Enemy Papers

by Barry B. Longyear

  “You only have a few.”

  “Go ahead,” Cudak urges. “I eat too many of these things as it is.”

  I eat one of the Drac candies and am transported to worlds of taste to which it would be easy to become addicted. “Thank you, Cudak. It is delicious.”

  “The least I can do for a fellow Gitohri.”

  “You are from Gitoh?”

  Cudak shrugs. “Actually from Hune, just west.”

  “I know Hune. My friend moved to Hune four years ago when the fighting on the east of Gitoh became too much for its parent.”

  Cudak frowned as it thought. “Your friend; was that Dielo Ino?”

  “Why, yes. Do you know Ino?”

  A sadness fills its face. “I did before my parent was killed and I found myself with Ravin Nis waiting for the Selector. I haven’t been back since Choi Leh chose me and I left to become another student soldier for the Okori Sikov.”

  Cudak had fought for the Mavedah, as I had, and had managed to have itself smuggled off planet through a thoroughly corrupt Mavedah gunnery officer it knew. We talked for a long time about children we had both known, Mavedah commanders we had both served under, and three of the battles we had both been in, especially Douglasville.

  Cudak talked about the wounds it had taken at Douglasville, its beloved commander who had been slain. I vaguely remember hearing of Bas Sharah’s death after my Min had been butchered. I had been in such pain, Bas Sharah’s death had hardly registered on my awareness. I could see, though, that the pain of it was still with Gay Cudak. When it was finished, and we had shared a few tears, I talked about Min and the human with the flute. After that a flood of pain burst through and I talked about it all, Avo, the Front Twelve, Pina―all of them. In time I talk of Jeriba Shigan, Matope, Koboc and my fears and doubts about the talma and my role in it. With each word I feel myself healing from the inside out. When I am done, I see in Cudak that most valuable of individuals: a friend.

  As I rise to go to bed, I place an affectionate hand on its shoulder, and wish my new friend peaceful dreams. Cudak puts the top back on its candy box and looks up at me. “There is something you should know about me, Ro.”

  “We have all done things that do not make us proud, Cudak. That is Amadeen.”

  It smiles and says, “This I think you might regard with particular distaste. You see, I’m from Draco. I’ve never been to Amadeen.”

  I stand there like a fool, my mouth open, my hand still on Cudak’s shoulder. “I don’t believe you. All of the things you said, the things you know―”

  “The quarantine force surveys.”

  I can feel my eyes growing wide as I try to talk my new friend out of this absurd belief. “What about the things I know; things the QF could not possibly know. Gitoh, Hune, Dielo Ino? The way Viknim’s grain patties tasted?”

  “Some you told me; others I guessed. Most, however, comes from the surveys. They are the most boring writers in the universe, but the data is there.”

  I pull my hand from its shoulder and it is all I can do to keep from using it upside Cudak’s head. “Why? Why all these lies? Why this game?”

  Cudak picks up the box of candy and puts it away in its drawer. I see possibly ten more boxes there. “Ro, you asked me why I don’t get some rest. Using what I have learned from my studying, I set up a context within which you felt comfortable enough to tell me your entire life story complete with feelings, names, dates, and places. There is not a significant thing about you, from your initiation into the Mavedah to your sexual adventure with Falna that I do not know. There are many more individuals to interrogate, there is still much to learn, and that is why I do not rest.”

  It returns to its computer and I move to the door and look back. “Gay Cudak, how have you managed to live as long as you have?”

  “I’m not as honest with everyone, Ro, as I have been with you. Also, I run very fast.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Amadeen. Risking my freedom, and more likely my life, to return to the only place in the universe I hate. “You’ll come back, Yazi Ro. There is nothing more certain.” I think of Zenak Abi’s curse as we finish stowing away everything and strap into our acceleration couches to wait for the flight program to begin guiding us through the quarantine force’s array of obstacles. How did that look inside my head show Abi that I would return? How could it see what I could not see in myself? Through the open hatch to the cockpit, I see a corner of Amadeen fill the front viewport and the impossibility of what we are attempting fills me with panic.

  “Okay,” says the captain’s voice through our headsets, “here we go.” The artificial gravity disengages and in the background I hear Yora counting, “Four, three, two, one, slam it!” An enormous unseen hand crushes my chest as the ship yaws sharply to the right and the acceleration of the engines begins shaking the deck and bulkheads. The deafening roar distorts the voices of Eli and Yora as my fingers dig into the couch’s armrests. Another yaw to the left, then I feel my internal organs pushing against my throat as the Aeolus rolls over into a power dive that seems to last forever. I fight my eyes open, glance into the cockpit, and gasp as I see flames through the front viewport!

  “Atmospheric friction,” yells Davidge. “It’s okay. We’re past the quarantine. You’re home.”

  Home. This burning heart of hell. Soon, though, the flames clear and we are flying above ice-covered mountains.

  Home. I have not had a home since the Battle of Gitoh. On Friendship I had allowed my fantasies to see myself in Davidge’s cave as a child, learning book and line, and all of the skills Haesni was learning: to hunt the snake, cure skins, sew, prepare food, make beds, clothes, and boots.

  Home.

  Falna had a fire set then a missile sent into the cave where it had been reared and the fantasy was over. It will still be three months before Estone Nev reaches Falna’s side at the Karnarak. Will the old Drac have the strength to strangle the life out of its namechild’s child, the end of its line? Does Falna deserve such love?

  “We’ll cross the terminator in a minute,” says the captain’s voice through the headset. I release my straps, climb off the couch, and go to the cockpit in time to see us skimming across the surface of the Shordan Sea approaching the coast, the distant Silver Mountains bathed in reds and oranges from the setting sun. According to the data from the QF surveys, Zenak Abi and its band should still be somewhere in the Silver Mountains. As we make landfall I notice smoke and thin green threads of energy knives firing toward the southeast. A short distance in from the shore is a lake next to the fighting. I recognize it: Sharing. They are fighting in Riehm Vo one more time, liberating the previously liberated town liberated previously from the other side’s liberators.

  “Better strap in, Ro,” says Yora. “We’ll put down soon.”

  I nod and go back to my couch, my heart filled with the seeming hopelessness of our task. I notice Davidge, Sally, Cudak, and Reaper also thinking to themselves in this moment before commitment. After strapping myself in and putting on my headset, I lean back, close my eyes, and try to focus on the breaths entering and leaving my body.

  “Crossing the terminator,” says Eli.

  I look over at Davidge. “Will, was the Ovjetah’s nameparent a military leader of great promise, as the Ovjetah leads at the Kovah and the Jetai Diea and Zammis leads in business?”

  The human is silent for a moment. “No. Jerry was a fighter jock, same as me. Neither of us had a list of kills to brag about. Jerry was my third.”

  “How many did Shigan have!”

  Davidge smiles. “Jerry never did say how many kills it had. I always suspected I was number one. Disappointed?”

  “I am not disappointed. Simply confused. You insist that you are just a man and that your enemy and friend was just a Drac, yet the two of you inspired the colonization of an entire planet.”

  He rubs his chin, glances at Kita, and shrugs as he again faces me. “Ro, Jerry was a very ordinary being with only one extraordinary
power: it loved. It loved life, Draco, its line, The Talman, and the child it never got to see.” His voice grows rough. “Jeriba Shigan taught me to love by loving me. Its monument is Planet Friendship and the continuation of the Jeriba line.” He turns his head and faces me. “If this talma isn’t a disaster, if we do bring about peace on Amadeen, it will be because of that love working through me, and all of us.”

  My headset crackles with Eli’s voice. “We’re over the mountains, quite a ways in from Mt. Atahd. The sensor shows a population in one of the narrow valleys down there. They don’t seem to be military units. Going in. Yora, hit the shields, just in case.”

  I feel us going down and down, each moment expecting the landing shock, each moment going down farther until I feel that we must be beneath the crust of the planet. At last comes the gentle nudge of Amadeen against the landing skids. As the engines whine down, I release my straps and go to the cockpit. I stand between Eli’s and Yora’s couches and look into the darkness through the viewport. There are several small handheld lights visible and one of the persons holding those lights turns it on its own face. I turn to the pilot. “Drop the shields and shut it down, Eli. That’s Zenak Abi.”

  The captain flips a few switches and looks up at me as he releases his straps. “Perhaps now we find out why one must be careful about what one asks for.”

  I am the first down the ramp, the familiar smell of the cold mountain air sharp in my nostrils. Zenak Abi meets me at the bottom of the ramp, still wearing its human trousers. There is a new scar upon its chin, but that same expression of poorly concealed amusement. “Welcome home, Yazi Ro. Have you finished your shopping?”

  I hand Abi a copy of the Koda Nusinda. As it takes the manuscript in its hands, I say, “My shopping is done, Jetah. I will be interested to see if any of my presents fit.”

  Zenak Abi purses its lips and looks at my comrades, its gaze stopping on Davidge. “I don’t suppose these gifts can be returned.”

  Davidge slowly shakes his head. “All sales are final, Zenak Abi.”

  The Jetah’s amused expression dissolves into something more desperate as it glances at its friends standing in the dark, and looks down at the manuscript. Its hands are trembling. “Well. I suppose we should go home and try them on.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  In its new cave, an abandoned copper mine deep in the mountains a half hour hike from where we landed, Zenak Abi and the leaders of its nomadic community assemble. In a large chamber, a number of Abi’s people stand and lean against the walls while the rest sit on crates, rocks, and the floor and listen as I recount the story of Abi’s talma, where it led me, and the plans for its implementation on Amadeen. As I talk, I see Abi’s people―both humans and Dracs―eyeing me and my comrades. By their expressions, some of them look interested. Others seem skeptical, a few look disapproving, and the rest look terrified.

  “We will be an independent force of humans and Dracs who have but one function: to render the attempted sabotage of a truce an act of absolute futility. A terrorist of Black October, Tean Sindie, or some other faction who opposes a truce will be noticed as it plans and prepares its outrage. As it moves to commit its atrocity, it will be targeted. Before it strikes, if possible, we will stop the terrorist by killing it and leaving behind signs and notices identifying us as the executioners and why we did what we did. If the act is committed before we can stop it, we will find the ones responsible and kill them, leaving behind the appropriate notices.”

  “This is how we end killing?” demands a bearded human leaning against the wall to my right.

  “No,” I answer. “This is how we end war.” I look at the faces and I feel myself smiling as I turn, face my comrades, and look back at Abi’s people.“What you all must think of us I can only imagine. Some of you were born into this community, but most of you deserted from the fighting. When I left Amadeen, I too felt myself liberated from the killing and the dying. There is a magnificent universe out there, a universe of peoples, riches, knowledge, and endless wonders, the most precious of these being peace. I have had only a taste and the last thing I wanted to do is return here to everything I hate.” I look at the Jetah sitting in its chair next to Davidge.

  “Zenak Abi put in a seed it hopes will grow into peace. Until we can establish this plant so that it can survive on its own, we are going to have to feed it blood, both yellow and red. I want this peace more than anything else in the universe. That is why I am here. You must decide for yourselves why you are here.”

  In some faces I see that I have not said enough. In others I see that I have said too much. We do not need everyone; only a few. I was so certain, though, that those who were born on Amadeen and whose parent was war would see what I see. Too many, though, are tired. They put down gun and knife, ran to the mountains, and are too weary to pick them up again.

  Zenak Abi places its hands upon the armrests of its crude chair and pushes itself up until it is standing. Without looking at its people or addressing them, Abi speaks directly to me. “I am so very proud of you, Yazi Ro. I begged the universe to grant me an answer to Amadeen’s pain, and it sent me you. Please understand our disappointment that the answer is not magic.”

  There is one dark human with black hair and a huge black mustache flecked with gray. He is carrying two young children in his arms: a Drac and a little girl. He steps away from the wall where he is standing, hands the children to Davidge and turns to me. “I am Ali Enayat. Where do I sign up?”

  Slightly dazed, I turn slowly and point toward Gay Cudak. “It has some questions, first.”

  Cudak steps out, shakes hands with Ali Enayat, and says, “Let’s go somewhere we can talk, Ali. Would you like a chocolate?” As Ali nods, Cudak continues without missing a beat. “I picked up some chocolates at the A’ja Cou Station and they just plain don’t agree with me. I can slip you a couple for the kids, too. Now, where are you from, Ali? You look like a West Dorado man.”

  “I am from Sakinah in the Western Dorado.”

  “Sakinah? I know it well…” and off they go into a side passage in which, before he knows it, Ali Enayat will spill everything he knows about everything, including that most valuable piece of information: can he be trusted. All of his answers will be entered and compared with all of the information we have on the same topics and cross-indexed according to source, location, organization, and so on. Perhaps Ali will make a good interrogator. Perhaps he might be a former member of the Front who might be able to return to the Dorado and work his way into Black October or one of the other factions. With the two children to love and care for, perhaps all Ali can do is supply information about his former neighbors, associates, and comrades, describe organization, order of battle, who holds what office, how every single soldier, officer, advisor, and copyist does its job, looks, thinks, acts, lives, its relations, and thoughts, aspirations, ambitions, fears―everything. After a few screenings the information we obtained from the QF surveys will show how reliable it is. After a few hundred, we will know enough to send agents out and begin targeting.

  Another stands, a Drac wearing black clothes and a dreary look. It walks over to me and says, “I am Mila Nin. I once ran with the Thuyo Koradar out of Navune in the Northern Shorda.”

  “Yes?”

  “I would contribute what I can. I, too, would see an end to war.” I look around and Kita is coming forward. In moments she will be offering fruit candies and a friendly ear to the former gun for the Eye of the Killer. Before she can drag off the Drac, however, Mila Nin stops, faces me, and asks, “What will you call this police force? What is its name?”

  I look at Davidge and he shrugs and faces Zenak Abi. “We couldn’t decide, so we agreed to let it be whatever we are called.”

  There are suggestions, and I am secretly thrilled that the name I love, Aydan’s Blade, comes immediately to the minds of so many of the Dracs, but that is also why it is inappropriate. The name must not say Drac or human. It must be something in between. Several of the humans
make suggestions based on the beginnings being in a copper mine, copper being one of many English names for a police officer. Those names too are inappropriate, although we do choose the number twenty-nine, the atomic number of copper, to be our sign.

  Before the night is done, eleven of those in the mine volunteer to help, as do more than three hundred of those in the surrounding mountains. Within six days Kita and Cudak have selected and trained eight more interrogators, Reaper is training a school of forty-seven agents, and more of those in the mountains come to supply information and a few more to volunteer. Ghazi Mrabet’s computer factory is in operation, already turning out a modified handheld that includes a button camera which can send digital pictures back to the net. All I do is to train the agents in weapons, but most of my students know as much about that subject as I do. They are all from Amadeen.

  To a great degree, we are all having difficulty in finding out what I should do. I have neither the memory nor the audacity required to be an interrogator. Kita and Cudak joke that I would simply eat all the candy and tell the one I am screening everything. I have a suspicion as to what I should be doing. I have killed and there was a time when it was easy. But the easy killing takes place in a rage, and that is not how our agents do their work. As Reaper remarks, “They are not angels of vengeance destroying evil. They are surgeons removing a lump.” It is something I think I can learn, but I avoid saying it in the hopes that no one else will mention it.

  In another eight days we send out our first agents: two to Black October in the Western Dorado, one to Green Fire in the Drac-occupied tip of the Southern Dorado, three to Tean Sindie in three different locations in the Shorda, and fourteen others to work themselves back into their old communities as simple villagers. Ali Enayat and Mila Nin are both agents in this first group. In another eight days we send out an additional thirty-one agents. Once they are established, all of the splinters and several of the most infamous individuals with reputations for reckless behavior have at least some coverage. In another month we expect to have regional nets recruiting and training, ever expanding our information base and our ability to respond to threats.