Justin Kemppainen - The Legend of Ivan

My quick conclusion of where Grey was hiding was swept away in mild shock. I hadn’t told him my name. “How did you…?”

It became Lorric’s turn to be smug. “I didn’t, until now. From your appearance, I guessed you could be Klaus, Sid, or…” he trailed off, eyes widening.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Cain,” he whispered.

Cocking my head, I replied, “Cain doesn’t look anything like me, how could you think I was—”

He interrupted. “Don’t turn around.”

“Sid!” a familiar voice shouted. An eerie quiet settled over the bar, and I froze in my position. “Where are you m’boy? We have a spot of unfinished business, Sid.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I stole a glance towards the entrance to the bar. Cain, the metallic beast, was near the entrance. A grin stood out on his face. “Don’t make me tear this place apart just to find you, Siddy-boy.”

Individuals in the bar, the strong and stupid variety, approached the other Archivist. “What in the hell … do you think you’re doing here, you metal freak? ”

“Oh, I’m just here to talk to my good friend, Sid. If you don’t mind…” Cain stepped forward.

The unfortunate man moved to block him. “Oh, I do mind. I don’t care if yer here to see the Galactic President hisself. We don’t like grayskin and metal freaks in our bar, and you need to step outta here before something bad happens.”

Cain’s grin never faltered. Focused, watching the situation unfold while trying to pick the best possible escape route, I heard a metallic sliding I realized was Lorric’s escape.

“Good luck,” the man whispered, but when I turned to look, the seat was empty with no hint of where he disappeared to. A secret compartment of some kind perhaps. Definitely it seemed like something Lorric Bren would have, even in a place of leisure.

I searched, scanning the area for some kind of mechanism as Cain continued to speak with the thugs. “Now, my smelly monkey friends… our galaxy doesn’t actually have a president anymore. Aside from the fact that we’re primarily governed by enormous corporations who put many of their finger puppets into the varied positions, the office-holding officials form a Senate of sorts. A larger body representing individual worlds and whatnot. Even so, meeting any former Galactic President would be difficult as…”

I could almost sense the rising anger among the bar patrons as I spotted the mechanism. “Oh hell…” I muttered, noting that the device retained functions for a remote control, a device which my good friend Lorric most likely took with him.

Abandoning the thought of escape out the back, I turned my attention to the inevitable confrontation. A quick scan revealed that Cain received no additions since our last encounter, and the same doubts about bashing at his reinforced vital areas in the instants before my vaporization crossed my mind.

No nearby terminals, not even for the bar’s financials, but I didn’t think my trap would work on him quite as well a second time. Desperate and running out of planning time, I noted a few impromptu weapons being taken into hand by the patrons: stools, bottles, even a dislodged pipe. At least a dozen individuals took interest, and I thought maybe they would be distraction enough for me to slip out.

I didn’t have a better plan.

Cain was gleefully highlighting the historical change which abolished the practice of a central leadership figure about seventy or so years prior. The rage in the room at this intruder and his condescension became near palpable. It didn’t help that he insulted the patrons at every opportunity. “So, my slovenly brethren, the last Galactic President passed away quite some time ago, so me meeting him here would be of particular difficulty. Unless, of course, you fine specimens of astonishing intellect happen to care for some very peculiar varieties of recreation. That in itself would be a challenge: a pile of barely evolved simian reprobates violating the grave of one of the galaxy’s most recognized figures.”

Someone threw a punch. I didn’t see which one of the unfortunate idiots did it because the individual went rocketing half a moment later into the display behind the bar, smashing bottles and a large mirror. The man fell to the ground in a heap of glass and lacerated flesh.

A heartbeat of silence rang as each man took stock of what happened. Though feeble-brained, some fraction of the patrons must have known the intruder could take apart each and every one of them with minimal effort. It didn’t matter, as an instant later all hell broke loose.

Two things saved me. The first was the enthusiastic stupidity of the bar patrons. Stools, bottles, and bodies flying, they piled upon the other Archivist with intense, unyielding fervor. The moment the fracas began, I made a beeline for the exit.

Ducking projectiles and dodging past tables and people, I caught a glimpse of the second thing which saved me: my opponent’s sadistic nature. Cain became a whirlwind of carefully placed, damaging strikes. I heard him laughing wildly along with the sounds of snapping bones and falling bodies.

Distracted by his mayhem, I don’t know if he even noticed me slipping by as the pathetic peasants shattered their fists against his resilient hide. I wanted to laugh at the spectacle, the pebbles hurling themselves at the impervious wall. However, something about passing what would have been my own injury and death upon others did not ring with humor. I suppose I was glad, at least, that he didn’t fire the energy weapon, as the bulkheads appeared up to somewhat less than current standards.

I didn’t stop and didn’t even pause. I could still hear the fighting and Cain’s laughter as I sprinted along. I wondered if my absence when the dust cleared would create some kind of strong anger in my Archivist foe, but I didn’t care enough to turn around.

There was something else, I felt, an alien presence in my normal calm and collected nature. As I considered the narrow escape, the bodies of workers paving my way to safety, I experienced something I was not accustomed to.

Guilt.

I’d escaped at the expense of others, and in spite of my rational mind knowing full well that there was no way I could have assisted them, a sense of wrongness permeated the edges of my thoughts. It clung, stubborn and unwilling to disperse in the face of logic. It was a sensation beyond strange for me.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. Another escape, a narrow, lucky miss. I really needed something to even the odds, as it seemed certain I’d meet Cain again.

It was somehow doubtful I’d be able to escape so easily a third time.

Assignment: Seeking information regarding the truth and whereabouts of Ivan.

Location: Soma Corp Class 4 Orbital Shipyard

Report: Met with sole survivor of last known Ivan pursuers. Discovered whereabouts of Traverian Grey.

Probability : 90%

Summary: Richner Platt [false identity] provided details of the failed bounty group, defeated by the competitive efforts of Traverian Grey. Grey sustained grievous, crippling injury and is now in hiding. Location discovered [Belgriad].

*Addendum: Cain continues pursuit. Need to prepare for future encounters.

I really had to admire Traverian Grey. Retirement for a successful mercenary with a long, lucrative, and bloody career cannot possibly be an easy endeavor. In addition, it appeared the second survivor of the mythic Ivan hunt managed to adhere himself to the last place anyone would ever suspect.

Belgriad was a dusty trade-world on the rim, aspiring to the middle-grade economic success of variety planets closer to the core. It had a limited amount of mining, fabrication, and other large-profit exports as well as a small but tenacious tourism business. Sporting the latest technology from decades prior, Belgriad was in a small way my vision of hell.