The Icarus operative - 15. Fifteen

Ebentown in Eden, one of the two inhabited moons

of Planet Halan II in the Rivulak System

Covenant Year 329

TWENTY THREE DAYS BEFORE THE ARREST

Me’era felt appalled as she came inside David Marshall’s chateau. In all her years, she’d never been summoned to a master’s house, and she couldn’t help feeling nervous, especially after the scene in the barracks, when her son had antagonized Marshall. K’eon had assured her that it was nothing bad, that his new master just wanted to talk to her, but damn her if she believed a word uttered by any enslaver, no matter how good her son’s friend said he was. It was K’eon himself who had taken her all the way to the master’s office, and who knocked on the door awaiting for his master’s acknowledgement.

“Come in!” David Marshall answered from inside the office.

K’eon came into the office first, to announce his friend’s mother, and when Marshall told him to bring her through, the woman crossed the threshold of Marshall’s office. The man had a hard-edged face, but she thought his eyes were the most attractive feature in his face; his eyes, Me’era thought, were the eyes of a gentle and kind man.

“Please, have a seat,” Marshall said, his attention still focused on his accounting book, “just a minute.”

When Dekker turned his attention back to Ja’rok’s mother, what he saw was a dark skinned woman whose features spoke of the many years of servitude she had endured. He didn’t need to be a trained officer to notice the little details like the lines in the corners of her eyes, or the cracks and callouses in her hands.

What he had to do was find the way to find out more about Ja’rok’s father; for someone must’ve planted the Icarus in this family and he was sure this woman hadn’t been such a person. If someone had been a Shadow operative in this family, or had been in contact with one, it must’ve been the father. That, if Ja’rok was indeed the Icarus he was after. He had to consider the fact that he might’ve made a mistake by thinking the kid was the operative he was looking for.

“So,” Marshall said, “Me’era, is that right?”

The woman did not respond, but nodded, her eyes focused on the floor.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Can I offer you something to drink?”

She did not respond, so Marshall asked K’eon to bring iced tea for both him and his guest.

“I’d like this to be brief, Me’era,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she replied.

“Please, don’t call me master. David will do.”

“Ah just …”

“Please.”

K’eon came inside the room in that very moment holding a tray with a bowl of iced tea and two glasses. He placed them on the desk, poured tea on both glasses and went away bowing.

“I’d like us to cut to the chase, Me’era. Your son …”

She held both hands together and rubbed them in an obvious sign of nervousness.

“Yes, master?”

“He’s not your son, is he?”

There was a very long silence in which both Marshall and Me’era measured each other. Marshall looked at the woman intently; a brief mouth gesture, a little trembling of her eye, the cracking of her fingers, he knew he was right.

“Is he, Me’era?”

“No,” she said looking down, “he ain’t ma son. Ma husband brught’im home one night, fifteen years ago, when he was barely a baby … three standards he was …”

Marshall nodded, all his attention on the woman and the story she had just started telling.

“He say he’d found’im, he say the baby was abandoned and he brought him home.”

Marshall looked at Me’era and smiled sympathetically.

“He w’s lyin’ ain’t he?” she asked with a taint of sadness in her eyes, “he was no abandoned baby …”

“No, Me’ra,” he said, “he wasn’t an abandoned baby. He is an operative, someone destined for something so much greater than this …”

“An operative?” she asked, incredulity drawn all over her face, “An operative o’what? He was a baby … So small he fit into my arms when I took him … I knew then I’d love him as ma true son … He was just a baby …”

“Yes he was, Me’era. But he is destined to change the fate of Ebentown, Eden, probably the whole Rivulak System.”

“Ah can’t accept what cha sayin’ master Marshall,” she said, now tears welling up on her eyes, “Ma son is ma son, a Rivulan baby, a servant as me an’ his sister and his father.”

Dekker stood up from his seat and walked around the desk. He sat on it in front of Me’era and looked her in the eye.

“I can imagine this whole thing must be overwhelming, but it’s the truth. I need to talk to him, Me’era, but he won’t come willingly. I need to talk to him about his true nature, about the mission he is to carry out, about everything he can do for his people.”

“He won’t talk to you,” she said standing up and placing the tea on the desk, “And Ah don’t wanna hear no more about this. Ma son is a servant as me. He ain’t no operative with no mission. Ah’m sorry, master, ah have to go.”

“Me’era, please,” he said, but the woman was already walking towards the exit of Marshall’s office.

He could perfectly understand her reaction, after all, she might have expected any other story about her son, that her husband had procreated him with another woman, that somebody had given it to him; but never that there was a master plan behind it.

The good thing was that he now knew Ja’rok was indeed the operative, the marking, the planting, the missing father. Now he had to place Ja’rok into shadow custody and remain in Ebentown to await new instructions. He had to get in touch with shadow headquarters to inform them of the Icarus. He had to do it very quickly, before he regreted sending this Icarus away.

Ja’rok was sitting as the sun went down on the horizon of Eden, giving the sky an incomparable dusk of red and pink and purple. Halan II and Genesis were also visible in the sky. He was not sure of what to make of the flier he had in his hand; the same flier he’d hidden in his pocket after a fake beggar had given it to him only that morning as he was coming from a long talk with K’eon.

He hadn’t really paid attention at first, when it started happening. But during the past months, lots of these fake beggars had started appearing in Ebentown. Rumor had it they were all over Eden, Genesis, and even Halan II.

The flier he’d received that morning was not unlike many he’d been receiving in the past months: on the right upper corner, it had a red irregular circumference which seemed to be painted with blood with a capital J on it. As the many others he’d gotten on the street, this flier talked about freedom, independence, and equality. It talked about people being brought together as brothers and sisters regardless of their position in society. See the light it read in red markings.

With a bitter smile, Ja’rok acknowledged the fact that these fliers basically described his own childhood dream, the one he’d given up long ago.

But it was ridiculous.

To think that things could change in Eden was nothing if not absurd. Eden’s government, along those of Genesis and Halan II, had been static for years unend, since the founding of The Covenant. It was both stupid and naive to think the Government in Halan II could change from one moment to the next, just because some people thirsty for revolution were giving fliers away and talking about people’s rights.

“You’d do you good not thinking ‘bout all that crazy stuff in those papers, ma son …” his mother had said not two days ago when she’d found a piece of propaganda in his posession, “it’s dangerous to even have that piece o’ paper in you’ hand. And you’ll not only endanger yourself, but your sister too. Me? Am ol’, but your sista’s just a kid. Think of her, Ja’rok, think of her and stop playin’ the fool on tha street with those devil papers.”

His mother’s words kept being replayed inside his mind in an interminable loop. He knew she was right, for treason was the only crime in Ebentown which was punishable by death, even when Capital Punishment had been banned by The Covenant since its foundation. Were he to be caught in posession of one of those fliers, he wouldn’t even be trialed. Being a slave he would be hung without need for any further evidence of his guilt.

‘But what if it was possible?’ He kept asking himself once and again, ‘What If these people, whoever they are, have at least a bit of a possibility of achieving what they promise?’ What if, as they claimed in their propaganda, there was an underground force waiting to march against the Covenant Government in Halan II, to abolish enslavery within the Rivulak System. ‘If so … isn’t it at least worth the try?’

Yes, having the political/religious flier in his power was very dangerous to them all, they could all end up dead … but wasn’t the prospect of life as a slave a much more horrible one? He also thought he’d rather die fighting as a free man even when that freedom did not last more than a few days. Dying a slave did not seem as promising.

Almost automatically, he thought of David Marshall, and what he’d said back in the barracks. What if, he thought, what if Marshall was part of that movement? What if he had taken place as an administrator in order to help things change for all of them. No, that wasn’t possible. He just couldn’t think straight now.

“Hey!” the voice came from behind him, making him jump out of surprise.

Ja’rok felt the rush of adrenaline running through his body right before he hid the flier inside the front of his pants, and turned to find the old man staring at him. The man was sitting on a huge and flat rock, his ragged clothes and hood, mostly ocre and sienna, fell all the way to his bare feet in threads of fabric. His face, hands and feet were covered in dirt.

The man appeared to be a beggar at all sights, but Ja’rok did not need to be a genius to almost instantly know the man was not truly a beggar, but one of those, the ones who were stirring Ebentown. They were all scattered through the moon and, whenever somebody attempted an arrest, they couldn’t really tell them apart from real beggars … a strategy that had worked out fine for them so far.

But what if it was a trick? What if this man was just pretending to be one of those, what was it that people in the Rivulan moon called them? Ghosts? What if this man was in reality a law enforcer pretending to be a Ghost? He’d get into real trouble then.

“Whad’cha want ol’ man?” Ja’rok heard himself say to the man.

The man leaned on his cane and looked intently at Ja’rok sizing him. He drew half a smile in his face, blinked a couple of times and coughed loudly before speaking.

“I think the right question would be what it is that you want, Ja’rok of Ebentown?”

Ja’rok’s eyes opened wide in surpirse as he listened to the man saying his name. The slave looked at the man, a look of shock drawn all over his dark, young handsome-looking Edenian face.

“How cha know my name, ol’ man?” he asked both puzzled and scared.

“I know that, and more, Ja’rok Y’sool of Ebentown.” The man coughed violently once again, and then regained composure, “I know, for instance, that you are –you’ve been for some time now- considering going to one of those reunions in the underground … you know, the ones mentioned in that wrinkled propaganda you’ve been reading as of late.”

“I dunno whad’cha talking about ol’ man,” Ja’rok said, now evidently afraid of whom this man might turn out to be, “I’ll get goin’ now.”

The old man stood from the rock where he’d been sitting and, leaning against his cane once again, came close to where Ja’rok had been standing, his ragged clothes moving as if put under a spell to flow with the man’s movement, as if they were another appendage of his old body.

“Oh, but I think you do know what I’m talking about, Ja’rok. After all, how couldn’t you know … you being your father’s son and all …”

Ja’rok turned almost white at the man’s remark. So, who exactly was this man and what did he know about his father … or his family, for that matter? Ja’rok did not know, but he sure was not going to stay put and listen to the old man’s nonsense, which was getting creepier by the minute.

“Ah don’t think you know the first thing about mah father, ol’ man,” he said, attempting to walk away heading towards the barracks, but the man placed himself in front of the slave, obstructing his path.

“You’d be surprised of the things a man like me can know, Ja’rok. About so many things.”

He walked around Ja’rok in circles, as a lion who plays with his prey right before striking.

“I know about your father and how he went missing so many years ago … was it eight? I also know about your mother, and your little sister, Da’nya …”

“You know nothin’, ol’ man,” Ja’rok told the man shoving him aside so as to resume his walking, “No matter whad cha may think you know, you don’t know nothin’!”

“Oh, but I do!” the beggar said in a rather convincing tone of voice, “and I thought it was time you did as well!”

And, saying so, the beggar crossed in front of Ja’rok, obstructing his path again. Ja’rok tried to shove him aside once more, but the old man, in an almost imperceptible yet fast movement, pushed his cane against Ja’rok’s stomach. The electricity surge flowing from the cane to his abs caught him by surprise and sent him sprawling painfully to the floor.

He felt his whole body go limp and the last thing he managed to see was the fake beggar standing over him and smiling, the hood now removed, letting the almost unconscious Ja’rok look at the old man, who was not old at all. Right before he lost consciousness, Ja’rok thought the face seemed familiar, but he couldn’t have been sure.

And then, the whole world went black before his eyes.

When Merrilyn saw the crowd, she felt instantly attracted to it, she imagined a show must’ve been going on for so many people to be gathered around such a small space. She jogged to the crowd, with Athsari following her closely. When she moved through the people, she felt horrified. A young man was tied to a wooden post and was being lashed.

“Oh, my …” she said, but she couldn’t finish the phrase.

Many people in the crowd were cheering as the young man was made an example of, but most of the ambience was one of discontent and utter tension, as if the majority of the people gathered around disapproved of what was taking place in the townsquare.

Athsari stood next to her, and gently pulled her arm, as if to get her away.

“Come on, Merri,” she said, sadness drawn all over her face, “Let’s get out of here.”

Merrilyn let herself be dragged away from the place, but she could not take the image of the boy out of her head. It was wrong, it was so very wrong to do that with a human being. She was following Athsari, but she felt a sort of numbness inside, as if she knew she had to go back and help the kid. How old was he? Fourteen? Fifteen maybe?

“It’s a horrible thing to do!” she said to her crewmate, “It’s a horrible thing to do to any person!”

“It is,” Athsari said, “but there’s nothing we can do about it. Every town has its rules and it seems like what we just witnessed is rather commonplace.”

“But this is a moon under covenant jurisdiction!” Merriylyn put in, “And any form of physical punishment is prohibited by Covenant law!”

“That is so, but whatever the law, it seems like these people have their own set of rules and punishment.”

“It is wrong … It was wrong for us to walk away from it. We should’ve done something about it!”

Athsari looked at Merrilyn with tenderness; it was so naive of her to think they could’ve done something. If Athsari had learned something in her life, was that one did not mess with other societies’ way of life, for it got one nowhere.

“What could we have done?” she asked the Persephone’s young cook, “Stop the punishment and walk away with it? Social interactions don’t work that way when it comes to local law, Merri.”

“But … but …”

She did not finish the phrase, for she knew Athsari was right. After all, they were just passing through, and they’d be leaving as the day was over. She suddenly seemed to hear the young man’s wailing as he was being flailed. She closed her eyes tightly, as if that would drive the feeling away.

“Merr, I know how you feel, but …”

“No, you don’t,” Merrilyn said, and she couldn’t help but sound rude as she said it.

Athsari looked at her askance, never having expected such an answer, at least, not from the sweet girl everybody knew Merrilyn to be.

“I’m sorry,” she said apologizing, “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just …”

“It’s okay,” Athsari said smiling sincerely, “There’s no need to apologize. Come now let’s go find the local market.”

“Okay” she said, and followed Athsari around. But she could not get the image of the young man being flailed in front of all those people off of her head.