Barry Longyear - Enemy Papers

When I showed my pass to the human security guards on the gate, they let me in. In the lobby and the offices I got the impression that there were no Dracs at the consulate. It was a human who eventually issued me my visa. Tall, gray, and looking down her nose at everything. She reminded me of my eighth grade English teacher. As she held my passport in her hands, she said something curious. "With all the crap you had to wade through to get this visa, Mr. Davidge, you must have very important business on Draco."

"It’s important to me."

"On your application it says that your visit is for the purpose of attending a ceremony."

"That’s right."

"What kind of ceremony?"

It wasn’t any of her business, but I’d already learned rule one for working your way through the bureaucrats: unless you have a gun, a lot of money, or some compromising pictures with a goat, give the bastards whatever they want, and with respect. "The rites of adulthood."

She handed me my passport and asked, "Is it the child of a business associate ?"

As I put the booklet in my pocket, I shook my head. "No. It’s my nephew."

I left her chewing on that one while I left her office and moved on to the next level of administrative molasses.

It took threats, bribes, and long days of filling out forms, being checked and rechecked for disease, contraband, reason for visit, filling out more forms, refilling out the forms I had already filled out, more bribes, more waiting, waiting, waiting. I was wondering if Zammis was going to die of old age before I got to see it, when someone fouled up and I found myself on the ship with all my papers in order.

On the ship, I spent most of my time in my cabin, but since the Drac stewards refused to serve me, though, I went to the ship’s lounge for my meals. I sat alone, listening to the comments about me from other booths. I had figured the path of least resistance was to pretend I didn’t understand what they were saying. It is always assumed that humans do not speak Drac. One time, though, was one time too many.

"Must we eat in the same compartment with the Irkmaan slime?"

"Look at it, how its pale skin blotches—and that evil-smelling thatch on top. Feh! The smell!"

I ground my teeth a little and kept my glance riveted to my tray. Of the three Dracs at that table, only one was shooting off its mouth. The other two were trying to be polite, but looked embarrassed. The one with the mouth started up again.

"It defies The Talman that the universe’s laws could be so corrupt as to produce a creature such as that."

I turned and faced the three Dracs sitting in the booth across the aisle from mine. My eyes sought out the skinny one with the bad attitude. In Drac, I replied: "If your line’s elders had seen fit to teach the village kiz to use contraceptives, you wouldn’t even exist." I thanked Jerry for the wisecrack and returned to my food while the two embarrassed Dracs struggled to hold the third Drac down.

Later, in my quarters, I had a visitor. It was a Drac decked out in a midnight blue uniform with two light blue diagonal stripes on its sleeves. "Willis Davidge?" it asked in heavily accented English.

"That’s right."

"My name is Atu Vi. Ship’s second officer. May I enter?"

I stood away from the cabin door and held a hand out toward a built-in seat. I took the one facing it. Once the Drac and I were settled in, I asked in Drac, "Is there a problem, Atu Vi?"

The Drac’s brow rose. "The dining steward said you spoke the language well."

"I had a good teacher, a quiet classroom, and a lot of time to learn."

Second officer Atu Vi studied me for a moment. When it was done, it asked, "Did you learn The Talman, as well?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I thought you might find some profit in reviewing the Koda Tarmeda. It was interesting meeting you." Atu Vi stood and walked from my cabin, closing the door behind it.

Koda Tarmeda, the Story of Cohneret. This was the Talman master who made a study of what it called the passions and their relationship to talma, paths of problem solving.

Passion is a creature of rules. This does not mean do not love, do not hate. It means that where your passion limits talma, you must step outside of the rules of your love and hate to allow talma to serve you.

What was the point of my outburst in the ship’s lounge, Atu Vi seemed to be asking me. How does getting into a public ass-kicking contest serve talma? And who was the Drac with the big mouth? To score on it had I driven away one who might be convinced to assist me in the achievement of my goals? Had I turned a big-mouthed bigot into an active enemy? In any event, the Drac with the mouth had complained to the captain and the captain’s second officer had dropped on by to tell me, in the most polite manner, to stick a sock in it. Good advice. As more than one Talman jetah has observed, "Knowing talma is not living talma."

As the ship was coming into Draco, I thanked Second Officer Atu Vi for its advice. The Drac studied me for a moment, then said, "Shortly after we land and the passengers disembark, a human will approach you. He is with the USE diplomatic mission and his sole purpose is to intercept you and place you on the first transportation available back to Earth. Avoid this person. There is a considerable weight of Drac authority that will support this diplomat’s efforts to send you off-planet."

I could feel my eyebrows climb. "If I could ask a question, Atu Vi. Just who was it that I insulted?"

"Masru Ahniva, retired first jetah of the Tsien Denvedah. Masru Ahniva now serves as military jetah to the Earth diplomatic mission."

"One more question, Atu Vi. Would talma be served by offering my apology to Masru Ahniva?"

The Drac smiled and answered with a question of its own: "Did Uhe need more sand?"

On Draco I avoided the fellow from the diplomatic mission, although I hated leaving him there at the spaceport knowing that he had blown it. It would be a hot time once he got back to the office. There was ground transportation, and I took a limo bus into Sindievu where I could catch another bus that went by the Jeriba estate. Both bus pilots informed me, as I came on board, that I was required to sit at the front of the bus along with the vemadah, outcasts. Most of the outcasts were vemadah because they had refused to fight in the war. There was a Vikaan and a couple of other races among the passengers, but they sat in the back with the rest of the respectable citizens.

Why the front of the bus, I asked one of the outcasts on the bus I picked up in Sindievu. The vemadah explained and it made perfect sense. The doors are located at the front, making the ride there, to a slight degree, dustier and draftier than the rear. Besides comfort, being in the rear also allows those seated there to keep an eye on the untrustworthy passengers up front. Why the back of the bus was considered second-class at one point in old American history made me wonder at the reasoning of the time. If I ever got back to Earth, I’d have to look into it.

The vemadah nodded toward the next stop, a road that left the main road and lost itself between wooded hills. It said in Drac, "You must get off here and walk that road to your destination. Stand, or the pilot will not stop for you."

I stood, and as the bus slowed I looked at the outcast. "Thank you."

It looked at me. "Do humans have vemadah?"

"Yes. Many different kinds."

"Are you vemadah on Earth?"

I thought on that for a moment, and as the bus hissed to a stop, I said, "I guess I am. You probably wouldn’t be, though."

I climbed down from the bus, the door snapped shut behind me, the vehicle dug out and was gone in a matter of seconds.