"Fighting Words"
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dochermes"Fighting Words"
10/22/1991
Chilly salt water lapped up over the two corpses on the beach, washing away blood into the Atlantic Ocean. One guard had been completely decapitated and his head had rolled several feet away. The other sprawled out on his back, his chest and abdomen laid open in an X-shape that exposed ribs and sternum. Both had been experienced men, alert, hands resting on their .45 revolvers. Yet they had not really had a chance against the menace that had lunged up out of the sea.
Terrified beyond rational thought, Peter Hommel froze as motionless as his trembling would allow. Thirty years of verbal sparring in offices and psychological duels in boardrooms had not in any way prepared him for the unexpected burst of volence that had killed the two men he was counting on to protect him. He felt as if he couldn't breathe with that cold steel blade pressed to his throat.
But he was not the center of attention here. The killer from the ocean, holding Hommel captive with the sword edge against the executive's Adam's-Apple, was himself absolutely still as he locked eyes with the third man on that Long Island beach. Jeremy Bane and Ethan Petrov met in person for the first time in three years. Both were fit, athletic men six feet tall, both dark-haired and dangerous-looking. Ethan was wearing a black wetsuit, with the hood pulled back and his rebreather tossed aside. His eyes were so dark a brown as to appear black in the twilight.
Facing the Weapons Master just as motionless, Bane was in his black field suit with its heavy boots, pants and waist-length jacket of tough material but he had not brought his helmet. A strange needle-barreled gun holstered at his left hip was his only visible weapon. Even in the fading light, the Dire Wolf's eyes showed a pale feral grey.
"I had hoped that you were not turn really bad," he said at last.
Ethan snorted. "Turn bad? You fool, I always WAS bad! Jeremy, I held my true self down for two years so I could play your silly games and get some Tel Shai training. I was laughing at you the whole time."
"That's hard to believe, Ethan. Cindy's telepathy and the perception of the Teachers themselves vouched for you. I think you were sincere at the time. You were making a real effort to channel your nature to a more constructive purpose. But it failed."
Ever so slightly, the Weapons Master turned one foot outward and shifted his weight a fraction of an inch. "Steady there. Don't move. You are fast, Dire Wolf, but you are thirty feet away. I will open this sheep's throat before you could reach me and you know your anethetic darts won't penetrate this Neoprene suit."
"What a waste," Bane continued. "The great Weapons Master, equal to your brother Seth, reduced to being a common assassin. Honestly, I thought that if I fell into the darkness, you would be a warlord on the level of Wu Lung or Arem Kamede."
"Hah! Obvious wordplay, old friend. No, a man is happiest when he is true to his nature. From the very cradle, Seth and I had weapons placed in our hands and targets in front of us. There is a motto in our trade, 'people are targets."
"I've heard it," said the Dire Wolf. "I'll tell you truth, Ethan, it's more of a challenge to come up against a peer than to easily kill a victim who doesn't have chance. You've cheapened yourself."
"Stop trying such basic tactics," the Weapons Master laughed. "And you, Hommel, hold still. Only your cooperation will keep you alive a few more minutes."
The millionaire started to bargain. "Whatever they're paying it, I can more than double-- Urk." He stopped as the fine edge of the sword pressed down to leave a pink ridge across his throat.
"Quiet. Don't spoil the purity of this moment. Come on, Jeremy, let me hear your next attempt to dissuade me."
Bane had not even lifted his arms from they hung at his sides. "Ethan, be honest about this. Sure, you can kill him before I can stop you. But what then? You've seen me in action. I'm wearing the Trom armor and I have my daggers. You can't outrun me or outswim if if comes to that."
A smile had spread across the Weapon Master's bony, scarred face. "There are always options. Perhaps I will merely give him a mortal wound and escape. You know you would have to try to save him rather than catch me."
"All right." The Dire Wolf finally moved, placing his fists on his hips and planting his feet farther apart. "I had hoped to never resort to this. Listen closely. Yes, I knew you had a homicidal streak you couldn't repress forever. When you didn't work out as a KDF member or a Tel Shai knight, I decided to set up a safeguard."
For the first time, Ethan Petrov's voice was less than completely assured. "Go on..."
"Your last night with us, I put veratilin in your food. A small amount, just enough to leave you open and vulnerable. Cindy implanted a powerful telepathic version of a post-hypnotic command in your mind that you knew nothing about."
Shoving Hommel aside, Ethan twirled his sword in a figure 8 and got into position. "Oh really. You expect me to believe that!"
"I'm sorry to have to do this," Bane said. "Here's the trigger phrase. 'Ethan, Shut Down.' " As he called out those three words, he saw Ethan Petrov sagged to the cold sand as if suddenly very tired. The dreaded Weapon Master lay face down and the sword fell away from limp fingers.
Wasting no time getting away from that threat, Peter Hommel hustled over to stand by Bane. "I don't understand this. Any of this."
"You don't need to understand," Bane told him in a low voice. "This is a secret world you don't need to know about."
9/2/2000 - Rev 3/13/2019
10/22/1991
Chilly salt water lapped up over the two corpses on the beach, washing away blood into the Atlantic Ocean. One guard had been completely decapitated and his head had rolled several feet away. The other sprawled out on his back, his chest and abdomen laid open in an X-shape that exposed ribs and sternum. Both had been experienced men, alert, hands resting on their .45 revolvers. Yet they had not really had a chance against the menace that had lunged up out of the sea.
Terrified beyond rational thought, Peter Hommel froze as motionless as his trembling would allow. Thirty years of verbal sparring in offices and psychological duels in boardrooms had not in any way prepared him for the unexpected burst of volence that had killed the two men he was counting on to protect him. He felt as if he couldn't breathe with that cold steel blade pressed to his throat.
But he was not the center of attention here. The killer from the ocean, holding Hommel captive with the sword edge against the executive's Adam's-Apple, was himself absolutely still as he locked eyes with the third man on that Long Island beach. Jeremy Bane and Ethan Petrov met in person for the first time in three years. Both were fit, athletic men six feet tall, both dark-haired and dangerous-looking. Ethan was wearing a black wetsuit, with the hood pulled back and his rebreather tossed aside. His eyes were so dark a brown as to appear black in the twilight.
Facing the Weapons Master just as motionless, Bane was in his black field suit with its heavy boots, pants and waist-length jacket of tough material but he had not brought his helmet. A strange needle-barreled gun holstered at his left hip was his only visible weapon. Even in the fading light, the Dire Wolf's eyes showed a pale feral grey.
"I had hoped that you were not turn really bad," he said at last.
Ethan snorted. "Turn bad? You fool, I always WAS bad! Jeremy, I held my true self down for two years so I could play your silly games and get some Tel Shai training. I was laughing at you the whole time."
"That's hard to believe, Ethan. Cindy's telepathy and the perception of the Teachers themselves vouched for you. I think you were sincere at the time. You were making a real effort to channel your nature to a more constructive purpose. But it failed."
Ever so slightly, the Weapons Master turned one foot outward and shifted his weight a fraction of an inch. "Steady there. Don't move. You are fast, Dire Wolf, but you are thirty feet away. I will open this sheep's throat before you could reach me and you know your anethetic darts won't penetrate this Neoprene suit."
"What a waste," Bane continued. "The great Weapons Master, equal to your brother Seth, reduced to being a common assassin. Honestly, I thought that if I fell into the darkness, you would be a warlord on the level of Wu Lung or Arem Kamede."
"Hah! Obvious wordplay, old friend. No, a man is happiest when he is true to his nature. From the very cradle, Seth and I had weapons placed in our hands and targets in front of us. There is a motto in our trade, 'people are targets."
"I've heard it," said the Dire Wolf. "I'll tell you truth, Ethan, it's more of a challenge to come up against a peer than to easily kill a victim who doesn't have chance. You've cheapened yourself."
"Stop trying such basic tactics," the Weapons Master laughed. "And you, Hommel, hold still. Only your cooperation will keep you alive a few more minutes."
The millionaire started to bargain. "Whatever they're paying it, I can more than double-- Urk." He stopped as the fine edge of the sword pressed down to leave a pink ridge across his throat.
"Quiet. Don't spoil the purity of this moment. Come on, Jeremy, let me hear your next attempt to dissuade me."
Bane had not even lifted his arms from they hung at his sides. "Ethan, be honest about this. Sure, you can kill him before I can stop you. But what then? You've seen me in action. I'm wearing the Trom armor and I have my daggers. You can't outrun me or outswim if if comes to that."
A smile had spread across the Weapon Master's bony, scarred face. "There are always options. Perhaps I will merely give him a mortal wound and escape. You know you would have to try to save him rather than catch me."
"All right." The Dire Wolf finally moved, placing his fists on his hips and planting his feet farther apart. "I had hoped to never resort to this. Listen closely. Yes, I knew you had a homicidal streak you couldn't repress forever. When you didn't work out as a KDF member or a Tel Shai knight, I decided to set up a safeguard."
For the first time, Ethan Petrov's voice was less than completely assured. "Go on..."
"Your last night with us, I put veratilin in your food. A small amount, just enough to leave you open and vulnerable. Cindy implanted a powerful telepathic version of a post-hypnotic command in your mind that you knew nothing about."
Shoving Hommel aside, Ethan twirled his sword in a figure 8 and got into position. "Oh really. You expect me to believe that!"
"I'm sorry to have to do this," Bane said. "Here's the trigger phrase. 'Ethan, Shut Down.' " As he called out those three words, he saw Ethan Petrov sagged to the cold sand as if suddenly very tired. The dreaded Weapon Master lay face down and the sword fell away from limp fingers.
Wasting no time getting away from that threat, Peter Hommel hustled over to stand by Bane. "I don't understand this. Any of this."
"You don't need to understand," Bane told him in a low voice. "This is a secret world you don't need to know about."
9/2/2000 - Rev 3/13/2019
