by Walker, Jon
John, “I couldn’t say. While unpleasant at times, I would hardly call my bureau hell, and I was raised Methodist, so it seems blasphemous to compare anything to heaven.”
Leo Madison loudly cracks his large knuckles as stares unhappily at John. He is disappointed, frustrated and impressed all at the same time. This had gone nothing like the linguistic dances seen in the old spy movies, as he was secretly hoping it would. His clever metaphor, which he spent all day yesterday coming up with, was for naught. Instead, talking to John was like playing mental tennis with a mound of wet trash. He was even starting to question the intelligence he had on this man. The councilman reluctantly decides his only move is to cut to the chase.
Leaning forward, Madison speaks in a slightly hushed tone to add gravity to his words, “Enough game playing. I clearly didn’t invite you here merely to discuss fountains. You are here because, I know.”
At that last sentence, John’s calm poker faces shows its first small crack. He unconsciously darts his eyes around looking for Public Safety agents as a few small beads of sweat emerge on his forehead. John has long observed that there are two ways to succeed in Ararat: either be born connected, or be competent while not scaring, embarrassing, or upstaging anyone who is connected. Narrowly focused idiot savants, skilled engineers with crippling social anxiety, dedicated workers that aren’t clever -- these were the people who made it without drawing the wrong attention. John played the jolly dimwit well, but it finally looks like the act is no longer going to help him.
In his left pocket John palms two seemingly inconsequential items. One is a small container of mints hiding an invisible button that if pressed will signal Jarod outside that the worst has happened, which would in turn prompt Jarod to begin the well-rehearsed series of actions to destroy evidence, protect assets, and try to save the people closest to him. The other is a sturdy ornate pen filled with a highly poisonous ink. The writing implement is strong enough that John could use it to successfully stab the councilmember, himself or both all depending on what the next words were from Madison.
After a solid three seconds of silence Madison nods approvingly at John's fortitude. Weaker men are often quick to make excuses but end up just digging their own graves by giving up their secrets. Madison sits back and continues, “I’ve been following you for a while. I’ve had your operation quietly audited by my people. To your credit it wasn’t easy, but I found enough clues. You are recovering more cobalt from the treatment plant than you officially report and turn over. I’m not talking about the small amount of skimming the Public Health Department always expects and turns a blind eye towards. I don’t know how much, but I know it is much more. So much that you are probably in one way or another the main source of black market B-12 on Prime. You are significantly smarter, richer, and more powerful than you let on, aren’t you?"
His heart pounding and muscles tense, John simply stares quietly back at the councilman while he subtly adjusts his position in his chair so he's ready to take action. This fat, bald man knows enough to destroy him with a phone call. He doesn’t even need proof -- the word of a Committee member is everything.
Madison smiles while slowly standing up. He grabs a crystal decanter off the table and fills two small glasses with an auburn liquid. He then hands one to John, “You look like you could use this.”
John lets out a quiet, “Thank you, sir” when he takes the glass but doesn’t drink from it.
Madison takes a large satisfying sip before planting his body back down. “I can imagine the position you are in right now, but I didn’t bring you here merely to threaten you. You are here because I need your cooperation -- no, humanity needs it. The blue prince, the space queen and their families are slowly killing our society, putting our entire species at risk.”
The blunt statement both surprises and relaxes John. Calling Director Terence Lee and Councilwoman Catherine Moore derogatory names and questioning their ability to carry out their duties is something not even a committee member could get away with unscathed.
Madison continues, “There are probably no two people on New Eden better positioned to see it. I’m responsible for how much advanced technology we are building, and you oversee how quickly it is breaking. The current trend is deeply troubling. You must be able to see that our foundations are crumbling, and these relics from Earth aren’t being replaced. The cracks are small now, so the fools are ignoring them, but cracks can grow quickly. At some point we will reach a tipping point without ever realizing it. It is change or a slow death for our great grandchildren. You are here because I respect you and what you have accomplished with so little.”
John is not sure whether to believe the councilmember or what he is trying to get at, but after what he has heard so far, it is obvious his only chance to leave this place alive is if Madison believes he is on board. So John takes a small sip of the brandy and breaks his silence by interjecting, “It is amazing what you can make with shit, piss, and other people’s trash. Today’s poop is tomorrow's soil.”
“I guess that is true,” the councilmember responds with a small chuckle and a smile at the seeming improvement in John’s mood before he returns to his speech. “Anthony Parker, despite his faults, was a visionary. Anthony Parker was the first to realize what a precarious position we were put in. He understood that we were given only a narrow window to rebuild or risk possible extinction. My grandfather worked for him because Parker knew the costs and stakes. Unfortunately, after Parker’s accident, Cathlyn Brown, her spoiled son and her even more spoiled grandson have been squandering this window. My last few working fabricators should be building the tools to build the tools we will need for the future. Instead they are being wasted on keeping those old shuttles flying and building the director more toys. We should have built factories; instead, we have a tropical colony so they can eat chocolate and have a place to babysit the director’s useless family members. They keep the entire populace on the edge of deficiency to maintain their control. It is madness.” With each line Madison’s voice increases as decades of pent up frustration is aired.
John leans forward in his chair to indicate he has something to say before asking a leading question, hoping to find out if Madison has a plan or has just snapped. “Let’s say I also think New Eden would benefit from a different industrial policy. I don’t see how I can do anything to help change it. Cobalt is a necessity, and they control all of it. As a last resort, they can even drop rocks down on anyone they think is a threat from the safety of space. It's why Public Health and Aeronautics have always held power, and there is no way around it.”
This brings a big, mischievous smile to the councilmember’s face. “What if I told you that was all about to change?”
John's mind is spinning with possibilities, and it takes all his willpower to contain his emotions. “Now that would give us something to talk about.”
Councilman Madison polishes off his drink, leaving his guest in suspense for a few moments before speaking. There's sense of personal pride oozing from every word as he says, “The shuttles are rapidly deteriorating after so much abuse, and the scheduled repairs as of late just happen to have been slowed down. The rest of the Council has been convinced that the only way to keep them flying is a total rebuild. That will require all the shuttles on the ground at the same moment for the first time. That means they are going to need to bring the stockpile down, just in case.” John’s eyes light up with this revelation while the councilmember keeps talking, “It is enough to make 100 years' supply of B-12, possibly more, with your surprisingly efficient recycling skills and if we get rid of the director’s stupid dairy farm. That's enough time for capable leadership to finally build something great and sustainable.”
John struggles to process it all. It is truly amazing, almost too amazing to believe. His father taught him that great opportunities and good traps almost always look the same to prey. He manages to say, “That is a significant development, but I’m still curious why you have brought
me here to tell me.”
Leo Madison leans back, “This world will need competent people in power to turn the situation around, and as I have said I respect you.”
John responds with only a raised eyebrow that makes it clear he is not buying that line.
The councilmember says, “Of course, any plan is going to require bodies to pull off, which with all the defiants that directly or indirectly count on you is something you should be able to provide. There hasn’t been any real fight here since Anthony Parker’s time, but I’ve read enough history to know that the side with the most troops tends to win. I can provide tools but need more people, intelligence and access. I do think your skills will be valuable in helping to run this planet, but you are here because of what you can provide.”
“I understand the logic of that,” John nods while answering, “but what is the actual plan.”
The councilmember shrugs, “That is still for us to determine. Until the Committee decides on the final details for the shuttle landing and handling the stockpile, there is not much to plan around. What I need to know is are you on board?” Madison stands up and extends his right hand to John.
John stands up and gives him a big smile while he shakes the man’s soft hand. The proposal definitely intrigues John, but he would have responded the same way even if he thought it was pure lunacy -- you simply don’t say no to the head of one of the departments.
The councilmember puts an arm on John’s shoulder and starts walking him towards the front gate. “I think this is a great start to a new endeavor, and in three weeks I want you to bring designs for the most beautiful set up on the planet.”
“Designs?” John asks. After all the new revelations, he's forgotten about the supposed purpose for his visit.
“Oh, yes. I still very much want a new water garden, the best there is. It will be the symbol of a new era and a reason for you to stop by on occasion,” the councilmember says with a wink.
Outside the front of the house they say their goodbyes. John walks out the gate and towards Jarod who is standing in the shadows.
Once they are walking back and are clearly away from anyone, Jarod asks, “Did everything go well?”
John responds, “Surprisingly well, but I will need to tell you about it later. Let's get back to the compound. We have a lot to do."
CHAPTER 8
The three oldest of the Corvus children all get off the school tram and begin the two kilometer long walk back to their home. Mark walks the path back to the house while his little brother Bobby and little sister Jessica orbit him, running around to examine every critter, plant and rock that strikes their fancy within a 10 meter radius of their path. After several stern warnings from his mother, Mark has come to reluctantly accept he needs to move very slowly so he can “watch out for his sister.” After a few weeks of trying different bribes Mark had given up on trying to get her to just walk straight back to the house after school.
While kicking a small rock down the path Mark suddenly hears Jessica scream. He rushes over to his sister who is crying and clutching her right hand against her body. As he gets closer Mark finds her standing next to a small lizard perched on its back legs and tail. The animal is hissing angrily while waving its small front legs around to display the bright red pattern on them. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the problem is just a redtoe crawler. They are a big worry when it comes to protecting the family’s dernbeasts, but they're not a concern for people. Mark tells Jessica in a very firm tone, “Just back away and leave it alone.”
Jessica takes a few steps toward Mark and away from the unhappy creature. Presenting Mark her hand, she says between tears, “It bit me... It really hurts.”
Mark carefully looks at her hand. It is only slightly swollen, and there are two little spots of blood where the needle-like teeth of the redtoe crawler sank into her flesh. Mark says while trying to get her to stop crying, “Don’t worry. It isn’t poisonous to you. The animals here evolved different biochemistry pathways from us, so their venoms usually don’t really work on humans.”
This produces only a very confused “What?” from Jessica, but it does seem to distract her slightly from the pain.
Mark realizes he needs a simpler answer. “Your hand is going to be fine. It will stop hurting soon.”
Jessica’s sad wet eyes look up at Mark. Her big brother’s confident assurance that she is going to be fine reduces her crying slightly, but she is still very unhappy.
To calm her down Mark asks, “Would it help if I carried you the rest of the way?”
Jessica just nods yes and Mark picks her up.
The trio clears the small hill on the road to their house, and as Bobby runs ahead, he notices something unusual. “Who is that?” he asks, pointing to the man sitting on their front porch with a bicycle propped up next to him. The man’s face is looking down at a book, but they can still see he has black hair and fairly pale skin. He is wearing a pair of very light tan pants and a basic green shirt. While not exactly the attire you would expect a farmhand or a rancher to wear to work in the field, the clothes are basic, simple and unassuming. It's the comfortable, after-work outfit you might expect from people working any of a dozen different trades.
Mark puts down his sister, who is mostly recovered by now, so he can place his right hand over his brow and squint his eyes for a better look. “I have no idea,” he says as he puts his left hand on Jessica’s shoulder to keep her close. All he can tell from this distance is that this man isn’t anyone he knows -- he doesn’t look like a relative, nor does he have the build of a farmer.
Bobby’s reaction is the exact opposite of his brother's. While Mark reacts to surprises with caution, Bobby tends to view them as opportunities. “Well, let's go find out,” Bobby yells with excitement as he runs the rest of the way.
The man looks up from his book as he hears Bobby approach and says, “Hello, there. You must be Tom’s son.”
Bobby gets to the porch and extends his hand for a shake. “Yes, I’m Bobby. Who are you?”
The tall man gives him a firm shake and answers, “My name is Jarod Wu. I’m an old friend of your father's.” By this point Mark and his sister have reached the porch themselves.
As Mark reaches out his own hand he gives the stranger a concerned and skeptical look and does his best to try to read him. Unexpected visitors simply don’t happen all the way out here on the edge of human civilization. His father isn’t exactly the most social person, and this man looks a few years too old to be one of his classmates. Yet he doesn’t have the look of authority. Inspectors or security guards from the Public Health Department don’t ride bikes, don’t wait patiently around for regular people to finish their work, and they don’t bother with subterfuge. They simply show up, issue orders and expect action. The fact that Jarod is apparently not an authority should put Mark at ease, but it doesn’t. Mark at least understands the authorities and what to do when they come calling. A mystery man waiting at his house who is neither family, neighbor or government doesn’t fit anywhere in Mark’s experience. He's left feeling unbalanced.
Mark takes Jarod’s hand while still holding on to his sister, “Mark, nice to meet you.”
Jarod's response actually sounds very earnest, “It is really nice to meet you too, Mark.”
As he lets go Mark asks, “So may I ask where you are from?”
Jarod, “You may. I live in Ararat.”
This answer only deepens the confusion Mark is feeling. His father has made it clear he is not a fan of the city and avoids going there as much as possible. His excuse was always that the place was "too crowded and chaotic" for him. His father says all the people so close together made it feel suffocating.
For Mark's two younger siblings, though, this revelation only increases their excitement. They simultaneously bombard Jarod with questions about the big city. Neither have been there since they were old enough to remember, unlike Mark who went on the official school tour of the monuments, museums, uni
versity and workshops last year.
The questions come in rapid succession. “Does half the world really live in Ararat?” “Did you ride your bike all the way here?” “Have you ever met the director in person?” “Do you live in one of those tall buildings?” “Do they really have cows and chickens there?” “Have you ever gotten to eat cheese?” “How many cars are there in the capital?”
As Jarod does his best to quickly answer each question before it is replaced by a half dozen new ones, Mark looks around the property for either of his parents. After a few minutes he finally spots his mom in the distance, walking along one of the fences checking it for problems. Her face is mostly covered by a large round hat protecting her eyes from the sun, and on her back is his youngest sister wrapped in a carrier. This segmented fence is behind the house, so she hasn’t seen what is happening on the front porch. Mark waves for her to come quicker. She waves back and picks up her pace as much as she reasonably can without risking waking up the baby.
When Stephanie Corvus finally comes close enough to speak without needing to yell she calls out to her oldest child, “What is it, honey?”
Mark points towards the porch and answers, “We have a visitor.”
Still walking towards her son, Stephanie looks clearly surprised and confused, “A visitor?”
Mark responds, “Yes, a visitor from Ararat. He's a friend of dad's who has been waiting out front for him.” Mark puts a subtle, special inflection on the word friend. These new details seem to do nothing to clear the confused look on his mother's face.
Hearing the conversation, Jarod excuses himself from the younger children and walks around to the side of the house just as Stephanie is making her way to the front.
The visitor calls out in a friendly manner, “Stephanie, it has been a very long time. It's me, Jarod.”
