The Enemy Papers Page 45

  "I am not staying. My obligations are limited to delivering that pile of papers and seeing that a copy of the Koda Nusinda gets back to Zenak Abi."

  This time the Ovjetah's brows climb in surprise. "I wasn't aware that the existence of the Nusinda was known, nor that commerce between Amadeen and the rest of the galaxy is quite that free."

  "Zenak Abi knows about the new book, and so do I. As for anyone else, I cannot say. As for communications with Amadeen, money speaks."

  "The eagle squawks and money talks," says the Ovjetah. It smiles as it leafs through the handslips. "My Uncle Willy, again." Handing the papers to an assistant, Jeriba Shigan says, "Yazi Ro, despite your protests, you will be staying for a few days. If for no other reason, it will be to obtain the copy of the Koda Nusinda for your Jetah. As of this moment there are no print copies available, and I imagine Abi will need a print copy."

  "Yes." I turn from Shigan, take the scriber from Hidik Ibisoh, and write on a piece of paper from my own pocket. "I am writing the name of an officer of the Tora Soam on this paper: Binas Pahvi. The ship is in for the next few days. Send the copy to Amadeen in this person's care and it will get to Zenak Abi." I hand the paper to Jeriba Shigan. "If you give him enough money."

  "Money?"

  "There is a considerable amount of corruption involved in keeping the quarantine, Ovjetah. Did that not appear in the diagrams when the Talman Kovah sealed our ancestors and the humans into the hell of Amadeen ?"

  Jeriba Shigan's gaze fixes itself to my eyes. "You will remain on-planet at least until this work has been evaluated, Yazi Ro. Inform Hidik Ibisoh of your whereabouts in case you are needed. That is my order." Jeriba Shigan turns abruptly and marches into one of the several corridors that open onto the hall.

  I look at the clerk. Can the Ovjetah order that?"

  "Yazi Ro, Yazi Ro," says Ibisoh, shaking its head, "Jeriba Shigan is the Ovjetah of the Talman Kovah. If it decides to eat you, it is the function of the kovah, the diea, and the people of this planet to see that you appear properly cooked, garnished, and displayed on a platter at the appropriate repast." Finished tittering at its own joke, Ibisoh says, "Understand that we can find you if we need to."

  I turn and leave the kovah, somehow grateful that the human with his "remember" sign is still there. I cross the street into the park and stop when I am within a pace of the human. In English I say to him, "I have just dropped off one fool's plan for peace on Amadeen. While they chew on it they want me to stay in this city. You look like someone who can tell me where someone on a fool's errand might find a bed for the night."

  The human stares at me for a moment, then bursts into laughter. He laughs as though for the first time in many years. "You hit that nail on the head, friend." He places his hands on the turning wheels and twists the chair until it faces west. "C'mon. I know just the place."

  The place is on the outskirts of Sendievu on the banks of a waste canal servicing a number of industrial plants. The traffic from the city's spaceport and from its two airports scream overhead regularly. The shelters on the banks of the canal are small, decaying, and in many cases thrown together from pieces of discarded rubbish. It is Amadeen without the fighting.

  In this section of the city are a few beggars, a number of humans, and many Drac vemadah, those who would not fight. The vemadah are not all old, for their children willingly carry on the exile, hoping that in some future their parents' stand will be vindicated. The old human's name is Matope. Once a professional soldier and sergeant in the USE Force Assault Infantry, he lost his legs on Amadeen. He thinks it curious that the humans treat their wounded veterans the same as the Dracs treat their traitors, for they are both discarded along with society's waste. He allows me a corner of the room he shares with a childless Drac named Koboc. There are cushions there and a clean blanket.

  Koboc was a seventh officer in the Tsien Denvedah, by reputation the elite shock troops of the Drac military. Koboc is blind and wears its red uniform jacket, now faded and threadbare. Before the war, Koboc studied in the Talman Kovah to become a Jetah master. Its studies not completed, Koboc was offered the military and chose to serve rather than carry the brand of the vemadah. In time Koboc served with the Tsien Denvedah on Amadeen. It was shortly after earning the rank of seventh officer that it determined that the war did not serve talma and resigned to the vemadah. It was while cast into the Madah on Draco that an angry citizen attacked Koboc, throwing acid into its eyes. It was later found that the one who assaulted Koboc had lost its parent and a sibling on Amadeen. Koboc pressed no charges. Koboc recites poetry of its own about peace outside theaters in the hopes of enlightenment and the occasional contribution. Zenak Abi is one of Koboc's heroes and the vemadah refuses to rest until I tell it everything I know about Abi. In doing so I tell my own tale as well.

  I have my crew pay from the ship and I contribute by purchasing some food. We talk that night about Amadeen, the dead, the maimed, and the hopes of a few of those who still live. Koboc asks me who taught me my English. I tell them about my parent, about its treasure of books, all of them in English. To read them, as a child my parent learned English from Front prisoners.

  When Koboc and Matope sleep and visit their individual shadow hells, I look out of the window toward the Talman Kovah. I cannot see it, but the spires and domes of Sendievu form a glittering backdrop to the ponderous dark industrial buildings near the canal. Millions of beings out there, working, playing, learning, eating, loving and moving on with their lives free from thoughts of Amadeen or the dust left over from an old war. When I sleep that night I dream of Douglasville and the human with the flute.

  NINE

  Late in the morning I open my eyes and see that Koboc and Matope are gone. The Drac tapping its way to the theater district, the human wheeling himself to his vigil in front of the Talman Kovah. I eat some of the grain cakes from the night before, gather up my things, and leave the canal district, uncertain about where to go. My papers from the Tora Soam can get me a berth on another ship, but not if there is some kind of security alert against me. There is a part of me that feels guilty about not carrying Abi's copy of the Koda Nusinda back to Amadeen, but returning to the nightmare seems more like insanity with each passing day.

  I walk the streets of the city, see the people, look at the homes and businesses. At one moment I want to become a part of this world at peace. At the next I want to hurt them, destroy them, for their lack of pain. Near noon I am in the park across from the Talman Kovah, Again Matope is in his chair, his "remember" sign above his head. I want to tell him that he is just one more fool in an army of fools, but I cannot even convince myself of that.

  I remember the captain of the Tora Soam asking me what I wanted. "More than anything else in the universe, for what does your heart crave?"

  I told Aureah Vak "peace." I ask myself if it is truly peace that I want. Is it peace, or as the Talman story showed, something else? I reach up and work the catch of my Talman, dropping the tiny golden book into my palm. With the paging pin I look at the titles then turn to the Koda Itheda, Aydan and the War of Ages, the dialog with Niagat.

  "Aydan," spoke Niagat, "I would serve Heraak; I would see an end to war; I would be one of your warmasters."

  "Would you kill to achieve this, Niagat?"

  "I would kill."

  "Would you kill Heraak to achieve this?"

  "Kill Heraak, my master?" Niagat paused and considered the question. "If I cannot have both, I would see Heraak dead to see an end to war."

  "That is not what I asked."

  "And, Aydan, I would do the killing."

  "And now, Niagat, would you die to achieve this?"

  "I would risk death as does any warrior."

  "Again, Niagat, that is not my question. If an end to war can only be purchased at the certain cost of your own life, would you die by your own hand to achieve peace?"

  Niagat studied upon the thing that had been asked. "I am willing to take the gamble of battle. In this gamb
le there is the chance of seeing my goal. But my certain death, and by my own hand―there would be no chance of seeing my goal. No, I would not take my own life for this. That would be foolish. Have I passed your test?"

  "You have failed, Niagat. Your goal is not peace; your goal is to live in peace. Return when your goal is peace alone and you hold a willing knife at your own throat to achieve it. That is the price of a warmaster's blade."

  I look up from the tiny book and see Matope sitting beneath his sign, his unblinking gaze on the entrance to the Talman Kovah. His commitment to peace makes a slit throat a whim by comparison. Aydan, the ancient Jetah master who made war into a science, would have granted Matope a warmaster's blade. Blind Koboc the poet would rate a blade, as well. But are you worthy, Yazi Ro? You who want to shake the dust of Amadeen from your feet? You who dream of painted houses, full food bowls, and children who sleep without nightmares? You who would take a ship to strange worlds and live a life of adventure, joy, and profit? Are you worthy, Yazi Ro? What do you want: peace or to live in peace?

  Zenak Abi looked into my mind and saw me delivering its work to the Jetai Diea and saw me returning to Amadeen, its copy of the Koda Nusinda in hand. Somehow I feel that all of the questions I have are already asked and answered,

  "I have the sharp edge at my throat, Aydan," I whisper as I walk toward the entrance to the kovah. "Where is my blade?"

  TEN

  As I enter the kovah, the hall is a nest of harried students, administrative and security personnel, as well as Jetah masters rushing this way and that, some shouting, some not, all with worried faces. One of the masters stops in mid-frenzy, stares at me for a moment, and asks, "Apologies, stranger. Are you called Yazi Ro?'

  I manage to get out a single nod and the Jetah grabs my arm and pulls me toward a hall. "This way! This way! The Ovjetah has been waiting!"

  I pull my arm free but continue to follow. "Your name?" I ask.

  "Vidoz Ru," says the Jetah. "Please hurry."

  We reach the end of the hall and I follow the Jetah into a car where we continue to stand as the doors close and the vehicle accelerates and shoots deep beneath the street level of the city. Jetah Ru looks at me and demands, "Where have you been? The locator has been out since before midnight."

  "I stayed with friends. The clerk who was in the kiosk yesterday assured me that no one would have any trouble finding me."

  "I am certain, Yazi Ro, that you were not registered by your host."

  I shrugged, knowing as I did so that I had picked up the habit from the humans I had known. I do not regret it. Often a shrug is all the answer there is. "I did not know that it is a requirement, Jetah Ru, and I doubt that anyone even registers themselves, much less an overnight guest, in the canal district."

  The Jetah looks at me in horror as it silently mouths the words: "Canal district!" With less silence it continues. "Thieves, killers, traitors, humans, addicts twisted on happy paste―you could have been killed!"

  Before I can point out my obvious health, the car slows, stops, and the doors open revealing the gleaming white interior of a security corridor. Four armed guards watch as we stand in a blue light before the doors. Ru states its name and I follow with my name.

  "There is a knife in this one's boot, Jetah."

  "And your point is?" prompts Vidoz Ru impatiently.

  The light dims and the guard closest to the entrance gestures with its weapon toward the doors. As we approach the doors, they slide open allowing me to see blue-robed student technicians serving banks of computer instruments beneath ranks of towering screens projecting the mysterious scribbles, numbers, and diagrams dear to Talman masters.

  As we enter it I see that the chamber is huge and hewn out of the bedrock of the planet itself. In the center of the activity is a raised dais surrounded by touch panels. Seated there is Ovjetah Jeriba Shigan, its face clouded with concern. Vidoz Ru stands before the Ovjetah and mumbles something to it. Shigan stands and looks around the Jetah at me. Its look carries both relief and regret.

  "Yazi Ro, come. There is not much time." Jeriba Shigan nods its thanks to Vidoz Ru, leaves the dais, and walks rapidly toward a door, automatically followed by its two assistants and two guards. I follow and as I do so I notice everyone in the chamber looking at me. I pause long enough to return the stares. Several of them look away in embarrassment. Most do not. Somehow I feel my ghosts being stirred. I turn, see one of Shigan's assistants motioning at me to follow the Ovjetah's party through the door. Again I shrug and do as I am told.

  The Ovjetah's personal office is stark, unadorned, reminding me more of Zenak Abi's cave than the setting for such a powerful being. There is a work table, a computer terminal, and a few chairs. The uncolored bedrock of Draco's Irrveh continent forms the chamber's walls. Jeriba Shigan seats itself and looks at me, its hands clasped together. In its eyes is either fatigue or a terrible sadness. "We have been processing Zenak Abi's work all night. Most of today we have been performing the verifications, collating the peripheral effects and assessing the possible effect limits."

  I feel my brow climbing. "Ovjetah, is it important to what you wish to accomplish with me that I understand you?"

  Jeriba Shigan gestures with its hand, dismissing all. "The material you brought to us allows us to see a possible talma to peace on Amadeen."

  The Ovjetah's assistants and guards remain standing, hence I do the same. Even so, there is a question gnawing at me. "A possible course to peace was something Zenak Abi saw from its cave on Mt. Atahd."

  Shigan leans back in its chair and places its hands upon the desk. "We cannot do better here despite our facilities and the wisdom of the Jetah Diea. It is because of the nature of the problem." Shigan thinks for a moment and looks up into my eyes. "Yazi Ro, there are countless paths from the present to any desired future. To find the path or paths that will actually result in the changes necessary to produce the desired result depend on many things: logical possibility, practicality, and the decisions of the goal-choosing entities involved. Understand that paths involving logical possibility can be proven as effective or not."

  "A path is either possible or it is not," I respond.

  "Yes." Shigan crosses its legs after the manner of a human. "Paths involving practicality―the current state of applied knowledge―can also be proven as effective or not for any given point in time." The Ovjetah raises its eyebrows toward me.

  "Either something is technologically possible," I say, "or it is not."

  Shigan nods and looks at one of his assistants. "Muta, Yazi Ro exhibits a better understanding of the subject than some students we have been teaching."

  "Most discouraging," responds the assistant.

  Shigan shifts its gaze to me and motions toward one of the chairs, indicating that I should be seated. After I lower myself into the chair, somewhat surprised to find that it is constructed to human proportions, the Ovjetah continues. "The third consideration is paths involving desires, obsessions, and choices―attempting to predict what certain beings will or will not do. Such questions trade in probabilities rather than certitude. In the aggregate, behavior can be predicted with a high degree of accuracy. The accuracy decreases as there is an increase in the importance of individuals whose decisions influence or control the decisions of masses."

  "The Amadeen problem," I conclude.

  The Ovjetah nods once and says, "We cannot prove that certain paths are closed, given our present understanding of the facts. We cannot, however, prove any of them effective. All we can do is take the paths exhibiting the highest probability of effectiveness and try them." The Ovjetah smiles slightly as its eyes focus elsewhere for a moment. "Give it our best shot." Shigan again fixes me with its gaze. "I ask that you go on a mission for the Jetah Diea."

  "A mission? Me?"

  "The most probable trunk path, the one with the greatest number of possibly effective branch paths, involves you, Yazi Ro, taking a package to a human named Willis E. Davidge. He resides on an independent c
olony world in the Fyrine system."

  "I deliver the package and then?" I prompt.

  "And then we see what happens." Shigan stares at me, waiting for my answer.

  I hold my hands out, "That is all?"

  Shigan shrugs just like a human. "That is your only obligation, but no, that is not all. However, too much information from me may corrupt the path. Your source of further information will be Mr. Davidge and others."

  "I deliver this package and I am free to go wherever I choose?"

  "Yes."

  I lean forward and hold out a hand toward the Ovjetah. "After making the delivery I won't be stranded there or forced to do anything else?"

  Shigan clasps its hands over its belly. It takes a deep breath and says, "You will have an account that will compensate you for your services, and will take you wherever you may want to go if you leave Friendship. The only things you will do will be done by your own choice." The Ovjetah smiles and looks toward the assistant called Muta. "Perhaps this kid is sharper than a pound of wet leather."

  After completing this bizarre observation, Jeriba Shigan stands and steps away from its desk. "Yazi Ro, in fairness I will tell you that Zenak Abi's work includes the results of the mind fusion Abi did on you. The reason you are here is because you are the proper piece of an enormously complex puzzle. It is likely that there are pieces similar to yourself on Amadeen, but you are the only one Zenak Abi found. This is why Abi sent you to Draco and to the Jetai Diea."

  I stare at Jeriba Shigan as I reconsider my commitment to peace, the edge of Aydan's blade scratching at my throat. It is as though I am being moved through events by an unseen hand. I do not know what Abi saw when it took my mind, but it is as though I am a lock to which everyone but me possesses a key. "Am I truly free, Ovjetah? Am I free to make choices or have these choices already been made?"