Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

  “The night repast celebrates Uhe’s victory and the unification of the Sindie. This is the night repast; let us celebrate.”

  The servants bring out the foods, and I find a familiar human dish among them: spaghetti. Captured human rations had something similar-looking in an envelope. The difference is that the Jeriba estate’s version is edible. More than that, it is delicious, as are the more traditional foods. Even though I am far from starving, the hungry parentless war thing within moves me to eat more than I need.

  After the foods, while I attempt to digest all that I have consumed, Nev, Zammis, Falna, and Ty sip at sweet tea. With transparent pride Nev asks the child of its namechild about its studies. Falna amuses us all with stories of its recent time on Earth, the friends it had made, and the important persons it met. Ty laughs and says, “And Uncle feared that you might never even manage to commit your line to memory.”

  Falna laughs as well. It notices my confusion and says, “I played a trick on Uncle when I was under his charge at the cave. I pretended to be very slow, clumsy, and unable to learn. Then I stood the rites of adulthood before the Estone archives, recited line and book, all without his knowledge. When he came to my parent to express his concern about my dimness, my parent explained to Uncle that Falna had already stood the rites and had earned its robe. The look on Uncle’s face was worth a thousand academic degrees.”

  When the laughter dies down, Ty announces to all that Yazi Ro is less than awed after its first meeting with Uncle Willy. Embarrassed by this declaration, I remain silent. There are no frowns or condemnations, though. Instead, Estone Nev smiles and both Zammis and Falna burst out in laughter. Nev puts down its cup and says, “Yazi Ro, you have some idea of the high regard in which we hold Uncle.”

  “Yes.”

  Leaning back in its chair, Estone Nev’s gaze turns inward. “When my sibling was stranded on this planet during the war, it was Davidge who delivered and reared Zammis’s nameparent, teaching it the Jeriba line and The Talman, eventually standing with Zammis before the family archives, seeing his charge take on the robes of adulthood. Ever since, it has been the fate of every child on this estate to be subjected by its elders to this glow of adulation for Willis Davidge. As a result, by the time a child is old enough to be placed in Uncle’s care, it is thoroughly encrusted with wonderment regarding this illustrious savant with whom it is to learn its line and Talman, and prepare for the rites.” Zammis grins. “As his very first task, Uncle has taken it upon himself to blast off his new student every last crumb of this wonderment. We call it the bath.”

  They then regale me with stories of the baths taken by various members of the Jeriba and Estone lines, as well as the lines of several of the Jeriba estate’s servants. In all, the human had reared and prepared for adulthood forty-one children. Jeriba Haesni, currently in the cave eating its smoked snake, is his forty-second.

  After a while, the conversation turns to other things. Estone Falna, now having completed its post-doctorate studies and residency, is now qualified to administer to humans, the human in the cave being of particular focus. Falna smiles at me as it explains, “Although Friendship’s population contains many species, humans are only a small minority; perhaps eleven percent.”

  “Medical care for humans,” interrupts Ty, “is therefore less than it could be. We have always worried about Uncle falling ill, the only help available being inadequate. Falna wanted to improve the odds.”

  “Uncle is sixty-three standard years old,” continues Falna. “Earth’s medical wisdom suggests that the human should slow down.”

  “Falna, have you brought the new skis Uncle asked for?” asks Ty,

  “I brought them. So much for slowing down.”

  “Skis?” I ask.

  Zammis explains that it is a winter sport he tried first when on Earth fifteen years ago. It involves clipping slippery boards onto one’s feet and sliding down the side of a steep, snow-covered mountain. Zammis brought the sport, an instructor, and the equipment back to Friendship, and Uncle fell instantly in love. After some searching, Zammis and Uncle Willy found in the mountains above the estate a valley protected from the winds where they had a towing arrangement rigged that would pull them to the top of one of the mountains. The sport grew from there until there are now eight ski areas on the planet and a ninth planned.

  While I ponder this improbable recreation, Zammis asks Ty about the estate’s agricultural preparations for Friendship’s short growing season, and the conversation fades into seeds, fertilizers, composts, cultivation and a fog of other things I do not understand.

  As they talk I think again about Ty’s words to me earlier, that I am here because of the truths of Zineru. It still embarrasses me to admit my ignorance of Zineru’s story in the midst of this assemblage of Talman scholars. I leave the table, go to my rooms, and settle into a very comfortable couch to read my Talman,

  I work the catch, drop the cube from its cover, and pull the paging pin. Turning to the Koda Sinuvida, I squint as I attempt to read The Story of Zineru. The writing is very small, and I could struggle my way through it if I needed. Such is unnecessary. I have Davidge’s English translation in big, paper book type. I clip my Talman back into its holder and retrieve my copy of the translation and settle back in the couch.

  In the translator’s notes I read that the Koda Sinuvida was the last of the books of The Talman written on Planet Simile. The next hook was written in space on the generation ships that eventually settled Draco. Zineru wrote its book in a much earlier era, a time of sea-going ships and military denve armed with swords, spears, clubs, and arrows. There were also athletic competitions between different denve, different cities, and different schools.

  As Maltak Di used to use puzzles and illusions to teach its students, Zineru used games, athletic events. Zineru’s passion was the multiplicity of truth: the many meanings of truth and truth’s many kinds and forms. Its favorite lesson was to have its students take a game and study it, applying all of the lessons of talma, to devise a means of winning through superior theory.

  The students would study, interpret, and explore the reduced extremes of all of the rules, the plays, even the conditions of the land and weather where the contest was to be held. They would study the physical form and determine how best to utilize players in running, throwing. and so on. They would work out their new plays, devise their strategies, assign the best of themselves to the various positions, and then they would inform Zineru that they were ready to play.

  The Jetah would then employ the least successful team of nonprofessional kovah players it could find and set this team against its students. Without fail Zineru’s students would be annihilated, and the Jetah would tell its battered theorists the lesson: “The learned student has much to contribute to the game. However, the hard truths, the ones that cannot be manipulated, will be told to us by the players. The players have seen and felt the metal; the students have only theorized about it.”

  Zineru’s truths.

  The work of the Talman masters has much to contribute to the peace of Amadeen, but the hard truths, the ones that cannot be manipulated, will be supplied by the Mavedah killer, Yazi Ro. The masters have only theorized about war. Yazi Ro has walked in the blood.

  I think of the offer made by the captain of the Tora Seam. My account has enough to get me back to Draco and from there it is only a matter of waiting for the ship. It would be work. Could I stand circling around Amadeen, though, while the ship is at the orbiter? Could I stand it if in my head there is the slightest doubt about the futility of the peace talma? Could I do that knowing in the dust and blood of Amadeen there is a child looking up at my reflection, cursing me for not taking the chance to end the horror?

  I get up from the couch and walk to the transparent wall of the room that looks out upon Friendship’s night. There are shielded lights below me, illuminating the house with a faint golden glow. Beyond the lights the wind-torn landscape is dark, the silhouette of the point standing
out indistinctly against the whiteness of the ocean’s foam.

  I wonder what would happen if the pieces of a picture puzzle found out that the picture they are supposed to make is different than the one they intended to bring into being. Would the pieces go ahead and make the new picture, not knowing for certain how it will look, or would they rebel and make no picture at all?

  I decide to talk to this puzzle’s other piece in the cave. I go down to the main hall and find that the others have retired. A servant, Mizy Untav, helps me on with my coat and boots. It insists, as well, that I wear eye and face coverings to protect me from the increasing winds. Once I agree, it asks “Will you be wanting a guide, Yazi Ro?”

  “No. I know the way.”

  “A hand light, perhaps? The footing in the dark can be treacherous.”

  I nod. “A light would be sensible. Thank you.”

  With the light attached to the back of my left glove, my hood up and my coat sealed, I step out into the night winds of Fyrine IV. As I lean against the wind and begin my trek toward the cave, I realize that the retainer who clothed me with such concern about my welfare is the child of Mizy Kinasu, the student of Davidge’s the others mentioned who traveled across the quadrant to become a monk in a strange, demanding religion on a strange and frightening planet: Earth.

  FIFTEEN

  Davidge sits at the fire, staring into the flames, the manuscript in his lap. I turn off the glove light, remove my coat and face protector, throw them over an empty chair, and sit in another, wondering why Davidge wasn’t at the repast as part of Estone Falna’s homecoming. As the flames warm me, I again look at the interior of the cave. On one of the beds of branches, Haesni is sound asleep, a leather quilt pulled over it.

  I think of the Koda Nusinda and wonder where in the manuscript Davidge is. One part that gave me pause was the lesson of the repast. As the actors played their parts, the blind human Nicole, not knowing they were actors, was having presented to her the problem of Amadeen. The Mavedah’s goal was the death or removal of all humans on Amadeen. The Front’s goal was the death or removal of all Dracs on Amadeen. The Dracon Chamber’s commitment to the Mavedah and the United States of Earth’s commitment to the Front, and the mutually exclusive goals of the Front and the Mavedah, made the workings of talma impossible. Nicole ended the big war by severing the larger powers’ commitments to the warring factions on Amadeen.

  The core of the problem, though, still remains, although the removal of the opposing side by something other than death must have fallen in priority. The Mavedah’s goal now is the death of all humans. The Front’s goal is the death of all Dracs. Where is there room for talma? Every time the Front and the Mavedah form a truce in an attempt to settle things through negotiations, an unruly faction from one side or the other always demolishes the truce by performing an atrocity on the other side. How can the Mavedah punish one of its own groups for killing humans, after all that the Front has done to them? Of course, how can the Front punish one of its own groups for killing Dracs, after all that the Mavedah has done to them?

  “Yazi Ro,” Davidge says, “have you read this?” He holds up the manuscript.

  I pull my mind back from the past and look at him. The human’s gaze is on my face. “Yes. I read it on the voyage here.”

  “Were you supposed to read it?”

  Again the shrug. “I do not know.”

  He looks at the manuscript and raises his eyebrows. “What if you reading this screws up the talma?”

  I settle back in the chair, stretch my legs out toward the fire, and clasp my hands over my middle. At that point I answer. “Then the talma is screwed up. On the other side, though, what if my not reading it would mangle the path? What if my reading it or not reading it makes no difference at all?”

  Davidge smiles and says in formal Dracon, “Aakva, why do you play with your creatures so?” He looks at me, sees my expression, and says, “From The Story of Uhe. The Koda Ovida?” He looks at me as though I have three heads. In English he asks, “Yazi Ro, is it possible that you do not know your Talman?”

  My Amadeen English responds. “It is not only possible, Uncle Willy, you can bet your wrinkled old ass on it.”

  An unusual squeaking comes from the back of the chamber and Davidge turns from me and looks toward the child’s supposedly sleeping form. “If you are finished sleeping, Haesni, there is some sewing you can do.”

  “Oh, I’m sleeping, Uncle,” gasps Ty’s child. “I am sleeping. I think I’m just having a bad dream.” This last followed by more poorly stifled squeaking. At last, unable to contain itself any longer, Haesni laughs out loud, throws its covers aside, and runs into one of the back chambers. Davidge smiles and closes the manuscript.

  My elbows on the chair’s armrests, I cover my eyes as I feel an edge of shame. It is not my mission in life to humiliate this teacher in the eyes of his student, even if the teacher is a human. When the echoes of Haesni’s laughter die, I say to the human, “I apologize, Davidge, for referring to you as Uncle Willy. Once we settle this matter,” I gesture toward the manuscript in his lap, “I will be gone. It is not your fault I am here now and there is no point in seeing how much more difficult I can make things before I leave.”

  The human nods and looks down at the manuscript. “I wouldn’t make any plans on leaving soon, Ro. The Ovjetah is smarter than anyone I know. If Jeriba Shigan thinks there’s a good chance of achieving peace on Amadeen, I’ll give it a look. So, we’ll do what we need to do together until we both agree that the job is hopeless. Okay?”

  “I agree.”

  “Good.” The human stands, places his hands at the small of his back, and stretches. Finished, he looks at me. “Confidences are sacred, Yazi Ro. What you tell me in confidence I will never repeat without your permission. What I tell you in confidence you will never repeat without my permission. Agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  He takes a step and squats next to the fire. Adding a stick to the flames, he looks toward the back of the chamber, then faces me. Speaking in almost a whisper, he says, “The name Uncle Willy really doesn’t bother me.”

  I feel my brow rise in astonishment. “Nearly every member of the Jeriba line that I have met has warned me that you hate the name.”

  He holds out his hands, looks up at the smoke hole, and grimaces as he looks for words. “Kids need an easy way to score against adults.” He looks down at me. “Know what I mean?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Is your parent living?”

  The question pounces on my awareness like an emotional predator. I feel my breath growing short. “No. Yazi Avo died before my first year.” In a very quiet voice, I tell him my shame. “I never learned my line.”

  Davidge nods as questions in his face resolve. “I see.” He stands, goes to his chair, and lowers himself into it. Staring into the fire, he gathers his thoughts. After a long moment, he frowns and looks at me. “What were we talking about?”

  “Uncle Willy.”

  “Right.” He nods, sits forward, and says, “To generations of the Jeriba line, from Zammis’s nameparent to Haesni, as well Estone Nev’s descendants and the children of the line’s retainers, I have been playmate, friend, teacher, and warden. Kids, mostly wanting to do what they want to do, reverse the order. To them I am the warden, the one who stands in the way of their adventures, like trying to fly by jumping off the cliff.”

  I point toward the ocean. “That cliff?”

  “That’s the one. Shiggy even had a set of wings it had designed and built. The only way I could discourage the experiment was to let Shiggy try it, although I got the kid to use a small hill for its first flight rather than the cliff.” He smiles in remembrance, then brings himself back to the moment.

  “Warden first. Later they regard me as teacher, friend, and playmate. Usually. Still there’s this piece of each kid that remembers, and resents, the guy who spoiled all the fun, who was mostly right when they were mostly wrong.”

&nb
sp; I nod as I understand. “Letting them call you Uncle Willy and believing that it makes you grind your teeth is an easy, and harmless, way of letting them wreak vengeance on the warden.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it the same sort of thing with Estone Falna ?”

  Davidge’s eyebrows go up. “Heard that story, did you?” He grins and shakes his head. “Falna was different. It wasn’t satisfied with mere vengeance. Falna wouldn’t settle for anything less than total annihilation. Strong-minded and smart as a whip. Its parent died on Earth. Did you hear about that?”

  “No.”

  “Estone Oyneh was a part of the Dracon Chamber’s diplomatic delegation. There was a racial incident, a crowd thing that got out of control, and Oyneh was dead. Falna saw it all. It was less than a year old.”

  I feel the cold fingers of reality clutching my heart. “I too lost my parent before I reached my first year. I saw it die.”

  Davidge looks at me and I see the compassion in his face. “It is a hard way to grow.” He looks at the fire. “Estone Nev had Falna brought here and I took it into the cave. It took five months for its nightmares to stop. I’m awfully proud of Falna. I hated to miss it doing the rites, though.” He nods, picks up the manuscript, and opens it. “There’s stuff to eat next to the fire and back in the cave where Haesni went. I better get going on this.” He finishes a page and turns to another.

  I feel a strange longing: a glaring emptiness against a painful jealousy of the Drac children who learned line and Talman before this man. It is a bottomless well of anguish that always begins with: things should have been different. Haesni, wiping its face with its hand from having eaten something, sneaks into its bed after waving a hand at me. Before I can respond, the child is under its leather quilt, its head covered. The favored child sleeping in the heart of its uncle’s love.

  I rest my head against the back of my chair and study the human as he reads. I have seen humans before. In battle, as my prisoners, before my knife, torturing my friend to death, and at least one holding a little Drac baby. I see no human woman in Davidge’s cave; not even another man. There is a lot to mistrust in a man who forsakes all that there is in being a man to live in a cave and bring up Drac children. As the sleep tugs at me, I ask myself, why are you here, Willis E. Davidge? Before I can ask my question aloud, Davidge lowers the manuscript and faces me.