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TIGER NATION I
"TIGER NATION I"
2/6/2022
I.
At three in the morning, Jeremy Bane stood by the side of the back road and stared up at the body in the tree.
Headlights from two patrol cars illuminated the gruesome sight all too clearly. It was a good-sized wild cherry tree and the corpse was draped over a fork where two branches diverged. Lying face up, arms and legs hanging limply down, the body was within a mass of darkened blood that had frozen in the near zero temperatures. The tree itself stood less than twenty feet off Old School House Road on the southern shore of Long Island.
Bane stood motionless, not stepping any closer to the death scene. His only concessions to the pitiless wind chill were a long topcoat over his regular clothes and a pair of thin leather gloves. The Dire Wolf hardly noticed the weather at this point. Decades on the Tagra diet had boosted his healing factor to where extremes barely affected him.
Moving closer, Lt Andriessen shivered violently despite his down-filled parka, scarf and wool hat pulled low to his eyebrows. He had seen Bane disregard weather before and knew it wasn't an act. "CSI boys are on their way," he said. "The usual road is still blocked by those fallen trees, so they're bringing the forensic wagon the long way around."
"I'll be gone before then." Bane swung around to face the lieutenant. "Glad to hear about your promotion, Paul. You've sure worked hard for it."
"Thanks, Jeremy. I didn't call you here officially, of course..."
That got a snort of amusement from Bane. "I know. Everything I do is off the record and never happened and everyone up to the District Attorney will deny I was here tonight. This is quite a scene. I'd say that man weighed two hundred pounds, his body is eleven feet off the ground. Do you see any marks in the snow that a ladder might have left?"
"No. No, I don't. There's these footprints over here, and a beaten down circle in the snow where there was a struggle. A ton of blood all around there, hell of a mess. That's it."
The Dire Wolf backtracked the footprints, studying them. "Two men. They got out of a car right there, next to where your patrol car is standing. One man was running, you see his toes are the only part leaving a mark? The other one takes a few steps and his marks stop. Then we see the crushed down area in the snow. That's it."
"Doesn't make any sense at all to me," Andriessen said. "Unofficially and off the record, what do you want to say?"
Jeremy Bane headed back toward the tree, staying on the road so as not to disturb the scene. "The two men got out of a car. One started running for his life. The second man leaped about ten feet, tackled the first and brought him down. Then the killer jumped straight up to leave the body in the tree and came down again over there. See there, two sets of footprints near the road? The killer got back in his car and took off."
Lieutenant Andriessen exhaled through his scarf, the trail of vapor visible. "I couldn't put that in a report, Jeremy. I'd be recommended for a psych evaluation. All I can do is describe the scene and not draw any conclusions."
"I know." The Dire Wolf took a thin flashlight from his coat and shone a blindingly strong beam up at the body. Over by the cruisers, he heard the three uniformed officers mutter to each other. Bane continued, "His abdomen has been ripped open. I can't tell from here how much damage was done, but my guess is that his intestines are gone."
"Oh my God," the Lieutenant breathed. "Of course. Maybe there was a human killer involved but some kind of animal did this. A big cat. Like a mountain lion... but here? Out on Long Island?"
"I imagine that's why your CSI men will conclude. There's no paw prints in sight. Still, what other conclusion can they reach? I'd better go now. The fewer people know I was here, the better I can investigate on my own. Good night, Paul. Be careful."
"It's possible a copy of the forensic report might end up at your house," Andriessen said quietly.
"Of course, I'd burn it right away," replied Bane. He turned toward where he had left his own Ford Mustang just ahead. "Deny everything, that's my policy."
As he opened the driver's door, he clearly heard one of the officers say, "I tell you, that's him. The Dire Wolf. I thought he was only a story vets tell rookies to pull their legs." Easing out on to the road which still had icy patches here and there, Bane allowed himself one of his rare, barely visible smiles.
II.
A few minutes before noon the following day, a young man in casual work clothes tossed a thick bundle of THE NEW YORK TIMES to land in front of an unremarkable two-story house in Forest Hills. Bane had been watching for it. He took the newspaper into his living room and dropped down on the couch to find the eleven inch by fourteen manila envelope inside. Within were twenty pages of single-spaced small print and seven full color gruesome photos. The Dire Wolf took his time reading the report, going over it again slowly and letting everything sink in.
He did not have a literal photographic memory. It was just decades of training and experience that allowed him to fix every detail in his mind. Bane never read fiction, never watched movies or listened to music. He had developed a utilitarian mind. At two o'clock, feeling satisfied he had taken everything in, he went to his kitchen and burned the pages one by one in the sink, running the ashes away with cold water.
The living room was austere to the point where it seemed no one lived there. Bane had put up no framed photos, no plants, no decorations. There were never any empty plates or tossed aside pieces of clothing. The big flat screen TV sat cold and unused most of the time. A scattering of local newspapers on the coffee table were the only sign this house was occupied.
For a long moment, he sat leaning forward on the couch with his hands clasped in front of him. Enough white flecks had appeared in the short black hair that it could properly be called salt and pepper, but only faint lines at the corners of his mouth and the corners of those pale grey eyes marked his age. He had not put on a pound, he still moved with the confidence and ease of a much younger man in peak athletic condition.
Unclipping his Link from his belt, he called Megan Salenger. "Hi. Do you have a minute? Good. Not an emergency but I might have a new case you'd be interested in, what are you doing the next few days? Putting an onboard computer on Archie's vintage Harley? If you're sure he won't be mad, I think you'd like to work with me on this. Okay. You're home now, can we meet at the garage at three? Yeah, that would be good. Thanks, Megan, I'll see you there."
Standing up and heading toward the stairs, Bane was amused to find how excited he was about a new mission. Six years earlier, he had closed his office and vacated his Manhattan apartment to buy this house in a sedate residential neighborhood. He had told himself it was time to retire, that he had been fighting the Midnight War all his life and enough was enough. But still, whenver he was called in by the NYPD or the Mandate about something bizarre and dangerous that had alarmed them, he jumped at the chance. Every time, he felt like he had been dozing and was waking up again.
He would never change, he realized. Always the Dire Wolf.
In his austere bedroom, he stripped down to the suit of flexible Trom armor he invariably wore. Thin as silk, covering everything except his hands, feet and head, it gave more protection against impact or sharp edges than ceramic plate would. On his forearms were sheathed the matched silver-bladed daggers that had been given to him by Kenneth Dred so many years earlier. Whenever he tried to go out of the house without the daggers or the armor, he felt distressed to the point where it took all his will not to run back in for them.
In a few seconds, he had pulled on his all-black trademark outfit of boots, slacks and turtleneck, and he was shrugging into the sports jacket he kept ready with a dozen tiny gimmicks and weapons in its concealed pockets. This might as well have been his uniform, he was so well known in it both in the criminal underworld and the Midnight War. Suddenly he felt himself again. Bane rushed down the stairs eagerly, yanked on his long topcoat from its hook by the front door and shrugged it on. From a reinforced cabinet next to the door, he unlocked the gun safe and took off his holstered Smith & Wesson long-barreled .38 revolver. Even though he had inspected it earlier that day, he checked it again before fastening the holster to his belt behind his left hip.
The Dire Wolf vaulted down the five steps in front of his house and swung around to where he kept his car parked on the short gravel drive. On the driver's sunvisor, four small lights blinked steadily blue and green... the security system Megan had insisted on installing herself. Giving the Ford Mustang a minute to warm up, he looked over all the dials and readouts before pulling out onto quiet Pierpont Street. The Grand Central Parkway next. He felt ready for any challenge.
III.
Twenty minutes later, Bane slowly entered the ramp leading into IMPERIAL GARAGE on 40th Street. He still kept his assigned spot here despite the expense and no matter if he wasn't in Manhattan more than once a week. It was worth it. He made a three point move and backed into his spot so he could leave without delay if necessary.
Two slots down, a familiar cherry-red Jeep Cherokee sat parked. Three other KDF members had followed his lead in using this garage, because it was close to the 38th Street headquarters and because they could meet there before splitting up on missions. Hopping down lightly from the driver's side of the Jeep was a slim woman in a black field suit, waving hello to him. Megan Salenger was forty-two now. She had filled out slightly from the thin teenager whom he had first met when she had entered the Midnight War, but like Bane she looked younger than she was. The inquisitive foxlike face with its dark eyes and mop of untidy black hair had changed very little.
"Captain! It's been ages since we worked together," she called as she strode quickly toward him. Draped over one arm was a light tan topcoat that she was wriggling into. This was to be less conspicious. Her field suit with its internal power source would keep her warm and comfortable in even harsher environments than a New York February, but the round disc of the gravity shield between her shoulder blades drew too many curious glances from people.
"Hi, Megan..." Bane began but was cut off as she took him by one arm and tugged him forcefully toward her Jeep.
"You are my excuse to deviate from my diet," she chuckled. "Since infancy, all my meals have been planned by Trom nutritionists. I'm healthy, I've never had a cavity or an operation, but I am not a Trom. I'm Human and I crave Italian food today." As she saw him open the passenger door, she herself vaulted up behind the wheel again. "I am allowed two exceptions to my diet. One is Pizza Night with our team, and the other is when I am on a mission with you."
The Dire Wolf strapped himself in and relaxed as much as he ever did. "You know I'm always hungry. It's my enhanced metabolism."
"That is the price you pay for your reflexes, I'm afraid." She slowed to wave to the attendant in his glass-enclosed booth, then headed out onto Third Avenue. The Trom Girl smiled at her captain. "I know you well enough after all these years. You have called me because you are dealing with some technical problem."
"You're right," he said. "First, where are we going?"
"Sophia's up on 52nd Street. They use fresh ingredients and I have observed their food handling is up to any reasonable standards. What did you want to ask me?"
"It's about DNA. Megan, remember I never made it to junior high. I grew up as a street orphan, so please use small words. Is it possible to, well, mix animal DNA into a living person? To make that person into a hybrid?"
"No. Human technology will not be able to do that in the forseeable future. Even the Trom have not achieved that. What kind of animal were you thinking about?"
"Tigers. Does the name Eugene William Lawless mean anything to you?"
She stopped at a red light when there would have been enough time to zip through as it changed. "He is a geneticist working for the Swift Institute. Two years ago, he was nominated for a Nobel Prize but narrowly lost. I have read some of his papers and conclude that he is extremely intelligent for a Human. No offense."
"We Humans aren't a Race of geniuses but we have our good points," Bane said. "Megan, Lawless is dead. He was killed last night." He filled her in on what he had seen himself and his conclusions. "His last project did involve tiger DNA, something to do with boosting their immune systems and eliminating birth defects, the science is beyond me. But seeing how his body was handled, the tiger angle seemed worth looking into."
Instead of responding, Megan hit her turn signal and swung into a parking spot that had just been vacated. "This is a rare occurence, we are one block from Sophia's. I was prepared to either circle the area or park a considerable distance away." She opened the center console and took out change for the meter. "But I was listening, captain. I agree that it is asking too much of coincidence for the victim of an apparent human tiger to have been involved with tiger DNA."
The next few minutes were occupied with rushing through the bitter cold along the deserted sidewalk and into the warm pleasant aromas of a local pizza joint. The big windows were steamed on the inside. Megan again took the initiative and led Bane to a round table in the rear of the dining area. "I am prepared to eat two slices and I think you can finish the rest if we order a whole pie."
"Absolutely. I would like sausage and pepperoni on it."
The Trom Girl waited until Bane was seated, claiming the table, before asking "Iced tea?" Getting an affirmative, she went to the counter and placed their order, then brought their drinks back with her. As she dropped down into a chair, she lowered her voice to continue, "I can not think of any Midnight War phenomenon which would explain these two factors. We have dealt with many shape-shifters, of course, mostly wolves but there have been a few who take the form of big cats. They would not have a connection with DNA research."
"I don't think gralic magic is involved," Bane said. "Call it a hunch."
Megan nodded. "I have learned to give credence to your hunches. There is one other explanation. Zhune artifacts."
A cheerful heavyset waitress brought over a metal tray holding their pizza, as well as a side order of Mozzarella sticks. As she arranged a stack of paper napkins by one hand, Megan visibly perked up. "Our rule was no shop talk while eating."
Bane dug in. At six feet even, he weighed one hundred and seventy pounds no matter how much he ate. Watching Megan, he remembered again how much her teammates had been annoyed at her precise habits. The Trom Girl took tiny bites and chewed thoroughly before swallowing, taking a sip of the iced tea frequently. Unicorn and Timothy had always finished their own meals before Megan was even half done and had always been forced to wait for her.
Forced by circumstance to sit still for more than a few minutes, the Dire Wolf fought his impatience. His hyper metabolism made him restless at the best of times. Eventually, though, his teammate had finished her two slices and then half of the Mozzarella sticks and wiped her mouth with a final napkin.
"I want to comment how delicious that was," she said, breaking her silence. "Taking time to enjoy physical sensations helps mental health."
"I couldn't agree more," Bane replied. "Back to business. You're right, Zhune artifacts could explain the mystery. When Karl Eldritch was destroyed, I had hoped we'd seen the last of them, but no such luck."
"Eldritch was the only individual who could fully charge the artifacts because he was the only person who understood the Zhune principle of primal atomic force. However, we found that others could partially restore the artifacts through exorbitant amounts of electricity."
"That would be Cogitus," Bane said. "But he's dead now, too. And of course, John Grim has been gone for a long time. As far as I know, there are only two other Mad Scientists capable of even partially recharging Zhune devices. There's Ben Sakmussen in Norway, he's stll there the last I heard and being watched by the authorities."
Megan still sat bolt upright, hands folded on the table in front of her with no fidgeting. "That leaves Baron Shogren."
IV.
Back in her Jeep, Megan synced her dashboard computer with her Link and started searching. "The larger screen makes everything easier," she said before tapping on her Link so rapidly she seemed to be drumming.
Bane leaned back and remained silent. He knew that distant expression meant she was processing information faster than Humans could. While he waited, for some reason he remembered the Trom who had called himself Leonard Slade, who had been a founding member of the Kenneth Dred Foundation so long ago. Slade had subtly mimicked Human reactions in his voice and mannerisms for outsiders, but when alone with KDF teammates, he had been so emotionless in even the most stressful combat situations that it had been unnerving.
Slade had died in 1990, in the Final Halloween, where so many of the team had given their lives to prevent a genuine apocalypse. Nine years later, a teenage Megan Salenger had applied for membership. She was a Human orphan raised from infancy by the Trom to have genius level expertise in a dozen technical fields.
Watching the intent profile of the Trom Girl studying rapid flickering data on the dashboard monitor, Bane allowed himself a faint smile of appreciation. Against everyone's expectations, Megan had fallen in love with a down-to-Earth motorcycle mechanic named Archie McAllister. Her Human side had flourished, although she still retained her intellect and skills. Bane always enjoyed working with her and was glad to have her on this mission.
Snapping off the monitor, she glanced over to catch him smiling at her. "What?" she asked puzzedly.
"Just going back in memory while you worked," he said.
"I see. Captain, I went through Central Hudson records of the past year. There are several instances where a customer suddenly used greatly increased amounts of electricity, but one case is in Danvers, Long Island, less than ten miles from the murder scene."
The Dire Wolf sat up straighter. "That's all the clue anyone could ask. Megan, I've seen you hack into everything from Motor Vehicles fines to Pentagon salaries to MI 6 double agent files, all classified and secured. You realize how many felonies you've committed on our missions?"
She tilted her head slightly, "It is ironic you should say that, Jeremy. The CORBYs alone are illegal enough to place you in prison the rest of your life. You fly an unregistered stealth helicopter over Manhattan with no flight plan or authorization, and a civilian helicopter armed with chain guns at that."
"I can only hope we're outlaws with good cause," he said. "We should look into this address you dug up."
"Yes." Megan started up her Jeep and waited for an opening in traffic. "I do not think anyone from our team is available to join us right now. Timothy and his friend Gabrielle are expected back at headquarters early tonight, but Sable and Jocelyn are down in Pennsylvania. Unicorn went to Schenectady to fetch some rare books we were given. Galvan and Jin have their day off to spend time together with their son."
"Well, we'll do some recon and see if we need to call an alert to get them," he said. "Right now, we really don't have enough information to justify that."
"Agreed." She saw a gap in the flow of vehicles and pulled away from the curb. "I estimae a drive of one hour and nineteen minutes unless something delays us. Taking I-95 is the most direct route."
When they were on the way south, Bane grumbled, "I've always hated dealing with Zhune relics! They do things that should be impossible. Shrinking rays, mind transference helmets. Evolution accelerators. All crazy stuff you never encounter anywhere else in the Midnight War."
"I can tell you that the Trom researchers still have learned very little about Zhune."
"Yeah? I always figured the Trom had something to do with that civilization."
"Oh no. Not at all. As far as anyone knows, Zhune was one of the earliest organized societies. It predates Sumer by two thousand years. How the people of Zhune made their discoveries remains a mystery."
"Karl Eldritch always said the wise men of Zhune figured out how to tap primal atomic energy, whatever that is. They could change matter into energy and energy into matter."
"The Trom would not like to admit it, but they know little more about Zhune than that," Megan said. "There is a viable possibility that surviving Zhune artifacts could indeed give tiger characteristics to Human subjects."
Bane sighed, something he would not have allowed himself to do except with close friends. "We have a long drive yet, Megan. Catch me up on how you and Archie are doing."
"His family has finally stopped urging us to have children," she said with a trace of relief in her voice. "His grandmother says I am too old now! Archie has discussed sponsoring a child, since we have adequate funds at our disposal..."
The ride passed uneventfully as they chatted and the conversation veered into mere gossip at several points. Why Ashley's marriage hadn't worked out, how Demrak Jin had been approached by the royal court of Ulgor to have her son offically baptized there, the slaptick mishaps of Timothy's friend Gabby and her identical robot Infiltrator, even the frequent attempts of blogger Calvin Calvert to insinuate himself with the team.
Before reaching Danvers, they stopped to use the bathrooms at a rest area and to prepare themselves for possible action. Megan adjusted her beam projector to a high intensity neural shock which she assured Bane would stun an actual Siberian tiger in mid-leap. He himself had his Smith & Wesson, the two silver daggers and a few devices such as the dazzle grenades, so he felt they were as well armed as usual when beginning a mission.
At this time of year, it was getting dark by four in the afternoon. Megan warned Bane when they would be passing where Baron Shogren might be based well in advance of reaching it. She did not slow down as they went by a roadside motel on her right.
The Dire Wolf took in every detail in that second he had the scene in view. The TRANQUILITY MOTEL was a long rectangular brick structure with seven identical doors in a row and a manager's office at the far end, where two windows were lit. Under a yellow bulb, a sign read CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS - OPENING SOON. An asphalt parking lot measured eighty feet by one hundred feet, but only one white van was in sight. Behind the building, a wooded area could be seen.
"Convenient hideout," he observed. "Cars can come and go at any hours without attracting notice and no one is likely to bother them because it's not open for business. I guess you looked up the owners?"
Looking for a side road to turn around, Megan said, "Yes. The property was purchased eight months ago by the Island View Realty Company, with a man named Richard Murphy as its agent. I found reason to believe there is no such realty company, it is a mere front for Shogren." Puzzlement entered her voice as she added, "It is my understanding that Egil Shogren was in FBI custody. How is he still able to move about freely?"
"He's rich," Bane said simply. Then, sensing she was still curious, he went on. "Megan, millionaires like him don't usually go to jail no matter what. Their lawyers stall and offer deals and make appeals while years go by. There are really a different set of laws for people with enough money."
"I understand," she said with immense disapproval in her tone. "Captain, how do you think we should approach this situation?"
"Better to split up, one of us approaches openly while the other sneaks in as backup. You're wearing your gravity shield?"
"Yes."
"Then you should land behind the building and creep up unseen while I knock on the door. Trust me driving your baby here?"
Megan began wriggling out of her topcoat. "You are an excellent driver. For a Human."
As he stepped out of the Jeep and came around to the driver's side, Bane asked, "Where's your helmet anyway?"
"I was modifying its communicators," she said. "It would have taken more than an hour to reassemble it and my spare helmet is at our house in White Plains." She tossed her topcoat into the back seat. "I will be fine, do not worry."
With that, she rose swiftly straight up without any sound or flash, a slender dark figure barely visible in the overcast winter sky. Even looking for her, Bane lost sight immediately. The gravity shield was one piece of technology that the Trom declined to share with their KDF allies, much to Bane's regret.
He slid in behind the wheel, moved the seat back to accomodate his height and adjusted the mirrors. Now to confront this Richard Murphy and find out what was going on with any Tigerman. Bane made a three point turn and pulled out onto the highway going back in the direction they had been coming from. He reflected wryly that at least he was considered a good driver. For a Human.
V.
When he pulled into the motel parking lot, a black Ford van paused for an instant before speeding out and down the highway. Bane only saw the vehicle for a second, but he identified it immediately as a 2021 Ford F1 50 XLT in Agate Black, nearly new with no visible dents or other useful damage marks. License plate was NBR-7721. A thin woman with medium brown hair was at the wheel, an obese Latino man with curly black hair sat in the passenger seat and the silhouette of a third person could be seen behind them. Even his training could not help him register more information in the instant before the van was out of sight.
He did not swing Megan's Jeep around to pursue, it would have been too obvious and he saw the figure of a man moving behind the curtains of the office window. Better to stick to the plan for now. He had to assume his Trom Girl had landed behind the motel and was ready to step in if trouble erupted.
Backing into a slot in the empty lot, the Dire Wolf stepped out into the frigid winter night without being aware of the conditions. All his attention was focused intently on the confrontation. He stepped up to the door, ignored the bell and rapped sharply with the knuckles of his right hand. His left remained by his waist, within immediate reach of his gun's grip.
The door swung open immediately and a huge man filled the doorway. Bane's instincts kicked into full alert at the threatening body language. He was sure this man was on the verge of a violent physical attack at any provocation.
"Yeah? What do you want?" came a guttural voice from deep in the chest. The man stood six feet three and weighed at least two hundred and sixty pounds, very little of that fat. From the way his clothing hung, he was not carrying any significant weapons. Even with the light behind him, this man could be seen to have a broad, feral face with crisp reddish hair and deepset green eyes above a flattened nose. Bane's Kumundu awareness was sounding every alarm it could, it took an effort of will power to neither flee or attack first.
"Richard Allen Murphy, right?" the Dire Wolf asked. "I represent a group of investors who have an offer for the Baron."
"What Baron? I don't know you. I wasn't expecting you. Get lost, fella."
Bane had become aware of a musky, acrid scent coming from this man's body. "Murphy, serious money is involved. I think Baron Shogren will want to hear the offer, and he may not want you making his decisions for him."
A breathless fifteen seconds passed. Bane felt all his muscles tightening up and he consciously eased down into a looser state where he could react more freely. In a life of incredible violence, he had never felt himself to be in greater danger.
"All right. It wouldn't hurt to ask the boss. Come on, I left my phone in the truck over there." Murphy squeezed past Bane without making contact and strode along the walkway with a springy stride that hinted at enormous strength. The Dire Wolf followed, allowing a few feet to separate them, forcing his hands to uncurl from tight fists that had clenched without his realizing it.
"Cold night, huh?" Murphy asked as he reached the end of the walkway, where a red Dodge pick-up stood by the corner of the motel. "At least there's no wind. That might interfere with my sense of smell!" Even as he snarled the last word, the Tigerman lunged around the corner and yanked Megan Salenger up bodily off the ground. He smashed her head back against the brick wall with a horrifying crunching noise, then dropped her to wheel around toward Bane.
In that split-second, his normal teeth had elongated into carnivore fangs and his fingernails had extended into curved black claws. But Megan's body had not even reached the ground when Murphy found himself facing a furious storm of razor-sharp blades which slashed deeply left and right, back and forth repeatedly across his torso. The Tigerman's internal organs gushed out of wounds which almost bisected him, one lung dropped loose like a red balloon.
Rushing past the dying monster, sheathing his bloodied daggers without cleaning them, Bane dropped down next to Megan. She had a pulse, weak but present. Her breathing was regular. Bane cupped her face with one hand and saw her eyes turn toward him, but they were blank and unfocussed. She managed a whisper, "Do not worry," the same words she had said to him only a few minutes earlier.
VI.
Archie McAllister had barely moved sinced falling into the chair in the waiting room an hour earlier. With his heavy parka still on, he sat staring down at the big calloused hands in front of him. Jeremy Bane was trying not to pace. He stood at the window, gazing out but not seeing anything.
Finally, Archie broke his silence. "Where's her friends? Sable, Ashley? Tim?"
"They're waiting out in the parking lot," Bane replied without turning around. "Only two visitors at a time on the ICU floor."
"Now is when that healing factor you guys have needs to really kick in." As always, the big mechanic looked like he needed sleep, a shower and a shave. In a wide haggard face, the blue eyes gave away his gentle spirit. "I've seen her bounce back from damage that would kill a buffalo."
The Dire Wolf finally went to sit in a chair facing Archie. He seemed to notice for the first time he was still wearing his gloves and he tucked them in a pocket. "We're not supposed to talk about Tagra," he said. "But of course you know about it. Megan has been on Tagra tea for twenty years. Her healing process is higher than these doctors can explain."
"Like yours is. You've been shot, poisoned, drowned and electrocuted. I understand you were actually run over by a goddam Mack truck once."
"And yet here I am," Bane said. "Can't get rid of me."
"Another thing, where are those Trom? They're supposed to be such super-geniuses. After all Megan has done for them all her life, you'd think they would send someone to help her."
"A Trom medical expert did see her, not long before you got here. He said the same thing the regular Human doctors did. Megan's chances are good, if she pulls out of the coma before too long. She has something called a cerebral edema, that's fluid pressing on the brain. They're treating it with drugs first before trying any surgery."
After a few seconds, Bane added, "He claimed some of her gadgets. The gravity shield and beam projector. He said if she was hospitalized for a while, the tech would be safer with him. I didn't feel like arguing."
Archie was silent for a long uncomfortable minute. "You know, Megan was talking the past few days about how she wanted to go on a mission again. She wasn't bored exactly, but I know part of her loves the adrenalin rush. Before we bought the house, going on those 'Trom Girl Mysteries' around the country meant the world to her."
"I was thinking about that," Bane said. "A few years ago, I thought I was retiring. I'd had enough of the Midnight War. But it keeps pulling me back in. Some of us weren't meant for a quiet life."
"When she comes home," Archie grumbled, "she's staying out of trouble. I don't care if I have to lock the doors and tie her to the couch..."
The doctor came in, pulling off a disposable mask. Even before he spoke, his expression informed them both everything. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this. She didn't make it."
4/3/2022
2/6/2022
I.
At three in the morning, Jeremy Bane stood by the side of the back road and stared up at the body in the tree.
Headlights from two patrol cars illuminated the gruesome sight all too clearly. It was a good-sized wild cherry tree and the corpse was draped over a fork where two branches diverged. Lying face up, arms and legs hanging limply down, the body was within a mass of darkened blood that had frozen in the near zero temperatures. The tree itself stood less than twenty feet off Old School House Road on the southern shore of Long Island.
Bane stood motionless, not stepping any closer to the death scene. His only concessions to the pitiless wind chill were a long topcoat over his regular clothes and a pair of thin leather gloves. The Dire Wolf hardly noticed the weather at this point. Decades on the Tagra diet had boosted his healing factor to where extremes barely affected him.
Moving closer, Lt Andriessen shivered violently despite his down-filled parka, scarf and wool hat pulled low to his eyebrows. He had seen Bane disregard weather before and knew it wasn't an act. "CSI boys are on their way," he said. "The usual road is still blocked by those fallen trees, so they're bringing the forensic wagon the long way around."
"I'll be gone before then." Bane swung around to face the lieutenant. "Glad to hear about your promotion, Paul. You've sure worked hard for it."
"Thanks, Jeremy. I didn't call you here officially, of course..."
That got a snort of amusement from Bane. "I know. Everything I do is off the record and never happened and everyone up to the District Attorney will deny I was here tonight. This is quite a scene. I'd say that man weighed two hundred pounds, his body is eleven feet off the ground. Do you see any marks in the snow that a ladder might have left?"
"No. No, I don't. There's these footprints over here, and a beaten down circle in the snow where there was a struggle. A ton of blood all around there, hell of a mess. That's it."
The Dire Wolf backtracked the footprints, studying them. "Two men. They got out of a car right there, next to where your patrol car is standing. One man was running, you see his toes are the only part leaving a mark? The other one takes a few steps and his marks stop. Then we see the crushed down area in the snow. That's it."
"Doesn't make any sense at all to me," Andriessen said. "Unofficially and off the record, what do you want to say?"
Jeremy Bane headed back toward the tree, staying on the road so as not to disturb the scene. "The two men got out of a car. One started running for his life. The second man leaped about ten feet, tackled the first and brought him down. Then the killer jumped straight up to leave the body in the tree and came down again over there. See there, two sets of footprints near the road? The killer got back in his car and took off."
Lieutenant Andriessen exhaled through his scarf, the trail of vapor visible. "I couldn't put that in a report, Jeremy. I'd be recommended for a psych evaluation. All I can do is describe the scene and not draw any conclusions."
"I know." The Dire Wolf took a thin flashlight from his coat and shone a blindingly strong beam up at the body. Over by the cruisers, he heard the three uniformed officers mutter to each other. Bane continued, "His abdomen has been ripped open. I can't tell from here how much damage was done, but my guess is that his intestines are gone."
"Oh my God," the Lieutenant breathed. "Of course. Maybe there was a human killer involved but some kind of animal did this. A big cat. Like a mountain lion... but here? Out on Long Island?"
"I imagine that's why your CSI men will conclude. There's no paw prints in sight. Still, what other conclusion can they reach? I'd better go now. The fewer people know I was here, the better I can investigate on my own. Good night, Paul. Be careful."
"It's possible a copy of the forensic report might end up at your house," Andriessen said quietly.
"Of course, I'd burn it right away," replied Bane. He turned toward where he had left his own Ford Mustang just ahead. "Deny everything, that's my policy."
As he opened the driver's door, he clearly heard one of the officers say, "I tell you, that's him. The Dire Wolf. I thought he was only a story vets tell rookies to pull their legs." Easing out on to the road which still had icy patches here and there, Bane allowed himself one of his rare, barely visible smiles.
II.
A few minutes before noon the following day, a young man in casual work clothes tossed a thick bundle of THE NEW YORK TIMES to land in front of an unremarkable two-story house in Forest Hills. Bane had been watching for it. He took the newspaper into his living room and dropped down on the couch to find the eleven inch by fourteen manila envelope inside. Within were twenty pages of single-spaced small print and seven full color gruesome photos. The Dire Wolf took his time reading the report, going over it again slowly and letting everything sink in.
He did not have a literal photographic memory. It was just decades of training and experience that allowed him to fix every detail in his mind. Bane never read fiction, never watched movies or listened to music. He had developed a utilitarian mind. At two o'clock, feeling satisfied he had taken everything in, he went to his kitchen and burned the pages one by one in the sink, running the ashes away with cold water.
The living room was austere to the point where it seemed no one lived there. Bane had put up no framed photos, no plants, no decorations. There were never any empty plates or tossed aside pieces of clothing. The big flat screen TV sat cold and unused most of the time. A scattering of local newspapers on the coffee table were the only sign this house was occupied.
For a long moment, he sat leaning forward on the couch with his hands clasped in front of him. Enough white flecks had appeared in the short black hair that it could properly be called salt and pepper, but only faint lines at the corners of his mouth and the corners of those pale grey eyes marked his age. He had not put on a pound, he still moved with the confidence and ease of a much younger man in peak athletic condition.
Unclipping his Link from his belt, he called Megan Salenger. "Hi. Do you have a minute? Good. Not an emergency but I might have a new case you'd be interested in, what are you doing the next few days? Putting an onboard computer on Archie's vintage Harley? If you're sure he won't be mad, I think you'd like to work with me on this. Okay. You're home now, can we meet at the garage at three? Yeah, that would be good. Thanks, Megan, I'll see you there."
Standing up and heading toward the stairs, Bane was amused to find how excited he was about a new mission. Six years earlier, he had closed his office and vacated his Manhattan apartment to buy this house in a sedate residential neighborhood. He had told himself it was time to retire, that he had been fighting the Midnight War all his life and enough was enough. But still, whenver he was called in by the NYPD or the Mandate about something bizarre and dangerous that had alarmed them, he jumped at the chance. Every time, he felt like he had been dozing and was waking up again.
He would never change, he realized. Always the Dire Wolf.
In his austere bedroom, he stripped down to the suit of flexible Trom armor he invariably wore. Thin as silk, covering everything except his hands, feet and head, it gave more protection against impact or sharp edges than ceramic plate would. On his forearms were sheathed the matched silver-bladed daggers that had been given to him by Kenneth Dred so many years earlier. Whenever he tried to go out of the house without the daggers or the armor, he felt distressed to the point where it took all his will not to run back in for them.
In a few seconds, he had pulled on his all-black trademark outfit of boots, slacks and turtleneck, and he was shrugging into the sports jacket he kept ready with a dozen tiny gimmicks and weapons in its concealed pockets. This might as well have been his uniform, he was so well known in it both in the criminal underworld and the Midnight War. Suddenly he felt himself again. Bane rushed down the stairs eagerly, yanked on his long topcoat from its hook by the front door and shrugged it on. From a reinforced cabinet next to the door, he unlocked the gun safe and took off his holstered Smith & Wesson long-barreled .38 revolver. Even though he had inspected it earlier that day, he checked it again before fastening the holster to his belt behind his left hip.
The Dire Wolf vaulted down the five steps in front of his house and swung around to where he kept his car parked on the short gravel drive. On the driver's sunvisor, four small lights blinked steadily blue and green... the security system Megan had insisted on installing herself. Giving the Ford Mustang a minute to warm up, he looked over all the dials and readouts before pulling out onto quiet Pierpont Street. The Grand Central Parkway next. He felt ready for any challenge.
III.
Twenty minutes later, Bane slowly entered the ramp leading into IMPERIAL GARAGE on 40th Street. He still kept his assigned spot here despite the expense and no matter if he wasn't in Manhattan more than once a week. It was worth it. He made a three point move and backed into his spot so he could leave without delay if necessary.
Two slots down, a familiar cherry-red Jeep Cherokee sat parked. Three other KDF members had followed his lead in using this garage, because it was close to the 38th Street headquarters and because they could meet there before splitting up on missions. Hopping down lightly from the driver's side of the Jeep was a slim woman in a black field suit, waving hello to him. Megan Salenger was forty-two now. She had filled out slightly from the thin teenager whom he had first met when she had entered the Midnight War, but like Bane she looked younger than she was. The inquisitive foxlike face with its dark eyes and mop of untidy black hair had changed very little.
"Captain! It's been ages since we worked together," she called as she strode quickly toward him. Draped over one arm was a light tan topcoat that she was wriggling into. This was to be less conspicious. Her field suit with its internal power source would keep her warm and comfortable in even harsher environments than a New York February, but the round disc of the gravity shield between her shoulder blades drew too many curious glances from people.
"Hi, Megan..." Bane began but was cut off as she took him by one arm and tugged him forcefully toward her Jeep.
"You are my excuse to deviate from my diet," she chuckled. "Since infancy, all my meals have been planned by Trom nutritionists. I'm healthy, I've never had a cavity or an operation, but I am not a Trom. I'm Human and I crave Italian food today." As she saw him open the passenger door, she herself vaulted up behind the wheel again. "I am allowed two exceptions to my diet. One is Pizza Night with our team, and the other is when I am on a mission with you."
The Dire Wolf strapped himself in and relaxed as much as he ever did. "You know I'm always hungry. It's my enhanced metabolism."
"That is the price you pay for your reflexes, I'm afraid." She slowed to wave to the attendant in his glass-enclosed booth, then headed out onto Third Avenue. The Trom Girl smiled at her captain. "I know you well enough after all these years. You have called me because you are dealing with some technical problem."
"You're right," he said. "First, where are we going?"
"Sophia's up on 52nd Street. They use fresh ingredients and I have observed their food handling is up to any reasonable standards. What did you want to ask me?"
"It's about DNA. Megan, remember I never made it to junior high. I grew up as a street orphan, so please use small words. Is it possible to, well, mix animal DNA into a living person? To make that person into a hybrid?"
"No. Human technology will not be able to do that in the forseeable future. Even the Trom have not achieved that. What kind of animal were you thinking about?"
"Tigers. Does the name Eugene William Lawless mean anything to you?"
She stopped at a red light when there would have been enough time to zip through as it changed. "He is a geneticist working for the Swift Institute. Two years ago, he was nominated for a Nobel Prize but narrowly lost. I have read some of his papers and conclude that he is extremely intelligent for a Human. No offense."
"We Humans aren't a Race of geniuses but we have our good points," Bane said. "Megan, Lawless is dead. He was killed last night." He filled her in on what he had seen himself and his conclusions. "His last project did involve tiger DNA, something to do with boosting their immune systems and eliminating birth defects, the science is beyond me. But seeing how his body was handled, the tiger angle seemed worth looking into."
Instead of responding, Megan hit her turn signal and swung into a parking spot that had just been vacated. "This is a rare occurence, we are one block from Sophia's. I was prepared to either circle the area or park a considerable distance away." She opened the center console and took out change for the meter. "But I was listening, captain. I agree that it is asking too much of coincidence for the victim of an apparent human tiger to have been involved with tiger DNA."
The next few minutes were occupied with rushing through the bitter cold along the deserted sidewalk and into the warm pleasant aromas of a local pizza joint. The big windows were steamed on the inside. Megan again took the initiative and led Bane to a round table in the rear of the dining area. "I am prepared to eat two slices and I think you can finish the rest if we order a whole pie."
"Absolutely. I would like sausage and pepperoni on it."
The Trom Girl waited until Bane was seated, claiming the table, before asking "Iced tea?" Getting an affirmative, she went to the counter and placed their order, then brought their drinks back with her. As she dropped down into a chair, she lowered her voice to continue, "I can not think of any Midnight War phenomenon which would explain these two factors. We have dealt with many shape-shifters, of course, mostly wolves but there have been a few who take the form of big cats. They would not have a connection with DNA research."
"I don't think gralic magic is involved," Bane said. "Call it a hunch."
Megan nodded. "I have learned to give credence to your hunches. There is one other explanation. Zhune artifacts."
A cheerful heavyset waitress brought over a metal tray holding their pizza, as well as a side order of Mozzarella sticks. As she arranged a stack of paper napkins by one hand, Megan visibly perked up. "Our rule was no shop talk while eating."
Bane dug in. At six feet even, he weighed one hundred and seventy pounds no matter how much he ate. Watching Megan, he remembered again how much her teammates had been annoyed at her precise habits. The Trom Girl took tiny bites and chewed thoroughly before swallowing, taking a sip of the iced tea frequently. Unicorn and Timothy had always finished their own meals before Megan was even half done and had always been forced to wait for her.
Forced by circumstance to sit still for more than a few minutes, the Dire Wolf fought his impatience. His hyper metabolism made him restless at the best of times. Eventually, though, his teammate had finished her two slices and then half of the Mozzarella sticks and wiped her mouth with a final napkin.
"I want to comment how delicious that was," she said, breaking her silence. "Taking time to enjoy physical sensations helps mental health."
"I couldn't agree more," Bane replied. "Back to business. You're right, Zhune artifacts could explain the mystery. When Karl Eldritch was destroyed, I had hoped we'd seen the last of them, but no such luck."
"Eldritch was the only individual who could fully charge the artifacts because he was the only person who understood the Zhune principle of primal atomic force. However, we found that others could partially restore the artifacts through exorbitant amounts of electricity."
"That would be Cogitus," Bane said. "But he's dead now, too. And of course, John Grim has been gone for a long time. As far as I know, there are only two other Mad Scientists capable of even partially recharging Zhune devices. There's Ben Sakmussen in Norway, he's stll there the last I heard and being watched by the authorities."
Megan still sat bolt upright, hands folded on the table in front of her with no fidgeting. "That leaves Baron Shogren."
IV.
Back in her Jeep, Megan synced her dashboard computer with her Link and started searching. "The larger screen makes everything easier," she said before tapping on her Link so rapidly she seemed to be drumming.
Bane leaned back and remained silent. He knew that distant expression meant she was processing information faster than Humans could. While he waited, for some reason he remembered the Trom who had called himself Leonard Slade, who had been a founding member of the Kenneth Dred Foundation so long ago. Slade had subtly mimicked Human reactions in his voice and mannerisms for outsiders, but when alone with KDF teammates, he had been so emotionless in even the most stressful combat situations that it had been unnerving.
Slade had died in 1990, in the Final Halloween, where so many of the team had given their lives to prevent a genuine apocalypse. Nine years later, a teenage Megan Salenger had applied for membership. She was a Human orphan raised from infancy by the Trom to have genius level expertise in a dozen technical fields.
Watching the intent profile of the Trom Girl studying rapid flickering data on the dashboard monitor, Bane allowed himself a faint smile of appreciation. Against everyone's expectations, Megan had fallen in love with a down-to-Earth motorcycle mechanic named Archie McAllister. Her Human side had flourished, although she still retained her intellect and skills. Bane always enjoyed working with her and was glad to have her on this mission.
Snapping off the monitor, she glanced over to catch him smiling at her. "What?" she asked puzzedly.
"Just going back in memory while you worked," he said.
"I see. Captain, I went through Central Hudson records of the past year. There are several instances where a customer suddenly used greatly increased amounts of electricity, but one case is in Danvers, Long Island, less than ten miles from the murder scene."
The Dire Wolf sat up straighter. "That's all the clue anyone could ask. Megan, I've seen you hack into everything from Motor Vehicles fines to Pentagon salaries to MI 6 double agent files, all classified and secured. You realize how many felonies you've committed on our missions?"
She tilted her head slightly, "It is ironic you should say that, Jeremy. The CORBYs alone are illegal enough to place you in prison the rest of your life. You fly an unregistered stealth helicopter over Manhattan with no flight plan or authorization, and a civilian helicopter armed with chain guns at that."
"I can only hope we're outlaws with good cause," he said. "We should look into this address you dug up."
"Yes." Megan started up her Jeep and waited for an opening in traffic. "I do not think anyone from our team is available to join us right now. Timothy and his friend Gabrielle are expected back at headquarters early tonight, but Sable and Jocelyn are down in Pennsylvania. Unicorn went to Schenectady to fetch some rare books we were given. Galvan and Jin have their day off to spend time together with their son."
"Well, we'll do some recon and see if we need to call an alert to get them," he said. "Right now, we really don't have enough information to justify that."
"Agreed." She saw a gap in the flow of vehicles and pulled away from the curb. "I estimae a drive of one hour and nineteen minutes unless something delays us. Taking I-95 is the most direct route."
When they were on the way south, Bane grumbled, "I've always hated dealing with Zhune relics! They do things that should be impossible. Shrinking rays, mind transference helmets. Evolution accelerators. All crazy stuff you never encounter anywhere else in the Midnight War."
"I can tell you that the Trom researchers still have learned very little about Zhune."
"Yeah? I always figured the Trom had something to do with that civilization."
"Oh no. Not at all. As far as anyone knows, Zhune was one of the earliest organized societies. It predates Sumer by two thousand years. How the people of Zhune made their discoveries remains a mystery."
"Karl Eldritch always said the wise men of Zhune figured out how to tap primal atomic energy, whatever that is. They could change matter into energy and energy into matter."
"The Trom would not like to admit it, but they know little more about Zhune than that," Megan said. "There is a viable possibility that surviving Zhune artifacts could indeed give tiger characteristics to Human subjects."
Bane sighed, something he would not have allowed himself to do except with close friends. "We have a long drive yet, Megan. Catch me up on how you and Archie are doing."
"His family has finally stopped urging us to have children," she said with a trace of relief in her voice. "His grandmother says I am too old now! Archie has discussed sponsoring a child, since we have adequate funds at our disposal..."
The ride passed uneventfully as they chatted and the conversation veered into mere gossip at several points. Why Ashley's marriage hadn't worked out, how Demrak Jin had been approached by the royal court of Ulgor to have her son offically baptized there, the slaptick mishaps of Timothy's friend Gabby and her identical robot Infiltrator, even the frequent attempts of blogger Calvin Calvert to insinuate himself with the team.
Before reaching Danvers, they stopped to use the bathrooms at a rest area and to prepare themselves for possible action. Megan adjusted her beam projector to a high intensity neural shock which she assured Bane would stun an actual Siberian tiger in mid-leap. He himself had his Smith & Wesson, the two silver daggers and a few devices such as the dazzle grenades, so he felt they were as well armed as usual when beginning a mission.
At this time of year, it was getting dark by four in the afternoon. Megan warned Bane when they would be passing where Baron Shogren might be based well in advance of reaching it. She did not slow down as they went by a roadside motel on her right.
The Dire Wolf took in every detail in that second he had the scene in view. The TRANQUILITY MOTEL was a long rectangular brick structure with seven identical doors in a row and a manager's office at the far end, where two windows were lit. Under a yellow bulb, a sign read CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS - OPENING SOON. An asphalt parking lot measured eighty feet by one hundred feet, but only one white van was in sight. Behind the building, a wooded area could be seen.
"Convenient hideout," he observed. "Cars can come and go at any hours without attracting notice and no one is likely to bother them because it's not open for business. I guess you looked up the owners?"
Looking for a side road to turn around, Megan said, "Yes. The property was purchased eight months ago by the Island View Realty Company, with a man named Richard Murphy as its agent. I found reason to believe there is no such realty company, it is a mere front for Shogren." Puzzlement entered her voice as she added, "It is my understanding that Egil Shogren was in FBI custody. How is he still able to move about freely?"
"He's rich," Bane said simply. Then, sensing she was still curious, he went on. "Megan, millionaires like him don't usually go to jail no matter what. Their lawyers stall and offer deals and make appeals while years go by. There are really a different set of laws for people with enough money."
"I understand," she said with immense disapproval in her tone. "Captain, how do you think we should approach this situation?"
"Better to split up, one of us approaches openly while the other sneaks in as backup. You're wearing your gravity shield?"
"Yes."
"Then you should land behind the building and creep up unseen while I knock on the door. Trust me driving your baby here?"
Megan began wriggling out of her topcoat. "You are an excellent driver. For a Human."
As he stepped out of the Jeep and came around to the driver's side, Bane asked, "Where's your helmet anyway?"
"I was modifying its communicators," she said. "It would have taken more than an hour to reassemble it and my spare helmet is at our house in White Plains." She tossed her topcoat into the back seat. "I will be fine, do not worry."
With that, she rose swiftly straight up without any sound or flash, a slender dark figure barely visible in the overcast winter sky. Even looking for her, Bane lost sight immediately. The gravity shield was one piece of technology that the Trom declined to share with their KDF allies, much to Bane's regret.
He slid in behind the wheel, moved the seat back to accomodate his height and adjusted the mirrors. Now to confront this Richard Murphy and find out what was going on with any Tigerman. Bane made a three point turn and pulled out onto the highway going back in the direction they had been coming from. He reflected wryly that at least he was considered a good driver. For a Human.
V.
When he pulled into the motel parking lot, a black Ford van paused for an instant before speeding out and down the highway. Bane only saw the vehicle for a second, but he identified it immediately as a 2021 Ford F1 50 XLT in Agate Black, nearly new with no visible dents or other useful damage marks. License plate was NBR-7721. A thin woman with medium brown hair was at the wheel, an obese Latino man with curly black hair sat in the passenger seat and the silhouette of a third person could be seen behind them. Even his training could not help him register more information in the instant before the van was out of sight.
He did not swing Megan's Jeep around to pursue, it would have been too obvious and he saw the figure of a man moving behind the curtains of the office window. Better to stick to the plan for now. He had to assume his Trom Girl had landed behind the motel and was ready to step in if trouble erupted.
Backing into a slot in the empty lot, the Dire Wolf stepped out into the frigid winter night without being aware of the conditions. All his attention was focused intently on the confrontation. He stepped up to the door, ignored the bell and rapped sharply with the knuckles of his right hand. His left remained by his waist, within immediate reach of his gun's grip.
The door swung open immediately and a huge man filled the doorway. Bane's instincts kicked into full alert at the threatening body language. He was sure this man was on the verge of a violent physical attack at any provocation.
"Yeah? What do you want?" came a guttural voice from deep in the chest. The man stood six feet three and weighed at least two hundred and sixty pounds, very little of that fat. From the way his clothing hung, he was not carrying any significant weapons. Even with the light behind him, this man could be seen to have a broad, feral face with crisp reddish hair and deepset green eyes above a flattened nose. Bane's Kumundu awareness was sounding every alarm it could, it took an effort of will power to neither flee or attack first.
"Richard Allen Murphy, right?" the Dire Wolf asked. "I represent a group of investors who have an offer for the Baron."
"What Baron? I don't know you. I wasn't expecting you. Get lost, fella."
Bane had become aware of a musky, acrid scent coming from this man's body. "Murphy, serious money is involved. I think Baron Shogren will want to hear the offer, and he may not want you making his decisions for him."
A breathless fifteen seconds passed. Bane felt all his muscles tightening up and he consciously eased down into a looser state where he could react more freely. In a life of incredible violence, he had never felt himself to be in greater danger.
"All right. It wouldn't hurt to ask the boss. Come on, I left my phone in the truck over there." Murphy squeezed past Bane without making contact and strode along the walkway with a springy stride that hinted at enormous strength. The Dire Wolf followed, allowing a few feet to separate them, forcing his hands to uncurl from tight fists that had clenched without his realizing it.
"Cold night, huh?" Murphy asked as he reached the end of the walkway, where a red Dodge pick-up stood by the corner of the motel. "At least there's no wind. That might interfere with my sense of smell!" Even as he snarled the last word, the Tigerman lunged around the corner and yanked Megan Salenger up bodily off the ground. He smashed her head back against the brick wall with a horrifying crunching noise, then dropped her to wheel around toward Bane.
In that split-second, his normal teeth had elongated into carnivore fangs and his fingernails had extended into curved black claws. But Megan's body had not even reached the ground when Murphy found himself facing a furious storm of razor-sharp blades which slashed deeply left and right, back and forth repeatedly across his torso. The Tigerman's internal organs gushed out of wounds which almost bisected him, one lung dropped loose like a red balloon.
Rushing past the dying monster, sheathing his bloodied daggers without cleaning them, Bane dropped down next to Megan. She had a pulse, weak but present. Her breathing was regular. Bane cupped her face with one hand and saw her eyes turn toward him, but they were blank and unfocussed. She managed a whisper, "Do not worry," the same words she had said to him only a few minutes earlier.
VI.
Archie McAllister had barely moved sinced falling into the chair in the waiting room an hour earlier. With his heavy parka still on, he sat staring down at the big calloused hands in front of him. Jeremy Bane was trying not to pace. He stood at the window, gazing out but not seeing anything.
Finally, Archie broke his silence. "Where's her friends? Sable, Ashley? Tim?"
"They're waiting out in the parking lot," Bane replied without turning around. "Only two visitors at a time on the ICU floor."
"Now is when that healing factor you guys have needs to really kick in." As always, the big mechanic looked like he needed sleep, a shower and a shave. In a wide haggard face, the blue eyes gave away his gentle spirit. "I've seen her bounce back from damage that would kill a buffalo."
The Dire Wolf finally went to sit in a chair facing Archie. He seemed to notice for the first time he was still wearing his gloves and he tucked them in a pocket. "We're not supposed to talk about Tagra," he said. "But of course you know about it. Megan has been on Tagra tea for twenty years. Her healing process is higher than these doctors can explain."
"Like yours is. You've been shot, poisoned, drowned and electrocuted. I understand you were actually run over by a goddam Mack truck once."
"And yet here I am," Bane said. "Can't get rid of me."
"Another thing, where are those Trom? They're supposed to be such super-geniuses. After all Megan has done for them all her life, you'd think they would send someone to help her."
"A Trom medical expert did see her, not long before you got here. He said the same thing the regular Human doctors did. Megan's chances are good, if she pulls out of the coma before too long. She has something called a cerebral edema, that's fluid pressing on the brain. They're treating it with drugs first before trying any surgery."
After a few seconds, Bane added, "He claimed some of her gadgets. The gravity shield and beam projector. He said if she was hospitalized for a while, the tech would be safer with him. I didn't feel like arguing."
Archie was silent for a long uncomfortable minute. "You know, Megan was talking the past few days about how she wanted to go on a mission again. She wasn't bored exactly, but I know part of her loves the adrenalin rush. Before we bought the house, going on those 'Trom Girl Mysteries' around the country meant the world to her."
"I was thinking about that," Bane said. "A few years ago, I thought I was retiring. I'd had enough of the Midnight War. But it keeps pulling me back in. Some of us weren't meant for a quiet life."
"When she comes home," Archie grumbled, "she's staying out of trouble. I don't care if I have to lock the doors and tie her to the couch..."
The doctor came in, pulling off a disposable mask. Even before he spoke, his expression informed them both everything. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this. She didn't make it."
4/3/2022