"Between the Blinks"
May. 16th, 2022 04:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes""Between the Blinks"
6/1/2011
I.
No one was behind him, so Bane slowed down halfway across the bridge to glance down at the Hudson River. It certainly looked gorgeous on this cool clear early November morning, as the sun flashed and sparkled on the water. Pretty nice. Of course, he was a city boy, born and raised in Manhattan, so Nature only held his attention for a few minutes before his thoughts went back on track. Now he sped up again, wondering what Dr Vitarius wanted. The Alchemist had been vague on the phone but he had stressed that this was a matter Bane would find of great interest and he should come up immediately. That had been at eight-thirty that morning, with Bane sitting at his desk in the office on Third Avenue after a restless night. A life of combat had left him always ready for travel, it meant walking four blocks down to where his car was garaged. A knapsack with clothes and supplies was already kept ready in the trunk.
Now, just after eleven, Bane was driving into Poughkeepsie in his new Jeep Cherokee. At least once a year and sometimes more often, Bane traded in and bought a different car, paying for it outright. It was one of the few ways in which his wealth was apparent, because he certainly didn't live like a multi-millionaire in his personal life. Changing cars like this made it a bit more difficult for his enemies to keep tabs on him, although there were not many of them still alive or at liberty.
He came off the bridge into the city of Poughkeepsie. When was the last time he had been here? 1984 or so, tracking down Atron? That had been a brawl. Even though he had won, there was blood in his urine for days from Atron's blows, and his knuckles had gotten cracked. Bane smiled to himself, remembering that Atron was long dead now and he should keep his mind should be on the present. Anyway, there had also been that weird case around 1992 with the boy imprisoned in a sensory deprivation tank. He sailed past a street corner sign that said GRANT STREET on his right, signaled and turned, then made another right to go up Grant Street. Seeing a convenient parking spot, he wheeled in. This was a residential area; there were no meters, just a narrow sidewalk and a tree or two every block. The houses looked well kept and tidy, but this was certainly not a posh neighborhood. Leaning out the driver's side window, the Dire Wolf saw the numbers 181 on a house door. Close enough. He got out, locked the Jeep and started briskly up the street.
Now nearing fifty, Bane did not look much different than he always had. A grey hair or two showed, that was all. He still strode down the quiet street with the quick pace of an athlete in peak condition. Bane was just over six feet tall, slim and even gaunt, dressed all in black with a turtleneck and sport jacket. His most recognizable feature was a pair of pale, cold grey eyes under heavy feral brows. In few seconds, he stopped in front of a respectable two-story home, white boards and black shingle roof, with the number 225 and the name VITARIUS in black metal over the front door. He could tell he was being watched. As he stepped up onto the porch, the front door opened and a very young woman, still a teenager, came out. She was small, not much over five feet three, wearing simple slacks and a denim jacket, and she said, "Mr Bane?"
"That's right," the Dire Wolf answered. "Dr Vitarius is expecting me." He held out his hand and she shook it with obvious reluctance. She was not pretty, with a pug nose in a round flat face and narrow blue eyes that watched him as if he were a growling dog. She had thick white hair of an unusually sleek texture, with eyebrows the same color. "Come in," she told him coolly, and turned without a further word.
Following the young woman, Bane went down a front hall with a tall bookcase on either side, potted plants and small paintings. Stairs led up to the second floor, but she took him right through the first door to their right into a big, uncluttered room.
There was only a long couch, a coffee table and several chairs in here, as well as the man he had come to see. Sitting in a wheelchair with a blanket folded over his lap, Mercado Vitarius raised a hand in greeting.
Bane paused. What had happened? The last time they had met, Vitarius had been a big bear of a man, standing straight-backed, with a deep chest and brawny arms. Yes, he had graying hair and beard, and there were lines on his neck and hands, but it had been only ten years or so. The Dire Wolf crossed over and stood before the alchemist. "Mercado. Has it been so long?"
"Ah, by the way I look? No, I know what you are thinking, Jeremy. I look like I'm ninety, right? No hair, no teeth, wrinkled as a newborn." Vitarius chuckled in a rather sinister way. "But actually, I am in fact way over ninety. I am close to two hundred and eleven years old. I was born not longer after your War of Independence, when my parents moved here from Europe. It was Alchemy that kept me vital and nimble long past my rightful span." He wiped the side of his face with a shriveled claw of a hand. "But everything has its limits. My body has reached a point where even the most potent potions no longer work."
Picking a chair in front of the man, Bane sat down easily. "I want to say I'm sorry," he said. "But I don't know. I guess you can't complain if you live two centuries before you get old?"
"Feh," Vitarius grumbled. "I knew this would happen. But listen. First, you know I worked with Kenneth Dred back in the 1930s?"
"Yes. Mr Dred told me about that. You, the Monk, Mark Drum... you were quite a crew."
"And your new team of Tel Shai knights? The Blind Archer, the young Unicorn? I have heard only rumours and gossip the past few years, Jeremy. How did they turn out?"
Now the Dire Wolf grinned. "Better than I hoped. They are on their own now, with their own leader. Frankly, they're as good as my own team was."
"You don't feel the urge to stay with them?"
Bane hesitated. This interrogation was not what he had expected. "Mercado. Why did you call me here?"
The ancient alchemist looked up at the blonde girl, who bowed slightly and left the room. After the door had closed behind her, Bane said in a low voice, "She's a long way from Ulgor."
"You recognized that? Oh, but of course you did. The hair. Yes, Jeremy, that is Demrak Jin."
"I should hope I can spot a Gelydra," Bane said. "Odd to see one in the world, much less on dry land."
"Ah, there is trouble in Ulgor these days. No one is safe, least of all a daughter of the former ruling family. Jin is better off here for a while. I can use a bodyguard and retrieval agent in my current condition and since she simply loves to fight, Demrak Jin enjoys her duties here. In a way, she is acting in the same, ah.. capacity as which you yourself first worked for Kenneth Dred." Vitarius folded his hands in his lap. "But back to the matter at hand. Someone has stolen one of my Velkandu potions."
A new glitter of interest sparked in the grey eyes, and Bane leaned forward.
"I had three assistants," Vitarius went on. "Jin is the fighter, while a man named Lew is cataloging my potions and serums and handling my paperwork. And a youth, a teenager just out of high school, has signed on to run errands. He shops for food at the grocers, mows the lawn, drives me on the rare occasions I need to go out, that sort of thing. He knows nothing of the Midnight War. Or should I say, he didn't know. Inevitably, he has learned a little about my art and I fear temptation got the better of him. My supply is Velocitin is missing, as is Bryan. I know he has used it already."
"How so?" asked Bane.
"By the accounts of his crimes in the local newspaper," said Vitarius.
II.
"I last saw Bryan three weeks ago," Vitarius admitted. "One morning he did not arrive to get his assignments. I phoned his parents but they did not know where he was. Since then, they tell me he has come home for brief intervals but is mostly staying with friends. A burst of robberies took place all over the area, as far south as Newburgh. Quite a bit of money has been stolen from businesses and homes, but the suspect has proved impossible to catch. In fact," and here Vitarius raised a thin bent forefinger, "it has been difficult to even get a good description because he moves so quickly. Victims and witnesses mention this. When the robber has been seen, he darts out of sight too quickly to identify."
Bane stood up despite himself. His enhanced metabolism made him hyper-active with the drawback of not being able to sit still for too long. "I see. The potion he stole. Velocitin."
"Yes. He has not seriously injured anyone so far. Three young women were groped in a crowd by someone they could not describe, but the molestation did not go further. And one police officer was struck down. He saw a dark figure in a store that closed for the night. When he tried to apprehend the robber as he left, he was punched, quote 'a dozen times in five seconds.'"
"Velocitin," repeated Bane. "As I understand it, that's the Velkandu potion that increases speed for a few minutes, right? Makes its user several times as fast as normal."
Vitarius agreed. "Jeremy, would you mind pouring me some tea from that pot on the table there? One of the lemon slices, if you don't mind." As Bane did so, the alchemist continued. "Velocitin is quite dangerous. I know you yourself are quicker than a normal Human, Jeremy. I believe you were timed at moving three times above Human limits."
"That's right," said Bane, pouring himself a cup of tea and stirring in a creamer. "Of course, I was born this way. Mr Dred called me a Variant. My body is meant to function this way, I have adaptations. He did hundreds of tests on my joints and respiratory system and cardiac and whatever. This is normal for me. But I take it, being hopped up on Velocitin hurts a user?"
"Oh yes. Rapid aging. Damage to knees and ankles from running. Dehydration, wear and tear on the heart. It's like putting jet fuel in a car. If Bryan is taking Velocitin, he won't live long but he can do a lot of harm while he does."
"There is a worse danger!" Bane snapped unexpectedly. "It looks as if your Bryan is just trying to get some money. But.. what if some other people learn about Velocitin? Get that serum in the hands of real hardened criminals and we'll see slaughter that will seem like a war."
"That had occurred to me. Yes, Jeremy. I have written down the addresses you will need. Bryan's parents, his close friends, his cousin's house in Newburgh, even a few girlfriends who might let him stay with them." Vitarius reached into his robe and pulled out a manila envelope, which Bane took.
The Dire Wolf started to turn away, but paused. "You know, Mercado... your assistant there, the Gelydra. Why didn't you send her on this?"
"Jin?" roared Vitarius in disbelief. "Oh no. No no no. Her English is not that good. She had no detective training. And besides, she is too quick to use deadly force. You know the Gelydrim believe they carry the spirit of sharks in their souls, don't you?"
"True enough." Bane slid the envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket. "All right, doctor. I'm on the case. I will report back as soon as I have something worth reporting. Any final suggestions?"
"Just this," said the alchemist. "Jeremy, you are the Dire Wolf. I have seen you in action. In a fight, you are as quick as a Snake Man, I have seen you catch a thrown knife without cutting yourself, I have seen you strike down a howler. But you are used to being faster than your opponents. Your style is based on it. If Bryan takes a good dose of Velocitin, he will be that much faster than you than you are to a normal Human. He will strike you between the ticks of your watch. He will move between your blinks. Be careful. I fear you are in for a rude awakening."
At the door, Bane looked back and nodded at Vitarius, but left without saying anything.
III.
Walking back to where he was parked, Bane felt that someone was watching him. As he reached the black Jeep Cherokee, he glanced back and saw the face of Demrak Jen staring at him from an upstairs window. The Dire Wolf raised one finger to his eyebrow in an ironic salute, slid in behind the wheel and drove up Grant Street. He had a lot to think about. This case was exactly what he needed... suddenly, he felt really alive for the first time in weeks. He was not meant to laze by a beach, sipping margaritas and watching young women stroll by. His nature was to look for trouble. For a few minutes, Bane drove up the main street of Poughkeepsie. There, he spotted a Barnes & Noble and wheeled into the parking lot. Getting a space near the front doors, he turned off the engine and reached behind him. In the net pocket behind his seat, he kept his laptop. Bane put it in his lap and logged in; Barnes & Noble offered free wifi and he was out of his own service area. After a minute, he found the archived news of the local paper THE POUGHKEEPSIE JOURNAL and dug in. Twenty minutes went by. After thirty, he was satisfied that the news reports matched up with what Vitarius had told him. It wasn't that he had any reason to doubt the ancient alchemist, but Bane was wary by nature and his life made him constantly suspicious. There was a chance Vitarius had been setting him up.
Putting the laptop back in its net pocket, Bane went into the bookstore, sat down in its coffee shop and devoured a toasted ham and cheese and tomato sandwich, with a bottle of apple juice. He used the bathroom, scrubbed his hands and face, and came out feeling ready for the challenge. For a minute or two, Bane wandered around the bookstore, lost in thought, then went back to his Jeep. Vitarius had been right. Facing an opponent on Velocitin might be a problem. At Tel Shai, Bane had studied Kumundu under Teacher Chael; over the years, he had taken lessons in everything from Western boxing to Aikido to fencing, keeping what would be useful. But his big advantage had been his innate speed. Bane was normally quick enough that he could wait until an opponent threw a punch but actually drive his own fist past that incoming blow to strike first. Even the best Human fighters seemed sluggish from Bane's perspective. Now the tables could be turned, and he would be tackling someone faster than himself.
Pulling back out into traffic, Bane headed toward the first of the addresses he had been given. Along the way, a little light bulb seemed to go ding! inside his head as he visualized it. He pulled into a supermarket and parked up in a corner at the far end. The Dire Wolf felt unreasonably pleased with himself at his brainstorms. They didn't always work; in fact, sometimes they backfired and made things worse but he enjoyed coming up with trickery in any case. Getting a satchel from the back compartment, he took out two of the small resonance discs he had kept from his KDF days. Putting them on the seat next to him, he studied their mechanism for a few minutes before getting a pair of tiny pliers from a burglar kit and making adjustments. Usually these devices went off on impact. He would throw them hard and, when they struck anything from the ground to a person, they detonated with a force carefully calibrated to stun without killing.
Well, he thought, that was the idea but nothing was perfect. Once or twice, a resonance grenade had hit a target in the chest and stopped the target's heart. Once, a disc had hit directly on the enemy's temple and had killed him outright. For the most part, though, they exploded about as hard a good stiff punch from a fist. They did have a timer gauge which could be attached, and he hooked them on now, setting them to go off three seconds after being armed, which would be done when he pulled them loose from their cords in his pocket. Now he felt better. Some back-up would be nice, too. He dug through the satchel and found some tear gas canisters, smoke bombs, flash grenades. Nothing seemed quite what would be needed, but he tucked away out one of each in his pockets.
Getting out of the Jeep, Bane checked out the weaponry. Okay. He could reach all of it quickly. As usual, he had a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver holstered at his back, and the two silver-bladed daggers strapped to his forearms under his sleeves. Excessive as all his hardware might seem, it was a huge cutback from some of his battles in the KDF, where he had geared up like a one man army. The Dire Wolf slid out into traffic and headed north. Ten minutes went by. He looked for the address of Bryan Adler's parents and found it to be a neat one-story ranch style house near the edge of town. No cars were outside. Bane pulled in the driveway, got no answer from ringing the doorbell and stood for a long couple of minutes probing with his senses. He didn't think anyone was there and he had learned to trust his instincts. A neighbor peeked out at him from a window and then closed the curtain, and Bane did not pursue it. Next was Bryan's main girlfriend, who lived with her parent's a little further up the road. Their house was part of a cluster of identical buildings built as a project. The girl was home and answered the door cautiously, even after Bane handed her his credentials as a Private Investigator licensed by the State of New York, she was not inclined to be helpful. From the big eyed looks she gave him, the girl seemed attracted on a personal level but that was not of any use now. She asked if he knew where else Bryan might be and Bane said no. He thanked her, got back in the Jeep again and drove back the way he had come.
Making a loop around a few streets, the Wolf passed the girl's house from a block away and saw her standing outside with her cell phone by her mouth. Once, he had worked with advanced Trom equipment that could tell him what number she had dialed and listen in on her conversation. But he had given nearly all of that up when he had stepped down as leader of the KDF team and had gone back to PI work. Speeding up, he headed toward the last address Vitarius had given him. He was outside the city itself now, zipping along country roads with houses spaced widely apart. There was a Harley shop, then a sign by a cottage reading ANTIQUES AND COLLECTIBLEs, with a wagon wheel propped up at its post. The highway had become a simpler road with just dotted white lines in the middle and an occasional wooden fence running along someone's property. Then he spotted a dirt road turning off, with a mail box leaning askew, and his pulse jumped a bit. He could feel it the way a wolf scents prey. Bane slowed down and went up the rutted dirt trail, stopping in front of a rundown house that had a motorcycle and a pick-up truck parked in front. As he stepped out of the Jeep, a kid came from behind the house and headed straight for him.
III.
The boy matched the description from Dr Vitarius. Bryan Adler wasn't tall, he stood maybe five feet ten and was stocky. He was wearing sneakers, jeans and a blue hoodie. The most distinguishing feature on a bland face was a pair of thick, arched eyebrows that gave him a sardonic expression. As Bane caught sight of him, Bryan lowered his hand from his mouth and gulped.
"Enjoying a special treat?" Bane asked. That set the confrontation off. Well, it spared all the verbal sparring and questioning. Bryan shuddered and convulsed once, then abruptly he was coming right at Bane with terrifying speed. He covered the distance between them like a rattlesnake striking, his fist swinging at the Dire Wolf's face. Fast as he was, Bryan was untrained. He drew his arm way back and swung it in a wide looping roundhouse. Bane stepped inside that arc and drove out a flurry of short straight punches to the body. His idea was to get in close and counter his opponent's advantage with skill. A vicious punch caught him on the side of the jaw. He literally did not see it coming.
The next minute was a nightmare for Bane. With all his mastery of martial art, all the decades of practice and exercise and experience, he got beaten up like a child. Bryan was so fast he seemed to flicker in and out of existence but he was actually striking before his opponent's eyes could track him. He was, as Vitarius had warned, hitting between blinks. Bane took a lot of damage. He could block a blow here and there, step to one side and let a punch go past once but for the most part there was nothing he could do but take it. The only thing keeping him up was that Bryan Adler was not a skilled boxer. He was reasonably fit for his age, though, and the speed with which his fists whistled in added to their stinging impact.
Bane went down, to his own surprise. Two left-right blows caught him just right. As he fell on his side, catching himself with one hand, he almost drew his pistol but instantly knew better. Bryan could take it away from him and use it against him. As he fell, Bane saw the boy draw back for a second. Some basic decency kept him from kicking a man who was down. The Dire Wolf started to talk and had to spit out blood. "Listen! You know the side effects?"
Bryan watched him sourly. "What?"
"The drug you stole. The stuff that is making you so fast. You know it will age you years in minutes?"
"Who cares? Yes, Vitarius told me when I saw him brewing it. So what? I'm eighteen. Suppose I do age ten years. What would you rather be, a penniless eighteen-year-old loser or a rich twenty-eight-year-old? It's a no-brainer!"
Bane got to his feet. He had not been thrashed like this in many years. One eye had clouded vision and his ribs hurt so much that breathing was impaired. In a few minutes, the enhanced healing from tagra would kick in, but he didn't have those minutes. He stood up straight by will alone, forcing himself up. Bryan glared at him and said, "I wouldn't move if I was you, mister."
"I know-- I know I can't beat you this way," Bane said, inching his hand to the small pocket up on the left breast of his jacket. There was a flash of pain and he was on the ground again, not having seen the punch that had dropped him. Bane still inserted a finger in that pocket defiantly and managed to say, "There's an antidote to your drug!"
Bryan grinned wickedly. "Oh, there is, is there? Well, let me see." And again, too rapidly for his movements to be followed, he slapped Bane's hand down and dipped his own hand into the jacket pocket. Stepping back, he held up a small metal disc and said, "Hey, what is this thi-" before the resonance grenade exploded inches from his face. Two fingers snapped on the hand that had been holding the device, his nose broke flat and he was blinded. The boy screamed and pawed at his face. Bane managed to come in close. He hooked a foot behind the kid's ankle and flipped him face down to the ground. The kid was whimpering in pain and surprise as the Dire Wolf pinned him down. Battered as he was, now Bane could use his greater strength and he deftly yanked the kid's arms behind his back and got handcuffs around his wrists. By now, Bryan was crying. "I can't see, I can't see anything but a haze!"
"Your sight will probably come back," Bane told him without much sympathy. "I'm calling 911 now." But in fact, there was a delay while he searched the truck and then the house. Under a loose board on the porch, he found the soft leather bag that had been stolen. Bane looked inside, remembered how much had been taken and saw it was nearly all there. The bag went into his inner pocket as he pulled out his phone to call from an ambulance and the police. It was hard not to feel sympathy for the agonized boy who was lying on the ground whimpering but Bane winced as he tried to help him up. Going to his Jeep, walking less stiffly as he started to heal, Bane saw in the rear view mirror that one of his eyes was nearly shut, his lips were split and puffy, and a bruise was already swelling darkly along his jawline. A normal person would have died from the beating he had taken. If he hadn't prepared that trick grenade, Bryan Adler would have beaten him senseless and he would have been powerless to defend himself. Bane looked over at the kid with less empathy than a minute earlier.
2/26/2013
6/1/2011
I.
No one was behind him, so Bane slowed down halfway across the bridge to glance down at the Hudson River. It certainly looked gorgeous on this cool clear early November morning, as the sun flashed and sparkled on the water. Pretty nice. Of course, he was a city boy, born and raised in Manhattan, so Nature only held his attention for a few minutes before his thoughts went back on track. Now he sped up again, wondering what Dr Vitarius wanted. The Alchemist had been vague on the phone but he had stressed that this was a matter Bane would find of great interest and he should come up immediately. That had been at eight-thirty that morning, with Bane sitting at his desk in the office on Third Avenue after a restless night. A life of combat had left him always ready for travel, it meant walking four blocks down to where his car was garaged. A knapsack with clothes and supplies was already kept ready in the trunk.
Now, just after eleven, Bane was driving into Poughkeepsie in his new Jeep Cherokee. At least once a year and sometimes more often, Bane traded in and bought a different car, paying for it outright. It was one of the few ways in which his wealth was apparent, because he certainly didn't live like a multi-millionaire in his personal life. Changing cars like this made it a bit more difficult for his enemies to keep tabs on him, although there were not many of them still alive or at liberty.
He came off the bridge into the city of Poughkeepsie. When was the last time he had been here? 1984 or so, tracking down Atron? That had been a brawl. Even though he had won, there was blood in his urine for days from Atron's blows, and his knuckles had gotten cracked. Bane smiled to himself, remembering that Atron was long dead now and he should keep his mind should be on the present. Anyway, there had also been that weird case around 1992 with the boy imprisoned in a sensory deprivation tank. He sailed past a street corner sign that said GRANT STREET on his right, signaled and turned, then made another right to go up Grant Street. Seeing a convenient parking spot, he wheeled in. This was a residential area; there were no meters, just a narrow sidewalk and a tree or two every block. The houses looked well kept and tidy, but this was certainly not a posh neighborhood. Leaning out the driver's side window, the Dire Wolf saw the numbers 181 on a house door. Close enough. He got out, locked the Jeep and started briskly up the street.
Now nearing fifty, Bane did not look much different than he always had. A grey hair or two showed, that was all. He still strode down the quiet street with the quick pace of an athlete in peak condition. Bane was just over six feet tall, slim and even gaunt, dressed all in black with a turtleneck and sport jacket. His most recognizable feature was a pair of pale, cold grey eyes under heavy feral brows. In few seconds, he stopped in front of a respectable two-story home, white boards and black shingle roof, with the number 225 and the name VITARIUS in black metal over the front door. He could tell he was being watched. As he stepped up onto the porch, the front door opened and a very young woman, still a teenager, came out. She was small, not much over five feet three, wearing simple slacks and a denim jacket, and she said, "Mr Bane?"
"That's right," the Dire Wolf answered. "Dr Vitarius is expecting me." He held out his hand and she shook it with obvious reluctance. She was not pretty, with a pug nose in a round flat face and narrow blue eyes that watched him as if he were a growling dog. She had thick white hair of an unusually sleek texture, with eyebrows the same color. "Come in," she told him coolly, and turned without a further word.
Following the young woman, Bane went down a front hall with a tall bookcase on either side, potted plants and small paintings. Stairs led up to the second floor, but she took him right through the first door to their right into a big, uncluttered room.
There was only a long couch, a coffee table and several chairs in here, as well as the man he had come to see. Sitting in a wheelchair with a blanket folded over his lap, Mercado Vitarius raised a hand in greeting.
Bane paused. What had happened? The last time they had met, Vitarius had been a big bear of a man, standing straight-backed, with a deep chest and brawny arms. Yes, he had graying hair and beard, and there were lines on his neck and hands, but it had been only ten years or so. The Dire Wolf crossed over and stood before the alchemist. "Mercado. Has it been so long?"
"Ah, by the way I look? No, I know what you are thinking, Jeremy. I look like I'm ninety, right? No hair, no teeth, wrinkled as a newborn." Vitarius chuckled in a rather sinister way. "But actually, I am in fact way over ninety. I am close to two hundred and eleven years old. I was born not longer after your War of Independence, when my parents moved here from Europe. It was Alchemy that kept me vital and nimble long past my rightful span." He wiped the side of his face with a shriveled claw of a hand. "But everything has its limits. My body has reached a point where even the most potent potions no longer work."
Picking a chair in front of the man, Bane sat down easily. "I want to say I'm sorry," he said. "But I don't know. I guess you can't complain if you live two centuries before you get old?"
"Feh," Vitarius grumbled. "I knew this would happen. But listen. First, you know I worked with Kenneth Dred back in the 1930s?"
"Yes. Mr Dred told me about that. You, the Monk, Mark Drum... you were quite a crew."
"And your new team of Tel Shai knights? The Blind Archer, the young Unicorn? I have heard only rumours and gossip the past few years, Jeremy. How did they turn out?"
Now the Dire Wolf grinned. "Better than I hoped. They are on their own now, with their own leader. Frankly, they're as good as my own team was."
"You don't feel the urge to stay with them?"
Bane hesitated. This interrogation was not what he had expected. "Mercado. Why did you call me here?"
The ancient alchemist looked up at the blonde girl, who bowed slightly and left the room. After the door had closed behind her, Bane said in a low voice, "She's a long way from Ulgor."
"You recognized that? Oh, but of course you did. The hair. Yes, Jeremy, that is Demrak Jin."
"I should hope I can spot a Gelydra," Bane said. "Odd to see one in the world, much less on dry land."
"Ah, there is trouble in Ulgor these days. No one is safe, least of all a daughter of the former ruling family. Jin is better off here for a while. I can use a bodyguard and retrieval agent in my current condition and since she simply loves to fight, Demrak Jin enjoys her duties here. In a way, she is acting in the same, ah.. capacity as which you yourself first worked for Kenneth Dred." Vitarius folded his hands in his lap. "But back to the matter at hand. Someone has stolen one of my Velkandu potions."
A new glitter of interest sparked in the grey eyes, and Bane leaned forward.
"I had three assistants," Vitarius went on. "Jin is the fighter, while a man named Lew is cataloging my potions and serums and handling my paperwork. And a youth, a teenager just out of high school, has signed on to run errands. He shops for food at the grocers, mows the lawn, drives me on the rare occasions I need to go out, that sort of thing. He knows nothing of the Midnight War. Or should I say, he didn't know. Inevitably, he has learned a little about my art and I fear temptation got the better of him. My supply is Velocitin is missing, as is Bryan. I know he has used it already."
"How so?" asked Bane.
"By the accounts of his crimes in the local newspaper," said Vitarius.
II.
"I last saw Bryan three weeks ago," Vitarius admitted. "One morning he did not arrive to get his assignments. I phoned his parents but they did not know where he was. Since then, they tell me he has come home for brief intervals but is mostly staying with friends. A burst of robberies took place all over the area, as far south as Newburgh. Quite a bit of money has been stolen from businesses and homes, but the suspect has proved impossible to catch. In fact," and here Vitarius raised a thin bent forefinger, "it has been difficult to even get a good description because he moves so quickly. Victims and witnesses mention this. When the robber has been seen, he darts out of sight too quickly to identify."
Bane stood up despite himself. His enhanced metabolism made him hyper-active with the drawback of not being able to sit still for too long. "I see. The potion he stole. Velocitin."
"Yes. He has not seriously injured anyone so far. Three young women were groped in a crowd by someone they could not describe, but the molestation did not go further. And one police officer was struck down. He saw a dark figure in a store that closed for the night. When he tried to apprehend the robber as he left, he was punched, quote 'a dozen times in five seconds.'"
"Velocitin," repeated Bane. "As I understand it, that's the Velkandu potion that increases speed for a few minutes, right? Makes its user several times as fast as normal."
Vitarius agreed. "Jeremy, would you mind pouring me some tea from that pot on the table there? One of the lemon slices, if you don't mind." As Bane did so, the alchemist continued. "Velocitin is quite dangerous. I know you yourself are quicker than a normal Human, Jeremy. I believe you were timed at moving three times above Human limits."
"That's right," said Bane, pouring himself a cup of tea and stirring in a creamer. "Of course, I was born this way. Mr Dred called me a Variant. My body is meant to function this way, I have adaptations. He did hundreds of tests on my joints and respiratory system and cardiac and whatever. This is normal for me. But I take it, being hopped up on Velocitin hurts a user?"
"Oh yes. Rapid aging. Damage to knees and ankles from running. Dehydration, wear and tear on the heart. It's like putting jet fuel in a car. If Bryan is taking Velocitin, he won't live long but he can do a lot of harm while he does."
"There is a worse danger!" Bane snapped unexpectedly. "It looks as if your Bryan is just trying to get some money. But.. what if some other people learn about Velocitin? Get that serum in the hands of real hardened criminals and we'll see slaughter that will seem like a war."
"That had occurred to me. Yes, Jeremy. I have written down the addresses you will need. Bryan's parents, his close friends, his cousin's house in Newburgh, even a few girlfriends who might let him stay with them." Vitarius reached into his robe and pulled out a manila envelope, which Bane took.
The Dire Wolf started to turn away, but paused. "You know, Mercado... your assistant there, the Gelydra. Why didn't you send her on this?"
"Jin?" roared Vitarius in disbelief. "Oh no. No no no. Her English is not that good. She had no detective training. And besides, she is too quick to use deadly force. You know the Gelydrim believe they carry the spirit of sharks in their souls, don't you?"
"True enough." Bane slid the envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket. "All right, doctor. I'm on the case. I will report back as soon as I have something worth reporting. Any final suggestions?"
"Just this," said the alchemist. "Jeremy, you are the Dire Wolf. I have seen you in action. In a fight, you are as quick as a Snake Man, I have seen you catch a thrown knife without cutting yourself, I have seen you strike down a howler. But you are used to being faster than your opponents. Your style is based on it. If Bryan takes a good dose of Velocitin, he will be that much faster than you than you are to a normal Human. He will strike you between the ticks of your watch. He will move between your blinks. Be careful. I fear you are in for a rude awakening."
At the door, Bane looked back and nodded at Vitarius, but left without saying anything.
III.
Walking back to where he was parked, Bane felt that someone was watching him. As he reached the black Jeep Cherokee, he glanced back and saw the face of Demrak Jen staring at him from an upstairs window. The Dire Wolf raised one finger to his eyebrow in an ironic salute, slid in behind the wheel and drove up Grant Street. He had a lot to think about. This case was exactly what he needed... suddenly, he felt really alive for the first time in weeks. He was not meant to laze by a beach, sipping margaritas and watching young women stroll by. His nature was to look for trouble. For a few minutes, Bane drove up the main street of Poughkeepsie. There, he spotted a Barnes & Noble and wheeled into the parking lot. Getting a space near the front doors, he turned off the engine and reached behind him. In the net pocket behind his seat, he kept his laptop. Bane put it in his lap and logged in; Barnes & Noble offered free wifi and he was out of his own service area. After a minute, he found the archived news of the local paper THE POUGHKEEPSIE JOURNAL and dug in. Twenty minutes went by. After thirty, he was satisfied that the news reports matched up with what Vitarius had told him. It wasn't that he had any reason to doubt the ancient alchemist, but Bane was wary by nature and his life made him constantly suspicious. There was a chance Vitarius had been setting him up.
Putting the laptop back in its net pocket, Bane went into the bookstore, sat down in its coffee shop and devoured a toasted ham and cheese and tomato sandwich, with a bottle of apple juice. He used the bathroom, scrubbed his hands and face, and came out feeling ready for the challenge. For a minute or two, Bane wandered around the bookstore, lost in thought, then went back to his Jeep. Vitarius had been right. Facing an opponent on Velocitin might be a problem. At Tel Shai, Bane had studied Kumundu under Teacher Chael; over the years, he had taken lessons in everything from Western boxing to Aikido to fencing, keeping what would be useful. But his big advantage had been his innate speed. Bane was normally quick enough that he could wait until an opponent threw a punch but actually drive his own fist past that incoming blow to strike first. Even the best Human fighters seemed sluggish from Bane's perspective. Now the tables could be turned, and he would be tackling someone faster than himself.
Pulling back out into traffic, Bane headed toward the first of the addresses he had been given. Along the way, a little light bulb seemed to go ding! inside his head as he visualized it. He pulled into a supermarket and parked up in a corner at the far end. The Dire Wolf felt unreasonably pleased with himself at his brainstorms. They didn't always work; in fact, sometimes they backfired and made things worse but he enjoyed coming up with trickery in any case. Getting a satchel from the back compartment, he took out two of the small resonance discs he had kept from his KDF days. Putting them on the seat next to him, he studied their mechanism for a few minutes before getting a pair of tiny pliers from a burglar kit and making adjustments. Usually these devices went off on impact. He would throw them hard and, when they struck anything from the ground to a person, they detonated with a force carefully calibrated to stun without killing.
Well, he thought, that was the idea but nothing was perfect. Once or twice, a resonance grenade had hit a target in the chest and stopped the target's heart. Once, a disc had hit directly on the enemy's temple and had killed him outright. For the most part, though, they exploded about as hard a good stiff punch from a fist. They did have a timer gauge which could be attached, and he hooked them on now, setting them to go off three seconds after being armed, which would be done when he pulled them loose from their cords in his pocket. Now he felt better. Some back-up would be nice, too. He dug through the satchel and found some tear gas canisters, smoke bombs, flash grenades. Nothing seemed quite what would be needed, but he tucked away out one of each in his pockets.
Getting out of the Jeep, Bane checked out the weaponry. Okay. He could reach all of it quickly. As usual, he had a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver holstered at his back, and the two silver-bladed daggers strapped to his forearms under his sleeves. Excessive as all his hardware might seem, it was a huge cutback from some of his battles in the KDF, where he had geared up like a one man army. The Dire Wolf slid out into traffic and headed north. Ten minutes went by. He looked for the address of Bryan Adler's parents and found it to be a neat one-story ranch style house near the edge of town. No cars were outside. Bane pulled in the driveway, got no answer from ringing the doorbell and stood for a long couple of minutes probing with his senses. He didn't think anyone was there and he had learned to trust his instincts. A neighbor peeked out at him from a window and then closed the curtain, and Bane did not pursue it. Next was Bryan's main girlfriend, who lived with her parent's a little further up the road. Their house was part of a cluster of identical buildings built as a project. The girl was home and answered the door cautiously, even after Bane handed her his credentials as a Private Investigator licensed by the State of New York, she was not inclined to be helpful. From the big eyed looks she gave him, the girl seemed attracted on a personal level but that was not of any use now. She asked if he knew where else Bryan might be and Bane said no. He thanked her, got back in the Jeep again and drove back the way he had come.
Making a loop around a few streets, the Wolf passed the girl's house from a block away and saw her standing outside with her cell phone by her mouth. Once, he had worked with advanced Trom equipment that could tell him what number she had dialed and listen in on her conversation. But he had given nearly all of that up when he had stepped down as leader of the KDF team and had gone back to PI work. Speeding up, he headed toward the last address Vitarius had given him. He was outside the city itself now, zipping along country roads with houses spaced widely apart. There was a Harley shop, then a sign by a cottage reading ANTIQUES AND COLLECTIBLEs, with a wagon wheel propped up at its post. The highway had become a simpler road with just dotted white lines in the middle and an occasional wooden fence running along someone's property. Then he spotted a dirt road turning off, with a mail box leaning askew, and his pulse jumped a bit. He could feel it the way a wolf scents prey. Bane slowed down and went up the rutted dirt trail, stopping in front of a rundown house that had a motorcycle and a pick-up truck parked in front. As he stepped out of the Jeep, a kid came from behind the house and headed straight for him.
III.
The boy matched the description from Dr Vitarius. Bryan Adler wasn't tall, he stood maybe five feet ten and was stocky. He was wearing sneakers, jeans and a blue hoodie. The most distinguishing feature on a bland face was a pair of thick, arched eyebrows that gave him a sardonic expression. As Bane caught sight of him, Bryan lowered his hand from his mouth and gulped.
"Enjoying a special treat?" Bane asked. That set the confrontation off. Well, it spared all the verbal sparring and questioning. Bryan shuddered and convulsed once, then abruptly he was coming right at Bane with terrifying speed. He covered the distance between them like a rattlesnake striking, his fist swinging at the Dire Wolf's face. Fast as he was, Bryan was untrained. He drew his arm way back and swung it in a wide looping roundhouse. Bane stepped inside that arc and drove out a flurry of short straight punches to the body. His idea was to get in close and counter his opponent's advantage with skill. A vicious punch caught him on the side of the jaw. He literally did not see it coming.
The next minute was a nightmare for Bane. With all his mastery of martial art, all the decades of practice and exercise and experience, he got beaten up like a child. Bryan was so fast he seemed to flicker in and out of existence but he was actually striking before his opponent's eyes could track him. He was, as Vitarius had warned, hitting between blinks. Bane took a lot of damage. He could block a blow here and there, step to one side and let a punch go past once but for the most part there was nothing he could do but take it. The only thing keeping him up was that Bryan Adler was not a skilled boxer. He was reasonably fit for his age, though, and the speed with which his fists whistled in added to their stinging impact.
Bane went down, to his own surprise. Two left-right blows caught him just right. As he fell on his side, catching himself with one hand, he almost drew his pistol but instantly knew better. Bryan could take it away from him and use it against him. As he fell, Bane saw the boy draw back for a second. Some basic decency kept him from kicking a man who was down. The Dire Wolf started to talk and had to spit out blood. "Listen! You know the side effects?"
Bryan watched him sourly. "What?"
"The drug you stole. The stuff that is making you so fast. You know it will age you years in minutes?"
"Who cares? Yes, Vitarius told me when I saw him brewing it. So what? I'm eighteen. Suppose I do age ten years. What would you rather be, a penniless eighteen-year-old loser or a rich twenty-eight-year-old? It's a no-brainer!"
Bane got to his feet. He had not been thrashed like this in many years. One eye had clouded vision and his ribs hurt so much that breathing was impaired. In a few minutes, the enhanced healing from tagra would kick in, but he didn't have those minutes. He stood up straight by will alone, forcing himself up. Bryan glared at him and said, "I wouldn't move if I was you, mister."
"I know-- I know I can't beat you this way," Bane said, inching his hand to the small pocket up on the left breast of his jacket. There was a flash of pain and he was on the ground again, not having seen the punch that had dropped him. Bane still inserted a finger in that pocket defiantly and managed to say, "There's an antidote to your drug!"
Bryan grinned wickedly. "Oh, there is, is there? Well, let me see." And again, too rapidly for his movements to be followed, he slapped Bane's hand down and dipped his own hand into the jacket pocket. Stepping back, he held up a small metal disc and said, "Hey, what is this thi-" before the resonance grenade exploded inches from his face. Two fingers snapped on the hand that had been holding the device, his nose broke flat and he was blinded. The boy screamed and pawed at his face. Bane managed to come in close. He hooked a foot behind the kid's ankle and flipped him face down to the ground. The kid was whimpering in pain and surprise as the Dire Wolf pinned him down. Battered as he was, now Bane could use his greater strength and he deftly yanked the kid's arms behind his back and got handcuffs around his wrists. By now, Bryan was crying. "I can't see, I can't see anything but a haze!"
"Your sight will probably come back," Bane told him without much sympathy. "I'm calling 911 now." But in fact, there was a delay while he searched the truck and then the house. Under a loose board on the porch, he found the soft leather bag that had been stolen. Bane looked inside, remembered how much had been taken and saw it was nearly all there. The bag went into his inner pocket as he pulled out his phone to call from an ambulance and the police. It was hard not to feel sympathy for the agonized boy who was lying on the ground whimpering but Bane winced as he tried to help him up. Going to his Jeep, walking less stiffly as he started to heal, Bane saw in the rear view mirror that one of his eyes was nearly shut, his lips were split and puffy, and a bruise was already swelling darkly along his jawline. A normal person would have died from the beating he had taken. If he hadn't prepared that trick grenade, Bryan Adler would have beaten him senseless and he would have been powerless to defend himself. Bane looked over at the kid with less empathy than a minute earlier.
2/26/2013
