Justin Kemppainen - The Legend of Ivan

“I stayed. I relaxed, and there came a time where I got used to being like this. I don’t do anything beyond my means, but I still manage to take care of myself just fine.” He set his plate upon the cool end of the stove.

“What about the, well… the religious part of this?” I asked. “When did the… movement begin?”

Grey gave a thin smile. “Only about five or so years ago.”

Since we’d been developing a mild rapport, and his information seemed genuine, I didn’t want to remind him of the complete absurdity I saw in this idiotic faith. I tried to be delicate. “How did you get involved?”

“It just sort of happened. A few folk in the city not far from here joked a bit about some lame-brain preacher out in the country. I still thought about Ivan and our little tiff,” he smirked, “every single day. Yes, I considered the very idea of worshipping him a complete pile of shit.”

I held my tongue, not wanting to emphasize how much I agreed with his early assessment.

He shrugged. “I listened to the things they said,” he looked up at me, a tiny measure of pleading in his expression, “and I compared them to what I knew about Ivan.” Grey frowned. “I actually started to see where they were coming from, and I thought it was less stupid the more I heard.”

Grey chatted about the beginnings of his transformation into the glorious faith, and his conflicted expression and tone of voice was fascinating. It seemed as though much of him wanted so badly to believe Ivan held some deity-esque standing.

This too made sense to me. How better to cope with a terrible defeat than to consider the opponent wielding divine favor and power? On the other hand, his logic, his knowledge of a flesh and blood, mortal man screamed for credence and never allowed Grey to truly lose himself in belief.

I returned my full attention to Grey, noticing that he was touching upon some of those issues. “…realized long ago that I thought of myself as…” Grey sighed, casting away his gaze, “well, God. Something like it, anyway.” He waved that aside. “Nothing I did was beyond self-motivation, but my injury and time with these people has changed all of that. It was very refreshing to find something else to hold in awe.”

Nodding, I gestured for him to continue.

“You hear half the things he’s done, besides Atropos Garden, and you can’t help but wonder if something bigger was watching over him. And he never harmed anyone who didn’t have it coming, that’s for sure. He didn’t even…” he looked down at his missing limbs, trailing off.

Perking up, I asked, “Didn’t what?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “It wasn’t even him that did this to me. I did it myself.”

A few traits were held in common between Grey and Lorric, but not many in disposition. Their relative similarity in ability and personality made a confrontation somewhat unlikely if not for their connection in calling and target.

Each man was highly skilled at all avenues of fugitive recovery. Where Grey’s obsessive personality allowed for a near peerless aptitude with weapons, piloting, demolitions, and other endeavors, Lorric’s calm attitude and careful analysis provided situations where the inferior skill could triumph. With their personalities both the same and opposite, their confrontation was a perplexing point to me.

Each man diverged from normal attitudes by at least a partial necessity. Pressure from comrades drove Lorric toward risky behavior, and being horribly outnumbered caused Grey to calculate and plan. Though trying to be patient and wait, I wondered if Grey attempted his usual aggressive aptitude or caution when he confronted Ivan. I further wondered if it would have mattered.

Regardless, it went without question that Traverian Grey could manage a successful ambush. However, even the man himself expressed surprise at the ease with which his foes were crushed.

“Sure, I set up a few surprises, but the tip was hot, and there wasn’t exactly a lot of prep-time,” Grey said with a shrug. “Even so, the moment I buzzed out of the moon’s shadow and shot down Lorric’s bird, not a single thing went wrong for me. Well, until later anyway. Ivan really was passing through the system, but the tip I gave Lorric was quite a few days early.”

I nodded, remembering the story of a long hike punctuated by Lorric’s terrible injury and the loss of his remaining companions.

“I used the most dishonorable means, but all that mattered was getting the job done. I didn’t have Lorric’s flimsy code or even a tiny sense of honor or remorse. Since money hadn’t been an issue in years, I never killed anyone for a bigger share, but I would have if it struck me as a good idea.” Grey rubbed his eyes. “It was me who contacted Ivan and implored him, based upon our past dealings, to come there. I told him I could help him out.” He gave a sad chuckle. “I said I’d do it for old time’s sake.”

Ivan agreed to the meeting, seemingly without hesitation. As Lorric and his ragtag band of survivors trudged across the surface of the half-barren world, Ivan’s vessel pierced the atmosphere and settled down to Grey’s beacon.

Staring at Ivan’s lightly confused features through the scope of a high-powered energy rifle, curiosity and perhaps the tiniest amount of professional courtesy had overridden Grey’s desire for a quick and easy fight. Taken alive remained the objective. A limbless torso was easy enough to cart back, but Grey had doubted Ivan would be in much of a talking mood under those circumstances.

Besides; just in case, Grey had laced the area with mines and other explosives ready to be triggered at the touch of a button.

“You’re certain you weren’t followed?” Traverian Grey called out to Ivan as he approached the small campsite. Over his shoulder, he slung the potent energy weapon which would later kill the remaining hunters and cripple Lorric. Grey wore his usual black shell of ballistic armor, visor up and trying to appear as non-threatening as possible in spite of the weapons strapped to his body.

The slightest flicker of doubt crossed Ivan’s face. Grey briefly wondered if the enormous man suspected anything before Ivan burst out with a wide grin. “Mister Grey! My good and dear friend. It has been too long, no?” Laughing, he charged forward and nearly crushed his old friend in an embrace.

“You weren’t followed?” Grey repeated, keeping in place the ruse of why he wasn’t present at the campsite.

“Pah!” Ivan shook his head. “Always about business with you, isn’t it? Here we are, two comrades long reunited after so many battles, and you stand there worrying like an old woman!” He extended a hand.

Grey grasped it and shook. “Good to see you again, Ivan. I take it you’re well.”

Ivan gave an exaggerated shrug. “As well as can be, I will say, with half the universe nipping at my heels.” The man grinned again, but Grey could see weariness tugging at Ivan’s features. There was something else, as well, that Grey saw but couldn’t recognize. Aside from the exhaustion of being hunted and hounded, sorrow bordering on despair lay deep within Ivan’s eyes.

“Even so,” Ivan nodded, “I am very glad you contacted me.”

“What did you do?”

Ivan clasped his hands together. “Nothing.”

Frowning, Grey asked, “Why the bounty, then?”

“They believe I did something, or that I know something.” Ivan sighed, pausing.

“Atropos Garden,” Grey said. “Was it you?”

The large man shook his head, and Grey finally caught a glimpse of the heavy sorrow as it briefly flickered onto Ivan’s face. “No. It was not.”

“Then what happened?”