Barry Longyear - Enemy Papers

IS GOOD. ME FIRST?

"Go."

PEOPLE MINE… OPPRESSED. ALWAYS. OUR GOVERNMENT OR OTHERS, NO DIFFERENCE IT MAKES. REVOLUTIONS. MANY, BUT NO DIFFERENCE IT MAKES.

Al scratched his head, trying to think of a dustball in political turmoil. Might be Garnetsid, but, no; the Bear said he has only one head. He keyed his mike. "Long ago, we had a revolution. But we are free. The wars are all behind us. We can pretty much choose what we want to be, and we’re well off. Wealthy. I own my own ship."

AH! IS GOOD. I GUESS NOW. MINTAKA TWELVE?

"Negative, Big Bear. I’ll go first with economy. I said we were wealthy. I bet we’re the financial center of our quadrant."

NOT IS MINTAKA TWELVE?

"Negative on Mintaka Twelve." Al chuckled. He’d caught several drivers on Mintaka Twelve.

NO UNDERSTAND. THIS GOOD. MY BEINGS POOR ON PLANET MINE. FOR REASON, GO TO QUADRANT TWENTY AND FIVE BUY WEAPONS NOW. YOU GUESS LADLE NOW?

Al slapped his knee. "It has to be Sadr Five, Big Bear. Right?"

NEGATIVE, LADLE. GUESS ANOTHER TIME?

Al frowned at the static in the transmission. "I’m out of guesses, Big Bear. Say, how do you read?"

EYES. TWO.

Al sighed. "Your reception. Is it getting weak?"

FOUR AND SOME, LADLE.

"I guess this is it. You give up?"

YOU?

"Affirmative, Big Bear, I don’t get stumped very often. What’s your planet?"

EARTH. THIRD IN SYSTEM OF SOL.

"That can’t… Big Bear, go off translator and retransmit." Al frowned at his speaker.

TIERRA.

Are you… Spanish?"

MEJICANO… HABLA INGLES? POR QUE?

"I’m from Earth. North America."

GRINGO?

"Yeah, wetback. I guess it’s how you look at it."

SI.

"Small galaxy, isn’t it ?"

ES VERDAD… ADIOS.

"Yeah… good-bye, Big Bear." Al shrugged and adjusted the frequency. "This is the Big Dip on two-two-one point eight…"

THE MERCIFUL END

Predictable, pointless, perfidious, poop—there is absolutely nothing you can say about "Darkness" that I have not already said to myself (which was only somewhat more brutal than what the rejection slips said).

My amusement with misunderstandings in translation had been exercised earlier in my story, "The Slick Gentlemen," one of the tales of the original star circus that eventually crashed on the planet Momus (the circus, not the story). This story had its language fun from several angles. First was circus lingo, the jargon spoken by the employees of O’Hara’s Greater Shows. This was complicated somewhat by aliens being part of the company, and was complicated further by the even more alien aliens for which the show performed. We enter the story where Warts, the keeper of the show’s route book, has a crisis of conscience and decides to turn in John J. O’Hara and the show to the police because the show is crawling with pickpockets, grifters, and scam artists who paid O’Hara a very large sum for the privilege of fleecing the inhabitants of Planet Chyteew, all of whom had never before seen a circus. The more Warts sees of the "slick gentlemen," the less he likes them.

Boston Beau Dancer decided to join us on our trip planetside "to size up the local sucker stock" as he put it. No one on the Baraboo , except the advance and the route man, had ever been to Chyteew before, and Boston Beau wanted to get the lay of the land. Fish Face and I were friendly because we didn’t want to give ourselves away. It was not easy. At the lot near Marthaan, we bid Tick Tock good-bye, then the three of us set out on foot toward the tall buildings. The Asthu, the natives ruling Chyteew, are built along the general proportions of an ostrich egg, although considerably taller, and with thick, blunt-toed legs and thin, four-fingered arms. Several times, walking down one of the many business malls in Marthaan, Boston Beau deliberately stepped in front of one of the egg-shaped creatures. The Asthu would bump into Boston Beau, utter a rapid, incomprehensible apology, then waddle on.

Boston Beau would grin and mutter "Ripe. So ripe."

I frowned at him after he had bumped into his fourth pedestrian. "Why are you doing that?"

He cocked his head at the push of the crowd working its way into a business exchange. "Look at their eyes, Warts. Small and practically at the sides of their round head-ends. They can’t see directly in front. Can you imagine what a man like Jack Jack [a card shark] can do to these people?" He cackled, then waved goodbye to us as he followed the push into the business exchange. "I think I’ll check out what they like to do with their credits."

We waved back, then I stopped Fish Face and turned toward him. "Can you imagine what Boston Beau’s gang will do here?"

Fish Face nodded without changing expression. Then he pointed toward one of the creatures dressed in white belts who appeared to be directing foot traffic at one of the mall intersections. I felt slightly sick when I realized that the Asthu needed traffic cops to keep pedestrians from running into each other. "There’s a copper. Let’s find out where his station is."

We walked up to the egg in white belts and I began. "Could you tell me where the police station is?"

I was standing directly in front of the officer, and he rotated until he brought one of his eyes around to face me. It went wide, then he staggered backward a step. "Mig ballooma!"

"Police station?" I tried again.

Slightly recovered, the officer took a step toward us, scanned with one eye, then the other. "Egger bley sirkis."

"What?"

The officer pointed at me, then at Fish Face. "Sirkis, sirkis, dether et?"

Fish Face poked me in the arm. "Listen, he’s saying circus. " The tiny mouth on the egg rapidly became much larger, then the entire body dipped back and forth, "Sirkis! Sirkis!" As the bodies began piling up at the intersection, the officer reached beneath one of his white belts and pulled out a red and white card. "Sirkis!"

I looked at it, then turned to Fish Face. "It’s an advanced reserve ticket for the show." I turned back to the officer and nodded. "Yes, circus. Police station?"

He tucked the card back under his belt, then held up his hands.

"Nethy bleu et poleece stayshun duma?" A lane of traffic mistook the officer’s hand gesture for a signal and began piling into the cross-lane flow. "Gaavuuk!" The officer scanned around once, then waded into the bodies, shouting, pointing, and shoving. After a few minutes of this, traffic began flowing again, and the officer returned. He pointed at a door a few paces from the corner. "Agwug, tuwhap thubba."

I pointed in the direction of the door. "Police station?"

He held up his arms again in that gesture that was probably a shrug, thereby causing the halted lane to pile into the cross-lane again. "Ah, gaavuuk! Nee gaavuuk!" Back he went to untangle the bodies. Fish Face pulled at my arm and pointed at the door.

"I think we better go before the copper comes back. Think that’s the station?"

I shrugged. "Let’s try it anyway." We walked the few steps to the door. On the door was painted a variety of incomprehensible lines, dots, squiggles, and smears. Toward the bottom was spelled out, "English Spoke Hear." I nodded, then turned to Fish Face. "It’s an interpreter." I pushed open the door and we entered a cramped, windowless stall. In the back, behind a low counter, one of the egg-shaped creatures was leaning in a corner.

Fish Face tapped me on the shoulder. "Is he asleep?"

I walked over to the counter and tapped on it. "Excuse me?" No response. I knocked harder. "Excuse me, do you speak English?"

The egg opened the eye facing me, started a bit, blinked, then went big in the mouth. "Sirkis!" He stood and reached under the wide brown belt he wore and pulled out an advanced reserve ticket. "Sirkis!"