The money. What’re you going to do with it?”
“None of your business.”
He leaned forward, then leafed through a few more pages. His eyebrows notched up, then he looked back at me. “You aren’t picky about the contract?”
“As long as I get the money, you can turn that into Mein Kampf if you want to.”
He leafed through a few more pages. “This is some pretty radical stuff.”
“It sure is. And you can find the same stuff in Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, James, Freud, Szasz, Nortmyer, and the Declaration of Independence.”
He leaned back in his chair. “What does this mean to you?”
“Twenty-four thousand credits.”
He leafed through a few more pages, then a few more. In twelve hours I had purchased passage to Draco.
The peace accords, on paper, gave me the right to travel to Draco, but the Drac bureaucrats and their paperwork wizards had perfected the big stall long before the first human steps into space. Just to get a visa from the Drac consulate in New York involved enough calls to give my ear a cramp, not to mention wading through a cordon of angry demonstrators to pick it up. The consulate was located in a new concrete and glass thing whose windows looked as though they began somewhere above the twentieth floor, far out of the reach of flying bricks and such. When I took a moment to read the protest signs, I found that it wasn’t the Dracs they were protesting. Instead they were protesting the human diplomatic mission that signed the treaty quarantining Amadeen and ending what they called “the big war,” leaving the humans on Amadeen cut off and stranded.
When I showed my pass to the human security guards on the gate, they let me in. In the lobby and the offices I got the impression that there were no Dracs at the consulate. It was a human who eventually issued me my visa. Tall, gray, and looking down her nose at everything. She reminded me of my eighth grade English teacher. As she held my passport in her hands, she said something curious. “With all the crap you had to wade through to get this visa, Mr. Davidge, you must have very important business on Draco.”
“It’s important to me.”
“On your application it says that your visit is for the purpose of attending a ceremony.”
“That’s right.”
“What kind of ceremony?”
It wasn’t any of her business, but I’d already learned rule one for working your way through the bureaucrats: unless you have a gun, a lot of money, or some compromising pictures with a goat, give the bastards whatever they want, and with respect. “The rites of adulthood.”
She handed me my passport and asked, “Is it the child of a business associate ?”
As I put the booklet in my pocket, I shook my head. “No. It’s my nephew.”
I left her chewing on that one while I left her office and moved on to the next level of administrative molasses.
It took threats, bribes, and long days of filling out forms, being checked and rechecked for disease, contraband, reason for visit, filling out more forms, refilling out the forms I had already filled out, more bribes, more waiting, waiting, waiting. I was wondering if Zammis was going to die of old age before I got to see it, when someone fouled up and I found myself on the ship with all my papers in order.
On the ship, I spent most of my time in my cabin, but since the Drac stewards refused to serve me, though, I went to the ship’s lounge for my meals. I sat alone, listening to the comments about me from other booths. I had figured the path of least resistance was to pretend I didn’t understand what they were saying. It is always assumed that humans do not speak Drac. One time, though, was one time too many.
“Must we eat in the same compartment with the Irkmaan slime?”
“Look at it, how its pale skin blotches—and that evil-smelling thatch on top. Feh! The smell!”
I ground my teeth a little and kept my glance riveted to my tray. Of the three Dracs at that table, only one was shooting off its mouth. The other two were trying to be polite, but looked embarrassed. The one with the mouth started up again.
“It defies The Talman that the universe’s laws could be so corrupt as to produce a creature such as that.”
I turned and faced the three Dracs sitting in the booth across the aisle from mine. My eyes sought out the skinny one with the bad attitude. In Drac, I replied: “If your line’s elders had seen fit to teach the village kiz to use contraceptives, you wouldn’t even exist.” I thanked Jerry for the wisecrack and returned to my food while the two
embarrassed Dracs struggled to hold the third Drac down.
Later, in my quarters, I had a visitor. It was a Drac decked out in a midnight blue uniform with two light blue diagonal stripes on its sleeves. “Willis Davidge?” it asked in heavily accented English.
“That’s right.”
“My name is Atu Vi. Ship’s second officer. May I enter?”
I stood away from the cabin door and held a hand out toward a built-in seat. I took the one facing it. Once the Drac and I were settled in, I asked in Drac, “Is there a problem, Atu Vi?”
The Drac’s brow rose. “The dining steward said you spoke the language well.”
“I had a good teacher, a quiet classroom, and a lot of time to learn.”
Second officer Atu Vi studied me for a moment. When it was done, it asked, “Did you learn The Talman, as well?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I thought you might find some profit in reviewing the Koda Tarmeda. It was interesting meeting you.” Atu Vi stood and walked from my cabin, closing the door behind it.
Koda Tarmeda, the Story of Cohneret. This was the Talman master who made a study of what it called the passions and their relationship to talma, paths of problem solving.
Passion is a creature of rules. This does not mean do not love, do not hate. It means that where your passion limits talma, you must step outside of the rules of your love and hate to allow talma to serve you.
What was the point of my outburst in the ship’s lounge, Atu Vi seemed to be asking me. How does getting into a public ass-kicking contest serve talma? And who was the Drac with the big mouth? To score on it had I driven away one who might be convinced to assist me in the achievement of my goals? Had I turned a big-mouthed bigot into an active enemy? In any event, the Drac with the mouth had complained to the captain and the captain’s second officer had dropped on by to tell me, in the most polite manner, to stick a sock in it. Good advice. As more than one Talman jetah has observed, “Knowing talma is not living talma.”
As the ship was coming into Draco, I thanked Second Officer Atu Vi for its advice. The Drac studied me for a moment, then said, “Shortly after we land and the passengers disembark, a human will approach you. He is with the USE diplomatic mission and his sole purpose is to intercept you and place you on the first transportation available back to Earth. Avoid this person. There is a considerable weight of Drac authority that will support this diplomat’s efforts to send you off-planet.”
Enemy Papers Page 17