Barry Longyear - Enemy Papers

"But how, Uncle?"

I lowered my sewing to my lap and looked at Zammis. "In the spring we’re going to see where those birds were going. Maybe that’s how." I shrugged and returned to my sewing. "Maybe not. How it turns out isn’t up to us."

"Faith again, Uncle?"

"Reality, Zammis. Genuine, washable, colorfast, one hundred percent, guaranteed non-shrinkable reality, and that’s a fact."

Spring. The winter’s ice began thinning, and boots, tent, and packs were ready. We were putting the finishing touches on our new insulated suits. As Jerry had given The Talman to me to learn, the golden cube now hung around Zammis’s neck. The Drac would drop the tiny golden book from the cube and study it for hours at a time.

"Uncle?"

"What?"

"Why do Dracs speak and write in one language and the humans in another?"

I laughed. "Zammis, the humans speak and write in many languages. English is just one of them."

"How do the humans speak among themselves?"

I shrugged. "They don’t always; when they do, they use interpreters—people who can speak both languages."

"You and I speak both English and Drac; does that make us interpreters?"

"I suppose we could be, if you could ever find a human and a Drac who want to talk to each other. Remember, there’s a war going on."

"How will the war stop if they do not talk?"

"Good question. Maybe they’ll run out of ammunition or bodies to kill. I suppose they will talk, eventually."

Zammis smiled. "I think I would like to be an interpreter and help end the war." The Drac put its sewing aside and stretched out on its new mattress. Zammis had outgrown even its old mattress, which it now used for a pillow. "Uncle, do you think that we will find anybody beyond the scrub forest?"

"I hope so. If we don’t, it’ll be one hell of a long hike for nothing."

"If we find someone, will you go with me to Draco?"

"I promised your parent that I would."

"After I make my recitation, what will you do?"

I stared at the fire, a question I never asked myself smoking on the table. "I don’t know." I shrugged. "The war might keep us from getting to Draco for a long time."

"After that, what?"

"I suppose I’ll stay in the service."

Zammis propped itself up on an elbow. "Go back to being a fighter pilot?"

"Sure. That’s about all I know how to do."

"And kill Dracs?"

I put my own sewing down and studied the Drac. Things had changed since Jerry and I had slugged it out—more things than I had realized. I shook my head. "No. I probably won’t be a pilot—not a service one. Maybe I can land a job flying commercial ships." I shrugged. "Maybe the service won’t give me any choice."

Zammis sat up, was still for a moment; then it stood, walked over to my mattress, and knelt before me on the sand. "Uncle, I don’t want to leave you."

"Don’t be silly. You’ll have your own kind around you. Your grandparent, Gothig, Shigan’s siblings, their children—you’ll forget all about me."

"Will you forget about me?"

I looked into those yellow eyes, then reached out my hand and touched Zammis’s cheek. "No, I won’t forget about you. But, remember this, Zammis: you’re a Drac and I’m a human, and that’s how this part of the universe is divided."

Zammis took my hand from his cheek, spread the fingers and studied them. "Whatever happens, Uncle, I will never forget you."

The ice was gone, and the Drac and I stood in the wind-blown drizzle, packs on our backs, before the grave. Zammis was as tall as I was, which made it a little taller than Jerry. To my relief, the boots fit. Zammis hefted its pack up higher on its shoulders, then turned from the grave and looked out at the sea. I followed Zammis’s glance and watched the rollers steam in and smash on the rocks. I looked at the Drac. "What are you thinking?"

Zammis looked down, then turned toward me. "Uncle, I didn’t think of it before, but… I will miss this place."

I burst out with a laugh. "Nonsense! This place?" I slapped the Drac on the shoulder. "Why would you miss this place?"

Zammis looked back out to sea. "I have learned many things here. You have taught me many things here, Uncle. My life happened here."

"Only the beginning, Zammis. You have a life ahead of you." I nodded my head at the grave. "Say goodbye."

Zammis turned toward the grave, stood over it, then knelt to one side and began removing the rocks. After a few moments, it had exposed the hand of a skeleton with three fingers. Zammis nodded, then wept. "I am sorry. Uncle, but I had to do that. This has been nothing but a pile of rocks to me. Now it is more." Zammis replaced the rocks, then stood.

I cocked my head toward the scrub forest. "Go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute."

"Yes, Uncle."

Zammis moved off toward the naked trees, and I looked down at the grave. "What do you think of Zammis, Jerry? It’s bigger than you were. I guess snake agrees with the kid." I squatted next to the grave, picked up a small rock, and added it to the pile. "I guess this is it. We’re either going to make it to Draco, or die trying." I stood and looked at the sea. "Yeah, I guess I learned a few things here. I’ll miss it, in a way." I turned back to the grave and hefted my pack up. "Ehdevva sahn, Jeriba Shigan. So long, Jerry."

I turned and followed Zammis into the forest.

The days that followed were full of wonder for Zammis. For me the sky was still the same, dull grey, and the few variations of plant and animal life that we found were nothing remarkable. Once we got beyond the scrub forest, we climbed a gentle rise for a day, and then found ourselves on a wide, flat, endless plain. It was ankle deep in a purple weed that stained our boots the same color. The nights were still too cold for hiking, and we would hole up in the tent. Both the greased tent and suits worked well, keeping out the almost constant rain. In time there were clumps of scrub trees resembling the ones above the cave. We made camp there, giving us some relief from the winds.

Nights we slept. Days we hiked and talked and sang. I avoided teaching Zammis some of the raunchier barracks ditties I knew, but there were others. Some of them made me think. I mean, just how long had it been since anyone worked on a railroad? The song wasn’t particularly meaningful or catchy, but there it was, being sung by a Drac on a planet that never even saw a railroad. Verily, someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah, playing on the old banjo.

In response to Zammis’s question, we stopped in one of the scrub clumps, pitched the tent, and began constructing a banjo. With the end off a hollow log, some snakeskin stretched over it, a stick scraped flat for a neck, and some dried and twisted snakegut for strings, we had something that sounded like a ukulele being played underwater. I remembered how to tune a uke, but I couldn’t do more than play a few chords and pick out a couple of tunes. Back on the hike, Zammis took to the crude instrument and began picking. Soon we had music for our singing, and I broke down and taught Zammis just a couple of the not too raunchy service songs.

It was fun. More fun than I remembered ever having with anyone. If we never found a ship or anything else, I could happily spend the rest of my life hiking with Zammis, singing songs, and seeing what’s over the horizon.

One day, shortly after beginning our day’s hike, we saw it. A ship. It screamed overhead, then disappeared over the horizon before either of us could say a word. I had no doubt that the craft I had seen was in landing attitude.

"Uncle! Did it see us?"

I shook my head. "No, I doubt it. But it was landing. Do you hear? It was landing somewhere ahead."

"Uncle?"

"Let’s get moving! What is it?"