Barry Longyear - Enemy Papers

The place is on the outskirts of Sendievu on the banks of a waste canal servicing a number of industrial plants. The traffic from the city’s spaceport and from its two airports scream overhead regularly. The shelters on the banks of the canal are small, decaying, and in many cases thrown together from pieces of discarded rubbish. It is Amadeen without the fighting.

In this section of the city are a few beggars, a number of humans, and many Drac vemadah, those who would not fight. The vemadah are not all old, for their children willingly carry on the exile, hoping that in some future their parents' stand will be vindicated. The old human’s name is Matope. Once a professional soldier and sergeant in the USE Force Assault Infantry, he lost his legs on Amadeen. He thinks it curious that the humans treat their wounded veterans the same as the Dracs treat their traitors, for they are both discarded along with society’s waste. He allows me a corner of the room he shares with a childless Drac named Koboc. There are cushions there and a clean blanket.

Koboc was a seventh officer in the Tsien Denvedah, by reputation the elite shock troops of the Drac military. Koboc is blind and wears its red uniform jacket, now faded and threadbare. Before the war, Koboc studied in the Talman Kovah to become a Jetah master. Its studies not completed, Koboc was offered the military and chose to serve rather than carry the brand of the vemadah. In time Koboc served with the Tsien Denvedah on Amadeen. It was shortly after earning the rank of seventh officer that it determined that the war did not serve talma and resigned to the vemadah. It was while cast into the Madah on Draco that an angry citizen attacked Koboc, throwing acid into its eyes. It was later found that the one who assaulted Koboc had lost its parent and a sibling on Amadeen. Koboc pressed no charges. Koboc recites poetry of its own about peace outside theaters in the hopes of enlightenment and the occasional contribution. Zenak Abi is one of Koboc’s heroes and the vemadah refuses to rest until I tell it everything I know about Abi. In doing so I tell my own tale as well.

I have my crew pay from the ship and I contribute by purchasing some food. We talk that night about Amadeen, the dead, the maimed, and the hopes of a few of those who still live. Koboc asks me who taught me my English. I tell them about my parent, about its treasure of books, all of them in English. To read them, as a child my parent learned English from Front prisoners.

When Koboc and Matope sleep and visit their individual shadow hells, I look out of the window toward the Talman Kovah. I cannot see it, but the spires and domes of Sendievu form a glittering backdrop to the ponderous dark industrial buildings near the canal. Millions of beings out there, working, playing, learning, eating, loving and moving on with their lives free from thoughts of Amadeen or the dust left over from an old war. When I sleep that night I dream of Douglasville and the human with the flute.

Late in the morning I open my eyes and see that Koboc and Matope are gone. The Drac tapping its way to the theater district, the human wheeling himself to his vigil in front of the Talman Kovah. I eat some of the grain cakes from the night before, gather up my things, and leave the canal district, uncertain about where to go. My papers from the Tora Soam can get me a berth on another ship, but not if there is some kind of security alert against me. There is a part of me that feels guilty about not carrying Abi’s copy of the Koda Nusinda back to Amadeen, but returning to the nightmare seems more like insanity with each passing day.

I walk the streets of the city, see the people, look at the homes and businesses. At one moment I want to become a part of this world at peace. At the next I want to hurt them, destroy them, for their lack of pain. Near noon I am in the park across from the Talman Kovah, Again Matope is in his chair, his "remember" sign above his head. I want to tell him that he is just one more fool in an army of fools, but I cannot even convince myself of that.

I remember the captain of the Tora Soam asking me what I wanted. "More than anything else in the universe, for what does your heart crave?"

I told Aureah Vak "peace." I ask myself if it is truly peace that I want. Is it peace, or as the Talman story showed, something else? I reach up and work the catch of my Talman, dropping the tiny golden book into my palm. With the paging pin I look at the titles then turn to the Koda Itheda, Aydan and the War of Ages , the dialog with Niagat.

"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."

I look up from the tiny book and see Matope sitting beneath his sign, his unblinking gaze on the entrance to the Talman Kovah. His commitment to peace makes a slit throat a whim by comparison. Aydan, the ancient Jetah master who made war into a science, would have granted Matope a warmaster’s blade. Blind Koboc the poet would rate a blade, as well. But are you worthy, Yazi Ro? You who want to shake the dust of Amadeen from your feet? You who dream of painted houses, full food bowls, and children who sleep without nightmares? You who would take a ship to strange worlds and live a life of adventure, joy, and profit? Are you worthy, Yazi Ro? What do you want: peace or to live in peace?

Zenak Abi looked into my mind and saw me delivering its work to the Jetai Diea and saw me returning to Amadeen, its copy of the Koda Nusinda in hand. Somehow I feel that all of the questions I have are already asked and answered,

"I have the sharp edge at my throat, Aydan," I whisper as I walk toward the entrance to the kovah. "Where is my blade?"

As I enter the kovah, the hall is a nest of harried students, administrative and security personnel, as well as Jetah masters rushing this way and that, some shouting, some not, all with worried faces. One of the masters stops in mid-frenzy, stares at me for a moment, and asks, "Apologies, stranger. Are you called Yazi Ro?'

I manage to get out a single nod and the Jetah grabs my arm and pulls me toward a hall. "This way! This way! The Ovjetah has been waiting!"

I pull my arm free but continue to follow. "Your name?" I ask.

"Vidoz Ru," says the Jetah. "Please hurry."

We reach the end of the hall and I follow the Jetah into a car where we continue to stand as the doors close and the vehicle accelerates and shoots deep beneath the street level of the city. Jetah Ru looks at me and demands, "Where have you been? The locator has been out since before midnight."