The Legend of Ivan

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.

Dozens, hundreds, thousands of people were packed in each building with bare inches of space to call their own. Apartment buildings rented out numerous body lockers, tiny sleeping bunks the size of coffins. Simple and cheap sound proofing provided the illusion of privacy, and of course one could get a slightly bigger unit if one had guests in mind.

Public bathrooms for these tenants, to my knowledge, had also been a large problem, but my curiosity never drove me to discover the delicate balance required. In either case, the body lockers lined the walls in the apartment complexes. Traveling in those buildings, it was always an eerie thought to wonder how many of the individuals locked inside were dead and yet undiscovered.

I seldom went into any of these locations, as my wealth level could afford something much nicer, and I didn’t need a great deal of sleep either way. In addition, I seldom stopped for more than a few hours or a few days in any one location, so accommodations were not usually necessary.

I continued to contemplate the possibilities involved with gaining the information from Keritas, deciding that whatever little bit they could provide would be worth my time to pursue.

“Pssst! Hey buddy!”

A disheveled, filthy individual stared at me with wide eyes. He leaned out of the tiny alley gap between buildings, squeezed tightly in the very small space. Dirty fingers clung to the wall edge, and the man beckoned frantically.

I didn’t approach. “Yes?”

“You’re the guy looking for Ivan, right?”

Glancing around, noticing no one else paying me any mind, I said, “Now what would make you think that?”

He jabbed a grubby index finger at the side of his temple, where a tarnished implant lay. “Oh, you know. I got ways.” He grinned, revealing a row of stained, half-rotting teeth. His shaggy gray hair and beard were tangled and greasy. “Tapping into the database is tricky, but not if you piggyback onto someone else’s query. Of course, it can get really boring because you have to sit there and wait for something useful to come up. But that’s not important. What I’ve got is information. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Significant doubts of this individual’s sanity entered my mind, but I sighed. “What do you know?”

“Oh, nono. Not here. Somewhere else. We can’t let them find us.”

He wriggled backwards, squeezing his way through the tight space. Gritting my teeth, I followed behind,