Justin Kemppainen - The Legend of Ivan

Location: Dessida

Report: Located second-hand information source claiming Ivan completed a mercenary arrangement to hunt and kill a large creature for the ornamentation purposes of an employer.

Probability : 62%

Summary: Information featured various conjecture as to associations [Traverian Grey], appearance [large, bald, Old Earth, possibly eastern-European descent (Slavic?)], employment standing [mercenary], and possessions [small iron cannon referred to as Olga ]. Overall event is probable within limits. Second-hand data is trustworthy, but original source likely provided significant embellishment and cannot be seen as fully reliable due to long-term brain damage from alcohol abuse.

I did not find Traverian Grey immediately. My search brought me closer core-ward, thank goodness. More enlightenment, at least from a technological standpoint, existed nearer to the center of the galaxy. With the myriad of bio-modification present, no one takes a second glance when someone like myself passes by. Only subtle markings suggest my Archivist status; most individuals wouldn’t discern it. People may be aware of my kind, but few can pick us out.

Francis the barman’s seemingly easy identification was all the more surprising. However, his assistance prevented me from having to traipse across the galaxy in search of an inebriant long-since deprived of useful higher-brain function. Cobb’s story provided a slight confirmation of the basic existence of this man known as Ivan, as well as possible identifying traits.

Unfortunately, it didn’t give particular fresh leads to follow, so I moved on to another place. Ethra, the thriving metropolitan world, has long been the primary seat of Keritas Interests, yet another of the gigantic and unwieldly corporations. Quadrillions of currency units flit around hundreds of worlds as the many smaller companies owned by Keritas aspire to various tasks.

I had intended to stop and refuel Minerva, my ship. While present, I decided to make a small inquiry with the local offices. I thought it possible a company like Keritas had some dealings with either Ivan or Grey in the past.

I stepped into the lobby of Keritas Interests Headquarters.

The building was the size of a small city, fabricated out of a sleek, dense ceramic. Sweeping spires rose out of various quarters of the enormous construction, giving an appearance as though some shining, astral creature crashed and fossilized into the side of Ethra.

The building was ten miles in diameter and featured devices and defenses which could devastate assault and orbital bombardment vessels. This didn’t include the on-call fighter squadron which spent six hours a day drilling. There was never an attack, but they were always ready for one. The security responsible for only the Headquarters numbered a quarter-million.

Other policing for the entire world, managed and paid for by the company, held much higher numbers. As with many corporations, they took defense seriously.

The lobby, if it could be called such, resembled something like a transport hub for travel to and from off-world. It was one of many that ran all across the compound. High vaulted ceilings curved above, featuring projected images of various advertisements as well as lavish decorations. Thousands of people milled about, and row upon row of receptionist desks handled the business concerns of visitors. The complex utilized lifts and a small mag-rail system to transport individuals to necessary locations.

After waiting in line for a time irritating in length, I stepped up to a reception desk.

“Name and business,” the woman seated spoke in a passive, uninterested tone without glancing up.

I replied, “Archivist Sid. Information.”

Her gaze flitted up towards me. Seated in a small cubicle, her desk featured no computer terminal or decoration. I noted small implants on her left temple, a datalink, and an image enhancement revealed a prosthetic eye which served as her display. I’d have wagered it was less advanced than my own.

There was a momentary pause, time enough for her to seek through information archives. I experienced a common wild impulse: to smash through the glass and her skull in order to harvest as much data as possible from her link and brain matter before security reduced my augmented body to ash or vapor. Information is ever so precious, and every Archivist lives and dies by the temptations involved in obtaining it. Even without breaking corporate laws and employees, direct datalinks can be quite dangerous for an Archivist. An addict bathing in his substance of choice does not often fare well.

“Keritas has never employed an Archivist by the name of Sid. What is the nature of information you seek?” Her passive tone did not change.

“Employee records,” I responded.

She gave a slight frown. “As I’m certain you’re aware, many of our employment files are classified and not available to those unaffiliated with Keritas Interests. What is the name of the individual you are looking for?”

“Traverian Grey.”

“One moment.” I could see flashes of data spooling over the synthetic eye. “I’m afraid I have no public records of the individual you are seeking, Archivist. Will there be anything else?”

No public records, of course, wasn’t a useful answer, as it was likely that Grey had worked for them in a capacity less than fully official. I considered possibilities for a moment but decided that, without any influence in this company, they would be more than reluctant to part with classified information. On a long shot, I asked, “What about Ivan?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ivan?”

“Real name: Afanasi Sergeyevich Lukyanov. Maybe.”

The woman raised her chin, developing condescension in her tone. “Ivan is a myth. You of all people should be aware of that, Archivist.” I felt a mild flare of annoyance, as though this woman could pretend to tell me my business.

My eyes narrowed. “Humor me.”

Sighing, more blips of data passed through her eye. She blinked, a surprised expression crossing her face. The spool of information continued, and her expression deepened into outright astonishment. The look on her face was all but a direct acknowledgement of something relating to my inquiry.

I doubted very much she would reveal anything.

Again, I encountered a brief vision of dashing in her skull and digging through brain matter until I could retrieve the data from the implants. I’d never do such a thing to a normal person, but it held a certain appeal.

“I… I’m sorry, sir, but this information is classified and sealed,” she finally spoke, nervous tension breaking through the practiced, receptionist calm. She reeled, covering her mouth and turning a shade of pale. “Oh, goodness…” She abruptly stood and walked away, fingertips pressed against the datalink set into her temple.

A few people watched her, but the busy din returned quickly. Another receptionist stepped in after a moment, but I gave a bow and departed. Often times, a refusal to provide information is at the least a confirmation of sorts. Unfortunately, knowing some relevant data existed with Keritas did not do me much good when I had no means to obtain it.

I progressed out into the afternoon, frustrated but unsurprised. I considered making an appointment with someone higher up the chain, perhaps offering services or information on some of their competitor dealings in order to facilitate the exchange.

Barely a block outside of the shining white complex, which towered over everything, the unfortunate reality of absurd population density became clear. It was a problem of many over-industrialized worlds. Housing costs were calculated by the cubic foot and seldom ranged above single digits in that regard.