Barry Longyear - Enemy Papers

Before first watch every cycle Aureah Vak comes to the armory to clean, oil, and test its sidearm and the small pistol it keeps in a hidden boot holster. Both weapons are human projectile pieces. Vak will not let me touch its weapons although the cleaning and repair of such things is supposed to be my work. As one weapon is disassembled for cleaning and inspection, the other is loaded, cocked and on the workbench close to Aureah Vak’s hand.

Vak’s gaze never leaves the weapon it is cleaning, but I am certain the captain knows exactly where I am and what I am doing. On the captain’s fifth visit, it speaks beyond its usual curt greeting. "There is something familiar about you, Yazi Ro. Do you remember meeting me prior to this flight?"

"No, captain," I answer.

"Strange. You are too young, but it is almost as if you were one of my comrades in the Tsien Denvedah as we died on Amadeen." I say nothing as its gaze moves until it stops on me. "Were you in the fight against the pirates around the Aakava System four years ago?" Without waiting for a response, the captain looks back at the cleaning bench and finishes assembling its weapon as it says, "There are stories about members of the quarantine patrol and command smuggling certain humans and Dracs off Amadeen. The smugglers do not care about the species, as long as the price is paid."

Vak loads the weapon, cocks it, and places it next to its small pistol. Reaching over to the small pistol, Vak takes the pressure off the hammer, removes the clip, and ejects the round from the chamber. In a moment the gun is so many pieces undergoing cleaning and inspection. I am certain that the captain knows the truth about me, and there is no purpose to be served in running or killing the captain, supposing that could be done. Still, I say nothing. It is Vak’s game and I let it make the moves.

"What you want, Yazi Ro?"

"Want, Captain?"

The pilot’s eyes glare at me. "You are not stupid, denmavedah." Now I know it knows. "Answer me my question, Ro. More than anything else in the universe, for what does your heart crave?"

It matters not if I reveal myself to this one. Vak knows about me. What it does not know is how the endless fire of Amadeen has left me. The word is strange in my mouth. "Peace. More than anything else my heart craves peace."

The captain’s aged brow ascends as Vak looks at me with surprise on its face. "Not vengeance? Have you lost no friends? No family? Was there no one you loved?"

I stare at the deck as waves of images assault my mind. My parent, so many comrades, the last of the Twelve. And someone―another one―I loved.

Night patrol near Douglasville on Dorado’s southern coast. Lota Min crawling ahead, I following. Japu wanted us to probe the enemy position and search for a weakness. In the dirt, knees and elbows raw. Then it happens. One of us makes a noise or crawls too close to a Front listening post. Perhaps a remote probe. The humans, sometimes they begin firing to keep us awake or on the off chance that someone might be near their positions. Very wasteful of ammunition, but this time they catch us.

The sky fills with blinding white fire crossed with the bright green streaks of human tracers, the deafening crunch of sonic warheads. Dazed, half blinded by the flares, I see Min crawling into a crater using only its arms. A roar fills my hearing as I see the destruction of a beam disrupter racing toward me. A huge hand comes from above and flattens me into the dirt. In panic I crawl toward the crater, the beam disrupter sizzling the air above the back of my neck. At the lip of the crater a sonic warhead exploding drives my mind into darkness.

There are worlds to move before I can open my eyes. Dirt from my face, something heavy across my legs. I can feel something sharp digging into my back. My arms and hands are numb but I manage to clear the dirt from my eyes. My helmet is gone. I open my eyes and see the stars looking back at me. There are no flares, no firing, nothing but a slight breeze from the distant shore and the rasp of Min’s breaths. There is the twisted barrel of a weapon blotting out some of the stars, its cooling vanes crumpled like so much foil. I turn my head and see that its tracked undercarriage shares the crater with us. I turn to look at the weight on my legs.

Lota Min’s body is lying across me. Min’s head is back, its eyes closed. I struggle until I get my arms to push me up until I am sitting. I whisper Min’s name but I hear nothing but the breaths, raw and rapid. I gently hold Min’s head as I move my legs from beneath it. As I move I pray to the universe to keep Min from crying out. The universe answers and Min seems to take no notice of the movement. My legs free, I lower its head to the ground, crawl to the side of the crater, and crouch to see the surrounding terrain.

Slowly I move my gaze around, peering into shadows, watching for lights, movement, differences in the night’s weave. I move to the other side of the artillery piece and look again.

"Ro."

Min’s voice is weak, my name on its lips a blade into my heart. "Ro?"

I look around once more then crawl to Min’s side. "Be still. We are not safe."

I look over Min’s body. Below its waist, centered on its groin, there is a hole as large as my head. It is as though a great hand had scooped out Min’s reproductive organs and the tops of its thighs. The light from the stars reflects from the surface of the blood pooling there. There are tears on my face as I raise a hand and stupidly hold it in the air, not knowing what to do.

"Yazi Ro. I have so much pain. Am I hurt badly?"

"Oh, Min." I have no proper bandages. Nothing but the filthy scarf I wear around my neck. I pull it loose and stuff it into the wound.

"The truth." Min grabs my arm and squeezes it gently. "The truth, Ro."

Badly? My eyes fog with the tears. This one time the entities who dispense fairness and injustice must soften and change this absurd result. But what did that human say about the negotiations: If nothing changes, nothing changes.

"You are hurt, Min. You―" I cannot say it. I have said the words so many times to strangers, comrades, friends, lovers, even to a few humans.

Min whispers, "I am dying"

"Yes."

"Where is happy paste when you need it?" it gasps. I place my hand over Min’s as I see its other hand steal to the Talman hanging from its neck. "Not now," Min pleads. "There are too many things unsaid, undone. Not now."

All I can do is hold its hand, perhaps say one of the unsaid. "You take my love and my heart with you, Min."

"Do not leave me, Ro."

Before I can answer, there is a noise. Nothing subtle, no slight change on the wind this. It is a note followed by another, the music soft, haunting. The notes move across the battlefield, into the shadows and depressions, each sound drenched in tears and blood. I am immersed in sadness, yet I push it aside to let my fear stretch its wings. It is, after all, a human playing the sad wooden pipe.

Min opens its mouth to ask about the sound, but I touch my finger to its lips and whisper, "Silence. The humans are very close."

The song on the pipe is beautiful in its suffering. The musician’s tears caress each note as it steals out over the broken land. The human has lost someone and I find myself aching for the creature’s pain.

The notes grow louder and Min grasps my harness at the throat and pulls me down until its lips are close to my ear. "You have my love, Ro." Min brushes my ear with its lips. "Go now. Hide."

Min releases my harness, I brush its face with my lips, and begin to crawl toward the savaged artillery piece, picking up my helmet as I move.

Perhaps the musician, absorbed in the sad song, will pass us by. Beneath the carriage of the destroyed weapon I put on my helmet, adjust the sensor, and watch the rim of the crater. Soon a head appears, the body beneath it propelling it tangent to the crater. Closer and in my sensor I see the human from the waist up. It is a male in full combat armor. The armor is scarred and painted black with streaks, dots, and broken lines in orange, brown, and turquoise. Around the man’s neck is a small beaded bag with a primitive design of a bird on it. The human has a Drac energy knife slung on his back. Both of his hands play the wooden pipe into which he blows. There is a leather cord leading from the pipe to his neck.