Justin Kemppainen - The Legend of Ivan

I searched files on the incident on the Garden, and little aside from speculation existed on the subject. I even recognized images on the nets, similar to those gleaned from Dana’s mind, of the reforming world. Much of it was discarded as fabrication, and general consensus was not that the planet was destroyed: only the colony.

How little they knew.

Much rumbling existed in the Ivan enthusiasts. Several corporations seemed to be regaining interest in the subject, and public contracts for information regarding him had been renewed. Hundreds more stories floated about, an absurdity of gossip sprinkled with the tiny motes of truth.

I resisted the temptation for self-congratulatory egotism in seeing if anything related back to myself and continued to search through Dreger and slave colony reports.

There was nothing. Nothing at all.

After a time of fruitless searching, I disconnected. My eyes opened.

Marqyni loomed above me, grasping and shaking my shoulders. “Sid. Sid! Are you all right?!”

Scowling, I replied, “I’m fine, what’s the problem?”

“You were seventeen minutes over! I couldn’t wake you!” He appeared quite worried.

“Seventeen minutes?” I asked.

“You’re bloody-damn right seventeen! I thought I’d completely lost you! How can you…” As my friend the librarian chattered about how concerned, angry, terrified, and uncertain he was, I checked my systems.

The subroutine for my internal alarms and the external port for Marqyni’s wake-up were both disabled. As I checked them over, I felt the tiniest trickle of laughter in my mind, and ghostly fingerprints dotted the landscape of my programming.

As I sought the source, I felt a tiny foreign presence skittering away, fading into subsystems. As I perused it, a small measure of shock came to me as I realized it was the hidden vestige of Dana, capable of more influence than I had thought. It seemed she decided to assist my search by extending it, or she was simply trying to kill me. I tried to seek her out, but the essence, whatever it was and could do, was gone.

“…and Great Alexandria only knows what your employers would do to me if they thought I ever endangered your existence. You’re worth umpteen billion; I’m just an eccentric librarian!”

“Relax, Marqyni, I’m fine,” I said. “It was a glitch, nothing more.”

“That was a hell of a glitch! Archivists have lost their minds at forty-five minutes, even with fail-safes!”

I hadn’t told the librarian about Dana. Shame of brutality, coveting some information, whatever the reason, I omitted that piece of the story. This also meant I didn’t reveal what I knew about the damage to Atropos Garden. “I’m all right, please relax,” I said. It felt wrong to leave him out of the loop, but some things seemed best kept private. A measure of guilt returned to my thoughts for both her demise and oddly still for Cain’s appearance at the Class 4 shipyard.

Marqyni scowled. “You’re going to be the death of me, Sid. Mark my words.”

A sliver of concern seeped into my mind as his statement echoed my troubled thoughts. I tried to push it aside. “The concern of lesser mortals is always touching, my friend.”

The librarian smirked and gave a short laugh. He wagged a finger at me. “Don’t toy with me, Sid. The Gods are nothing without the mortals to serve them.”

He seemed to calm somewhat, but I could still see the tension in his body. “I’m sorry to have concerned you, but I’m quite all right.”

This was the honest truth. Far from the normal overheating delirium from too-long searching, I felt excellent, refreshed even. Dana’s memories didn’t give me her precise age, and the jumbled files hadn’t yet provided a frame of reference. However, I’d have guessed she’d been no more than a year old as an Archivist. Her programming and systems were marvelous in their improvements over my own.

“Tell me,” I said, changing subjects. “Did you come across anything helpful?”

My friend shook his head. “I’m afraid I didn’t, Sid. Many of the records from the trial are still sealed, citing galactic security.”

Something about Ivan as a government spy using the pinnacle of fighter technology rang in my mind. “Maybe Grey was right…” I said softly.

“About the OLGA nonsense?” Marqyni said in a skeptical tone. “I don’t know, a ship? Seems a little farfetched, doesn’t it? I’d wager the name appeared somewhere along the line and means nothing. Well, maybe it’s the codename of the project, but what of all the other references? Wasn’t it a cutting torch in one? I doubt Garden researchers were working on labor tools.”

I nodded, tapping my hand on the desk.

He frowned. “In any case, I can’t find a single shred of anything to corroborate what Grey told you.”

“Neither could I.”

Marqyni shrugged. “You think he was mistaken? A little too senile from such seclusion?”

“I don’t…” I started speaking, but a connection fired inside my brain.

“What is it?” Marqyni noticed my eyes widen.

I made an assumption, but it seemed to make sense. “He knew.”

“Hm?”

“Grey knew…”

Marqyni favored me with an exasperated expression. He spread his hands apart.

More pieces fell into place. I said, excitement in my tone, “Grey’s the only one we’ve found who heard about the slave colony incident. He knew about it not because of some report or something but because he knew about the colony itself.”

Marqyni swept a gesture. “Didn’t he say the colony was destroyed?”

Grinning, I replied. “Most definitely, but I doubt even he believed it. What happened to all of those freed people? There must of been what, thousands?”

“They likely returned to their homes. What else would there be?”

“But no news of their return?” I ticked off on my fingers. “Transients, working class, the infirm and ashamed. Maybe even a few that became institutionalized. Think about it, there was almost no mention about any returning forced labor captives. Only a few people actually returned to their lives.”

“Your meaning?” the librarian asked.

“There was nothing to suggest an influx of thousands of rescued refugees. Don’t you think the GSA would have gotten the story spewed all over everywhere?”

Frowning, he said, “Since there was no news, you’re thinking the freed slaves are still there.”

“And I’d bet anything Ivan is with them.”

He nodded. “I see what you’re saying, but—”

I interrupted. “Grey worships Ivan now. If he knew exactly where the subject of his admiration was hiding out, do you think he’d be forthcoming with details?”

“Then why tell you anything?”

“He realized how close I was getting.” I rubbed my chin. “He probably figured I wasn’t the only one either. Maybe he thinks of me as a lesser threat.”

Marqyni wagged a finger. “I’m not so sure, Sid. There are a few too many assumptions there.”

I favored him with a condescending expression. “Traverian Grey was at the very heart of the last Ivan hunt, where the only cooperation was a result of persistence from Lorric Bren. The questions from years ago are still unanswered. Sure, half of everyone isn’t certain if Ivan exists now with so much myth floating around, but the sheer possibility of what could be found makes Ivan this glorious prize. I know it, and Grey knows it. Cain knows it, Da—” I shook my head, forgetting myself for a moment. “How many others may know, may be looking? The Ivan search is blazing hot once again, and Grey knows this.”

Marqyni didn’t appear convinced. “Still…”

“Why else would Grey mention something not able to be verified? How would he have knowledge of something which neither of us in an hour of digging can find the slightest hints of?” I grinned. “He knew.”