"Are you still here?" Hanatar asked, seeing Ivan not yet departed. "Get your fat ass moving!"
With a somber nod and no indication that he was bothered by the shouting or the insult, Ivan stepped out of the room.
Hanatar took another drink. "Jesus. Surrounded by idiots."
Damien, unsure of what to say, let out a nervous giggle.
"Shut up," his boss said, settling down onto a thick leather chair.
******
A month passed.
Voux Hanatar spent a considerable amount of time in tortured anguish and half-liquored delirium. Aside from Ivan, he had ten more of his best people out digging for a solution to destroy the case. He heard almost nothing.
Brooding, angry, and aware that every move he made was watched, recorded, and scrutinized, business decisions fell into the capable but ambitious hands of his underlings. Due to his constant outbursting and heavy drinking, Hanatar's own wife decided to take an extended vacation until her husband calmed down or was sent to prison.
Constant pressure was felt on all sides, as three-quarters of the news reports seemed to be focusing upon his imminent demise. His blood was in the water, the sharks were circling, and Hanatar was getting more and more nervous.
The only one remaining to comfort the disturbed employer was Damien. The constant presence of the ass-kissing, not-too-bright fellow was almost more than Hanatar could bear.
The month went by in anguish for the prominent criminal, and he was starting to wonder if he was running out of options when Ivan finally returned.
The deafening roar of ship engines shook Hanatar out of a restless slumber. His panicking, half-asleep mind warbled about the apocalypse before he recognized the disturbance enough to generate his usual enraged disposition. "Who in holy hell is low-flying over my home?!" he screamed to no one, words inaudible over the ear-splitting racket. His rage and confusion tripled when a thud resounded on the roof.
With a huff of air and a lingering whine, the engines cut out. Hanatar burst from his bedroom, hastily adjusting the cord on his lush bathrobe. After half a moment's consideration, he ran back into the bedroom, wrenched open the desk, and grabbed the flechette pistol concealed in a side compartment. As he charged back down the hall, Damien emerged from his own room, rubbing his face. "Whosere?" he asked, eyes widening as he saw his employer carrying a weapon.
"Some dead prick is all," Hanatar said as he moved towards the stairs which lead to roof access. He knelt behind a column and aimed the weapon.
An individual, large in stature and face concealed in a pilot helmet, moved down the stairs, carrying something which appeared to be a body over his shoulder.
Hanatar, bare knees spilling out of the bathrobe, snapped the pistol up towards the figure. "Move and you're dead, asshole!"
The individual stopped and held one hand out. He started fumbling at the clasp of his helmet.
"Ah, ah!" Hanatar stood up and took a few steps towards them. "Let's just move nice and slow. Now I don't know who you are or why you landed your shit-mobile on top of my house, but give me one good reason why I shouldn't peel off your flesh and wear it as a cape!"
A noise sounded from behind him, and Hanatar swiveled, very nearly pulling the trigger on the approaching Damien, who held an energy rifle. Heart thudding in his chest and adrenaline spilling into his blood, Hanatar heard a clatter on the staircase. Realizing he'd turned his back on the intruder, he spun around, squeezing the trigger.
The ceiling above the figure exploded as Hanatar's poorly aimed shot punched through it. A shower of plaster fragments and dust rained on the man, easily recognized now that his helmet, the source of the clatter, finished its roll down the stairs.
"I have done as you asked," Ivan said, appearing unfazed that his employer nearly shot him.
Hanatar's jaw fell wide open. "What the? Who in...? Why did you land on my house? Who is that?" He pointed at the body.
Continuing his path down the stairs, Ivan moved past his gawking employer and confused associate, saying, "This is the man who has given you trouble."
"The man... who...?" It took a moment for the exasperated Hanatar to realize to whom Ivan was referring. "Wait a second, are you serious?" Ivan didn't respond, moving down the stairs at the end of the hall. "Goddammit, this is not happening."
Hanatar and Damien followed behind. Ivan had brought the body down to the main floor and into the sitting room, laying it upright on the sofa.
"Jesus Christ!" Hanatar screamed, veins throbbing on his neck. "I told you to take care of it! What part of that implied that you should bring the corpse back to my home and soil my furniture with it!"
Ignoring the shouting, Ivan produced a small capsule from a pouch on his clothing. "This man is not dead," he said, breaking the casing in half and waving it under the captive's nose.
With a snort, a man who appeared familiar to Hanatar awoke. Angry, shaking, and brandishing the pistol, the crime lord watched as the man's head lazily glanced about the room. "Wheerrmi?" he slurred.
"Why...?" Hanatar took a deep breath, trying to still the rage. "Why did you bring this guy here?" He spoke between clenched teeth. "Do you realize my house is under constant surveillance by the GSA, or is that massive body of yours just filled with all kinds of dipshit?"
Still not acknowledging the shouting and anger of his employer, Ivan gestured, "This is Barian Dreger. He handled the slaving portion of your business enterprise. Two months ago, he was quietly arrested. Shortly after, he was granted courtesies by the GSA in exchange for information about you."
Fear and realization dawned in the captive's eyes. He made as if to rise, but Ivan put out a hand and shoved him back into the seat.
"That's great," Hanatar spat, no less furious. "That's fantastic, but it doesn't explain shit. Was I not clear? Did I not ee-nun-cee-ate enough for your tiny brain to comprehend, or are you actually as dumb as you are ugly?" He jabbed the weapon at the prisoner. "I wanted him gone. I wanted him dead. I wanted him gently floating in vacuum or vaporized in a fusion reactor. I most certainly wanted no evidence of his presence anywhere near me. I did not. Not. NOT. Want this man brought alive to my home!"
After the tirade, Ivan continued. His refusal to acknowledge the ranting cranked Hanatar's rage up further. "When he was initially cornered, he cut loose his shipment, a cargo of individuals, in an asteroid field in order to dispose of the evidence. The container would have been smashed to pieces. One thousand people nearly lost their lives."
"I don't care what the stupid shit-face did," Hanatar hissed. "You screwed this up. You've endangered me a helluva lot more than this prick," the man on the couch winced, "ever did. So you're going to clean this up. You're gonna take him back into your ship, fly him over to some other system, and shove him out the airlock. If you manage to not mess it up, I might not-"
"No," Ivan interrupted.
Blinking, Hanatar replied. "Excuse me?"
"I will not do any of that."
Unaccustomed to this level of disrespect, Hanatar was taken aback, and he wasn't sure what to say. "Okay," he finally said, "then how about you do it, or I'll kill you right now."
He raised the pistol, which disappeared from his grasp before his brain registered Ivan's whip-like movement to reach out and snatch it.
"Punishment," Ivan said, firing the stolen weapon at the terrified captive. The razor cloud shredded through the man's chest, lacerating his flesh and major organs as well as the fabric and frame of the couch. Blood spattered the nearby surroundings as the man died without making a sound.
Both Hanatar and Damien stared in shock at the sudden, unexpected violence. They jabbered incoherencies as Ivan calmly turned back towards them, wiping flecks of blood off of his clothing with a handkerchief.
"What... the..." Hanatar breathed, stammering. "Why did you...? The evidence! My couch!"
Ivan smirked, the first sign of emotion Hanatar had viewed from the man. "Yes, I can see how someone of your moral standing would be mor
e concerned about furniture than the life of one of his employees."
The crime lord's eyes widened, a trickle of fear seeping into him as he realized that Ivan might have been guilty of more than simple disobedience or foolishness. "Kill him!" he shouted to his loyal man.
Not certain of what he should do, Damien sputtered and started to raise his weapon.
"No," Ivan said, picking up an ashtray from the end table. With a casual motion, he flung it through the air.
The projectile cracked into Damien's skull, knocking him unconscious and flinging him backwards. The weapon the lieutenant carried slipped out of his hands and tumbled away.
Hanatar made as if to dive to retrieve it, but Ivan repeated, "No," as he seized the back of his former employer's robe. With an effortless motion, Ivan dragged him over and flung him onto the couch, next to the dead man.
Screaming, Hanatar skittered away from the corpse. He tried to rise, but Ivan pushed him back down and aimed the pistol at him. "Jesus, shit, Jesus..." he swore, wiping the blood from his hands on his bathrobe. "Wh-what-what do want? Why are you doing this?" He shrank away from the weapon.
Ivan didn't fire. "I don't like you, Mister Hanatar, or what you stand for."
"But... I mean, why the..."
"Be quiet," Ivan said, and his former employer shut his mouth. "I don't like you," he repeated, "because you engage in some very terrible dealings. It should be more than obvious that human trafficking is an unacceptable practice." Ivan raised his chin. "I am going to leave your employment now, but I promise there will be justice for your actions."
"Y-you want more money? I can get you more money, you just have to-" Hanatar tried to rise, but Ivan shoved him back onto the couch.
Ivan's face developed a slight scowl with a quiet intensity both menacing and terrifying. "I want nothing more to do with you, other than to see you pay for the things you've done."
Hanatar swallowed hard, eyes wide with fear. "Oh jeez, please don't kill me. I'll do anything, I swear; just please don't-"
"Your retribution will come soon enough," Ivan said, "and I promise I am not yet finished with you."
A gloved fist descended.
******
"When I woke up," Hanatar said, rubbing his face absentmindedly, "I was in a hospital, cuffed to the bed with a mouthful of busted teeth. They added murder and some kind of witness tampering or something charge. Damien apparently had slipped out somehow and didn't get caught: maybe Ivan dragged him along. I had a concussion, so I didn't really register much of it." The crime lord turned prisoner sighed. "You probably know the rest: that circus of a trial..."
I nodded, not registering much sympathy for the man but curious anyway. "They found you, unconscious, next to a dead man you didn't kill. Ivan's vessel had to have been seen leaving. Why did they charge you with the crime?"
"Because they wanted to." Hanatar gave a bitter smile. "And because my finances were fluctuating so wildly: unrest in the organization and my darling wife swiping every penny, you see. I had trouble keeping my staff of defense attorneys around. Oh, and I'm pretty sure Ivan was driving the fear of God into 'em. It wasn't enough him puttin' me in dentures for life, he seemed determined to make sure I got shoved into the deepest, darkest hole."
Frowning, I said, "Still, the evidence must have screamed it was a set-up."
Hanatar shrugged. "Prosecutors did a lot of dancing, that's for sure. In the end, they convinced the jury I was betrayed by one of my own after popping Dreger. That, and I had about fifty other charges to deal with and few to no advocates. They had surveillance of Ivan's ship, but it came and went: no one saw the man, docking records led nowhere... In the end, the mystery ship was disregarded."
He shook his head, continuing. "The whole trial was a mess of posturing, legal horseshit, and a gross misconduct of the justice system. Everyone and their grandmother, including a large portion of my own organization towards the end, wanted to see me drawn and quartered. So they danced around the inconsistencies and watched me hang."
I folded my hands on the table. "Speaking of the organization..."
"Bunch of morons." Hanatar rolled his eyes. "A few of the smarter or more loyal ones tried to help me, but the rest were tearing things apart trying to get to the top. Dozens more of my high-ranking fellows were killed or arrested." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that, everything I had worked for was crumbling away."
"What about your," I considered my method of phrasing, "attempts at early release?"
The prisoner laughed openly. "Early release? Hah! That's a good one." He threw his arms wide open. "This place is a fortress. Three of my ships got vaped in the minefield. A couple of explosives and an extended-charge atmo-suit almost got me to the space port and beyond before I was snatched up. Seven different attempts, and only one of them had a decent shot. One."
"The assault."
"Yep," he nodded. "The last of my finances, the last piece of anything I had in the galaxy. My Apollo-class cruiser shredded their defenses and tore half of the moon to pieces. At that point, I didn't care; I wanted out of this shit-hole." He rubbed his cheek. "I heard Damien was the one who brought it, the dumb bastard. The prisoners got a riot going after the ground started shaking from bombardment, and the screws had backed off to an outer sector. I mean, they still had us locked in, no problem. Where could we get to?"
I motioned for him to go on.
"Anyway," Hanatar continued. "I had popped into the warden's office and was looking at the scopes, laughing my ass off as the cruiser blasted apart the minefield and the orbital guns. It was dropping a few shots on the space port to keep 'em running, but then the thing started to fall. My last remaining hope of ever leaving blew up and smashed into this godforsaken moon." He hesitated, resting his face on a hand.
Frowning, I asked, "Is that all?"
A faraway look developed in the prisoner's eyes. There was something there, appearing as more than wistful regret at a lost opportunity. A frustration developed which I recognized as something he had to have thought of often. I leaned forward. "What is it?"
He scowled. "I'm positive I saw something else. The scopes were fritzing with a lot of sensor damage. Most of them were on the guns, so there weren't many angles left to look from either." He shrugged. "I don't know if anyone else happened to see it. It wasn't mentioned in the news; they said the cruiser sustained too much damage and couldn't keep its orbit. I've thought about it every day for the last fourteen years, every day they kept me in solitary and stripped away my privileges and rights because of what I brought down on them." He paused, laughing bitterly. I saw the tiniest bit of moisture form in his eyes.
I waited for him to speak.
"That son of a bitch wasn't joking when he said he wasn't done with me." Hanatar nodded. "By himself, he blew apart my last hope."
Eyes narrowing, I said, "You saw..."
"A ship. Ivan's ship. OLGA, or whatever he called it." Hanatar turned away.
Quite vindictive if true, and surprising at that. I doubted it astonished me half as much as the bitter, aging criminal to whom I spoke. It seemed Hanatar did nothing directly to Ivan, but for Ivan to piece together a scheme to imprison him and endeavor to keep him there... by shooting down a cruiser no less...
"No recordings?"
Hanatar ran a hand through his thinning hair. "That's the ironic part. I sabotaged the scope data system to make sure they didn't have visual confirmation of what was blowing them to shit. The only physical evidence of the cruiser ended up being its scattered remains."
I wasn't finished yet. "I appreciate your time, but I have one more person to ask you about."
"Who?" he asked, still turned away.
"Traverian Grey."
He blinked, looking over at me. "What do you want with Grey?"
"Same thing I wanted with you. It seemed he and Ivan crossed paths more than once."
Hanatar chuckled. "Yeah, you could say that."
"Meaning?" My eyes narrowed.
&nbs
p; "Retired," the prisoner shrugged, "is what I heard quite a while back. Somewhere out on the rim where the law and vengeance couldn't find him. They said he lost a limb or two and gave up the business. Though why he wouldn't buy new ones with all the money he's got is beyond me. He was a great fella; always got the job done. Shoulda used him instead of that fat prick."
"How did he lose his limbs?"
"Well, Archivist," Hanatar slouched in his chair, "you know rumors. They twist and turn, and God only knows where they began."
"Yes...?"
He grinned. "Let's say maybe you weren't the first fellow to look for Ivan after he got himself famous. And maybe one or two caught up with him before he did the whole disappearing into legend thing."
"They fought?"
Shrugging, Hanatar replied, "Grey was no slouch, and he always got the job done if it paid well enough. After the colony at the Garden blew up, Ivan's head must've had value. Grey woulda gone for it no question, no matter their friendly history, but..." He shook his head. "If there was one fella that Traverian Grey couldn't take down..."
I nodded. "Thank you."
"My pleasure." Hanatar gave a thin smile. "You've been good company, Archivist. If I wasn't certain you had no further use for me, I'd invite you to return sometime."
With a slight bow, I smiled and stood. "Good day, Mr. Hanatar." I stepped out of the room.
The warden pestered me with questions as we wound our way through the twisted corridors of the prison, and I held a passing curiosity as to how roughly Hanatar was being led back to his eternal cell. He was responsible for a planetary attack. Even fourteen years ago, I doubted the grudges died very quickly.
The Legend of Ivan Page 10
