"Eight Per Cent Human"
May. 16th, 2022 10:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Eight Per Cent Human"
8/11/2015
I.
Looking down at the street from his bedroom on the second floor, Jeremy Bane spotted details like the extra lights behind the grille that betrayed the old Ford Crown Victoria as an unmarked police car. Yet it had regular plates. This was unexpected. He had bought this house in Forest Hills only a few weeks ago and, although his move here wasn't the most closely-kept secret in the world, he had not publicized it either. As he watched, a man in a tan business suit emerged from behind the wheel.
In less than a full second, Bane's Tel Shai training had kicked in as he evaluated the man. Between forty-five and forty-seven years old, only fair health, not physically fit and with a stiffness in the right leg that came from an old injury. There would be a limp. From the man's body language and the way his trousers hung, he was not armed. When the man straightened up and started across the sidewalk toward the front porch, the watching Bane judged his coordination and potential fighting skill just from that movement. He concluded that this visitor was no imminent threat and really not a serious danger even if it came to a confrontation.
The Dire Wolf spun away from the window and headed out into the hall, trotting briskly down the stairs. At fifty-seven himself, he still had not aged much. He was still slim to the point of seeming gaunt, and his full head of black hair was mixed with only scattered grey strands. In a narrow, serious face, the pale grey eyes remained his most distinctive feature. Lately, he had broken a lifelong habit by not wearing what had amounted to his uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. Today, he had on white sneakers, faded jeans and a dark red flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled back a turn. He moved down the stairs quickly enough that he had his hand on the knob of the front door even as the bell first rang.
As he opened the door, Bane said, "Can I help you?" in a neutral tone. This close, he analyzed the man's facial reactions and decided he could tentatively trust him. For the moment.
"Mr Bane? Of course you are. Hi, we haven't met before but I've certainly heard of you. Calvin Calvert, on staff at the NEW YORK DAILY UNION, but actually better known from my blog. 'What Really Happened,' it's called. Here." The man held out a beat-up leather billfold to show his laminated ID card. Taking the billfold, Bane examined the credentials carefully, not just glancing at them but checking details. Satisfied, he returned the billfold but did not invite the man inside.
Calvert seemed jumpy and hyper, talking quickly and darting his eyes in all directions to take down details. He was a redhead, with dark auburn hair that was receding quickly up at the temples, blue eyes under shaggy brows and a weathered face that matched his wrinkled suit. The top button of the dress shirt was open, the knot on the tie was loosened and a battered white fedora was pushed back far enough that it seemed dangerously close to falling off at any second.
"I'm retired, Mr Calvert," Bane snapped bluntly. "I closed the Dire Wolf agency at the end of last month." He did not step back from the doorway, as that could be taken as an invitation to enter his home. "And I informed all the agencies that I used to work with about it."
"I know that, sir, I respect that. Still. Even as a private citizen, though, your experience in unusual cases might be helpful with something that has come up. Or so your record indicates."
For a long second, those pale grey eyes stabbed coldly at the pushy reporter. Then, surprisingly, the Dire Wolf turned to one side and gestured for the man to come in. "I might as well hear you out."
The living room had nothing unusual about it. A couch facing a big screen TV, two comfortable chairs, a coffee table piled with loose newspapers, two lamps on end tables. There were thousands of parlors like it in Queens alone. Bane went over and lowered himself into one of the easy chairs so he was facing the reporter in the other. "All right, what's the story?"
Calvert took his white fedora off and started fidgeting with it. "Three men have disappeared in ten days. All top research scientists. Two were biochemists working for Prowisor Labs, that would be Ben Thayer and Julius Wasserman. The other one, Cesar Aguinaldo, was a former surgeon who had gone into reconstructive therapies. Their families said that each had been getting some odd phone calls at night, but apparently the calls came from throwaway phones. No one has been able to trace them." The reporter leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of you, watching Bane with outright curiosity. "What do you make of that, hah? Hah?"
"Okay," the Dire Wolf said. "Even I was still in the business, how would this be in my area of interest? You must have heard about me to come here. For thirty years, the NYPD came to me when they ran into anything too weird or horrifying to deal with. First, Inspector Klein. Then Lt Montez." Bane let out a deep unhappy sigh. "Poor Joe. Always off the books, always unofficial. Just pointing me in the right direction like some sort of trained attack animal. And then what happened to him... No, I'm done with that. I'm not interested."
"No, no, hear me out. There's one detail to the story you might want to learn," Calvert went on rapidly. "In one of the missing man's papers, we found brochures and flyers for John Grim Enterprises. Hey? Rings a bell, huh?"
Now, a sudden glint sparked in Bane's eyes and he sat up straighter. "John Grim! Really. Dead all these years but his company still carries on his work. I should have smashed Grim Enterprises when I... but, no. Stop. Listen, it's not my fight any more. Have you gone to the police?"
"Sure. They're not helpful. The third time they threw me out, I realized they weren't going to cooperate."
The Dire Wolf fixed his unnerving pale eyes on the reporter. "So. Midnight War. Have you ever heard of the phrase?"
"Are you kidding, pull the other leg!" Calvert snorted and began jabbing a finger at his host. "I've been digging into it since I got out of journalism school. Listen, I interviewed Karl Eldritch at an airport. I met Samhain once, luckily I was out of reach. When the Pudge tried to take over all the loose gangs, I was right on the job. And I followed the exploits of you and your KDF. What a crew! Michael Hawk, Ted Wright. Khang. Whatever happened to that little blonde that read minds? Yeah, I got enough material for a book!"
"That is all over." Bane spoke the next three words slowly and sternly, "I am retired. All I can do is wish you good luck, Mr Calvert. You've got a thread to follow and who knows where it will lead. Good luck and goodbye."
The reporter let his head hang down just perceptibly. "I'm sorry to hear that. To tell the truth, Mr Bane, I've heard so much about you I was looking forward to working alongside you on a case." He got heavily to his feet and tugged his suit jacket down. "Please let me know if you change your mind. You're badly needed."
Jumping to his feet, the Dire Wolf motioned toward the door. "Look. Understand, I'm worn out. I'm been fighting the most dangerous monsters and maniacs in creation since I was barely out of my teens. I can't do it any more. Do you know how many of my friends and partners I had to bury? Enough is enough." He started toward the door, forcing Calvert to go with him.
As he stood in the open doorway, the reporter shook his head, "Well, you're a civilian, Mr Bane. No one can give you orders. But I think it's a shame not to use the special abilities you have been given. I know I couldn't doze on the couch while monsters come out every night to chase people. " He turned and walked across the sidewalk to the where the unmarked car waited. "I guess that doesn't bother you."
"Yeah, try and make me feel guilty," Bane muttered as he closed the door. He went over to the couch and plopped down full length on it, putting his feet up and closing his eyes. Damn it. Would he have to move away to be left alone? Maybe no one would know him in North Dakota, he'd buy an old ranchhouse and sit on the porch at night doing nothing at all...
II.
After a few minutes, Bane sat up again and picked up the mess of disarranged newspapers to start sorting through them. Lately, he had been trying to do the crossword puzzles but since he had almost no formal education, it was hopeless. Larry Taper had been able to finish the SUNDAY TIMES puzzle but then he was an actual college professor. It had been Taper who had suggested that Bane start doing crosswords as much as he could and then look up some of the clues so he would know them next time. Over the years, he had been doing this in free moments and had picked up a wide if eclectic and incomplete knowledge of world history.
As he straightened the papers into a neater stack, the Dire Wolf could not help thinking over what Calvert had come here to ask of him. The man sure knew how to get under someone's skin. He remembered John Grim all too well. The man had been a genius in his own right but he also had a telepathic ability which let him pick knowledge from the minds of others without consciously realizing it. Grim had stolen secrets of advanced Trom technology way ahead of Human levels and had used it for his covert criminal activities. There had been that whole PENTAGRAM organization, the amazing aircraft that had been called "Devil Lights" in the press, ties with STIGMA, the clash with Wu Lung's empire...
John Grim himself had been dead for many years now. His son Alexander had taken over as CEO of the company, and although he was unscrupulous enough, the younger Grim was nowhere near the threat the father had been. Although, something like Grim Enterprises tended to attract people who were both highly intelligent and amoral, a bad combination.
Without quite realizing it, Bane found he had sorted through the papers to separate the stories about the three missing men. He started reading them, caught himself and grinned at his own foolishness. Was he never going to learn? Would he be eighty years old in a wheelchair, rolling after murderers and trying to smack them with his cane? But even as he thought that, the Dire Wolf had begun to arrange the reports in chronological order. A half hour passed in silence before he threw the newspapers back down and got to his feet.
Restless as ever, Bane paced around his living room, hands clasped behind his back. The three missing men had something in common... serious medical conditions. One was scheduled for double bypass surgery, one had advanced diabetes to the point where he would soon be scheduled for dialysis and the last one had inoperable pancreatic cancer. They had been making arrangements for others to carry on their research when they had vanished. No suicide notes, no changes in mood or attitude. Each in fact had been filling his schedule as much as he could.
This meant something, and with the John Grim organization possibly involved, it meant something bad. Jeremy Bane straightened up, all his instincts firing that trouble was near, and for the first time in a month, he felt really alive. He dug in his pocket for the Link he still carried and patched undetectably into the Verizon system to call Sable. All he got was a message that she was taking the team into Chujir with no way to tell when they would be back. He checked the date on the message, it was two days earlier. Grumbling, Bane next tried Fist For Hire, Sheng's own independent agency but got almost the same message; whenever the team had called, Sheng Mo-Yuan had been eager to go with them.
Holding the Link, Bane dug through his memory but could not think of anyone else he could dump this case on. There were a few private investigators in the city he respected, but they dealt with normal human crime. This was beyond them. With a slight twinge, he realized how few of his allies and colleagues were still active. Bane unlocked a plain door in one corner of the living room near the stairs and exhaled slowly. Down steep concrete steps he slowly went, flicking on a light switch to reveal a finished basement. Here was the furnace, the water heater, wooden shelves stocked with canned food and jugs of drinking water and metal cases of specialized equipment he had stored down here.
In one corner was a washer-dryer combination with the motor exposed and some tools scattered on the floor.There was actually nothing wrong with the washing machine, he could use it within a few minutes. Bane bent over, reached behind the motor and undid a concealed latch. The side panel of the machine popped open to reveal a bundle in a clear, tightly-wrapped bag. He yanked the bag out and closed the machine again. Stripping off his flannel shirt and jeans, he tugged on a snug bodysuit of what looked like wet silk, leaving only his feet, hands and head and neck exposed. This was a suit of the Trom armor which protected against impact up to and including high-powered rifle bullets. A matching pair of slim throwing daggers had already been strapped in sheaths on his forearms and he refastened them on the outside of the armor sleeves. Although he was not aware of it, Bane began to move more briskly and decisively as the familiar armor tightened slightly to fit his body.
In the bag was an assortment of small gadgets and devices, much no larger than a pencil stub or a AA battery. The one exception was a long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 revolver in a detachable holster. Even though he had checked the gun before packing it away, Bane examined it carefully again before being satisfied. Turning to his left, he took down black clothing which hung on a wooden holder and put his familiar uniform again. Heavy boots, trousers and a long-sleeved turtleneck, then the sport jacket. As he put them on, he stowed the various devices in their concealed slits and pouches. Two smoke bombs the size of grapes, two resonance grenades not much larger, two flares no thicker than soda straws. A flexible hacksaw blade in one lapel, a few lockpick tools under a layer of boot instep. Lastly, the holster snapped onto his belt behind his left hip. Now he realized how alive he felt, how everything seemed sharper and more in focus. He felt like he had woken up from a drowsy nap on the couch.
The Dire Wolf snapped off the lights as he sprang back up the steps from the basement. It was getting dark outside.
III.
At twenty after three in the morning, out far in the wilds of New Jersey where even the landfill projects and auto graveyards had been left behind, Bane left his car well off the road and stalked silently through the darkness. Ahead, lights on tall iron posts showed an access road that led down to an empty parking lot. Beyond that were a half dozen professional buildings of white brick, all the windows dark but with lights burning over each doorway. Green signs said in white letters JOHN GRIM ENTERPRISES -RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT Authorized Personnel Only. On a separate sign was the warning THIS IS A RESTRICTED AREA- TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
Standing just on the other side of the access road, the Dire Wolf studied the scene. Against any other facility, he would have relied on the Trom technology he had retained from his days in the KDF. Using his Link, he could disable all the security cameras and unlock every door long enough to get in. He had done it at strongholds ranging from the FBI's Department 21 Black to the headquarters of STIGMA. But this might not be as assured, since John Grim had obtained his advanced tech by stealing it from the Trom. This might be the one place where his gadgets would not be infallible.
Bane stepped over to the edge of the parking lot, spotting a few pressure plates under the dirt he was careful not to step on. Well, time to find out. He would send a signal to make this facility lower its defenses, hurry across the lot and get in before restoring all services. The security department here would see their cameras blur and wink out before coming back on. Certainly they would make rounds of the buildings in case it meant something, but Bane was confident he could conceal himself from normal Humans and then he could start investigating.
Just as he took out the Link from its clip on his belt, he noticed something odd. There were a few cars scattered across the parking lot, most of them near one entrance, but one looked exactly like the used undercover car that Calvin Calvert had been driving that afternoon. It couldn't be a coincidence. What was that lunatic doing here in the middle of the night, right after he had tried to recruit Bane to help him?
Half a mile away, a sharp explosion echoed with a flash of intensely bright white light. The entire facility went dark. Bane recognized it had been a transformer blowing. Instantly, he was hurtling across the gloom toward the nearest building, moving so fast he would have been a blur even in better light. In less than a second, he yanked a fire door open.. they all unlocked when the power went out in case of natural disaster requiring evacuation.. and leaped into a blackened corridor. This was something else that could not be coincidence. The Dire Wolf raced down the hallway as his enhanced night vision kicked in. Decades of the tagra diet and Kumundu training had made him able to function in what would seem complete darkness to a normal person. Ahead he saw a row of offices with frosted glass panels on their doors, they looked promising. The nearest one was still unlocked and he dove through.
He knew he had to move quickly. The emergency generator would going on soon. As he entered the room, he sensed immediately that someone was in there with him. A dim figure loomed up close at hand and Bane reacted instinctively with a short driving punch to the solar plexus that forced all the air from the man's lungs. As he grabbed his opponent's shirt front to lower him to the floor, lights went back on out in the hall. In the office itself, dim subdued illumination came from panels low on the floor.
In that light, Bane recognized who he had just slugged. Struggling feebly, still trying to take a full breath, Calvert gasped, "Hey, I thought we were friends."
III.
Not trusting himself to speak, the Dire Wolf clamped a hand down to hold the man's jaw shut and hauled him roughly behind a huge executive desk. There was room enough beneath it for Calvert, and Bane in his black outfit was difficult to spot in dim light. Still not allowing the man to make a noise, Bane pinned him down with a painfully tight grip and waited. His own breath grew deeper and slower until it could not be heard.
Within a minute, the door opened and two blazing cones of light swept the office. Visible in the back glow, big men in security uniforms looked around the room for a few seconds before backing out again. When the door closed, the lock clicking was audible. Bane still had Calvert held down with a hand over the man's mouth. Although the reporter struggled, he could not even make Bane's arms move in response. With his free hand, pinning Calvert down with a knee, Bane got the Link out and thumbed two buttons. Tiny green lights flickered on the Trom device.
"All right," Bane whispered. "Any cameras or mics in this office are not working for the moment. Keep your voice down. What on Earth possessed you to break in here?"
"Me? What about YOU? I should have known you weren't really retired." As he was relased, Calvin Calvert got stiffly to his feet. "My God, you're strong, Bane. You look skinny but you've got a grip like a pro wrestler."
Getting to his feet, the Dire Wolf said, "Look, I'm not taking responsibility for getting you out of here. You came here on your own. Now just be quiet!" He took out the Link from its clip on his belt and set it to jam. "The security cameras and door locks will only work for a few seconds and then keep shutting off. Hopefully, that will keep the enemy occupied trying to find the glitch."
Struggling up to his hands and knees, the reporter found his nearless shapeless fedora and jammed it down on his head. "Say, what kind of gizmo is that? Japanese? I sure could use one of those..."
"I told you already to be quiet," Bane snapped. "I'll knock you out and you'll wake up tomorrow in a holding cell." Taking another Trom device from his jacket, he used it to unlock the wide shallow center drawer of the desk and took out a slim black laptop. "Great," he said to himself. "Calvert, don't talk. I need to concentrate."
For the next few minutes, Bane used the Link's signals to override all the barriers that the laptop presented. He wished he could have Megan Salenger here to help. She was the real expert, a Human raised by the Trom themselves, and despite all her coaching, he would never know a fraction of what she did about computers. Still, bit by bit, he got in. Suddenly the screen flashed bright green and a symbol of the interlocked letters JG appeared before fading into an array of icons. The Dire Wolf studied them suspiciously, noticed the Link had landed on the one most in use, and clicked on it to open a series of folders. Each had its own lock that had to be unfastened.
Behind him, Calvin Calvert whispered, "Post Organic Humans. Oh, I don't like the sound of that."
Bane glared up at him. "What are you doing looking over my shoulder? Go listen by the door for a guard before we both get nabbed."
Mumbling about the First Amendment, Calvert backed off and stood by the office door for a full ten seconds before stealthily returning to stand right behind the Dire Wolf. By now, page after page of dense files were clicking by too rapidly to be read.
"Hey, slow down," the reporter said. "I thought I saw something interesting."
"I'm recording all these for later," Bane answered. He paused on one page. It showed an MRI scan of an adult male but more than half of the man's body had been replaced by prosthetics. Both arms and legs, much of the spine, the heart and lungs.. all were mechanical. Even the top of the skull was a plastic cap.
"Look at the listing," Calvert breathed. "Subject 211. That means there were at least two hundred others like him."
"Seems like it. This is medical research. Knee and hip replacements are nothing new. But that heart and those lungs..." He started the files whipping past again, then stopped on one and caught his breath. "I was afraid it would lead to this."
The page showed SUBJECT 399. Almost nothing was left of the original flesh and blood. What there was seemed to include half the liver, part of the spleen and a few glands suspended in a network of artificial tissues. Inside the high density plastic head was a chunk of brain smaller than a mouse. Specifications ran down one side of the image, including "Minimum eight per cent cerebral cortex mandatory to retain identity."
With a whistle, Calvert said, "Eight per cent human. That's all these guys save of the original. Hah. They should meet my editor, he's eight per cent human on a good day."
"I still haven't found out anything about the three missing scientists." Bane growled deep in his chest and shut the folder down. "Now be quiet, Calvert. I need to erase all traces that I was in here." After he ran a deep scan and deletion of the past few minutes' activities, he finally shut the laptop off and replaced it into the desk drawer, which he locked. He was wearing thin black latex gloves. "You may be sorry you insisted on seeing that," he said quietly.
"Hell, I've stuck my nose where it doesn't belong plenty of times. Right now, I'm uploading the pictures from my phone to my blog, where they'll be safe. What do you think we should do now, Jeremy?"
The Dire Wolf straightened up and gave a cold stare to the reporter. "We? I didn't invite you here, Calvert. I'm getting out and going to plan my next move. What you do is your own business." He paused, then added, "Frankly, I don't think your chances of survival are very good."
Crumpling his hat in one hand, the reporter switched to a pleading tone. "After all we've been through? Come on, Jeremy, how long have we been friends-"
"We have NEVER been friends. I met you for the first time this morning." Bane jabbed the man in the chest with a forefinger that drove him back a step. "Right now, the cameras and locks in this building aren't working. I'm going to sneak out. Whether you can make it is another matter, but you are not my problem." With that last word, the Dire Wolf swung over to the office door and gestured for silence. After a long thirty seconds, he opened the door and darted out into the hall.
No one was in sight, but the hall lights were on and he heard a door close sharply from around the corner. Bane whipped down the corridor and swung open the exit door and just as he was half outside, he heard Calvin Calvert shriek like a child. The pain and terror in that scream cut into Bane and, despite himself, he whirled around and dove headlong at the security guard who was pinning the reporter to the ground. Coming in faster than a real wolf, Bane pivoted on one foot and whipped the other leg around in a reverse roundhouse that exploded the steel-capped heel of his boot to the man's head. Sharp pain shot up Bane's leg as the guard did not even twitch. It was like kicking a streetlamp. Offbalance, the Dire Wolf backpedaled a few steps and froze into place.
The guard was aiming a Glock 19 directly at his face, with a hand so steady it seemed to belong to a statue. The man's face was expressionless, lifeless, like a wellmade rubber mask but the dark eyes moved to track his target. Bane realized he could not evade that shot, and he realized with a sinking feeling what he was dealing with.
"Calvert, stop struggling," he told the reporter. As the man held still, the guard lifted him to his feet easily, never letting the barrel of his gun move a fraction of an inch.
"What? Are you serious?" Calvert yelled. "I want a lawyer! Let me make one call. Hey, give me my phone back!"
"Quiet," said Bane. "We're going to go along with this... man and talk to his superiors. Don't give him any more reason to kill you."
IV.
Another guard appeared, looking nearly identical to the first, and they silently escorted Bane and Calvert down long corridors, into an elevator that rose five floors, and through a pair of metal doors that unlocked with audible clicking as they approached. Beyond was an office larger than most stores, subdued and tasteful with no ostentation. Potted plants, indirect lighting, dark solid furnishings.. it was all impressive.
Seated behind an immaculate desk was a tall trim man in a neatly tailored dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie. Beneath short black hair, an expressionless face lifted to regard the four figures entering his office.. a face as lifeless as a rubber mask except for the alert eyes.
Stepping away from the guards, Bane asked, "Well, you obviously weren't rousted from sound sleep."
"Sleep?" answered the man in a bland near-monotone. "No, I don't sleep. I know you, of course. Jeremy Bane, the Dire Wolf. You are in our files."
"And what am I, chopped liver?" Calvert interupted. "I'll have you know my blog gets a hundred thousand hits a day, Mr..?"
"Alan Haggerty."
Bane stepped a little closer. "Really? The Alan Haggerty who worked for John Grim would be in his eighties today."
"Yes. Eighty-seven to be accurate. Instead of lying in a bed in a nursing home getting sponge baths or being wheeled to the cafeteria, I am fully functional, still working, heading this division of Grim Enterprises." The mask of a face regarded Bane placidly. "Judging by your reputation, Mr Bane, I would not be surprised if you understand by now what we do here."
"I think so," the Dire Wolf answered quietly. "Organ replacement, but carried to its logical conclusion. So many people get an artificial hip, plastic corneas, valves in the heart. No one even thinks it's remarkable anymore. With John Grim technology, you just go all the way." He leaned over the desk to peer closely at the unresponsive face gazing back at him. Although he didn't mention it, he noticed that the Post Human was breathing, slowly and deeply. The irises were expanded for the dim light, maybe the eyes were still original. "How much of Alan Haggerty is left in there?"
"As much as needed." The head of Grim Enterprises glanced over at Calvert. "And you, I take it you are an investigative journalist?"
"Oh, one of the best." Calvert wriggled out of the loose grip one guard had on his arm. "But you know, why isn't this available to everyone? Why don't we see lots of robotroids like you walking around?"
"This is private research. Which brings us to the unavoidable question, why are you two in this restricted facility in the middle of the night?" No trace of menace came into the level voice. "Mr Calvert?"
"I'm here because of the First Amendment, which guarantees us a free and unhampered press with the public having a right to information which may be vital to their safety and best interests-"
Haggerty did not seem to give an order but suddenly one of the guards slapped a hand down over the reporter's mouth like a steel muzzle, cutting him off. "We are not prepared to have our research made public yet, Mr Calvert." the disinterested voice said as Calvert wriggled without getting anywhere.
"Now I have something to say," Bane broke in. "What you are doing here does not break any laws as far as I can see. If someone is old and sick, it's their business what prosthetics you give them. But what happened to the three missing scientists? Thayer? Wasserman, Aguinaldo? Where are they?"
"They have volunteered to become Post Organic Humans," Haggerty said. "The process is being kept secret from their families to make a clean break. In time, their bodies will be found as if they suffered accidental deaths."
The Dire Wolf did not seem convinced. "If you're drafting unusual experts, keeping their brains and discarding the rest, that changes everything."
"No. We have no need to coerce anyone."
"All right," Bane went on. "Let me propose something. Let us go without pressing charges and I guarantee that this guy here will keep his mouth shut. Deal?"
"You are known for keeping your agreements," Haggerty answered. "We bear you no grudge for what happened between you and John Grim. That was long ago." The man folded his hands in front of him in an unconvincing way, as if he was making gestures like that because he thought he should. "Without hormone surges, without testosterone or estrogen, one's thinking becomes clearer."
"And this guy here?" Bane went on. "Nobody believes the stuff he puts online. He's read by conspiracy theorists who believe all sorts of nonsense. The truth is, if Calvert reveals anything about your activities, most people will take it as proof that you're not real."
"An interesting paradox. He provides the opposite of truth, you would say?"
"Yeah. It's like testimony from a compulsive liar." Bane looked over where the reporter was making muffled protests from under the guard's hand. "He may not see it that way, I guess."
Alan Haggerty considered for a long tense moment. Then, without shaking his head or changing his tone of voice, he said, "Human nature is too unpredictable. We cannot risk it. Calvin Calvert can not be trusted. He will be put to good use."
The Dire Wolf was standing with his arms down by his sides, casual and not tense. "What's your plan, then?"
"You both will be used in our research-" Haggerty began. He was cut off as Bane flung one of the tear gas/smoke grenades to the floor, then whirled immediately and hurled a resonance grenade right into the face of the guard holding Calvert. While being led into the office, he had found a moment where he could get them from their tiny pouch inside the left bottom edge of his jacket. Instantly, a cloud of black stinging vapor rushed outward to fill the office, while a sharp concussion detonated to blow the face off of the guard who released Calvert. Haggerty and the other guard began coughing, as he had hoped they would. The fact that they retained some organic tissue meant that oxygen would be used.
In that split-second of twin explosions, Bane swung around and bodyslammed the free guard as hard as he could into the damaged one, tangling them both together. He hoped the one who had taken the resonance grenade in the face was incapacitated but he couldn't be sure of anything with these creatures. Even as they fell, the Dire Wolf seized Calvert by the shirt and lunged for the office door. He was holding his breath and could not see any better than any one else in there, so he was working from memory.
In the hall, the air was clearer and he took a deep breath. Less than three seconds had passed and no alarms were sounding yet. Seeing a fire exit door, he kicked it open and dove through. He was almost carrying the coughing and blinded reporter, who struggled hopelessly to keep up. Once in the parking lot, Bane yanked open the passenger door of the man's old Crown Victoria and threw him roughly into the seat, then rolled over the hood and jumped in behind the steering wheel.
"Give me the keys!" he roared. Even in his pain and confusion, Calvert obeyed and held them out. Bane gunned the motor, swung the convertible around and sped from that parking lot as if he expected it to explode. He hit the access road, doubled around and got on a highway heading south.
"Your eyes clear yet?" Bane demanded as he pulled behind a convenient mart and cut the lights. "Come on, can you see?"
"Yeah, you can call it that. What-how- one minute, that robotroid was sentencing us to vivisection and now.. we're in my car? Where are we?"
"Just a few miles down the road." Bane peered behind them but saw no signs of pursuit. "Don't rub your eyes, that'll make it worse. "I see a bottle of water in your back seat. Splash it in your eyes and blink."
"What about you? Was that tear gas? What happened?" Calvert poured the tepid water over his face and gasped.
"I got us out of there," Bane said. "Take a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself." He left the Crown Victoria, walked over to the edge of the convenient mart and studied the area. Seeing nothing suspicious yet, he got back behind the wheel. His own eyes stung and his throat tickled from the gas, but his enhanced healing was throwing off the effects rapidly.
"Well. I guess I'm at a loss," Calvert said at last. "Thanks. You saved my life back there and I can't even joke about it." The reporter somehow still had retained his beat-up fedora and he adjusted its angle thoughtfully. "They were going to use me for surgical experiments...!"
Bane snorted. "I was tempted to leave you there. You're a real pain to deal with."
"I don't want to be eight per cent human. This body's not much but it's all mine." He had one final coughing jag. "Are they going to come after us?"
"I don't know," Bane said. "I need to get back to my own car. I left it concealed a few miles that way. You know, I'm still not convinced that those three men went into the dehumanizing process willingly. This group needs to be looked into more thoroughly. Are you going to publish anything about this?"
"Why, I.. Yes. Absolutely. I've never been scared away from telling a story before and I once had my fingers bent backwards by a Jersey mobster. I've been threatened more times than I've had hot meals. Yeah. I'm definitely going to spill the whole story."
Bane remembered that Haggerty had seemed tentatively convinced that few believed what Calvert published on his blog and most people would discount it. "Maybe that's for the best." He started the Crown Victoria up again and eased out on the highway. "I don't think it would do any good to tell you to be careful and take precautions. If those things come for you, they're going to get you. Oh, and that guard took your phone, so you don't have any photos."
"Hah! Oh brother. I uploaded everything to my blog storage. And besides, that wasn't the one I used." He held up another phone and lit its screen with a touch. "I've played this game for years, my boy. When we left that office, I was holding a cheap throwaway phone for them to see. I always carry more than one."
10/14/2015
8/11/2015
I.
Looking down at the street from his bedroom on the second floor, Jeremy Bane spotted details like the extra lights behind the grille that betrayed the old Ford Crown Victoria as an unmarked police car. Yet it had regular plates. This was unexpected. He had bought this house in Forest Hills only a few weeks ago and, although his move here wasn't the most closely-kept secret in the world, he had not publicized it either. As he watched, a man in a tan business suit emerged from behind the wheel.
In less than a full second, Bane's Tel Shai training had kicked in as he evaluated the man. Between forty-five and forty-seven years old, only fair health, not physically fit and with a stiffness in the right leg that came from an old injury. There would be a limp. From the man's body language and the way his trousers hung, he was not armed. When the man straightened up and started across the sidewalk toward the front porch, the watching Bane judged his coordination and potential fighting skill just from that movement. He concluded that this visitor was no imminent threat and really not a serious danger even if it came to a confrontation.
The Dire Wolf spun away from the window and headed out into the hall, trotting briskly down the stairs. At fifty-seven himself, he still had not aged much. He was still slim to the point of seeming gaunt, and his full head of black hair was mixed with only scattered grey strands. In a narrow, serious face, the pale grey eyes remained his most distinctive feature. Lately, he had broken a lifelong habit by not wearing what had amounted to his uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. Today, he had on white sneakers, faded jeans and a dark red flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled back a turn. He moved down the stairs quickly enough that he had his hand on the knob of the front door even as the bell first rang.
As he opened the door, Bane said, "Can I help you?" in a neutral tone. This close, he analyzed the man's facial reactions and decided he could tentatively trust him. For the moment.
"Mr Bane? Of course you are. Hi, we haven't met before but I've certainly heard of you. Calvin Calvert, on staff at the NEW YORK DAILY UNION, but actually better known from my blog. 'What Really Happened,' it's called. Here." The man held out a beat-up leather billfold to show his laminated ID card. Taking the billfold, Bane examined the credentials carefully, not just glancing at them but checking details. Satisfied, he returned the billfold but did not invite the man inside.
Calvert seemed jumpy and hyper, talking quickly and darting his eyes in all directions to take down details. He was a redhead, with dark auburn hair that was receding quickly up at the temples, blue eyes under shaggy brows and a weathered face that matched his wrinkled suit. The top button of the dress shirt was open, the knot on the tie was loosened and a battered white fedora was pushed back far enough that it seemed dangerously close to falling off at any second.
"I'm retired, Mr Calvert," Bane snapped bluntly. "I closed the Dire Wolf agency at the end of last month." He did not step back from the doorway, as that could be taken as an invitation to enter his home. "And I informed all the agencies that I used to work with about it."
"I know that, sir, I respect that. Still. Even as a private citizen, though, your experience in unusual cases might be helpful with something that has come up. Or so your record indicates."
For a long second, those pale grey eyes stabbed coldly at the pushy reporter. Then, surprisingly, the Dire Wolf turned to one side and gestured for the man to come in. "I might as well hear you out."
The living room had nothing unusual about it. A couch facing a big screen TV, two comfortable chairs, a coffee table piled with loose newspapers, two lamps on end tables. There were thousands of parlors like it in Queens alone. Bane went over and lowered himself into one of the easy chairs so he was facing the reporter in the other. "All right, what's the story?"
Calvert took his white fedora off and started fidgeting with it. "Three men have disappeared in ten days. All top research scientists. Two were biochemists working for Prowisor Labs, that would be Ben Thayer and Julius Wasserman. The other one, Cesar Aguinaldo, was a former surgeon who had gone into reconstructive therapies. Their families said that each had been getting some odd phone calls at night, but apparently the calls came from throwaway phones. No one has been able to trace them." The reporter leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of you, watching Bane with outright curiosity. "What do you make of that, hah? Hah?"
"Okay," the Dire Wolf said. "Even I was still in the business, how would this be in my area of interest? You must have heard about me to come here. For thirty years, the NYPD came to me when they ran into anything too weird or horrifying to deal with. First, Inspector Klein. Then Lt Montez." Bane let out a deep unhappy sigh. "Poor Joe. Always off the books, always unofficial. Just pointing me in the right direction like some sort of trained attack animal. And then what happened to him... No, I'm done with that. I'm not interested."
"No, no, hear me out. There's one detail to the story you might want to learn," Calvert went on rapidly. "In one of the missing man's papers, we found brochures and flyers for John Grim Enterprises. Hey? Rings a bell, huh?"
Now, a sudden glint sparked in Bane's eyes and he sat up straighter. "John Grim! Really. Dead all these years but his company still carries on his work. I should have smashed Grim Enterprises when I... but, no. Stop. Listen, it's not my fight any more. Have you gone to the police?"
"Sure. They're not helpful. The third time they threw me out, I realized they weren't going to cooperate."
The Dire Wolf fixed his unnerving pale eyes on the reporter. "So. Midnight War. Have you ever heard of the phrase?"
"Are you kidding, pull the other leg!" Calvert snorted and began jabbing a finger at his host. "I've been digging into it since I got out of journalism school. Listen, I interviewed Karl Eldritch at an airport. I met Samhain once, luckily I was out of reach. When the Pudge tried to take over all the loose gangs, I was right on the job. And I followed the exploits of you and your KDF. What a crew! Michael Hawk, Ted Wright. Khang. Whatever happened to that little blonde that read minds? Yeah, I got enough material for a book!"
"That is all over." Bane spoke the next three words slowly and sternly, "I am retired. All I can do is wish you good luck, Mr Calvert. You've got a thread to follow and who knows where it will lead. Good luck and goodbye."
The reporter let his head hang down just perceptibly. "I'm sorry to hear that. To tell the truth, Mr Bane, I've heard so much about you I was looking forward to working alongside you on a case." He got heavily to his feet and tugged his suit jacket down. "Please let me know if you change your mind. You're badly needed."
Jumping to his feet, the Dire Wolf motioned toward the door. "Look. Understand, I'm worn out. I'm been fighting the most dangerous monsters and maniacs in creation since I was barely out of my teens. I can't do it any more. Do you know how many of my friends and partners I had to bury? Enough is enough." He started toward the door, forcing Calvert to go with him.
As he stood in the open doorway, the reporter shook his head, "Well, you're a civilian, Mr Bane. No one can give you orders. But I think it's a shame not to use the special abilities you have been given. I know I couldn't doze on the couch while monsters come out every night to chase people. " He turned and walked across the sidewalk to the where the unmarked car waited. "I guess that doesn't bother you."
"Yeah, try and make me feel guilty," Bane muttered as he closed the door. He went over to the couch and plopped down full length on it, putting his feet up and closing his eyes. Damn it. Would he have to move away to be left alone? Maybe no one would know him in North Dakota, he'd buy an old ranchhouse and sit on the porch at night doing nothing at all...
II.
After a few minutes, Bane sat up again and picked up the mess of disarranged newspapers to start sorting through them. Lately, he had been trying to do the crossword puzzles but since he had almost no formal education, it was hopeless. Larry Taper had been able to finish the SUNDAY TIMES puzzle but then he was an actual college professor. It had been Taper who had suggested that Bane start doing crosswords as much as he could and then look up some of the clues so he would know them next time. Over the years, he had been doing this in free moments and had picked up a wide if eclectic and incomplete knowledge of world history.
As he straightened the papers into a neater stack, the Dire Wolf could not help thinking over what Calvert had come here to ask of him. The man sure knew how to get under someone's skin. He remembered John Grim all too well. The man had been a genius in his own right but he also had a telepathic ability which let him pick knowledge from the minds of others without consciously realizing it. Grim had stolen secrets of advanced Trom technology way ahead of Human levels and had used it for his covert criminal activities. There had been that whole PENTAGRAM organization, the amazing aircraft that had been called "Devil Lights" in the press, ties with STIGMA, the clash with Wu Lung's empire...
John Grim himself had been dead for many years now. His son Alexander had taken over as CEO of the company, and although he was unscrupulous enough, the younger Grim was nowhere near the threat the father had been. Although, something like Grim Enterprises tended to attract people who were both highly intelligent and amoral, a bad combination.
Without quite realizing it, Bane found he had sorted through the papers to separate the stories about the three missing men. He started reading them, caught himself and grinned at his own foolishness. Was he never going to learn? Would he be eighty years old in a wheelchair, rolling after murderers and trying to smack them with his cane? But even as he thought that, the Dire Wolf had begun to arrange the reports in chronological order. A half hour passed in silence before he threw the newspapers back down and got to his feet.
Restless as ever, Bane paced around his living room, hands clasped behind his back. The three missing men had something in common... serious medical conditions. One was scheduled for double bypass surgery, one had advanced diabetes to the point where he would soon be scheduled for dialysis and the last one had inoperable pancreatic cancer. They had been making arrangements for others to carry on their research when they had vanished. No suicide notes, no changes in mood or attitude. Each in fact had been filling his schedule as much as he could.
This meant something, and with the John Grim organization possibly involved, it meant something bad. Jeremy Bane straightened up, all his instincts firing that trouble was near, and for the first time in a month, he felt really alive. He dug in his pocket for the Link he still carried and patched undetectably into the Verizon system to call Sable. All he got was a message that she was taking the team into Chujir with no way to tell when they would be back. He checked the date on the message, it was two days earlier. Grumbling, Bane next tried Fist For Hire, Sheng's own independent agency but got almost the same message; whenever the team had called, Sheng Mo-Yuan had been eager to go with them.
Holding the Link, Bane dug through his memory but could not think of anyone else he could dump this case on. There were a few private investigators in the city he respected, but they dealt with normal human crime. This was beyond them. With a slight twinge, he realized how few of his allies and colleagues were still active. Bane unlocked a plain door in one corner of the living room near the stairs and exhaled slowly. Down steep concrete steps he slowly went, flicking on a light switch to reveal a finished basement. Here was the furnace, the water heater, wooden shelves stocked with canned food and jugs of drinking water and metal cases of specialized equipment he had stored down here.
In one corner was a washer-dryer combination with the motor exposed and some tools scattered on the floor.There was actually nothing wrong with the washing machine, he could use it within a few minutes. Bane bent over, reached behind the motor and undid a concealed latch. The side panel of the machine popped open to reveal a bundle in a clear, tightly-wrapped bag. He yanked the bag out and closed the machine again. Stripping off his flannel shirt and jeans, he tugged on a snug bodysuit of what looked like wet silk, leaving only his feet, hands and head and neck exposed. This was a suit of the Trom armor which protected against impact up to and including high-powered rifle bullets. A matching pair of slim throwing daggers had already been strapped in sheaths on his forearms and he refastened them on the outside of the armor sleeves. Although he was not aware of it, Bane began to move more briskly and decisively as the familiar armor tightened slightly to fit his body.
In the bag was an assortment of small gadgets and devices, much no larger than a pencil stub or a AA battery. The one exception was a long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 revolver in a detachable holster. Even though he had checked the gun before packing it away, Bane examined it carefully again before being satisfied. Turning to his left, he took down black clothing which hung on a wooden holder and put his familiar uniform again. Heavy boots, trousers and a long-sleeved turtleneck, then the sport jacket. As he put them on, he stowed the various devices in their concealed slits and pouches. Two smoke bombs the size of grapes, two resonance grenades not much larger, two flares no thicker than soda straws. A flexible hacksaw blade in one lapel, a few lockpick tools under a layer of boot instep. Lastly, the holster snapped onto his belt behind his left hip. Now he realized how alive he felt, how everything seemed sharper and more in focus. He felt like he had woken up from a drowsy nap on the couch.
The Dire Wolf snapped off the lights as he sprang back up the steps from the basement. It was getting dark outside.
III.
At twenty after three in the morning, out far in the wilds of New Jersey where even the landfill projects and auto graveyards had been left behind, Bane left his car well off the road and stalked silently through the darkness. Ahead, lights on tall iron posts showed an access road that led down to an empty parking lot. Beyond that were a half dozen professional buildings of white brick, all the windows dark but with lights burning over each doorway. Green signs said in white letters JOHN GRIM ENTERPRISES -RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT Authorized Personnel Only. On a separate sign was the warning THIS IS A RESTRICTED AREA- TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
Standing just on the other side of the access road, the Dire Wolf studied the scene. Against any other facility, he would have relied on the Trom technology he had retained from his days in the KDF. Using his Link, he could disable all the security cameras and unlock every door long enough to get in. He had done it at strongholds ranging from the FBI's Department 21 Black to the headquarters of STIGMA. But this might not be as assured, since John Grim had obtained his advanced tech by stealing it from the Trom. This might be the one place where his gadgets would not be infallible.
Bane stepped over to the edge of the parking lot, spotting a few pressure plates under the dirt he was careful not to step on. Well, time to find out. He would send a signal to make this facility lower its defenses, hurry across the lot and get in before restoring all services. The security department here would see their cameras blur and wink out before coming back on. Certainly they would make rounds of the buildings in case it meant something, but Bane was confident he could conceal himself from normal Humans and then he could start investigating.
Just as he took out the Link from its clip on his belt, he noticed something odd. There were a few cars scattered across the parking lot, most of them near one entrance, but one looked exactly like the used undercover car that Calvin Calvert had been driving that afternoon. It couldn't be a coincidence. What was that lunatic doing here in the middle of the night, right after he had tried to recruit Bane to help him?
Half a mile away, a sharp explosion echoed with a flash of intensely bright white light. The entire facility went dark. Bane recognized it had been a transformer blowing. Instantly, he was hurtling across the gloom toward the nearest building, moving so fast he would have been a blur even in better light. In less than a second, he yanked a fire door open.. they all unlocked when the power went out in case of natural disaster requiring evacuation.. and leaped into a blackened corridor. This was something else that could not be coincidence. The Dire Wolf raced down the hallway as his enhanced night vision kicked in. Decades of the tagra diet and Kumundu training had made him able to function in what would seem complete darkness to a normal person. Ahead he saw a row of offices with frosted glass panels on their doors, they looked promising. The nearest one was still unlocked and he dove through.
He knew he had to move quickly. The emergency generator would going on soon. As he entered the room, he sensed immediately that someone was in there with him. A dim figure loomed up close at hand and Bane reacted instinctively with a short driving punch to the solar plexus that forced all the air from the man's lungs. As he grabbed his opponent's shirt front to lower him to the floor, lights went back on out in the hall. In the office itself, dim subdued illumination came from panels low on the floor.
In that light, Bane recognized who he had just slugged. Struggling feebly, still trying to take a full breath, Calvert gasped, "Hey, I thought we were friends."
III.
Not trusting himself to speak, the Dire Wolf clamped a hand down to hold the man's jaw shut and hauled him roughly behind a huge executive desk. There was room enough beneath it for Calvert, and Bane in his black outfit was difficult to spot in dim light. Still not allowing the man to make a noise, Bane pinned him down with a painfully tight grip and waited. His own breath grew deeper and slower until it could not be heard.
Within a minute, the door opened and two blazing cones of light swept the office. Visible in the back glow, big men in security uniforms looked around the room for a few seconds before backing out again. When the door closed, the lock clicking was audible. Bane still had Calvert held down with a hand over the man's mouth. Although the reporter struggled, he could not even make Bane's arms move in response. With his free hand, pinning Calvert down with a knee, Bane got the Link out and thumbed two buttons. Tiny green lights flickered on the Trom device.
"All right," Bane whispered. "Any cameras or mics in this office are not working for the moment. Keep your voice down. What on Earth possessed you to break in here?"
"Me? What about YOU? I should have known you weren't really retired." As he was relased, Calvin Calvert got stiffly to his feet. "My God, you're strong, Bane. You look skinny but you've got a grip like a pro wrestler."
Getting to his feet, the Dire Wolf said, "Look, I'm not taking responsibility for getting you out of here. You came here on your own. Now just be quiet!" He took out the Link from its clip on his belt and set it to jam. "The security cameras and door locks will only work for a few seconds and then keep shutting off. Hopefully, that will keep the enemy occupied trying to find the glitch."
Struggling up to his hands and knees, the reporter found his nearless shapeless fedora and jammed it down on his head. "Say, what kind of gizmo is that? Japanese? I sure could use one of those..."
"I told you already to be quiet," Bane snapped. "I'll knock you out and you'll wake up tomorrow in a holding cell." Taking another Trom device from his jacket, he used it to unlock the wide shallow center drawer of the desk and took out a slim black laptop. "Great," he said to himself. "Calvert, don't talk. I need to concentrate."
For the next few minutes, Bane used the Link's signals to override all the barriers that the laptop presented. He wished he could have Megan Salenger here to help. She was the real expert, a Human raised by the Trom themselves, and despite all her coaching, he would never know a fraction of what she did about computers. Still, bit by bit, he got in. Suddenly the screen flashed bright green and a symbol of the interlocked letters JG appeared before fading into an array of icons. The Dire Wolf studied them suspiciously, noticed the Link had landed on the one most in use, and clicked on it to open a series of folders. Each had its own lock that had to be unfastened.
Behind him, Calvin Calvert whispered, "Post Organic Humans. Oh, I don't like the sound of that."
Bane glared up at him. "What are you doing looking over my shoulder? Go listen by the door for a guard before we both get nabbed."
Mumbling about the First Amendment, Calvert backed off and stood by the office door for a full ten seconds before stealthily returning to stand right behind the Dire Wolf. By now, page after page of dense files were clicking by too rapidly to be read.
"Hey, slow down," the reporter said. "I thought I saw something interesting."
"I'm recording all these for later," Bane answered. He paused on one page. It showed an MRI scan of an adult male but more than half of the man's body had been replaced by prosthetics. Both arms and legs, much of the spine, the heart and lungs.. all were mechanical. Even the top of the skull was a plastic cap.
"Look at the listing," Calvert breathed. "Subject 211. That means there were at least two hundred others like him."
"Seems like it. This is medical research. Knee and hip replacements are nothing new. But that heart and those lungs..." He started the files whipping past again, then stopped on one and caught his breath. "I was afraid it would lead to this."
The page showed SUBJECT 399. Almost nothing was left of the original flesh and blood. What there was seemed to include half the liver, part of the spleen and a few glands suspended in a network of artificial tissues. Inside the high density plastic head was a chunk of brain smaller than a mouse. Specifications ran down one side of the image, including "Minimum eight per cent cerebral cortex mandatory to retain identity."
With a whistle, Calvert said, "Eight per cent human. That's all these guys save of the original. Hah. They should meet my editor, he's eight per cent human on a good day."
"I still haven't found out anything about the three missing scientists." Bane growled deep in his chest and shut the folder down. "Now be quiet, Calvert. I need to erase all traces that I was in here." After he ran a deep scan and deletion of the past few minutes' activities, he finally shut the laptop off and replaced it into the desk drawer, which he locked. He was wearing thin black latex gloves. "You may be sorry you insisted on seeing that," he said quietly.
"Hell, I've stuck my nose where it doesn't belong plenty of times. Right now, I'm uploading the pictures from my phone to my blog, where they'll be safe. What do you think we should do now, Jeremy?"
The Dire Wolf straightened up and gave a cold stare to the reporter. "We? I didn't invite you here, Calvert. I'm getting out and going to plan my next move. What you do is your own business." He paused, then added, "Frankly, I don't think your chances of survival are very good."
Crumpling his hat in one hand, the reporter switched to a pleading tone. "After all we've been through? Come on, Jeremy, how long have we been friends-"
"We have NEVER been friends. I met you for the first time this morning." Bane jabbed the man in the chest with a forefinger that drove him back a step. "Right now, the cameras and locks in this building aren't working. I'm going to sneak out. Whether you can make it is another matter, but you are not my problem." With that last word, the Dire Wolf swung over to the office door and gestured for silence. After a long thirty seconds, he opened the door and darted out into the hall.
No one was in sight, but the hall lights were on and he heard a door close sharply from around the corner. Bane whipped down the corridor and swung open the exit door and just as he was half outside, he heard Calvin Calvert shriek like a child. The pain and terror in that scream cut into Bane and, despite himself, he whirled around and dove headlong at the security guard who was pinning the reporter to the ground. Coming in faster than a real wolf, Bane pivoted on one foot and whipped the other leg around in a reverse roundhouse that exploded the steel-capped heel of his boot to the man's head. Sharp pain shot up Bane's leg as the guard did not even twitch. It was like kicking a streetlamp. Offbalance, the Dire Wolf backpedaled a few steps and froze into place.
The guard was aiming a Glock 19 directly at his face, with a hand so steady it seemed to belong to a statue. The man's face was expressionless, lifeless, like a wellmade rubber mask but the dark eyes moved to track his target. Bane realized he could not evade that shot, and he realized with a sinking feeling what he was dealing with.
"Calvert, stop struggling," he told the reporter. As the man held still, the guard lifted him to his feet easily, never letting the barrel of his gun move a fraction of an inch.
"What? Are you serious?" Calvert yelled. "I want a lawyer! Let me make one call. Hey, give me my phone back!"
"Quiet," said Bane. "We're going to go along with this... man and talk to his superiors. Don't give him any more reason to kill you."
IV.
Another guard appeared, looking nearly identical to the first, and they silently escorted Bane and Calvert down long corridors, into an elevator that rose five floors, and through a pair of metal doors that unlocked with audible clicking as they approached. Beyond was an office larger than most stores, subdued and tasteful with no ostentation. Potted plants, indirect lighting, dark solid furnishings.. it was all impressive.
Seated behind an immaculate desk was a tall trim man in a neatly tailored dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie. Beneath short black hair, an expressionless face lifted to regard the four figures entering his office.. a face as lifeless as a rubber mask except for the alert eyes.
Stepping away from the guards, Bane asked, "Well, you obviously weren't rousted from sound sleep."
"Sleep?" answered the man in a bland near-monotone. "No, I don't sleep. I know you, of course. Jeremy Bane, the Dire Wolf. You are in our files."
"And what am I, chopped liver?" Calvert interupted. "I'll have you know my blog gets a hundred thousand hits a day, Mr..?"
"Alan Haggerty."
Bane stepped a little closer. "Really? The Alan Haggerty who worked for John Grim would be in his eighties today."
"Yes. Eighty-seven to be accurate. Instead of lying in a bed in a nursing home getting sponge baths or being wheeled to the cafeteria, I am fully functional, still working, heading this division of Grim Enterprises." The mask of a face regarded Bane placidly. "Judging by your reputation, Mr Bane, I would not be surprised if you understand by now what we do here."
"I think so," the Dire Wolf answered quietly. "Organ replacement, but carried to its logical conclusion. So many people get an artificial hip, plastic corneas, valves in the heart. No one even thinks it's remarkable anymore. With John Grim technology, you just go all the way." He leaned over the desk to peer closely at the unresponsive face gazing back at him. Although he didn't mention it, he noticed that the Post Human was breathing, slowly and deeply. The irises were expanded for the dim light, maybe the eyes were still original. "How much of Alan Haggerty is left in there?"
"As much as needed." The head of Grim Enterprises glanced over at Calvert. "And you, I take it you are an investigative journalist?"
"Oh, one of the best." Calvert wriggled out of the loose grip one guard had on his arm. "But you know, why isn't this available to everyone? Why don't we see lots of robotroids like you walking around?"
"This is private research. Which brings us to the unavoidable question, why are you two in this restricted facility in the middle of the night?" No trace of menace came into the level voice. "Mr Calvert?"
"I'm here because of the First Amendment, which guarantees us a free and unhampered press with the public having a right to information which may be vital to their safety and best interests-"
Haggerty did not seem to give an order but suddenly one of the guards slapped a hand down over the reporter's mouth like a steel muzzle, cutting him off. "We are not prepared to have our research made public yet, Mr Calvert." the disinterested voice said as Calvert wriggled without getting anywhere.
"Now I have something to say," Bane broke in. "What you are doing here does not break any laws as far as I can see. If someone is old and sick, it's their business what prosthetics you give them. But what happened to the three missing scientists? Thayer? Wasserman, Aguinaldo? Where are they?"
"They have volunteered to become Post Organic Humans," Haggerty said. "The process is being kept secret from their families to make a clean break. In time, their bodies will be found as if they suffered accidental deaths."
The Dire Wolf did not seem convinced. "If you're drafting unusual experts, keeping their brains and discarding the rest, that changes everything."
"No. We have no need to coerce anyone."
"All right," Bane went on. "Let me propose something. Let us go without pressing charges and I guarantee that this guy here will keep his mouth shut. Deal?"
"You are known for keeping your agreements," Haggerty answered. "We bear you no grudge for what happened between you and John Grim. That was long ago." The man folded his hands in front of him in an unconvincing way, as if he was making gestures like that because he thought he should. "Without hormone surges, without testosterone or estrogen, one's thinking becomes clearer."
"And this guy here?" Bane went on. "Nobody believes the stuff he puts online. He's read by conspiracy theorists who believe all sorts of nonsense. The truth is, if Calvert reveals anything about your activities, most people will take it as proof that you're not real."
"An interesting paradox. He provides the opposite of truth, you would say?"
"Yeah. It's like testimony from a compulsive liar." Bane looked over where the reporter was making muffled protests from under the guard's hand. "He may not see it that way, I guess."
Alan Haggerty considered for a long tense moment. Then, without shaking his head or changing his tone of voice, he said, "Human nature is too unpredictable. We cannot risk it. Calvin Calvert can not be trusted. He will be put to good use."
The Dire Wolf was standing with his arms down by his sides, casual and not tense. "What's your plan, then?"
"You both will be used in our research-" Haggerty began. He was cut off as Bane flung one of the tear gas/smoke grenades to the floor, then whirled immediately and hurled a resonance grenade right into the face of the guard holding Calvert. While being led into the office, he had found a moment where he could get them from their tiny pouch inside the left bottom edge of his jacket. Instantly, a cloud of black stinging vapor rushed outward to fill the office, while a sharp concussion detonated to blow the face off of the guard who released Calvert. Haggerty and the other guard began coughing, as he had hoped they would. The fact that they retained some organic tissue meant that oxygen would be used.
In that split-second of twin explosions, Bane swung around and bodyslammed the free guard as hard as he could into the damaged one, tangling them both together. He hoped the one who had taken the resonance grenade in the face was incapacitated but he couldn't be sure of anything with these creatures. Even as they fell, the Dire Wolf seized Calvert by the shirt and lunged for the office door. He was holding his breath and could not see any better than any one else in there, so he was working from memory.
In the hall, the air was clearer and he took a deep breath. Less than three seconds had passed and no alarms were sounding yet. Seeing a fire exit door, he kicked it open and dove through. He was almost carrying the coughing and blinded reporter, who struggled hopelessly to keep up. Once in the parking lot, Bane yanked open the passenger door of the man's old Crown Victoria and threw him roughly into the seat, then rolled over the hood and jumped in behind the steering wheel.
"Give me the keys!" he roared. Even in his pain and confusion, Calvert obeyed and held them out. Bane gunned the motor, swung the convertible around and sped from that parking lot as if he expected it to explode. He hit the access road, doubled around and got on a highway heading south.
"Your eyes clear yet?" Bane demanded as he pulled behind a convenient mart and cut the lights. "Come on, can you see?"
"Yeah, you can call it that. What-how- one minute, that robotroid was sentencing us to vivisection and now.. we're in my car? Where are we?"
"Just a few miles down the road." Bane peered behind them but saw no signs of pursuit. "Don't rub your eyes, that'll make it worse. "I see a bottle of water in your back seat. Splash it in your eyes and blink."
"What about you? Was that tear gas? What happened?" Calvert poured the tepid water over his face and gasped.
"I got us out of there," Bane said. "Take a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself." He left the Crown Victoria, walked over to the edge of the convenient mart and studied the area. Seeing nothing suspicious yet, he got back behind the wheel. His own eyes stung and his throat tickled from the gas, but his enhanced healing was throwing off the effects rapidly.
"Well. I guess I'm at a loss," Calvert said at last. "Thanks. You saved my life back there and I can't even joke about it." The reporter somehow still had retained his beat-up fedora and he adjusted its angle thoughtfully. "They were going to use me for surgical experiments...!"
Bane snorted. "I was tempted to leave you there. You're a real pain to deal with."
"I don't want to be eight per cent human. This body's not much but it's all mine." He had one final coughing jag. "Are they going to come after us?"
"I don't know," Bane said. "I need to get back to my own car. I left it concealed a few miles that way. You know, I'm still not convinced that those three men went into the dehumanizing process willingly. This group needs to be looked into more thoroughly. Are you going to publish anything about this?"
"Why, I.. Yes. Absolutely. I've never been scared away from telling a story before and I once had my fingers bent backwards by a Jersey mobster. I've been threatened more times than I've had hot meals. Yeah. I'm definitely going to spill the whole story."
Bane remembered that Haggerty had seemed tentatively convinced that few believed what Calvert published on his blog and most people would discount it. "Maybe that's for the best." He started the Crown Victoria up again and eased out on the highway. "I don't think it would do any good to tell you to be careful and take precautions. If those things come for you, they're going to get you. Oh, and that guard took your phone, so you don't have any photos."
"Hah! Oh brother. I uploaded everything to my blog storage. And besides, that wasn't the one I used." He held up another phone and lit its screen with a touch. "I've played this game for years, my boy. When we left that office, I was holding a cheap throwaway phone for them to see. I always carry more than one."
10/14/2015
