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.
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, inching my way forward. The man seemed thin and frail, squeezing through with relative ease. My metallic right shoulder scored the walls on both sides as I scraped along. My hat tumbled off, but I managed to snatch it with my free hand. “I take it that receptionist’s discomfort was your fault?”
The man laughed as I continued to struggle through. “Yeah man, the system they got has detection algorithms for multiple links on the same path, kinda to prevent exactly what I’m doing. They send a feedback spike down the link into the intruder’s brain, which manifests as about the worst hangover you could ever imagine.” He shrugged, stooping over. “Of course, I tricked the countermeasure into thinking she was the illicit presence, so she got zapped.”
Finally, as he jabbered about his mainframe diving, I gripped the edge and pulled myself free. I came out in a small open square, with identical gaps leading forward and to the left and right. My new friend was crouched over a street covering, prying at it with a twisted chunk of metal. Exasperated, I asked, “Sewers?”
He waved a hand at me, annoyed. “No, no, no. This isn’t a shit-pipe. It’s a relay.” The man wrenched, and the covering popped open an inch. “Grab that.” I did as he asked and hauled the hinged plate upward. I noted the broken locking mechanism on the lid as my new companion dropped down into the hole. Carefully, I followed behind, settling the hatch in place overhead before descending the short ladder.
Lengths of electrical and various cabling stretched out in either direction along with a small walkway. It appeared to be a maintenance tunnel for the unholy amount of data processing and wiring that stretched everywhere on the planet. Soft green diagnostic blips on the walls provided a dim lighting.
I half-expected the crazed man to take a lunge at or try to rob me, not that it would have done him any good, but he waited with an impatient expression. “You’re a little slow; you know that?”
Frowning, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“We should be safe here, for now. I couldn’t speak freely out in the open because they’re looking for me.”
I felt a twinge of frustration as the man confirmed the presence of paranoia and likely delusion. “Who is looking for you?” I asked.
“Keritas, of course. Who else?”
Rolling my eyes, I replied, “Who else indeed? What information do you have for me?”
“Ah, ah, ah! It’s not that simple, is it?” He grinned again, and the wild expression knocked my opinion of his sanity down several more notches. “There’s a such a thing called a deal. You know? Tit for that? You scratch my back, and we all smell the music? All for one and five for a credit?”
I folded my arms, favoring him with a glare. “Loose lips sink glass houses.”
My new friend tossed his head back and gave a long laugh. “Exactly my friend, exactly. So I want to know what you’ll be doing for me if I tell you what I know.”
Cocking my head, I replied, “I’m willing to negotiate, assuming what you know is worth anything in the first place. You mentioned Ivan; do you have information on him or not?”
I winced as he revealed his hideous teeth again. “Oh, for sure. I know exactly why he was a patron of the fine Keritas establishment as well as why the greedy pricks won’t say a thing no matter how high up the chain you go.”
“Why not?”
“They’re embarrassed! Oh no, no… can’t let that little secret out, can they?”
Rubbing my forehead, I replied, “What secret?”
“Ah, ah, no, no!” He wagged a finger at me. “You gotta promise me something.”
I stared at him.
“Promise you’ll take me with you when you leave.”
“No.”
He appeared shocked by my flat denial. “W-well, then you have to tell someone about what I tell you. Spread the word, fly like an eagle, you know?”
“To what end?”
He smacked himself on the forehead. “Man, the people! The people gotta know what they’re doing in there: the kinds of horrors and wonders of technology hidden by the corporate giants. They gotta know, and then everyone can band together to tear the walls down, you know? Bring the fat cats back down to our level!”
“You want to bring down Keritas?” I envisioned the planet upon which I stood, Ethra, with billions of unemployed people scrounging and murdering for food. Fires burning across the wide cityscape. A galaxy-wide recession as commerce stuttered under the loss of a major economic power.
“Of course! Man, the things I’ve seen; they would shock you. They would horrify you.”
I doubted this, as I’d done many jobs and seen many things. His assertions didn’t matter anyway since it wasn’t really possible to bring down the entire corporation in any real sense. It operated within thousands of smaller units and didn’t exactly have unified oversight of every little detail.
It became certain for me that the information from this man was suspect. Not that any of the corporations had the most stellar record or firm ethics, but he carried an obvious madness. I nearly decided to leave and let him doomsay at someone more patient. Still, I wouldn’t be too inconvenienced to hear him out.
“Very well,” I said. “I will take your message to those who may act upon it. I don’t guarantee results, and I am not a champion for your cause.” This was utter honesty. I intended to tell someone as long as the story had details applicable to my search. I didn’t tell him what I suspected: no one in the entire galaxy would care even if his tale was dripping with the truth. “So tell me, what is this big secret about Ivan which is so embarrassing?”
“He escaped from them!” he said with delight. “The most advanced piece of technology in the entire galaxy, capable of fighting armies and destroying cities, worlds even, slipped right out of their grubby little fingers!” He stifled a giggle.
I found his assertion of their uncleanliness to be ironic and mildly hypocritical, but I didn’t bring it up. I asked, “What exactly do you mean?”
The disheveled man continued snickering and shaking his head. “Man, you have no idea. No idea!”
Frustrated, I glared at him without speaking.
He grinned. “I-V-A-N, man. Ivan’s a goddamn robot.”
“They don’t want anyone to know about it, especially after the incident in the Regulus system when Ivan became so famous. I had friends on the Garden, man. Lots of friends.
But his creation… the entire R&D department responsible for building Ivan got shipped out to deep space exploration with the threat of death if they should ever return within the next three millennia. Managers who knew about the project, anyone who happened to be working within three floors of the breakout, all kinds of people disappeared in their clean-up.
Think of the lawsuits, man. Think of how many people would be banging down Keritas’ doors if they knew that all the shit Ivan had done was their fault. The company would get smashed into tiny pieces, and that’d be it.
IVAN was just a code name for the project. It stood for Impervious Vessel for Annihilation Nexus. It was supposed to be one of a hundred, maybe a thousand individual units with the strength and destructive power to conquer anything and withstand any amount of punishment.
They were the ultimate in defensive and offensive weaponry. An unstoppable force Keritas wanted to use to cut down the competition and reign supreme in the entire galaxy.
It all started in that big building, on the 19th basement floor.
The lab was huge, containing the most sophisticated pieces of technology. Famous engineers from everywhere disappeared and were brought to the facility to work on this robotics project. It was a big secret, man. They had top of the line hardware, dense and refined alloys, and the most important piece of all:
An augmented human brain.
AI projects have been dead-ends for hundreds of years, you know? It’s a widely known fact that the growth of an intelligence on that scale requires a planet-wide system of computers to sustain it, and by then, the experiment gets wild and out of control. No variant has ever bothered to consider us humans as anything but inferior, so these projects end in disaster. But that’s a whole new can of worms, man. I could talk for days about AI stuff.
Anyway, Ivan wasn’t all robot; he’s got a few chunks of human brain matter in that neosteel skull plate, but that’s all there is to his humanity.
I mean, it wasn’t hard for them to fabricate the exoskeleton; there were plenty of android models to work from. Even so, they brought in the most prominent robotics engineers not already chained to the other corporations.
Dr. Ronald Calloway was the head of the Ivan project, and he’d worked core-ward for dozens of years on some of the best pieces of robotics known to man. His big achievement was the Iso-Clean Mark IV, a learning-algorithm servant-bot for lazy rich people. You remember that one, right?
He definitely had money, man, but Keritas offered him ever so much more. Other researchers from the pinnacle of all fields came and went: antimatter physicists, starship engineers, augmentation specialists, neurosurgeons. They all came to bring this hulking beast to life.
Ivan’s final specifications included a full neosteel skeleton with dissipating mimic-flesh coating it. An internal reactor, codenamed OLGA, in a fortified chest cavity produced countless gigawatts of energy. It was supposedly enough to power the dissipation shielding of the skin to withstand brief immersion within a star. That wasn’t even the most important function of the device.
His sight, hearing, indeed all senses were augmented to more than triple the finest after-market modifications available to the public. He had strength and speed of unholy proportions. He had a heightened human brain capable of eidetic memory and rapid calculation be it in a laboratory or on the battlefield.
The most frightening piece of Ivan’s hardware was his energy release mechanism and how they intended to use it. They pulled out all the stops, you know? Ivan was the finest and most potentially destructive force to exist, and they wanted to make more.
Lots more.”
Dr. Calloway entered the complex, bidding his usual passive nod to the walls of receptionists and security personnel. The elevator he took dove to the accustomed cool of the distant basement, where the sparkling lab greeted him.
The nearly assembled body of Ivan lay on the table in the central isolation lab, locked and shielded by excessively, in Dr. Calloway’s opinion, redundant security.
He walked over to their personal break-room, setting his briefcase on the counter. He poured himself a cup of fresh coffee. A colleague, by the name of Dr. Trevors, was seated at the table, reading the news on a digital pad.
Looking up, Trevors smirked. “Big day today.”
Calloway nodded, taking a sip and grimacing at the lousy flavor.
“What’s the delay been, two weeks now?” Trevors asked.
“Three,” the robotics specialist replied. “The damn neurosurgeon had to dig out the implants in some captured dignitary or something. As though they couldn’t find someone as qualified to help us instead.”
“Another one to give clearance to? You know: the two week process by itself?” Trevors said. “We’re on the home stretch here; they don’t want to have to bring in more people now, right?”
Calloway waved a dismissive hand. “They should have had back-up candidates approved and ready. The billions, trillions spent on this project and you’d think they’d appreciate more efficiency.” He took another swig. “Ugh, Gods… you’d also think that they could—”
“Afford better coffee? Yes, I’ve heard that one before.” Trevors shrugged, returning his attention to the news reports.
Scowling at his colleague’s lax attitude, Calloway drained the remaining coffee and stepped out. In truth, the constant close quarters in which they worked and the frustration of delay was beginning to wear on the pair closely associated with the project. Various people came and went, but Trevors and Calloway worked in uncomfortable proximity, twelve hours a day, for years.
“…and it’s almost done,” Calloway muttered as he stepped towards the entrance to the isolation lab. An exciting prospect for him, to see the grand scheme- his grand scheme -coming together. “Except we need that damnable neurosurgeon to finish it off…”
Sighing, he palmed the outer lock and set his chin into the retinal scanner. Green lights flared, and he punched in his seven-digit access code.
An error light flashed. “Dammit.”
Twenty minutes later, after a group of five heavily armed and trained men swept through the lab to ensure a complete lack of anything resembling intruders, Calloway tried again.
This time the code was successful, and the outer door opened.
Sanitizing product and fans scattered the thin hair upon his head, as always eliciting a grimace from the aging man. “Why this is necessary I’ll never understand…” he lapsed into his usual mutterings and complaints. He withdrew a small key from his pocket, three-pronged. Into the locking mechanism of the inner door, he set this key and waited. A green light shone, and he turned the key two clicks left, three clicks right, and one click back left. He punched in one more keycode.
The door opened.
“Good morning, Ivan,” the doctor said cheerfully, his annoyance tempered by finally being through the security countermeasures. “Today we should get to see you up and about for real.”
The slab of metal and synthesized flesh on the table gave no reply, lying as a brainless lump of trillion dollar parts. Truly the only task remaining was to get Ivan’s augmented human brain installed.
For weeks, they’d done countless testing of Ivan’s motor functions with a simple processor linked to controls. Bent sections of starship hull plate lay, discarded in one of the testing areas from the strength demonstration. A hideous indentation was smashed into a concrete wall as one of the idiotic and now-fired techs had not slowed Ivan’s impressive sprint quickly enough in the speed test.
A capacitor chamber had nearly overloaded at a demonstration of Ivan’s power output, an action which very well could have caused a cataclysmic explosion that would have destroyed a quarter of the Keritas complex. This was at a tenth maximum load.
“We’ll never have to worry about using that function, now will we my devastating little pet?” Dr. Calloway practically crooned. His affection for the project appeared excessive but not so much that Keritas thought he needed to be removed. “You’ll always win without it. I just know you will.”
In the unlikely event of a detachment of Ivan-units being unable to secure an objective or certain varied circumstances, the Annihilation Nexus portion of his namesake would activate. In tandem, their reactors would release an energy stream straight into the core of the planet, the intention being to cause a world-shattering event. Then in the aftermath, Keritas could in theory send a ship to scoop up the undamaged Ivans, recharge them, and haul them to the next objective.
Dr. Calloway was almost sad to see the project at its end. Once they had a viable prototype, the schematics would be carted off to a manufacturing center for production, and he’d likely not see his precious children unless on the opposite end of their promised brutality.
The doctor ambled through the lab, checking over some of the instruments and analyses. System diagnostics spooled through the large monitor. Everything displayed green lights.
Stepping over to the table, he ran a hand over the remarkable synthetic skin that coated the structure of the human-in-appearance body. Cold and lifeless at the moment, it was remarkably smooth, soft. “Like real flesh,” he murmured, always astounded when he felt it.
The airlock hissed open. “Is it really such a surprise?” Trevors asked as he stepped into the room. Calloway felt a pang of irritation at his fellow doctor’s air of smug satisfaction. Trevors, the impudent cad that he was, did create the design for the flesh and was instrumental in altering it to suit the energy dispersion and channeling functions.
Calloway didn’t answer his colleague. He stepped over to some charts and pretended to sift through the documentation. In truth, very little could be accomplished. Countless simulations and tests had been run to determine Ivan’s viability, and the final stage was only minutes away.
“Or hours,” he said, again the annoyance at the delay springing to the front of his thoughts. He turned to Trevors, who scanned over the same diagnostic data. “When did you say the surgeon was supposed to arrive?”
Trevors didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “I didn’t.” Before Dr. Calloway could open his mouth in a retort, his colleague continued, checking his watch. “However, I believe he ought to be here any minute.”
The corner of Calloway’s mouth curled in a sneer. “Well, he’s three weeks late already. What’s another few minutes?”
Dr. Trevors didn’t reply. He hunched over diagnostics, still occasionally glancing at the news reports on his datapad. Calloway busied himself with digging through any of the slightest anomalies detected during the weeks of testing. He knew each miniscule malfunction by heart, and he was more than assured the problems had been fixed, tested, re-fixed, re-tested, and re-everythinged a dozen times.
There was truly nothing to do but wait.
An hour passed in the dullness which followed, and finally the neurosurgeon arrived.
Dr. Calloway’s irritation had deepened significantly during the period of waiting, as contemplation of already-solved problems didn’t hold his attention very well. When the escort of soldiers filed out of the elevator, his face was fixed in an angry scowl.
They moved quickly, taking positions around the isolation lab and standing at attention. Two more men stepped out, one wielding an air and expression of military authority along with the markings of high rank. The other was a short, bald man who carried a cryo-container labeled Organs for Transplant.
Calloway immediately disliked both men. Military personnel often seemed so short-sighted and arrogant, and the expression on the surgeon appeared so damnably smug. Without saying a word, the surgeon made it seem as though the entire project, all of Calloway’s hard work, was of his doing.
“Surgeons…” the doctor muttered, turning back to his work.
The two men cycled through the arduous security, and after several moments, the door to the lab slid open.
“Greetings Dr. Calloway, Dr. Trevors,” the military man spoke in a crisp tone. “I’m Colonel Pierce, and this is Dr. Ymarin.”
The surgeon gave a thin smile and a nod, all but ignoring the other two doctors before moving toward the table. “This is the one, yes?” he asked in a nasal tone. “Hm. Brutish. IVAN, is it?” He peered down his nose at the body on the table. “Was it really necessary, doctor, to craft him with an Old Earth eastern-European descent?”
An involuntary growl, almost inaudible, escaped from Calloway’s throat. He spoke in a scathing tone. “We seemed to have a surplus of time on our hands due to the significant delays in the project. Crafting a more intimidating form seemed an appropriate diversion while we waited.”
Ymarin shrugged. “I apologize my rigorous and very important schedule could not easily accommodate this small diversion.” Calloway’s scowl deepened.
“Gentlemen,” Colonel Pierce interrupted, “I believe it would be best if we focused upon the task at hand.”
“Yes, yes.” Dr. Ymarin waved a hand in dismissal. “I have many pressing matters to attend to. Dr… Calloway, is it?” He cocked his head. “Could you see to it that my payment is processed? I would like to avoid any unnecessary delays once the work is completed.”
Calloway bared his teeth. “Listen here, you little—”
“I’ll contact the boys upstairs to take care of it Dr. Ymarin,” Trevors cut in, barely concealing a smile at Calloway’s expense. “You’re going to need Dr. Calloway’s assistance for the procedure, anyway. I’m afraid the implantation process, though fascinating, is a bit beyond my own expertise. All I can do is watch.”
“Hm. Indeed.” Ymarin eyed Calloway. “Well? Are you just going to stand there with a dour expression, or are you going to make yourself useful?”
Biting back a retort, Calloway stepped towards his diagnostics console. Hiding his amusement, Trevors moved out of the room, heading toward the office to make his call. The colonel stepped to the side and held a passive, watchful expression.
The two remaining doctors continued to snipe at each other as they set about the task. Ymarin cracked open the cooling unit and gingerly extracted the final piece of Ivan. Calloway took a brief moment to marvel at the human brain. Normally so small and unimpressive, this particular organ crawled with cybernetic enhancements. Metallic parts spewed from every inch of the gray tissue, a cocoon of brilliance and technology. Trevors stepped back to the observation glass as they began the work.
The task was arduous. The brain fit snugly within the neosteel confines of the skull plate, and Ymarin, with a surgeon’s deftness, connected each relay. As he did, Calloway ran diagnostics and electrical currents through each to ensure proper coupling. Every one took time to attach and time to verify, and there were many.
Calloway and Ymarin fell into silence, ceasing their posturing and focusing upon the work. A begrudging respect fell over Calloway as he observed the surgeon’s amazing steady hands and flawless progress, not that he’d ever admit it.
Finally, the last connection set into place, and Calloway confirmed it as functional.
“Well, I must say, doctor, your performance was adequate,” Ymarin said as he flicked his gloves into the waste receptacle. “I have several pressing appointments yet today, but I admit I’m curious to see whether or not this brute will actually function.”
Dr. Calloway ignored the surgeon, excitement coursing through him.
He shouldered his way past Ymarin and set about affixing the skull plate, complete with a thin dusting of hair on top of the synth-flesh. A few moments and a brief electrical stimulation later, the skull plate nestled in place, and the skin sealed itself together. The slab of technology was finished, awaiting activation.
Calloway stepped back, almost in awe of how Ivan appeared as innocuous as an unconscious or dead human, minus the obvious anatomical indicators. He turned towards the colonel. “Are we cleared for a demonstration?”
“Yes, doctor, please proceed.” Pierce gave a sharp nod.
“Step back,” Calloway said to Ymarin.
“He’s not going to bite, is he?” The surgeon smirked.
Calloway snorted. “His energy output could vaporize your body and this facility in less time than it would take for your arrogant and feeble mind to realize its imminent demise.” With a shocked expression, Ymarin opened his mouth to retort. Calloway held up a hand. “This is more delicate and dangerous than simply connecting nerve tissues. Please step back.”
With an offended scowl, the surgeon moved to the side and looked on. Dr. Calloway, heart hammering, approached his creation.
Upon Ivan’s chest, digging prongs into the synthetic flesh, he placed a device. “The ‘on’ switch,” he said, a nervous energy cracking his voice. “It’s needed to activate the reactor gradually. To avoid overload.”
Sweat beading on his forehead, he stepped over to the console. After a few button presses, Ivan’s reactor came to life, warming slowly. Tiny fluctuations stabilized as the energy device hit minimum output. He dialed an increase.
An audible hum filled the air along with the subtle stench of ozone. Pierce tensed, reaching for the butt of his side arm. A bluish hue crackled over Ivan’s body as the flesh absorbed and dissipated the energy which surged through him. Ymarin watched the unmoving body with amazement as Calloway dialed another increase.
The humming swelled to a low drone, a rumble which rattled inside the skulls of those present. Dr. Calloway’s vision blurred, and his eyes watered. Ymarin worked his jaw up and down, as though trying to pop his ears. “Is this normal?” he asked, tones of fear in his inflection.
Clenching his vibrating teeth, Calloway said, “Yes,” and dialed the final activation.
Luckily, the power-up test had already been conducted more than once. The process of gradual increase was determined and solidified, so there was no real danger of any manner of vaporization as long as Calloway handled it appropriately. The only possible trouble would be if the casing and brain tissue was not constructed or calibrated properly. All of Ymarin’s hard work would be liquefied inside the skull plate, leaving a hideous, stinking mass.
The drone settled, and the hue faded away from Ivan’s flesh. Calloway wiped a sleeve across his forehead. “Any second now,” he murmured.
“For what?” Ymarin asked, impatient.
Calloway shot him a glare and held up a silencing hand. He turned his attention back to Ivan, unblinking and holding his breath.
The body twitched.
“Yes…” Calloway whispered.
Ivan’s eyes opened.
“Can you hear me?” Calloway asked softly.
The machine, the mass of technology on the table, shot bolt upright and screamed.
Eyes wide open and mouth agape, the shrieking of the machine on the table continued for several seconds as the various people present stood completely stunned.
“This isn’t right!” Calloway shouted, clapping his hands over his ears. “This shouldn’t be—”
“Turn it off!” the colonel bellowed. “Shut it down!”
Ivan continued screaming, volume and tone never wavering. The machine appeared to be looking back and forth, fright etched across its eerily lifelike features.
Calloway shook his head. “I don’t understand; this shouldn’t be—”
Pierce seized the doctor by the arm and dragged him close, shouting into his ear. “Turn this damn thing off, now!”
Wincing, Dr. Calloway turned towards the console and punched in a few keys, sending the signal to the device to start a power-down sequence.
The undying scream cranked up in volume, and Calloway fell to the ground, vision blurring and ears feeling as though they were about to burst. Ivan’s arms flailed about, scratching at the resilient synthetic flesh coating his skull.
Seeming to notice people with him for the first time, Ivan shot a glare at Dr. Ymarin and shrieked, “What have you done to me?!” The hideous wailing ceased as Ivan balled his fists at his forehead. Cross-legged on the table, he rocked back and forth.
Ymarin’s mouth was open, quivering, and he stared in horror and confusion. Calloway grasped at the table edge, pulling himself up and punching a few more commands.
“Grrraaaaaaaaagh!!” Ivan flailed backwards, convulsing and resuming the agonized screams. His arms thrashed violently, denting the table upon which he lay. One hand slammed into his chest, clutching.
The reactor control device smashed easily. Weak residual currents coursed into and through Ivan’s hands, dispersing in the energy absorbent flesh.
Calloway’s mouth fell open as the console he worked at went dark. Whirling around, he saw the twisted bits of metal and circuitry clenched in Ivan’s large fist. “Oh no…” he whispered. Paling, he turned to the colonel. “I… I can’t shut it down.”
Clenching his teeth, Ivan slid off the table to unsteady feet. No longer screaming, the machine jerked his gaze around, a terrified fury more than evident on his features.
Colonel Pierce snapped an energy pistol out of a holster and slammed a fist through the glass and into an emergency button located on the wall. Red light pulsed and klaxons blared with the message, “Warning. Warning. Emergency quarantine in effect.”
Blast doors on the outside of the lab slid shut, cutting off the view of the startled soldiers. Ivan snapped his gaze all around, confused by the activity. Settling on the only challenging figure, Ivan’s expression changed to a snarl.
Not waiting for him to charge, Colonel Pierce snapped off several shots. Yellow bursts of energy impacted Ivan’s body, splashing across the flesh. They dissipated without effect, and fear crossed the colonel’s eyes.
Bellowing, Ivan hurled the handful of twisted metal and electronics at the colonel. Calloway screamed in fright as the broken device crashed into the colonel’s chest, smashing his sternum and several ribs. Pierce was thrown backward by the impact, slamming into the wall before crumpling to the ground.
Energy crackled across Ivan’s flesh. Anger remained in his feature, but there was no longer any sign of fear or pain. Calloway trembled as Ivan glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings. His gaze landed first upon the meek form of Ymarin, who gasped.
“What have you done to me?” Ivan growled, stepping towards the surgeon.
Ymarin held out his hands and shook his head. His mouth worked up and down, but the surgeon’s terrified mind found no words.
“What have you done to me?” Ivan repeated, looming over Ymarin.
Trembling, the surgeon’s voice cut loose in a rapid babble. “Please, I didn’t, there was nothing- I couldn’t, I don’t know what the problem, certainly wasn’t my fault—”
A massive hand thrust forward and closed around the surgeon’s throat, cutting off the frightened stream of nonsense. Ymarin’s eyes bulged, veins throbbing on his forehead as Ivan effortlessly pulled him to eye level. “It hurts,” he hissed.
“Not… fault…” Ymarin gurgled, face purple and pulling weakly at the hand which strangled him.
During this, Calloway cowered, huddled beneath the workbench and too terrified to assist his colleague. The colonel was already unconscious or dead- the doctor couldn’t tell -bleeding on the ground with the reactor device embedded in his chest. The energy pistol lay at his side. Trembling, the doctor crawled forward, grasping the weapon.
A shadow loomed over him.
Calloway let out a scream as he was seized by the collar and dragged up off the ground. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease!” he babbled. “I didn’t do it; it wasn’t me!”
Ivan slammed him face first onto the center table. Calloway’s forehead rebounded off the hard metal, sending a burst of stars into his vision. Consciousness clung by a thread as Ivan turned him over, grasping his lab coat with both hands. Warm blood rushed out of the doctor’s forehead.
“What am I?!” Ivan screamed.
The doctor’s awareness swam far beneath reality. There came the muddled blaring of computerized warnings and some very loud shouting nearby, flashing red lights, and blood spilling down his face. Calloway held a vague awareness of the bone-rattling shaking of his body as Ivan demanded answers to questions.
Calloway’s vision had fallen to a complete gray, and it took several moments for a random thought to tell him Ivan had released him. Half-conscious, Calloway rolled over and fell to the ground. Nausea roiled up from within, and he braced himself on all fours while overcome with hideous retching.
Reality flashed in occasional pulses, like a time-lapsed recording. Banging and screeching metal resounded as he heard Ivan tear through the walls. Flashes of yellow came along with screaming as soldiers failed to stop him. Calloway noted vague emotions of horror as the twisted body of the former surgeon lay upon the ground, eyes wide and sightless. Calloway stumbled outside the gaping hole in the lab wall to see more broken, unconscious, and dead bodies. Trevors lay sprawled near the break room, blood dribbling down a head injury.
The elevator doors yawned open, but only sparking cables appeared where a comfortable car should have been. Calloway tripped and sprawled to the ground. Coughing, he rolled over. Sweat and blood stung his eyes, nausea crawled over him. Incessant pounding in his skull filled his every sensation, and the doctor wondered what possibly could have gone wrong.
“And so?” I asked as the madman standing next to me ceased speaking, staring at one of the glowing green diagnostic lights on the wall.
The man blinked, breaking out of his deep thought. “Erm, yeah. Uh, Calloway was dragged outta there by soldiers and medical people sometime later. They patched him up and questioned him to no end.” He tugged at his scraggly beard. “He was one of the folks shipped out to deep space exploration detail: not a soul to talk to for hundreds, thousands of light years.”
Frowning, I responded, “Were they able to find out what happened?”
“There were a lot of guesses, but they figured that Dr. Ymarin had screwed something up when putting the implants in the brain tissue.” The man shrugged. “Something to do with the pain receptors. It drove Ivan crazy when they woke him up. His brain believed that every nerve in his nonexistent body was bursting with agony.” He chuckled. “It’s kinda funny. Without the boosted architecture in his brain, he probably would have shut down and died from the shock. ‘Course, if Ymarin hadn’t messed it up, there wouldn’t have been that pain response in the first place. Ironic, huh?”
“Not really. What of the others?”
He tossed up a hand. “Ymarin and Pierce were both dead, as were most of the soldiers. The ones who survived couldn’t explain much besides the meat grinder of Ivan tearing through them.”
“And you?” I asked. “What business and fascination drew you to this great conspiracy?” A small amount of mockery lay in my tone.
The man threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, my my, he hasn’t figured it out. Isn’t it obvious?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I’m Dr. Trevors, of course, and I saw the whole damn thing from conception to cover-up.” He puffed out his chest, posturing an air of importance. “I knew those itty-bitty pea shooters they had wouldn’t do a blessed thing to Ivan. I saw in the testing what he could do. I knew they wouldn’t stop him, and I wasn’t even going to try. Even so, he gave me a few lumps too, just for being there. I was lucky he didn’t kill me.”
Skeptical, I said, “Yet you weren’t shipped out along with Calloway.”
He grinned, again revealing the hideous, rotten teeth. “I didn’t let them find me. I’ve been hiding, waiting, trying to dig up the proof I need to blow this whole thing wide open.”
“Indeed,” I replied, turning towards the ladder. “Well. I appreciate your time, Dr. Trevors,” I said with hints of sarcasm.
The grin widened, and I could barely keep from grimacing at the sight. “Oh, my pleasure. You just make sure the right people hear about this, okay?” The smile faded. “It’s important that people know the truth about Ivan. Keritas has to be held accountable for all the things he’s done since they let him escape.”
Gripping the ladder, I said, “Thanks again,” and started to climb.
I glanced back down, remembering a small detail, “One last thing,” he raised an eyebrow, “you mentioned that the reactor was code-named OLGA but never elaborated.”
“Didn’t I?” He scratched his nose as I shook my head. “Oh. Well, it wasn’t really important. It was something like Onboard Logistics Generator Array, or something like that. I don’t really remember.”
I nodded. “Very well, thank you again.”
As I lifted the hatchway that lead into the alley, I saw him plugging a tap into the data lines, keying in his neural link.
He looked up at me. “You gotta tell the people, man. The Garden’s gotta be avenged.” His eyes went blank, and he lost himself in the stream of information. I slipped through the hatch.
After squeezing through the tight gap between buildings, I walked back to the port and settled into my vessel Minerva. I gave a moment’s consideration to my next destination, and I was on my way shortly after.
Assignment: Seeking information regarding the truth and whereabouts of Ivan.
Location: Ethra
Report: Located individual claiming Ivan as a fabricated offensive prototype created by Keritas Interests.
Probability: 17%
Summary:
Direct inquiry with Keritas suggested some information archived about Ivan [Afanasi Sergeyevich Lukyanov]. Suggestions about conspiracy from the contact [Dr. Trevors?] most likely fabricated via hallucination/paranoia/brain damage. Ivan’s rumored physical prowess suggests something more simple: he utilized Keritas services for an augmentation [strength, speed, sensory] package. Unit’s inquiry with company most probably rejected due to confidentiality agreement with Keritas clients. Dangerous incident or cover up doubtful.