The Icarus operative - 8. Eight

Eden, one of the two inhabited moons

of Planet Halan II in the Rivulak System

Covenant Year 329

TWENTY EIGHT DAYS BEFORE THE ARREST

The lash fell on his back for the seventh time with all the strength the foreman had in his arm. Ja’rok bit his thick lips so as not to scream, the lash searing his flesh over the older scars on his dark back. He had bitten his lips so hard he could now taste his own blood. The lash fell repeatedly, but he could do nothing except wait for the punishment to finish. Every time the lash hit his skin, the pain became sharper. Tears had welled over his eyes by now, but he struggled not to let them rain down his cheeks. Still, he knew it had been the right thing to do; there was no way in hell he would’ve let the eager foreman lash Da’nya.

This time, as many others, he had taken the blame for his little sister's offense; but what had the foremen in the house expected in the first place? Da’nya was barely seven standard years old, and she was not up to serving tasks, not just yet. This time, she’d broken a piece of very expensive Paradisian porcelain –a little teacup-, and he’d told Lord Ebbenweiss it had been him who’d broken the piece by accident.

Lord Gimmer Ebenweiss, the Lord and Master of Eden, was an ill-tempered aristocrat who’d come to that moon once it had been terraformed. The Ebenweisses were famous for volunteering to settle in new colonies and Lord Gimmer had not been the exception. After all, in this little Moon, Gimmer Ebenweiss was both the owner and the master.

So, Lord Ebenweiss hadn’t really cared when Ja’rok had taken the blame for Da’nya. The Lord didn’t really give a damn who was punished, so long as somebody was; after all, slaves had to be reminded what their place was and no crime could ever go unpunished; at least, not on his moon.

It had been like that all his life and Ja’rok was used to it by now. He’d gotten used to it over time. Long ago, when he was a little boy, he used to sit down at night outside their barrack and look at the stars. He liked to imagine back then that someday, somehow, someone would take him away, to the stars. But as he grew up his childhood dreams had continued to fade away and now, upon his eighteenth birthday, were nothing but a dim memory. Now he knew he’d been born a slave and he would always be one until the day he died; even when slavery was not supposed to be legal under Covenant rule. He had also learnt, in time, that The Covenant’s arm did not seem to ever reach Eden.

With that realization, resignation had come, and he’d learnt to live with it. At least he had his mother and his little sister Da’nya with him. He would’ve died inside if what had happened to Ba’ran would happen to him too.

‘Ba’ran.’

Ba’ran had been Ja’rok’s best friend during childhood. He’d been separated from his family, when he’d been sold to a slave merchant; they said Lord Gimmer had been handsomely paid for Ba’ran. Ja’rok could still remember Ba’ran crying desperately as he was being taken away. He could still hear Ba’ran’s mother’s howls of agony.

Over the years, he’d tried very hard to forget that moment of his life, but it always came back to him. Rumor had it Ba’ran was now a sexual slave somewhere in the Phinari System, but Ja’rok had never really wanted to pay attention to it, he had opted for not thinking about Ba’ran anymore, for it would only hurt as it had hurt when he was taken away. He preferred remembering Ba’ran when he’d been his childhood friend.

The punishment finally stopped. The Edenian foreman rolled up his lash around his muscular arm.

“Let’s hope that will teach you, lowsack.” the foreman said and then spat.

The little crowd was mostly made up of slaves, though some guards had been deployed ‘just in case they were needed’. When the foreman moved to mind his own business, Ja’rok’s little sister, Da’nya, and his mother, Me’era, came in his aid. Some others, which lived in the same barrack, also came close to see if he needed help.

“Ja’rok, my son,” his mother said, her tremulous voice colored with anguish and sorrow, “Come, let me tend to your wounds.”

Da’nya didn’t say a word. Seven standards old and she pretty much understood what the life of a slave was. What her life would be ‘til the day she died. She didn’t want to speak because she wouldn’t know what to say. She hurt so much inside knowing what her mistake had cost her brother … not for the first time. She wanted to cry but she didn’t want to cry. She felt stupid, and responsible, and guilty.

As if he had read her mind, Ja’rok spoke to both his mother and sister. “I’m fine, ma’, the old scars help me not feel the pain so much. Come Da’nya, help me up.”

Da’nya came close and gave her brother her hand so as to help him up. Ma’ren, another slave from their same barrack, approached too and told Ja’rok’s mother he’d help them bring Ja’rok home, a gesture Me’era felt obliged to thank. After all, Ma’ren was not family, but a neighbor as many others.

Good thing was, they wouldn’t have to walk too far, for the barracks where very close to the main plaza, where all punishments were executed; publicly, of course, for all the other slaves to know what any mistake might cost them. Lord Gimmer did know how to manipulate people’s fears.

He looked up at the sky, as when he was a kid, and his eyes welled up with tears once again, but once again he struggled not to let them out; he did not want Da’nya or his mother to see him cry; he was, after all, the man of the family, and he had to be strong for them, especially for Da’nya who was still very young to truly understand the implications of her own life as a slave.

‘Of her own misery,’ Ja’rok thought, still struggling not to cry. ‘Of all of our misery.’

He kept walking, leaning on both Ma’ren and his mother. Close ahead he could see the barracks where they lived, long warehouse-like buildings where entire families lived crammed over each other, like insects. When he was alone, he knew, he would have the chance to let his tears run free. Just not now. Now, he had to be strong for little Da’nya and for Me’era.

********************

“Mister Marshall?” the woman sitting behind the front desk of the rural office spoke through the crowd, but nobody responded. “Mister Marshall?” she asked once again with her strong Rivulan accent, “David Marshall?”

Operative Christian Dekker, in a rather ridiculous undercover cowboy-like outfit, stood up from the line of people sitting in the stuffy environment of the little government office, realizing he was being called by his undercover name.

“Me!” he screamed, making the woman jump on her seat. “That would be me!”

The cute looking red-haired woman stood and smiled, sizing Dekker in that particular way women do when they like a man. She handed him a form and pointed at some lines as she instructed him on how to fill it out.

“Finally,” she said, rather coquetishly, “sign right here, and then give it back to me.”

Dekker looked at the woman and smiled as he nodded.

“And,” he said, leaning on the front desk, bringing his face awfully close to hers, “when can I get an answer from the patrón?

“It usually takes around a week … sometimes a bit more, Him being busy and all.”

“Well, ain’t that a shame…” Dekker said with fake disappointment in his David Marshall face as he caressed his David Marshall moustache, “Cause I do need the job, y’know?”

“I guess,” the woman said, coming closer to his face, “I guess the missus and the kids might not do without eating, huh?”

“Wrong, there’s no missus and no kids,” Dekker said and smiled at the woman.

She smiled an ample smile, showing her lovely polished teeth. “Lemme se what I can do, allright? But I can’t promise you anything.”

“Well, ain’t that a shame too…”

She smiled again and went back to her rudimentary computer, to check on whoever was next in her list.

“Won’t you at least tell me your name?” Marshall asked.

“Mindy,” she said smiling at him and slightly blushing, though it could’ve well been the fact that the air inside the office was warm and humid, “It’s Mindy.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Mindy.” Dekker said and went back to the seat he’d been occupying before he was summoned to the front desk, so as to complete his job application.

********************

The sun was setting on the horizon, even though it was barely five o’clock. Halan II’s second moon, Genesis, was already up in the sky. Ja’rok was sitting near the pond, where he usually went when he wanted to think or be alone. He heaved a sigh, a deep, deep sigh. He was shirtless, for his mother had applied some ointment over his fresh wounds and they had to be exposed if the medicine was to work its magic.

The rays of the dying sun made his dark skin seem almost golden. He passed a hand over his black and very short curly hair and then crossed his arms around his flexed legs. He didn’t want to think, not this time; all he wanted to do was look at the sun set over the horizon … and cry.

As the sun died in the distance, he thought of his father, Sa’boh, once a slave too. His father had gone off-planet in a shuttle seven standards ago now, with a group of renegade slaves who’d been off to gather weapons and people for their rebellion to become a reality; they all wanted to free Edenians from slavery once and for all. They hadn’t been heard from since.

In the first years of his father’s disappearance he’d felt angry at him, then worried, and finally … well, truth was he didn’t really know how he felt about it anymore. He’d had to step up, for somebody had to take over his father’s place on the plantation. He’d only been twelve standard years when he became a hard laborer. His hands were now rough and his back was covered in old scars, more than he could count … and he was only eighteen.

He was very handsome looking. His skin was dark, chocolate like. He had very thick black eyebrows over his big round hazel eyes; his eyelashes were long and curled up and at times it seemed they would come together with his eyebrows because of their length. His nose was thin, straight and blunt and ended up in a perfect lip drop, which made his thick upper lip slightly heart-shaped. His under lip was thick as well. He was so cute that, after three years on the plantation, he’d been picked to serve at the master’s house, his face ‘not as ugly as the other slave’s faces’ in Ebeinweiss’ wife’s words.

His lovely light eyes, once full of hope, seemed dull now, as if something had been drained out of his soul, and his eyes mirrored it. His dreams and hopes had died long ago, probably the very day his father had gone away. Now…he was now just there, working, living… No, not living, simply existing.

‘This is no life,’ he thought, ‘And it will always be this way.’

He’d come to terms with his fate, he did not believe in rebellions and he believed as well that Lord Gimmer would age and die in Eden as Lord and Master and he would always get his way. He just found it hard to acknowledge the fact that it would also be his little sister’s fate. Right there, right then, he knew he hated his father as much as he hated Gimmer Ebenweiss, for he’d abandoned them to their own devices.

‘I sure hope he’s dead,’ he thought, suddenly startled at the hatred he felt within; such a strong feeling. ‘And if he is, I hope he died a slow and painful death.’

Tears were now rolling down his cheeks, burning as they fell. But he did not have to hide them anymore. He needed to let it all out before it consumed him inside. He had, not too long ago, feared something had happened to his father, something bad and horrible that had prevented him from coming back to Eden, back to them, his family. But as time passed by, none of the men who’d left had come back either. More likely, they’d found better chances somewhere offworld. For all he knew, his father was probably already married again and had some new sons and daughters, he probably had a piece of paradise somewhere else. And he hated him so much for that.

He heard his mother’s voice somewhere in the distance; she was calling him for supper. He stood up trying not to move too abruptly, for his back was still in deep pain. It was a fact that he would have to sleep face downwards for some nights before the wounds started to scar. He walked back towards the barracks, thinking of his father; and thinking, for the first time in a very long time, of his long lost childhood friend Ba’ran.

********************

David Marshall, Operative Christian Dekker’s undercover persona, was sitting in an office which was so overly decorated that he thought he was gonna puke pin-up girls and confetti any minute now. The walls were all covered with wooden panels, and there were so many paintings, diplomas and posters around, the place looked more like an antique shop than the office of a head of state. Tacky didn’t even begin to describe it.

Gimmer Ebenweiss came from a door on the left side of the room, but not the door through which Marshall had come in. Ebenweiss was everything he could have expected and his outfit was nothing if not ridiculous. He was wearing a red velvet cassock, inside which he was probably being cooked al vapor, and tight velvet black pants all the way to his knees. He was wearing a white shirt with ruffles on the collar and on the sleeves. From knees downwards, he was wearing white stockings and a pair of shoes Marshall thought were custom made…such items couldn’t for sure be manufactured anywhere in the known universe.

Marshall stood up, as Ebenweiss was expecting him too, and bowed.

“Lord Ebenweiss,” he said in an overacted and respectful tone, “pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Marshall, is it?” Ebenweiss asked as he looked at the other man with a gesture of contempt.

“It is, my lord.”

“Impressive credentials,” Ebenweiss carried on looking at Marshall’s résumé, but never actually at Marshal himself, “very impressive indeed.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Marshall replied.

“Tea?”

“I’d like that, my lord.”

Ebenweiss rang a bell that had been resting on his desk two times. When nothing happened, he took the bell and rang twice once again.

“These people,” he grunted, “there are no efficient servants anywhere on this freaking moon.”

Marshall grinned at the comment, but he was far from feeling smiley, especially because he knew the kind of asshole Ebenweiss was thanks to the intel he’d received from Shadow Headquarters. A couple minutes later, a dark skinned young man came into the room, worry drawn all over his face. Marshall gathered he wasn’t older than sixteen standards, but he could’ve well been wrong.

“My lord called?” the young man asked, though it was not intended as a question.

“Yes, of course I called, you ape!” Ebenweiss said dropping the bell on the desk, “Bring Sunflower tea for two. And make it fast.”

“Yes, my lord,” the boy said and went on his way.

“You’ll soon discover what a pain in the ass these people are,” he told Marshall as he forced a smile, “servants these days are not what they’re cracked up to be.”

“Oh, I’m sure, my lord,” Marshall said in as convincing a tone as he could muster, “and it’s everywhere through known space.”

“At least this one is fine at housekeeping, strong you know, and obedient. His father was also a very faithful servant and respected among his equals, which made him a valuable asset. Such a shame he had to die at a young age.” As he spoke Lord Gimmer stood from his place and walked towards the left wall of the office, where some paintings of his predecessors were hanging. The resemblance with all previous Ebenweisses was striking.

“The Ebenweisses,” he said as if giving Marshall the tour of his life, “definitely a family of adventurers and settlers. Did you know it was an Ebenweiss who first set foot on Io?”

“No, my lord,” Marshall answered smiling at his Lordship, “I didn’t know that.”

Ebenweiss’ smile became a frown at Marshall’s confession, but he decided to let it go, and came back to take his seat. And just as he was sitting, the young dark-skinned servant came into the room holding a silver tray with a little tea kettle and two little tea cups.

“The tea, my lord.”

Ebenweiss gestured the young man to pour and kept talking to Marshall about the Ebenweisses and their exploits throughout the history of The Covenant. Marshall had never ever heard anyone talk about his lineage with such passion, arrogance and lack of modesty, and knew exactly why Gimmer Ebenweiss was hated, and not only by his commoners, but also in the system and through covenant space.

Dekker couldn’t help but notice the kid was short but strong, as if he’d been working from a very young age. When the boy had finished pouring the tea, he handed Lord Ebenweiss one of the teacups, and Marshall the other one.

“That will be all.” Ebenweiss said.

The young man left the office holding the empty silver tray and bowing to both the master and his guest. Ebenweiss took a sip from his sunflower tea and smiled at Marshall.

“As my administrator,” he said, “you’ll have a lot of work to do as you start. My previous one was utterly disorganized and left the place in quite a mess.”

Marshall nodded.

“Also, you’ll be in charge of finding new ways to give my profits an edge…you see, I’m a businessman and I’m always on the lookout for new ways to optimize the revenues of my businesses.”

Marshall nodded again and sipped at his own teacup, always following Ebenweiss talk about the job. His salary, of course, was around three times less what an administrator would get anywhere else, but Marshall could’ve expected that as well. He was told about schedules and was also told he’d be getting a personal servant to assist him in any personal affair, and two assistants to help him keep the books.

Once he’d agreed to the terms of employment, Marshall stood up and shook Ebenweiss’s hand, in sign of good faith. Ebenweiss rang the bell twice, waiting for the servant to show up.

“One request, my lord, if I may ….” Marshall spoke as they waited.

“By all means,” Ebenweiss said, “what is it?”

“Were it possible, I’d like to keep this servant who brought our tea as my personal assistant … if that does not interfere with the affairs of your household, my lord.”

Ebenweiss grinned, probably thinking Marshall was of devious inclinations, as he considered homseys. But he did not voice any of his opinions, for one did not succeed in modern society if he expressed his own personal opinions about people who had a preference for people of the same sex.

“Not at all, Marshall,” Ebenweiss said, ringing the bell for the servant to come back, trying to show his new employee how he could also be a caring employer, “have him at you service. I trust there’s luggage you’ll want to go get before you get settled. I’ve arranged for a suite at the Royale Inn, which has been already paid for the week. I trust that’ll be time enough for you to find your own accommodations.”

“That is so, my lord.”

“Very well.”

Then the young boy came into the office and Ebenweiss gestured him towards Marshall.

“This is Mister David Marshall,” he said with a condescending tone, “and you’ll serve him and only him from now on. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” the young man said looking at the floor and holding both his hands behind his back.

“Very well. Marshall, go fetch your stuff and when you’re done ask this one to take you to the Inn.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I’ll be expecting you for dinner tonight.”

“I’ll be glad to be there, my lord. Six?”

“Seven,” Ebenweiss said, “we always dine at seven.”

“Seven it is. Until then.”

“Until then.”

And, having said so, Gimmer Ebenweiss dismissed both his new employee and the young servant. Once alone, he took the time to look at the pictures of his predecessors. He was so proud of his lineage, so proud of being an Ebenweiss.

********************

The kid had been really quiet on the way to Marshall’s hotel. He did not say anything, for he’d learned some time ago that talking to masters was not appropriate unless spoken to first. But he was really glad that he’d been released from Ebenweiss’ home and into the service of the new Administrator. He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling that this Marshall man was a good man and could be a good master if he served him well.

They´d walked all the way from the Posada to the Royale Inn, but Marshall did not have that much luggage and the young servant had enjoyed the walk. He had had to wait at the hotel’s front desk three paces behind his master, as was customary, before the man was assigned his suite on the third floor of the Inn.

They went up the stairs, and led to suite number two by the hotel’s bell boy, who was handsomely rewarded by Mr. Marshall. The boy brought the luggage inside the room and then stood by the door as the man went around the place. It was a huge room, one with a certain luxury which seemed excessive to the servant, but apparently to Mr. Marshall’s liking.

“So,” Marshall said sitting down on an armchair placed near the balcony, “what’s your name, son?”

Without removing his sight from the floor, the dark skinned young man replied: “K’eon, mah lord.”

“Very good,” Marshall said, “I’m going to need you to do an errand for me today, I’ll need some suitable accommodations for myself. I thought you might be familiar with the town’s people.”

“Yes, mah lord,” K’eon said, “Ah can do that today if you want me to.”

“Very well then, go ahead and do so. I’ll be expecting you tonight as soon as I’m back from Lord Ebenweiss’ house.”

“Yes, mah lord,” the kid said, and went on his way.

Once alone, Christian felt comfortable enough to get rid of his undercover persona. He still felt uncomfortable at knowing the Icarus operative he was supposed to locate and bring into Shadow custody was leading a life which was not his real life. For the first time, he wondered how an Icarus operative’s brain worked. He could not imagine living a life of lies of which you were convinced to be true. He wondered what he’d do if he knew all his existence was a lie and shivered at the thought.

As he considered his next move regarding the Icarus operative, he couldn’t help remembering the first Icarus operative he’d met, and felt sad. He hadn’t even known his name, but there was this one moment that came back to him in flashes and sometimes in dreams, in which he remembered giving Icarus a name of his own. He wasn’t sure though, whether it was a real memory or something he’d created to keep his conscience appeased. Either way, he often wondered what had become of Icarus.

He couldn’t help thinking of Icarus as the son he’d tragically lost so many years before when he was still a kid. And once again he felt sad. Someday, he kept telling himself, his memories would become so clear he’d be able to find the kid once again, if only to feel more at ease with himself. Icarus had truly brought out his fatherly instinct, and he did think of the kid as his son. He hoped life would allow him to close that cycle and give Icarus the life he hadn’t been able to give his own son.

He suddenly realized he was crying; two teardrops ran down his cheeks. He never thought of himself as a sensitive man, but the memory of his long lost son, along with the memory of Icarus, was almost too much to bear. He did not want to think of his son, though, for he needed to be in the right frame of mind for dinner with Lord Ebenweiss and his wife.

He got naked and stepped into the shower. As the water hit him, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The meditation techniques he’d learned as a shadow cadet did come in handy every now and then, because as he made his breathing steady, he felt the calm coming back to him. He’d have plenty of time to think of Icarus and his dead son, but not just now.