“What?” The journalist feels a shiver on the back of his neck.
“Intelligence Jargon: operative endowed with executive authority to eliminate people that the Palmarine hierarchs deem inconvenient or harmful to their national interests.”
“I understand.” Fernandes swallows. “And the Service sent you here to protect me, right?”
“In a way.”
“What do you mean?”
“As far as we know, Palmares has not yet reached its Herculean efforts to unburden certain information that the First Republic seeks to keep secret.”
“Wait a minute. The idea was not mine.”
“We know that the initiative came from the Citizen Gilson Pellegrino.”
“He’s…disappeared.”
“Relax. Your friend is in good hands.” The operative’s blue eyes flickered with an ironic glow. “And yes, Cit Pellegrino has already received a visit from our staff. In his case, as is well known in Palmares, we think it best not to risk it.”
“I understand.” Fernandes nods. Brazil: Feet of Clay had not only sold millions of digital copies in the First Republic, but had also been transformed into an highly successful public and critical holodrama. “That explains Pellê’s disappearance.”
“Yeah. As for me, I was assigned to take care of your case.”
“My case?”
“Work for your safety, Cit Fernandes.”
“So you were actually sent to protect me.”
“I’d say I’m here to advise you.” Smiling, Jonas interrupts the retort about to emerge from the journalist’s lips with an emphatic gesture. “Since Palmares has not yet noticed his investigative activities, so to speak, it is not necessary to protect him as we did with Pellegrino.”
“Why are you here, then?”
“I have come to ascertain what the Cit has already discovered, and also to advise you to stop searching for this subject of the existence of a so-called invincible enemy operative.”
“So-called my ass! We both found out that…”
“It’s a grave matter, I agree. In fact, a matter of national security. Jonas nods. “We are fully aware of the situation.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“How long have you known that…”
“We always suspected the existence of this special operative. As far as I know, at least since the end of the Empire.” The officer is staring at the reporter. “Thirty or forty years ago, we were sure.”
“If this is true, why didn’t anyone ever do anything about it?”
“Who said we did nothing?”
“For god’s sake! This guy, entity or whatever you rate it…”
“Enigma.”
“Huh?”
“The entity was codenamed ‘Enigma’.”
“Very well. This Enigma seems immortal and, as far as we know, he has been acting for centuries, completely unpunished.”
“Citizen Fernandes, please.” Jonas holds his index finger to his lips. “There are issues that it is best to avoid addressing even in isolated and safe environments like this.”
“But…”
“Believe me, we’re taking care of this.”
“How?”
“We have our methods.”
“Apparently, these methods aren’t working very well.”
“That’s where the citizen is wrong. Definitely, the Cit does not know what he’s talking about.”
“Oh, no? Enlighten me, then.”
“I shouldn’t even be mentioning this to you.” The agent patted his chin with a thoughtful smile on the corner of his mouth. “Therefore, I hope you understand that everything you hear next is material classified unofficially.”
“Of course.”
“With the sole purpose of reassuring him, with the certainty of relying on his absolute discretion, I inform you unofficially that the problem to which the citizen referred was successfully solved last month.”
“Solved, how?”
“Terminated.”
“Terminated? From what I understand, that misshapen Indian can’t be killed.”
“Without going into unnecessary detail, I say again that we have developed the methods necessary to successfully complete this mission.”
“You mean they exterminated the bastard?”
“Right.”
“Where? Here in Rio?”
“No. Far from here.”
“In Palmares?”
“Farther, Citizen. Off-Earth.”
“Dammit!” Fernandes let out a shrill whistle. “Luna or space?”
“The fewer details the Cit knows, the better for his own safety.” Jonas smirks. “The important thing is to know that the situation has been finally settled. Now we want the dust to settle. For this reason, the Cit needs to stop searching this subject.”
“One last question, before I end this topic forever.” Fernandes probes the calm countenance of the agent. In the absence of reaction, he takes courage to continue. “What was that creature, anyway? Certainly not human…”
Jonas Spider breathes deeply while elaborating the most innocuous answer possible:
“We still don’t know what it was, but I promise we’ll find out. But I can tell you that the Enigma was not human. However, the most important thing in this case is that the threat has been definitively nullified.”
“Have you ever tested the genetic material of the corpse?”
“Citizen Fernandes, we should close this informal chat now.”
“With pleasure.” Despite his sad sigh, Fernandes rubs his hands, satisfied. “You brought me exactly the news I needed to hear. I’m going to sleep easier tonight.”
“We’re done talking, then.” Jonas stands up and extends his hand in farewell. After shaking hands, he gestures to release the journalist’s multifunc and open the door. “Farewell.”
Fernandes realizes that the security system of the house stays on without taking notice of Agent Spider. He doesn’t even appear in the holos of the rooms he walks through to leave the residence. He didn’t know such technology existed.
It’s as if had never been here…
However, despite the regrets, he feels happy. The threat that hovered over the existence of Brazil for centuries was eliminated after all.
As Pellê would say, “the homeland can sleep peacefully.”
Fernandes shakes his head with a tired smile at the corner of his lips.
6 Fatherly Pains
No one had the courage or the dignity necessary to convey the bad news in person. Most probably, they were afraid of some violent reaction on his part.
As if ripping apart three or four mbundos could get my son back…
The fact is that the Ebony Circle is no longer what it was a century ago. The organization has many more agents now, and the vast majority of its current associates don’t know the details of their past. Details that aren’t included in the annals of the most secretive organization of the First Republic—incidents that he only dared reveal to three short-lives since the death of the last king of Palmares. The new members are unaware that, as a cub, he witnessed the massacre of his people by the elite Inca troops. The Last Elder of the True People fell beheaded before his terrified child gaze. However, the eradication of the last children of the night happened more than half a millennium ago. Long enough for the pain of loss to sink away from the surface of consciousness until it rests in the deepest recesses of his infallible memory.
However, it was one thing to lose his family in a childhood long buried under the weight of recent memories. Another, quite distinct, to be deprived of its seed, its future, in that stupid way.
Sharp Claws was just a boy… His firstborn. An impossible dream, materialized thanks to the arts of Palmarine gengineering. Little more than a century of life, with eternity ahead, and now…
From the beginning, he was opposed to the plan to send him to the moon of Jupiter. Notwithstanding the Ebony’s optimistic predictions, deep down he believe
d that the young man wasn’t ready to act outside the Earth yet.
“Well, what can go wrong, my ganga?” Caio Lumumba, the Ebony’s senior agent, tried to reassure the troubled night-son. “Gamma-Alpha completed his training more than two decades ago. Trust the boy, he is well prepared. Moreover, in Jupiter’s orbit, the Sun is little more than a bright star. I imagine your child will remain connected all the time.”
“That’s where the danger lies.” Restless, Long Teeth entwines the fingers of enormous hands, a habit acquired from the short-lives. “Sharp Claws is too young to remain with his active gifts all the time. This is not healthy, even for an experienced hunter, much less for a young, immature son of the night …”
“The ganga is sounding somewhat overprotective. After all, as you told my predecessors, your people lived at the bottom of a complex of Peruvian caves.” At the inquisitive eye of the senior protege, Lumumba shrugged, a confident smile on his lips. “It must have been very dark inside, right?”
“For you, yes. So what?
“Then I suppose you were always connected.”
“We left the caves in daylight. As you know, we are mostly nocturnal, but we hardly need sleep.
“This is true. Well, what effect does prolonged activation produce on the body of a night-child?”
“In some cases, it induces an unhealthy excess of self-esteem, a feeling of omnipotence, as with some humans when they drink too much alcohol.”
“I see.” Lumumba stared at the senior night-son with a concerned expression. “You’re right. This mishap can compromise the Gamma-Alpha mission. I will make sure that the boy will be exposed to artificial solar radiation periodically during his stay on Europa. In addition, I will recommend that he hibernate, if the satellite situation allows it. Satisfied?”
“Calmer.” Long Teeth rubbed his huge palms together. “Satisfied, if only you would put an end to this stupid idea of sending him to Europa.”
In the end, his relative peace of mind did not save his child.
When the Ebony soba himself gave him the bad news from the remote security offered by the bottom of a holographic tank, he responded back in a roar:
“Bring the body back to Earth! If the corpse is in good condition, maybe we can reverse the process.”
“That will not be possible, my friend. Not this time.” João Negumbo gestured apologetically. “It seems the enemy knew who they were dealing with. They stole the boy’s head…”
“No!”
“Therefore, we don’t have the body unscathed to carry out the resurrection.”
“Who did this?”
“Apparently, a special Brazilian operative. An agent endowed with high technology apparatus and unknown potential. An individual sent to Europa with the primary task of eliminating Sharp Claws.”
“I warned you that it was too risky to operate so far from Earth.”
“Your son had backup, my dear. There were two Ebony agents undercover.”
“That support didn’t help him when he needed it most.”
“We didn’t know that the Brazilians had such a deadly operation there…”
“I’m going to Europa to handle this case personally.”
“Calm down.” The gray-haired Banto gestured to the bottom of the holotank, trying to appease his protegé. “This is not the best time to think of revenge.”
“It’s not about revenge.” Long Teeth smiled wickedly. “But, as the zumbis of the past used to say, of retribution.”
Negumbo looked at his principal protégé with an uneasy look. After more than four decades of coexistence, sometimes he still felt uncomfortable in the presence of this superhuman collaborator who knew personally most of the zumbis of Palmares, starting with Andalaquituche, the Sage. Not to mention the kings of old, like Ganga-Zumba and Zumbi the Great himself.
Therefore, unwilling to butt heads with the mourning father, he told the truth in the guise of an evasive maneuver:
“It’s very probable that his head is not there anymore.”
“I’m not just worried about the boy’s head,” he lied cheekily. “My son is dead, and this time even the medical science of Palmares can’t change that fact. Even if we got the head back, it’s too late. I don’t seek to find it. I’ll go there to terminate the perpetrator of the feat.”
“The head of a son of the night will provide Brazilians with a lot of knowledge about the nature of the True People.”
“This is true. One more reason for me to act immediately.”
“No way.” Negumbo’s hologram crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, why do you assume that the Brazilian operative is still on Europa?”
“I see.” In the gloom of his private quarters, Long Teeth sprouted out claws and protruding canines. He would love if the leader were still around Subupira. “What did Ebony find out about it? Did the kid’s killer happen to have left the satellite?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Did he return to Earth?”
“We don’t know for sure. The operative that defeated Sharp Claws boarded a high acceleration craft in Io a few hours after the confrontation. Our best working hypothesis is that he’s personally escorting the…head, protecting it for his return to Earth. The problem is that we lost track of the guy when his ship crossed the lunar orbit. There was a hint that he had been spotted in Rio de Janeiro a week ago.”
“I understand.” Long Teeth half closed his thick eyelids. “Tell me, did this high acceleration craft stop to refuel or something?”
“Not exactly. But it happened less than two hundred kilometers from the Fortress São Paulo.”
“The Brazilian military base in geosynchronous orbit?”
“That one.”
“Right on my doorstep, then.” Long Teeth bared his fangs in a smile of anticipation. “One leap and I’ll be there.”
“No way. São Paulo is extremely well protected. Impossible to infiltrate there. Even for someone like you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Leave it to us. We plan to approach any transportation from São Paulo to Earth.”
“I’d rather handle this on my terms.”
“Consider yourself strictly prohibited from …”
Long Teeth never heard the rest. The Ebony soba imploded in a bright flash as he crushed the old-fashioned control panel of the holotank with his left hand.
He shook his head in dismay. It was foolish to warn the boss about his intention to move. He let himself be carried away by pain and acted again on impulse, as in times when he had been an ignorant and unruly predator roaming the streets of Recife…
Now, he must race against time. Before Negumbo closes its launch window, so to speak.
Fortunately, he has contacts inside and outside the Ebony Circle. Because to do what he plans, he will have to collect a good portion of the favors he has given to half a dozen good friends over the last half century.”
* * *
Sharp Claws is dead forever. Nothing and no one can change this fact.
For centuries he longed for the company of other members of the True People. Now that he has succeeded in begetting his offspring with the aid of Palmarine science, he has suffered this terrible setback.
The most painful part of this loss is the notion that his eldest son died in the line of duty. He fell defending the interests of Palmares. Long Teeth shakes his head. His thick shoulder-length hair sways from side to side. Short-life interests.
Despite his criticism, it must be acknowledged that his son had been well trained. Too young and yet in full control of his hunting powers. He knew very well that; after all, he had personally handled much of the training. He was so well prepared that he has successfully performed several difficult and dangerous missions. On Earth, not in the wilderness of outer space.
However, with the human diaspora to the outer Solar System, Europa was far from being a wild and desolate place. Moreover, in this age of instant communication, his son never acted alone and helpless, as he
himself had done in the early days of his long-lasting association with the Palmarines. He was alone when he perished. Hidden in the frozen outdoors, where he was discovered, cornered, and destroyed.
From the analysis of the decapitated corpse rescued by the Ebony, the only living coroner who could be considered to some extent a specialist in the anomalous biology of the True People, they had concluded that Sharp Claws had been knocked down by the continuous firing of a high-power laser.
“I didn’t know they allowed weapons of this caliber on the international scientific base,” Long Teeth joked, bitter.
Fearful, the coroner chose not to respond to the rhetorical provocation.
Apparently, the enemy who took the life of the young hunter has the necessary resources to camouflage his heavy weaponry from Galileo’s civilian sensors.
Then the boy had been beheaded after his death, or at least after his metabolism had entered the state of latency peculiar to sons of the night struck by traumas that could kill a short-lived being. The decapitation removed any possibility of latent survival until an eventual resurrection attempt. He was forced to agree with Negumbo: the enemy knew who he was dealing with.
An enemy able to eliminate a son-of-the-night with relative ease…
Short-lives are neither fast nor vigorous enough to face a trained and prepared son of the night on an equal footing. The Incas themselves—successful in the secret war to extinguish the South American segment of the True People—learned that it was necessary to sacrifice hundreds of experienced soldiers for every hunter killed. Once in Victorian London, Long Teeth had faced a powerful alien, capable of defeating even a seasoned son-in-law. But Red Jack had been dead for over a century.
Unless this short-lived enemy has artificial implants to increase their strength, speed, and endurance…
It took nearly three days and his special touch to persuade Escura Mbutu, the director of one of Palmares’ espionage agencies, to reveal everything she knew about a hypothetical secret project, the “Cobalt Blue,” developed under the auspices of the Brazilian Intelligence Service. In order to leave no trace of his investigation, he induced Angana Mbutu to forget all the intimate and prolonged conversation they had.
Intelligent Armored Suits… So, SBI decided to endow their operations with superpowers?
Solarpunk: Ecological and Fantastical Stories in a Sustainable World Page 23