Barry Longyear - Enemy Papers

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."

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 hand-held 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.