The Legend of Ivan (4 page)

Cobb screamed as he saw another creature charging him, claws brandished and mouth wide open, either weapon prepared to tear out his throat.

Ivan's gloved fist smashed into the side of the beast's face, awareness vanishing from its eyes as it stumbled and fell upon Cobb.

The unconscious creature's hard skull impacted Cobb's own, and he was knocked completely senseless.

******

The barman stood silent for a moment, in thought. It wasn't unusual, every so often during the story he would stumble over a piece or two of information and halt in consideration. Many times he'd interject and mention that a certain bit was one of Cobb's more elaborate embellishments. Francis had heard the story enough times to determine his own version of the truth regarding it.

"'Course, the way Cobb said it some days, he snatched up one of them energy pistols and cooked a few of the ambushin' beasts himself." The barman shrugged.

I considered the possibilities. "That seems doubtful, considering his average mental state."

Francis nodded. "Yep. But, anyway, Cobb said he woke up a few hours later with a splitting headache back in the camp. It seemed Ivan and Grey had already packed up ol' Maxine and a few of the littler ones and blasted themselves outta there."

"What about Cobb himself?"

"He didn't stick around too much longer. One really, really close call was enough. He took the wages he'd made, minus penalties for dodging early, and split. 'Course..." he chuckled, "wasn't but a few years later someone found a better use for that game preserve."

Having done a measure of research, I was somewhat aware of what happened. "Copper, wasn't it?"

"Yes, indeed. Soma-Corp caught wind of a worthwhile copper deposit. The proprietors of Hunter's End were buried under a mountain of regulatory paperwork and threats. Rather than deal with the sticky mess, management cut a deal and sold it. Less'n a few months later, Soma vaporized everything on the planet and started to mine it hollow. That was it for Hunter's End."

I cracked a smirk. "Which has made obtaining records of people who traveled there somewhat difficult."

"I'd imagine so."

I thought for a moment. "You indicated that he had been telling this story for many years. Have the names ever changed within it?"

"You mean: did Cobb ever decide that the story would get more listeners if it was accredited to Ivan instead of someone else?" Francis peered down his nose at me.

I nodded.

Shaking his head, he replied, "I don't think so. Of all the things, the details that jumped back and forth in Cobb's little tale, it's always been about Ivan. That's why I always wondered if there might be somethin' to it, ya know?"

We lapsed into silence, each contemplating.

The barman cleared his throat. "So where ya headin' now, Archivist?"

"Uncertain. In some fashion, I intend to seek out Traverian Grey and discover if he has any further details regarding Ivan or his whereabouts."

Francis widened his eyes. "Traverian... you know about that Mr. Grey?"

"He's well-known in certain places. His inclusion is one of the reasons I suspect a measure of truth in Cobb's tale." Energy and excitement, the potential to find and distill further information, was almost intoxicating. "He was a mercenary of the most mercenary sort. He worked for whoever paid, simply enough, and he was very skilled. A job like this would be something he'd do."

"Wow..." Francis shook his head. "I never guessed there was
that
much to Cobb's story. I mean, he never did much more than drink when he was around. And hell, stuff about Ivan, people who knew him, met him, or pulled a heist with 'im were flyin' all over the place. Hell, I even met a few blokes claimin' to
be
Ivan. I know he had the name right, but I still sorta thought Cobb was just grabbin' a piece of the legend for himself. Do you think it all really happened?"

I smiled. "Yes and no. If nothing else Cobb said was true, I think Ivan was there on Hunter's End, and Cobb at least saw him. Could be someone else was the guide, or Cobb could have been telling the truth about everything."

"Sheesh..." The barman swallowed, pinpricks of sweat standing out on his forehead. "You... you think then some of the other stuff they say about Ivan is true? Do you think he really blew up an entire-"

I held up a hand. "It isn't clear as of yet, but I will find out." I stood up, placing my wide-brimmed hat back atop my head. Straightening the long coat I wore, I gave him a nod. "Thank you, good sir, for your time and hospitality."

"T'were my pleasure, Archivist." Francis gave a bow. As I stepped towards the exit, the barkeep cocked his head and called out. "Hey, what did you say your name was?"

Archivist Sid

Assignment:

Seeking information regarding the truth and whereabouts of Ivan.

Location:

Dessida

Report:

Located second-hand information source claiming Ivan completed a mercenary arrangement to hunt and kill a large creature for the ornamentation purposes of an employer.

Probability
:

62%

Summary:

Information featured various conjecture as to associations [Traverian Grey], appearance [large, bald, Old Earth, possibly eastern-European descent (Slavic?)], employment standing [mercenary], and possessions [small iron cannon referred to as
Olga
]. Overall event is probable within limits. Second-hand data is trustworthy, but original source likely provided significant embellishment and cannot be seen as fully reliable due to long-term brain damage from alcohol abuse.

Chapter 3: I-V-A-N

I did not find Traverian Grey immediately. My search brought me closer core-ward, thank goodness. More enlightenment, at least from a technological standpoint, existed nearer to the center of the galaxy. With the myriad of bio-modification present, no one takes a second glance when someone like myself passes by. Only subtle markings suggest my Archivist status; most individuals wouldn't discern it. People may be aware of my kind, but few can pick us out.

Francis the barman's seemingly easy identification was all the more surprising. However, his assistance prevented me from having to traipse across the galaxy in search of an inebriant long-since deprived of useful higher-brain function. Cobb's story provided a slight confirmation of the basic existence of this man known as Ivan, as well as possible identifying traits.

Unfortunately, it didn't give particular fresh leads to follow, so I moved on to another place. Ethra, the thriving metropolitan world, has long been the primary seat of Keritas Interests, yet another of the gigantic and unwieldly corporations. Quadrillions of currency units flit around hundreds of worlds as the many smaller companies owned by Keritas aspire to various tasks.

I had intended to stop and refuel Minerva, my ship. While present, I decided to make a small inquiry with the local offices. I thought it possible a company like Keritas had some dealings with either Ivan or Grey in the past.

I stepped into the lobby of Keritas Interests Headquarters.

The building was the size of a small city, fabricated out of a sleek, dense ceramic. Sweeping spires rose out of various quarters of the enormous construction, giving an appearance as though some shining, astral creature crashed and fossilized into the side of Ethra.

The building was ten miles in diameter and featured devices and defenses which could devastate assault and orbital bombardment vessels. This didn't include the on-call fighter squadron which spent six hours a day drilling. There was never an attack, but they were always ready for one. The security responsible for only the Headquarters numbered a quarter-million.

Other policing for the entire world, managed and paid for by the company, held much higher numbers. As with many corporations, they took defense seriously.

The lobby, if it could be called such, resembled something like a transport hub for travel to and from off-world. It was one of many that ran all across the compound. High vaulted ceilings curved above, featuring projected images of various advertisements as well as lavish decorations. Thousands of people milled about, and row upon row of receptionist desks handled the business concerns of visitors. The complex utilized lifts and a small mag-rail system to transport individuals to necessary locations.

Her gaze flitted up towards me. Seated in a small cubicle, her desk featured no computer terminal or decoration. I noted small implants on her left temple, a datalink, and an image enhancement revealed a prosthetic eye which served as her display. I'd have wagered it was less advanced than my own.

There was a momentary pause, time enough for her to seek through information archives. I experienced a common wild impulse: to smash through the glass and her skull in order to harvest as much data as possible from her link and brain matter before security reduced my augmented body to ash or vapor. Information is ever so precious, and every Archivist lives and dies by the temptations involved in obtaining it. Even without breaking corporate laws and employees, direct datalinks can be quite dangerous for an Archivist. An addict bathing in his substance of choice does not often fare well.

"Keritas has never employed an Archivist by the name of Sid. What is the nature of information you seek?" Her passive tone did not change.

"Employee records," I responded.

She gave a slight frown. "As I'm certain you're aware, many of our employment files are classified and not available to those unaffiliated with Keritas Interests. What is the name of the individual you are looking for?"

"Traverian Grey."

"One moment." I could see flashes of data spooling over the synthetic eye. "I'm afraid I have no public records of the individual you are seeking, Archivist. Will there be anything else?"

No
public
records, of course, wasn't a useful answer, as it was likely that Grey had worked for them in a capacity less than fully official. I considered possibilities for a moment but decided that, without any influence in this company, they would be more than reluctant to part with classified information. On a long shot, I asked, "What about Ivan?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Ivan?"

"Real name: Afanasi Sergeyevich Lukyanov. Maybe."

The woman raised her chin, developing condescension in her tone. "Ivan is a myth. You of all people should be aware of that, Archivist." I felt a mild flare of annoyance, as though this woman could pretend to tell me my business.

My eyes narrowed. "Humor me."

Sighing, more blips of data passed through her eye. She blinked, a surprised expression crossing her face. The spool of information continued, and her expression deepened into outright astonishment. The look on her face was all but a direct acknowledgement of something relating to my inquiry.

I doubted very much she would reveal anything.

Again, I encountered a brief vision of dashing in her skull and digging through brain matter until I could retrieve the data from the implants. I'd never do such a thing to a normal person, but it held a certain appeal.

"I... I'm sorry, sir, but this information is classified and sealed," she finally spoke, nervous tension breaking through the practiced, receptionist calm. She reeled, covering her mouth and turning a shade of pale. "Oh, goodness..." She abruptly stood and walked away, fingertips pressed against the datalink set into her temple.

A few people watched her, but the busy din returned quickly. Another receptionist stepped in after a moment, but I gave a bow and departed. Often times, a refusal to provide information is at the least a confirmation of sorts. Unfortunately, knowing some relevant data existed with Keritas did not do me much good when I had no means to obtain it.

I progressed out into the afternoon, frustrated but unsurprised. I considered making an appointment with someone higher up the chain, perhaps offering services or information on some of their competitor dealings in order to facilitate the exchange.

Barely a block outside of the shining white complex, which towered over everything, the unfortunate reality of absurd population density became clear. It was a problem of many over-industrialized worlds. Housing costs were calculated by the cubic foot and seldom ranged above single digits in that regard.

Dozens, hundreds, thousands of people were packed in each building with bare inches of space to call their own. Apartment buildings rented out numerous body lockers, tiny sleeping bunks the size of coffins. Simple and cheap sound proofing provided the illusion of privacy, and of course one could get a slightly bigger unit if one had guests in mind.

Public bathrooms for these tenants, to my knowledge, had also been a large problem, but my curiosity never drove me to discover the delicate balance required. In either case, the body lockers lined the walls in the apartment complexes. Traveling in those buildings, it was always an eerie thought to wonder how many of the individuals locked inside were dead and yet undiscovered.

I seldom went into any of these locations, as my wealth level could afford something much nicer, and I didn't need a great deal of sleep either way. In addition, I seldom stopped for more than a few hours or a few days in any one location, so accommodations were not usually necessary.