"Thank you."
With the warden and guards out of the room, the prisoner's gaze instantly settled on me. He was thin and gaunt, featuring thinning hair streaked with gray and a dusting of stubble on his cheeks. I could feel his eyes roving across my metallic parts, but no emotion registered on his lined face.
I sat across from him, folding my hands and leaning forward.
The two of us sat without speaking for ten minutes. I had the slightest concern that perhaps he'd been stuck in solitary for too long and had lost his ability for general discourse. However, his expression, the slight narrowing of his eyes as he processed each visual cue, betrayed the slightest tinge of a calculated, intelligent nature. I waited.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" he finally asked in a clear and relaxed tone.
With a slight tilt of my head, I replied, "My name is Sid, and you have information for me."
"Do I?" Hanatar chuckled. "What could I possibly have to offer an Archivist? One, I might add, I've never heard of." He studied my passive expression carefully, seeking some kind of reaction. I provided none, so he shrugged. "Yes, I knew about every single one of your blasted kind before my retirement in this lovely villa. You must have been cut together after I arrived." He sat back with a smug expression. "Since my access to information has been mostly cut-off for the last couple of decades, except for the warden's recent "kindness" in giving me a datapad with limited access, I'm guessing you know much more than I do. So I'll ask again, what do you want?"
Listening to his long speech, I caught much of his former arrogance still intact. It seemed the many years hadn't yet broken him completely.
"Information, of course," I said, smiling.
"What if I don't feel like talking?"
"Then I'll depart in peace." I shrugged. "However, considering the special privilege of actually seeing another human-"
Hanatar burst out laughing. "Human? C'mon pal, I wasn't born yesterday. You're gonna have to try harder than-"
"My mistake," I interrupted, raising my hand, "and a poor choice of words, I'll agree." He was taunting me; there was no real malice in his assertion, and I'd have wagered my left arm that his normal-appearing flesh hid a few upgrades, assuming they hadn't been stripped out. However, I hadn't yet gauged his disposition, and relaxed humility seemed a good starting point. "I am fairly certain you've not seen much of anyone from the outside world for, what, seventeen years now?"
He gave a thin smile. "Seventeen from my arrest. Fourteen years of solitary ever since my last amazing failure to escape this wretched place."
A reaction must have shone on my face, as he chuckled. "Shocked I'd say so? No matter. My network of contacts, lieutenants, stoolies, informants... my entire organization is totally gone now. I have no money, no family, and no friends. It was obvious to everyone, including the prosecutor and the bumpkin of an arresting officer, that I was set-up for the crime that landed me here. Even so, there's no chance of appeal. No one's left to help me here, and even if I managed to leave, I'd get torn apart by the thousands of people I did wrong to."
I listened as he spoke, strong bitterness evident in his tone. I had already known his pool of contacts and organization had dissolved within five years of his arrest. I knew he had nothing left to lose or gain in his life. What surprised me was how he seemed to know and accept it, yet he still retained a sense of will and spirit.
"...I'm gonna die here. I know it, you know it, the warden knows it." Hanatar finished. "Tell me what you want so I can say no and get back to my luxurious accommodations."
Tapping my index finger upon the table, I spoke, "Clearly you've come to an understanding about your situation."
"Yeah, I have." The former criminal rubbed the stubble on his face. "I have nothin' to gain by speaking to you, except maybe the scorn of the warden and security staff."
A smile curled at the corner of my mouth. "There's one advantage."
"Oh?" he asked.
"An unbiased audience. Someone to tell your story to, as that is what I'm interested in. I'm willing to give you a soapbox for you to lament the entirety of your downfall. I would hear the tale of how your end came about." My gaze bored into him, seeing the slightest measure of consideration. "You've been dying to tell someone new about how you were robbed of life and accomplishment. Someone who can take that message out into the stars."
There it was: a hunger. Hanatar had spent much of his sentence in solitary confinement, unable to do anything save brood about the end of his career. There was a longing, a bitterness at the edges of his expression. It was one which wanted at the very least to complain to someone willing to listen.
"What's your angle?" he asked, still suspicious but not denying the desire to speak.
"There are two individuals I'm seeking information on. One or both may have worked for you, and one of them may have been principally responsible for your current situation."
Hanatar sat bolt upright, an angry scowl etched across his aging features. "You're talking about that motherless piss-pot, Ivan. You're looking for him, aren't you?"
"Perhaps."
Slinking back in his chair, the prisoner laughed bitterly. "I tell you: build the biggest and most successful business in all of history. Influence the dealings of hundreds of worlds and billions of people. Remove any person who stands in your way no matter how little they can do to you, and still no one remembers you when it's all gone. But annihilate one tiny little settlement on one tiny little planet?"
"This isn't about what Ivan did on Atropos Garden," I said. "This is about, first, the circumstances of your arrest and conviction, as well as if and how Ivan was involved."
A smirk lay on Hanatar's face, and he slowly shook his head back and forth. "Involved..." He gave a bitter sneer. "Yeah. He was involved."
******
"I won't say anything stupid, like I didn't have it coming. I did a lot of bad shit to a lot of people. Still, I'm going to hate that pus-sucking sonofabitch with every fiber of my being until the day I die. He didn't simply betray me; he hammered every nail into my coffin. No matter what I did, how I tried to get myself out of the trial and this stinking place, Ivan always stopped it. For all the shit he did to me, I think he musta hated me for something.
But to this day I still have no idea why.
Whatever the case was, I hired Ivan; he had good references. People we knew in common said he was a fellow who could get things done. It was a lieutenant of mine, one of my wife's cousin's nephews or some shit, who brought him in. Damien Pintz was his name. It was probably about the only smart thing that idiot ever did, but it still turned to shit later on. Anyway, Ivan was strong, fast, and a great pilot; every single contact I knew said he was perfect for any job, so I brought him in.
He was so damn big. I figured him for a grunt, an enforcer who'd do what he was told without the burden of thought or worry. Simple jobs, and he had a nice ship for smuggling escort. You know, the kind with a few nooks and crannies for overflow. It was fast with a few choice weapons. It had a broad's name.
Again, I thought he was a moron. Hell, his accent was so thick I almost figured he was illiterate. I'd seen him a couple times out of the first few months when he handled some of my smaller business. He was good. Right off the get go, he managed to rough up a few of the more disloyal pricks when they started muscling Damien. He got my attention then, but he kept working and doing a good job.
What finally put him over the top was when, by himself, he saved a huge, profitable shipment for me. He was quiet and respectful, so I brought him in closer. Big mistake."
*******
High up in an office overseeing the work, Voux Hanatar watched through monitors as a brute of a man stepped out of his vessel. Blackened scoring lay across the hull from the most recent job, and Hanatar smirked as one of his lieutenants jogged up.
Even through the grainy image, the relief on Damien's face was obvious. The lieutenant appeared as though he was about to burst into tears.
/> "You did it!" Damien spoke, his voice coming nasal-toned through the speakers. "I can't believe you actually did it! You're one crazy sumbitch Ivan!" The smallish, greasy man seemed ready to leap into Ivan's arms, but the large man turned away, examining the damage on his ship.
"Oh, don't worry about it, Ivan, we'll get it fixed up, good as new. I promise. I promise anything after what you did out there." He threw a gesture at the cargo ship docked a hundred yards away. Men were milling in and out, pushing grav-lifts carrying valuable cargo.
Ivan continued to examine the burns, running his hand across the hull. "Good, please get her repaired. I hate to see my Olga in such difficult shape." The letters of the ship's namesake lay marred, unreadable.
The other man nodded vigorously. "Oh yeah. For sure. I'll personally see that it gets sorted out. Jeez, after you saved my bacon, I'll give you whatever you want." He clapped Ivan on the shoulder. "I can't believe you really shot down all of those raider ships. When I heard your distress call, I thought you guys were all dead. Then I thought I was be suckin' space or chucked in a fusion reactor when Hanatar found out I lost his cargo."
With a thin smile, Ivan gave a nod. "I am glad I could be of service, my friend. But I should go assist with the unloading, yes?"
Ivan started to move down the walkway, but Damien held up his hands and moved in front of him. "No, no. Not a chance buddy. Your hard work and dedication means you ain't gotta do any more grunt shit. I got the word from Hanatar. He said he wanted me to bring you upstairs to talk."
"Very well," Ivan said, gesturing. "Lead the way."
Grinning, the little man, almost bubbling with excitement, led Ivan over to the lift. He jabbered about Ivan's success, continuing to marvel at the miracle.
The cargo ship had contained a heavy load of refined neosteel from an off-the-record mine which didn't precisely adhere to a perfection of trade, safety, or anti-slave regulation.
Damien's planned route was a complete disaster. For certain, it avoided any of the usual patrol routes, checkpoints, and traffic. However, the not-too bright lieutenant was far too eager to please his employer. He shaved a few days off the planned travel, cutting right through a stretch of space known well for its ability to misplace vessels.
The raider ships destroyed five out of seven of the escorts and heavily damaged the cargo freighter. Ivan's expertise alone saved what remained as he destroyed twelve fighters himself, tracked the remaining two back to their salvage transport, and wiped the rest of them into oblivion. All of this while Damien cringed under the distress transmission and what seemed like his own impending doom.
Relief escorts, tugs, and salvage cleaned up the debris and brought everything back in short order, still a day ahead of the original schedule. Rather than having Damien jammed into a cannon and fired into space, his employer congratulated him on his excellent choice of mercenary and suggested Ivan be given higher responsibility.
They stepped out of the lift into an overseer's office. Hanatar took a sip of brandy while watching his valuable cargo being transferred to other ships for distribution.
"You've done me a great favor," Hanatar said, turning and raising his glass as Ivan loomed over him with a passive expression.
Though it was clear that none of it was directed at him, Damien beamed at the praise. "Thanks, boss. Thanks. I couldn'ta done it without Ivan, here."
"Someone like you isn't suited to outside work. Don't you agree?" Hanatar ignored Damien, focusing only upon Ivan.
Ivan gave a nod. "Whatever you say, sir."
"Hah-hah!" Hanatar reached over and clapped him on the back. "That's right, good attitude. A damn good way of thinking. I can already tell you're going to be perfect for what I've got in store." He produced a set of documents. "These are travel papers. You're to fly to my home on Gretia and wait there for me. I have a bit of pressing business to attend to before my latest indictment. I hear they're looking to arrest me again, so I thought I'd save 'em the trouble this time and just show up."
"What are you going to plead?" Damien asked.
His boss laughed. "Nothing probably; the charade won't get that far. It's a little game I play with the GSA and Sector Attorneys. They accuse me, something pops loose in the investigation, and I go free."
Ivan didn't seem to be very amused by the situation. "When will you be arriving on Gretia?"
"Who knows?" Hanatar shrugged. "Maybe those boys at the GSA actually have something that they think'll stick. Whatever, it should only be a day or two. Keep an eye on my house, and maybe relax a bit. After this job," he swept a gesture out the bay window, where underlings continued to labor, "you've definitely earned it."
"What about my ship?" Ivan asked.
Hanatar tossed a glance at Damien, who appeared surprised that he was being deferred to. "Oh! Uh, we can probably have it stowed in a bay on the transport you're taking. Any other repairs can be done when you get there."
Their employer smiled. "There, are we all taken care of?" Ivan nodded. "Good, good. Now go ahead and get outta here. I'll see you soon, kid."
As soon as Ivan departed down the lift, Damien almost burst with excitement. "See? What did I tell ya? He's a helluva guy! Didn't I say-"
"Yes, Damien," Hanatar rolled his eyes, "finding a man like Ivan almost overshadows your stupidity. Or did you think I had forgotten whose blindly moronic idea almost led to the loss of that entire shipment."
The grin vanished from Damien's face as his employer glared at him with a dangerous expression. "B-but, boss, I-"
Hanatar waved away the objection, smiling wickedly. "It doesn't matter; no real harm done. Ivan's proven himself to be damn good help, and I intend to make sure he's used properly."
"Y-yeah..." Damien replied, shaky and sweating, as yet unsure whether or not any brutal punishment awaited him.
"It's good, Damien," Hanatar turned back to the window, "and it comes at an opportune time."
"Boss?"
He took a sip of brandy. "I think the GSA might have dug up something solid. They're too confident for my tastes."
Damien waved a dismissing hand. "Aw, c'mon. There can't really be anything to worry about, right? You just said-"
"I'm just not sure this time. Not everyone's as loyal as you." His underling beamed at the compliment. "I think one of my boys might have turned."
With a gasp, Damien stammered, "N-no way, boss. Can't be one of our guys!"
"We'll see, and we'll take care of it if we have to."
******
"I can't believe this piss-licking bullshit," Hanatar shouted as he slammed the door to his luxurious home on Gretia. "Someone is going to get shoved into a sun for this!"
Ivan had been waiting, awkward and bored in his employer's home for two weeks without any word.
When Hanatar burst through the front door, Ivan was seated in a chair near the entrance. Setting aside the digital pad he was reading, Ivan stood up and smoothed his dark suit. "Sir?"
His employer ignored him as he stormed through the foyer. "Cyndee!" He called out to his wife. "Cyndee, where in the blazing hell are you?"
"She took a transport to the capital," Ivan spoke with a calm tone. "Shopping."
Baring his teeth and seeming to notice Ivan for the first time, Hanatar slammed his fist against the wall. "Perfect. Bloody-bitch-ass perfect. I'm about to get sucked into a legal shit-storm, and she's off blowing money on pedicures when I need to pay for my defense."
Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Sir?"
"Let the shit-weasel tell you." Hanatar waved him off, storming out of the room. Ivan continued to hear a swarm of loud cursing as his employer moved through the large house.
The front door opened again, and a meek and nervous-looking Damien slunk through the slight crack. Closing it as softly as possible, Damien turned, surprised to see Ivan looming over him.
"What is going on?" the large man asked.
"It didn't go very well," Damien swallowed hard, "and they tried to stall things to keep him in loc
k-up. He still managed to get out, but the list of charges was pretty intense."
A yell issued from the floor above, echoing throughout the house. "Where the Christing-shit is that bottle?!"
"Extortion, smuggling of illegal cargo, slave trafficking..." Damien continued the tale with a helpless shrug, not noticing Ivan's expression darken briefly. "The boss thinks one of the other fellas turned witness. He's not too happy about it."
Hanatar came rushing down the grand foyer staircase, clutching a bottle of dark liquor in one hand. "You're goddamned right I'm not too happy. This has to be fixed. Fixed right now before it gets any further out of hand. And you," he thrust a finger towards Ivan, "are going to take care of it." He sped away again, and the other two could hear him clattering in another room.
With a quick exchange of glances, Ivan and Damien followed behind. Hanatar was hunched over a table, plucking ice cubes with a pair of tongs and putting them into a fabricated crystal glass. He dumped a healthy quantity of booze in before taking a long sip. As the alcohol swirled around his tongue and burned a trail down his throat, Hanatar closed his eyes and gave a deep sigh.
"What is it you want me to do?" Ivan asked, still wearing a calm expression.
The crime lord gestured towards the entryway with his glass. "I want you to get out there. Find out who's railroading my shit," he jammed two fingertips into his temple, "and deal with it. Make this whole thing go away." Taking too vigorous a swig, he fell into a coughing fit. His two employees watched, one passive and one concerned, as Hanatar recovered, red-faced. With a strained expression, he finished speaking. "I don't care how it gets done or who needs to disappear."
Wiping his mouth and still recovering, Hanatar turned away. Neither he nor Damien, who was too concerned with his boss's well-being, noticed the troubled expression cross Ivan's features. It vanished before anyone looked his way.
The Legend of Ivan Page 9