Justin Kemppainen - The Legend of Ivan

Cold surprise and realization spilled through my body. My careful control of emotion must have slipped, considering the hysterical torrent of laughter my new companion fell into.

“Right on all counts, I see!” he shouted, thumping his hand against the stub of his leg as he laughed.

A hot flush bristled through my body. It was embarrassing to be ridiculed, to be coming in with such high preconception only to have completely misjudged. His amusement did little to temper my rising irritation.

Striking him crossed my mind briefly, but I decided there would be no satisfaction to be had in such an act. Besides, Grey still managed to kill two bounty hunters and wound another who was a brilliant strategist. This was after losing three limbs in a cataclysmic explosion and crashing a hover vehicle.

Granted, “Silas” Grey was much older, and the people he ambushed were half-starved. Either way, I still had no good reason, aside from his continued mirth at my expense, to hit him.

Besides, my assumptions though premature were quite reasonable. “Why should I believe otherwise?” My tone contained a hard edge as I tried to cut through his amusement. “Here you are, what’s left of the mercenary legend. Traverian Grey, playing worship-aide to a ridiculous cult.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” He wagged a finger at me. “I caught you again. You think I can’t possibly be this man, this wholly legitimate Deacon of the Penitent Children of Ivan, without ulterior motive. You think I can’t believe .”

This time, surprise was knocked aside by anger. “Not a chance. You’ve met Ivan. You know he’s nothing more than a simple man, unless your mind truly was addled by failure and fear.”

Grey ignored the insult, another peal of laughter escaping him. “Oh-ho! Clearly you don’t know much if you think of anything about Ivan as simple . I thought Archivists were supposed to be smart.” He grinned, far too smug, and I again contemplated the advantages of striking him.

“Very well…” I seethed. “You are aware that he’s made of flesh and blood. He is human, not some kind of deity.”

“Oh, well technically,” he waved his hand back and forth. “Our doctrine states that Ivan is a manifestation, a living embodiment of God sent to herald our salvation or destruction.” He shrugged. “It sort of depends upon humanity’s worth as a whole.”

I shook my head. “Superstitious absurdity, and your seeming adherence only proves your madness.”

Shrugging, he replied. “Perhaps, but perhaps it’s you who can’t see beyond your preconceptions of what does and doesn’t make sense for an individual in my situation.” I opened my mouth to object, but he held up his hand. “I can see we’re not off to the greatest start, so why don’t we begin again. I’ll stop poking fun at you if you agree to hold an open mind.”

I pulled a folding chair out from a corner and sat down, waiting for him to speak. Even with my irritation, I could not overcome the curiosity I felt. The situation and how it developed was too strange to overlook. I wondered if it was some kind of madness or if Traverian Grey, galactic scourge, changed so drastically as to become a peace-loving country bumpkin, worshipping his greatest foe.

“You want to know why I’m here,” he offered.

Nodding, I responded, keeping my tone carefully neutral. “Of course. Even you must understand it represents a very odd change in attitude and priority. Though it’s possible all I’ve heard about you was mere conjecture…” I trailed off, the question hanging.

He shook his head. “Not a bit of it. Money, power, guns, the thrill of a good fight…” A wistful expression crossed his face. “Crushing an opponent, dancing with death. There’s nothing quite like it.” The expression hardened, and he looked at me. “But it creates no lasting happiness, for me or anyone else. Nothing matters but the thought of more , and all the credits, bodies at my feet, and destruction does nothing to fill that need.”

“So, by living this way, out here… you keep yourself away from temptation?”

“Not so complicated as that, I’m afraid,” he said. “At first, I was simply tired. I’d never lost before at all, and to be crushed so completely. Coping was…”

“Difficult?”

Grey smiled. “To say the least. Either way, once I passed the initial stage of recovery, hiding was my first thought.” He looked at me and shrugged. “Yes, I’ll admit your notions were not far from the mark.”

I motioned for him to continue, not wishing to inhibit further conversation by lording a smug attitude over him.

“Gods, I wanted to get patched up as soon as possible. I had seven more plans of attack in mind, ready to corner Ivan again and gain my redemption, but…”

I finished his statement. “You were afraid.”

He sighed. “More than you can imagine. I knew… I knew so deeply, so completely, I couldn’t ever match him. Yet I couldn’t imagine not trying if I was capable.” His expression softened, a helpless, almost fearful appearance seeming laughable coming from someone with such a fierce reputation. “I’d worked with him. Saw how he fought, calculated everything, and still I never stood a chance.”

Grey lapsed into silence for a moment, lost in consideration. He looked up at me. “I knew pursuing the failed conquest would become my only choice for redemption. If I had myself put back together, the obsession would have driven me back to him, back to my final end.”

“That…” he gave a bitter laugh, “and I couldn’t face the thought of the galaxy knowing about my coward’s defeat. I was beaten, broken… but alive. The moment I dropped a stack of currency upon the desk of the best prosthetics surgeon, everyone would know that Traverian Grey was yet living… and an appalling failure. Oh I told myself so often that I didn’t care what others thought, but I was a bit of a slave to my reputation, I’ll admit that much.”

“Of course,” he continued, “not many people knew I was even there besides a few corporate bidders and our apparent friend-in-common Lorric.”

I said, “True, most of my research suggested you simply vanished into hiding, retirement, or an early grave. The only relation I found between you and Ivan was a story passed down from a drunken buffoon.”

Grey cocked his head. “Was that…?” He closed his eyes. “It couldn’t have been Hunter’s End? You heard about that?”

I gave a nod.

My companion burst out laughing, “I can’t believe anyone remembers that… A hell of a contract, and I thought Ivan was the craziest son of a bitch I’d ever met.” Nostalgia overcame his expression, and he asked me, leaning forward and excited. “Your contact told you Ivan woke up that monster, right?” I nodded, and he laughed harder. “There we are, the damn thing is sleeping and the easiest hundred thousand I could ever imagine, and he starts yelling! I mean, who does that? Honorable combat with a giant lizard? Then the damn thing tries to eat me!”

I chuckled. “It was quite a tale.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard plenty more,” he settled back into his chair, “but we’re getting off topic here, my apologies.”

“Not at all,” I smiled. “It’s nice to validate especially some of the less believable claims.”

He gave a contented sigh. “I’d imagine… Gods, I do miss those days sometimes…” He shook his head. “But after a month in recovery and hiding out, to my own considerable surprise… I actually started to like the quiet life.” Grey shrugged. “Oh, every day I’d tell myself it was time to quit hiding and find myself a surgeon, but…”

Strange as it was, it made a measure of sense. I wondered if I’d ever grow weary of flying about the galaxy in search of information, but the idea seemed beyond absurd. A quiet life of sheer boredom would end me as surely as five undisturbed minutes with my good friend Cain.