"Castaway"
May. 16th, 2022 11:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Castaway"
9/4/2009
I.
As far as staying overnight in holding cells went, that hadn't been bad. The other occupant had been a sleeping drunk, so Bane had been left alone. He was by nature hyper and restless, which made sitting still all night a real effort for him but eventually they came and brought him to the DA's office. His legal advisor, Taylor Worth, had been there to tell him that there was not sufficient grounds to hold him as a material witness, particularly since the killer had surrendered and was found with all manner of incriminating evidence on him. The fact that Bane had discovered the body and had been standing there studying the scene when the police arrived had been just bad luck.
In his office, the new District Attorney was watching Bane the way one would watch an unfamilar growling dog. Van Aken was not someone to inspire confidence, being a rather mousy little guy with uneven hair and an unfortunately large nose but he was good at his job. "You're free to go, Mr Bane," he said as they all got up. "But I want you to think about a few things. I know all about the famous Dire Wolf. I know my predecessor and certain higher-ups in the police administration have allowed you to skirt the law any number of times. Yes, I myself have been told that there are mysterious threats to the public only you can handle due to your alleged superior abilities."
Bane said nothing. He was unshaven and grimy, still wearing the clothes he had had on after a busy previous day. He turned his pale eyes on the DA and waited.
"I don't accept it," Van Aken said. "It sets a bad precedent. Our fine police force does not need freelance outside help. Any so-called extraordinary threats can be handled by the NYPD." His voice became gentle, almost affectionate suddenly. "I do not want to hear of you being called on as a vigilante again. Is that clear?"
"Got it," said Bane. Taylor Worth took his arm and led him from the office. They went down a busy hall, took the elevator to ground level and to the processing room. She reminded him strongly of her mother Donna. Although she was an inch taller and slighter in build, both had long inquisitive faces, dark reddish hair and green eyes. Taylor worked as a junior partner for her mother's law firm and had come to escort him from police headquarters many number of times before. At the ancient, chipped desk behind a metal link barrier that slid open, Bane inspected his belongings and signed for them. The only items he was really concerned about were the two silver-bladed daggers he habitually wore strapped to his forearms. He inspected them suspiciously for damage.
"No one touched them," said the seriously hairy officer behind the desk. "Believe me, Mr Dire Wolf, everybody knows about your babies there and they were left alone. Sign here. And here. Initials here. All right, until next time."
Bane took the plastic shopping bag and thick manila envelope and began stowing the items about his person. Watch, keys, phone, wallet. Money in a clear bag with the amount written on it in marker. It wasn't until they were outside police headquarters and on the street that Bane stopped to wriggle out of his jacket and tug up the sleeves of his black turtleneck. Not caring who saw him, the Dire Wolf fastened the straps to his forearms and checked that the daggers slid out easily when he pulled his sleeves back down. Putting the jacket back on, he turned to see Taylor Worth smirking happily at him.
"Not feeling naked anymore?" she asked. "Good to see you again, Jeremy. I'll be sending you the bill from our firm."
Bane gave her the faintest of smiles. "Thanks, Taylor. And say thank you for me to your mother. She has been bailing me out of trouble since before you were born."
Taylor started to walk alongside him, crossing 23rd Street. She had a satchel over one shoulder that held her laptop and papers, and her phone started to beep but she ignored it until it went to voicemail. "She's told me unbelievable stories. Before she met my father, when she was with Michael Hawk. I always tell her she's making it up in her old age."
"No. No, I am sure she has not told you half of what went on in those days. These are quieter times. Is that your car?"
"The Prius? Yes. Can I give you a lift uptown, Jeremy?"
"No thanks, I feel like walking. Thanks again. I'll be seeing you."
Chirping her car door open, Taylor Worth chuckled. "I'm sure you will. Keep some bail money available."
Bane watched her pull out and drive away. After a second, he turned and began heading uptown. He was thinking about the DA's warning and the way the tone of voice had been almost friendly. It was as if the words were contradicted by the tone. It was odd. He wondered if Van Aken had been trying to tell him to continue his unofficial troubleshooting but just keep it discreet, so he wouldn't have to hear about it. Just as well, because Bane had no intention of ever changing his ways.
Heading north, walking quickly because it was his nature to walk as fast as the average person could run, Bane reached 47th Street a little after ten a.m. He swung right, crossed over to Third Avenue and stepped up to the stoop of his apartment building. Most of the time, Mrs Choi was sitting by the window looking out and she was there today. Bane gave her a wave and she returned it with a cheery grin. For the most part, she knew which tenants had which visitors and her experiences in the old country had left her watchful for suspicious strangers. If there had been any shady characters asking questions or trying to get in, she would have let Bane know.
He went up the flight of worn steps to the second floor, punched in the security code in the little box he had installed by the door and entered his apartment. It seemed odd to people that Jeremy Bane was in fact wealthy but lived so modestly. If he had wanted to, he could have bought the entire building and remodeled it. But he did not have the instincts of luxury, it just did not appeal to him. Crossing to his bedroom, he went into the small bathroom that had been installed and threw his stale clothes in the hamper, lathered up and took the razor with him in the stall. He took a hot shower tnen switched to cold at the end. Toweling dry, Bane pulled fresh clothes from a dresser in his bedroom that were exactly the same as what he had been wearing. Black dress slacks and a long-sleeved black turtleneck, with another of the three identical sport jackets, always all black. Now he was coming back to life.
In the living room, he turned on his messages and listened to them as he dug through the waist-high refrigerator. Four eggs, some cheddar, maybe that piece of ham. He dragged down the heavy cast iron frying pan from its hook on the wall and started an omelet while listening to his messages. As the omelet cooked, he poured cranberry juice into a huge tumbler and diluted it with water, then drained it in a gulp.
The messages were the usual updates and reports from colleagues. Bane dished the omelet onto a plate and gave it a sour look. It had come out more like scrambled eggs. The Dire Wolf devoured it and felt he could have downed another one if he had more eggs. Cleaning the frying pan and plate, Bane reminisced a little about Donna Worth. After the death of Michael Hawk, she had decided not to let her degree go to waste and eventually started her own law firm. In time, she had met someone new and settled down to have two daughters. The older one, Taylor, was the legal assistant who had come to help him out this morning.
He suddenly realized he didn't know what had happened to Donna's other daughter and decided to ask about her the next time they talked. It was all so long ago. Mike had died in what, 1983? In the Snake War that broke their hidden empire. Taylor looked to be in her mid-twenties. Donna could easily be a grandmother by now, which was a funny image....
Drying his hands, Bane was still thinking about Van Aken's warning. it annoyed him a little to be asked to risk his neck and go fight some dangerous psycho and then be told later to stop doing it. Damn. If he was caught in incriminating circumstances and up on charges, the NYPD would not back him up. He would take the rap. Maybe he should start demanding some sort of immunity before rushing out to wrestle with monsters and madmen.
The Dire Wolf paused to glance around the apartment. Everything was turned off and put away. He went out into the hall, the alarms turning on automatically as he closed the door. Passing Mrs Choi as he stepped outside, he asked her if she wanted anything and she said no. Then he headed south. His office was three blocks away on the same avenue. As it had turned out, he had found the office first and then turned up the apartment as close as he could get.
It was a fine day, breezy and cool. Bane thought he would check his messages again and see if there was a case in them he could start, something weird and mysterious. Little more than a mile away, a man fell to the sidewalk and broke into frozen pieces.
II.
The teenage girl stood crying beside the wall that ran around Central Park at 59th Street. She wasn't dramatic about it, just sniffling and wiping her eyes. People glanced at her but she did not seem to be requesting help so everyone moved on. After a while, she composed herself and stood quietly by the wall, hands tucked in the sleeves of her folded arms. She wore a plain white garment that looked rather like a bathrobe, but which came down to her feet and which rose to a high collar behind her neck. The material had a slight sheen to it in the sunlight.
She caught Art Houston's eye, although he didn't know why. Art was a big black guy, not more than twenty-two or three, with a tattoo around his neck and bad teeth. He had nowhere to go until four o'clock and wouldn't mind spending some time with a sweet girl. As he came closer, she glanced up. She was a little funny-looking to be honest, with a round flat face, high cheekbones and slanted dark blue eyes. Her hair was white, but she wasn't old... maybe it just be really blonde but the dark eyes sure looked strange staring out of that pale face surrounded by white hair.
"Hey, little lady, zup?" he said. "You need some help, maybe?"
She did not answer. The look on her face was hard to read. It was like she had never seen a brother before.
"You all right? What's your name? My name's Art, what's yours?" Suddenly he wasn't so much hopeful of picking some one up for quick sex as he was genuinely worried about her.
"I..." she replied slowly. "I am but a Castaway." Oddest accent, it sounded like "Cahst-a-WAY" when she said it.
"Yeah? Okay." He was a litttle uncertain, maybe he should drop this. "I just thought, you know, maybe you needed some help. You wanna go talk?"
Again, she did not answer and he made the mistake of reaching out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. It was his last mistake. Her eyes narrowed and there was a crackling sound. White frost rushed around him, his eyes glazed and his heart stopped and Art Houston fell stiffly to one side. When he hit the sidewalk, his frozen body broke into several chunks.
A woman screamed and a man yelled loudly, "What the HELL? Hey, did you see that?"
The girl who had called herself a Castaway turned and walked away, not quickly, ignored by the gathering crowd. Once she glanced back and seemed surprised at the commontion, then she walked on.
A few blocks away, in a posh hotel suite twenty stories up from the street, a very tall man jumped out of his chair with a gasp. Avathor was dressed in an expensive charcoal grey suit with a white shirt open at the throat, tie loosened. He had skin burned by long exposure to the sun over many years, leaving some scarring, and ash blonde hair with a sharp widow's peak. His blue eyes darted around the room. "Wugan! Beldor! Come here at once!" He rushed to the window and stared down at 57th Street in agitation.
From the bedroom limped an older man, small and bent enough that he seemed even smaller. Wugan's light brown hair receded far back on a round oversized head, he blinked sleepily and pulled on a white shirt as he came. At the same time, Beldor slammed the bathroom door open and took two quick strides into the living room. She was a slim woman slightly more than six feet tall, wearing a loose dark sweater and jeans. Beldor had long whitish blonde hair the same shade as Avathor's, and her eyes were the same color as his, but their faces did not resemble each other. "NOW what?" she muttered.
"I sense... a presence." Avathor did not turn from the window. "Powerful. Dangerous. Greater than... We must go seek it out," he said.
"Oh, must we?" Beldor dropped down on the short couch and laced on white sneakers. "As if we have not had enough excitement fleeing Androval again?"
The Gralic Leech silenced her with a raised hand. "You have prospered since joining our little family, true?"
"True enough," she said. Beldor rose and came over to stand next to him. "I can't complain about the loot." She added with a wicked grin, "I could stand more fighting, though. We Melgar are not bred for lolling about."
The older man still stood by the waist-high window, gazing down thoughtfully. "Master. I feel it, too. Like nothing I have known before."
At the door, Avathor gestured for him to join them. "Come. hurry." His two companions went through and he followed. The way he ducked his head in the doorway and how his shoulders reached from side to side showed how big he actually was. It was clear the Leech was impatient to be going, he almost dragged the bent Wugan along by the arm as they got in the elevator. They emerged in the lobby, drawing some stares. Avathor's height, his dark skin and white hair, not to mention that the woman beside him was also tall and had the same ash blonde hair, added to the effect. Few noticed Wugan, struggling to keep up. On the street, the tall man swung right and almost broke into a run.
A few blocks over, he found what he was looking for. A NYPD police car had pulled over, double-parked, and two uniformed officers were standing on the sidewalk talking to a slim young girl in a white robe. The cops were both Italian, with curly hair and each had a similar mustache. Although they seemed excited, the Castaway regarded them with indifference. Avathor came striding and for the first time, she perked up. When Beldor followed, Castaway actually smiled at the blonde woman. Now the older police officer, who was getting thick and doughy around the middle, turned and pointed a finger at the man who stood more than a head taller. "Hey,just keep your distance, pal, this don't concern you."
The Gralic Leech smiled at the Castaway, who held out her open hands to him. The cop tried to get between them, and Avathor turned to his partner, saying quietly, "Slay them."
Beldor stepped in close and, without bracing herself or drawing back her arm, threw a short straight punch to the officer's chest that cracked his sterum and stopped his heart. Before he hit the sidewalk, the Melgar woman had swivelled around and seized the other cop by the shirt, pulling him into an elbow that crushed his face in. All this was done without effort, over in just a second or two.
Bending to roll the corpses aside, Avathor motioned for the small woman to get in the cruiser and she did so with only the slightest hesitation. Wugan slid in beside her and closed the door, at the same time that Avathor and Beldor had jumped into the front. The car swerved into the street, barely missing a taxi, and roared off. Avathor turned off the rotating red lights. "Neatly done," he said to Beldor. "Well, we can't go back to the hotel now. We will have to send a peasant later to retrieve our belongings. I think our second hideout is our best bet now."
In the back seat, Castaway was watching them. "Brother? Sister? how did you come to be here?" Beldor turned her head to examine the strange passenger. She seemed to not really be aware of what had just happened.
Behind the wheel, Avathor said soothingly, "We will talk in a few minutes, my little friend. First, we must be safe."
They had been heading north and, just at 110th Street, Avathor saw the distraction he wanted. An ambulance and another police car were pulled up next to a fried chicken restaurant, and more than twenty people were standing about where someone had been stabbed in an argument. The Gralic Leech pulled over, shut the police car off and got his crew out on the street. One or two in the crowd glanced up, but most were fixed on the arrest of the stabber and the fate of the victim.
Avathor herded everyone around a corner, up 8th Avenue and he unlocked a narrow door between a window that said CHECKS CASHED and a used clothing store, hustling his three companions in. They all went up creaking stairs and to a landing on the third floor, where he opened another door and rushed them in.
Castaway looked around her. This room was old, with plaster on the ceiling and flowered wallpaper, overstuffed furniture and a long sofa under a pair of grimy windows. It smelled musty. She turned back to Avathor and Beldor and reached to lightly touch their hair. "How did you come to be here?" she repeated.
"She thinks we are related," Beldor said. "Listen, girl, we are Melgar from the realm of Androval. What is your name?"
"My name? I have no name anymore. I am a forsaken one. Castaway."
Avathor put on what was for him a charming smile but which would have done credit to a lion about to seize a lamb. "Are you hungry, my friend?"
"I am tired. I must rest." With that, the girl went over to the couch, stretched out and folded her hands across her breast and seemingly fell asleep in an instant.
"Well! I like THAT!" Beldor snorted. "Pretty manners!"
The Gralic Leech shushed her, drawing her and Wugan over to the tiny kitchen area. By the sink, he said in a low voice, "Beldar, take care. We are in danger."
"What, that child?"
Wugan lowered himself into a wooden chair with a slight groan. "Yes indeed. You are right, Master. There is great power in that one."
"Oh, now I see. That's the problem with being a Gralic Leech, isn't it? The abilities you steal don't last. They fade and have to be replaced." Beldar cocked her head with a mocking smile. "You are thinking of sucking the power out of her for yourself."
"Absolutely. What of it? I make no secret of what I am. Right now, my powers are at a low ebb. I am hardly stronger than the average Melgar and all I can muster are gralic bolts enough to daze a human. But that girl there... she is just what I need." And Avathor leered in a way that made even Beldor draw back.
III.
Bane had arrived at his office before noon, gotten his mail from the box just inside the lobby and spent an unrewarding half-hour going through it. He felt stale and uneasy. Maybe he needed some new training, it always made him happy to pick up a useful skill and he wasn't good at imitating voices at all. Some classes in mimicry...
Both his cell phone and the cordless phone on his desk rang at the same time. The Dire Wolf gave a start and answered the cell phone, talked for a few minutes and then hung up to listen to the voice mail on the cordless phone. As he did this, the cell phone rang again and he took another call. Altogether, he was talking for fifteen minutes. Leaping to his feet, he began pacing the office in a fury of excitement, digesting what he had just learned. The death of a young man near Central Park and the murder of two police officers a few blocks away, with the theft of their cruiser. The young man had been frozen solid, as if he had been left out in a blizzard for a few days, despite the fact he had been seen buying a hot pretzel not five minutes earlier. A witness who had seen the cops' deaths said a tall woman with white hair just punched them out and stole their car. Other people had been with her, but the witness had been so stunned by the violence he could not remember anything about them. The Dire Wolf swung his arms back and forth. Was there a connection? He thought so, but the odds against..
The doorbell rang. Bane had the door to his office open, he whipped through the tiny waiting room and glanced up at the closed-circuit screen from the camera in the hall. Of course. He opened the door inward and Lt Joseph Montez came in, filling the doorway with his girth. His weight went up and down, but it sure seemed to be at a peak right then. He was wearing khaki pants and a tan polo shirt, with an open dress shirt over it.
"Off-duty?" asked Bane.
"Lissen, let's get inside," Montez said. "We gotta talk."
The outer door locked automatically as Bane closed it. He led Montez into the office and touched the back of a chair to indicate he should have a seat. Bane himself circled around and dropped down into the swivel chair behind the desk. Before he could say anything, Montez started, "You've heard what's going on?"
"Yes."
"Today is my day off, but I got a scanner and you know, people call me. In fact, it's getting so every time something weird and unexplainable happens in this town, everybody lets me know. Why? Because they are getting to expect me to go tell you."
Bane tilted his head. "Bothered by that?"
"Yes. No. Aw, I guess it's for the best. Sometimes I don't like being used as a messenger boy. Anyway, the kid that got frozen is down at the medical examiner's office. No one has any suggestions as to how that coulda happened. Meanwhile, the rest of Manhattan is boiling as every officer has been called to look for whoever killed two cops and stole their wheels. You can imagine, it's quite an uproar."
"Sure. I want to help, of course. You have anything I couldn't get off TV news?"
"Yeah. Now, remember, once again, this is off the record. I don't know you. I'm not coming to you and giving you information not cleared for the public. And I am especially not telling you things so you can go out and pull some vigilante nonsense. No, sir!"
Despite his best efforts, Bane could not stifle a laugh. "Sorry. Just this morning the new DA warned me to knock off the vigilante nonsense and mind my own business. Not three hours ago."
"Yeah, that guy. I met him. Well, so be it. Okay, listen up. We have descriptions which have not been released to the media of four persons of interest. A woman, maybe a teenager, five foot one or two, one hundred pounds, white hair, wearing a white floor-length dress. She was seen talking to the victim, Arthur Lou Houston, just before he died. Three people seem to have been involved with the cop-killing. A little old man, a blonde woman and a big guy with white hair. That's the best we have on them."
Suddenly, Jeremy Bane's manner had changed. "A big guy with white hair..? Anything else?"
"Not from that witness. Now, the stolen police car was abandoned near 110th Street and 7th Avenue. Of course, officers have been searching the area. One old Korean guy, English not too good, says he saw a strange-looking man in the area at that time. Closer to seven feet tall than six, wide like a refrigerator, skin like a coffee bean and cotton hair. Those are the witness' words, not mine, and like I said, he's kind of hard to understand."
"Avathor."
"What? Hey, Bane, you got a funny look on your face."
The Dire Wolf leaned back his chair, scowling. "I know who is involved with these crimes. Knowing him, I'm sure he's behind them, too. You won't find Avathor in your files, Lieutenant. I doubt if the FBI has him listed either." He came forward again, resting his elbows on his desk and turned those icy grey eyes on the police detective. "He operates in other realms and only comes into the world to rest and spend some loot. It's not like him to draw attention to himself while in the real world."
"The real...? Come again?"
Bane shook his head impatiently. "I don't know how I can explain it to you. You're an intelligent man and you know the streets but this is a menace like the cities of men don't often face. I'm going to start looking for him." He leaped up and headed for the door, obviously ready for Montez to leave. "I'll call you as soon as I can."
"Wait. Give me something to work with, Bane. Have a heart."
As he escorted the lieutenant to the outer door, Bane said, "Avathor is, well, a career criminal. Think of those jewel thieves who go around Europe stealing diamonds from royalty. Or assassins who hire out for a fortune to nail heads of state. That's what Avathor is like." He almost shoved Montez out into the hall. "You'll hear from me right away, I promise."
Immediately, Bane dove through the waiting room back into his office. Avathor! That monster. He had not been heard from in years. Bane had figured he was living in luxury in some realm, gorging himself on gourmet cooking and a parade of gorgeous women. But here he was. The Dire Wolf knelt beside the bookcase and unlocked the hidden wheels, swinging it around to reveal a shallow pit he had himself dug into the concrete. Inside were a few wooden boxes and a black lacquered trunk. Bane pulled the trunk up and placed it on the carpet. Moving with the smoothness of long practice, he drew out some items and laid them on his desk.
Stripping impatiently to shorts and socks, he wiggled into the flexible Trom-metal armor that covered his body and his arms down to the wrist. Then he pulled on tight black pants of a tough material and a black crewneck shirt of the same fabric. He tugged on heavy boots, then got into the waist-length snug jacket. The pockets were already filled with a variety of tools and devices. On his arms he always had the silver daggers, but now he buckled on a gunbelt which held its holster on the left. The airgun was loaded with the anesthetic darts, but he tucked a clip of resonance caps in one pocket as well.
Standing up, Bane had a wolfish grin on his face. He had not needed to get into the field suit often since he had stepped down from being Director of the KDF. Most of the opponents he faced now were lesser threats and did require much firepower to handle. Replacing the trunk into the floor pit, he covered it again with the bookcase. Holding his helmet in the crook of one arm, he turned off the lights as he left the office. There were a few people in the lobby, the Emergency One service was always busy until closing, and they looked up as he passed but to a casual observer, he looked like someone about to get on a motorcycle.
Out on the street again, Bane turned left and headed briskly to Imperial Garage. Within a few minutes, he was starting up the dark green Subaru Outback and pulling out into the street and back into war.
IV.
Castaway had not stirred. Her chest barely seemed to move as she breathed. An arm's length away, Avathor towered over her, staring down.
"What are you waiting for, anyway?" asked Beldor. She was sitting at the kitchen table with her legs crossed and an arm over the back of her chair. "You know you want to steal her power. Get it over with."
"Not yet. No." The Gralic Leech swung around and came to loom over the unimpressed Melgar woman. "I need to know more. I have never seen an aura like hers. She is.. different. And I thought I knew all the peoples and Races of the Midnight War."
"I think you might be a little afraid, eH? I thought, too, that by now you would have her in that bedroom while Wugan and I had to listen. Come, Avathor. There is no food here, nothing to drink. I will go and dine."
"No. Wugan, you are the least conspicuous of us. Here is this country's money. Find a store, bring us bread and meat and fruit. Wine, if you see it, beer would be good too. Come right back." A strange softness barely tinged the Leech's voice. "And be careful. You are not young anymore."
"Some cheese, as well," asked Beldor. "Hurry."
Wugan put on his jacket and headed down the sagging stairs to the street. He did not try to rush, but held the bannister and placed his steps carefully. The streets were busy with Humans of different colors and size and clothing. Wugan had been in this world before with Avathor, and he knew enough of its customs to get by. Melgar did not greatly look different from their Human cousins, the extra strength and resilience in their bodies did not show any more than their greater lifespans.
Wugan found a deli, entered and moved around cautiously. It was crowded. He took a plastic basket and filled it with the food his master had requested, selected a few bottles of beer and a chocolate bar for himself. He did not need to speak English, just placing the items down and handing over money was enough. Plenty of Humans in this city did not speak its main language. With relief at getting out of there, the aged Melgar emerged onto the street and slowly began walking the way he came.
As he crossed the street to the building where Avathor and the others waited, Wugan did not see the man in black who spotted him and watched him with wary eyes. Bane had spent time in Androval and when he caught sight of Wugan, he knew here was a Melgar the same way a Chinese would stand out on a street in Denmark. As the old man opened the door next to the checks cashing establishment and went in, Bane looked up and studied that building, The windows were mostly curtained, two had air conditioners in them. He could not spot anyone looking out.
In those few minutes, two cruisers crawled by. The force was certainly out today. One of the cops blinked as if he recognized the Dire Wolf but the car did not stop. Bane put the war helmet on but left its visor up. Crossing over to the doorway that the Melgar had used, Bane glanced left and right, than used the heel of his hand to snap the lock and swing the door open. Ah well, he thought, Breaking and entry for the millionth time. He found himself in a narrow lobby with linoleum floors, two doors on his right hand side and a delapidated staircase in front of him. A mop and bucket of dirty water were in the way, he stepped over them and started up the stairs with his senses probing, After a minute, he stopped on the landing and turned the pod on the side of his helmet, cranking up the directional sensors, listening. Spanish music. A woman coughing. Footsteps and a door closing. And then, the voice of Avathor.
He did not need to be able to make out any words. He knew that smug, slightly plummy voice. Bane paused before the door, listening and hearing the low buzz of conversation but not quite getting the words. He checked that the daggers under his sleeves were ready to be drawn.
The Castway had awoken. Without yawning or stretching, simply sitting up and rising to her feet. She gazed calmly at the others. Avathor put down the bottle of beer and approached. "Ah, my friend, ready to eat?"
"I am not sure you are of our colony," she said quietly. "You look like us, the hair and the eyes, but what would you be doing on this rock?"
"Why... the same as you..."
"I do not think so. It was my lot to be thrown out, that the crew might survive. I do not think you are of my folk after all." She swung around to face the door. "The signal will be given soon. Fire will fall. I must go to a safe place."
Never a patient man, Avathor slammed the bottle on the table harder than he had thought to do. "Oh no, there are questions to be answered! Come here-" his voice broke off as she turned those deadly calm eyes on him.
Wugan had been standing near the young woman and now he put a hand upon her arm. The Castaway turned her eyes without moving her head, and the elderly Melgar exploded in a detonation of white-hot flame. His scream was cut off as the fireball charred him, and the cindered body fell to the wood floor with a rustle. At once, the flames went out but the stink of burnt meat was heavy in the air.
"Wugan!" screamed Avathor in shock. "By Malberon! Poor Wugan." He made fists of his massive hands and took a menacing step toward the Castaway. "First ice and then, fire! What are you?"
No answer ever came because the door slammed inward, its lock and one hinge broken off by a side kick and Jeremy Bane lunged into the room. He took in the situation instantly, the burnt husk on the floor was beyond help, the young girl in the white gown seemed harmless enough. It was Avathor who was the threat here. Bane came in fast, and was tackled in mid-plunge by Beldor. They tumbled to the floor, both jumped up at once and she connected with a perfect hook to the ribs. With the other hand, she threw an uppercut that stopped short in the air with a thwack. Bane had caught it in his palm. He shoved her arm down across her front, twisting her around and leaving her open. With his other hand, the Dire Wolf smashed a rabbit punch to the back of the neck. She fell to her knees and rolled over on her side.
"I know you're a Melgar," Bane said. "You people are stronger than the horses you ride." With that, he swivelled and headed for Avathor again. The Gralic Leech was not inclined to fight unless he had a huge advantage and his store of usurped powers was low. From inside his suitjacket, he drew a huge Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum and let five bullets rip into Bane. The impact sounded like drumming. He was slammed back and over the sofa next to which Castaway stood watching.
The Dire Wolf gasped and tried to get up. The Trom-metal armor was good, better than ceramic plate armor, but it wasn't perfect. Plenty of impact from the bullets had been passed on to his body. With both hands, wincing, Bane grabbed the back of the sofa and pulled himself up before Avathor could reload or the Melgar woman recover. Instead, he saw the Gralic Leech step over to the young blonde woman standing over the cinders of a body.
"Hurry, my friend," Avathor said. "We must leave. I will explain." She glared at him, and his feet swung around up in the air so that he was hanging upside down with nothing holding him. The Leech thrashed his limbs but could make contact with nothing.
"You keep calling me your friend," she said. "Very well, perhaps I shall let you. For what is a pet but not a true friend?"
As Bane struggled to his feet and walked around the couch, she turned her head to give him a cold smile. "Do not approach me. I only need one dog." In a swirl of lovely blue-white light, their outlines shimmered and two shafts of radiance rose up and passed through the ceiling, gone and leaving nothing behind.
Jeremy Bane fell to a sitting position on the floor. For once, even he was stupefied. He realized his mouth was hanging open and he closed it. From the corner of his eye, he caught Beldor getting to her hands and knees. She had watched it all.
"What happened? Where is Avathor?"
Slowly rising, Bane gingerly explored his ribcage. It burned but he didn't think anything was broken. Time for some X-Rays, though. "I don't know," he said. "Come on. I guess you don't have any ID or documents. The police will be here in a few seconds and you can't answer their questions."
"And you? What do you think you will do with me? I can guess," the blonde Melgar said sourly.
"I'm sending you back to Androval. Let your own Race deal with you. Just stay out of my town." Bane looked up and down the hall and saw one door slam shut as the watching neighbor did not want to be spotted. They went down the back stairs and out into an alley with overturned garbage cans. Neither was navigating very well. Emerging on the street, Beldar rubbing her sore neck and Bane his sore ribs, they regarded each other with sour amusement.
"But that girl?" demanded the Melgar, "How did she do those things? Where did she take my partner? WHAT WAS SHE?"
"I don't know," Bane repeated unhappily. "The Midnight War isn't everything. It's not even all of the mysteries on Earth, much less anywhere else."
3/17/2003
9/4/2009
I.
As far as staying overnight in holding cells went, that hadn't been bad. The other occupant had been a sleeping drunk, so Bane had been left alone. He was by nature hyper and restless, which made sitting still all night a real effort for him but eventually they came and brought him to the DA's office. His legal advisor, Taylor Worth, had been there to tell him that there was not sufficient grounds to hold him as a material witness, particularly since the killer had surrendered and was found with all manner of incriminating evidence on him. The fact that Bane had discovered the body and had been standing there studying the scene when the police arrived had been just bad luck.
In his office, the new District Attorney was watching Bane the way one would watch an unfamilar growling dog. Van Aken was not someone to inspire confidence, being a rather mousy little guy with uneven hair and an unfortunately large nose but he was good at his job. "You're free to go, Mr Bane," he said as they all got up. "But I want you to think about a few things. I know all about the famous Dire Wolf. I know my predecessor and certain higher-ups in the police administration have allowed you to skirt the law any number of times. Yes, I myself have been told that there are mysterious threats to the public only you can handle due to your alleged superior abilities."
Bane said nothing. He was unshaven and grimy, still wearing the clothes he had had on after a busy previous day. He turned his pale eyes on the DA and waited.
"I don't accept it," Van Aken said. "It sets a bad precedent. Our fine police force does not need freelance outside help. Any so-called extraordinary threats can be handled by the NYPD." His voice became gentle, almost affectionate suddenly. "I do not want to hear of you being called on as a vigilante again. Is that clear?"
"Got it," said Bane. Taylor Worth took his arm and led him from the office. They went down a busy hall, took the elevator to ground level and to the processing room. She reminded him strongly of her mother Donna. Although she was an inch taller and slighter in build, both had long inquisitive faces, dark reddish hair and green eyes. Taylor worked as a junior partner for her mother's law firm and had come to escort him from police headquarters many number of times before. At the ancient, chipped desk behind a metal link barrier that slid open, Bane inspected his belongings and signed for them. The only items he was really concerned about were the two silver-bladed daggers he habitually wore strapped to his forearms. He inspected them suspiciously for damage.
"No one touched them," said the seriously hairy officer behind the desk. "Believe me, Mr Dire Wolf, everybody knows about your babies there and they were left alone. Sign here. And here. Initials here. All right, until next time."
Bane took the plastic shopping bag and thick manila envelope and began stowing the items about his person. Watch, keys, phone, wallet. Money in a clear bag with the amount written on it in marker. It wasn't until they were outside police headquarters and on the street that Bane stopped to wriggle out of his jacket and tug up the sleeves of his black turtleneck. Not caring who saw him, the Dire Wolf fastened the straps to his forearms and checked that the daggers slid out easily when he pulled his sleeves back down. Putting the jacket back on, he turned to see Taylor Worth smirking happily at him.
"Not feeling naked anymore?" she asked. "Good to see you again, Jeremy. I'll be sending you the bill from our firm."
Bane gave her the faintest of smiles. "Thanks, Taylor. And say thank you for me to your mother. She has been bailing me out of trouble since before you were born."
Taylor started to walk alongside him, crossing 23rd Street. She had a satchel over one shoulder that held her laptop and papers, and her phone started to beep but she ignored it until it went to voicemail. "She's told me unbelievable stories. Before she met my father, when she was with Michael Hawk. I always tell her she's making it up in her old age."
"No. No, I am sure she has not told you half of what went on in those days. These are quieter times. Is that your car?"
"The Prius? Yes. Can I give you a lift uptown, Jeremy?"
"No thanks, I feel like walking. Thanks again. I'll be seeing you."
Chirping her car door open, Taylor Worth chuckled. "I'm sure you will. Keep some bail money available."
Bane watched her pull out and drive away. After a second, he turned and began heading uptown. He was thinking about the DA's warning and the way the tone of voice had been almost friendly. It was as if the words were contradicted by the tone. It was odd. He wondered if Van Aken had been trying to tell him to continue his unofficial troubleshooting but just keep it discreet, so he wouldn't have to hear about it. Just as well, because Bane had no intention of ever changing his ways.
Heading north, walking quickly because it was his nature to walk as fast as the average person could run, Bane reached 47th Street a little after ten a.m. He swung right, crossed over to Third Avenue and stepped up to the stoop of his apartment building. Most of the time, Mrs Choi was sitting by the window looking out and she was there today. Bane gave her a wave and she returned it with a cheery grin. For the most part, she knew which tenants had which visitors and her experiences in the old country had left her watchful for suspicious strangers. If there had been any shady characters asking questions or trying to get in, she would have let Bane know.
He went up the flight of worn steps to the second floor, punched in the security code in the little box he had installed by the door and entered his apartment. It seemed odd to people that Jeremy Bane was in fact wealthy but lived so modestly. If he had wanted to, he could have bought the entire building and remodeled it. But he did not have the instincts of luxury, it just did not appeal to him. Crossing to his bedroom, he went into the small bathroom that had been installed and threw his stale clothes in the hamper, lathered up and took the razor with him in the stall. He took a hot shower tnen switched to cold at the end. Toweling dry, Bane pulled fresh clothes from a dresser in his bedroom that were exactly the same as what he had been wearing. Black dress slacks and a long-sleeved black turtleneck, with another of the three identical sport jackets, always all black. Now he was coming back to life.
In the living room, he turned on his messages and listened to them as he dug through the waist-high refrigerator. Four eggs, some cheddar, maybe that piece of ham. He dragged down the heavy cast iron frying pan from its hook on the wall and started an omelet while listening to his messages. As the omelet cooked, he poured cranberry juice into a huge tumbler and diluted it with water, then drained it in a gulp.
The messages were the usual updates and reports from colleagues. Bane dished the omelet onto a plate and gave it a sour look. It had come out more like scrambled eggs. The Dire Wolf devoured it and felt he could have downed another one if he had more eggs. Cleaning the frying pan and plate, Bane reminisced a little about Donna Worth. After the death of Michael Hawk, she had decided not to let her degree go to waste and eventually started her own law firm. In time, she had met someone new and settled down to have two daughters. The older one, Taylor, was the legal assistant who had come to help him out this morning.
He suddenly realized he didn't know what had happened to Donna's other daughter and decided to ask about her the next time they talked. It was all so long ago. Mike had died in what, 1983? In the Snake War that broke their hidden empire. Taylor looked to be in her mid-twenties. Donna could easily be a grandmother by now, which was a funny image....
Drying his hands, Bane was still thinking about Van Aken's warning. it annoyed him a little to be asked to risk his neck and go fight some dangerous psycho and then be told later to stop doing it. Damn. If he was caught in incriminating circumstances and up on charges, the NYPD would not back him up. He would take the rap. Maybe he should start demanding some sort of immunity before rushing out to wrestle with monsters and madmen.
The Dire Wolf paused to glance around the apartment. Everything was turned off and put away. He went out into the hall, the alarms turning on automatically as he closed the door. Passing Mrs Choi as he stepped outside, he asked her if she wanted anything and she said no. Then he headed south. His office was three blocks away on the same avenue. As it had turned out, he had found the office first and then turned up the apartment as close as he could get.
It was a fine day, breezy and cool. Bane thought he would check his messages again and see if there was a case in them he could start, something weird and mysterious. Little more than a mile away, a man fell to the sidewalk and broke into frozen pieces.
II.
The teenage girl stood crying beside the wall that ran around Central Park at 59th Street. She wasn't dramatic about it, just sniffling and wiping her eyes. People glanced at her but she did not seem to be requesting help so everyone moved on. After a while, she composed herself and stood quietly by the wall, hands tucked in the sleeves of her folded arms. She wore a plain white garment that looked rather like a bathrobe, but which came down to her feet and which rose to a high collar behind her neck. The material had a slight sheen to it in the sunlight.
She caught Art Houston's eye, although he didn't know why. Art was a big black guy, not more than twenty-two or three, with a tattoo around his neck and bad teeth. He had nowhere to go until four o'clock and wouldn't mind spending some time with a sweet girl. As he came closer, she glanced up. She was a little funny-looking to be honest, with a round flat face, high cheekbones and slanted dark blue eyes. Her hair was white, but she wasn't old... maybe it just be really blonde but the dark eyes sure looked strange staring out of that pale face surrounded by white hair.
"Hey, little lady, zup?" he said. "You need some help, maybe?"
She did not answer. The look on her face was hard to read. It was like she had never seen a brother before.
"You all right? What's your name? My name's Art, what's yours?" Suddenly he wasn't so much hopeful of picking some one up for quick sex as he was genuinely worried about her.
"I..." she replied slowly. "I am but a Castaway." Oddest accent, it sounded like "Cahst-a-WAY" when she said it.
"Yeah? Okay." He was a litttle uncertain, maybe he should drop this. "I just thought, you know, maybe you needed some help. You wanna go talk?"
Again, she did not answer and he made the mistake of reaching out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. It was his last mistake. Her eyes narrowed and there was a crackling sound. White frost rushed around him, his eyes glazed and his heart stopped and Art Houston fell stiffly to one side. When he hit the sidewalk, his frozen body broke into several chunks.
A woman screamed and a man yelled loudly, "What the HELL? Hey, did you see that?"
The girl who had called herself a Castaway turned and walked away, not quickly, ignored by the gathering crowd. Once she glanced back and seemed surprised at the commontion, then she walked on.
A few blocks away, in a posh hotel suite twenty stories up from the street, a very tall man jumped out of his chair with a gasp. Avathor was dressed in an expensive charcoal grey suit with a white shirt open at the throat, tie loosened. He had skin burned by long exposure to the sun over many years, leaving some scarring, and ash blonde hair with a sharp widow's peak. His blue eyes darted around the room. "Wugan! Beldor! Come here at once!" He rushed to the window and stared down at 57th Street in agitation.
From the bedroom limped an older man, small and bent enough that he seemed even smaller. Wugan's light brown hair receded far back on a round oversized head, he blinked sleepily and pulled on a white shirt as he came. At the same time, Beldor slammed the bathroom door open and took two quick strides into the living room. She was a slim woman slightly more than six feet tall, wearing a loose dark sweater and jeans. Beldor had long whitish blonde hair the same shade as Avathor's, and her eyes were the same color as his, but their faces did not resemble each other. "NOW what?" she muttered.
"I sense... a presence." Avathor did not turn from the window. "Powerful. Dangerous. Greater than... We must go seek it out," he said.
"Oh, must we?" Beldor dropped down on the short couch and laced on white sneakers. "As if we have not had enough excitement fleeing Androval again?"
The Gralic Leech silenced her with a raised hand. "You have prospered since joining our little family, true?"
"True enough," she said. Beldor rose and came over to stand next to him. "I can't complain about the loot." She added with a wicked grin, "I could stand more fighting, though. We Melgar are not bred for lolling about."
The older man still stood by the waist-high window, gazing down thoughtfully. "Master. I feel it, too. Like nothing I have known before."
At the door, Avathor gestured for him to join them. "Come. hurry." His two companions went through and he followed. The way he ducked his head in the doorway and how his shoulders reached from side to side showed how big he actually was. It was clear the Leech was impatient to be going, he almost dragged the bent Wugan along by the arm as they got in the elevator. They emerged in the lobby, drawing some stares. Avathor's height, his dark skin and white hair, not to mention that the woman beside him was also tall and had the same ash blonde hair, added to the effect. Few noticed Wugan, struggling to keep up. On the street, the tall man swung right and almost broke into a run.
A few blocks over, he found what he was looking for. A NYPD police car had pulled over, double-parked, and two uniformed officers were standing on the sidewalk talking to a slim young girl in a white robe. The cops were both Italian, with curly hair and each had a similar mustache. Although they seemed excited, the Castaway regarded them with indifference. Avathor came striding and for the first time, she perked up. When Beldor followed, Castaway actually smiled at the blonde woman. Now the older police officer, who was getting thick and doughy around the middle, turned and pointed a finger at the man who stood more than a head taller. "Hey,just keep your distance, pal, this don't concern you."
The Gralic Leech smiled at the Castaway, who held out her open hands to him. The cop tried to get between them, and Avathor turned to his partner, saying quietly, "Slay them."
Beldor stepped in close and, without bracing herself or drawing back her arm, threw a short straight punch to the officer's chest that cracked his sterum and stopped his heart. Before he hit the sidewalk, the Melgar woman had swivelled around and seized the other cop by the shirt, pulling him into an elbow that crushed his face in. All this was done without effort, over in just a second or two.
Bending to roll the corpses aside, Avathor motioned for the small woman to get in the cruiser and she did so with only the slightest hesitation. Wugan slid in beside her and closed the door, at the same time that Avathor and Beldor had jumped into the front. The car swerved into the street, barely missing a taxi, and roared off. Avathor turned off the rotating red lights. "Neatly done," he said to Beldor. "Well, we can't go back to the hotel now. We will have to send a peasant later to retrieve our belongings. I think our second hideout is our best bet now."
In the back seat, Castaway was watching them. "Brother? Sister? how did you come to be here?" Beldor turned her head to examine the strange passenger. She seemed to not really be aware of what had just happened.
Behind the wheel, Avathor said soothingly, "We will talk in a few minutes, my little friend. First, we must be safe."
They had been heading north and, just at 110th Street, Avathor saw the distraction he wanted. An ambulance and another police car were pulled up next to a fried chicken restaurant, and more than twenty people were standing about where someone had been stabbed in an argument. The Gralic Leech pulled over, shut the police car off and got his crew out on the street. One or two in the crowd glanced up, but most were fixed on the arrest of the stabber and the fate of the victim.
Avathor herded everyone around a corner, up 8th Avenue and he unlocked a narrow door between a window that said CHECKS CASHED and a used clothing store, hustling his three companions in. They all went up creaking stairs and to a landing on the third floor, where he opened another door and rushed them in.
Castaway looked around her. This room was old, with plaster on the ceiling and flowered wallpaper, overstuffed furniture and a long sofa under a pair of grimy windows. It smelled musty. She turned back to Avathor and Beldor and reached to lightly touch their hair. "How did you come to be here?" she repeated.
"She thinks we are related," Beldor said. "Listen, girl, we are Melgar from the realm of Androval. What is your name?"
"My name? I have no name anymore. I am a forsaken one. Castaway."
Avathor put on what was for him a charming smile but which would have done credit to a lion about to seize a lamb. "Are you hungry, my friend?"
"I am tired. I must rest." With that, the girl went over to the couch, stretched out and folded her hands across her breast and seemingly fell asleep in an instant.
"Well! I like THAT!" Beldor snorted. "Pretty manners!"
The Gralic Leech shushed her, drawing her and Wugan over to the tiny kitchen area. By the sink, he said in a low voice, "Beldar, take care. We are in danger."
"What, that child?"
Wugan lowered himself into a wooden chair with a slight groan. "Yes indeed. You are right, Master. There is great power in that one."
"Oh, now I see. That's the problem with being a Gralic Leech, isn't it? The abilities you steal don't last. They fade and have to be replaced." Beldar cocked her head with a mocking smile. "You are thinking of sucking the power out of her for yourself."
"Absolutely. What of it? I make no secret of what I am. Right now, my powers are at a low ebb. I am hardly stronger than the average Melgar and all I can muster are gralic bolts enough to daze a human. But that girl there... she is just what I need." And Avathor leered in a way that made even Beldor draw back.
III.
Bane had arrived at his office before noon, gotten his mail from the box just inside the lobby and spent an unrewarding half-hour going through it. He felt stale and uneasy. Maybe he needed some new training, it always made him happy to pick up a useful skill and he wasn't good at imitating voices at all. Some classes in mimicry...
Both his cell phone and the cordless phone on his desk rang at the same time. The Dire Wolf gave a start and answered the cell phone, talked for a few minutes and then hung up to listen to the voice mail on the cordless phone. As he did this, the cell phone rang again and he took another call. Altogether, he was talking for fifteen minutes. Leaping to his feet, he began pacing the office in a fury of excitement, digesting what he had just learned. The death of a young man near Central Park and the murder of two police officers a few blocks away, with the theft of their cruiser. The young man had been frozen solid, as if he had been left out in a blizzard for a few days, despite the fact he had been seen buying a hot pretzel not five minutes earlier. A witness who had seen the cops' deaths said a tall woman with white hair just punched them out and stole their car. Other people had been with her, but the witness had been so stunned by the violence he could not remember anything about them. The Dire Wolf swung his arms back and forth. Was there a connection? He thought so, but the odds against..
The doorbell rang. Bane had the door to his office open, he whipped through the tiny waiting room and glanced up at the closed-circuit screen from the camera in the hall. Of course. He opened the door inward and Lt Joseph Montez came in, filling the doorway with his girth. His weight went up and down, but it sure seemed to be at a peak right then. He was wearing khaki pants and a tan polo shirt, with an open dress shirt over it.
"Off-duty?" asked Bane.
"Lissen, let's get inside," Montez said. "We gotta talk."
The outer door locked automatically as Bane closed it. He led Montez into the office and touched the back of a chair to indicate he should have a seat. Bane himself circled around and dropped down into the swivel chair behind the desk. Before he could say anything, Montez started, "You've heard what's going on?"
"Yes."
"Today is my day off, but I got a scanner and you know, people call me. In fact, it's getting so every time something weird and unexplainable happens in this town, everybody lets me know. Why? Because they are getting to expect me to go tell you."
Bane tilted his head. "Bothered by that?"
"Yes. No. Aw, I guess it's for the best. Sometimes I don't like being used as a messenger boy. Anyway, the kid that got frozen is down at the medical examiner's office. No one has any suggestions as to how that coulda happened. Meanwhile, the rest of Manhattan is boiling as every officer has been called to look for whoever killed two cops and stole their wheels. You can imagine, it's quite an uproar."
"Sure. I want to help, of course. You have anything I couldn't get off TV news?"
"Yeah. Now, remember, once again, this is off the record. I don't know you. I'm not coming to you and giving you information not cleared for the public. And I am especially not telling you things so you can go out and pull some vigilante nonsense. No, sir!"
Despite his best efforts, Bane could not stifle a laugh. "Sorry. Just this morning the new DA warned me to knock off the vigilante nonsense and mind my own business. Not three hours ago."
"Yeah, that guy. I met him. Well, so be it. Okay, listen up. We have descriptions which have not been released to the media of four persons of interest. A woman, maybe a teenager, five foot one or two, one hundred pounds, white hair, wearing a white floor-length dress. She was seen talking to the victim, Arthur Lou Houston, just before he died. Three people seem to have been involved with the cop-killing. A little old man, a blonde woman and a big guy with white hair. That's the best we have on them."
Suddenly, Jeremy Bane's manner had changed. "A big guy with white hair..? Anything else?"
"Not from that witness. Now, the stolen police car was abandoned near 110th Street and 7th Avenue. Of course, officers have been searching the area. One old Korean guy, English not too good, says he saw a strange-looking man in the area at that time. Closer to seven feet tall than six, wide like a refrigerator, skin like a coffee bean and cotton hair. Those are the witness' words, not mine, and like I said, he's kind of hard to understand."
"Avathor."
"What? Hey, Bane, you got a funny look on your face."
The Dire Wolf leaned back his chair, scowling. "I know who is involved with these crimes. Knowing him, I'm sure he's behind them, too. You won't find Avathor in your files, Lieutenant. I doubt if the FBI has him listed either." He came forward again, resting his elbows on his desk and turned those icy grey eyes on the police detective. "He operates in other realms and only comes into the world to rest and spend some loot. It's not like him to draw attention to himself while in the real world."
"The real...? Come again?"
Bane shook his head impatiently. "I don't know how I can explain it to you. You're an intelligent man and you know the streets but this is a menace like the cities of men don't often face. I'm going to start looking for him." He leaped up and headed for the door, obviously ready for Montez to leave. "I'll call you as soon as I can."
"Wait. Give me something to work with, Bane. Have a heart."
As he escorted the lieutenant to the outer door, Bane said, "Avathor is, well, a career criminal. Think of those jewel thieves who go around Europe stealing diamonds from royalty. Or assassins who hire out for a fortune to nail heads of state. That's what Avathor is like." He almost shoved Montez out into the hall. "You'll hear from me right away, I promise."
Immediately, Bane dove through the waiting room back into his office. Avathor! That monster. He had not been heard from in years. Bane had figured he was living in luxury in some realm, gorging himself on gourmet cooking and a parade of gorgeous women. But here he was. The Dire Wolf knelt beside the bookcase and unlocked the hidden wheels, swinging it around to reveal a shallow pit he had himself dug into the concrete. Inside were a few wooden boxes and a black lacquered trunk. Bane pulled the trunk up and placed it on the carpet. Moving with the smoothness of long practice, he drew out some items and laid them on his desk.
Stripping impatiently to shorts and socks, he wiggled into the flexible Trom-metal armor that covered his body and his arms down to the wrist. Then he pulled on tight black pants of a tough material and a black crewneck shirt of the same fabric. He tugged on heavy boots, then got into the waist-length snug jacket. The pockets were already filled with a variety of tools and devices. On his arms he always had the silver daggers, but now he buckled on a gunbelt which held its holster on the left. The airgun was loaded with the anesthetic darts, but he tucked a clip of resonance caps in one pocket as well.
Standing up, Bane had a wolfish grin on his face. He had not needed to get into the field suit often since he had stepped down from being Director of the KDF. Most of the opponents he faced now were lesser threats and did require much firepower to handle. Replacing the trunk into the floor pit, he covered it again with the bookcase. Holding his helmet in the crook of one arm, he turned off the lights as he left the office. There were a few people in the lobby, the Emergency One service was always busy until closing, and they looked up as he passed but to a casual observer, he looked like someone about to get on a motorcycle.
Out on the street again, Bane turned left and headed briskly to Imperial Garage. Within a few minutes, he was starting up the dark green Subaru Outback and pulling out into the street and back into war.
IV.
Castaway had not stirred. Her chest barely seemed to move as she breathed. An arm's length away, Avathor towered over her, staring down.
"What are you waiting for, anyway?" asked Beldor. She was sitting at the kitchen table with her legs crossed and an arm over the back of her chair. "You know you want to steal her power. Get it over with."
"Not yet. No." The Gralic Leech swung around and came to loom over the unimpressed Melgar woman. "I need to know more. I have never seen an aura like hers. She is.. different. And I thought I knew all the peoples and Races of the Midnight War."
"I think you might be a little afraid, eH? I thought, too, that by now you would have her in that bedroom while Wugan and I had to listen. Come, Avathor. There is no food here, nothing to drink. I will go and dine."
"No. Wugan, you are the least conspicuous of us. Here is this country's money. Find a store, bring us bread and meat and fruit. Wine, if you see it, beer would be good too. Come right back." A strange softness barely tinged the Leech's voice. "And be careful. You are not young anymore."
"Some cheese, as well," asked Beldor. "Hurry."
Wugan put on his jacket and headed down the sagging stairs to the street. He did not try to rush, but held the bannister and placed his steps carefully. The streets were busy with Humans of different colors and size and clothing. Wugan had been in this world before with Avathor, and he knew enough of its customs to get by. Melgar did not greatly look different from their Human cousins, the extra strength and resilience in their bodies did not show any more than their greater lifespans.
Wugan found a deli, entered and moved around cautiously. It was crowded. He took a plastic basket and filled it with the food his master had requested, selected a few bottles of beer and a chocolate bar for himself. He did not need to speak English, just placing the items down and handing over money was enough. Plenty of Humans in this city did not speak its main language. With relief at getting out of there, the aged Melgar emerged onto the street and slowly began walking the way he came.
As he crossed the street to the building where Avathor and the others waited, Wugan did not see the man in black who spotted him and watched him with wary eyes. Bane had spent time in Androval and when he caught sight of Wugan, he knew here was a Melgar the same way a Chinese would stand out on a street in Denmark. As the old man opened the door next to the checks cashing establishment and went in, Bane looked up and studied that building, The windows were mostly curtained, two had air conditioners in them. He could not spot anyone looking out.
In those few minutes, two cruisers crawled by. The force was certainly out today. One of the cops blinked as if he recognized the Dire Wolf but the car did not stop. Bane put the war helmet on but left its visor up. Crossing over to the doorway that the Melgar had used, Bane glanced left and right, than used the heel of his hand to snap the lock and swing the door open. Ah well, he thought, Breaking and entry for the millionth time. He found himself in a narrow lobby with linoleum floors, two doors on his right hand side and a delapidated staircase in front of him. A mop and bucket of dirty water were in the way, he stepped over them and started up the stairs with his senses probing, After a minute, he stopped on the landing and turned the pod on the side of his helmet, cranking up the directional sensors, listening. Spanish music. A woman coughing. Footsteps and a door closing. And then, the voice of Avathor.
He did not need to be able to make out any words. He knew that smug, slightly plummy voice. Bane paused before the door, listening and hearing the low buzz of conversation but not quite getting the words. He checked that the daggers under his sleeves were ready to be drawn.
The Castway had awoken. Without yawning or stretching, simply sitting up and rising to her feet. She gazed calmly at the others. Avathor put down the bottle of beer and approached. "Ah, my friend, ready to eat?"
"I am not sure you are of our colony," she said quietly. "You look like us, the hair and the eyes, but what would you be doing on this rock?"
"Why... the same as you..."
"I do not think so. It was my lot to be thrown out, that the crew might survive. I do not think you are of my folk after all." She swung around to face the door. "The signal will be given soon. Fire will fall. I must go to a safe place."
Never a patient man, Avathor slammed the bottle on the table harder than he had thought to do. "Oh no, there are questions to be answered! Come here-" his voice broke off as she turned those deadly calm eyes on him.
Wugan had been standing near the young woman and now he put a hand upon her arm. The Castaway turned her eyes without moving her head, and the elderly Melgar exploded in a detonation of white-hot flame. His scream was cut off as the fireball charred him, and the cindered body fell to the wood floor with a rustle. At once, the flames went out but the stink of burnt meat was heavy in the air.
"Wugan!" screamed Avathor in shock. "By Malberon! Poor Wugan." He made fists of his massive hands and took a menacing step toward the Castaway. "First ice and then, fire! What are you?"
No answer ever came because the door slammed inward, its lock and one hinge broken off by a side kick and Jeremy Bane lunged into the room. He took in the situation instantly, the burnt husk on the floor was beyond help, the young girl in the white gown seemed harmless enough. It was Avathor who was the threat here. Bane came in fast, and was tackled in mid-plunge by Beldor. They tumbled to the floor, both jumped up at once and she connected with a perfect hook to the ribs. With the other hand, she threw an uppercut that stopped short in the air with a thwack. Bane had caught it in his palm. He shoved her arm down across her front, twisting her around and leaving her open. With his other hand, the Dire Wolf smashed a rabbit punch to the back of the neck. She fell to her knees and rolled over on her side.
"I know you're a Melgar," Bane said. "You people are stronger than the horses you ride." With that, he swivelled and headed for Avathor again. The Gralic Leech was not inclined to fight unless he had a huge advantage and his store of usurped powers was low. From inside his suitjacket, he drew a huge Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum and let five bullets rip into Bane. The impact sounded like drumming. He was slammed back and over the sofa next to which Castaway stood watching.
The Dire Wolf gasped and tried to get up. The Trom-metal armor was good, better than ceramic plate armor, but it wasn't perfect. Plenty of impact from the bullets had been passed on to his body. With both hands, wincing, Bane grabbed the back of the sofa and pulled himself up before Avathor could reload or the Melgar woman recover. Instead, he saw the Gralic Leech step over to the young blonde woman standing over the cinders of a body.
"Hurry, my friend," Avathor said. "We must leave. I will explain." She glared at him, and his feet swung around up in the air so that he was hanging upside down with nothing holding him. The Leech thrashed his limbs but could make contact with nothing.
"You keep calling me your friend," she said. "Very well, perhaps I shall let you. For what is a pet but not a true friend?"
As Bane struggled to his feet and walked around the couch, she turned her head to give him a cold smile. "Do not approach me. I only need one dog." In a swirl of lovely blue-white light, their outlines shimmered and two shafts of radiance rose up and passed through the ceiling, gone and leaving nothing behind.
Jeremy Bane fell to a sitting position on the floor. For once, even he was stupefied. He realized his mouth was hanging open and he closed it. From the corner of his eye, he caught Beldor getting to her hands and knees. She had watched it all.
"What happened? Where is Avathor?"
Slowly rising, Bane gingerly explored his ribcage. It burned but he didn't think anything was broken. Time for some X-Rays, though. "I don't know," he said. "Come on. I guess you don't have any ID or documents. The police will be here in a few seconds and you can't answer their questions."
"And you? What do you think you will do with me? I can guess," the blonde Melgar said sourly.
"I'm sending you back to Androval. Let your own Race deal with you. Just stay out of my town." Bane looked up and down the hall and saw one door slam shut as the watching neighbor did not want to be spotted. They went down the back stairs and out into an alley with overturned garbage cans. Neither was navigating very well. Emerging on the street, Beldar rubbing her sore neck and Bane his sore ribs, they regarded each other with sour amusement.
"But that girl?" demanded the Melgar, "How did she do those things? Where did she take my partner? WHAT WAS SHE?"
"I don't know," Bane repeated unhappily. "The Midnight War isn't everything. It's not even all of the mysteries on Earth, much less anywhere else."
3/17/2003
