"The Red Spectre"

[dochermes]

"The Red Spectre"

3/11-3/12/1998

I.

Cindy Brunner emerged up through the trapdoor onto the roof of the headquarters building. The fierce wind stung the skin on her face. She pulled up the collar of her down-filled jacket and mumbled, "Man, it's cold. What ever happened to spring?"

Most of the roof was taken up by segmented steel panels which rolled away like a shutter to allow the CORBY entrance and exit. A narrow walkway extended around all four sides of the roof with a waist-high rail for safety. At each corner of the walkway, a steel post extended up six feet with a glass-encased bulb burning brightly.

Jeremy Bane was already up on the roof, gazing down at the traffic on East 38th Street. "Over here, Cin."

The tiny blonde telepath hurried over to join him. She had never understood why the Tagra tea had given him so much more resistance to inhospitable conditions than it had her. They had both started the Tel Shai regimen at the same time. But there he stood in only his inevitable black slacks, turtlenneck and sport jacket, his black hair ruffled by the wind, and he honestly did not notice the chill. Maybe she should ask the Teachers about this, it wasn't fair...

Stepping next to her lover and parttner for the past two decades, Cindy linked arms with himm and snuggled up close. She also looked down at the street ten stories below. "This is great. I love a surprise," she said, "And you know a telepath doesn't get many of them. It's been torture all day not to read your mind and get even a hint!"

"We don't have to wait any longer," he said as he pointed up into the black overcast sky. "Look!"

As she watched with a sudden thrill that took her breath away, Cindy spotted a small dark human figure swooping silently down through the air toward them. It was a teenage girl, gliding into a vertical loop as gracefully as a skater on ice, stopping to hover right before them.

Cindy found herself grinning at the eerily beautiful sight. Their visitor was a young woman not more than five foot four inches tall, slim and small-boned. She was dressed in a snug black jumpsuit with high boots and gloves, a visored helmet concealing her head.

"Hello," came a subdued voice from inside that helmet.

"Good to meeet you in person, Megan," Bane said. He offered a hand which the girl firmly shook. "Permission to land."

As she touched down, the visitor thumbed an ear pod on her helmet and the visor slid up on its internal track. "Good evening, Jeremy. You must be Cindy. We have spoken several times on the phone."

"Of course!" the telepath laughed. "Megan Salenger. Great to finally see you." She also shook hands but then said, "Seriously can we just get inside already?!"

Bane held open the trap door as the two women climbed down the ladder inside when left them on the floor of the hangar. When he closed and locked the trapooor, they were felt warm dry air which made Cindy sigh and lower her shoulders which had been up by her ears.

The hangar walls were lined with cabinets, lockers, work benches holding tools and equipment. There was a bathroom door at the far end and a card table with a couch and chairs in one corner. No visitor ever noticed any of this at first. Their full attention was always on the CORBY.

Megan Salenger reacted the same way. With her visor raised, she walked slowly toward the black helicopter as if hypnotized by it. The CORBY was so sleek and perfect that it exerted the fascination as a race horse running or a falcon in flight. There was no tail rotor, only two vertical vanes that used high pressure air streams. The gleaming craft bore no identifying logo or ID numbers and its windscreen seemed tinted when seen from outside.

"CORBY ONE," Megan said in a whisper as she circled the copter.

"We used to have three of them," Bane said. "One on Hawk Island, one destroyed. With Len gone, we had no way to replace them."

The girl turned her dark eyes on the Dire Wolf. She was wearing no make-up, those lashes were her own. "I know Leonard Slade designed the CORBY for you. I never met him but of course I have been briefed." She stepped closer and her tone became critical. "There is serious wear in the canopy seal. The rotor is visibly out of line. I see many parts which need upgrading."

Bane nodded somberly. "Taking care of this bird would be a major part of your duties, Megan. When Len died, I suddenly realized he left us no manuals or schematics. He did all the maintenance himself."

"Are you saying this helicopter has not had upkeep or overhaul for years?" she said with deep horror in her voice.

"Not entirely. Our member Stephen Weaver has worked on it as best as he can. He's a highly skilled USAF specialist in field repairs. But, after all, he's Human and most of the CORBY is beyond Human tech."

"Don't you know Steve?" asked Cindy. "I spoke to you at the HCE in New Mexico where he's been employed for years?"

"Yes," Megan said. "I think I should clarify everything as far as I am authorized to do. The Human Capability Enhancement Project has from the start been an interface between Trom and Humans. You remember Andrew Steel. He began there. It was at the HCE that Slade developed the Trom-influenced devices he was allowed to share with your team. In return, he gained admittance to Tel Shai, with its ancient secrets known nowhere else."

"Yeah, Len was open about all that," Bane told her. "He said it was an arrangement where both parties benefited."

"The Trom councils wish to re-establish that arrangement. The wisdom of Tel Shai is immensely valuable." Megan cocked her helmeted head to one side and regarded them soberly. "Also, the work that Tel Shai knights do is respected by the Trom and they wish to contribute to it."

"Glad to hear that," Cindy said. "It's been eight years since the KDF was disbanded. The Midnight War needs heroes more than ever."

"This is why I have been sent to you." Megan met Bane's unsettling pale eyes with quiet confidence. "I have full permission to apply for membership in both the KDF and as a student of the Order of Tel Shai. If you will have me."

"Let's go down to the conference room," Bane said. He led Cindy and Megan down steep concrete steps to the ninth floor, which was as high as the elevator reached. They rode down to the second floor in silence.

Opening the door to the high-ceiling conference room, Bane snapped on the lights to reveal a long oak table. "This was where we met," he said. "So long ago."

"It seems like a hundred years have passed," Cindy mused. She wrestled out of her coat and hung it in a wardrobe, then went to join Bane and their guest taking seats at the long oak table. There were ten solid chairs on either side of that table, with one at each end to make an even dozen.

"So much happened here," said Bane with a distant tone that was not like his usual sharpness. "Even before the KDF, two earlier generations of heroes met at this table. Dr Vitarius with his team in the early 1930s and Mr Dred's assembly of mystery men during the war. Most of them are gone now...."

Seated at Bane's left, Megan Salenger unfastened her helmet and placed it on the empty seat next to her. In the cool overhead fluorescent lighting, they could see that she was quite pretty in an unobtrusive way. She had a shaggy head of thick black hair, clear-cut features with large dark eyes and a pointed inquisitive nose. Her full lips seemed as if they had never smiled, though.

Megan did not at all resemble the stern, puritanical Leonard Slade with his lantern jaw and deepset eyes that they remembered.

"Excuse me but I have to get this straight," Cindy began. "You yourself are not a Trom, right?"

"I am a Human orphan who was raised from infancy by a council of Trom supervisors," the girl answered. "Coincidentally. I was born the same month that the Monitor called Leonard Slade joined the Kenneth Dred Foundation. My parents died in a traffic accident on the Massachusets Turnpike and since they had been working with Trom researchers, the Trom took over my custody. I have been trained all my life to become a liaison between the two Races, as Slade was."

"Oh, that's a remarkable story," Cindy said, not entirely happy about it from her voice. "When we have time, I'd love to hear more about it. Did you socialize with regular people? Travel? Ever have a boyfriend or a gal pal?"

"My life is one of duty," Megan said. "Since many in the Midnight War are known by a code name, I have decided to be known as Trom Girl."

"Wait, what?" Bane said as if coming back from his own thoughts.

"Do you dislike it? I chose the name because it will lead enemies to underestimate me and because I am told it has a friendly sound."

"Well... all right. 'Trom Girl.' I suppose a man that everyone calls the Dire Wolf can't be critical." Bane leaned back in his seat and regarded their visitor with new acceptance.

"So, physically, you're like a normal Human?" Cindy said. "You're not, well, cold and distant like Len was?"

Megan took a second to answer carefully. "I am completely Human. My upbringing has taught me to repress emotional responses and to channel these responses into constructive work. But I must be realistic. I will sometimes experience some fear or anger or affection under the proper circumstances. I simply go on disregarding these reactions."

"Oh brother," scoffed the telepath. "I predict high blood pressure and ulcers in your future."

"I... don't understand," Megan said. "I must ask, has my application for membership been considered?"

"If it were up to Cindy and me, we'd swear you in tonight." Bane glanced over at his partner and got an affirmative nod. "The Kenneth Dred Foundation still exists as a non-profit research organization. It just doesn't fight battles anymore. There are a dozen associate members on retainers to investigate. You could join right now in that capacity. But you would not be a knight of Tel Shai."

"Yes," Megan said. "That is what I am most interested in learning about. KDF members were all Tel Shai knights."

"We will take you to the Order and present you to the Teachers. They are all extremely old and all good judges of character. I think it's a sure bet you will be accepted as a Tel Shai student, which will qualify you when we start the new KDF team."

"I understand." For someone who had just turned eighteen, Megan Salenger regarded them with a solemnity any judge would admire. "I am grateful. I hope to prove worthy of their trust... and of yours."

II.

Eleven people saw red lightning explode into Mrs Helen Chapman. At seven-thirty on that freezing night, she was fidgeting next to their car while her husband dug through his pockets to find the keys. They were in the parking lot behind Nicholoson's Steak House. In the next space over, a van pulled in with two older couples. At the curb, a battered red Ford pick-up sat parked with three teen-age girls drinking from a six-pack.

In the steamed-up window of the kitchen at the rear of the Steak House, two dishwashers were slumped over the sink as the hot water ran. There were still two hours to go before they could leave and a big party of eight people was expected. Next door, in a two-story white frame house, a man in his bathrobe had his door open a crack so he could sneak a cigarette without his mother-in-law sniffing it.

It happened that all these people witnessed the event.

They all agreed that, first, there was a loud crackling in the air like static on a radio turned up full blast. Red light flashed over the street and a dark shape hurtled toward them, frighteningly fast, swooping down to crash headlong into Helen Chapman as if seeking her out consciously. The woman didn't have to scream. She was killed instantly, charred as she convulsed up off her feet to land on her back. The bolt reformed for a bare instant to loom up over her body.

All the witnesses saw a simple outline of a human form, not much over five feet tall, made of crimson energy that crackled and hissed in an ominous way. Its edges were outlined with a brighter nimbus that flickered. Not a single witness moved or spoke, they were all holding their breath in shock and utter terror that this thing might come at them next. This tableau only last a second, then the red form shot straight upward and was gone from sight almost instantly.

The restaurant did not have a security camera working at that time and none of the witnesses had the presence of mind to try taking a photo. Even after the apparition had vanished, the people in the parking lot stood huddled together and couldn't not gather their wits. Most still felt their skin stinging and their hair standing up weirdly. It was one of the dishwashers who managed to focus enough to call the police and after that the steak house staff and customers trickled nervously out to find out what had happened.

When the manifestation struck again less than an hour later, it was seen by easily a hundred people. At the South Hills Mall in Paramus, New Jersey, the stores would be closing soon and shoppers were increasingly heading for their cars. Overhead a lurid red glare flashed by and slammed down into the body of a young woman named Caroline Dobkin. The packages she had been juggling went flying in all directions. Smoke rose from her corpse as it sank to the cold ground.

Straddling the victim, the unearthly force appeared again in humanlike shape again before leaping up into the black night sky. Where it had stood, two darkened spots had been burned into the asphalt. This time, every witness started calling at once.. the police, the fire department, their relatives and the local TV and radio stations. Within minutes, a brigade of police cruisers, firetrucks, ambulances and TV camera crews were arriving.

And yet, with all the witnesses and the charred remains still hot to the touch, the story did not immediately became a sensation. Producers at TV and radio stations had been misled too many times to not be cautious reporting something so bizarre. The early mentions during newsbreaks explained the two deaths tentatively being explained as some bizarre lightning, possibly a type of powerful static discharge never seen before.

At the headquarters on East 38th Street, the phones kept ringing. Bane and Cindy were completely occupied taking calls. Wilbur Schlegel had some details for them, he was a devoted Internet researcher who loved gathering information on the obscure. They got a call from Bleak with suggestions. Then a woman called on her cell phone from the Paramus Mall where she had witnessed everything. She had met Cindy years ago and wanted to get her opinion. The blonde telepath jotted notes on a pad while talking.

Finally, Inspector Harold Klein checked in a few times. He had been Bane's unofficial and off-the-record liaison with the Homicide Department for years. While the death in Paramus was out of his jurisdiction for the moment, the similar event at the Steak House on 181st Street had been dropped in his lap. The higher-ups in the NYPD would never mention it in public or in a memo, but they all knew that putting Klein on a mystery meant that Jeremy Bane would get involved.

It was past ten-thirty before the calls trickled down and stopped. Bane hung up the wall phone and rubbed his sore ear. "This has Midnight War written all over it. Klein is at Nicholson's Steak House. I should examine the scene and hear what he thinks. Cindy, do you want to check out the Paramus Mall? Most of the crowd cleared out in a hurry when they saw police cars pulling up but there should still be plenty of witnesses left to probe."

"I'm on it, Jeremy. What about our new friend here?"

Megan Salenger was standing to one side, holding her visored helmet in both hands. "I want to help. Aside from my Link, I have sensor arrays in my suit for analysis of any environment. I can record conversations without anyone noticing."

"Don't bring the helmet," Bane told her. "Cin, do you something to cover her up a little?"

"Oh I think so," replied the telepath, going out to the walk-in closet in the hall and returning with a full-length white topcoat. "Here, Megan. You're an inch or two taller than I am but I think this will do."

"My suit is fully insulated with its own power source," the Trom Girl said. "I really do not require an outer garment."

As she helped Megan get her arms into the coat, Cindy said, "This is for camoflauge. You're wearing a skintight black jumpsuit covered with circuit panels and gadgets. You look like a SWAT commando on a raid. The coat should keep you from scaring people."

"Oh. I see." Megan still sounded dubious as she adjusted the topcoat. "There is much to learn."

"And there always will be," said Bane as he returned from the closet with a heavy winter coat of his own. It was rare for him to even concede the existence of hostile weather. He pulled thin leather gloves from a coat pocket. "I think I should take the Ford to see what Klein is doing. He's used to me. Getting out to Paramus, though.. Cin, you should use an Eldar travel crystal?"

"My thoughts exactly," the telepath said, placing a hand lightly on his arm. "We'll beep you as soon as there's anything to report. Megan, you ready?"

"Yes."

"Okay. As always, be careful," Bane said as he headed out into the hall. Once he was gone down the stairs, Cindy crossed over a wooden cabinet set at face level on the wall of the conference room. She slid the wooden panel aside to reveal a pale blue gem mounted in an ornate silver plate.

"Do you know what this is?"

Megan took a good close look before answering. "This appears to be an Eldar travel crystal. They are called Claronduril in the old tongue. I was briefed that they use gralic force to open gates within space itself and that persons or objects can be transported great distances instantaneously with them. Trom theory cannot explain how this happens without the surrounding areas being destroyed by a release of kinetic energy." The hint of disapproval surfaced in her voice with the last sentence.

"Huh," Cindy said. "Well, maybe you'll be the one who comes up with a theory explaining Midnight War shenanigans. Take a deep breath, I'll demonstrate how it works." She placed a hand on the Trom Girl's sleeve and drew on her full will power. Blue light swirled around the two of them in a beautiful soundless flash and they were gone from the conference room.

Arrival by god-gate into a public area was always a gamble. There was no danger they would appear inside a solid object; the Eldar magick had never allowed that to happen. It was the flare of blue light that could draw attention from the public. By chance, Cindy and Megan appeared far enough back in the parking lot that their sudden materialization was not noticed by the crowd facing the other way.

The Trom Girl swayed and nearly lost her balance. "I... I find that disorienting. It is a unique sensation. Are we there?"

"Yep," Cindy answered casually, "We are now in New Jersey. Beats mass transit any way you look at it." She tugged a black wool knit cap from a coat pocket and stuffed her hair up under it. "Dang, it's freezing. I want our next case to be on Hawaiian beaches investigating missing wine coolers."

With Megan beside her, the telepath approached a crowd of over thirty uncomfortable unhappy people who were waiting to be dismissed. Police detectives and uniformed officers were finishing up taking statements and getting signatures. The body had already been taken away. Black scorch marks in the asphalt showed where a person had died.

"Listen, Megan. I want you to take readings with your Link. Get as much data as you can. I'm going to roam through these minds to 'see' what they witnessed and I'll seem really distracted. Okay?"

"Understood." The Trom Girl unclipped her more sophicated model of the Link and began recording the scene. She probed the area in microscopic detail, making chemical analyses of any discrepancies in the air and on the ground. She did pause to watch Cindy reading peoples' minds one after another. Once again, Megan was both intrigued and annoyed. Telepathy was another phenomena which even the vast cold analytic theories of the Trom had never been able to explain. Her application to join Tel Shai and the KDF was admittedly a way for her Trom superiors to learn more about the Midnight War.

On West 179th Street, Bane was lucky enough to find an open spot. He parked the Mustang and hit the sidewalk running. Three blocks ahead was the low warm building of Nicholson's Steak House. To his surprise, it was almost deserted. Only three police cars were in the rear parking lot with their lightbars no longer flashing. Standing aside from four uniformed officers was the familiar short stocky figure of Harold Klein with his grey curly hair and chewed-up cigar stub.

"Hiya Bane," he grunted. "The forensics crew just left."

"So I see," the Dire Wolf replied. He nodded toward the cops who had watched his approach. "They got done early, didn't they?"

"Yeah, they were finishing a double shift and they decided there was no reason to consider this a homicide." Klein waved at the blackened spot on the ground by his feet. "Final proposal is a freak lightning strike."

"You don't sound convinced," Bane said. He surveyed the scene, kneeling next to the shallow hole blasted in the asphalt. "Let the CSI boys file this away as an unusual weather event. You don't think so and neither do I. Have you been following the second death in Paramus?"

"You bet. Benitez is covering the scene, he's good and thorough. You know, I seem to have a reputation on the force. Something creepy, something seem impossible? Call Klein. They expect me to turn you loose on anything eerie like a guy letting his attack dog off the leash."

Bane shrugged. "I don't have a problem with that. We have done some good by working together. What can you tell me about this seeming lightning bolt weapon?"

"Nothing useful, I'm sorry to say," Klein admitted. "As far as the lab boys are willing to say, she shows every sign of having been struck by lightning. It does happen to people every year after all. Lightning is notoriously erratic and unpredictable in its effects."

Bane waited. He knew Klein well enough to tell the end of a thought from a mere pause.

In a second, the Inspector continued, "It's the witnesses that bug me. I know damn well how unreliable eyewitnesses are. If they tell you it's Tuesday, you better check the calendar. But still... nine out of the eleven witnesses swear that the lightning had a human shape with arms and legs. They say it turned its head to stare at the victim's husband before it took off. I think this was no freakish natural event. Someone killed that woman and used the lightning as a weapon."

"Which places it in my territory," Bane said.

"Hell yeah. Officially, I can't get you a copy of the autopsy reports, of course."

"Oh, of course," said the Dire Wolf with a hint of a smile. "I'll be in my office all morning, trying to get any leads on this thing. Just in case you want to find me. Thanks for bringing me in on this, Inspector."

Klein snorted so hard he started coughing. "Every time you hear from me, I send you after some terrifying maniac or monster that's already killed some people. And you thank me!
You're the Dire Wolf all right."

IV.

It was well past one in the morning before all three of them reconvened back at the headquarters building. Huddled in a circle in the office, they discussed their experiences and agreed that the results so far were meager. Surprising herself, Megan Salenger yawned loudly and immediately apologized.

"That is not a usual practice of mine," she hurried to explain.

Getting up and heading for the hall door, Cindy squeezed the Trom Girl's shoulder affectionately. "If you ask me, you've processed too many new experiences in a short period of time. Come with me." Turning her head back to where Bane was rising from his own chair, the telepath said, "I'll be turning in soon myself, hon."

On the third floor, several members quarters had stood unused for years, although the linen was changed periodically and the rooms aired out. Stopping at a wardrobe in the hall, Cindy took out washclothes and towels, shampoo and soap and toothpaste, all fresh and never used. She opened a door at the end of the hall. A lamp on the desk clicked on when she threw a switch by the door.

"There you go," she said as she brought the supplies to the enclosed bathroom. "Sack out, kid. Jeremy and I have rooms down by the staircase in case you need anything."

"I'm sure I will be fine," Megan said. She plopped wearily on the chair by the double bed and tugged off her heavy boots with obvious gratitude. "You two have made me feel very much at home."

Heading for the door, Cindy gave the girl a smile. "Who knows? These might be your own regular quarters soon. Night, Megan."

"Good night," the Trom Girl said to a door that was already closing. She stripped off her field suit and folded it carefully so all its gadgets would be instantly accessible. Underneath, she wearing a flexible suit of the Trom armor that looked like dark wet silk. Megan opened its hidden paramagnetic seam and peeled the suit off. Naked, she slid between the cool cotton sheets and was asleep before she could summon the energy to get back up and turn out the light.


V.

At eight-fifteen, the intercom at the head of her bed buzzed three times. A tousled head snapped up from between the pillows and she found the right switch. "Yes. I mean, good morning," she mumbled.

Unbearably chipper and energetic, Cindy's voice came through the speaker. "Morning! We'll start cooking breakfast in a few minutes so you have time to take a shower and do whatever mysterious Trom rituals you perform in the morning."

"Understood." Megan sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched luxuriously. She had not anticipated the delightful freedom she felt being away from her Monitors and tutors and counselors. Suddenly the thought of returning to the HCE Complex in New Mexico was stifling.

Standing next to the bed, she decided to skip her proscribed routine of morning exercises. It would be rude to be late to breakfast after Cindy and Jeremy were kind enough to prepare it for her. Nude, Megan showed the slim sleek body of a swimmer or gymnast, with modest breasts and narrow hips. Since infancy, her health had been supervised by experts. There was not a single cavity in her mouth, her olive-toned skin was taut with not just youth but carefully toned muscle.

Skipping into the bathroom, she luxuriated in a steaming hot shower, enjoying the fact that she herself determined the temperature and duration. Emerging scrubbed and fresh, teeth brushed and damp hair brushed back, she paused when she realized all she had to wear was the same outfit she had on the day before. No one on the Trom staff had suggested luggage...

Reluctantly getting the field suit back on, she trotted from the room and down the stairs to the first floor. From the rear came both voices and the aroma of bacon. Megan pushed through the twin swinging doors and entered a kitchen made of dark polished wood and gleaming stainless steel. Her stomach audibly rumbled but she didn't notice it in her excitement.

In the corner between two high windows stood a round table with three chairs pulled up. Bane was just seating himself, wearing the inevitable black slacks and turtleneck, although the sport jacket was for once draped over the back of his chair. He held out an open hand palm up and said, "Right on time. Dig in."

Cindy was bringing two pitchers over, one filled with ice water and one with orange juice. She was wearing slippers, very old denim jeans and a white corded sweater. The dark blonde hair was bound in a careless ponytail that left a few stray locks hanging on the sides of her face. "Hey there. Today we have my famous whole wheat pancakes with crushed pecans, scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon. Wait. You do eat regular food, don't you?"

Megan's heart sank. "Oh no. I have always been on a planned dietary regimen. I don't think I've ever even been this close to bacon before but I love the smell!"

Filling his own plate with a stack of pancakes, Bane gave her a shrug. "Well, not even the Trom can expect you to starve while you're on duty with us. As your possible future Tel Shai captain, I say you eat what we eat for the moment. We'll keep you away from candy and soda."

The next few minutes passed happily as Megan ate everything they put in front of her. Her expressions at all the new tastes and textures made Cindy and Bane grin. Finally, they knew to stop before getting too full. As Bane and Cindy took the dishes and cutlery to the sink and started work with hot soapy water, the Trom Girl watched them sadly.

"I want to help. I've never 'done dishes.'"

'We have our own system, thanks." Wiping his hands on a dry cloth, Bane came over and took his jacket from the back of the chair. "Last night, we didn't make much progress with this human lightning bolt character. That means today will be research and investigation. I'm going to call some of my observers and see what I can learn."

"Meanwhile, Megan and I will have our own mission," Cindy said. She tilted her head at the Trom Girl. "I have decided to take our KDF expense account cards and run you through some decent stores to build up a wardrobe."

"Is that necessary?" asked Megan. "This suit is functional. I can clean it every day, it dries within minutes."

"Trust me. You will want to dress differently for different occassions. Just the idea of a girl wearing the same outfit every single day....BRRRR. It gives me the willies. You can't go everywhere dressed like a cross between a SCUBA diver and a commando." Cindy examined one cuff of her sweater and seemed critical. "And of course, I might pick up a few items for myself as well."

As Cindy and Megan hustled down to the garage beneath the building, Bane started his chores. From a bomb-resistant steel box inside the front door, he picked up the mail. It had been automatically scanned by the Trom sensors for any chemical traces of possible explosives or poisons. Bane flicked on the overhead lights in the office as he circled behind his desk and settled back in the swivel chair.

First, he separated the usual bills and statements of operating expenses and placed them in a wire basket to his right. Junk mail was dropped into a circular bin by his feet. That left only five significant items he wanted to deal with immediately. One was a final report on a kidnap case from five months ago. Their legal counsel Donna Worth informed them that the suspect had been sentenced and could be found at Ossining from now on. There were two chatty informal notes from old friends, Samuel Watesa and Karina. Bane read them with pleasure and placed them on one side of the desk for Cindy to read when she returned.

The final piece of mail was more unsettling. One of his observers had been getting reports of Arem Kamende being spotted in Los Angeles, evidently rercruiting henchmen. Bane frowned as he reread the note. Kamende. That renegade. Sooner or later, he needed to track the former Tel Shai knight down and drag him before the Teachers for judgement.

Putting the Kamende problem aside for the moment, he starting calling some of his observers. From the beginning of his career, the Dire Wolf had turned down rewards from the many people whose lives he had saved. Instead, he asked that they kept their eyes open for any weird or inexplicable events in their areas. Over the years, this network of reporters had alerted him to several major threats that might have otherwise gone undetected much longer. Today, though, his observers had nothing useful to give him. He thanked them anyway and they invariably replied that they owed him their lives or the lives of their loved ones and that they were glad to help when they could.

Annoyed at still having nothing definite to even start with, Bane drummed his fingers on the desk. Maybe Nebel would know something. The blind mystic was very well versed in the less well known phenomena of the Midnight War. He was living up in Bearsville, about a hundred miles north of the metropolitan area.

Bane reached over and, exactly as his hand touched the receiver, the phone rang. He gave a violent start and smiled wryly as he picked it up. "Hello?"

Of course it was Garrison Nebel. That deep, subdued voice said, "Hello, Jeremy."

"You knew I was going to call you, huh?"

"It is my gift and my burden," Nebel answered. "I have learned about those deaths that you are investigating. Even from here, I can dimly sense surges in gralic force in the city."

The Dire Wolf gave one of his extremely rare laughs, a short barking sound that escaped his natural reserve. "Hah! I suppose nothing you do should surprise me anymore, Gary."

"You understand me as well as any living person," said Nebel. "These are my words. I cannot be absolutely certain about this from such a distance, but I believe you are chasing a Gammon. They are often called Red Spectres. I am certain you remember William Murdock well. His ability was similar but less intense and not dangerous. I suggest you consult FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE, Jeremy."

Bane exhaled. "Yeah, that's good advice. Red Spectres, eh? Sounds about right."

"Old friend, you will be confronting a dangerous manifestation. I know better than to caution you, as your war name Dire Wolf was well chosen. As I can do is advise to prepare as many counter-measures as your ingenity may devise."

"Got it. You're still on reserve duty. How about gating down here and giving us some guidance? Cindy and I are preparing a new team of Tel Shai knights and we have one youngster staying with us at the moment. You should meet her."

"I have retired from the Midnight War," answered Nebel. "When the right heir appears, I will pass the Eyeless Helmet on. Perhaps it will go to one of your new team. Good luck, Jeremy, may you do as many good works in the future as you have in the past."

"Thanks, Gary," Bane said. He had learned that trying to persuade the blind mystic was a waste of time and effort. "Take care, keep in touch."

Breaking the connection, the Dire Wolf walked over to the fish tank that sat on top of a waist-high case full of legal reference books. As he did every day, he checked the condition of the water and inspected the bizzare creatures from Ulgor that swam in there. He stared past the starfish with the one red angry eye in its center and he did not see the big seahorse that had fangs. Nor did he notice that the oddly multi-legged hermit crabs had finished a tunnel between their little ceramic castles. Bane was lost in thought. Nebel had touched a nerve with that recommendation.

Of course he remembered Will Murdock.

Even before Bane had first met Kenneth Dred, Will Murdock had been a part-time investigator for the old occultist. After a nearly fatal car crash, Murdock had awakened to discover his power of astral projection had been triggered. Although he was actually enhancing his perception beyond physical limits, Murdock visualized this as sending an invisible duplicate of himself to float out of his body.

In the final year of Murdock's life, he had gladly taken in Dred's new protege to give him valuable experience. At twenty, Bane had been bitter and hostile, but both Dred and Murdock saw something better in the young street hood... hints of a decent brave warrior under the brittle surface.

As he remembered it, Murdock's Gammon had been much more subtle than this Red Spectre. For one thing, it wasn't visible. Even when Bane had been looking for it, Murdock's spirit was at most a barely perceptible shimmer like hot air over a highway in the summer. It never did any damage to physical objects, either. Murdock's Gammon could pass through walls and doors, remained undetected by enemies, and could report back everything it had 'seen' and 'heard.' For secret investigation or for checking out dangerous situations, Murdock's ability had been ideal.

Then Murdock had been accidentally killed by the newly created Khang. His astral form, really his extended awareness, was more vulnerable than anyone knew and the silver man blasted him into oblivion when he thought he was being attacked. That was the beginning of Khang's penance in service to Bane...

The Dire Wolf shook himself angrily and snapped out of it. There was no time for dwelling in the past. He had a cause now to live for. There was work to be done. Taking two different boxes of dried fish food from beside the tank, he shook handfuls into the water and ticked off the date on a checklist.

As he watched the luminous squid form mysterious symbols on its mantle, Bane heard the front door slam. Excited voices stormed in. He went to the office door and saw Cindy and Megan struggling with overstuffed bags marked Bloomingdale's and Lord & Taylor.

"Man. I forgot the pure joy of shopping," Cindy announced. "Next, I'm going to throw everything of mine out! All new clothes for me!" she laughed.

"I could use socks and underwear," Bane muttered as if to himself.

Megan Salenger hung up her brand new bright blue ski jacket. She was wearing tight olive-colored slacks which bore a label that in itself had raised the price, a dark green button-front blouse and a black V-neck pullover with the blouse collar wings worn outside.

"Megan, you look cute," Bane said and was surprised to see her blush.

Hanging up her own coat, Cindy piled bags of clothing on top of a bookcase and let out a happy sigh. "So. While we were spending a wheelbarrow full of money, did you track down our suspect?"

The Dire Wolf filled them in on what he had learned. "Maybe somewhere in all these books is the information we need. Poor Will Murdock was killed while using his astral projection power, so it's not impossible in theory to destroy a Red Spectre."

"Yeah, it shows this creature is not invincible," Cindy said, trying to straighten up the bags. She handed a wadded mass of receipts to Bane and grabbed a handful of the shopping. "Come on, Trom Girl, we need to do some unpacking and hanging things up. Don't let Jeremy underrate you, either, you look MORE than cute in that outfit."

VI.

As the two of them went up the stairs, Bane returned the office and dropped down behind his desk. He took theirs ACCOUNTS ledger from a drawer and began entering the purchases under that day's date. Spending money didn't bother him. Kenneth Dred had left him a vast fortune and the KDF had amassed an unofficial war chest of funds taken from defeated enemies. He simply disliked sitting still.

He still had a few entries to make when the front doorbell rang. Folding all the loose scraps of paper into the ledger, he returned it to its drawer and jumped up. By the front door, he pressed a button and said, "Please come in, I'll be right with you."

That had unlocked the street door. Bane slid open a wooden panel set at face level to reveal a monitor screen which automatically lit up. Standing in the small foyer was an unremarkable-looking couple in their late forties. As they stood there, advanced Trom sensors hummed and buzzed.

On the monitor screen, Bane read that the two people had no record with the FBI or NYPD, INTERCEPT or the Mandate. They had no bits of metal on them larger than car keys and a cigarette lighter. Their chemical signature showed no traces of an potential explosives or esoteric poisons. He clicked off the screen, slid the panel closed and reached over to open the inner door.

"Hello," he said. "My name is Jeremy Bane. You have business with the Dire Wolf Agency?"

The man held out a hand to be shaken. "Good morning. I'm sorry we didn't set up an appointment but to be honest we are at our wits' end and not thinking too clearly."

Bane ushered them toward the open door of his office and got them seated in front of his desk. As they settled down, unbuttoning coats and looking around, he took his own chair and studied them. Long decades of experience reading body language and searching for deception told him these were two genuinely distraught people.

"Maybe some introductions to get things started," he suggested.

The man took it on himself to answer. He was a big, solid individual with the calloused hands and weathered face of someone who labored for a living. "Sure. My name is Phil Dobkin. This is my wife Caroline. We came to you because of what happened to our daughter Caroline. She... she was the young woman who died last night at the Paramus Mall."

"She was murdered," said Marge Dobkin. She was a heavyset woman with a mass of teased reddish hair that would have suited a Country Western star. "The police are trying to tell us it was lightning. Like hell. They think we're idiots. A hundred witnesses saw what happened. A man in some kind of trick suit electrocuted our baby and flew off."

Bane did not sound skeptical at all. "Who has a suit like that, Mrs Dobkin?"

"How should I know? The CIA? The Pentagon? God knows our government has a lot of secret weapons we're never told about. I bet this is one of them."

Taking a moment to frame his words, the Dire Wolf said, "Did you know there was a similar death last night? Only an hour earlier than when your daughter was killed. A woman outside a restaurant on 181st Street died the same way."

"Oh. My. God." Phil Dobkin went pale as if he was about to faint. "What's the connection? What does it all mean? Look, Mr Bane, I know your reputation as an investigator into the unknown. Every New Yorker has heard stories about you. If anyone can help us, you can."

"I do want to find your daughter's killer," Bane answered. "Certainly before there are any more deaths."

"We want to hire you," the father went on. "If nothing else, provew this was not a freak accident. Make the police keep the case open."

"All right. I will take you as clients. That gives me some legal advantages when dealing with the cops. My fee is a flat one thousand dollars, I hope that won't be a problem?"

"No, not at all," the father said. "From what I understand of Private Investigators, though, that's not much."

"I found that if I don't charge at least that much that judges tend to question my validity. We can arrange payment later. Now I need to ask a few questions. I know the NYPD has been badgering you up and down and inside out, but I need to find out for myself. What connection did your daughter have with Helen Chapman of 1138 Westbrook Drive in Queens?"

Both parents gave him a blank stare.

"She was married to Anthony Chapman?"

"Oh, course," the wife blurted, "He was Caroline's teacher. She was taking a creative writing course Tuesday and Thursday nights. Just for her own self-development. Anthony Chapman, of course.. it was his wife who was killed?"

"Yes." Bane placed his palms flat on the desk and leaned forward. "This may be the connection. Tell me everything your daughter said about the Chapmans."

"Not much. He was polite but not particularly friendly. He gave her good grades on her writing and suggested she polish it more, but that was about it. Caroline never mentioned anything more than that."

"Did your daughter ever meet Chapman's wife? Ever mention anything about her?"

"No. Not that I recall," Mrs Dobkin said after searching her memory for a moment. "Caroline took a class now and then simply for her own enjoyment, she didn't take them that seriously. She had so many interests. She was such a gifted girl. My baby! I can't believe she's gone forever...!"

Bane made his voice gentler than it normally was. "We can't bring her back. That is not given to us in this world. All I can offer is justice."

Dobkin squeezed his wife's hand reassuringly. "That's all we can ask of you."

Questioning the couple further, Bane got a list of their daughter's friends and co-workers at the National Insurance office where she had worked. He dutifuly entered names, addresses and phone numbers in the notebook he kept in the center drawer of his desk, memorizing them with the ease of long practice. He did not seem to be making any effort to console them, but in fact his calm manner was comforting in itself. By the time he felt he had learned all that would be useful, both the parents hads visibly relaxed.

As the Dobkins walked down the front stoop, Bane closed the outer door and turned to see Cindy standing at the foot of the stairs with Megan beside her. "Did you get a reading?" he asked.

"Oh yes." The blonde telepath nodded, then went on, "They're genuine. The shock of her death hasn't worn off yet. Later today or tonight, it will sink in. At least they have each other, I think they have a strong bond. And even without probing in their minds, I found a name. Connie Strauss."

"I trust your ability," the Dire Wolf said. "We have Strauss' address here, she's on East 13th Street. It's almost noon. I think we should eat and gear up, then pay her a visit."

Cindy grinned. "And since I'm starving, I'll volunteer to prepare lunch. Even though it's your turn for KP. Since Megan is staying with us, maybe she'll help me make my world-famous mushroom omelets with brown rice and maybe some cheese sauce."

"I was never taught how to cook," the Trom Girl said. "Of course I will assist as best I can."

"Always more to learn," Cindy told her, steering the teen toward the door.

Bane headed up the stairs, speaking over one shoulder as he went. "Great. While you two are working your miracles, I'll go through the files. Everything has a weakness. I just need to find out what can destroy this Red Spectre thing."

"Say, twenty minutes, then."

Up in the conference room on the second floor, Bane opened a cabinet and removed a ledger-sized book with carved wooden covers. This was the only copy of FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE, compiled and handwritten by Kenneth Dred himself over a period of more than fifty years in the Midnight War. Bane unlocked the hasp and gently opened the book.

He had spent many hours searching through FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE and had a general sense of where various topics were located. Despite his best intentions, he had never seemed to find the time to compile an index on separate sheets of papers but such a guide would have been useful.

It was difficult not to get sidetracked. He found a section on spirit projection, close to what he was looking for. Then he located a few pages on astral travel, with a short addendum marked 'GAMMONS.' Dred's neat, precise handwriting was easy to read. A Gammon or Red Spectre was an exceptionally potent gralic projection that was visible to even untrained eyes. A Gammon appeared as a dark red silhouette surrounded by a brighter nimbus, and its manifestation was accompanied by a crackling sound like radio static. These Spectres could travel at the speed of light, kill with a touch or cause explosions by colliding with solid objects, and could not be harmed by known weapons. They were rare. There had never been more than one Red Spectre reported in existence at a time, and some scholars suspected it was the same apparition appearing in successive human hosts.

One weakness of a Gammon was that it seemed unwilling to leave its host for more than a few minutes at a time. If detained for too long, the Gammon would dissipate and the Human host would weaken, possibly die. There were no suggestions on how to destroy a Red Spectre or how to defend yourself against an attack from one. Bane took a deep disappointed breath. The book had seldom let him before. He closed the carved wooden covers, clicked the lock on its hasp and returned FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE to its cabinet.

Going down to the kitchen, he found everything laid out on the round table in the nook under two windows. Cindy was just setting the bowl of brown rice in the center as he entered.

"Nice timing," she chuckled. "I swear you have some secret gralic sense that detects when meals are ready. Megan, what would you like to drink?"

"Ten ounces of water," came the answer. "If that is not available, clear unsweetened fruit juice such as apple or cranberry is on my regimen."

"Loosen up, hon," Cindy said and gestured for the Trom Girl to take a seat. There was a long-standing rule against discussing Midnight War business at meals and everyone observed it now. They dug into the giant omelets with genuine enthusiasm and the home fries vanished quickly. As soon as the dessert of fresh sliced peaches on cottage cheese was finished, all three leaned back in spontaneous unity.

"Now for a little nap," announced Cindy.

"No, sorry. We're heading down to the Village," Bane said as he gathered up the plates and cutlery to bring them to the sink. "It's twelve above zero outside and that's before wind chill. So everyone dress accordingly."

"My field suit has its own power source so its circuits can be set to any heat level," Megan told them. "To avoid being conspicuous, I should cover myself with a topcoat and perhaps wear a hat instead of my helmet."

"Now you're getting the idea," Cimdy said, wiping the tablecloth with a damp rag from long habit.

Heading for the door to the front hall, the Dire Wolf said, "I'll bring the Mustang around front." He got his long coat from its hook and entered the walk-in closet by the front door. In the back of that closet, a sliding panel revealed steep concrete steps leading down. Bane hurried along the walkway flanked by the Vault on one side and the aresenal on the other, reaching a plain door opening to their underground garage.

There was only enough space there for twp cars at a time, plus the bench of tools and bins of spare parts. The blue Buick Regal and the dark green Ford Mustang sat side by side, always fueled up and inspected before being left in place. When Leonard Slade had been a KDF member, their cars had advanced modifications but now there were only some Kevlar body panels, bullet-resistant windows and a trunk full of crime lab equipment. The thought crossed Bane's mind that, with Megan on a new team, there might be some renewed Trom tech made available.

Starting up the Mustang, the Dire Wolf rolled up the ramp which had a sharp turn at the top that was a squeeze even with the wheel cranked all the way over. The automatic steel panel rose. He emerged in a dead-end alley, turned on Lexington and double parked in front of the headquarters building. Cindy ran out and dove into the front passenger seat while Megan hopped in back.

Heading south, they rented a space for the day at a municipal lot close to 13th Street. Cindy tugged her wool hat down over her ears. "The sun's out. You'd think it would get warmer. I know I look adorable with flushed cheeks but this is ridiculous..."



VII.

The apartment building was ancient yellow brick, with a deli on its ground floor that read GOLDFARB'S in blue neon script, FRESH- DELICIOUS- KOSHER MEALS AVAILABLE. A nook had a plain wooden door and a row of five name tags with pushbuttons next to each one. The tag for 5 read 'Strauss.' The door was locked but that had never slowed Bane for more than a few minutes. The tile-floored foyer smelled of cabbage and urine, and there was an elevator to the right which groaned in protest as if nearing the end of its useful life.

Stepping out into the fifth floor, where Mariachi music echoed from somewhere, the three found the chipped wooden door which had tin figures 5C. Bane rapped sharply with his knuckles, waited ten seconds, then knocked again more loudly.

The door opened a bare two inches, restrained by a horizontal chain inside, and a bleary eye regarded them without welcome.

"Go away," rasped a husky voice.

Bane held up his billfold to show both his PI license and his NYPD Consultant ID. "You need to talk to us, for your own safety if nothing else."

The watery eyes moved suspiciously up and down the three visitors. "I ain't done nothin' wrong. Go away. Lemme alone."

"It's about two deaths," the Dire Wolf said in his understated way. "Helen Chapman and Caroline Dobkin."

After a long uncomfortable pause, the voice said, "What about 'em?"

"They were both killed last night. We have reason to believe there will be more such deaths. Do you want to protect yourself?"

THe appeal to self-interest worked. She growled, "Hold up that ID again. Okay. It looks legit. Tell me what you want."

"Six years ago, you were divorced from Anthony Chapman. He remarried a year later, and she was the first victim last night."

"A tramp half my age!" Strauss yelled. "Is that right? Dumping me after I been good to him and for a cheap whore like her?"

"You're speaking about the dead. The other victim, Caroline Dobkin, was a student in his writing class. She was killed an hour later the same way."

"Another tramp! She dressed like a hooker, you shoulda seen her. I ain't gonna go so far as to say they got what they deserved but don't expect me to shed no tears...." Her voice trailed off.

Bane looked back over his shoulder to see Cindy staring past him with that distracted expression that meant she was in telepathic contact. He stuck his head forward and peered through the two-inch gap that the door chain allowed. There was a small cluttered living room with clothes on the floor and an empty pizza box leaning against the sofa. A TV was on in one corner but with the sound muted.

He judged Connie Strauss to be in her early fifties, with greying dark brown hair tied up in a bun. She was seriously overweight, mostly below the waist, and not a pleasant sight in a black sweatshirt and tight stretch pants.

Cindy touched his arm and he drew back. Strauss shook her head and mumbled incoherently. Bane said, "Well, I hope you change your mind about helping us. If there are any more of these bizarre deaths, we will back to see you. And so will the police. They are more insistent than we are."

The door slammed shut and they heard locks click into place.

"Ack! I hate to probe someone's mind like that," Cindy said with a shiver. "To be completely honest, that woman is simply too unpleasant to spend an hour trying to question verbally. She turned and strode back toward the elevator.

"Wait," asked Megan. "Did you enter her mind without her knowing it?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Ugh. What a rat's-nest of ignorance and anger. She blames everything bad in her life on someone else. Anyway, her conscious mind doesn't know anything about the Red Spectre. She was happy to hear about their deaths, what a witch. But she was asleep last night after seven-thirty and only got up around midnight to use the bathroom."

Bane was scowling more than usual. "So, even if she is sending out the Spectre, she may not be consciously aware of it?"

"Yeah," Cindy said. "My guess is that at most she may have dreams about flying and possibly about those two women. I can dig deeper into her memories if I have to, but I hate doing that. It's damaging and can leave scars."

"If I may make a suggestion," Megan ventured apologetically, "Should we determine who else this Strauss person hates enough to be a possible next victim?"

The elevator door opened with a chime. "You're right. That's the next logical step," Bane said.

"So far the Red Spectre only comes out when she's asleep, so we need to be ready by tonight." Cindy shuddered visibly. "Ugh. Reading her mind left a bad aftertaste. So nasty. I need to spend some time telepathing into puppies or children playing or something to clear my head." She smiled at Bane as they stepped out into foyer. "Oh, I know that look! You've already got a plan."

VIII.

At eleven minutes after six, Cindy hung up the desk phone and looked up to where Megan was standing at attention in front of her. "That was one of the two detectives we use for surveillance and research," she said. "They're cousins, Art Rosen and Sammy Simek, they were veteran PIs before you were born."

"They work for you?"

"Well, for the usual fee plus a bonus if there's any Midnight War danger. Quite a story behind their involvement with us. Jeremy cleared Sammy of homicide when a freak named Golgora framed him. Golgora stole a receipt with Sammy's signature on it and placed it under the victim with a strand of Sam's hair on the girl's sleeve. Nice trap but Jeremy managed to find Golgora and get a confession from him that cleared Sammy. The cousins have been indebted to him ever since."

The Trom Girl nodded solemnly. "Jeremy seems to have saved the lives of a great many people."

"You have no idea. He's been a busy boy." The telepath stood up and rolled the swivel chair up against the desk again. "Right now, Art is loitering in the alley behind Strauss' apartment building and Sammy is parked one block over where he can watch the front door. They both have new cell phones. Those guys are reliable."

Obviously taking the procedures in, Megan folded her arms and watched as Cindy paced the width of the office. "Cindy, how do you know who the next victim will be?"

"Well, we're not SURE about it," the blonde answered. "It's deduction and guesswork. Both Chapman and Dobkin had obvious traits in common. They were attractive women Strauss had worked with and who she deeply resented, and they both had an acquaintance with Strauss' ex-husband. We found only one other person who fits those characteristics. Andrea Nash. She works with Strauss in Housekeeping at Metropolitan General. They seemed to have been friends at first but have been fighting for years."

Pausing, Cindy gave Megan a sad look. "The mental image of Andrea Nash jumped out at me from Strauss' memory, surrounded by bitter hatred. Even if the Red Spectre was not involved, I'd be concerned about her safety."

"I am uncertain about one aspect of this," the Trom Girl ventured. "Can Strauss be considered responsible for these crimes if she is not aware of the Red Spectre? We have no evidence that she is consciously aware of the phenomenon."

"Yeah, it bothers me, too. I think that, ultimately, it's her hatred and jealousy sending out this Gammon, but it's not like she's buying a gun and shooting it. It's more like she's making a wish that comes true. I dunno. If the only way we can prevent any more killings involve harming Connie Strauss, I feel we would be justified. But I'm not happy about it."

Megan studied the older woman's face thoughtfully, trying to read the expression. There was so much about Human interactions that she had never learned. "Legally, we would have no defense. I see no way to convince a judge or jury about the existence of this Red Spectre manifestion."

Appearing suddenly in the doorway, Jeremy Bane made his voice gentler than its normal stern tones. "We have to make a lot of hard decisions in this business, Megan. Sometimes there is no good solution to a problem. Let's see if we can stop these killings without harming Strauss." He dumped a heavy bundle of equipment on the office floor.

"Whoa, I haven't seen that gear in years," Cindy said.

From with a heavy leather satchel big as a steamer trunk, Bane pulled out a cylindrical steel tank with a pressure gauge on its top end. A thick rubber cable extended from the tank to end in a pistol-grip nozzle. "We used this against Jotan the Taurian and it worked pretty well. It's worth a try. I'll be using this." Reaching back into the satchel, he held up what looked like a flare gun with a metal barb protruding from its muzzle. As they watched, Bane attached a reel the size of a hubcap to the barb.

"This is a CO2-powered harpoon gun. It fires a fifty foot length of wire roughly across a city street. Usually we have a grapnel attached and use it for scaling cliffs or walls."

The desk phone rang and Cindy leaned over to pick it up. "Hello. Hi, Sam. Just now? Good, at least we know she's there. You and Art stay warm! Thanks." She hung up and turned to Bane and Megan. "That was Sam. The lights went out in Strauss' window. She works different shifts and sleeps at odd hours. I imagine all the beer is part of her irregular habits."

Bane held up a piece of paper from their memo log, "We have an address and phone number for Andrea Nash. It's a three-room apartment on 19th Street, not far from Strauss. Sometimes her ex-husband Bert stays there. If either of them are at that address now, they're in immediate danger."

"I got this," Cindy said as she held up an imperative finger. She patched into the phone network with her Link and tapped the buttons, then put on her most unassuming voice. "Hello? Andrea? Hi, this is Cindy. I don't know if you remember me from the nursing staff, I was only there a short time. Yeah. I hate to bother you but I was wondering if you know where Connie Strauss is living. Yeah. I know, I didn't get along with her either but I do need to find her. She's at 13th Street by the Jewish deli? Goldfarb's. Uh-uh, thanks a bunch, sorry again to disturb you. Take care."

The blonde telepath clicked the Link off and gave Bane a smug smile. "Am I good or what? Andrea Nash is home as of this moment, Jeremy. Are we on our way?"

"Absolutely." The Dire Wolf had brought a huge leather satchel into which he packed the steel cylinder and its hose. The harpoon launcher was too long for the satchel but he had wrapped it in a tablecloth. "Cin, I want you bring the Mustang around front while I haul this equipment to the front door. Megan, are you coming with us?"

"Is that what you call a rhetorical question?" the Trom Girl answered in an uneasy voice. "Of course I am accompanying you two!" She was wearing her dark field suit with a white topcoat over it and her helmet tucked in the crook of one arm. "I am ready now, captain."

Cindy was pulling on her own knee-length cloth coat from the oak rack. "I'll have the car out front in two seconds. Megan, you might want to grab the brown paper bag in the fridge. I packed some sandwiches and snacks in case we're running around all night."

"Understood," the Trom Girl replied with absolute seriousness. She ran full tilt toward the kitchen at the other end of the front hall. In a few minutes, with the headquarters secured, the three of them were in the Mustang heading south.

The building they located was an aging brick structure on the corner, with a newsstand which was closing. Bane found a parking spot on the opposite side of the street as a delivery van pulled away. From there, they could see the second floor windows where Connie Strauss lived.

Sitting in the front passenger seat, Cindy held up a hand asking for silence. She reached out with her perception, probing and sorting. "Hmm. Okay. I found her mind in there and it matches the voice I heard on the phone. But there are at least thirty other people in those apartments right now. They're clouding my telepathy with their thoughts."

"As long as we know she's in there," Bane said. "Strauss isn't on the run or anything. I doubt if she's even aware of the Red Spectre phenomenon." He swung around to where Megan Salenger was sitting in the back with the bundles of equipment they had brought.

"Megan, I want you to carry this harpoon gun. It fires fifty feet of steel cable with this grapnel at the end. If we contact the Gammon, shoot the grapnel right into it."

"I see," the Trom Girl said, inspecting the firing mechanism. "You intend to try grounding the Red Spectre and dissipating its charge. My gloves are insulated against electric charges, so I should be able to maintain contact."

"Don't experiment," Bane warned. "Too risky. The Red Spectre is not made from electricity, it's gralic force. Leonard Slade told me many times even Trom theory doesn't understand gralir. Keep your distance and use the harpoon, then drop the gun."

"Understood, captain."

Bane raised an eyebrow, not in annoyance but amusemement. "I'm not your captain yet, Megan. We haven't formed a new KDF team."

"Yet," added Cindy under her breath. Her Link buzzed and she unclipped it from her belt. "Hi, Sammy? You saw it? Okay. It's heading south. Thanks, buddy, stay on duty." She replaced the device to its clip. "That thing is heading our way, all right."

As Bane snatched up the heavy satchel, all three of them raced across the street. It was just past nightfall on a bitter cold evening with a heartless wind and traffic was light. There were no pedestrians in sight and drivers rolled by in a rush to get home. Both Cindy and Megan were in peak athletic shape but they could not keep up with Bane. Even burdened with the satchel, the Dire Wolf was jumping up onto the curb in front of a closed furniture store while his teammates had not quite reached the middle of the street. They all froze motionless as an unnatural crimson glow hissed fiercely overhead.

The Red Spectre. The apparition came hurtling by at rooftop level. A faint sparkling trail followed it, fading away a few feet behind the manifestation. The Spectre swooped straight for the building where Bane awaited, then paused to hover in mid-air.

"It recognizes us," Cindy called as she and Megan joined the Dire Wolf. "Strauss' mind in in there but muted. That thing remembers us."

Bracing herself with feet well apart, the Trom Girl raised and fired the harpoon gun without hesitation. The CO2 cartridge detonated with a sharp crack! A steel-barbed grapnel whizzed entirely through the glowing apparition and the Red Spectre flew apart in a brilliant fireworks display. At the intersection behind them, a taxi paused at the sight but then continued on its way. Possibly the driver wasn't sure what he had witnessed andf didn't want to get involved.

The massive grapnel hook hit the sidewalk with a clank. Megan pressed the retract mechanism and the cable rolled back onto its reel. "There was nothing solid within the shape," she said. "An energy field bound by... I don't know. I can't even make a decent conjecture."

"Stay alert," Bane warned her. "That thing isn't finished."

The flurry of gleaming particles swirled and reformed. For a second, the Spectre seemed to glare angrily down at them, its body language hostile, then it swung around and passed through a window on the second floor without damaging it or being slowed.

At the same time, Bane braced himself and drove the heel of one palm just above the doorknob at the side of the store. The lock snapped audibly. Dropping the satchel and reaching within, he pulled out the steel tank and yanked its straps across his chest. As he rushed up the narrow wooden stairs within the opened door, Cindy was right behind him.

Megan Salenger had fastened the cable to the harpoon launcher and placed it next to the satchel just inside the doorway. She was about to follow her two teammates but hesitated. It only took an instant for her decision to be reached. The Trom spun on ome heel, sprinted across the deserted street to their car and fetched her helmet from the back seat. As soon as it clicked into place over her head, sealing with her suit's high collar, Megan thumbed the controls built into her gloves.

She triggered the gravity shield disc and lifted clear of the street, arching her body to help steer. The Trom Girl swung north and accelerated sharply. In her black outfit on a dark winter night where few people were about, she was unlikely to be seen. If in fact anyone did spot her, no record of it was ever made even as an urban legend.

Bane flashed up the stairs and to the door marked 2B with small metal figures. Not slacking his pace, he went through that door like a sledge hammer through cork. Keeping his balance, not stumbling in the least, he swung the noozle of the spray hose up in a semi-circle.

Sitting up on a couch in front of a tiny black and white TV with rabbit-ear antenna was a middle-aged woman in her forties. Her eyes bulged out so far it must have been painful. Her mouth was working but no sound emerged. She did not even notice Bane smashing her door in, all her attention was entirely on the bizarre apparition stalking closer.

IX.

This close, it could be seen that the Red Spectre had a vaguely feminine outline. Its head had no clearly defined features, not even a hint of eyes, and the arms and legs did not bend at elbows or knees as human limbs would but bent like rubber tubing. The Gammon was extending the moment before making contact with its victim, evidently relishing the terror it caused.

As the door crashed open, the apparition's body did not move, but its head twisted completely around on its shoulders to face him.

With the pressure turned up, Bane sprayed a blast full on the Gammon. This was a weapon he had devised years ago to use on the Taurians who had electromagnetic powers. It was a thick watery paste with shreds of aluminmum foil in its mixture. The gunk slammmed against the Red Spectre with a loud splat, and the being again blew apart to every corner of the room.

Cutting off the spray, the Dire Wolf barked at Cindy, "Get her out of here. We may only have a second to act."

The blonde telepath seized Andrea Nash by one arm, yanking her bodily off the couch and out into the hall. The woman was so dazed by the situation that she stumbled along compliantly. Cindy got her onto the stairs and down to the landing one floor below.

In a few more seconds, red sparks and glints of light swirled together as the Spectre reformed. A whirlwind of glowing force, the Gammon took shape again and swung to face Bane in a crouch.

"Connie Strauss! Can you hear me?" yelled the Dire Wolf.

The Red Spectre tilted its featureless oval of a head but made no immediate attack.

"Do you realize what you are doing?" Bane went on. "Do you know you're killing innocent people? Listen to me. Connie Strauss, if you're in there, call off this nonster."

The Gammon crackled and sizzled like a live power line. It took a step toward him. Bane raised the nozzle of the spray hose again and the creature reacted by whizzing up and at the window behind it. The Spectre passed through the glass without breaking it.

Too late to catch the Spectre with a second burst of the disruptive gunk, Bane reluctantly lowered the nozzle. With a digusted snarl deep in his chest, the Dire Wolf rushed out into the hall to find Cindy watching from the landing just below.

"Well, at least we scared it off." Cindy had one arm around the intended victim, squeezing her comfortingly. "That's a small encouragement."

Bane swung around, frowning. "Where's Megan?"

X.

Sitting behind the wheel of his aged Ford Fairane, chewing morosely on the remanant of a corned beef on rye, Sammy Simek almost choked as he saw a young girl in a white topcoat swoop over his car and crash headlong through the window where that damned red ghost had emerged a moment earlier. Surprised but still professional, Simek dropped his sandwich on the seat and fumbled with his cell phone. In the instant before he could could call Bane or Cindy, the flying girl shot outward from the window again, this time carrying a fat woman in a bathrobe with her.

"I will NEVER say I've seen everything," Simek mumbled as he tapped out a redial number on his phone. "Hey, Cindy, you missing a flying teenager?"

Carrying the limp hundred and sixty pound bulk of an unconscious Connie Strauss, Megan felt no strain. The woman's weight was supported by the lifting field that her gravity shield created around her. She rose sharply upwards, accelerating as she went but hesitating to reach her full velocity. She didn't want to kill this woman if another other solution could be found. Megan had an oxygen feed leading into her helmet but if she rose too high, Strauss would asphyxiate.

The air was growing too cold for an unprotected Human to endure and their speed added an additional chill factor. The Trom Girl touched a contact patch on her left epaulet and turned up the external temperature of her suit. It should ensure that her prisoner would not immediately freeze.

They were heading due north. Two hundred feet below her, Megan recognized the distinctive spire of the Chrysler Building. City lights in windows and car headlights were a random assortment far below. She had never been in Manhattan before, although her education had given her a knowledge of its geography and landmarks.

Behind her was a red flame. Megan swung her helmeted head and saw the glowing apparition closing in on her fast. The Trom Girl could not hope to outrun the Gammom. It was an energy construct that could move literally as fast as lightning while she was restricted by the fragile human being she carried. Her only hope was that there was already enough distance between them.

In another instant, the demonic being was hurtling straight toward them, closing the gap rapidly. In another few seconds, that shimmering red hand would make contact and electrocute them both instantly. Her suit could not protect against raw gralic force.

But something was happening. The Gammon faltered, losing speed. Its white outline wavered and went out. The arms and legs started to separate from the body. The Red Spectre broke up into fragments which tumbling down and flickered out. Megan had unknowingly slowed to hover, staring at the end of the strange apparition. Its disintegrating hand stretched out and almost touched Strauss' foot but fell apart first. The last spark went out. Megan felt the woman she was holding give a convulsive shudder. She herself felt a wave of relief wash over her.

Regaining her awareness, the Trom Girl began a slow descent and sailed down through the chill night air toward the building on 19th Street. Gliding in through the shattered window, she could not avoid slicing the hem of her coat on the broken glass still in the frame. Megan landed on her feet as lightly as if stepping down off a curb. She lowered the unconscious shivering Connie Strause to the couch.

Using the sensors built into her helmet, Megan took readings on the woman. Green numbers and symbols slid along the interior of her visor. Vitals were weak but within safe limits, especially considering what poor condition Strauss was in anyway. She could be left alone without risk. The Trom Girl lifted up off the carpet and left by the window. Keeping her body vertical, she descended smoothly close to the building. In the gloom, her dark suit made her difficult to spot and she saw no civilians within line of sight.

Once on the sidewalk, she trotted briskly toward where she saw Bane standing alongside Simek's car. The Dire Wolf's own vehicle was parked nearby and he was stowing the spray tank apparatus in the trunk. As Megan rushed up, she felt a twinge at the thought that Bane might be disapproving of her having taken action on her own.

The Dire Wolf had moved over to the driver's side of Simek's car. Through the open window, he tapped his friend on the shoulder. "Sammy, stand by."

"Yeah, sure. What's the plan, Jeremy?"

"I want you to call 911. Report a medical emergency on East 19th Street. 75 East 19th, Aparetment 2B. Window broken, middle-aged woman unconscious and unresponsive. Then break off without answering any questions. Got it?"

"Sure, sure. Then what?"

Bane said, "Pick up your cousin. You guys are dismissed for the night. Report to my office in the morning for a debriefing and your bonus."

Simek chuckled, "I gotta say, boss, you always turn up with something a lot more interesting than a trailing a divorce client and catching employees embezzling. Man, that was some sight. We'll see you in the morning."

As the operative started his engine and pulled away, Bane walked over to where Megan was watching. "You didn't warn us what you were going to do, Trom Girl."

"It was a difficult decision to make," she answered unapologeticaly. "If you destroyed the Gammon or drove it away, then my taking Strauss would do no harm. On the other hand, if you could not affect the manifestation, my actions could be vital. As it turned out, the Red Spectre was out of its host long enough to dissipate."

"You made the right choice," Bane said. He tapped her lightly on one shoulder. "Come on, we have to get back and tell Cindy what happened. Then we should call Inspector Klein. Megan, you destroyed a major threat by yourself, without even any Tel Shai training. I'm impressed. You made the choice for me. I'm going to establish a new KDF team and you'll be the first of our new Tel Shai knights."

For the first time since they had met her, the Trom Girl smiled.

5/3/2000- Rev 9/18/2017