criminal to whom I spoke. It seemed Hanatar did nothing directly to Ivan, but for Ivan to piece together a scheme to imprison him and endeavor to keep him there… by shooting down a cruiser no less…
“No recordings?”
Hanatar ran a hand through his thinning hair. “That’s the ironic part. I sabotaged the scope data system to make sure they didn’t have visual confirmation of what was blowing them to shit. The only physical evidence of the cruiser ended up being its scattered remains.”
I wasn’t finished yet. “I appreciate your time, but I have one more person to ask you about.”
“Who?” he asked, still turned away.
“Traverian Grey.”
He blinked, looking over at me. “What do you want with Grey?”
“Same thing I wanted with you. It seemed he and Ivan crossed paths more than once.”
Hanatar chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Meaning?” My eyes narrowed.
“Retired,” the prisoner shrugged, “is what I heard quite a while back. Somewhere out on the rim where the law and vengeance couldn’t find him. They said he lost a limb or two and gave up the business. Though why he wouldn’t buy new ones with all the money he’s got is beyond me. He was a great fella; always got the job done. Shoulda used him instead of that fat prick.”
“How did he lose his limbs?”
“Well, Archivist,” Hanatar slouched in his chair, “you know rumors. They twist and turn, and God only knows where they began.”
“Yes…?”
He grinned. “Let’s say maybe you weren’t the first fellow to look for Ivan after he got himself famous. And maybe one or two caught up with him before he did the whole disappearing into legend thing.”
“They fought?”
Shrugging, Hanatar replied, “Grey was no slouch, and he always got the job done if it paid well enough. After the colony at the Garden blew up, Ivan’s head must’ve had value. Grey woulda gone for it no question, no matter their friendly history, but…” He shook his head. “If there was one fella that Traverian Grey couldn’t take down…”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Hanatar gave a thin smile. “You’ve been good company, Archivist. If I wasn’t certain you had no further use for me, I’d invite you to return sometime.”
With a slight bow, I smiled and stood. “Good day, Mr. Hanatar.” I stepped out of the room.
The warden pestered me with questions as we wound our way through the twisted corridors of the prison, and I held a passing curiosity as to how roughly Hanatar was being led back to his eternal cell. He
“…whatever he provided is not admissible in a court of justice due to the special privilege and non-disclosure nature of your visit,” Stokes continued rattling off information I cared nothing about. I knew it, she knew it, and Hanatar knew that any chance of him breathing free air ended when the cruiser was blasted to fragments and scattered across the Orkanis surface.
Warden Stokes halted and turned towards me, a stern expression on her face. “Do you understand all of this, Archivist?”
I gave a nod, having heard little of her speech. “Yes, of course.” Lying didn’t bother me, and she needed compliance as much as I needed to ignore her prattling and consider my options.
“And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your promise,” she held an index finger up near my face. “That contract is coming up, and I expect some serious generosity on the part of your employer.”
Nodding again, I expressed reassurances as we crossed through the redundant security checkpoints. The warden shook my hand. She still regarded me with a wary eye as I stepped onto the transport to return to the spaceport.
Blessed silence, aside from the occasional soft conversation of other returning visitors, resumed, and I was given an opportunity to think.
The trip back to my vessel was uneventful, and I paid little attention to the flight as the autopilot followed the plotted course through the minefield. No mistakes: no horrible death.
I was on my way once more.
Chapter 6: The House Always Wins, Except Against Ivan
After my contact with Voux Hanatar, I continued to dredge through the seedier underbelly of Ivan’s alleged criminal dealings. Robberies, often referred to by the grinning and unwashed individuals as “heists,” were among the more popular tales when speaking of the man. Tearing vault doors apart with his bare hands, sliding through the air-ducts in a more stealthy fashion, and any other methods of theft in a myriad of locations were attributed to my quarry.
At this point I had no leads to follow on Grey. I had messages out to numerous contacts, and bits of data were being scoured. Thus I had time to investigate more Ivan-related rumors. One such rumor, a robbery, caught my eye.
Gregor Wilhelm, owner of the Luna Casino and Resort, had reported a break-in and theft, swearing for many years that the individual responsible was none other than Ivan himself. When I checked, news reports from around the time suggested there was an incident at the casino, and indeed it was closed for repairs for near to three weeks.
Thus, I journeyed to the origins of humanity.
Thousands of years prior, in a fate which would befall many other worlds, Earth became uninhabitable. Over-mined and over-harvested of other resources, the ecological balance shifted into something which
The tragedy of dispersing from our origin faded into novelty after a time, and the abandoned Lunar Colony was rediscovered and acquired. The sole rights to building went to Gregor Wilhelm, who turned the location into a tourist hotspot, complete with the ultimate means of profit generation: a casino.
In addition to the luxurious accommodations of the Lunar Colony itself, Wilhelm offered orbital pleasure cruises complete with full historical tours and the occasional but very expensive ground excursion to Old Earth.
His resort and business enterprise was hailed as one of the greatest vacation spots in the known galaxy. Of course, at any given moment, someone in an ecological net group would be complaining about the exploitation of humanity’s greatest tragedy, but protesters were not allowed upon Wilhelm’s property. Every so often, a few would sneak through, but they were quietly or forcefully asked to leave.
