Jangry Jasper: Thirty-six

Buzz tapped his forehead in frustration as thousands of files and articles downloaded from the Worm-net, which was very much akin to the ancient internet, but used wormholes to circumnavigate trillions of miles of solar system in seconds. To his great disappointment there simply wasn't much known about Thomas. There was little in the way of any sort of revelation. Buzz had even managed to hack a couple of secret Corporation files, but it was obvious they were as much in the dark about him as everyone else.

Thomas Claimed to be ancestor of the great profit from Branson, Yakov Smirnoff. For years everyone believed the fuzzy bearded Russian émigré was simply a fool, a two-bit jokester with a fully accent who made a career telling the same stale Cold War jokes about his Mother Russia:

“In Soviet Russia, the government controls corporations. In America corporations controls the government!”

Little did anyone suspect that Yakov was as gifted a thinker as Descartes or Foucault or Socrates. He was an oracle and a prophet to the coming doom about to befall the planet. For centuries devout followers of Yakov Smirnoff would recite is jokes, mimicking the accent, some of them sporting the signature beard and a hand-me-down suit and marvel at the brilliance.

One detail was certain. Thomas was the lone survivor of a mysterious blast that destroyed the rebel stronghold at Branson. The place had been under direct attack for many months. But one night, during a lull in the battle something large descended like a meteor from space. It struck the stronghold full force, with a resulting blast heard half way around the world. There seemed little doubt that the Corporation was responsible for the calamity, though they vehemently denied any responsibility for the act. Six days later Thomas stumbled into a rebel patrol searching for survivors.

Buzzed searched his archives and discovered a copy of the patrol’s report:

ACTION REPORT: January, 30, 2517
The Unit reached Springfield at the edge of the blast zone. The city is all but obliterated. The patrol encountered small bands of survivors fleeing towards enclaves along the old Mississippi basin. Constant threats from Corporation ships forced our unit to take refuge in the city before proceeding towards Branson. Expectations were low for encountering any further survivors. The ground here is devastated, as though an asteroid struck. On the sixth night a lone figure stumbled into our perimeter from the direction of the blast zone. Despite several warning shots the obviously disoriented male continued before collapsing. Subject held in isolation and refused, or was unable to speak despite repeated interrogation. When he could speak once more it was rudimentary, like an infant learning to speak.
Subject claimed ancestry to the Smirnoff lineage. No way to verify claim any longer due to complete destruction of region. Reached Branson on the tenth day, but the area was blasted clear to the bed rock. Came under Corporation attack soon after reaching area. Withdrew without locating any more survivors. Subject, named Thomas, handed over to command at base.

Of course, the news that Thomas was related to the great Yakov was met with great skepticism. In battle he proved himself as brave and ruthless as that short and swarthy lot he claimed heritage. In the right light he might have even passed as a descendent. The image of a valient Yakov had been honed through the centuries into a heroic and virtuous figure and Thomas seemed intent on recreating that legacy. Little else remained of the man, though some small bits of his brilliant oratory skills remained, mere glimpses into his more whimsical and human side. They were traits apparently not passed on to this ancestor.

Thomas' exploits in battle certainly were enough to get him recognized, and even praised, but Thomas’ career might well have ended there. He might have run out his days as a zealous commander, but for one powerful attribute: Ruthless ambition.
Indeed, there were many who would have, quietly to themselves, characterized it as murderous ambition. There were not a few who took offense when he described himself as prince, whose destiny was to rise as king over the rebellion, and thus taking his ancestor’s rightful place. Rivals met with mysterious demise, fell in suspicious Corporation ambushes, as though someone had tipped the enemy, or succumbed to some ailment or other-usually resulting in a fiery crash that erased all possible evidence. Critics and enemies met even harsher fates. Branded as traitors, often with transparently forged evidence, the poor souls who ran afoul of Thomas were summarily executed or simply disappeared.