Justin Kemppainen - The Legend of Ivan

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.