After my contact with Voux Hanatar, I continued to dredge through the seedier underbelly of Ivan’s alleged criminal dealings. Robberies, often referred to by the grinning and unwashed individuals as “heists,” were among the more popular tales when speaking of the man. Tearing vault doors apart with his bare hands, sliding through the air-ducts in a more stealthy fashion, and any other methods of theft in a myriad of locations were attributed to my quarry.
At this point I had no leads to follow on Grey. I had messages out to numerous contacts, and bits of data were being scoured. Thus I had time to investigate more Ivan-related rumors. One such rumor, a robbery, caught my eye.
Gregor Wilhelm, owner of the Luna Casino and Resort, had reported a break-in and theft, swearing for many years that the individual responsible was none other than Ivan himself. When I checked, news reports from around the time suggested there was an incident at the casino, and indeed it was closed for repairs for near to three weeks.
Thus, I journeyed to the origins of humanity.
Thousands of years prior, in a fate which would befall many other worlds, Earth became uninhabitable. Over-mined and over-harvested of other resources, the ecological balance shifted into something which could still sustain life, but not comfortably so for anyone wishing to live for more than five years upon it.
The tragedy of dispersing from our origin faded into novelty after a time, and the abandoned Lunar Colony was rediscovered and acquired. The sole rights to building went to Gregor Wilhelm, who turned the location into a tourist hotspot, complete with the ultimate means of profit generation: a casino.
In addition to the luxurious accommodations of the Lunar Colony itself, Wilhelm offered orbital pleasure cruises complete with full historical tours and the occasional but very expensive ground excursion to Old Earth.
His resort and business enterprise was hailed as one of the greatest vacation spots in the known galaxy. Of course, at any given moment, someone in an ecological net group would be complaining about the exploitation of humanity’s greatest tragedy, but protesters were not allowed upon Wilhelm’s property. Every so often, a few would sneak through, but they were quietly or forcefully asked to leave.
Dazzling lights and constant displays of flair greeted me as Minerva glided toward one of the many docking areas. Advertisements blared through my intercom on every band, and I already felt the buzzing annoyance of hyper-commercialism as it assailed my eyes and ears.
Once Minerva settled into her cradle, I stepped out and was greeted by a man in an expensive suit. “Archivist Sid, I presume?” Without waiting for acknowledgment, he said, “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Wilhlem would like to speak with you immediately.”
We crossed through tile-floored hallways of a uniform color; they had me dock away from the hotels and other tourist facilities. I was led through some manner of service section, plain appearance and windowless corridors providing no hints to the area’s exact purpose. We moved up a flight of stairs and passed through a set of wide, elegant double doors which seemed out of place in the uninspiring hallway.
Luxurious colors of red and gold spewed everywhere in the room I entered. Bright lighting of electronic gambling devices flickered. Bells, dings, and sounds of every variety rang all around, including the conversation of hundreds and thousands of people.
I stood upon a balcony overlooking the main casino floor. Millions of credits flitted back and forth as quickly as the emotional states of people gaining and losing them. My escort allowed me to take in the organized madness for a moment before touching my shoulder.
“Sir.” He didn’t seem to raise his voice, yet it cut through the din with ease. “This way, please.”
The man palmed a panel on the side of what appeared to be a lift. After a moment, doors slid open, and he gestured for me to enter. He followed behind without a word.
The cylindrical lift featured panoramic artwork wrapping all the way around, and a thick patterned carpet lay on the floor. With only the tiniest, near-imperceptible shudder, the lift moved. After a few seconds, the doors slid open. My guide gestured.
The interior style of the lift, coloring of deep reds and burgundies, mirrored that of the penthouse I entered. The same carpet trailed all around, and several crystal chandeliers hung throughout what I could see. Artwork depicting exotic landscapes dotted the walls. Straight out from the elevator was a staircase which split and curved to meet again on the second floor.
In between the winding stairs with elegant wooden banisters lay a statue of a winged female figure in an elegant pose. She carried harp in the crook of one arm, and the other held a sword pointed skyward. The statue was tall enough to reach to the second floor.
At the top of the staircase stood a man in a thick, dark-purple bathrobe. He cradled a glass of deep-red liquor. He raised a hand. “Thank you Bertram; I’ll speak to our friend alone.”
Without turning around, I heard the doors to the lift slide shut and a soft whir as it departed. My gaze was fixed upon the man on the stairs, who grinned and sipped at his glass. “Welcome, welcome! You must be Mr. Sid, the Archivist.” He gripped the railing and started down the stairs.
Gaining a meeting with an individual of such obscene wealth was much easier than I had expected. It took only a few messages back and forth to set it up, and I did not receive any manner of run-around with his underlings. When I sent my inquiry, I anticipated a conversation with one of the security people or a brief written summary as the allowed extent of my visit. I hadn’t expected to be invited to speak directly with Gregor Wilhelm, who continued to grin with unconcealed interest as he descended down the stairs.
It provided me a small disconcertion, as he clearly believed there to be some advantage to my arrival. Hopefully, whatever he wanted would be within my power and not too irritating.
Wilhelm jogged forward and thrust out a hand. I grasped it, feeling a light tremor of age which belied the smooth and youthful features of his skin. He obviously had some manner of rejuvenation treatment, being something like seventy or eighty years old, but doing so couldn’t remove every indicator of age.
We shook hands in silence for several moments. The grin plastered on his face didn’t fade in the slightest, and I regarded him with my usual passive expression. Finally, he spoke again, “I’m very excited to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sid.”
By his behavior, his statement seemed blindly obvious. I replied, “Just Sid, please.”
He nodded with vigor. “Yes, yes, of course. Can I offer you anything to drink or eat? Your journey must have been tiring, and I’ll certainly have one of our finest rooms set up for you when our discussion concludes for the day—”
I held up a hand. “I’m afraid I don’t intend to remain long, Mr. Wilhelm, and I doubt I’ll have the time to experience the fine accommodations of your facility.”
“You must call me Gregor,” the man wilted slightly, appearing disappointed, “and I’m very certain you’ll change your mind once you see just how fine the accommodations are, as well as the stimulating conversation we’re sure to have.”
I doubted this very much, but I gave a nod. “We’ll see. For now, I am neither hungry nor thirsty and would like to get started immediately.”
“Oh yes, yes.” He rubbed his hands together and nodded again. “If you’ll grant me a few moments to attire myself in something appropriate, we can begin right away.”
Without waiting for an answer, he shuffled over to the stairs and climbed up. As he reached the top, he turned. “We’ll be speaking in the smoking room.” He gestured in its direction. “You may have a seat or help yourself to the brandy cabinet while you wait.” He ducked out of sight.
I walked through the entryway and turned the corner, passing through a low arch into what Wilhelm referred to as the smoking room. Plush leather chairs flanked low tables, and bookshelves with actual paper books sat against the walls. I wondered if excess smoke would damage the books, but I further suspected they were more for aesthetics than actual reading. In addition to the brandy cabinet, there were two other shelves stocked with liquor, cigars, and ceramic containers holding something yet to be identified. There was also a fireplace, but it seemed to be quite clean and only for display purposes.
I picked up a crystalline glass, watching the brilliant refractions of light within its facets. I remembered Francis the barman with a smile and poured a drink.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Wilhelm said, breezing into the room wearing a black suit. “Go ahead and have a seat.”
With a mental sigh, I moved over to one of the chairs and sat down. He busied himself near the cabinets, pouring a drink and extracting a scented tobacco from one of the ceramic containers.
He sat in the adjacent chair and struck a wooden match, somewhat of a rarity these days. At Wilhelm’s puffing, a light haze of smoke settled around the immediate area. He took a sip of his beverage and looked over at me.
“So,” the casino owner said, “it seems you are interested in the incident where my resort was assaulted.”
“Correct,” I said.
Taking another sip, Wilhelm said, “You must be very interested in this Ivan character to come out all this way for one little story, am I right?”
I gave a nod.
“I’m something of an Ivan enthusiast myself,” he said with a shrug, “but I doubt I’ve collected near as much data on the man as a real Archivist.”
And there it was: the reason for his enthusiasm and easy agreement. Few things were more tiresome than an enthusiast, especially a wealthy one. Even though Wilhelm humbly postured a lack of knowledge, it was all-but certain the man thought himself the primary expert on all things Ivan.
“Is that so?” I asked, keeping my tone even and my expression passive.
Puffing on his pipe, he replied, “Oh yes. I’ve delegated much of the responsibility in running this place to others, so I of course needed a hobby.” He shrugged. “Call me an obsessive, but looking into my one security incident in forty years seemed as good an avenue as any.”
I didn’t care about his motivations to any solid degree, but I also didn’t want to offend the aging fool. I said, keeping my tone even, “Indeed.”
Wilhelm nodded. “Still, I’d gladly share some of my findings with you, if you’d like. I’m certain someone of your obvious talent,” I could barely restrain myself from rolling my eyes at his compliment, “already knows most of it. Hm, maybe you’ve got a kernel or two of information to interest me?” He smiled.
“Why don’t we begin with the incident at your casino?” I said, folding my hands. “It very well may fit into a larger sequence of pieces relating to my search.”
Wilhelm grinned. “Of course, of course. Let me freshen my drink, and I’ll tell you all about the day Ivan robbed me.”
The day began as many did on Luna Resort. Some individuals were stumbling back to their accommodations to gain some rest before the late morning carousing hit full swing. Some folks were awakening for the early tours. Some people were simply arriving, waiting to spend their hard-earned credits on fine lodgings and poor-odds gambling. Some were already in the casino, embroiled in just that.
Gregor Wilhelm climbed out of his ridiculously large four post bed, donned the robe made from the fur of some creature from ten thousand light years away, and went to eat his expensive breakfast.
Since he had taken a backseat to the dealings of his resort and entrusted his management to handle his affairs, Gregor did not have much to do during the day. He caught up on vids imported from the core worlds. He swam in his indoor pool. He also drank a lot.
Throughout the day, one of his managers also doubling as an errand runner would provide a few details as to the days profit, high rollers of particular esteem, or anything else important. Bertram Windsor, whose real name was Doug, attained the job by faking refinement and lying through his teeth. After all, how else could one be hired by an aging, half-senile eccentric who had the requirement of “a butlery-sounding name” on the application?
Regardless, Gregor Wilhelm’s average day did not hold much in the way of excitement. Stress, ulcers, and high blood pressure made up his life for many years as he put together and handled the affairs of the resort. These days he overcompensated by completing little to no work at all.
After breakfast, a morning swim and a couple of cocktails, Gregor descended his lift to the balcony overlooking the main casino floor. The unending stream of lights and noise drew its usual sigh of contentment from the old man. A few people glanced in his direction, and he waved, smiling.
As he watched the festivities, Bertram came from the stairway and security area behind him. “Good morning, sir. I trust your day is going well?”
“Ah, yes Bertram. It’s been most excellent thus far. How are things on the floor?”
“All within normal ranges, sir. A shade on the low side, but not unusual considering the higher density of alcohol sales yesterday evening.” Bertram tapped on an electronic pad.
Gregor laughed. “They do enjoy their festivities, don’t they?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Any interesting guests coming in?” Gregor asked.
The servant tapped a few keys. “A few of our regulars are in. Dareth Pym and his current wife are trying the slots. Minister Regine is over at the buffet, but I’m sure he’ll return to the tables very shortly. Ah, we also have Veger Montgomery and his,” he frowned, “guest playing twenty-one. Though…” he paused, reading the display with a deepening expression. “Though his net gain of late is much more than average. Excuse me, sir; I may need to look into this.”
“Very good,” Gregor said with a dismissive wave. Bertram departed.
Gregor continued to look out upon the casino floor for a few minutes. He was trying to decide if he wanted to walk about and shake a few hands or return to the penthouse and take in a few glasses of brandy and a vid or two.
He decided upon the latter and stepped into his personal lift.
Gregor Wilhelm was dozing in his bathrobe, passed out while sprawled on the couch in front of his massive vid-display. He awoke with a start.
“Sir, please. There is an incident which requires your attention,” Bertram said, arms crossed behind his back.
Blinking, Gregor wiped a trail of drool from the side of his mouth. “What… what is it Bertram?”
“It’s Veger Montgomery, sir. He’s been accused of counting cards with the assistance of his guest. Transmitting devices were discovered on their persons, and we have them now in holding. He’s demanded to see you, sir.”
Gregor sighed. “Can’t you send him away, ban him or something? Isn’t that what we do to cheaters, or have things changed so much?”
Bertram made a hand motion. “He has connections to our investors. We doubted any threat, but he’s demanding to speak with only you, sir. We thought it best to hear what he had to say.”
The aging, wealthy man frowned. “I don’t like him, do I? He’s somewhat of a windbag, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You have said that before, sir.”
“Let me go change.” Gregor stood, gathering the bathrobe and tying the cord. “Wait for me downstairs; I’ll be there in a moment.”
With a bow, the manager-servant departed.
A few minutes later, the re-attired Gregor Wilhelm emerged. Slumping posture, tired, and irritated, he was ready to deal with the problem quickly so he could return to his drinking, watching, and nap. “Get on with it.” He waved a hand at Bertram, who gave a nod.
They walked through the back area, housing behind-the-scenes security and other necessary equipment, arriving at a simple room. It was used for the occasional interrogation when security couldn’t simply throw an offender out.
“It’s about time!” Veger Montgomery shouted when the door opened and Wilhelm entered. “I’ve been waiting to see you for over an hour! Is this the kind of establishment you run, Mr. Wilhelm? Because I am not impressed, not impressed in the slightest! And where is my assistant? I was assured she would not be taken away from me!”
Gregor rolled his eyes during the rant, uninterested by the captive man. Irritation at the interruption of his leisure time faded, and he slid into the cool, calm, and ruthless nature, which in early years had granted him success and strain in equal measures. In his prime, he had handled near everything. That time was long past, but he still knew how to manage his business. He turned to Bertram and said, “You said he was somehow important?”
With a nod, Bertram said, “Minor influence to investors; it’s best to hear him out.”
“All right, Mr. Montgomery.” Gregor pulled up a chair. “You have been accused of fraud in this establishment. There is no criminal penalty, but it is against our policy to allow any manner of progressive odds calculation.”
“This is outrageous! My assistant and I were keeping in communication for completely legitimate purposes!” the other man shouted. “I cannot believe I would receive such shoddy treatment in such a highly esteemed—”
“Yes, yes.” Gregor cut him off with a wave of his hand. He snapped his fingers, and Bertram handed him the datapad. He glanced up and down the information. “Your transmitter signals were intercepted, decoded and recorded, as was your method of counting cards in the twenty-one game. It is a clear-cut violation of our terms of use.”
Red-faced, Montgomery’s expression of the shock at being caught recovered and returned to vindictive anger. “You violated my privacy and spied upon my personal transmissions? I’ll have this establishment torn down, I will! You better believe—”
Gregor sighed. “Again all monitoring is conducted as per the agreement terms to using the casino. When winnings increase above the norm, established in your first thirty hours of play,” he leveled a gaze at the angry man, “investigation is allowed to discover illicit use.”
Flustered, Montgomery stammered. “I… I don’t recall any sort of agreement.”
“This is your signature, correct?” Gregor punched a key, bringing up the all-purpose liability contract resort-goers were required to sign. It covered everything from ground excursions to tripping and falling in the hotel rooms. It also included casino use. He slid the pad over.
“Preposterous! My legal counsel will tear this contract to pieces! You’ll be facing lawsuits from every person who’s ever passed through this place!” He jabbed a finger at the pad as he shouted the threats.
Gregor folded his arms, prepared to humor the man for the time being. “Very well, tell me what it is you want.” He was not concerned about the legal threats, but he thought it might save some time if the man’s request was able to be handled without fuss.
With a smug air, Montgomery straightened in his seat. “I require my assistant and my winnings returned to me immediately. I also will receive compensatory accommodations for my personal distress in this matter as well as immunity from further harassment.”
The casino owner had a thought the very moment Montgomery lumped the assistant in with the winnings. He made a hand motion to Bertram, who crouched next to him. Montgomery leaned forward, trying in vain to hear what Gregor whispered.
“He referred to the assistant in the same manner as his profits; I believe he considers them both property. Look into it.”
Bertram’s eyes widened, and he nodded before stepping out of the room.
“I’m waiting…” Montgomery said in a haughty tone.
“Yes,” Gregor gave a nod, “and you will continue to do so.” The captive opened his mouth to object, but the proprietor held up a hand. “I am no longer thoroughly convinced you are operating within the full boundaries of the law. It is my duty as a citizen of the Galactic Central Government to pursue illegal matters conducted upon my property.”
Montgomery reacted as though slapped. His face paled slightly, and his mouth churned up and down. “I… I can assure you—”
“I’m very certain you can, and I cannot express how glad I am of it.” Gregor smiled, smug satisfaction at pegging the man flooding through him. I’d forgotten how excellent it felt to knock these idiots down, he thought.
The captive raised his chin. “If I am thought to be the perpetrator in some illegal activity, I am entitled to know the charges against me.”
“Hmmm, not so.” Gregor tilted his head. “At the moment you’re being held due to violation of casino policy, pending the decision. However, while we work on that, we can at least wait until proper authorities can be summoned to take you into their custody, if necessary. It’s their job to inform you of any charges, not ours.”
“This is an outrage!” Montgomery spoke through clenched teeth, but the fear in his eyes was very obvious. “You cannot treat me in such a fashion!”
Gregor rolled his eyes. “Mr. Montgomery. You’ve now far overplayed your hand, and I have no interest in your continued business. In fact, I believe I’ll take great pleasure in watching your impending incarceration. Goodbye.”
As the captive continued to shout about the indecency he was facing, Gregor stepped out of the room. He turned a corner and was knocked sprawling by someone moving very quickly.
“Sir, sir, I’m so sorry!” Bertram hauled the older man to his feet and dusted off his employer’s suit.
“For God’s sake, Bertram, what’s the big hurry about?” Gregor scowled, shoving him away. “Did you find out about the woman? Is she his illegal property?”
Bertram shook his head. “No, but—”
Gregor folded his arms. “No? Damn. I could have sworn Montgomery was sweating about just that.” He sighed. “Now I’m going to have to go back in there and actually try to compromise with that oaf.”
“No, sir, I didn’t find out, but you don’t understand! You have to come with me immediately!” The servant grabbed his master’s arm and started running and half-dragging him toward the main security room.
Gregor shook himself free. “Have you lost your mind, Bertram? You had better give me a damn good reason why you’re manhandling me here!”
With frightened eyes, Bertram looked at his employer. “Sir, it’s the main casino floor. We’re under attack!”
“Dear sweet mother of God,” Gregor said as he viewed the security monitors. Arms folded, he watched the chaos of his casino floor. Turning to Bertram, he said, “This room is secure, correct?” His servant, pale as a sheet, nodded without actually listening to the question.
People were running and screaming. Panic ensued as machines and tables flew everywhere. Cameras went black one by one as a man, a very large one, ripped them from the walls and flung the shattered remains at the security people. The huge man tore through the casino floor, shouting something indeterminate, masked by the screams of the people. A few security guards charged with stun batons, but they were knocked aside by the brute who appeared unstoppable.
“I’m getting requests for weapons free,” one of the operators at the console said as the intruder pried one of the slot machines loose and hurled it, scattering a group of security people. “Can they open fire?” He directed the question at Bertram.
“Of course not, you idiot!” Gregor slapped the man on the back of the head. “There are civilians in that room!” He jabbed a finger toward one of the camera displays. “Under no circumstances are they allowed to use their side arms!”
One of the guards, terrified, determined, or simply having lost his earpiece, did not obey the order. He pulled a pistol and started firing on the intruder.
With a terrifying speed which belied his massive size, the man dodged behind cover. He darted back and forth behind columns and gaming equipment before charging the guard. The large man pounded a shoulder into his attacker, sending the guard flying halfway across the room. Other guards followed suit and aimed their side arms. More screams from civilians ensued as weapons fire flashed about the room, but no one seemed to be able to hit the intruder.
“Who in the hell is this guy?” Gregor stared at the monitors, unable to look away from the chaos. No one had an answer.
Rearing back, the intruder placed a savage kick to the doors leading into the security back area. He disappeared from the cameras, and the sounds of chaos and fighting came not from the intercom but from the hallways nearby. The cameras, which quickly were disabled, detailed the continuing fight and systematic pummeling of Luna Casino’s well-trained security team.
“This place is protected, right?” Gregor asked Bertram again. When no response was given, as his manager/assistant was too busy staring in horror at the wrecked main floor, Gregor shook Bertram. “Are we safe?”
The assistant gave a dazed expression before blinking. “Oh! Ah, yes, we should be fine in here.”
A heavy pound resounded as something collided with the door. Four security people snapped their weapons to bear, terrified and aiming at the entrance. The camera in the hallway outside was out, and no one knew if the man would be coming in.
Several seconds bled by, and nothing happened.
A few more shouts resounded from the hallway, and there was a spot of intermittent gunfire, but nothing more seemed to assault the main security room.
Gregor, realizing he was holding his breath, turned back to the display panels. “Where is he?” he asked the man at the station.
“I-I don’t know, sir.” Several angles in different locations flickered, but there was no sign of the large man. Considerable numbers of fleeing individuals and security personnel could be seen, but no intruder.
“Find him!” Gregor snapped.
More of the camera shots went by, different security areas, the vault-
“Wait, there!” The owner jabbed a finger toward the screen.
The tech moved the shot back in time to see the large man reach up and destroy one of the cameras near the vault.
“Christ dammit almighty…” Gregor took a deep breath. “The guy’s pulling a job. Get everyone we got left down to the vault! Kill the prick if you have to!”
One of the techs relayed the order, and the casino owner prodded the man controlling the camera displays. Over the course of a few minutes, images flashed by, but more and more of the cameras seemed to be going out. A couple of glimpses of the man resulted from the search, and frantic yelling into communicators directed personnel to intercept.
Scattered security teams dragged through the hallways, checking and rechecking the vault, but no one knew where the man went. More minutes dripped by, and the few cameras remaining could occasionally catch the group of security men cautiously moving through the halls. Other shots featured cracked walls and strewn, hopefully only unconscious bodies.
All at once, the main security room was plunged into complete darkness.
The chaos which ensued was a mess of shouting, flailing, shoving, and people being knocked sprawling. Gregor was one such individual, who was bowled over by a panicking Bertram. His head struck the edge of a desk, and bright stars filled his vision.
Clinging to consciousness and through muddy senses, he heard the continued panic as individuals in the security office scrambled around. Stepped on and kicked, Gregor tried to shout, voice weak and unheeded in the mayhem.
Out of breath and warm blood spilling down his face, the proprietor crawled until he found a wall, away from the panicking individuals. He huddled there, dazed until he faded out.
He woke to find himself alone, the doors to the office wide open and dim, flickering light spilling in from the outside. Clamoring to his feet, Gregor tried to ignore the waves of nausea and head-splitting pain as he stumbled into the hallway.
Bodies lay strewn about, unconscious or dead he couldn’t determine. Gregor wiped the sticky blood out of his eyes and stumbled past his downed security guards.
Similar scenes greeted him as he progressed through the back areas of his casino. Chips of plaster, ceramic, and paint crumbled off smashed sections of wall and ceiling in every area. Fallen guards adorned near every corridor.
The dim lighting, provided by the emergency back-up generator, flickered, and exposed wiring sparked where fixtures or cameras had been torn loose. Gregor stumbled through the mostly dark halls, lost and tripping over the numerous bodies. He didn’t know where he was going.
As Gregor came around a corner, he nearly collided with a man coming in the opposite direction. Gawking, the proprietor looked up, dwarfed by the man’s massive frame.
Cold blue eyes narrowed, glaring down at Gregor. The man who assaulted the casino drew his lips back, baring teeth.
Terror clouded the proprietor’s mind, and he pressed himself up against the wall, trembling. The huge man regarded him with a hostile expression for a moment before stalking off in another direction.
Heart hammering, Gregor slid down to a sitting position. His head, ribs, arms, and everything else throbbed with every beat of his racing heart, and he huddled there, waiting for someone to come help him.
“I was lucky you know. The head injury was pretty bad.” Gregor said, grinning. He tilted his head and pointed to a long scar near the crown. “But Bertram was luckier I didn’t have him flayed alive for hurting me and running off!” He tossed his head and laughed as though this was somehow funny.
I asked, “What else happened?”
“Eh,” he shrugged, “not very much, really. Two hours later, GSA authorities responded to the scene and found me huddled there. I then spent a week in a hospital, screaming at the orderlies to find out how much money was stolen from me.”
“How much was it?”
“Ten million credits,” he said with an air of pride.
As he said it, I gained a sudden sense of something missing. “Ten million?” I asked. “How is that possible? I was under the impression everything was handled via microtransactions from account to account. Does your vault even contain hard currency?”
Gregor Wilhelm grinned. “Ah, very perceptive. We found, through years of research, dealing with such behind-the-scenes financial gain and loss does boost our profits in the short term. People don’t manage to see their accounts drifting, dwindling away.”
“However,” he held up an index finger, “individuals also don’t seem to gain the same level of entertainment, and we experience fewer returnees. In the long run, it’s better to cultivate the highest possible levels of excitement, and having a physical form of money to be gained and lost is one such method. The currency we hold here for betting is in simple chips. Each one is coded with credits in their proper expressed increment.” He laughed. “It might get you a funny look, but you could take one to any proper store and use it as legal tender.”
It wasn’t the currency system which caused me to wonder about his story. Most people utilized temporary digital chits to carry small amounts of their money regardless. Having any device linked to full access of an account was risking a lot to theft and fraud. Still, bits of the story and parts not quite fitting clung to my thoughts.
“You’re certain Ivan was the one who stole the money.”
Near-imperceptible, the proprietor’s eyes darted to the side before he grinned. “Of course. He disabled the power generator, entered the vault, and made off with my money. It took years to repair the damage he caused. Not to the resort itself, but to my reputation! It’s hard to convince people of coming to a facility so far from help. They say, ‘Why wouldn’t we go to Finzle’s Resort? It might be smaller, but it’s right there in the core.’ Heathen pigs.” He puffed on his pipe. “Novelty doesn’t win when people think your place is a death trap.”
I nodded.
“But after the mess at the Garden a few years later, having a location which survived the terror of Ivan was a new level of novelty in itself. And again close to another catastrophe of so long ago.” Gregor wagged a finger at me. “Did you know there are some silly theorists who posit that Ivan caused the problems which ruined Old Earth?” He laughed. “Ridiculous nonsense, but the rumor doesn’t hurt business, so…”
“How do you know the man who assaulted the casino was Ivan?” I asked.
“Hah!” The old man scoffed, folding his arms. “One man against my highly-trained security force? When the colony at the Garden was destroyed not long after, I knew it had to be the same person.”
There was still something off about his story. It wasn’t regarding Ivan himself, if indeed it actually was the man, but the actions he took. Ivan’s scattered behavior in not simply hitting the vault but traveling throughout the facility in random fashion appeared unfocused. Perhaps the man relied on brute force and his inhuman strength to manage his tasks rather than strategic planning. However, his systematic dismantling of Voux Hanatar suggested otherwise.
My assumptions told me Ivan was moderately intelligent and clever. The behavior of the attacker appeared angry and sporadic. Even Hanatar spoke of Ivan taking his revenge with relative calm. Perhaps the man who assaulted Luna Colony was not Ivan after all.
“Anything else of importance you can think of?” I asked.
Gregor tilted his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Something was scrawled in the hallway outside the security office. Even with the blood dripping in my eyes, I saw it when the GSA authorities brought me out. The writing said OLGA WAS HERE. I thought it might have been a brave civilian vandal coming through in the wake of destruction, but I never knew what it meant.”
I rubbed my chin and didn’t respond, swinging my thoughts back to the culprit as being Ivan in light of his statement.
“Well there’s that story.” Gregor folded his hands. “Would you like to hear another? My days of dealing with matters in the casino have again fallen away, but I’ve kept myself busy. As I said, I’ve done my own research into Ivan’s little tales of valor.” He grinned, too eager.
I gauged the mere possibility of him knowing something useful against how irritating I found his enthusiasm. I put forth an arbitrary time limit.
“One hour?” Gregor said, eyes wide and a pouting expression on his face. “I could talk for a week about what I’ve discovered!”
I didn’t express how I felt about such an endeavor. Instead, I said, “I have a very busy schedule to attend. I’m sure you understand I can’t take such a large amount of time out.”
“Just hear me out. I’m sure you’ll change your mind. Give me a moment, I must retrieve my files.” He stood, set down his glass and pipe, and shuffled out of the room.
In the few minutes while waiting, I again weighed the odds and considered leaving without a word. Before I could consider much further, he scurried into the room carrying a datapad.
“Here’s my little research project. Bertram must have moved it out from my study.” He grinned, sliding a finger across the pad. “I’ve got quite a collection here, but only summaries. Most of the information I have is stored up here,” he tapped the side of his head, “and of course backed up on my computer system. Why don’t you take a look, and maybe I can tell you about anything catching your eye.”
He passed the datapad over to me, and I silently perused its contents. Gregor on the other hand, without any prompting, launched into explanations of how he managed to come by such important and difficult information.
I could barely keep myself from bursting out with laughter. The information he gathered wasn’t completely worthless, but it might as well have been. Every summary and piece of data was rather sloppy in presentation. There was no organization, no uniformity or cataloguing, and each entry dealt with some manner of adventure, emphasizing action over truth. The entire collection seemed a series of elaborate fabrications.
I saw a few materials on Hanatar and the ever-illusive battles of Caldonis and New Prague, but they hinted at some greater dramatic flair with little grounding in reality. The datapad did contain a few still images, gathered from the security tapes during Ivan’s assault. Though indistinct, they featured a large man with sharp features, corresponding to the principle descriptions I’d gathered prior. Again I wondered if this truly was Ivan. If it was, I further wondered if his actual intention at Luna was nothing more than a robbery.
A couple of the stories caught my eye, and as much humoring him as searching for more details, I allowed Gregor to prattle on. I even let him speak past the allotted time, but I quickly realized no further useful information would be obtained there.
“Mr. Wilhelm, I thank you for your time,” I said, rising. “Your information has been most helpful, and I hope you won’t think me rude to refuse your kind offer of hospitality.”
He stood up and held out his hands. “You can’t be thinking of leaving, good Archivist. We’ve barely begun to scratch the surface of my findings!”
I forced a chuckle. “Even so, I’m afraid I have appointments and will have to return at some later time to hear them.” The offer was an outright lie, but it appeared to boost his spirits.
“Oh, well, I of course understand. I did spend all hours of my youth building this resort, you see. Busy busy busy, all the time.” Gregor laughed. “Youngsters never quite get how to take things easy, do they?”
With a thin smile, I replied, “No, I suppose not.”
He patted me on the back while we walked over to the exit. “Bertram will show you to your vessel. You must make sure to contact me ahead of time for your return. I’ll be wanting to block off a couple of days to talk to you, and I’ll make sure our finest suite is available for your comfort.”
I nodded, and we shook hands. The doors to the lift slid open, and Bertram was standing inside. “Please follow me, sir,” he said.
The servant/manager held the same level of silence as he brought me back to my ship. With a slight bow and a, “Good day, sir,” he walked away when we arrived. A few more minutes and a proper exit procedure later, Minerva slid out of the docking bay.
After a quick and curious flyby to the iridescent pollution of Old Earth, I set my thrusters to full and moved away from the system.
Assignment: Seeking information regarding the truth and whereabouts of Ivan.
Location: Luna Colony
Report: Gathered details regarding Luna Casino assault.
Probability: 66%
Summary: Attack and theft [Luna Casino] possibly attributed to Ivan. Owner [Gregor Wilhelm] hiding details, and attacker’s progress in facility seemed scattered, as though he was seeking something. Suggestion of blatant greed as motivation for attack contradicts other Ivan details [moral code, sense of honor]. Something else may have occurred.