The Legend of Ivan (14 page)

"Retired," the prisoner shrugged, "is what I heard quite a while back. Somewhere out on the rim where the law and vengeance couldn't find him. They said he lost a limb or two and gave up the business. Though why he wouldn't buy new ones with all the money he's got is beyond me. He was a great fella; always got the job done. Shoulda used him instead of that fat prick."

"How did he lose his limbs?"

"Well, Archivist," Hanatar slouched in his chair, "you know rumors. They twist and turn, and God only knows where they began."

"Yes...?"

He grinned. "Let's say maybe you weren't the first fellow to look for Ivan after he got himself famous. And maybe one or two caught up with him before he did the whole disappearing into legend thing."

"They fought?"

Shrugging, Hanatar replied, "Grey was no slouch, and he always got the job done if it paid well enough. After the colony at the Garden blew up, Ivan's head must've had value. Grey woulda gone for it no question, no matter their friendly history, but..." He shook his head. "If there was one fella that Traverian Grey couldn't take down..."

I nodded. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." Hanatar gave a thin smile. "You've been good company, Archivist. If I wasn't certain you had no further use for me, I'd invite you to return sometime."

With a slight bow, I smiled and stood. "Good day, Mr. Hanatar." I stepped out of the room.

The warden pestered me with questions as we wound our way through the twisted corridors of the prison, and I held a passing curiosity as to how roughly Hanatar was being led back to his eternal cell. He
was
responsible for a planetary attack. Even fourteen years ago, I doubted the grudges died very quickly.

"...whatever he provided is not admissible in a court of justice due to the special privilege and non-disclosure nature of your visit," Stokes continued rattling off information I cared nothing about. I knew it, she knew it, and Hanatar knew that any chance of him breathing free air ended when the cruiser was blasted to fragments and scattered across the Orkanis surface.

Warden Stokes halted and turned towards me, a stern expression on her face. "Do you understand all of this, Archivist?"

I gave a nod, having heard little of her speech. "Yes, of course." Lying didn't bother me, and she needed compliance as much as I needed to ignore her prattling and consider my options.

"And don't think I've forgotten about your promise," she held an index finger up near my face. "That contract is coming up, and I expect some serious generosity on the part of your employer."

Nodding again, I expressed reassurances as we crossed through the redundant security checkpoints. The warden shook my hand. She still regarded me with a wary eye as I stepped onto the transport to return to the spaceport.

Blessed silence, aside from the occasional soft conversation of other returning visitors, resumed, and I was given an opportunity to think.

The trip back to my vessel was uneventful, and I paid little attention to the flight as the autopilot followed the plotted course through the minefield. No mistakes: no horrible death.

I was on my way once more.

Archivist Sid

Assignment:

Seeking information regarding the truth and whereabouts of Ivan.

Location:

Gretia/Orkanis

Report:

Interviewed former crime lord [Voux Hanatar] and arresting officer [Declan Donnely] regarding rumored Ivan involvement in Hanatar downfall.

Probability
:

93%

Summary:

Sheriff interview, though hostile, provided further credence [anonymous tip accent] to Ivan involvement. Hanatar confirmed Ivan's presence and betrayal. Story retains strong suggestion of Ivan's personal moral code [certain crimes unacceptable]. Behavior indicates possible vindictive nature. No compunctions about punishing those he may have been loyal to [Barian Dreger, Voux Hanatar] for infractions against this code.

Chapter 6: The House Always Wins, Except Against Ivan

After my contact with Voux Hanatar, I continued to dredge through the seedier underbelly of Ivan's alleged criminal dealings. Robberies, often referred to by the grinning and unwashed individuals as "heists," were among the more popular tales when speaking of the man. Tearing vault doors apart with his bare hands, sliding through the air-ducts in a more stealthy fashion, and any other methods of theft in a myriad of locations were attributed to my quarry.

At this point I had no leads to follow on Grey. I had messages out to numerous contacts, and bits of data were being scoured. Thus I had time to investigate more Ivan-related rumors. One such rumor, a robbery, caught my eye.

Gregor Wilhelm, owner of the Luna Casino and Resort, had reported a break-in and theft, swearing for many years that the individual responsible was none other than Ivan himself. When I checked, news reports from around the time suggested there was an incident at the casino, and indeed it was closed for repairs for near to three weeks.

Thus, I journeyed to the origins of humanity.

Thousands of years prior, in a fate which would befall many other worlds, Earth became uninhabitable. Over-mined and over-harvested of other resources, the ecological balance shifted into something which
could
still sustain life, but not comfortably so for anyone wishing to live for more than five years upon it.

The tragedy of dispersing from our origin faded into novelty after a time, and the abandoned Lunar Colony was rediscovered and acquired. The sole rights to building went to Gregor Wilhelm, who turned the location into a tourist hotspot, complete with the ultimate means of profit generation: a casino.

In addition to the luxurious accommodations of the Lunar Colony itself, Wilhelm offered orbital pleasure cruises complete with full historical tours and the occasional but very expensive ground excursion to Old Earth.

His resort and business enterprise was hailed as one of the greatest vacation spots in the known galaxy. Of course, at any given moment, someone in an ecological net group would be complaining about the exploitation of humanity's greatest tragedy, but protesters were not allowed upon Wilhelm's property. Every so often, a few would sneak through, but they were quietly or forcefully asked to leave.

Dazzling lights and constant displays of flair greeted me as Minerva glided toward one of the many docking areas. Advertisements blared through my intercom on every band, and I already felt the buzzing annoyance of hyper-commercialism as it assailed my eyes and ears.

Once Minerva settled into her cradle, I stepped out and was greeted by a man in an expensive suit. "Archivist Sid, I presume?" Without waiting for acknowledgment, he said, "If you'll follow me, Mr. Wilhlem would like to speak with you immediately."

We crossed through tile-floored hallways of a uniform color; they had me dock away from the hotels and other tourist facilities. I was led through some manner of service section, plain appearance and windowless corridors providing no hints to the area's exact purpose. We moved up a flight of stairs and passed through a set of wide, elegant double doors which seemed out of place in the uninspiring hallway.

Luxurious colors of red and gold spewed everywhere in the room I entered. Bright lighting of electronic gambling devices flickered. Bells, dings, and sounds of every variety rang all around, including the conversation of hundreds and thousands of people.

I stood upon a balcony overlooking the main casino floor. Millions of credits flitted back and forth as quickly as the emotional states of people gaining and losing them. My escort allowed me to take in the organized madness for a moment before touching my shoulder.

"Sir." He didn't seem to raise his voice, yet it cut through the din with ease. "This way, please."

The man palmed a panel on the side of what appeared to be a lift. After a moment, doors slid open, and he gestured for me to enter. He followed behind without a word.

The cylindrical lift featured panoramic artwork wrapping all the way around, and a thick patterned carpet lay on the floor. With only the tiniest, near-imperceptible shudder, the lift moved. After a few seconds, the doors slid open. My guide gestured.

The interior style of the lift, coloring of deep reds and burgundies, mirrored that of the penthouse I entered. The same carpet trailed all around, and several crystal chandeliers hung throughout what I could see. Artwork depicting exotic landscapes dotted the walls. Straight out from the elevator was a staircase which split and curved to meet again on the second floor.

In between the winding stairs with elegant wooden banisters lay a statue of a winged female figure in an elegant pose. She carried harp in the crook of one arm, and the other held a sword pointed skyward. The statue was tall enough to reach to the second floor.

At the top of the staircase stood a man in a thick, dark-purple bathrobe. He cradled a glass of deep-red liquor. He raised a hand. "Thank you Bertram; I'll speak to our friend alone."

Without turning around, I heard the doors to the lift slide shut and a soft whir as it departed. My gaze was fixed upon the man on the stairs, who grinned and sipped at his glass. "Welcome, welcome! You must be Mr. Sid, the Archivist." He gripped the railing and started down the stairs.

Gaining a meeting with an individual of such obscene wealth was much easier than I had expected. It took only a few messages back and forth to set it up, and I did not receive any manner of run-around with his underlings. When I sent my inquiry, I anticipated a conversation with one of the security people or a brief written summary as the allowed extent of my visit. I hadn't expected to be invited to speak directly with Gregor Wilhelm, who continued to grin with unconcealed interest as he descended down the stairs.

It provided me a small disconcertion, as he clearly believed there to be some advantage to my arrival. Hopefully, whatever he wanted would be within my power and not too irritating.

Wilhelm jogged forward and thrust out a hand. I grasped it, feeling a light tremor of age which belied the smooth and youthful features of his skin. He obviously had some manner of rejuvenation treatment, being something like seventy or eighty years old, but doing so couldn't remove every indicator of age.

We shook hands in silence for several moments. The grin plastered on his face didn't fade in the slightest, and I regarded him with my usual passive expression. Finally, he spoke again, "I'm very excited to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sid."

By his behavior, his statement seemed blindly obvious. I replied, "Just Sid, please."

He nodded with vigor. "Yes, yes, of course. Can I offer you anything to drink or eat? Your journey must have been tiring, and I'll certainly have one of our finest rooms set up for you when our discussion concludes for the day-"

I held up a hand. "I'm afraid I don't intend to remain long, Mr. Wilhelm, and I doubt I'll have the time to experience the fine accommodations of your facility."

"You must call me Gregor," the man wilted slightly, appearing disappointed, "and I'm very certain you'll change your mind once you see just how fine the accommodations are, as well as the stimulating conversation we're sure to have."

I doubted this very much, but I gave a nod. "We'll see. For now, I am neither hungry nor thirsty and would like to get started immediately."

"Oh yes, yes." He rubbed his hands together and nodded again. "If you'll grant me a few moments to attire myself in something appropriate, we can begin right away."

Without waiting for an answer, he shuffled over to the stairs and climbed up. As he reached the top, he turned. "We'll be speaking in the smoking room." He gestured in its direction. "You may have a seat or help yourself to the brandy cabinet while you wait." He ducked out of sight.

I walked through the entryway and turned the corner, passing through a low arch into what Wilhelm referred to as the smoking room. Plush leather chairs flanked low tables, and bookshelves with actual paper books sat against the walls. I wondered if excess smoke would damage the books, but I further suspected they were more for aesthetics than actual reading. In addition to the brandy cabinet, there were two other shelves stocked with liquor, cigars, and ceramic containers holding something yet to be identified. There was also a fireplace, but it seemed to be quite clean and only for display purposes.

I picked up a crystalline glass, watching the brilliant refractions of light within its facets. I remembered Francis the barman with a smile and poured a drink.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Wilhelm said, breezing into the room wearing a black suit. "Go ahead and have a seat."

With a mental sigh, I moved over to one of the chairs and sat down. He busied himself near the cabinets, pouring a drink and extracting a scented tobacco from one of the ceramic containers.

He sat in the adjacent chair and struck a wooden match, somewhat of a rarity these days. At Wilhelm's puffing, a light haze of smoke settled around the immediate area. He took a sip of his beverage and looked over at me.

"So," the casino owner said, "it seems you are interested in the incident where my resort was assaulted."

"Correct," I said.

Taking another sip, Wilhelm said, "You must be very interested in this Ivan character to come out all this way for one little story, am I right?"

I gave a nod.

"I'm something of an Ivan enthusiast myself," he said with a shrug, "but I doubt I've collected near as much data on the man as a real Archivist."

And there it was: the reason for his enthusiasm and easy agreement. Few things were more tiresome than an enthusiast, especially a wealthy one. Even though Wilhelm humbly postured a lack of knowledge, it was all-but certain the man thought himself the primary expert on all things Ivan.

"Is that so?" I asked, keeping my tone even and my expression passive.