"Worst Malpractice Ever"
Mar. 30th, 2025 12:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Worst Malpractice Ever"
9/21/2020
I.
The intercom on his nightstand buzzed. Snapping fully awake, Carlo turned over on the bed and responded, "Yes?"
The familiar subdued voice of Lauren Sable Reilly said, "I may have an assignment for you and Megan. Report to the office in five."
"On my way, captain."
Carlo Ventura felt more stiff and sore than he had ever been in his life. Just twenty years old, he had never exercised or played any sports. Necessity had made him walk everywhere, which had kept him in fairly good shape, but Kumundu martial art training under Teacher Chael was like breaking his body down and rebuilding it better.
The round analog clock on the wall facing him read ten after seven and the gloom outside the window facing 38th Street reassured him it was evening. He had fallen asleep fully dressed on top of the covers of his bed. Carlo grunted and grumbled, sitting up and wincing at how everything hurt. He was of average height but underweight to the point of looking a bit frail. The narrow face with its bony cheeks was topped by longish curly black hair and his dark eyes were sunken and tired.
On its own chest-high stand in one corner, the strange Eyeless Helmet seemed to regard him. Crafted in one piece of Ensalir, the Eldanar metal that resembled pale gold, it had no openings for the eyes, only outlines etched into the surface. The ancient helm was one of the most potent talismans in the Midnight War. Its bonding with him was what qualified Carlo to apply for KDF membership and to be a knight of Tel Shai.
For a few seconds, he enjoyed looking at his surroundings. This room had genuine wood walls, a double bed with a new mattress, a dresser with a mirror across its top, a desk with a laptop charging, a TV on a wheeled cart. In one corner, he had his own bathroom with a shower. This was more luxury than he had ever known. His childhood had been in a rundown shack with a hard-drinking father who kept him fed and clothed but not much more. At sixteen, he had left home to crash on different friends' couches or floors. One winter he had slept every night in a big SUV whose owner left unlocked, being sure to sneak out before daybreak.
He HAD to win full KDF membership. He couldn't bear losing this room, the hot meals, the company of new friends on the team who had so quickly accepted him. Going back to the streets, to a life without purpose or hope, would be intolerable. Whatever it took, whatever the Teachers of Tel Shai asked of him, he was determined to win their approval.
Stiff-legged, he shambled out into the hall and down the wide central staircase. His room was on the fourth floor. By the time he got down to the front hall on the ground level, his limbs had warmed up enough that he was moving normally. At the bottom step, he turned right to pass through the open door of the office.
On the right hand side as he entered was Sable sitting behind her desk. A handsome black-haired woman in her forties, she had been leader of the KDF and its team of Tel Shai knights for half her life. Her gift was enhanced sensory perception. Sable could follow a moth in an unlit room, read a newspaper from across a city street or detect the amount of stress chemicals in a person's trace perspiration. She gave him a friendly, understated smile as he entered.
There were two plain wooden chairs facing the desk and he lowered himself onto with a slight hesitation. Even without using her abilities Sable had observed how Carlo had lowered himself down, and she said, "Once the Tagra tea effect kicks in, your healing will be elevated. Our physical training becomes much easier to deal with after that."
"That's an encouraging thought, thanks."
Sitting in the other chair, turning her head to nod politely at him was Megan Salenger. Just because of scheduling and different assignments, he had spent the least amount of time with her out of all the team. He knew she had been a Human infant raised by a council of the unemotional advanced intellects called the Trom. She was known as the Trom Girl, and she operated at a genius level in a dozen demanding technical fields. From remarks the others dropped, Megan had tried to act entirely cold and logical for years but that shell had broken when she had tumbled headlong in love with her boyfriend Archie McAllister.
Megan was a slim young woman a few inches over five feet tall, with tousled black hair over an inquisitive face. Although forty years old, like most of the KDF members she looked considerably younger. Her enhanced healing and peak physical condition meant that most people would estimate she was in her late twenties. She was wearing sneakers, dark blue slacks and a white pullover shirt with a rolled collar. In her lap was one of their field helmets with a panel open, and she held a wire-thin tool in one hand. As Carlo settled down, she snapped the panel shut and pocketed the diagnostic tool.
Sable got their attention. "I've been looking over some reports from a few of our observers up in Westchester. I'll brief you both fully before you leave. Megan, tonight you were on monitor duty but Tim said he has no plans and can relieve you. Carlo, I had you scheduled for practice with the dart guns but that will have to be dropped for now."
Unconsciously, Megan and Carlo both leaned forward, prepared to hear almost anything. The Midnight War was always surprising.
"This case is going to be more gruesome than most," Sable said. "There have been three bodies found near Westlake Crossing in the past five weeks. From the police reports, it appears that a person or persons has a hobby of performing skilled but pointless surgery on conscious victims..."
II.
Twenty minutes after briefing, Carlo returned to the office. He had taken a quick shower and changed into sneakers, jeans and a red flannel shirt with a light jacket over it. In one hand, he carried a gym bag. "Ready to go, captain.'
In contrast, Megan Salenger was wearing the all-black field suit with its boots, snug pants and waist-length jacket. With the helmet cradled in the crook of one arm, she would seem to a casual civilian to be ready for a motorcycle ride. At her feet were two knapsacks. "I brought your travel bag up to save time. My Jeep is at the garage, we can walk there in a few minutes."
Sable opened one of the deep lower drawers of her desk and took out an odd-looking weapon was a handcrafted gas-powered pistol with a needle-thin barrel. "I want you to start carrying a dart gun, Carlo. Megan of course has her beam projector."
Taking off his jacket, Carlo clipped the detachable holster to his belt at the small of his back, then put the jacket back on. Megan helped him adjust the weapon's angle so it was concealed. "You're wearing the armor under your clothes, of course?"
"You bet, it's no thicker than silk. Very comfortable."
Sable said, "You haven't been shot yet while wearing it. The Trom armor dissipates impact over its entire surface. A rifle bullet will not penetrate and will feel like a sharp smack but nothing more. You'll hardly notice blunt instruments or stabbing weapons. But remember, everything has limits! You're not invulnerable. You can be killed."
"I'll be careful," he promised.
A sterner edge came into Sable's voice. "And, Carlo... remember you are not a member yet. Megan is in charge. Do as she says and don't second guess her. She has experience and practice on her side."
Glancing over at the Trom Girl's somber expression, Carlo just nodded. "I understand. This is the most important thing in my life."
"Good luck, guys," said Sable, picking up a clipboard with a thick sheaf of papers from her desk. "Report according to your judgement."
The two of them left the KDF building, knapsacks on their backs and Carlo carrying the gym bag that held the Eyeless Helmet. It was a warm pleasant evening in late September and the sidewalks were crowded. They marched at a pace just short of a job over to Third Avenue and then swung left up to 40th Street. The IMPERIAL GARAGE had become the KDF's choice to keep their vehicles. Jeremy Bane stored his car here, as Timothy Limbo did his Harley and Sheng Mo-Yuan did his Ferrari Italia 480.
They had vetted the owner and manager, found nothing suspicious, and been satisfied with the security.
Megan's cherry-red Jeep Cherokee looked as if it had just been driven out of a showroom. Although it was sixteen years old, she had replaced so many parts and done so much maintenance that the Jeep might as well have been new. On the driver's sun visor, four green and blue lights winked steadily to show nothing had come in contact with the vehicle. Even so, Megan walked around the Jeep for a visual inspection before chirping the doors open.
Although they stowed their knapsacks on the rear seat, Carlo kept the gym bag in his lap as he strapped himself into the passenger seat. Megan started the engine. Watching the dashboard with its display screen, Carlo was certain that there were many status lights and gauges he had never seen even in the newest cars, and he figured she had installed them herself. She was constantly doing maintenance and upgrades on all the KDF equipment.
"I plot our destination is twenty-four point six miles away," Megan said as she pulled out of her reserved slot. "Rough ETA is thirty-four minutes under current traffic conditions."
As they navigated midtown heading north, Carlo said, "I've been thinking over what I read about Red Sect in our files. I get they're a Black Magic cult that uses some Darthan sorcery and some Nekrosan stuff. And they don't have any high spiritual goals or anything, they're just in it for money, sex and status. Lots of drug orgies, killing business rivals, gaudy mansions, that sort of thing."
"All true."
"But how is the police don't know anything about them? They've been active for a hundred years. I don't see how they can stay secret and still carry on the way they do."
Megan swung toward the Major Deegan Expressway, driving like a fighter pilot in hostile territory. "Nothing is ever written down. Nothing is said over the phone or within earshot of outsiders. Outside those deeply in the Midnight War, Red Sect is not even a rumor."
"But Sable knew the three victims were high up in Red Sect," Carlo objected.
"We're the KDF," said Megan without smugness. "We have many sources of information not available to anyone else. The victims belonged to a thirteen-member coven headed by Gerhard Knutsen. That circle broke up violently years ago. We believe there was some internal power struggle to overthrow Knutsen and he fled to Eastern Europe."
"And now he's come back to kill the cult members who drove him out of power?" asked Carlo. "That seems familiar. I think I've read about this happening with crime families."
"There are sometimes strong similarities between sorcerers and mobsters. Both seem to attract similar damaged and anti-social personalities." Megan allowed the faintest tinge of sadness in her voice. She normally presented a front that was serious and professional, all business, but among her friends she let some feelings slip out. "I don't think either can ever be eliminated permanently."
Changing the subject to lighten things up, Carlo asked, "Are you going to be teaching me how to fly the CORBY?"
"That should start in about two weeks," she said. "I am the best pilot on our team, although Sable is highly skilled for a Human. The CORBYs are actually easier to fly than regular helicopters. Their capabilities in bad weather are much greater and you do not have to worry about fuel consumption or visibility. Once you're established a little more, we can begin."
"I'd like that. I want to be good at all the required skills, Megan. Membership means a lot to me."
Megan Salenger glanced over at him for a bare instant, something incredibly rare for her to do while driving. "We don't admit new members often. Our work is both difficult and dangerous, Carlo. More important than having unusual abilities is that our members have complete trust in each other. When out in the field, you can't hope that your teammate will be there for you... you have to KNOW that."
Instead of commenting further, Carlo looked down and touched the gym bag in his lap. "Sagehelm calls me. The wings of the storm are brushing close by us. A tiger steps in our footprints."
"When your speech pattern changes like that, I take it as a warning," she said. "And we are close to our destination. Claudia Sheckley's house is less than a mile ahead."
"Death comes in through many doors," he continued. "She sowed seeds of fear in others and now her harvest of terror has ripened. We can not return ashes to what was burnt, Megan."
p
The neighborhood was marked by immense yards which were immaculately tend79ed, three story houses that just missed being mansions, sidewalks without a single crack and not a speck of litter for miles. Megan pulled over by a wide paved driveway with its entrance flanked by two concrete pillars topped by sone cannonballs.
Carlo had taken Sagehelm out of the gym bag and was gazing at it. The helmet gleamed in the illumination from a nearby street lamp. "Life has left that house," he said quietly. "Nothing lingers but the memory of pain."
III.
Boldly parking by the side of the house, the Trom Girl paused to take readings on her Link. "No life forms larger than insects. No active alarm systems. We will investigate, Carlo."
Megan lowered her field helmet down over her head and fastened its seal to the high collar of her jacket. The visor slid shut with a click and a faint greenish sheen played over its surface. That meant the light enhancers were on. The helmet could also emit an ultra-violet beam to supplement the heat sensors. She slid out and closed her door gently.
Following, Carlo did not put the Eyeless Helmet on just yet. He carried it in the gym bag, feeling the time was not right to full assume its perceptions. Knowing to keep silent, he followed her in through the back door and passed though a kitchen of polished dark wood and gleaming chrome.
It was in the dining room that the horror began. On the long linen-covered table, the body of a heavy-set middle-aged woman was lying face up. Wrists and ankles were tied with clothesline to the legs of the table. So much blood had sprayed everywhere under arterial pressure that it was difficult to make out details. The torso had its skin opened like a book from a long vertical slice down the center. Several organs, most recognizably the liver and heart, were lying on the floor where they had been carelessly dropped. The woman had been securely gagged and her eyes were rolled up so that only the whites showed.
Seeing this in the pitiless glare of the overhead lights, Carlo Ventura's chest heaved as he fought back vomit. He yanked the golden helmet out of the bag and jammed it down over his head. Instantly, he straightened up and was obviously more at ease.
Seeing this, Megan said, "Wearing Sagehelm changes how you process situations?"
"Yes. The light which shines on Elvedal brings clarity and understanding," he answered. "Cruelty was the point of this vile act. Life cannot be restored to this woman but it is within our power to prevent the next murder."
The Trom Girl bent closer, studying the gruesome corpse. "The incisions and removals show professional knowledge but some clumsiness. I might speculate that this was done by a surgeon with impairment... age, perhaps, or alcoholism. One of the Red Sect warlocks was in fact a surgeon specializing in the GI tract. This might be his work under duress. Well, it's obvious that Gerhard Knutsen wanted her to suffer as much as was practical."
Carlo turned the enigmatic face of the Eyeless Helmet toward her. "We must hurry to the nearest Red Sect member remaining."
Megan immediately began running toward the rear of the house. It wasn't until they were back in the Jeep and pulling out on to the road that she responded. "The previous murders had intervals of one week to ten days between them, but the victims' locations were several hundred miles apart. A member of the coven resides less than ten miles away, and there is a good chance that Knutsen will strike again immediately before moving on."
"Whew," exhaled Carlo, who had stowed Sagehelm away again. "That wasn't a pretty sight. Didn't all that blood and guts bother you?"
"No. I don't think you fully realize what being raised by the Trom entails. I was doing dissection on cadavers when I was fourteen. And of course as a KDF member, I have fought in actual battles. You will learn to distance yourself emotionally from scenes of violence."
"I guess I'll have to. But doctors and cops do suffer psychological damage over time, or so I understand." Carlo was staring out the side window to his right into the darkness as they sped along. "I don't know if I want to become all cold and hard and tough inside."
"It's not like that," she reassured him. "You think about the people you're protecting and the harm you're preventing. You'll see."
The next few minutes passed in silence. They had entered a markedly less posh neighborhood, where modest houses were closer together with smaller yards between them. At a corner with trsffic lights, Megan pulled into a spot behind a Volkswagen van and surveyed the area.
"I have noticed this phenomenon before," she said. "No cars have moved on this street. No one is in sight and every window has its curtains drawn. It wasn't like this two blocks away."
Carlo held up the ancient helmet. Its pale gold surface shone as if reflecting a searchlight that wasn't there. "People can sense malevolent gralic energy. They don't consciously know what is making them apprehensive but they feel so uneasy that they turn away."
"Let me do a scan," she said, holding up her Link and waving it at the house. Three active life forms within adult Human norms. Heartbeat is rapid in all of them but dangerously fast in the oldest one. They are ten feet below ground level."
Holding the Eyeless Helmet closer to his head, Carlo said, "Forbidden arts are at work! What should lie still, is walking and what should be at rest is enslaved. Necromancy. Voodoo. Darthan spells from the Corruption have been called on tonight."
"Let's go in fast and resolve this before it's too late." Megan raised the flat metal device called a beam projector and adjusted two dials. "I have the photon ram cartridge at high intensity."
With that, she jumped out of the Jeep and sprinted up the short walkway to the house. As she reached the front door, with her left hand she pressed a Trom device up against the keyhole. Thin metal tendrils extruded, stiffened and rotated to turn the lock. She opened the door so quickly that an observer would have thought the door had been unlocked. The two of them moved through a living room to find where a door was tucked behind a staircase.
The Trom Girl opened the door with her gadget, finding it was padded and soundproofed. At the bottom of open wooden steps was a cellar walled with white-painted concrete blocks. They peered down without moving through the doorway. In the rear was an oil-burning furnace and a cylindrical water heater, but neither Megan nor Carlo noticed that.
Tied face up on top of a sturdy wooden table was a naked old man, scrawny and pale in the overhead fluorescent light strip. He was frightened beyond any pretense of retaining dignity, weeping with visible tears and pleading repeatedly, "Please don't, please don't.. Gerhard, please don't hurt me.."
Laughing down at him were two unremarkable-looking men about sixty years old. One wore a light blue business suit and had on steel-rimmed round-lensed glasses. The other wore slacks and a baggy green polo shirt. He was distinguished by a large round bald spot in the center of dark red hair. But, despite the cruelty of their glee at another person's outright terror, these two did not hold Megan or Carlo's attention for more than an instant either.
It was the tall thin figure bending over the table that they could not look away from. He wore white operating scrubs with a yellow apron tied over the front, a surgical mask and cap. All of these were spattered black with dried blood. In a gloved hand, he raised a filthy scalpel. Between the cap and mask only a pair of yellowed, bulging eyes showed. And those glassy eyes swung up to fix on the two intruders at the top of the stairs.
V.
The man in the blue suit spun around, digging in his waistband for a small .32 revolver. He never got it out. The unseen photon ram beam doubled him up and threw him back so violently that he hit the concrete wall behind him and bounced off to crash face down on the floor.
Trotting down the steps with her projector in hand, Megan called out, "Gerhard Knutsen! Call back your zombie now..."
But the undead monstrosity moved over protectively to block her shot at the Red Sect warlock. The scalpel rose and the zombie took a step forward. The Trom Girl hit him with the photon ram. Although the revenant lurched back a step, it was not damaged and did not fall.
Staying behind his creation, Knutsen shouted, "I've heard of you! The Human raised by the Trom. You see mere technology is useless against Darthan magic. My friend here is going to do a little surgery on you, sweetheart."
Never at a loss, Megan remained where she was. Her field suit would give her protection against that blade and she expected to find a clear shot at Knutsen as the zombie moved. Her face within the opening of the raised visor of her helmet was as calm and untroubled as if she were looking for a parking spot.
But for once, she was surprised as her teammate moved past her and confronted the advancing Undead. "Mere mortal magic is nothing compared to the holy light of the Halarin," he announced. "It is that which I channel." He raised the Eyeless Helmet and clapped it down over his head. Everything was lost in a flare of pure golden light which filled the cellar. It brought the warmth and relief of stepping out of a dank dungeon onto a summer meadow.
When the light faded, the surgeon zombie was lying on the floor, at rest at last. Knutsen had sagged down to prop himself up against a wall, head down and chest heaving, no threat to anyone. The air somehow had a fresh, clear scent that hadn't been there before.
Carlo Ventura replaced the ancient helmet to his mundane gym bag. He exhaled heavily, went over to a chair against the wall and dropped rather than sat down. "Whew. That's quite an experience. I don't know when I'll get used to it."
Moving past him, Megan Salenger prudently examined the stunned man and removed the pistol from his belt. "This one is alive. I think he has at least three cracked ribs and there will be severe bruising."
"I can tell you that this Knutsen guy had all the gralic force driven out of him. The light of Elvedal is kind of like an exorcism in a way. If he wants to use Black Magic again, he'll have to start learning it from scratch."
Megan said, "Good to know," and went over to the old man on the table. She pulled a survival knife with a seven inch serrated blade from its sheath on her thigh and quickly freed him. "Are your clothes here?"
"Yes. Yes." The naked man sat up and fell over, needing Megan to support him as he shakily got to his feet. "That's Sagehelm! The Eyeless Helmet. I never thought I would see it myself."
"Well, now you have," she responded with surprising tartness. "Dress quickly and get away from here. We are not going to detain you, even if you are a Red Sect member. There's no point in taking any of you to a court."
"You're Tel Shai knights? Aren't you?" The elderly cultist managed to start struggling into pants and shirt that had been left untidily on the floor. "After all I've done... To be rescued by Tel Shai knights."
In a few minutes, the Red Sect member had his clothes on and paused as he made his way up the stairs. "I haven't thanked you two for saving my life..."
"Just get out of here before I change my mind," the Trom Girl snapped.
Carlo stood up again, swinging the gym bag. "Megan, if you don't mind my saying so, you're showing a lot of emotion."
It took a long moment before she responded and when she did, her voice was controlled again. "I admit you are correct, Carlo. I seem to be annoyed that you resolved the situation when I was prepared to handle matters myself." She shrugged. "I'm Human enough to have some vanity that can be offended."
3/29/2025
9/21/2020
I.
The intercom on his nightstand buzzed. Snapping fully awake, Carlo turned over on the bed and responded, "Yes?"
The familiar subdued voice of Lauren Sable Reilly said, "I may have an assignment for you and Megan. Report to the office in five."
"On my way, captain."
Carlo Ventura felt more stiff and sore than he had ever been in his life. Just twenty years old, he had never exercised or played any sports. Necessity had made him walk everywhere, which had kept him in fairly good shape, but Kumundu martial art training under Teacher Chael was like breaking his body down and rebuilding it better.
The round analog clock on the wall facing him read ten after seven and the gloom outside the window facing 38th Street reassured him it was evening. He had fallen asleep fully dressed on top of the covers of his bed. Carlo grunted and grumbled, sitting up and wincing at how everything hurt. He was of average height but underweight to the point of looking a bit frail. The narrow face with its bony cheeks was topped by longish curly black hair and his dark eyes were sunken and tired.
On its own chest-high stand in one corner, the strange Eyeless Helmet seemed to regard him. Crafted in one piece of Ensalir, the Eldanar metal that resembled pale gold, it had no openings for the eyes, only outlines etched into the surface. The ancient helm was one of the most potent talismans in the Midnight War. Its bonding with him was what qualified Carlo to apply for KDF membership and to be a knight of Tel Shai.
For a few seconds, he enjoyed looking at his surroundings. This room had genuine wood walls, a double bed with a new mattress, a dresser with a mirror across its top, a desk with a laptop charging, a TV on a wheeled cart. In one corner, he had his own bathroom with a shower. This was more luxury than he had ever known. His childhood had been in a rundown shack with a hard-drinking father who kept him fed and clothed but not much more. At sixteen, he had left home to crash on different friends' couches or floors. One winter he had slept every night in a big SUV whose owner left unlocked, being sure to sneak out before daybreak.
He HAD to win full KDF membership. He couldn't bear losing this room, the hot meals, the company of new friends on the team who had so quickly accepted him. Going back to the streets, to a life without purpose or hope, would be intolerable. Whatever it took, whatever the Teachers of Tel Shai asked of him, he was determined to win their approval.
Stiff-legged, he shambled out into the hall and down the wide central staircase. His room was on the fourth floor. By the time he got down to the front hall on the ground level, his limbs had warmed up enough that he was moving normally. At the bottom step, he turned right to pass through the open door of the office.
On the right hand side as he entered was Sable sitting behind her desk. A handsome black-haired woman in her forties, she had been leader of the KDF and its team of Tel Shai knights for half her life. Her gift was enhanced sensory perception. Sable could follow a moth in an unlit room, read a newspaper from across a city street or detect the amount of stress chemicals in a person's trace perspiration. She gave him a friendly, understated smile as he entered.
There were two plain wooden chairs facing the desk and he lowered himself onto with a slight hesitation. Even without using her abilities Sable had observed how Carlo had lowered himself down, and she said, "Once the Tagra tea effect kicks in, your healing will be elevated. Our physical training becomes much easier to deal with after that."
"That's an encouraging thought, thanks."
Sitting in the other chair, turning her head to nod politely at him was Megan Salenger. Just because of scheduling and different assignments, he had spent the least amount of time with her out of all the team. He knew she had been a Human infant raised by a council of the unemotional advanced intellects called the Trom. She was known as the Trom Girl, and she operated at a genius level in a dozen demanding technical fields. From remarks the others dropped, Megan had tried to act entirely cold and logical for years but that shell had broken when she had tumbled headlong in love with her boyfriend Archie McAllister.
Megan was a slim young woman a few inches over five feet tall, with tousled black hair over an inquisitive face. Although forty years old, like most of the KDF members she looked considerably younger. Her enhanced healing and peak physical condition meant that most people would estimate she was in her late twenties. She was wearing sneakers, dark blue slacks and a white pullover shirt with a rolled collar. In her lap was one of their field helmets with a panel open, and she held a wire-thin tool in one hand. As Carlo settled down, she snapped the panel shut and pocketed the diagnostic tool.
Sable got their attention. "I've been looking over some reports from a few of our observers up in Westchester. I'll brief you both fully before you leave. Megan, tonight you were on monitor duty but Tim said he has no plans and can relieve you. Carlo, I had you scheduled for practice with the dart guns but that will have to be dropped for now."
Unconsciously, Megan and Carlo both leaned forward, prepared to hear almost anything. The Midnight War was always surprising.
"This case is going to be more gruesome than most," Sable said. "There have been three bodies found near Westlake Crossing in the past five weeks. From the police reports, it appears that a person or persons has a hobby of performing skilled but pointless surgery on conscious victims..."
II.
Twenty minutes after briefing, Carlo returned to the office. He had taken a quick shower and changed into sneakers, jeans and a red flannel shirt with a light jacket over it. In one hand, he carried a gym bag. "Ready to go, captain.'
In contrast, Megan Salenger was wearing the all-black field suit with its boots, snug pants and waist-length jacket. With the helmet cradled in the crook of one arm, she would seem to a casual civilian to be ready for a motorcycle ride. At her feet were two knapsacks. "I brought your travel bag up to save time. My Jeep is at the garage, we can walk there in a few minutes."
Sable opened one of the deep lower drawers of her desk and took out an odd-looking weapon was a handcrafted gas-powered pistol with a needle-thin barrel. "I want you to start carrying a dart gun, Carlo. Megan of course has her beam projector."
Taking off his jacket, Carlo clipped the detachable holster to his belt at the small of his back, then put the jacket back on. Megan helped him adjust the weapon's angle so it was concealed. "You're wearing the armor under your clothes, of course?"
"You bet, it's no thicker than silk. Very comfortable."
Sable said, "You haven't been shot yet while wearing it. The Trom armor dissipates impact over its entire surface. A rifle bullet will not penetrate and will feel like a sharp smack but nothing more. You'll hardly notice blunt instruments or stabbing weapons. But remember, everything has limits! You're not invulnerable. You can be killed."
"I'll be careful," he promised.
A sterner edge came into Sable's voice. "And, Carlo... remember you are not a member yet. Megan is in charge. Do as she says and don't second guess her. She has experience and practice on her side."
Glancing over at the Trom Girl's somber expression, Carlo just nodded. "I understand. This is the most important thing in my life."
"Good luck, guys," said Sable, picking up a clipboard with a thick sheaf of papers from her desk. "Report according to your judgement."
The two of them left the KDF building, knapsacks on their backs and Carlo carrying the gym bag that held the Eyeless Helmet. It was a warm pleasant evening in late September and the sidewalks were crowded. They marched at a pace just short of a job over to Third Avenue and then swung left up to 40th Street. The IMPERIAL GARAGE had become the KDF's choice to keep their vehicles. Jeremy Bane stored his car here, as Timothy Limbo did his Harley and Sheng Mo-Yuan did his Ferrari Italia 480.
They had vetted the owner and manager, found nothing suspicious, and been satisfied with the security.
Megan's cherry-red Jeep Cherokee looked as if it had just been driven out of a showroom. Although it was sixteen years old, she had replaced so many parts and done so much maintenance that the Jeep might as well have been new. On the driver's sun visor, four green and blue lights winked steadily to show nothing had come in contact with the vehicle. Even so, Megan walked around the Jeep for a visual inspection before chirping the doors open.
Although they stowed their knapsacks on the rear seat, Carlo kept the gym bag in his lap as he strapped himself into the passenger seat. Megan started the engine. Watching the dashboard with its display screen, Carlo was certain that there were many status lights and gauges he had never seen even in the newest cars, and he figured she had installed them herself. She was constantly doing maintenance and upgrades on all the KDF equipment.
"I plot our destination is twenty-four point six miles away," Megan said as she pulled out of her reserved slot. "Rough ETA is thirty-four minutes under current traffic conditions."
As they navigated midtown heading north, Carlo said, "I've been thinking over what I read about Red Sect in our files. I get they're a Black Magic cult that uses some Darthan sorcery and some Nekrosan stuff. And they don't have any high spiritual goals or anything, they're just in it for money, sex and status. Lots of drug orgies, killing business rivals, gaudy mansions, that sort of thing."
"All true."
"But how is the police don't know anything about them? They've been active for a hundred years. I don't see how they can stay secret and still carry on the way they do."
Megan swung toward the Major Deegan Expressway, driving like a fighter pilot in hostile territory. "Nothing is ever written down. Nothing is said over the phone or within earshot of outsiders. Outside those deeply in the Midnight War, Red Sect is not even a rumor."
"But Sable knew the three victims were high up in Red Sect," Carlo objected.
"We're the KDF," said Megan without smugness. "We have many sources of information not available to anyone else. The victims belonged to a thirteen-member coven headed by Gerhard Knutsen. That circle broke up violently years ago. We believe there was some internal power struggle to overthrow Knutsen and he fled to Eastern Europe."
"And now he's come back to kill the cult members who drove him out of power?" asked Carlo. "That seems familiar. I think I've read about this happening with crime families."
"There are sometimes strong similarities between sorcerers and mobsters. Both seem to attract similar damaged and anti-social personalities." Megan allowed the faintest tinge of sadness in her voice. She normally presented a front that was serious and professional, all business, but among her friends she let some feelings slip out. "I don't think either can ever be eliminated permanently."
Changing the subject to lighten things up, Carlo asked, "Are you going to be teaching me how to fly the CORBY?"
"That should start in about two weeks," she said. "I am the best pilot on our team, although Sable is highly skilled for a Human. The CORBYs are actually easier to fly than regular helicopters. Their capabilities in bad weather are much greater and you do not have to worry about fuel consumption or visibility. Once you're established a little more, we can begin."
"I'd like that. I want to be good at all the required skills, Megan. Membership means a lot to me."
Megan Salenger glanced over at him for a bare instant, something incredibly rare for her to do while driving. "We don't admit new members often. Our work is both difficult and dangerous, Carlo. More important than having unusual abilities is that our members have complete trust in each other. When out in the field, you can't hope that your teammate will be there for you... you have to KNOW that."
Instead of commenting further, Carlo looked down and touched the gym bag in his lap. "Sagehelm calls me. The wings of the storm are brushing close by us. A tiger steps in our footprints."
"When your speech pattern changes like that, I take it as a warning," she said. "And we are close to our destination. Claudia Sheckley's house is less than a mile ahead."
"Death comes in through many doors," he continued. "She sowed seeds of fear in others and now her harvest of terror has ripened. We can not return ashes to what was burnt, Megan."
p
The neighborhood was marked by immense yards which were immaculately tend79ed, three story houses that just missed being mansions, sidewalks without a single crack and not a speck of litter for miles. Megan pulled over by a wide paved driveway with its entrance flanked by two concrete pillars topped by sone cannonballs.
Carlo had taken Sagehelm out of the gym bag and was gazing at it. The helmet gleamed in the illumination from a nearby street lamp. "Life has left that house," he said quietly. "Nothing lingers but the memory of pain."
III.
Boldly parking by the side of the house, the Trom Girl paused to take readings on her Link. "No life forms larger than insects. No active alarm systems. We will investigate, Carlo."
Megan lowered her field helmet down over her head and fastened its seal to the high collar of her jacket. The visor slid shut with a click and a faint greenish sheen played over its surface. That meant the light enhancers were on. The helmet could also emit an ultra-violet beam to supplement the heat sensors. She slid out and closed her door gently.
Following, Carlo did not put the Eyeless Helmet on just yet. He carried it in the gym bag, feeling the time was not right to full assume its perceptions. Knowing to keep silent, he followed her in through the back door and passed though a kitchen of polished dark wood and gleaming chrome.
It was in the dining room that the horror began. On the long linen-covered table, the body of a heavy-set middle-aged woman was lying face up. Wrists and ankles were tied with clothesline to the legs of the table. So much blood had sprayed everywhere under arterial pressure that it was difficult to make out details. The torso had its skin opened like a book from a long vertical slice down the center. Several organs, most recognizably the liver and heart, were lying on the floor where they had been carelessly dropped. The woman had been securely gagged and her eyes were rolled up so that only the whites showed.
Seeing this in the pitiless glare of the overhead lights, Carlo Ventura's chest heaved as he fought back vomit. He yanked the golden helmet out of the bag and jammed it down over his head. Instantly, he straightened up and was obviously more at ease.
Seeing this, Megan said, "Wearing Sagehelm changes how you process situations?"
"Yes. The light which shines on Elvedal brings clarity and understanding," he answered. "Cruelty was the point of this vile act. Life cannot be restored to this woman but it is within our power to prevent the next murder."
The Trom Girl bent closer, studying the gruesome corpse. "The incisions and removals show professional knowledge but some clumsiness. I might speculate that this was done by a surgeon with impairment... age, perhaps, or alcoholism. One of the Red Sect warlocks was in fact a surgeon specializing in the GI tract. This might be his work under duress. Well, it's obvious that Gerhard Knutsen wanted her to suffer as much as was practical."
Carlo turned the enigmatic face of the Eyeless Helmet toward her. "We must hurry to the nearest Red Sect member remaining."
Megan immediately began running toward the rear of the house. It wasn't until they were back in the Jeep and pulling out on to the road that she responded. "The previous murders had intervals of one week to ten days between them, but the victims' locations were several hundred miles apart. A member of the coven resides less than ten miles away, and there is a good chance that Knutsen will strike again immediately before moving on."
"Whew," exhaled Carlo, who had stowed Sagehelm away again. "That wasn't a pretty sight. Didn't all that blood and guts bother you?"
"No. I don't think you fully realize what being raised by the Trom entails. I was doing dissection on cadavers when I was fourteen. And of course as a KDF member, I have fought in actual battles. You will learn to distance yourself emotionally from scenes of violence."
"I guess I'll have to. But doctors and cops do suffer psychological damage over time, or so I understand." Carlo was staring out the side window to his right into the darkness as they sped along. "I don't know if I want to become all cold and hard and tough inside."
"It's not like that," she reassured him. "You think about the people you're protecting and the harm you're preventing. You'll see."
The next few minutes passed in silence. They had entered a markedly less posh neighborhood, where modest houses were closer together with smaller yards between them. At a corner with trsffic lights, Megan pulled into a spot behind a Volkswagen van and surveyed the area.
"I have noticed this phenomenon before," she said. "No cars have moved on this street. No one is in sight and every window has its curtains drawn. It wasn't like this two blocks away."
Carlo held up the ancient helmet. Its pale gold surface shone as if reflecting a searchlight that wasn't there. "People can sense malevolent gralic energy. They don't consciously know what is making them apprehensive but they feel so uneasy that they turn away."
"Let me do a scan," she said, holding up her Link and waving it at the house. Three active life forms within adult Human norms. Heartbeat is rapid in all of them but dangerously fast in the oldest one. They are ten feet below ground level."
Holding the Eyeless Helmet closer to his head, Carlo said, "Forbidden arts are at work! What should lie still, is walking and what should be at rest is enslaved. Necromancy. Voodoo. Darthan spells from the Corruption have been called on tonight."
"Let's go in fast and resolve this before it's too late." Megan raised the flat metal device called a beam projector and adjusted two dials. "I have the photon ram cartridge at high intensity."
With that, she jumped out of the Jeep and sprinted up the short walkway to the house. As she reached the front door, with her left hand she pressed a Trom device up against the keyhole. Thin metal tendrils extruded, stiffened and rotated to turn the lock. She opened the door so quickly that an observer would have thought the door had been unlocked. The two of them moved through a living room to find where a door was tucked behind a staircase.
The Trom Girl opened the door with her gadget, finding it was padded and soundproofed. At the bottom of open wooden steps was a cellar walled with white-painted concrete blocks. They peered down without moving through the doorway. In the rear was an oil-burning furnace and a cylindrical water heater, but neither Megan nor Carlo noticed that.
Tied face up on top of a sturdy wooden table was a naked old man, scrawny and pale in the overhead fluorescent light strip. He was frightened beyond any pretense of retaining dignity, weeping with visible tears and pleading repeatedly, "Please don't, please don't.. Gerhard, please don't hurt me.."
Laughing down at him were two unremarkable-looking men about sixty years old. One wore a light blue business suit and had on steel-rimmed round-lensed glasses. The other wore slacks and a baggy green polo shirt. He was distinguished by a large round bald spot in the center of dark red hair. But, despite the cruelty of their glee at another person's outright terror, these two did not hold Megan or Carlo's attention for more than an instant either.
It was the tall thin figure bending over the table that they could not look away from. He wore white operating scrubs with a yellow apron tied over the front, a surgical mask and cap. All of these were spattered black with dried blood. In a gloved hand, he raised a filthy scalpel. Between the cap and mask only a pair of yellowed, bulging eyes showed. And those glassy eyes swung up to fix on the two intruders at the top of the stairs.
V.
The man in the blue suit spun around, digging in his waistband for a small .32 revolver. He never got it out. The unseen photon ram beam doubled him up and threw him back so violently that he hit the concrete wall behind him and bounced off to crash face down on the floor.
Trotting down the steps with her projector in hand, Megan called out, "Gerhard Knutsen! Call back your zombie now..."
But the undead monstrosity moved over protectively to block her shot at the Red Sect warlock. The scalpel rose and the zombie took a step forward. The Trom Girl hit him with the photon ram. Although the revenant lurched back a step, it was not damaged and did not fall.
Staying behind his creation, Knutsen shouted, "I've heard of you! The Human raised by the Trom. You see mere technology is useless against Darthan magic. My friend here is going to do a little surgery on you, sweetheart."
Never at a loss, Megan remained where she was. Her field suit would give her protection against that blade and she expected to find a clear shot at Knutsen as the zombie moved. Her face within the opening of the raised visor of her helmet was as calm and untroubled as if she were looking for a parking spot.
But for once, she was surprised as her teammate moved past her and confronted the advancing Undead. "Mere mortal magic is nothing compared to the holy light of the Halarin," he announced. "It is that which I channel." He raised the Eyeless Helmet and clapped it down over his head. Everything was lost in a flare of pure golden light which filled the cellar. It brought the warmth and relief of stepping out of a dank dungeon onto a summer meadow.
When the light faded, the surgeon zombie was lying on the floor, at rest at last. Knutsen had sagged down to prop himself up against a wall, head down and chest heaving, no threat to anyone. The air somehow had a fresh, clear scent that hadn't been there before.
Carlo Ventura replaced the ancient helmet to his mundane gym bag. He exhaled heavily, went over to a chair against the wall and dropped rather than sat down. "Whew. That's quite an experience. I don't know when I'll get used to it."
Moving past him, Megan Salenger prudently examined the stunned man and removed the pistol from his belt. "This one is alive. I think he has at least three cracked ribs and there will be severe bruising."
"I can tell you that this Knutsen guy had all the gralic force driven out of him. The light of Elvedal is kind of like an exorcism in a way. If he wants to use Black Magic again, he'll have to start learning it from scratch."
Megan said, "Good to know," and went over to the old man on the table. She pulled a survival knife with a seven inch serrated blade from its sheath on her thigh and quickly freed him. "Are your clothes here?"
"Yes. Yes." The naked man sat up and fell over, needing Megan to support him as he shakily got to his feet. "That's Sagehelm! The Eyeless Helmet. I never thought I would see it myself."
"Well, now you have," she responded with surprising tartness. "Dress quickly and get away from here. We are not going to detain you, even if you are a Red Sect member. There's no point in taking any of you to a court."
"You're Tel Shai knights? Aren't you?" The elderly cultist managed to start struggling into pants and shirt that had been left untidily on the floor. "After all I've done... To be rescued by Tel Shai knights."
In a few minutes, the Red Sect member had his clothes on and paused as he made his way up the stairs. "I haven't thanked you two for saving my life..."
"Just get out of here before I change my mind," the Trom Girl snapped.
Carlo stood up again, swinging the gym bag. "Megan, if you don't mind my saying so, you're showing a lot of emotion."
It took a long moment before she responded and when she did, her voice was controlled again. "I admit you are correct, Carlo. I seem to be annoyed that you resolved the situation when I was prepared to handle matters myself." She shrugged. "I'm Human enough to have some vanity that can be offended."
3/29/2025
no subject
Date: 2025-03-30 04:19 am (UTC)This early with the Eyeless Helmet, Carlo has not become as transcendental and spiritual as he later becomes. I'm thinking of a story which reveals he journeys to the Astral Plane, the Void, the Collective Memory, Cosmic Awareness and all that but he doesn't mention this to anyone.
And mentioning Cindy reminds me that I've neglected her for way too long. She is one of only three founding KDF members still alive and she was a majpr character for twenty years. There was one story where she got permission to return from Tel Shai for a few days; I think some major crisis could justify her coming back to the world briefly.