I remember the thirty or so Front prisoners that I was guarding shortly after the battle of Stokes Crossing in the Southern Shorda. Three human children, very young, were in the compound with the other prisoners. A woman was entertaining the children by making things appear and disappear.
Her hands were very quick. She took a pebble from the ground, put it in her pocket, then pulled the pebble out of one of the children’s ears. As the children laughed, she threw the pebble away then pulled it out of her own mouth.
I had never seen anything like it before. I moved closer to the wire to get a better view. She held the pebble between two fingers, placed it in the palm of her other hand, closed her fingers around it, then opened it. The pebble had vanished. She opened both hands and there was no pebble. She clapped her hands together, then slowly parted them to reveal three pebbles in the palm of the bottom hand.
I heard a shout from a Mavedah soldier on the other side of the compound. A sickening feeling in my middle, I looked up to see three humans running toward a group of rocks. They had escaped while I was distracted by the woman. I raised my knife and cut through the three of them, killing two and wounding the third. I lowered the knife and looked at the woman, wanting to cut her in half because she was as much a part of the escape attempt as the three who ran the wire. Everything pointed at the right hand while it was the left hand doing all the business.
I look at Davidge and the others seated around the table and think again about where the fingers are pointing. Kita is explaining to Davidge some obscure procedure in police recordkeeping. When she is finished, Davidge asks her to get together with Ernst Brandt to pick his brain. Once she agrees, he faces me. “Are you a part of this?”
I look up at him. “What do you want?”
“You’ve just been sitting there staring into space. Do you have any suggestions; a thought or two?”
I glance at Falna. Its eyes urge me on. I look at the floor and nod. “Davidge―Will, all of the fingers are pointing at humans and Timans. Earth IMPEX because of Michael Hill’s involvement, and Timan Nisak because of the weapon he used, in addition to the things revealed in the Koda Nusinda,” I stand, look around at the faces, and say, “There are no fingers pointed at Dracs. Look for a Drac.”
Kita frowns at me and says, “But Ro, we have absolutely no evidence of any Drac involvement at all.”
“Exactly.”
Back in my quarters I think about my answer, exactly. It means trust no one, nothing. The knife can come from any direction. There is a part of me that seems to find meaning in doing nothing more than being a witness and understanding that which passes before me. Living beings moving through their relationships of war and love are exercises of interest primarily to see how the relationships resolve. This is the manner of the Timan nest master. This is also the manner of the Drac Jetah Talman.
Detached, emotionally removed. A very safe place. All of the advantages of being dead with none of the rot. The existence of this place, my ability to occupy it, as well as its attraction, make me despair.
I look up and see Falna standing in the doorway. Two steps, three steps, and it is at my side. Falna’s hand brushes my cheek. “You are filled with such pain, Ro. Have you no one? No one at all?”
I look up at its face, its image blurred by the tears in my eyes. “I have the dead.”
Falna encircles me with its arms and slowly pulls me toward its breast. I lose myself and my pain in Falna’s touch as the scent of it fills my awareness.
A history lesson on The Last War:
The few remaining Timan Ka were huddled in their mountain stronghold as the Rappani Ka, filling the Steppe of Irnuz before them, prepared to finish the extermination begun generations before. Bahtuo, nestmaster of the Timan Ka, looked down upon its people at their defense positions. There was hardly a one who was not wounded or scarred. In the center of the compound, protected by stone walls, were the females, their fat tails teeming with unborn who would never see life.
“We can withstand one or perhaps two more assaults,” said Ashab the war leader to Bahtuo. “We will kill perhaps another hundred or hundred and fifty of their warriors, then the Rappani will overrun us. They will kill the females and we will be no more.” Bahtuo looked at the war club in his hand and let it fall to the ground. “We surrender, then, Bahtuo?”
The nest master looked beyond his defenders and let his gaze fall upon the fires of the Rappani Ka. “We surrender, Ashab, but with a condition.”
Later that night, Lord Nuba, eldest surviving son of King Jax, ruler of all the Rappani Ka, was entertaining his generals in the long hut. As they feasted the generals boasted about whose warriors would first storm the Timan birthing ring, crushing the females, cutting off their tails, splashing the Timan Ka larvae underfoot. In the midst of this revelry, a guard entered and whispered to Nuba that an emissary from the Timan Ka begs for an audience. Lord Nuba ordered the Timan brought before him and his generals.
The Timan emissary was Ashab the war leader and he groveled before Nuba and said, “Great lord, I have come at the behest of my master, Bahtuo, to beg you to take our surrender.”
A great cheer erupted in the long hut. When it quieted, Lord Nuba said, “This is most excellent news and I shall pass on your request to my father, the king.”
Ashab rose to his feet and held out his hands. “We surrender only to you, Lord Nuba. It has been your warriors we have fought and we know you to be fierce in battle, but merciful and just in peace. Your father is without mercy, killing even his own brother to take the throne of the Rappani Ka. We have seen your father’s work and we will not surrender to the king. Rather we would go to our deaths and bring as many of the Rappani Ka with us as we are able.”
Now, it is true that the king was cruel, but no more so than his son, Lord Nuba. It is true that the king killed his own brother. However, Lord Nuba had killed both of his own brothers, and for spite rather than mere gain. It is true that the king was a leader without mercy, but it was no accident that, behind his back, Nuba’s own generals and warriors referred to him as Nuba the Terrible. Yet Bahtuo’s words brought many of King Jax’s crimes back to the minds of Nuba’s generals.
To Lord Nuba’s mind, Bahtuo’s offer brought something different. Nuba the Just, not King Jax, would take the surrender of the Timan Ka. It would be Nuba the Merciful, not King Jax, who saved the hundreds of warriors’ lives that would have been lost storming the Timan stronghold. It would be Nuba the Magnificent, not King Jax, who cleverly eliminated the Timan Ka, for the lord intended to kill every last Timan upon entering the stronghold.
“Go in safety, Bahtuo,” Nuba said to the emissary, “Tell your master that I will take the surrender of the Timan Ka and that those who surrender will be under Lord Nuba’s personal protection.”
Now, there were a number of Nuba’s generals who were, at one time, generals of Nuba’s elder brother, Yiva. When Nuba murdered their Lord Yiva, they did nothing, for, by the time they learned of the affair, all was done and sanctioned by the king. Yet the words of their oaths to their former lord were still sharp. These generals got word to King Jax about his son’s actions.
Jax was incensed and sent a courier to Lord Nuba with orders to stay in place. If there is to be a surrender, Jax, King of the Rappani Ka, will take it. As the courier ran off, Jax called in his generals to prepare the warriors beneath his command to enforce his wishes. Still, when Lord Nuba learned that his father’s army was facing his own position, he ordered his own generals to respond appropriately. No one knows who loosed the first shaft. Perhaps one of Jax’s archers, perhaps one of Nuba’s. Perhaps it was a lone Timan warrior hidden in a cleft between the two armies―
As the two clawed creatures attack and pull each other to pieces , the smooth, soft, small, and slow creature escapes.
That night Falna is waiting for me and we make love. I do not conceive, but I make love. For a moment I withdraw, fearing that Falna only pities me. Then I no longer care. I let go, losing
myself in the currents of passion and gentle affection.
TWENTY-SIX
In the morning Davidge comes to my quarters. I expect him to make some comment regarding Falna’s presence and demonstrations of affection for me, but the human says nothing. Falna gets tea for all of us as, from my couch, I tell Davidge the story of the two clawed creatures and the creature who was small and soft. I tell him the story about King Jax, Lord Nuba, and the nest master. I tell him the story of the United States of Earth, the Dracon Chamber, and a politician who perceived a threat to its people, Hissied ‘do Timan. I tell him the Duoa Jreal, or Insanity Stories, of Mijii of Sindie who burned its own people, of the Zealots of Masada on Earth who slew themselves, of the Balkan, Irish, and Middle East tribal self-immolations. After telling the Timan stories to Davidge, he studies the inside of emptiness for a long time. “So,” he says at last, “how do we get the scorpions to stop fighting?”
I do not know what scorpions are, but I assume Davidge is referring to the clawed creatures in the Timan parable. “I do not think we can,” I answer.
“Can we get the two scorpions to go after the puffball again?” He glances at me, his forehead growing a frown. “Ro, I have never seen you look so strange.”
I hide my face by looking at the image of the log fire. “I think I am coming to appreciate how easily war can be started, and, once begun, how hard it can be to stop.” I look back at the human. “We can’t get the scorpions to go after the puffball, as you put it. The puffball, Hissied ‘do Timan, is dead.”
Falna places my tea in front of me, glances at Davidge, and says, “The original reasons for the fighting have little to do with what is going on now, Uncle. Hissied ‘do Timan provided direction and a spark. The holocaust no longer needs the match for its existence.”
Davidge frowns and looks from Falna to me. “Explain.”
In my mind I pick at the reasons I had for fighting. “I think that with the very first act of violence all of the motives changed and the reasons for continuing the war multiplied. If l ever knew the original reason for the fighting on Amadeen, it is nothing compared to all of the new reasons which are added to daily. The original causes were less than memories before I was born.”
“Hissied managed to get the USE and the Dracon Chamber to colonize Amadeen within a few months of each other,” says Falna. “Then, after a few years, he arranged a land dispute and some―what do they call it on Earth―hemp justice. The other side retaliated, then the whole thing was fed by they killed my parent and they destroyed my village.”
I nod and continue with, “And they tortured and killed my friends, my lovers…” I shake my head as old feelings splash into my heart. “I wasn’t fighting because of any mining rights or land disputes. I fought because―so many deaths, so many horrors.” I look at Davidge and say, “I fought because it was the only way to fight back.”
As I say it I know it is insane. The insanity, though, makes the reason no less real, no less powerful. I feel Falna’s comforting hand on my shoulder. As I place my own hand atop Falna’s, Davidge looks away and again explores emptiness with his gaze.
“What is it, Uncle?” asks Falna.
Davidge lifts his hands slightly and lets them drop to the armrests of his chair. “I don’t know. All along I’ve been looking for this magic linchpin that holds everything together. Yank it and we find out who’s trying to kill us and discredit the Koda Nusinda, the solution to the fighting on Amadeen pops up, and we can all go home. Everyone has a motive, though. The Timans want the Koda Nusinda thrown out to keep their secret about the war.”
“And about how they survive,” I add.
“What about Earth IMPEX?” asks Falna.
Davidge shakes his head. “IMPEX has no motive whatsoever, but there is a political party headquartered on Earth called Black October.” He glances at Falna, “Did you ever hear of it?”
Without removing its hand from my shoulder, Falna says, “Certainly. It’s the fourth largest party in the USE-aligned planets.” Falna looks down at me. “Black October’s principle objective is to throw out the USE-Dracon Treaty and reenter the fighting on Amadeen supporting the Amadeen Front.”
“Kita got a subspace message from Sanda a little while ago,” interrupted Davidge. “It looks like Michael Hill might have been a member of Black October. It’s possible, as well, the drill he was using is a forgery. Sanda’s been in touch with the Karnarak and it looks as though the circuit board from the unit in the cave doesn’t match any of the Nisak designs.”
“What about the Dracs?” I ask.
I look at Davidge and he is looking at Falna. Removing its hand from my shoulder, Falna sits next to me on the couch and says, “Yes, there is opposition to the Koda Nusinda in the Jetai Diea. It’s small in numbers but vehement in its refusal to have a human-written book in The Talman. Some of their arguments are quite compelling. I was on Earth during most of the debate, however.”
“Did you vote?”
“Of course. It was by absentee ballot because I couldn’t leave my studies. I voted to accept The Eyes of Joanne Nicole as the Koda Nusinda.”
Davidge stands and thrusts his hands into his jacket pockets. “So everybody has a motive and none of the motives tie directly into the reasons why the fighting continues on Amadeen. The fighting fuels itself regardless of what goes on in the rest of the universe; regardless of what we find out about who is trying to kill us.” He rakes an eyebrow at me. “Yazi Ro, I’m beginning to suspect that Shiggy and that Jetah on Amadeen, Zenak Abi, bit off more than we can chew.”
The Dakiz’s image hovers over the nest as ghost images of planets and armies drift through our awareness. “A threat that can be divided against itself is rendered a threat no longer. A galaxy-wide coalition of tribes can be divided by the differences between its members: species, beliefs, origins, objectives, allegiances, interests, anything unimportant that can he made to appear important to them.”
Step by carefully plotted step we see a unified force cracked then shattered by racism, religious bigotry, political intolerance, and class bias, all the forms of tribal loyalty. How easy it seems, yet there are forces that either cannot be divided ( very rare), or are more efficiently dealt with by drawing them into conflict with a third party.
A powerful species of adventurers, explorers, warriors, and profit-seekers, colonizers of two hundred worlds, are within a few days of racehome and are being considered for membership in the quadrant federation. Their numbers, their power, wealth, energy, and designs could eclipse racehome and drown out racehome’s voice in the quadrant assembly within a generation. The threat is, in this case, so huge and so powerful that dividing it risks producing multiple threats.
Far from racehome there is another species of powerful, wealthy adventurers and profit-seekers. Can their separate designs and interests be led into a conflict of such a nature that the wealth, power, and numbers of both species are reduced to insignificance?
To the Dakiz I send a thought: “The Timans deplore the actions of Hissied ‘do Timan in creating the USE-Draco War, yet his crime is used as a lesson in the Ri Mou Tavii ?”
The Dakiz responds, “In your own Talman, Yazi Ro, it is written: ‘Are we to ignore a truth revealed through crime because it is somehow tainted, somehow less than truth? Nonsense. Truth is truth. The crime is to ignore truth.”
Joanne Nicole had the sight to detect the hand behind the war. She caught Hissied ‘do Timan by surprise and foiled his plans to secure Timan influence in the quadrant by destroying both Dracs and humans. Had he allowed himself to see the blind woman’s role in the negotiations, he could have prepared better. He did attempt to manipulate another into killing her, but the one who took on the mission to kill Joanne Nicole didn’t expect her to fight back. After all, she was blind and helpless. The attempt at murder failed.
In the village I see Davidge and Kita walking around the reflection pool in the common chamber. Among the strange trees and shrubs are several unfamiliar be
ings. Three are Dracs, one is human, and four are Vikaans, am curious about their reasons for being here, but I have no desire to meet anyone new. There is a refreshment lounge off the common and I enter it to get some brewed tea and to look for Falna.
Eli Moss and Reaper are sitting in comfortable chairs holding large glasses containing a beverage that resembles carbonated human urine. When he notices me, the captain turns off the newsscreen in the cubicle and points toward a chair facing his. I sit in the chair, a human waiter takes my order, and I am left looking at Eli Moss and Reaper. I am not much of one for making conversation, but that responsibility is lifted from me.
“What in the hell are you people doing here?” asks Moss. Before I can attempt an answer, he waves a hand and continues. “Murder investigations, wheeling and dealing with Timan Nisak, whatever it is that Estone Falna is doing besides patting your fanny, and you? Going to school?”
“You are drunk.”
Moss nods. “That explains what I’m doing here. Now, what’re you people doing here?”
Reaper, not quite as intoxicated as his captain, leans toward me. “I tried to tell him about Amadeen―”
The waiter brings my tea and places it on the small table to my right. I forget to thank him as I look at Eli Moss’s smirking face. “What we are doing here is trying to stop a war.”
“A war?”
“That’s right.” I sip at my tea, noticing from my increasing anger that I have not quite achieved the ideal of Timan reserve.
Moss frowns as he looks at Brandt. “That’s what you said, Reaper.” His eyebrows go up and he wags a finger at me. “What war? There hasn’t been a war here for hundreds of years.”
“Amadeen. We’re here to stop the war on Amadeen.”
Moss laughs out loud. “Amadeen?” He lurches to his feet, looks at the timepiece strapped to his wrist, then turns around and points toward a potted imitation tree. “Amadeen’s that way.”
Davidge and Kita come up to the cubicle, and before they can say anything, Moss points again at the fake tree and says. “Amadeen is thataway.” With that Captain Moss finishes off his beverage, puts down the glass on a table, and brushes past Davidge on his way to the quarters wing.
Enemy Papers Page 55