Justin Kemppainen - The Legend of Ivan

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 lock-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.