I really had to admire Traverian Grey. Retirement for a successful mercenary with a long, lucrative, and bloody career cannot possibly be an easy endeavor. In addition, it appeared the second survivor of the mythic Ivan hunt managed to adhere himself to the last place anyone would ever suspect.
Belgriad was a dusty trade-world on the rim, aspiring to the middle-grade economic success of variety planets closer to the core. It had a limited amount of mining, fabrication, and other large-profit exports as well as a small but tenacious tourism business. Sporting the latest technology from decades prior, Belgriad was in a small way my vision of hell.
There was nothing offensive in particular about it, other than a lack of unified infrastructure, net access, and research abilities as well as there being wide open tracts of uninhabited land. A dull and dreary world, it was so far removed from the workings of the greater economy that it merited only the briefest mention anywhere else.
Nothing interesting existed there: the society, the world, or its general purposes. The richest man on Belgriad could clean toilets for a Keritas middle-management fellow on Ethra. It seemed a lesser version of a multi-facet world, poor to decent by comparison in most areas but lacking anything impressive. At least poverty and crime levels were low.
Truly nothing was wrong with this world, but I didn’t like it nonetheless. Belgriad existed in an era passed by; its decades-behind progress might as well have been centuries to me.
I felt uncomfortable, out of place. In spite of suggestions of Belgriad’s general tolerance to heavy prosthesis being impressive for its distance from the galactic core, I held no strong desire to land Minerva upon its partly barren surface.
Why Traverian Grey sought his retirement in this place seemed clear and confusing at the same time. Out of the way and insignificant, it certainly provided an obscurity that all but guaranteed he’d never be bothered by his past. However, with the amount of money made in his long career, there had to exist a thousand places more luxurious.
Returning to my impressions of the planet, I realized that Grey might have been the aforementioned wealthiest individual on Belgriad, and the thought of him cleaning toilets was laughable. It made me wonder if his current role was some manner of scam.
Traverian Grey: assassin, mercenary, hunter of dinosaurs, and as near to legend as Ivan himself without a planetary destruction. This man, this hired gun, was playing deacon for an Ivan-worshiping organization.
The Penitent Children of Ivan lived in a small commune, more cult than established faith. Thankfully, they didn’t exist under one of the many absurd leaders with delusions of grandeur as well as a penchant for control of the feeble-minded. The outsider’s perspective, gathered from a few of the quaint inhabitants of a nearby city, was an impression of harmless quirk.
Even the other locals provided to me this odd sense of unnerve. Far from a few decades, I viewed some kind of bizarre amalgamation between a post-industrial and hyper-commercial society.
I’ve grown accustomed to the mining camp appearance. Dusty earth, filthy prefab barracks or bungalow housing. Half-brained workers operating equipment one hundred times more valuable than their lives. But Belgriad…
The cities and villages were so spread and varied, including dwellings from small shacks to neo-plast towers. They hardly seemed to be of the same world at all. Development moved so slowly, and in spite of an age where pre-fabricated cities could practically be dropped in from orbit, tenacious construction crawled along the surface without the greater aid of a massive budget.
Yet the people were strangely content, making me all the more uncomfortable. Net access was somewhat limited, but the citizens still had to realize that plenty of places in the galaxy could provide better technology, better quality of life, and not this limbo of being spread across eras.
Even more bizarre to my eyes, after renting a wheeled electric vehicle about four centuries old in design and traveling a few hundred miles, was the dwelling of the two hundred or so denizens of the Penitent Children of Ivan. It was a ranch.
A ranch.
They utilized cattle, beasts of burden, and traded the fresh, unaltered genetics of inferior animal specimens to attain simple supplies. None of their devices and implements required more than rudimentary electricity. Buildings were made out of stone and wood from the local, gnarled variety of trees. Passing along the outskirts, I couldn’t help but gawk as I saw laborers actually using nails to fasten pieces of their dwellings together. The entire spectacle blurred my vision and made me wonder if perhaps I had fallen into some manner of alternate existence of millennia long passed.
Clenching my elegant metallic fist, proof I was a product of and existed in a civilized, technology-driven universe, I approached the small village and prayed this experience would be brief.
“Good afternoon, friend,” an individual wearing dusty clothing and a wide-brimmed hat spoke as I pulled the quiet vehicle forward to a long fence outside of the wooden shacks. It might have been imagination or expectations, but the man’s tone seemed as an empty-headed drawl. “What brings you out this way?”
He regarded me with a sharp, wary appraisal, eyes lingering on the metal hand which gripped the steering control of the vehicle. Trying to keep the scorn out of my voice, I spoke, “I’m looking for someone.”
“That so?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Who, might I ask?”
“A man by the name of Traverian Grey. I was told he was the deacon of your church.”
He frowned. “It’s true that we have a Mr. Grey as our worship-aid, but he goes by Silas. You sure you have the right place?”
“Definitely,” I nodded, “and Silas Grey is who I need to see.”
The suspicion deepened in my new friend’s eyes. “What is it you want with Deacon Grey?”
I held up my hands, trying to appear non-threatening. “I only need to ask him a couple of questions. It won’t take long, and you can keep an eye on me if you like.” I had nothing to hide. Grey, on the other hand…
His appraisal continued for a moment. “All right. You can come in, but you have to leave the wheeler here. We prefer a simple life, and fancy technology, no offense,” he said, motioning towards my prostheses, “doesn’t fit into that.”
Nodding, I stepped out of the vehicle, glad to be away from it. Pathetic speed, bumpy suspension, and unpadded seats: it was little more than wheels, a frame, and a cheap engine. My hours-long ride was dull and uncomfortable, and I didn’t relish the thought of a return trip. On the other hand, considering my surroundings, I expected to be longing for it soon.
My new friend stuck out his hand. “Linus Newson.”
“Sid.” We shook, and I felt a blip of satisfaction at the discomfort on Newson’s face as he gripped the cold metal of my right hand.
“That short for anything?”
“Just Sid.”
We traveled through the village, dust swirling around our heels as he pointed out the function of a couple of buildings. Their construction was fine, elegant handiwork for certain, but the concept of such base manual labor without the involvement of prefab assembly seemed laughable. There was a small water pump in the middle of town, its apparatus disguised by a circular well of brick.
He motioned to a provisions building. “Most everyone gets their food and supplies from there, and most of filling it we take care of ourselves. A little gets traded with nearby towns, but they don’t think much of us.”
I understood why. Even the odd amalgamation of somewhat new and very old technology of the rest of the planet was far in advance of what they had going on in this place. I wondered if their lifestyle was a product of some backward religious ideology.
“That’s the generator.” He pointed to a larger building made of brick and stone. “Lines go underground. Some of the folks wanted to get rid of that, too, but…”
We exchanged looks, and a moment of clarity settled between us as we agreed upon certain simplicities: running water, plumbing, energy for light and heat when necessary. Still, as I glanced at the building, I couldn’t help but imagine their power being fabricated by a thousand rodents running on wheels.
Linus talked a bit about their tech-free living-situation, but I tuned most of his drawl out while I counted the number of house-type structures. There were enough buildings for the couple hundred individuals, and they were nothing amazing in design. Simple accommodations for simple people.
Some of whom provided disquieting stares as we progressed towards the end of the town. No one approached or said a word, but their eyes registered a distaste for outsiders. A small cottage-like dwelling sat near the end of the town, and a short, railed ramp led up to a doorway. Linus held up a hand for me to stay back, and he walked forward and knocked on the door.
“Deacon Grey?” he called out. “Linus Newson here.”
Moments dripped by, and I could hear slight sounds coming from within. The door opened a crack, not enough for me to see the occupant. Newson’s neck craned downward, suggesting he looked at a very short man. “Linus,” a gravel-toned voice came through. “What can I do for you, today?”
“There’s a man out here says he wants to chat with you,” he pointed towards me, “but you say the word, and I’ll send him on his way.”
“Of course not, c’mon inside.”
Newson pushed the door open, looking back at me. “Well? Come along, then.”
I walked up the ramp and stepped into the cottage, whose overall size seemed to barely outstrip Minerva’s cockpit. The interior was simple, clean. A small stove area lay next to a cot. A closed wardrobe likely held a few articles of clothing, and an open closet-door led into a latrine area. A few loops of fabric hung from the ceiling along with bars fastened to the wall to accommodate the occupant’s infirmity.
Traverian, or Silas, Grey sat in a wheeled chair, much of both legs gone along with an arm up to the elbow. Far from the cold, steely glare of a long-time mercenary, his grizzled, unshaven face held a kindly appearance behind the numerous scars and missing teeth.
“What’s your name, friend?” the man asked, extending his remaining hand and leaving me to wonder if this was truly the terrible mercenary I’d heard about.
The situation was so far out from what I was expecting that I hesitated. I searched his expression for some manner of analysis, calculation, or anything suggesting the shrewd and unyielding nature of his reputation. Nothing: only a soft smile and patient air. He didn’t even seem to react to seeing what he must have known was an Archivist.
“Sid,” I finally spoke, reaching out for the awkward left-handed shake.
His grip was quite firm. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Sid.”
“No Mister, please,” I replied with a bow. “Just Sid, or Archivist if you must.” I felt a soft reminder would bring a reaction.
No such luck; he remained unreadable. “Of course, Archivist, of course.” He cocked his head, waiting for me to speak.
A hundred strategies of information coaxing flitted through my mind, but for once I seemed at a disadvantage. I kept searching for an ounce of alarm, appraisal, confusion, fear, anything at all to provide a tactic of approach, but there was nothing. I assumed he’d instantly know why I was there the moment he laid eyes on me. However, looking at him, I couldn’t gauge anything.
Awkward silence dripped by. “Well, you’re the one who came here, stranger,” Linus piped up. “Why don’t you say something already?”
Frustrated, put off balance in what must have been Grey’s own strategy, I went for the direct approach. “Traverian Grey,” I said, staring directly at the crippled man. “I’m here seeking information from you about Ivan.”
“I told you his name wasn’t Traverian—”
Grey held up a hand, cutting off his friend. “Mr. Newson, thank you for bringing him. I need to speak privately with Sid here, so if you could please shut the door on the way out…?”
The man seemed poised to object, but he nodded. “I’ll be right outside, Deacon. Holler if you need anything.” He passed a brief, irritated gaze in my direction before passing outside. The door clicked shut.
“My friend Mr. Newson was correct,” Grey said, still nothing but passive interest registering on his face. “I don’t go by Traverian.”
“But that is… was your name.” I folded my arms.
He gave a nod.
“And you knew Ivan.”
Another nod.
“He gave you those injuries.”
He didn’t respond.
Confused, I asked, “He didn’t?”
A tiny smirk curled at the corner of his mouth, the first real reaction I’d seen out of him, but he skipped by the question. “I go by Silas now, Deacon to the First Church of the Penitent Children of Ivan.”
“Listen, Mr. Grey.” I gestured. “I’m trying to find both information about Ivan’s location and Ivan himself. I know you were the last known individual to see him. I respect the fact that you’re hiding here in peaceful retirement, and I don’t wish to disturb you any longer than it takes to find out what I want to know.”
He chuckled, wheeling his chair around with one hand and the stump of his other arm. “Can I get anything for you? Something to drink, eat maybe?”
“No, thank you.”
Moving over to the stove, he set down a clean pan and clicked on a heating element. “Must have been Lorric, hm? Tell you where I was?”
“Yes.”
“Shoulda known he’d keep tabs on me.” Grey shook his head, laughing softly as he opened a cooled box. He withdrew a few eggs from a small container. He held them up. “You see these? Fresh as you can get ’em.” He pulled out a tomato. “Same as this. Better than any hydroponics garden can ever match.”
He grabbed a knife from a block and set the tomato down, skillfully cutting without difficulty. Still smirking, he dropped what looked like some kind of animal grease into the pan before cracking the eggs.
“I’d like to get moving along as soon as possible,” I said.
He ignored me.
I watched, impatient, as he cooked the ingredients together, slicing off a slab of some kind of cheese to go with it and scrambling everything together. Eventually, he dumped the whole mess onto a plate. Cradling it in his lap, he used a fork to take a few bites. He gestured at the plate. “I’ve spent a thousand credits on a meal not half as satisfying.”
“Impressive,” I replied in a tone suggesting not the least bit of interest.
Grey tossed his head back and laughed. He didn’t say anything, still chuckling as he took a few more bites.
“May I ask what is so funny?” I asked, gritting my teeth.
“Oh nothing, it’s just…” Shaking his head and laughing, the crippled man said, “You think I’m crazy. Out of my mind. Snapped, cracked, overcome with madness, and unable to cope with my one magnificent failure.”
I said nothing.
“You think I’m hiding, laying low in this land beyond corporate reach, beyond the vengeance of comrade and kin, beyond the niceties of modern civilization. You think I live on this antiquated pebble of the galaxy to let my reputation die, afraid of what the unwashed masses will think of my poor, crippled self. You think I’m crazy to have not bought five or six mansions to live in, new body parts to make me whole again, and enough expensive luxury items to live out my days in blissful abandon. And most of all…” He paused, taking another bite. “You think I’ve gone completely batshit to be hanging around Ivan worshippers. Does that about cover it, Sid the Archivist?”
Blinking, I kept an even expression. Everything he said was more or less true, and I considered his ability to acknowledge madness poor proof to him lacking it.
Grey laughed again. “It couldn’t possibly occur to you, with your infinite wisdom and experience, that I stay out here in this place because I actually like it?”
Cold surprise and realization spilled through my body. My careful control of emotion must have slipped, considering the hysterical torrent of laughter my new companion fell into.
“Right on all counts, I see!” he shouted, thumping his hand against the stub of his leg as he laughed.
A hot flush bristled through my body. It was embarrassing to be ridiculed, to be coming in with such high preconception only to have completely misjudged. His amusement did little to temper my rising irritation.
Striking him crossed my mind briefly, but I decided there would be no satisfaction to be had in such an act. Besides, Grey still managed to kill two bounty hunters and wound another who was a brilliant strategist. This was after losing three limbs in a cataclysmic explosion and crashing a hover vehicle.
Granted, “Silas” Grey was much older, and the people he ambushed were half-starved. Either way, I still had no good reason, aside from his continued mirth at my expense, to hit him.
Besides, my assumptions though premature were quite reasonable. “Why should I believe otherwise?” My tone contained a hard edge as I tried to cut through his amusement. “Here you are, what’s left of the mercenary legend. Traverian Grey, playing worship-aide to a ridiculous cult.”
“Ah, ah, ah.” He wagged a finger at me. “I caught you again. You think I can’t possibly be this man, this wholly legitimate Deacon of the Penitent Children of Ivan, without ulterior motive. You think I can’t believe.”
This time, surprise was knocked aside by anger. “Not a chance. You’ve met Ivan. You know he’s nothing more than a simple man, unless your mind truly was addled by failure and fear.”
Grey ignored the insult, another peal of laughter escaping him. “Oh-ho! Clearly you don’t know much if you think of anything about Ivan as simple. I thought Archivists were supposed to be smart.” He grinned, far too smug, and I again contemplated the advantages of striking him.
“Very well…” I seethed. “You are aware that he’s made of flesh and blood. He is human, not some kind of deity.”
“Oh, well technically,” he waved his hand back and forth. “Our doctrine states that Ivan is a manifestation, a living embodiment of God sent to herald our salvation or destruction.” He shrugged. “It sort of depends upon humanity’s worth as a whole.”
I shook my head. “Superstitious absurdity, and your seeming adherence only proves your madness.”
Shrugging, he replied. “Perhaps, but perhaps it’s you who can’t see beyond your preconceptions of what does and doesn’t make sense for an individual in my situation.” I opened my mouth to object, but he held up his hand. “I can see we’re not off to the greatest start, so why don’t we begin again. I’ll stop poking fun at you if you agree to hold an open mind.”
I pulled a folding chair out from a corner and sat down, waiting for him to speak. Even with my irritation, I could not overcome the curiosity I felt. The situation and how it developed was too strange to overlook. I wondered if it was some kind of madness or if Traverian Grey, galactic scourge, changed so drastically as to become a peace-loving country bumpkin, worshipping his greatest foe.
“You want to know why I’m here,” he offered.
Nodding, I responded, keeping my tone carefully neutral. “Of course. Even you must understand it represents a very odd change in attitude and priority. Though it’s possible all I’ve heard about you was mere conjecture…” I trailed off, the question hanging.
He shook his head. “Not a bit of it. Money, power, guns, the thrill of a good fight…” A wistful expression crossed his face. “Crushing an opponent, dancing with death. There’s nothing quite like it.” The expression hardened, and he looked at me. “But it creates no lasting happiness, for me or anyone else. Nothing matters but the thought of more, and all the credits, bodies at my feet, and destruction does nothing to fill that need.”
“So, by living this way, out here… you keep yourself away from temptation?”
“Not so complicated as that, I’m afraid,” he said. “At first, I was simply tired. I’d never lost before at all, and to be crushed so completely. Coping was…”
“Difficult?”
Grey smiled. “To say the least. Either way, once I passed the initial stage of recovery, hiding was my first thought.” He looked at me and shrugged. “Yes, I’ll admit your notions were not far from the mark.”
I motioned for him to continue, not wishing to inhibit further conversation by lording a smug attitude over him.
“Gods, I wanted to get patched up as soon as possible. I had seven more plans of attack in mind, ready to corner Ivan again and gain my redemption, but…”
I finished his statement. “You were afraid.”
He sighed. “More than you can imagine. I knew… I knew so deeply, so completely, I couldn’t ever match him. Yet I couldn’t imagine not trying if I was capable.” His expression softened, a helpless, almost fearful appearance seeming laughable coming from someone with such a fierce reputation. “I’d worked with him. Saw how he fought, calculated everything, and still I never stood a chance.”
Grey lapsed into silence for a moment, lost in consideration. He looked up at me. “I knew pursuing the failed conquest would become my only choice for redemption. If I had myself put back together, the obsession would have driven me back to him, back to my final end.”
“That…” he gave a bitter laugh, “and I couldn’t face the thought of the galaxy knowing about my coward’s defeat. I was beaten, broken… but alive. The moment I dropped a stack of currency upon the desk of the best prosthetics surgeon, everyone would know that Traverian Grey was yet living… and an appalling failure. Oh I told myself so often that I didn’t care what others thought, but I was a bit of a slave to my reputation, I’ll admit that much.”
“Of course,” he continued, “not many people knew I was even there besides a few corporate bidders and our apparent friend-in-common Lorric.”
I said, “True, most of my research suggested you simply vanished into hiding, retirement, or an early grave. The only relation I found between you and Ivan was a story passed down from a drunken buffoon.”
Grey cocked his head. “Was that…?” He closed his eyes. “It couldn’t have been Hunter’s End? You heard about that?”
I gave a nod.
My companion burst out laughing, “I can’t believe anyone remembers that… A hell of a contract, and I thought Ivan was the craziest son of a bitch I’d ever met.” Nostalgia overcame his expression, and he asked me, leaning forward and excited. “Your contact told you Ivan woke up that monster, right?” I nodded, and he laughed harder. “There we are, the damn thing is sleeping and the easiest hundred thousand I could ever imagine, and he starts yelling! I mean, who does that? Honorable combat with a giant lizard? Then the damn thing tries to eat me!”
I chuckled. “It was quite a tale.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard plenty more,” he settled back into his chair, “but we’re getting off topic here, my apologies.”
“Not at all,” I smiled. “It’s nice to validate especially some of the less believable claims.”
He gave a contented sigh. “I’d imagine… Gods, I do miss those days sometimes…” He shook his head. “But after a month in recovery and hiding out, to my own considerable surprise… I actually started to like the quiet life.” Grey shrugged. “Oh, every day I’d tell myself it was time to quit hiding and find myself a surgeon, but…”
Strange as it was, it made a measure of sense. I wondered if I’d ever grow weary of flying about the galaxy in search of information, but the idea seemed beyond absurd. A quiet life of sheer boredom would end me as surely as five undisturbed minutes with my good friend Cain.
“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?”
Ivan gave a sad chuckle. “The planet was destroyed.”
“The whole thing?” Narrowing his eyes, Grey asked, “How?”
“I do not have the slightest idea.”
The bounty hunter folded his arms, bothered by the admission. It wasn’t because he thought Ivan was lying; Grey could hear the truth of it in the large man’s voice. Nor was the situation troubling due to the people who wanted to interrogate and rip every tiny thought from Ivan’s mind in a desperate attempt to discover how one could obliterate a world. Regardless of results, Grey’s money would be paid, wasted by the corporations who would gain nothing from Ivan.
What disturbed Grey was that suddenly Ivan seemed like less of a conquest. The huge man would be locked in a box for the remainder of his natural life, pumped full of narcotics and answering the endless barrage of questions. The information of Ivan having nothing to do with the incident, only a mere witness, would never leak out of the top tiers of the cooperating corporations. As far as the galaxy would be concerned, Traverian Grey would have captured the legend who crushed a planet with his bare hands.
Even still, the person Grey cared about the most was himself, and he felt as though his impending victory had been cheapened.
“I am sorry I cannot satisfy your curiosity, my friend,” Ivan said, noting the frown and silent contemplation his comrade lapsed into. “We should be going, however. I have had a few pesky flies buzzing near to my tail of late. They have this nasty habit of swarming when I stop to rest.”
Grey waved a hand. “They’re all dead.”
“You swatted them, eh?” Ivan nodded, frowning without a trace of surprise. “I thought as much upon seeing the wreckage in atmosphere and smoking craters upon the ground. Were their deaths truly necessary?”
The bounty hunter didn’t reply, too wrapped in his disappointment and contemplation. Is the mountain worth climbing when you find out it’s a hill? he thought.
Ivan sighed. “You were always a brutal and ruthless man, Mister Grey. Very cold and all about business.” He folded his arms. “However, we have been dancing around an important matter. Tell me, did you kill those men and women to help me, or are you simply eliminating the competition?”
Grey shot a gaze up to Ivan, his contemplation evaporating. Ivan stood a few feet away, entirely non-threatening with a deadpan expression. He spoke again. “Consider this carefully, my old friend. This is not a road you will be able to return from easily.”
A chill coursed through Grey, and with it came the slightest mote of doubt that he’d be capable of besting Ivan.
At the thought, exhilaration burst within him, the doubt and uncertainty of success transforming his hill into a mountain once again. His mind flitted over the weapons he carried and the devices buried nearby: traps and snares to ensure success.
“Please tell me my friend.” Ivan’s face betrayed a sorrow suggesting he already knew the answer. “Are you here to help me?”
Grey did not respond with words. Snapping his visor down, he swung his energy rifle to bear. He fired, aiming for Ivan’s leg.
Traverian Grey was fast, and he was an excellent shot. The bounty hunter hardly had a moment to register his energy bolt missing entirely before Ivan sprang forward. In an impossibly fast motion, the enormous man ripped the rifle out of Grey’s hands and smashed it into the mercenary’s midsection.
Though the ballistic armor took the brunt of the impact, Grey staggered against the force of the blow. Before he could recover, Ivan seized the bounty hunter around the midsection and tore the helmet from his head in a swift motion. Surprised by the unbelievable strength his foe possessed, Grey didn’t react until Ivan grabbed and hurled him ten feet.
The bounty hunter crashed to the ground face first, smashing out a couple of teeth and cutting a hole in his lower lip. Dazed, he touched his forehead where a wide gash split.
“You are fighting very slowly, my friend.” He heard Ivan behind him. “I know you can do much better.”
Spitting blood, Grey snarled and spun around. He snatched two flechette pistols from his belt and fired.
Ivan ducked one burst and blocked the other with the helmet he still held. The razor cloud smashed into it, a few sliding by and slicing into Ivan’s body. Seeming not to notice the lacerations on his torso, Ivan hurled the helmet, tiny razors embedded within it, at Grey.
Still shocked at his opponent’s speed and strength, Grey managed to roll out of the way, dropping one pistol in the process. He brought the other to bear only to have it disintegrate in his hand as Ivan fired the half-bent energy rifle with frightening accuracy.
There was a pause. Ivan, with the rifle aimed at Grey, took a step forward. “I do not wish to kill you, my old friend. Please do not force me to.”
Breathing hard, blood streaming down his face and bits of the molten pistol clinging to his glove, Grey flitted a glance over to the other, fallen weapon. It was nearly within arm’s reach.
“Please don’t,” Ivan repeated.
Grey clenched his teeth. Without his helmet display, he couldn’t see the locations of the explosives he placed. Hell with this, he thought, punching a button on his belt as he dove.
A deafening boom filled the air along with smoke and a shower of rock. Three of his buried explosives went, each close to the center of the campsite and away from where he lay. A high-pitched whine streaked into his ears as he snatched up the pistol and rolled. He brought the weapon to bear, ready to fire.
Ivan wasn’t there. Smoke and dust kicked up from the mines clouded around, and Grey couldn’t see any sign of his enemy. His augmented and normally insulated hearing still shrieked with the noise. Swiveling the pistol back and forth, he scanned, desperate to find Ivan. The bounty hunter’s eyes stung from blood, sweat, and dust. Grey blinked, trying to clear them.
Without even the slightest hint of detecting his foe’s approach, Grey’s arms clamped down at his sides. The pistol was knocked from his grasp, and a moment later the bounty hunter was hoisted into the air and slammed into the ground.
An audible crack from his ballistic armor cut through the shrieking in his ears. The wind rushed from his lungs, his forehead again rebounding off the hard ground. Stars danced in front of his eyes, and he coughed. In a daze, something was tugging, yanking at his legs. What’s he doing? Grey thought, touching another button at his belt.
The blast went off underneath him. His armor, the finest money could buy, was incredibly tough. Instead of blowing a hole through his torso, the explosive merely broke and cracked a total of six ribs and sent him flying through the air with Ivan still clinging to his back.
Grey impacted the ground, his mental haze bursting with pain as his newly damaged ribs cried out. He couldn’t hear anything at all, the obnoxious whine almost bursting his skull.
He felt the armor ripped free of his leg, the cold of the night air instantly chilling on his bare skin. Grey twisted the dial on one wrist. Tiny jabs poked at various points on his body, and his veins ignited with stimulant pouring into them.
Eyes flying open, the world snapped into sharper focus. Grey rolled over and kicked out, freeing his other leg from Ivan’s grasp and staggering his opponent. Using the moment, Grey stumbled to his feet and charged. He rammed into Ivan’s midsection, hoping to drive the huge man into the ground.
Good God, he is a mountain, Grey thought as Ivan didn’t budge.
With a casual shove, Ivan sent the mercenary sprawling again. The dull, distant pain roared weakly, hidden behind the blood-boiling stimulant. Grey tried to scramble away, but his leg was seized again. Ivan bellowed and pulled, hands on either side of the bounty hunter’s thigh.
Grey’s mouth fell open as the armor, only slightly damaged from the fight, cracked and split apart down the seams. Ivan cast the broken shards aside and loomed over his foe.
Scores of cuts and lacerations dotted Ivan’s arms, legs, and torso. Blood leaked and dripped down the enormous man’s body. Shards of shrapnel poked out of the wounds and dust caked Ivan’s exposed skin, but the man didn’t seem to be at all bothered.
Grey reached down to activate another explosive.
Ivan shot a hand out, seizing Grey’s wrist. He yanked the bounty hunter to his feet, chopping with his other hand. The armor covering Grey’s arm shattered along with the wrist beneath it. This new pain screamed through the stimulant, and the crushed bits of the ballistic armor shook loose and fell away.
The mercenary fell to the ground as Ivan released him and walked a few paces away. Cradling the injured wrist, Grey clamored to his feet, trying to let his seething rage cut through the agony echoing everywhere in his body.
Ivan stood, arms folded and gripping the flechette pistol Grey dropped some time earlier. The expression on his face was stern, unyielding. Scrapes, gashes, and punctures stood out everywhere on his body, but Ivan didn’t appear the slightest bit fatigued or weakened by the fight.
Grey on the other hand was all but wrecked. The armor was torn from both of his legs, and his feet bled with minor cuts sustained from only seconds of moving on the rough ground. His head, concussed and still ringing from multiple explosions, muddled through a daze mixed with powerful stimulant. He couldn’t stand upright due to the broken ribs, and small bits of bone poked through the wrist Ivan destroyed.
Ivan shouted, cutting through the haze of Grey’s mind and the whine of his ears. “You are finished. Stop this now.”
Never in his life had Traverian Grey been defeated. Never had he failed, and never had he given up. Twisting his face into a snarl, completely unaware of where he was standing and where the bombs were, he punched another detonator.
As the aging man told his story, I noted each injury from the fight with the scars and missing pieces of his body. I believed it was still madness, but I began to understand why Grey had no choice but to revere, perhaps even worship the man who had broken him so easily.
“Rather than bleed to death after my arm and legs were shredded by the one that went off beneath me, I dragged myself over to my rifle.” He smirked. “It worked well enough to cauterize the wounds.”
“And Ivan was gone?” I asked, stifling a grimace.
“There was enough stim left to keep me part-way conscious, and the vitals monitoring of the chest piece, thank the stars it didn’t break, kept enough of me alive and out of shock. After the last one went off, I saw him walk away, chuck aside my gun, get in his ship, and blast on out.” Grey wheeled himself over to the basin. “Since you chatted with Lorric, I’m sure you pretty much know the rest.” He splashed water on his face.
I nodded.
“Well there you have it then.” The former mercenary ran a hand through thinning hair. “The downfall of the great Traverian Grey, laid out nice and neat for you. Of course, you probably aren’t really that interested in any of my stories. You and your employers are still looking to find out just how he managed to destroy that planet.”
Frowning, I asked, “Do you still believe he was telling the truth? Was he only a witness?”
Grey shrugged. “I think he was involved, but I doubt it was his fault. See, that ship of his, you know its name, right?”
“OLGA,” I said, “but that particular name has appeared often.”
The man wagged a finger at me. “Ah yes, a few weapons he carried and such, but I also heard it somewhere else. When I was digging out where to find him, I noticed it was the codename of the project down on Atropos Garden.”
Unbidden, a blip of Dana’s memory flashed forward at the mention of the name associated with the ill-fated world. Indeed, the Olga title was found dotting several tiny memories.
“Could the project have been his ship?” I asked. “Other weaponry and devices?” I remembered the cannon from Hunter’s End, reluctant to consider it new technology.
“Well,” Grey rubbed his chin. “I may not have your remarkable processing power and blasted infinite memory, but I’ve dragged together a few theories over the years.” I smirked at him, and he laughed. “Don’t get me wrong; I love my retirement, but it doesn’t do much but provide me with far too much time to think. I may have left my past behind, but I certainly haven’t forgotten it.”
I motioned for him to continue.
“The project being his about ship and weapons research was my thought. Y’see, I still heard rumblings of what Ivan was up to over the years, and the kind of stuff he managed in that one stinking ship…” He snapped his fingers. “Like the cruiser over Orkanis, uh, the prison.”
“I’m familiar,” I said.
“Caldonis, New Prague? I wasn’t there, but I heard he wiped out half a battalion by himself! It was a while ago, but the Garden was up and running back then. And the slaver colony? I heard he blew that place sky-high.”
Frowning, I replied, “I haven’t been able to confirm his involvement in the battles, and I’m not familiar with any slave colonies.”
Grey held up a finger, ignoring my statement. “I think he was working for the government all along as some kind of espionage agent.”
I didn’t tell him I thought his notion was somewhat absurd.
“Think about it. The Garden was one of the last pieces of anything not touched by Soma, Keritas, Daedra, or any of those other giants. He’s probably the best pilot in the galaxy, so they fixed him up with OLGA, the ship. They’ve been upgrading it ever since, and they’ve been giving him little toys to work with for when he can’t be in the air.”
“Finally,” he continued, “they mashed in something too big, screwed something up, and then bad things happened. He was telling me the truth about not knowing anything because he was just the jockey. The ship was the real deal, and whatever they put in it is probably what your employer wants.” He settled back into his chair as he finished speaking. I somehow gained the feeling he’d been waiting to tell someone this theory for a long time.
The former mercenary perked up again. “I still never heard what actually happened, other than the world itself was destroyed. I mean, did he vaporize it? Did it actually explode?”
I shrugged, remembering the glittering mass of disintegration and not feeling it necessary to share.
He laughed. “You’re probably going to have to figure that out, don’t you think?”
“Most likely.”
Grey rested his remaining hand on his stomach. “Anything else you want to ask me? You have me pining for the old days, that’s for sure. I could tell you some pretty amazing stories.”
Smiling, I replied. “I’m sure you could, but I need to be on my way soon.” He gave a sigh. “First, I need to ask if you have any idea where Ivan might have gone. Second, I’ve never heard anything about involvement with any slave activity, aside from in his interaction with Voux Hanatar.”
He tapped a finger against his lips. “You have to ask yourself: in a galaxy where his name is feared, where could Ivan hide?”
“It’s a big galaxy.” I folded my arms. “And most people these days don’t think he exists.”
Grinning, he laughed. “Of course! Of course, but we know better, right? He has to be somewhere.”
I sighed.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “The bounty might have privatized, thanks to Lorric and me, but I’d wager it’s still out there. No one’s had any luck finding him since me, but then fly in the Archivists to dig him out.”
I stared at him with a blank look. “Would you please arrive at your point?”
“Oh fine,” he said. “Obviously he’s hiding, but he’s not exactly the most inconspicuous individual. Of all the things he’s done, there are only a couple of stories where he’s helped someone out. I’m pretty sure the slaver one is true. Whoever was left, whoever he saved from that place… I’d bet you anything he’s hiding with them.”
“Interesting,” I said, genuinely considering the possibility.
Grey wheeled himself over. “That’s all I have for ya, so good luck in the rest of your search. I’m sure you want to be getting on your way.” He held out his good hand.
We shook, and I stood up. Donning my cloak and hat, I turned to the exit. “Enjoy your retirement,” I said, opening the door and stepping out.
Linus Newson remained waiting outside, a frown upon his face. “You were in there for quite a while, friend. What were you and Deacon Grey talkin’ about?”
“Business.” I glanced around, noticing several people peering out of their doors and windows, some standing in the streets and openly staring. It seemed the whole village was interested in what was going on.
The frown on my escort’s face deepened. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but you’re kinda causin’ a bit of distress around town. You’re not plannin’ on stayin’ are ya?”
I smiled. “No, and I likely won’t come back.” He brightened up a bit as I considered the astronomically remote chances of my return.
“Ah, good then. Can I show you back to your vehicle?”
I gave a nod.
The two of us passed through the ramshackle village once again, no more impressive the second time around. I ignored the stares of the denizens and the uncivilized squalor of their general existence. Already I was deep within contemplation of what to do next.
Assignment: Seeking information regarding the truth and whereabouts of Ivan.
Location: Belgriad
Report: Spoke with Traverian Grey, last known person to encounter Ivan.
Probability: 99%
Summary: Aging, retired, and crippled Grey gave details of final encounter. Ivan’s abilities [space/ground combat] seem peerless. Possible lead on how to find him [former slaves]; need to research.