Barry Longyear - Enemy Papers

"To what does the work of this unknown Jetah master apply?" asks lbisoh without looking at me.

I put aside several comments and answer. "War,"

"War, indeed." The clerk’s eyebrows rise as it glances at me, "What is it that you do, Yazi Ro?" it asks, condescension dripping from every syllable.

"Someday very soon I would like to show you."

"Indeed," the clerk says as it glances at me with a frown. In a moment the wall of arrogance repairs itself. "And the reason the Jetai Diea might possibly find this work on war of interest?"

I want to take that clerk’s superior demeanor and grind it off with the treads of an Amadeen Front tank. I look away, wrestle my wrath down to mere hostility, and return my gaze to lbisoh. "I imagine the only interest any of you will find in Zenak Abi’s work is in how much energy the recycled remains of this pack of papers possesses. Give me a receipt to show I delivered it."

I see a touch of fear in the clerk’s eyes rapidly replaced by contempt. lbisoh fingers some panel that flashes different colored plates and produces a small sheet of transparent film. The clerk picks up the film and hands it to me. I look at it and there is an almost invisible dot in its center. "What is this?"

"Your receipt." That smug look appears again. "You can read it with any modern computer or compatible reader."

I point to the inkstone and scriber on Ibisoh’s desk. "Write me something on a piece of paper. The one who must read this has no modern computers or compatible readers."

The clerk looks at the scriber and laughs out loud. "Yazi Ro, honored visitor to this hall, this stone and scriber are antiques. I have them here only for decoration."

I no longer attempt to keep the impatience from my voice. "Then write with something else, Hidik lbisoh, if handwriting is numbered among your vast array of skills."

"Perhaps I can help," says a gentle voice from behind me. I turn and see a tall Drac wearing a dark blue robe edged with silver. On one of its fingers it wears a ring after the fashion of the humans. The Drac’s expression is one of detachment yet helpfulness. Behind it are four more Dracs, two of them carrying a small gray case each, the remaining two carrying weapons.

Hidik Ibisoh jumps to its feet, snaps out an abrupt bow, and says, "My many apologies, Ovjetah. Honored as I am to see you, this…person requires a handwritten receipt and I have nothing here with which to produce such a document."

Ovjetah. There is only one creature in the universe allowed to carry that title: master of masters, presiding Jetah of the Jetai Diea, First Jetah of the Talman Kovah. One of its predecessors, Tora Soam, helped seal the fate of Amadeen thirty years ago. The two Dracs with the weapons concentrate their attention on me. The Ovjetah reaches out a hand and one of its assistants places a modern scriber into it. The powerful Drac in the dark blue robe hands the writing instrument to Hidik Ibisoh, who takes it with trembling fingers. "Do you need paper, as well?"

"Yes, Ovjetah. I would appreciate some paper. My thanks." lbisoh looks close to death from embarrassment. One of the Ovjetah’s assistants hands the clerk a pad of paper and informs Ibisoh that it may keep both the paper and the scriber.

Ibisoh bows again, sits, and begins writing out my receipt, its face darker still from embarrassment.

The Ovjetah faces me, bows slightly, and says, "I am Jeriba Shigan. As my Uncle Willy would say, welcome to my store."

I frown at the word "uncle," the human name for a parent’s brother. Still, I bow in response to the greeting. "Yazi Ro, Ovjetah."

"The greeting comes hard to you, Yazi Ro."

I stand and nod to Shigan, "Bowing is not the custom on Amadeen."

It is as though an electric current passes through the beings at Hidik Ibisoh’s kiosk. The two guards advance their weapons in my direction, and although they are not aimed directly at me, it would take only a slight degree of movement for me to split their sights. Jeriba Shigan shifts its gaze to the clerk and Hidik Ibisoh lifts Zenak’s package. "Yazi Ro came to present the work of Jetah Zenak Abi to the Jetai Diea. Its work concerns war," Ibisoh concludes lamely.

The Ovjetah studies me a moment longer, steps toward the kiosk, and holds out its hand. The clerk places the package in it, and Shigan turns the package, looking at it. "Zenak Abi is alive?"

"When I left Amadeen, Abi lived. The Jetah’s current state of health I do not know. It is not a certain thing on Amadeen."

"Amadeen’s uncertainty is the universe’s, Yazi Ro." Jeriba Shigan opens the package and fingers through a deck of narrow papers, each sheet crowded with tiny rows of handwriting. "Hand slips," says the Ovjetah. "I haven’t seen these since I was a child in my uncle’s cave. No electricity," Shigan explains. Looking up at me, the Ovjetah asks, "Where are you staying?"

"I am not staying. My obligations are limited to delivering that pile of papers and seeing that a copy of the Koda Nusinda gets back to Zenak Abi."

This time the Ovjetah’s brows climb in surprise. "I wasn’t aware that the existence of the Nusinda was known, nor that commerce between Amadeen and the rest of the galaxy is quite that free."

"Zenak Abi knows about the new book, and so do I. As for anyone else, I cannot say. As for communications with Amadeen, money speaks."

"The eagle squawks and money talks," says the Ovjetah. It smiles as it leafs through the handslips. "My Uncle Willy, again." Handing the papers to an assistant, Jeriba Shigan says, "Yazi Ro, despite your protests, you will be staying for a few days. If for no other reason, it will be to obtain the copy of the Koda Nusinda for your Jetah. As of this moment there are no print copies available, and I imagine Abi will need a print copy."

"Yes." I turn from Shigan, take the scriber from Hidik Ibisoh, and write on a piece of paper from my own pocket. "I am writing the name of an officer of the Tora Soam on this paper: Binas Pahvi. The ship is in for the next few days. Send the copy to Amadeen in this person’s care and it will get to Zenak Abi." I hand the paper to Jeriba Shigan. "If you give him enough money."

"Money?"

"There is a considerable amount of corruption involved in keeping the quarantine, Ovjetah. Did that not appear in the diagrams when the Talman Kovah sealed our ancestors and the humans into the hell of Amadeen ?"

Jeriba Shigan’s gaze fixes itself to my eyes. "You will remain on-planet at least until this work has been evaluated, Yazi Ro. Inform Hidik Ibisoh of your whereabouts in case you are needed. That is my order." Jeriba Shigan turns abruptly and marches into one of the several corridors that open onto the hall.

I look at the clerk. Can the Ovjetah order that?"

"Yazi Ro, Yazi Ro," says Ibisoh, shaking its head, "Jeriba Shigan is the Ovjetah of the Talman Kovah. If it decides to eat you, it is the function of the kovah, the diea, and the people of this planet to see that you appear properly cooked, garnished, and displayed on a platter at the appropriate repast." Finished tittering at its own joke, Ibisoh says, "Understand that we can find you if we need to."

I turn and leave the kovah, somehow grateful that the human with his "remember" sign is still there. I cross the street into the park and stop when I am within a pace of the human. In English I say to him, "I have just dropped off one fool’s plan for peace on Amadeen. While they chew on it they want me to stay in this city. You look like someone who can tell me where someone on a fool’s errand might find a bed for the night."

The human stares at me for a moment, then bursts into laughter. He laughs as though for the first time in many years. "You hit that nail on the head, friend." He places his hands on the turning wheels and twists the chair until it faces west. "C’mon. I know just the place."