"Cold Dark Waters"

[dochermes]

"Cold Dark Waters"

3/11-/14/1981

I.

He came up out of the ocean, lurching from the surface into the moonlight and stumbling onto the shore. Two unsteady steps he took, before dropping to his knees and sagging to lie face down onto the cold sand. He was a tall man, slim but fit, dressed in a tight suit of a rough grey material that covered him from collar to foot. The man tried to rise again, but failed and lay panting before passing out completely. Across his back was a flat sheath of carved ivory which held a long stabbing knife of sharpened bone. The man's short bristly hair looked white under the moon. As he sprawled unmoving on the beach, two short fleshy horns could be seen on at his temples, giving him a demonic aspect.

It was just after midnight when a white Mercury Marquis slowed on the beach road and pulled over. The driver got out, peering down at the prone figure before getting a flashlight from the trunk and making his way down to get a better look. Jim Schoeber was sixty-one and overweight, and it took him a few minutes to get to the downed man. The bizarre outfit and weapons, the fleshy horns on the man's head, all fascinated him. The skintight suit had small triangular scales that meant it was made of sharkhide. The stranger groaned and stirred. Schoeber took a pulse and found it strong and steady. He rushed back up to his car and went along the beach road to where a phone booth stood near the exit to the highway. Schoeber called the number of a building on East 38th Street.


Legally, he should have called the police or at least an ambulance. But Schoeber was one of a hundred people in the New York area who owed a debt and who paid it back by reporting anything weird or inexplicable. Two years earlier, his daughter had been abducted by a maniac named Samhain. While the police did their best, it had been a man named Jeremy Bane who had located Samhain, pushed the psychotic killer off a roof and brought Schoeber's daughter back home. Bane had refused a reward. All he wanted was for Schoeber to let him know if he ever spotted anything supernatural or occult. Now was his chance to repay Bane.


After speaking into the phone for a few minutes, Jim Schoeber got back in his car and made a U-turn to head back to where he had spotted the strange man. Just retired after thirty years on the job, Schoeber was enjoying staying out late and not having to get up at five-thirty every morning, which is why he had been driving around aimlessly by Long Island Sound. Parking the big Mercury in the same spot, getting the flashlight out again, he trudged down toward where the man in the sharkhide outfit was still lying. The light from a street lamp just reached the man.

Schoeber paused as a powerful wind sprang up and whipped the freezing winter air in his face. A huge dark shape passed overhead in complete silence. His heart skipped a beat and he gaped as he saw a black helicopter with no lights or identifying logos descend and settle on the beach not twenty yards away from him. The four rotors slowed and stopped. Schoeber stared in fascination as the hatches opened with a hiss of pressurized air being released and two men emerged.

One saw him and waved for Schoeber to join them. Heart pounding with excitement, the retired machinist made his way down the beach and recognized the famous Michael Hawk from his pictures in the newspapers. The wide weathered face with the drooping mustache, the shaggy brown hair heavily sprinkled with grey... it was a familiar face to the public. Hawk had captured enough serial killers and kidnappers and escaped convicts over the decades of his career as a manhunter. He was wearing a brown coat with a fur-lined collar and a Stetson, but he would have looked like a cowboy in any clothing.

Emerging with Hawk was a slightly taller man, with short black hair and an expressionless face. This one was wearing a black jumpsuit fitted with many pouches and pockets. He knelt by the prone figure and seemed to be examining him as a paramedic would.

As they drew near, Hawk addressed him in a Montana accent. "Jim Schoeber, right? I spoke to you a few minutes ago?"

"Yes, sir. I don't know if you know who I am. I owe Jeremy Bane my daughter's life."

"I heard about that. Samhain. Bane asked you to report anything bizarre you saw instead of paying him a reward, right?" Hawk snorted in amusement. "It's a good idea. You've done something important tonight by bringing this man to our attention. Come on over."


They approached where the other man was trying to revive the stranger from the ocean. Hawk said, "What's the lowdown, Len?"

Leonard Slade did not look up. He was taking readings on a small electronic device. "He is alive and will recover shortly. Exhaustion is the main problem." The man glanced up to turn probing dark eyes at them. "Jim Schoeber. Thank you for calling us. Jeremy will be pleased with you."

"Who is this guy?" the retired machinist blurted. "What's he doing on the beach in the middle of night in early March? It's freezing out here."



Hawk answered slowly. "You might call this fellow an illegal alien. He has no business coming up on our shores. We're going to turn him over to his own people." The manhunter gestured for Schoeber to go back up to his car. "I'd suggest you go home and not mention this to anyone. Bane will visit you in a day or two and explain as much as he can."



Leonard Slade had opened the back hatch of the helicopter and carried the limp man over to it as if lifting a bundle of empty clothing. He strapped the unconscious stranger in the back, sealed the hatch and then went around to the pilot seat. The overhead rotors began to slowly turn. As Schoeber reluctantly backed away, Michael Hawk went to get in the co-pilot seat. "Thanks again!" he called. "You did the right thing."



The CORBY lifted straight up, but there was little backwash. Somehow the craft seemed to be moving faster and more smoothly than it should have. In a second, the black helicopter was lost in the overcast winter night. It swung around, heading northwest and skimmed silently high overhead.



Within the CORBY, the only illumination came from the subdued blue and red lights on the instrument panel. Strapped in the co-pilot seat, Michael Hawk checked all the status dials and gauges. Everything seemed fine. "So, Len. What's the story on our guest back there?"



"I identified him at once," the Trom Monitor said in his usual even tones. "Atron Ke, the Gelydra. His detailed description is in our files from when Jeremy fought him twice before."



Hawk scoffed. "Those Gelydrim. I never really believed they were real. Men who lived at the bottom of the ocean.. it just seems impossible."



"They are a variant of Human, modified by Darthan sorcery ages ago. I am gratified to have an opportunity to examine one. Atron is a male mammal, with some cartilage substitute where bone would be in a Human. He has functional lungs as well as gill slits on the sides of the throat, and I believe he can switch back and forth as needed. My projection is that he is much stronger than a typical Human, more resistant to extremes. I want to run some tests on his eyes and his cardiac systems."



"Fine with me," Hawk said. He glanced behind him where the Gelydra slumped on the back bench. "What the heck are those things on his head? They look like horns."



"Sensory organs. They emit sonic pulses which echo back for Atron to interpret. I interpet their function as used in dark or murky waters."



"Like dolphins and whales, hey?" Hawk said. "Sounds logical. He's a right interesting fella."



"Coming in on headquarters," Slade told him. "I am going to decelerate sharply."



Hawk was already strapped in but he held onto the curved bar of the hatch to steady himself. The CORBY came to a sudden stop and dropped straight down so abruptly it seemed to be falling but it landed lightly inside a hangar. In those few seconds, the copter had sped over midtown Manhattan, cut its speed to zero and descended neatly through the opening in the roof of the ten story building on 38th Street. As soon as the landing gear touched down on pressure plates in the floor, the huge overhead panel slid shut again to cut off the night sky.



They were in a high-ceiling, brightly-lit chamber. The walls were lined with metal cabinets and workbenches and supplies. One corner held a table with a few folding chairs but most of the floor space was kept open. As the CORBY settled and the rotors stopped, a man in black stepped through the door into the hangar.



At only twenty-five, Jeremy Bane carried himself with an intensity that gave him the authority of a much older man. Six feet tall and gaunt, he was wearing his usual black outfit of slacks, long-sleeved turtleneck and sport jacket. The pale grey eyes were alert. He stepped forward as the hatches of the CORBY hissed open. "What have you got for us?" he asked.



Stepping out, Slade replied casually, "Atron."



"Really!" Bane said. "I wasn't expecting to meet him again. Atron the Destroyer. Is he okay?"



The Trom reached into the back compartment and picked the heavy Gelydra up in his arms as if it was no effort. "I observe over-exertion with no permanent damage but a full exam is indicated." With that, Slade carried his burden through the open doorway to where the elevator was located.



Bane turned to where Michael Hawk was just climbing out of the copter. "So, that WAS Jim Schoeber who phoned us? I thought so."



The manhunter unzipped his jacket and draped it over one of the folding chairs, with his Stetson on top of it. "Yep. One of your army of observers came through."



The Dire Wolf gave the faintest of smiles. People had to know him a long time to realize he was not completely deadpan. "The elevator is coming back up. Let's join Len in the medical ward and see what he comes up with." They stepped through the door leaving the hangar and had to go down a flight of stairs to reach the elevator. The hangar had originally been the roof of the building until Bane had ordered it enclosed. Descending to the ground floor, the two KDF members walked down the front hall. Ahead of them was the small foyer, to their right was the reception room. To their left, the door was open and light spilled out into the hall.



II.



This emergency ward held two regulation hospital beds, able to be raised or lowered or tilted as necessary. The lights were very bright, and the air cool and dry. Every inch of the walls was taken up with gleaming electronic equipment designed by Slade himself. It took a few minutes of study to identify the purpose of some of the devices. A sink with a paper towel dispenser was the only apparatus instantly recognizable. Just inside the door were mounted boxes of latex gloves and cotton face masks, but they did not need them in this case.



Slade had Atron stretched out on one of the beds, and was unfastening the hide cords which held the sharkhide outfit on. Under the glare, it could be seen more clearly the Geldyra's stiff bristly hair and bony face were not quite Human. "He is breathing normally," the Trom said.



Stepping up, the Dire Wolf attached a clear bag of saline solution to a hanger and stuck a needle in the back of Atron's hand to attach it. "I'm starting an IV. He's amphibious, so he gets dehydrated faster than we do." Satisfied with that, Bane swung a vitals monitor over to stand by Atron's head. "We don't need to attach leads with him this close," he said. "Let me calibrate. There we go."



Watching from a few feet back, Michael Hawk slid the bone knife from its ivory scabbard. The edge was sharp enough to shave with he decided, a two foot length that came to an angled point. The grip was wrapped with sharkhide as well. The Manhunter placed the weapon out in the hall on a bench, out of reach just in case. Atron wore a cuff of carved walrus ivory on his left forearm but Hawk left that.



"Readings are up," Bane said. "Let's see. 129 beats per minute, blood pressure 160 over 123, temperature inside mouth 83 degrees."



"All normal for one of his Race," Slade observed.



"I guess. I'd hate to have readings like that." Bane picked up one of the restraint cuffs that hung down over the side of the bed. "No. I don't think strapping him down is a good idea, do you?"



"We would just have to replace the straps after he broke free," the Trom observed humourlessly. "I think we have some time before he regains consciousness. Thirty to forty minutes."



The Dire Wolf headed for the door. "All right. Let's assemble over in the reception room where we can hear if he starts acting up." Bane walked across the wide front hall and opened the door to a room where visitors were shown. Against the right hand wall was an oak desk, sitting under a huge hand-painted world map from 1937. The wall facing them as they entered had two curtained windows, and a long leather couch, with a low coffee table scattered with newspapers. Against the far wall were waist-high shelves containing reference books, and on top of that case was an illuminated fish tank.



Six comfortable leatherbound chairs were scattered about. Bane pulled one over by the couch and seated himself. He used the desk for his detective agency but didn't sit behind it for KDF meetings because he felt it would mean treating his teammates as clients. Michael Hawk went over and started a coffee pot, while Slade lowered himself to the couch. A second later, a little blonde woman hustled through the doorway.



Cindy Brunner was just over five feet tall and just over one hundred pounds, a slim young woman with dark blonde hair pulled back in a thick ponytail. She was wearing snug white jeans and a red corded sweater she was still adjusting as she hurried over to take a seat. Cindy had been asleep when the call from Jim Schoeber had come in, while Bane had been still up and reading in the conference room. It was the activity of the various minds that had stirred her to wake. Her telepathy picked up on her teammates' thoughts as if overhearing snatches of conversation. "So! Atron again, eh?"



Bane said, "Yep. Talk about trouble. Everytime he shows up, it means bad news. Mike, I don't know if you've read all our files yet. One of my earliest cases for Mr Dred was acting as bodyguard when Atron came to the surface world. Mr Dred tried to interview him for a book he was researching, but Atron went berserk and beat the tar out of me before he was persuaded to leave."



"What?" said Hawk. "Atron beat you up? I wouldn't have thought anyone could do that. Not easily, anyway."



"Oh that. I was young and had no training. I hadn't even started Kumundu then. Today would be a different story. Anyway, last year just around this time, I was fighting an Ulgoran warlock named Li Tung. He got me in a tank filled with water and released a Malak. You haven't met them, they're basically a tiger shark with arms and legs." Bane leaned back and frowned. "I was keeping the damn thing back with my daggers but I admit it was going to be tricky to kill something like that. Atron burst in. He had been tracking Li Tung on his own, they had a vendetta going on. Between us, we killed the Malak and got out. Li Tung had escaped in the meantime and Atron said he would come back some day to resolve our mutual debt. Maybe that's why he's here."



Cindy glanced at the doorway. "Brainwave surge," she said. "He's waking up."



As the KDF members watched, the tall thin form of Atron Ke appeared in that doorway, fastening the thongs to close his outfit. He carried the sheathed horn knife in one hand. The Ulgoran still had the needle taped to the back of his wrist but he had unhooked the IV. "Greetings!" he called out in a bizarre accent that sounded vaguely Hungarian. "I see you have brought me here and treated me well, and for that I thank you."



The Dire Wolf came over to offer a hand and led the Gelydra to a spot on the couch. "You look better than you did a few minutes ago. Your Race bounces back fast."



Atron turned his pale blue eyes on Bane. Their expression was hard to read at best. "It is not easy for me to come here seeking help, Dire Wolf. Proud I am, too proud for my own best interests perhaps."



"You can talk freely here," Bane said. "Just tell us what the situation is."



"Perhaps some of you do not know of Ulgor, 'the Mountain Under the Sea,' which is my home. At the end of the Darthan Age, Jordyn sundered the world and splintered off the adjacent realms, each behind its own barrier. Ulgor is one of those realms. We were placed deep beneath the ocean of our realm, with our City transported there bodily. The Darthim had changed us from so-called 'normal' Humans. We have gills as well as lungs, we are adapted to crushing water pressure and cold depths. Each of us is born at the same time a shark hatches, we have the spirit of the shark within us."



Cindy moved her chair a little closer, skimming the surface of Atron's mind without probing deep enough to get his attention. He glanced over at her movement and she smiled sweetly.



"For ages, little changed. Time seems to move more slowly in the adjacent realms than here. Have you noticed that? We had our civil strife and our battles with the creatures of the deep. Two hundred years ago, a Sulla Chun stirred beneath our City, we had not known such a horror was buried there. A generation of monsters and madmen ran amok, but in time they died out and calm returned. Then there was the invasion from Androval and the occupation for a decade. The Melgarin will pay for that yet. During that occupation, I was born as the Sulla Chun convulsed beneath the city. Its fell energy swept through me even as my father lifted me overhead to proclaim my name. Both my parents died at that moment, but I survived and thrived. Perhaps it was that exposure which made me stronger and hardier than other Gelydrim! Certainly I suspect it was the exposure which tainted me with fits." Those opaque blue eyes glowered. "For know that all my life I have been prone to attacks of berserker rage..."



Not unkindly, Michael Hawk asked, "What brings you here now, though?"



Atron's head snapped up. "Quickly then. Let me explain. Some four hundred of my folk broke off from our city. They were tired of the oppressive rule of Gimkul San. The heavy taxes, the constant labor at monuments to vanity, the public lashings. Our group went a day's swim away and established a fresh start. New Ulgor! With herding of fish and cultivation of edible seaweed and time for crafts and art. I went with them. I was weary of the duels and feuds which took so much of my time. I abdicated the rank of Warlord and was happy to be just Citizen. But Li Tung would not have it so."

"Li Tung being the warlock we fought together," said Bane. "What about him?"



"He has gathered an army of subhuman creatures. Shapeless blobs within suits of false-flesh. The Other-Men. Somehow he is breeding them faster than they can be slain. With Demrak Sum as their general, the Other-Men are wearing down our defenses. And our leader, Geruw Cas, has been captured by them. Courage is not enough, skill at arms is not enough to triumph. I knew I must go to those who know many forbidden secrets of the Midnight War, and hope that you might aid us."



Jeremy Bane stood up and came to stand next to the distraught Gelydra. "So this is not a civil war, your people fighting among themselves? This is a sorceror attempting to conquer a colony to which he has no right."



"Yes! That is exactly right! And I have tarried here too long!" Atron leaped up with such tigerish quickness that everyone gave a start. "I must return, now, this very moment!"



The Dire Wolf laid a restraining hand on Atron's arm, disregarding the outraged glare. "Hey. Take a second. We can bring you home in our CORBY much faster than you possibly swim, right? Right?"



"Yes," Atron admitted. "That is just good sense. But we must leave now."



"One thing first. We fought these Other-Men ourselves, here on land. They're golems of false-flesh. The only alchemist I know who can craft them was named Lee Hutchins. I suspect he's supplying these monsters to Li Tung in exchange for something. You following? You will return to New Ulgor, Len there will pilot the CORBY. But some of us here will track down Lee Hutchins and stop his little game."



"... and by doing so, halt the flow of Other-Men attacking my colony. Yes! Very good! You are no fool, Dire Wolf."



"I like to think so." Bane faced his team. "Steve is on his way. He was up in Westchester. I think logically Len and Steve should be the team to accompany Atron home. You both can fly, which underwater will translate into swimming faster than the enemy. Mike, Cindy and I will remain up here to locate Lee Hutchins and stop his golem factory. That guy! He's always trouble."



"Where's Khang? Or Larry?" asked Cindy.



"Your guess is as good as mine. The last I heard, Larry was out west. They haven't answered the Blue Alert, and I don't think a full Red Alert is called for. Ted is on overnight duty at Temper Memorial Hospital. If they turn up, they can pitch in, of course." He turned to Atron. "I remember you ate regular Human food without trouble. You came a long way here without stopping, so maybe you'd want to get some food and drink inside you before we get going."



"The kitchen's at the end of the hall," Cindy told him. "Come on, I'll show you. We've got lots of macaroni salad with chicken I made myself..."



The Dire Wolf turned to find Hawk shaking his head with a grin. "That gal..."



"She knows how to calm down even someone like him," Bane agreed. "I'm going to get in the field suit. As soon as Steve arrives, we can launch." The Dire Wolf spun and trotted up two flights of stairs to his private room on the third floor.



III.



Ten minutes later, Black Angel came down lightly on the roof. With his artificial wings spread, he lowered his legs and alighted easily without a stumble. The streamlined black jumpsuit with red trim had been designed by the USAF and it was not clear how Weaver had managed to retain use of it after his discharge. He never explained the circumstances. As he straightened up, the wings folded flat to his back with a faint hum of the tiny motors mounted between his shoulders.



As he approached one corner of the roof, a metal panel slid back to reveal an opening with a set of concrete stairs leading down a short well to a door. Weaver moved down these steps, through the door and into the hangar where the CORBY sat. He always caught his breath at the sight. He had been a helicopter pilot for nine years and the sight of the advanced Trom jetcopter still fascinated him. He had worked with Leonard Slade on a few of the modifications but he freely admitted most of what made the CORBY work was beyond him.



Steven Weaver unlocked his fibreglass helmet with the long rearward crest and tucked it under one arm. He was a lanky American black man with a thick mustache and a face that seemed friendly and accessible until you caught the thoughtfulness in the deepset eyes. Weaver entered the elevator and descended to the ground floor, emerging just as Bane was coming down the staircase.



"Evening or morning, whichever," Weaver said.



"Good to see you, Steve." The Dire Wolf was now wearing the black outfit of boots, pants and waist-length jacket, with its own inner layer of Trom armor. He was carrying his own helmet, with a retractible visor, and an airgun was holstered at his left hip. "We've got something interesting going on..." He filled Weaver in on the situation as they walked over to the reception room. Leonard Slade and Michael Hawk on the couch, relaxed and ready. Cindy had changed into her own tailored field suit identical to Bane's. And Atron stood tense in the center of the room, visibly eager to get moving.



"Atron, Len and Steve here will return with you to New Ulgor. The plan is for them to find where Geruw Cas is being held and free him. With him as a visible inspiration, the Gelydra should feel renewed spirit." Bane then gestured to himself. "Meanwhile, Mike and Cindy and I will locate Lee Hutchins and bust up his golem assembly line. Without the constant reinforcements, the enemy will not be able to outnumber you so easily."



The Gelydra was fidgeting, eager to get going. "We should go now. Right now. Who knows how the fighting is going?"



"All right," Bane said. He handed Weaver a short metal baton and a leather bag. "Steve, here's one of the boomsticks we talked about. Twenty-five resonance caps. Escort Atron to the hangar. Len is already warming the CORBY up. We'll be leaving in a car. Good luck!"



weaver went with the Gelydra into the elevator and rode to the top floor. They emerged and went up one short step of stairs into the hangar. The CORBY's rotors were turning slowly, and Slade could be seen in the pilot seat checking the systems. Weaver thumbed the keypad to open the co-pilot hatch and ushered Atron into it. "You sit up here," he said. "With those wings, I need more room. I'm going on the bench in the back compartment. As everyone was strapped in, Leonard Slade raised the CORBY to knee level and retracted the landing gear. "Stand by," he said.



The Trom slid open a panel by his head to reveal a pale blue gem in an incongruous silver setting. He pressed a hand to it and exerted his formidable concentration. Blue light filled the hangar, swirling silently, and when it faded, the CORBY was gone.


Hawk did not wear one of the field suits, and Bane did not press him. The manhunter did put on the flexible Trom armor under his regular clothing, though, and he stowed various KDF gadgets in his pockets. Following Bane and Cindy, they went through the back panel of a walk-in closet by the front door and down steep concrete steps to a narrow walkway between the arsenal and the vault. At the end of the walkway was a plain wooden door. Bane opened it, flicked on the lights and stepped into the underground garage. It was big enough to hold two cars, and there was a workbench with tools.



"What do you think?" he asked. "The Buick Regal or the Mustang?"



"Hell, the Buick. More room," said Hawk.



Cindy Brunner snatched a set of keys from a hook on the wall. "I call driver. I never get to drive." She slid behind the wheel of the dark grey Buick and started it up. Hawk got in the back and Bane took the front passenger seat, holding his helmet in his lap. Cindy started up the concrete ramp with its sharp turn to emerge through a sliding metal door onto Lexington Avenue.



"So," she said, "How about a destination?"



"The last address we had for Hutchins was 11th Avenue and 33rd Street. Right near the river." Bane paused. "That makes sense. If he's dealing with Gelydrim, they can sneak up out of the water at night without being seen."



Cindy stopped for a red light. "Even though I can tell there are no police within sight, you notice I obey traffic laws," she said. "With my powers, I could run most stop signs and lights and never have a problem."



"Well, I'm glad you behave," Bane replied. "Here's 10th Avenue. Not the best neighborhood. Mike, any thoughts?"



"Not yet. This is your area of expertise. I was trained to track killers and collect evidence to convict them. Men who live underwater, alchemists making little golems.. I'm out of my depth."



"We need your experience and judgement," Bane said. "Another years of you teaching me and I think I can open my own detective agency."



"No doubt. You've got the right instincts."



"I see a good spot," Cindy called out and slid into an opening near the corner of 32nd Street. She turned off the engine and pocketed the keys. "Okay, Dire Wolf my boy, how do we proceed?"



Bane set the helmet over his head and lowered the visor. The night vision function clicked in and he could see clearly in the gloom. "I think you and I will take the direct approach. Mike, how do you feel about sneaking in from a different angle?"



"Sounds good. Always nice to have backup." He opened the rear door and got out. The three of them went to the corner and Bane pointed out the dingy red brick apartment building where Hutchins was last known to live. From its corner, someone could take a few across the highway and leap into the Hudson.



"Fourth floor, that's the top," Bane said. "There are lights on in two windows. Cin, what do you sense?"



The telepath stared across the street. "Um. The building is mostly empty.A couple of sleeping minds on the ground floor. One person tossing and turning and trying to sleep. Let's see. On the top floor, someone is awake and alert. I can't get a fix. And there's something else, something funny. Minds below Human levels."



"Guard dogs, maybe?"



"No, it's odd. I never touched minds like these. Jeremy, Mike... we need to be careful." She started walking toward the apartment building as if listening. Hawk tapped Bane on the shoulder and turned right to circle around the block and the Dire Wolf took a few quick steps to catch up with his lover and closest partner in life. He fell in next to her. In his black outfit with the helmet, he was just a vague blur in the poorly lit street. Cindy usually did not wear one of the helmets because she felt they interfered with her powers and her dark blonde hair shone dimly in the night.



The front door of the apartment building had a light on over it and the number 78 in black iron. A window box beside the door seemed to hold nothing but dirt. Bane tried the doorknob and found it was locked. Drawing back his elbow six inches, he smacked the palm of his hand just above the knob and the snap of metal breaking could be heard.



"Teach me that," Cindy whispered.



"Sure. It's just using torque from your legs." Bane opened the door and they stepped into a dingy foyer. A light bulb hung naked on a cord overhead. To their right was a row of narrow mailboxes and a row of name tags with white buttons to be buzzed in. The fourth floor name tag said "Johnson." The Dire Wolf led the way up worn wooden steps, putting his feet to the side of each board to avoid creaking. Cindy followed closely, frowning and preoccupied. She kept one hand on the butt of the dart gun holstered in the small of her back, something unusual for her.



Most of the apartments seemed empty of life, which made her more apprehensive. The building was almost deserted. At the fourth floor landing, Bane peered around warily. There were three apartment doors, an incinerator chute and an elevator with a handwritten sign, OUT OF ORDER. The Dire Wolf stepped over to a window that looked down on 11th Avenue, unlocked it and slid it up half an inch. He glanced out but saw no sign of Hawk. Then he heard an alarmed gasp from Cindy.



No real wolf ever spun around as fast as he did. Two heavyset men in white T-shirts and black sweatpants had seized her by the arms. The blonde kicked and wriggled, but could not get loose. Between her training and her telepathy, she should have been able to disable them instantly but she was struggling in vain.



Bane closed the distance in a dark blur, and two punches smacked loudly so close together they sounded like a single blow. The strange men released Cindy, who jumped to one side. Bane blasted a basic jab and left cross that spun one the attackers halfway around. He glared up as the second man threw a butcher knife right at his face. Bane caught the blade between thumb and forefinger without cutting himself, reversed the knife to grip the hilt and hurled it back so quickly it seemed as if he had just batted it back like a softball. The blade slid deep in the man's stomach and he fell to his knees.



One of the apartment doors slammed open and three more of the strange men rushed out. They all seemed almost identical in height and build, all with limp black hair, all wearing the cheap T-shirts and sweatpants, all barefoot. Cindy had drawn her dart gun and she loosed a flurry at the oncoming men. She could see the metal darts sink into the men, but there was no effect. They should have dropped within a few seconds from the potent drug injected into them, but they kept coming.



Bane rushed to meet them, spinning on one foot to slam a reverse roundhouse kick to the side of the nearest man's head. Even as that attacker was sent stumbling away, the Dire Wolf got between the two remaining ones and blasted hooking punches that bent their heads so far to the side that their necks made creaking noises. Bane knew how much power he was putting into these blows, he felt each impact connect perfectly. The men should go down and stay down.



Yet all of them simply rose and rushed at him again. The only attacker who stayed down was the one with the butcher knife in his chest. Suddenly Bane understood. These weren't true Humans.. they were the Other-Men. Golems of false flesh animated by a sluglike being inside the torso. He could hit them all night without getting anywhere. Bane crossed his arms in front of him and straightened them with a silver dagger in each hand, drawn from the sheaths on his forearms. The next Other-Man to charge had its throat sliced deeply across the windpipe and then caught a high side kick that hurled it across the landing. Horribly, the thing awkwardly got to its feet again with its neck hanging open.



Bane met the next golem with a stab, driving his dagger to the hilt in the creature's chest and this seemed to have real effect as the golem doubled up and fell lifeless. But it also tugged the weapon from his hand and he spun to barely evade the next creature. The Dire Wolf's free fist drove out in a straight punch that made a whiplash noise. The golem's face caved in like putty and it staggered around as if drunk.



Over by the window, Cindy focussed all her efforts on a single attacker. She forced conflicting orders into its rudimentary brain, telling it to do contrary actions at the same time. The Other-Man reeled and fell, hitting the edge of the stairs as its mind short-circuited. But the effort took all she had. She felt like her head was splitting.



Directly behind Bane, the apartment door opened and as he wheeled to face it, a cloud of sour green mist sprayed over the landing. He went into violent coughing and dropped to his knees. As the mist clung to him, the Dire Wolf sank unconscious to the dingy wooden floor.

A few seconds later, Cindy dropped also. Standing in the open doorway, Lee Hutchins chuckled.



V.





With a shudder, the CORBY appeared underwater. High overhead, the vague light of the surface showed but then Slade tilted the nose and the craft dove at a steep angle. Light amplifiers in the windscreen showed nothing ahead but water and an occasional fish.



Atron stared in open surprise. "I did not know helicopters could work underwater...! You Humans have made great progress."



"This is not a normal helicopter," Slade explained. "Steven and I have rebuilt it on Trom principles which are not known yet to Humans."



From the back compartment, Black Angel leaned forward to add, "In a way, this is a spaceship disguised as a helicopter. The rotors help in steering but they are not really necessary. In fact, right now, the rotors are disengaged and turning freely. This bird is moving on Trom impulse engines."



"I see," Atron answered, although he did not. "We are in my realm, then? These waters do seem familiar. That glowing green haze. But I expected a trip of many hours."



"Yep, we entered Ulgor through that gate. You can't even get here from the real world without a gate. The adjacent realms are separated by more than distance." Weaver paused, then added, "which makes me wonder how you swam up out of the Atlantic Ocean the way you did."



"I was sent on my way by one of our sorcerors," Atron said. "If I did not find your team- or if you did not agree to help me- I would have been stranded in your world. It was a great risk."



Slade was taking readings on the dozens of gauges and dials. "I have Ulgor mapped from earlier Trom expeditions. However, your colony of New Ulgor is too recent to be in my charts. You will have to guide us in the right direction."



"Let me think. It will be easiest if you go to Ulgor itself and from there head toward our new colony. That way, too, we will be able to see how the war is going!"



"Very well," said Slade. The Trom monitor moved the control stick forward. "We are accelerating to cruising speed. Ulgor should be within sight in eleven minutes."



Leaning back on the bench in the rear compartment, Weaver watched the Gelydra thoughtfully. He had a very bad feeling about this Atron character. The guy seemed to be a time bomb just aching to go off. Atron himself had mentioned suffering fits of berserker rage. The menacing glint in those cloudy blue eyes alarmed Weaver. He had a feeling it would just be a matter of time before this Gelydra blew up and started hacking left and right with that scary machete of his. Black Angel usually trust his captain's judgement but he hoped Bane hadn't made a big mistake joining forces with this guy.



"There!" shouted Atron Ke. "See? My homeland."



Ulgor rested on the flat top of a mountain which rose up from the ocean floor. Slightly more than eight miles across, the city itself was roughly circular in layout, with narrow, twisting streets and most buildings being exceedingly small. Because it was underwater, there were towers and rooftops with no stairs, since the inhabitants could swim. In the center of the city rose an immense metal construct like an inverted funnel, a hundred feet across at its base and braced with stone pillars. From the top of this structure drifted the luminous green powder that gave some light and warmth to the otherwise cold dark waters. Weaver asked what it was.



"A gift of the Darthim who created my Race," Atron said. "They intended us to be their servants, to meekly search for lost treasure beneath the sea and bring it to them. Hah! Little did they know what they had brought into being. Look. Ulgor is almost deserted. The streets are without the merchants, the farmers, the craftsmen. Everyone hides behind barred door until they know what will come."



Circling the weird sight of a city under the sea, Leonard Slade seemed as unemotional as ever. He was a Trom. "Do you know where your leader is being held, Atron?"



The Gelydra pointed. "There. That long building with the statue of our shark-god Grelok over it door. I am sure the king would keep such an important prisoner there."



"I will free him," Slade said as calmly as if mentioning the weather. "First, you will want to join your colony in New Ulgor. In which direction should we proceed?"



"Straight ahead. Hurry, Trom! Anything could be happening. My people need the arm and the blade of Atron the Destroyer.."







VI.



In the alley behind the apartment building, Michael Hawk moved silently. He was in his early sixties now, but still fit and muscular through determined exercise. The Tagra tea diet of Tel Shai had also helped; the twinge in his one knee had gone away. Looking upward, he saw Bane raise the window on the fifth floor and then move out of sight. Hawk waited. He knew the procedure was for him to enter quietly in a few minutes as back-up if needed. It had worked well many times. The famous criminologist went near the mouth of the alley and gazed out over the Hudson River. Even after all he had seen as a KDF member, he remained dumbfounded at each new revelation. A city at the bottom of the ocean, Ulgor, inhabited by men who could breathe underwater. He kept witnessing things he would have said were impossible.



Should the world know about these nightmares? Bane had said the Midnight War was secret for good reason. Human society had enough trouble functioning as it was without people being aware of the horrors that lurked just outside the light of the normal world. Legends and folklore hinted at what went on the dark of night, and it was better that Men think these were just stories. Hawk wasn't so sure. He thought maybe it would be better to let mankind know the truth and let mankind deal with it.



Hawk shrugged. He was getting near the end of his career, to be realistic.A major reason why he had joined this KDF was so he could help train these youngsters and give them pointers he had learned in forty years of crimefighting. Soon, he expected to retire and write a book or two, maybe give a few lectures but mostly to laze about.



Tonight, though, he was still on duty. He tilted his Stetson back on his grizzled head and studied the prospect of getting up to the fifth floor window. It meant climbing. Hawk lifted one foot up onto the sill of the first floor window and started goingup. He still had extraordinary strength in his hands and long experience in judging what would hold his weight. He did not move quickly, but steadily. Long years of experience and hard training helped. Soon, he was hanging by his hands from the ledge of the fifth floor window. The toe of his boot rested on a brick that stuck out further than the others, just enough to take most of his weight. Hawk shoved the window up, got his elbows on the sill and clambered through. It was not as easy as it used to be- not much was- but he did it. The manhunter slid through and landed on the floor of the landing. What was that sour stink?



Five feet away from him was a body. A man with black hair and staring dark brown eyes, orange-tinted skin. Height, five foot nine, weight maybe a hundred and seventy. The body was barefoot, dressed in a white T-shirt and black sweatpants. The hilt of a cheap knife stuck out from the middle of the corpse's chest but there was no blood. Hawk moved closer, unsatisfied with what he was seeing. There was something wrong about the corpse but he could not identify why. A few feet away was an almost identical corpse, so similar they might have been twins. This one had a dagger in its chest, but Hawk recognized it. The slim cylindrical hilt without a crossguard... it was one of Bane's matched pair. Hawk drew the weapon out and saw there was no blood on the silver blade.



Placing the dagger in a side pocket, the manhunter stared down at the gruesome bodies. He was wearing black latex gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints and he examined the wound on the corpse. No blood, no muscle inside the wound. Just white fibrous tissue. What were these things? Both of them had an anesthetic dart sticking out, which evidently hadn't had much effect. Hawk heard a voice coming from behind the door across the landing and he rose. From the back of his gunbelt, he drew a leather sap filled with lead pellets and swung it experimentally as he stepped closer to the door, which he saw had been left ajar. Hawk pressed against the door and listened.



"The famous Dire Wolf," came the voice. "What a letdown to finally meet you." Lee Hutchins stood with folded arms over two prisoners tied hand and foot on the floor. The alchemist was noticeably short, no more than five foot seven, thin and unimpressive. He had receding brown hair over a high forehead and a prominent nose. Hutchins was dressed in dark blue slacks, a white long-sleeved shirt and a white lab smock that had several pockets across the left side.



The apartment had been converted into a sort of laboratory, with two long tables piled with bottles and glass tubing and racks of equipment. There were high stools by the tables and notebooks in an untidy stack. The only sign that anyone lived here was an easy chair in one corner next to a small television and a lamp on an endtable.



Four of the Other-Men were on guard, two by Bane and two by Cindy. They looked identical to the ones out in the hall.



Bane got up to a sitting position. He saw that Cindy was still unconscious, propped up against the wall opposite him, her head hanging down. But he could see she was breathing normally and her fingers twitched, which meant she was on the verge of reviving. The Dire Wolf flexed his wrists behind him. It felt like he was tied with common clothesline. "You can't be Lee Hutchins?"



The alchemist frowned. "And what's THAT supposed to mean?"



"Nothing. I was just expecting someone more imposing. You're supposed to be the genius creating these freaks," Bane said. He was checking his ankles, which were also tied together. Getting loose would only take a few minutes, but he would need to be unobserved...



"What do you know? You're ignorant. I am the greatest alchemist alive today." Hutchins caught himself. "How did you find me here?"



"It's my job," Bane said. "So. You're growing these monsters here. Men from Ulgor arrive in the middle of the night and carry them down to the river. And you get paid. Right?"



Hutchins stared uneasily. "You seem to know a lot you're not supposed to."



Against the opposite wall, Cindy stirred. She gave a faint moan and suddenly her head snapped up with her dark blue eyes alert. The telepath seemed to take in the situation instantly, tugging at her wrists and then stopping as she realized there was no way for her to get free. "Some alchemist," she scoffed. "Li Tung taught you everything you know."



That seemed to strike a nerve. "That's a lie! Who told you that?!"



Cindy continued, "All you did was write books- which no one bought- about alchemy. Li Tung found you and instructed you. He's the real thing, a warlock from Ulgor. You're just working for him." She made a scoffing noise.



Hutchins turned his back on Bane as he went over to stand in front of the little blonde. The Dire Wolf got his fingers on the top of one of his boots. The thickened ridge at the back was actually the grip of a razor blade. Quickly, cutting himself a bit, he began slicing through the clothesline. 'Keep his attention, Cindy,' he thought.



"You know how I can tell?" the telepath continued. "Because we tangled with Li Tung already. Last year. He was making the same exact Other-Men you're growing for him. I don't think you ever came up with anything original."



The alchemist raised one hand as if he were going to slap her, but caught himself. "No. No, you are so wrong it's funny. Li Tung and I are equal partners. I breed the slugs inside these golems for him, but he pays me with items impossible to get on the surface. Coral growths with rare compounds inside them. Fungus that only grows in undersea caverns. We are working together as peers."



"So YOU say," she went on. "Name one thing you came up with on your own."



"Oh, you little fool. Here. Look at this!" Hutchins reached in a pocket of his smock, pulled out a chamois bag and took out a rock slightly smaller than a fist. It was rough dark grey, but it glittered with specks that seemed to catch the light and amplify it. "Not that you have any idea what this?"



"Granite?" she said blithely.



"You idiot! This is a Stone of Malberon. The dream of alchemists through the ages. It bears unlimited gralic force. With it, I can turn lead into gold. I can turn tin in platinum. I can-"



Bane's voice came from behind him, "I can turn your face into hamburger." As Hutchins whirled in alarm, the Dire Wolf blasted a blurringly quick left hook that twisted the man's head so far to one side his neck almost broke. Saliva flew from his mouth. The alchemist crashed up against the table and knocked over half the bottles of colored liquids.



"Oh, I was waiting for that!" Cindy laughed.



At the sound of that blow, Michael Hawk came through the door. Seeing him, Bane yelled, "Hit them in the chest, Mike!" and rushed the two Other-Men who were standing near Cindy. Bane chambered his left leg and drove it out in a high side kick that ruptured the creature inside the false-flesh body. Even as that golem dropped, the Dire Wolf seized the other creature by the shirt and yanked him hard into an upraised knee. That golem fell straight down, with its face still expressionless.



He spun to see Hawk standing over the other two golems. The manhunter stomped down hard on the second one's chest, and the creature twitched and was still. The wide weathered face looked over at Bane with a smile. "I'm not that old yet," he said.



"I wouldn't cross you," the Dire Wolf answered. "Looks like we are about wrapped up here."

He looked over his shoulder and saw Lee Hutchins rising up on one elbow, pointing the glittering Stone like a weapon.



"Freeze, both of you. Before you can move, my thoughts can turn you into a lifeless tin statue. Don't move. I'm going to get out of here and neither of you can stop me."



"Oh, but I can," said Cindy, still tied up on the floor.



Hutchins started to laugh but instead convulsed as if having a seizure. His arms and legs moved violently, the Stone of Malberon went flying and he flopped on the floor before stretching out with a gasp. Bane bent and picked up the Stone of Malberon gingerly, as if he thought it was going to be hot to the touch.



As Hawk knelt to cut Cindy loose with Bane's silver dagger, he said, "How exactly do you do that, little lady?"



"I just sent conflicting orders to his mind. I tell him to hold still and to wave his arms at the same time and his brain short-circuits. It's something I learned in high school when guys got free with their hands." She stood up. "Thanks for cutting me loose, Mike."



Hawk handed the silver dagger to the Dire Wolf. "Found this where you left it in someone's chest," he said. "You know, we're going to have a problem with our prisoner."



"I've been worried about that, too," Bane said. "What are we going to do with him? We sure can't turn him over to the police and charge him with making monsters. You can see how far that would get. It'd be smartest to just execute him so he doesn't start more trouble, but to be honest I can't do that. During a fight is one thing, but I can't kill in cold blood."



"Me neither." Hawk exhaled sharply. "Killing a man keeps you up at night. I'm haunted by a few faces when I think about it."



Cindy tugged down her field suit jacket. She stood gazing down at the stunned alchemist. "My Teacher at Tel Shai has been instructing me in a few tricks. I can put a block in his mind. He won't be able to actually do anything relating to alchemy. It's like a post-hypnotic suggestion but much stronger." The blonde looked over at the two men. "It's messing with someone's mind, which is tricky. There might be damage. But at least he'll be alive."



VII.



As they sped through the sea, Slade scanned the ocean floor ahead them. He picked up life forms consistent with Gelydrim... four hundred and eleven, by his count, within a small area. "New Ulgor, I presume," he said. "But there is a larger group approaching from the south. Over a thousand individuals, moving quickly through the water. There is an anomalous life form with them, much larger and of a different metabolic type."



Atron clawed the air with his fingers, straining against the seat belts as if he wanted to crash out of the cockpit right then and there. "The attack force of Demis Bar! It must be. With a War Squid, no less. How soon will they arrive?"



"I project two hours." The Trom pushed the control stick forward. "We will arrive at New Ulgor within the next twenty minutes."



The Gelydra growled deep in his chest. "Most of that attacking army will be Other-Men. Demis Bar will command them with a handful of lieutenants. Do you understand? We must slay Demis and his underlings, and the Other-Men will be lost and harmless."

"I understand," Slade answered. "Steven, you must decide your role in this. Will you join Atron in the battle or will you come with me to rescue the New Ulgor leader?"

Weaver had been debating the same thing. To be honest, he would much rather have gone with Slade, who he trusted and respected, rather than fight alongside a maniac like Atron Ke. But he surprised himself by saying firmly, "I think I will go with Atron. I want to defend New Ulgor against attack."


"Hah! well said." Atron swung around in the co-pilot seat and glared at Black Angel with burning eyes. "Despite your strange brown skin, you are a true man with courage in your heart."

"Thanks, I guess," Weaver answered. There was no use in getting bent out of shape because Atron had never seen black people before. He lowered his fibreglass helmet over his head and fastened it into place. Inside the helmet, he had a Trom diffusion membrane tied over his nose and mouth; these were one molecule thick and separated oxygen from water. Unfortunately, they did not supply enough for vigorous action, only enough to remain alive. They were emergency devices. On his back, between the aluminum and nylon batwings, he wore a long metal cylinder that contained an hour of compressed air. When that ran out, if he could not get to the CORBY for a fresh tank, he would have to rely on the diffusion membrane.

Reaching behind him, Weaver coupled the hose from the air tank to the socket on the back of his helmet and twisted it until it made a single click. Now all he had to do was close the vents on the front of his helmet and the suit would become airtight and the tank would cut in. Weaver took a deep breath and calmed himself. The unreality of the whole situation was getting to him. He was at the bottom of the ocean in a pocket dimension, riding in a helicopter and heading for a war with mermen. On the bench next to him was the 'boomstick' Bane had given him before he left. It was a metal baton two feet long. At one end was fastened a resonance cap strong enough to kill a person. Weaver made sure the boomstick was in working order, then fastened the leather bag of caps to his belt. This made him feel a little more confident.

Slade slowed the CORBY as they neared the settlement of New Ulgor. It looked like a temporary camp, with tents of sharkhide stretched between upright rock piles. Around the settlement was a huge bed of waving dark green seaweed which some of the Gelydrim were harvesting, and there was a closed-off pen holding huge groupers. Maybe a hundred of the Gelydrim were in sight, going about their business peaceably. In contrast to Atron's grey outfit of sharkhide, these Ulgorans wore mostly colorful tunics of some rubbery fabric, all bright red and green and yellow. Two older women were standing near a cluster of twenty children at play, obviously keeping an eye on them. As the CORBY went by overhead, everyone froze and stared up at the strange craft.


"Atron, you must get in the back compartment with Steven," said the Trom Monitor as he brought the CORBY down.

"I am no man's servant, to be told what he 'must' do," growled the Gelydra. But he unstrapped himself and crawled between the two seats in the cabin to join Weaver. The back compartment was kept bare of instruments. It was in effect a simple metal box with a hatch on one wall and locked supply cabinets on the other, a single bench big enough for two people to sit on. As Atron sat up on the floor, the clear plastic panel slid into place between the compartment and the cockpit and clicked firmly shut.

Slade's voice came through the radio headphones in Weaver's helmet, saying "I will now flood the compartment and then open the hatch. Are you ready, Steven?"

"Good to go," Black Angel found himself saying. He watched as valves opened in the floor and seawater poured in, rising quickly. He shut the vents in his helmet and took the first breath of the compressed air as the water rose over his head. Glancing over at Atron, Weaver saw with a little jolt that three parallel slits had opened on each side of the man's neck. Gills.

As the compartment was completely flooded, the hatch opened by itself and slid aside. Out there were the glowing green depths in which a civilization of water-breathing people was fighting its civil war. Atron grinned wickedly at him and plunged out, and Weaver swam out behind him, still with misgivings.


VIII.

Weaver had noticed before what huge feet Atron had, much longer than an average man's. Now he saw why. In the water, the Gelydra's long toes spread far apart to reveal webbing between them. Atron swam quicker than any Human athlete ever dreamed of doing, tireless powerful strokes that sped him down toward the array of tents on the ocean floor.

Following, Weaver drew on his levitating ability. He had opened his wings to their full spread and he flew through the water fast enough to match Atron. Although he didn't say so, Black Angel was not using his full thrust. He was suddenly confident he could travel much faster than the Gelydrim could in their own element and this encouraged him.

Cheers rose up through the water, distorted but perfectly understandable. "Atron!" "The Destroyer!" "Atron has returned!" The crowd assembled near the field of waving seaweed as their champion descended and came to stand in their midst, where they pawed happily at him.

"I am here in our darkest hour!" shouted Atron Ke, arms held up with fists raised. "Demis Bar is on the march. He will be here soon, with his vile Other-Men and with maybe even a War Squid. But we will throw him back into the cold dark waters. His army will be flung into the murky depths to die. This I swear!"

As the crowd cheered, Weaver alighted on their outskirt and folded his wings behind him. The Gelydrim paused to stare and he waved in what he hoped would be taken as a friendly gesture.

"Behold, I bring a great warrior from the world of air-breathers," Atron announced. "He is known as the Weaver, a Black Angel. Another surface warrior is even now seeking to liberate our noble Geruw Cas. My journey was not in vain. Now, arm yourselves. Ready your hearts. Let the women and children and elderly seek shelted in the caves nearby. Every man of fighting age, assemble here."

As the people of New Ulgor scrambled to obey, Weaver studied them. Most had blonde or light brown hair, but there were a few brunettes scattered among them. The men were shorter than Atron, who stood six foot one, and they were wide where he was lean but muscular. Everyone wore tunics and kilts of some rubbery substance he could not identify. Their clothing was brightly colored, they were all barefoot and only a few wore any jewelry. As the women herded the children away, a few older men with balding heads spoke pleadingly with Atron. He dismissed them.

"If we fall, it would be up to you elders and our women to defend the little ones. That is your duty, go now." The Destroyer watched sternly as the old men rose up and kicked, swimming after the others. Of those who remained, Weaver estimated one hundred and fifty male Gelydrim assembled facing Atron. Most had short stabbing weapons made of sharpened bone, like his. Some had smaller blades on metal poles, and one or two carried hammers with a spike on the rear of the head. None of them showed any armor or helmets at all.

"The enemy is heading this way," Atron said. "Let them rush here mile after mile and weary themselves. We will swim slowly toward them and meet them fresh. Remember! When a Gelydra is born, a shark hatches and we share the same spirit. We are brothers to the shark.Follow me!" He leaped upward and started swimming away from the colony, and his small army rose up behind him.

IX.

As Cindy knelt by the dazed Lee Hutchins and entered his mind, Bane and Hawk searched the top floor of the building. This room was the lab, and they found two thick binders packed with notes and records of experiments. "This is coming with us," Bane said. "We have to confiscate anything that might be dangerous in the wrong hands."

"What about all these potions and whatnot?" asked Hawk. "I hate to think we're going to just pour them down the sink. People might get poisoned for miles around."



"I don't think that's necessary," Bane said, digging through a cabinet for more papers. "I'm no expert, but Mr Dred explained to me how Velkandu works. Those chemicals are only potent because the alchemist charges them with gralic force. A regular chemist mixing the formulas would just get useless sludge. From what I remember, they'll lose their potency soon, maybe within a day, and be harmless."

"If you say so. Find anything else?"

"Yeah," the Dire Wolf grunted. From the back of a drawer he tugged a slim leather-bound book with tattered cover. "Look at this. THE SKULL BENEATH THE SKIN. Written by Mercado Vitarius in... let's see, 1843. I've heard of this, it's a handbook for alchemists. Hutchins won't be needing it."

Hawk looked down where Cindy seemed to be just kneeling on the floor, staring intently at their prisoner. He started to speak, but Bane put a hand on his shoulder. "Let her work. Come on, we'll check those golems." They stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind them and were struck by a rank odor of decay. The dead Other-Men were falling apart into masses of ooze. The faces were already unrecognizable.

"God-DAMN," muttered Hawk as he opened the window. "Smells worse than a dead moose in the August sun. They're rotting fast, Jeremy."

"Just as well," said Bane. "That's the drawback to Velkandu. Anything you make with alchemy has a short shelf life. There's the door these goons came out of, let's take a look." Tucking the papers and book under his right arm, the Dire Wolf reached back and drew his dart gun with his left. Seeing this, Michael Hawk did the same and tilted his Stetson back on his grizzled head. Hawk saw the door was half open. Standing to one side, he reached in and swung it inward.

"I don't see anything moving," Bane said, swinging his dart gun from side to side as he entered. "Whoa. Check this out." Hawk stepped in beside him and snorted in disbelief. The big room was empty of normal furniture. Instead there were five low tables with two dozen fish tanks on them. In the bubbling milky liquid filling each tank floated blobs of flesh smaller than a human fist. A compressor ran in one corner, pumping white fluid from a vat through tubing into each tank.



"He's growing those slugs here," Hawk said. "I'll never say I've seen everything. Look at those ugly little things."

Bane's grey eyes moved over the set-up. He walked over and pulled the heavy extension cord out of the wall. The compressor shut down, and the fluid stopped circulating. "I had to do that. It's too bad for these slugs but they're not intelligent. I suppose in another room, we'll find rows of human-looking bodies Hutchins was breeding for these things to live in."

"Makes me feel kinda sick," Hawk said. "I thought I was tough, but this...."


Cindy stuck her head in the door. "Let's get out of here! I can't breathe because of the stink."

"What's going on with Hutchins?"

"All done. Hopefully, he won't lose any motor skills or speech, but I can't promise it. I put a block in this mind against anything to do with alchemy. It should last for years. Phew. This place is making me gag."



"All right," Bane agreed. "I could use some air, too. Mike?"

Hawk had stepped back out onto the landing and stopped by the window. "This could be interesting. Take a look, you two."

It was just getting light out, the dim grey time when forms could be vaguely glimpsed that were only shadows before. Two men could been standing by the retaining wall over the Hudson River. They were helping a third man out of the water, a man who wore a bright red robe of some rubberlike substance and a white skullcap. He stood on the pavement and shook water off himself.

"This is just perfect!" Bane grinned. "That sure looks like Li Tung himself."

X.

Swinging the CORBY around, Leonard Slade headed toward the city of Ulgor. He had the ship sensors recording everything, and he himself was making observations to report later to his superiors. Not enough was known about the Gelydrim. There had been a Trom expedition in 1930 because of the invasion from Androval, and the Trom had sent observers but they had not stayed long because of the fighting. Slade's Race seldom took sides in the clashes of the Midnight War, they had a policy of neutrality. He had taken it upon himself to help the colony of New Ulgor but he justified it because he wanted to keep his membership in the KDF and Tel Shai.

The black helicopter swept through the waters, schools of strange fish swerving aside before it. He neared the mountain and rose up, swooping around the pillar that dispersed the luminous green powder. A few faces showed in glassless windows that were quickly covered by shutters. Slade brought the helicopter down to land in the courtyard of a building that had a ten-foot statue of a Malak over its door, representing the shark-god Grelok. On the trip back to Ulgor, the Trom had pumped the water out of the rear compartment and now he had to enter that compartment, seal the barrier to the cabin and then flood the rear compartment again. It was time-consuming but he could not allow the cabin to get water in it. As the water reached his knees, he opened a drawer and took out a canister the size of a fire extinguisher. Finally, the water filled the compartment, he could open the hatch and emerge.

Swimming out into the shimmering green water, Slade engaged the gravity shield disc on his back and shot forward. He held a pose like a diver, back arched with one arm extended before him and the other holding the canister. Two guards had been watching the helicopter land, not sure what it was or what it meant. Seeing the dark figure hurtle toward them at head level, they raised their spears too late. Slade crashed into them, efficiently striking them down with blows to vital areas. He did not usually fight hand to hand, but the weapons he normally used would not function well underwater. The Trom flew through the open doorway and made his way into a great hall, past two more guards he slapped aside with backhand blows. As usual, he acted without anger or fear. His Race had bred for Ages to eliminate emotion as much as possible and he seemed a cold machine-like figure to normal Humans.

A horn blew, sounding an alarm. Slade lowered the canister to the stone floor and pulled a ring on the top. Barely visible vapor sprayed out under pressure in all directions. The Trom stood and watched calmly as the onrushing guards faltered and passed out. Most did not fall to the floor but floated in the water, dropping their weapons. The canister contained a large amount of the same anesthetic used in the dart guns, and was intended for use against crowds. The Trom lifted clear off the floor and flew down a long corridor, searching. He found a barred doorway and opened it to reveal a ramp going down into darkness. The light enhancing function of his visor allowed him to see clearly. Slade jammed the door open with some spears, wedging them in tightly enough to ensure he would not be locked in if some guards had escaped the anesthetic.

This was the dungeon. He checked each cell in turn, not answering the pleas of the prisoners to be freed. That was not his purpose here. He did not know which of these Ulgorans being held were robbers or murderers, and which were unjustly kept here. Finally, he looked inside a cell and saw a Gelydra rise. This one had a mustache and beard, quite rare for their Race. He was thin and stooped with age. The prisoner came up to the barred window of the door and peered out at the strange figure in the black suit and helmet.

"Who might you be?" asked the man.

"First you must tell me your name," the Trom replied.

"I? I am Geruw Cas! Elected leader of New Ulgor. If you have come to take me to the execution block, then be quick about it."

Slade slid the bolts on the outside of the door and swung it open. "No. I am from the surface world. I am a knight of Tel Shai and I have come to free you."

XI.

walking up the stairs to the fifth floor, Li Tung followed his two bodyguards at a distance. They were typical Gelydrim, with the bristling blond hair and pale skin, wearing blue tunics and kilts. Each held a short stabbing sword of razor-sharp bone in his hand. The warlock paused on each landing for a second to catch his breath and to listen. Li Tung was one of the Ulgorans with marked piscine qualities for some reason. He had bulging dark eyes, two thin mustaches hanging from the corners of a wide lipless mouth. From the way he struggled up the stairs and had to pause, he was not as comfortable in open air as his bodyguards.

On the fourth floor landing, the sorceror held onto the bannister and took a deep breath before continuing. His two guards had almost reached the top when they were surprised by a Human swinging around to point a weapon at them. Quick as they were to draw back their arms to throw their swords, Hawk was faster. The air-powered pistol coughed twice and the Ulgorans jerked as they felt heavy metal darts bite into their necks. The drug dazed them almost instantly, and they were senseless as they slid limply down the stairs.

seeing this, Li Tung swung around to flee. He got his own surprise. Coming up behind him from where he had been concealed on the landing below was a Human he recognized. It was the Dire Wolf, the same air-breather who had defied him a year earlier. The warlock only had a split-second glimpse of angry grey eyes meeting his own before a fist smacked right into the center of his face. The Gelydra fell backward hard and stayed down.

"I told you that we'd meet again," Bane said quietly.

Li Tung raised his clawlike hands and red light flickered around them in a dark nimbus. Before he could gather a gralic bolt, there was a flicker of silver and a slim dagger spun to slide to the hilt in the left side of his chest. The warlock barely had time to feel pain before he was dead. Bane lowered his arm from the throw.

"You know, Jeremy," Hawk said, "as long as I've known you, I still can't follow your motion when you strike. I wish I had had reflexes like yours when I was younger."

"I was born this way," Bane answered. "I don't know why." He tugged the dagger loose and cleaned it on the sorceror's robe before returning it to the sheath under his sleeve. "I guess this magician was coming to check on how Hutchins was doing.. maybe give him orders. I wonder if he knew that Atron had come to the surface world? That could be the reason he showed up at the same time."

"We likely will never know," Hawk said, holstering his dart gun and walking past the unconscious guards to where Bane was.

Cindy came over to stand beside them. She prodded the corpse of Li Tung gingerly with her toe. "You guys, it's going to get light outside any minute now. What do we still have to do before the neighbors see us?"

The Dire Wolf sighed. "You've got a point. We can leave Hutchins here. With the mental block you gave him, he won't be any threat. Maybe he'll take it on the run and we'll never hear from him again. But these three... Mike, we have to hurry. Help me haul this dead one outside first."

Between them, Hawk and Bane carried the body of Li Tung downstairs, out the door and across the street to drop it in the Hudson. A moment later, a taxi rolled past.

"That was close," Bane said. "Let's get the other two." They hurried back and brought the unconscious bodyguards to the street, unceremoniously dumping them over the guard rail into the water. Just as the second Gelydra splashed into the river, another car went by and pulled over at the next block. As they watched, a man in white shirt and white pants came out of that building and got in, and the car drove away.

"We would have had some questions to answer if they saw us," Hawk said with a chuckle.

Bane had no sense of humor. "Those Gelydrim will be fine. Their gills open as soon as they hit the water. I expect they will wake up and find Li Tung's body. What they do after that is their problem." The sun was coming up and Bane tugged off his helmet to hold it under one arm. Cindy came out of the apartment building where so much had happened in the past few hours and gestured with a thumb toward their car.

"You're right, Cin. We should get going," Bane said. "The city is waking up. The Midnight War is over for another night."

XII.

The fighting was quick and fierce. On a level area of the ocean floor where the green glow was starting to fade, an army of Other-Men charged and were met by the colonists of New ulgor. Atron Ke was in the lead and he showed why he was called the Destroyer. His bone blade flickered out and back, slicing open the golems to spill the slug within out through the gash. The men of New Ulgor fought bravely but they were overshadowed by Atron. The Destroyer roared as he tore through the attackers. With the ivory guard on his left arm, he deflected their strokes and he slew them one after the other.

Hanging back a bit, watching uneasily, Weaver repressed a shudder. He had not seen any combat while in the Air Force, being stationed in Germany for the most part. It was ironic that he had experienced more combat and seen more death after leaving the armed forces than he had while in service, but there it was. Black Angel looked toward the distance. Coming out of the darker waters was a force of several hundred Gelydrim, with a huge monstrous form in their midst. They had sent the Other-Men ahead to thin of the men of New Ulgor and to tire them before attacking in earnest.

Weaver wanted to warn the colonists. He started to move toward Atron, saw the Destroyer whirling as he slashed open two of the golems with a stroke forward and back of the bone knife. Atron was howling as he fought, moving deeper into the mass of Other-Men, oblivious to anything but the slaughter. There was no use trying to get through to him while he was in this state. Black Angel looked toward the approaching army and saw the War Squid.

Its cylindrical body was as big as a Greyhound bus, and its tentacles whipped about furiously as it swam over the mass of running men. Strapped to a sharkhide saddle behind the staring eyes was a Gelydra with a pointed prod, urging the great beast on. Weaver realized what his part in this battle was going to be. He checked the boomstick, held by a loop around his wrist, and spread his wings. Rising up over the battle so he could take it all in, Black Angel swooped forward faster than any of the Gelydrim could swim. He soared over the fighting and down toward the approaching army. Some saw him pass overhead but they did not react right away.

Weaver whipped down the through the water, his streamlined uniform helping him move without resistance. He tore past the man in the saddle on the giant squid and poked him with the baton, setting off the resonance cap against the Gelydra's chest. The explosion was bigger than he had expected. He had not used this weapon before and was surprised as the Ulgoran's body was blown almost in half. Weaver swung around and landed on top of the huge creature. This had to be done quickly. Slamming another resonance cap in place, he jammed the boomstick down against the War Squid's body. The blast sent a visible shock wave rippling through the rubbery flesh. The monster convulsed wildly, flinging Weaver off. He had expected that, he spun and came down on the beast again to send another blast into the giant creature. Black blood spurted out into the water. Weaver kept his footing and inserted another cap into the end of his weapon, clicked it into place and slammed it down again. The explosion this time seemed to mortally wound the beast. It flailed about and tore through the very army it was supposed to be aiding.


Steven Weaver rose up through the water, far out of reach and watched with mixed emotions. The War Squid was flailing about with its ten tentacles killing Gelydrim wherever they struck. With a final spouting of black blood, the monster hit down to crush a dozen Ulgorans beneath its weight, and the tentacles finally were still.

Staying up above the army, Weaver saw some the Geldyrim swimming up toward him. He concentrated and drew on his power. Levitating underwater resulting in his tearing along as a greater speed than the Ulgorans could match. He rushed back to where the colonists of New Ulgor were standing over a stretch of dead or wounded Other-Men. Not that the fighting had been without price. Many of the New Ulgorans had been killed as well. Atron looked up as Weaver passed overhead and waved his weapon in triumph.

"Well done, Black Angel!" the Destroyer shouted. "To slay a War Squid is no small feat!" He turned and gestured for his followers. "Come! That monster has already done some work for us in its dying moments. Ha! Follow me. Let none return alive to Ulgor!"

XIII.

The fighting seemed to go on forever to Weaver as he watched. After the unexpected destruction of their War Squid and the way it had flattened many of them before dying, the soldiers of Ulgor lost their momentum. The numbers were nearly equal now. With Atron the Destroyer in the lead, the colonists of New Ulgor held their own. They were not as well armed or trained as the men from Ulgor but they were motivated by the urge to survive and protect their loved ones. And Atron spurred them on, slaughtering one enemy after another. With each encounter, he grew more frenzied.

Weaver did not interfere. He felt he had done his share by killing the giant squid. From above, he watched and saw the forces of New Ulgor were getting the upper hand, so he did not feel compelled to join in. Then he was surprised as both armies drew back to leave a clear space between them into which two figures stepped.

Demis Bar was immense, perhaps six feet five and muscled like a blacksmith, with a deep chest and massive arms. He wore trousers of the rough sharkhide but was bare from the waist up. A carved pendant of walrus ivory hung around his neck, and he wore a crown seemingly crafted from red coral which left his brutal face exposed. Under heavy brows, his eyes were black and cold, and he had a wide lipless mouth.

The leader of the Ulgor army weilded a metal axe with a double-edged head, which he swung lightly. It was coated with fresh blood and blood was also splashed over his chest and arms. Demis raised that axe and bellowed like a bull.

Striding to meet him came Atron, looking slim and small in comparison. The Destroyer's suit was in tatters, long scratches and bruises showed all over him and his left eye was swollen nearly shut. His bone knife had long since been broken and he carried a straight metal sword he had taken from a fallen enemy. Anything metal was kept greased with seal fat.

"Hear me," shouted Demis Bar. "Your treason will not be endured. Return to Ulgor and swear allegiance to your rightful king again and your lives may be spared."

"Save your breath!" snapped Atron as he approached. The horns extended from high on his forehead and high-pitched whining began to throb in the water.

"Surely you are not craven enough to use your sonic power," said Demis Bar. "I expect better from you."

Atron hesitated and the fleshy horns retracted. Abruptly he launched himself forward, the sword wheeling in a horizontal arc. Demis had by chance stepped back just as the Destroyer started to move, or else he would have been gutted. As it was, a gouge opened across his chest. His axe swung back and up, then came down like a thunderbolt. Atron leaped to one side and evaded it.

"I am not like my brethren," said the Destroyer in a low taut voice. "Nor even like you. The taint of the Sulla Chun is upon me. I hunger to slay. I want to feel my blade jar against your bones. I will keep your skull as a trophy!"

Demis leaped forward, holding the axe with both hands and lashing out with it as lightly as if it were a twig. Atron did not try to block that heavy weapon with his own slender blade, but ducked under it and came up in a lunge with blinding speed. The blade sank into the giant's chest and did indeed lodge against a rib. Demis Bar did not die quickly, he dropped to his knees and tried to pull the sword out with his hands. Picking up the axe, Atron swung it back behind his own shoulders and brought it down with all his strength. The cleanly severed head of Demis Bar flew far from its shoulders and the huge body sank to the ocean floor, its weight driving the sword still deeper.

A terrible laughter echoed from the Destroyer. Atron dropped the axe and swung to glower at the remaining Ulgorans. Suddenly their resolve broke. A few fled and in a rush they all swam away frantically.

"Flee!" screamed Atron. "Flee into the cold dark waters beyond the green. Never show your faces again!" The Destroyer's chest was heaving with emotion. He swayed and turned back to the colonists and saw them staring at him in fear. "Why do you look at me that way?" he growled.

Overhead the dark shape of the CORBY descended. Weaver came down to meet it, keeping a wary eye on Atron. The Destroyer seemed to be calming down. His shoulders sagged. A moment later, the hatch of the copter opened and Huwen Cas swam out. Behind him, Leonard Slade emerged and went to talk with Black Angel.

As Atron watched with miserable eyes, Huwen Cas was praised and embraced by his people. They were all talking at once. Slade and Weaver glided over to him but kept a certain distance from the Destroyer. "Our work here is done," said the Trom. "We will return to our own world now. But what of you?"

"What of me, indeed?" Atron said. "I do not belong in peaceful New Ulgor. I do not belong in Ulgor nor in your world. There is no place for me." He trembled visibly. "I am a fool of the gods. Better that I had never been born!"


"Don't say that." Weaver stepped closer, hands held up in a placating gesture. "You saved your colony today. If you don't want to stay with them, come back with us."

"What? With you?"

"Do you know how vast the real ocean is? How many thousands of miles it covers? You could explore it the rest of your life and still see only a fraction. Come on, Atron. You deserve a rest."

The Destroyer shook his head but not in rage. He seemed deflated. "Your words are kindly meant, Black Angel. Perhaps some day I will come to your world to spend my days. Thank you." He leaped upward and swam away quickly, leaving the glowing area around Ulgor for the cold dark waters beyond that seemed to call him.

2/3/2014