"Atron At Large"
May. 17th, 2022 01:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Atron At Large"
9/30/1982
I.
Bane woke up alone. he absently patted Cindy's side of the bed, blinked, grunted and sat up. Yes, he remembered now. She was staying upstate for a few days to help with her sister's wedding. Cindy had told Bane at the start that she would not drift away from her family. He knew he was alone in the headquarters building, and he ran through the roster in his head and noted where each member was.
Crossing to the small enclosed bathroom, Bane shaved while taking a hot shower. The desperate poverty of his childhood on the streets had left him content with even the slightest comfort and he regarded a shower whenever he wanted as a positive luxury. As he toweled dry, the Dire Wolf was thinking about the KDF, the Kenneth Dred Foundation, which had started as nothing more than a cover name for his team of Tel Shai knights. The KDF was not a military organization where the members stayed on duty and available at a second's notice. Each had his own life elsewhere and his own responsibilities. Still, they had agreed, as a condition to being accepted by the Order of Tel Shai, to be ready to drop everything when Bane summoned them. When they were free, they often stayed in the rooms provided to them at the HQ building to study and train, but much of the time Bane found himself alone when trouble stirred.
Drying off, the Dire Wolf made the bed and got dressed. He put on plain cotton socks and underwear and white T-shirt, but over this went the flexible Trom-metal armor. Provided to the KDF by Leonard Slade, this armor looked like dark silk but would disperse the impact of anything up to a high-powered rifle bullet safely. The rest of his wardrobe was invariably black: longsleeved turtleneck, slacks and boots. In the various pockets were stowed a variety of specialized tools and gadgets, everything from pencil flares to the oxygen membrane to a compact first aid kit. Depending on the situation, he would vary the contents.
On his forearms under the turtleneck sleeves, Bane wore two leather sheaths with held a pair of matched daggers with silver blades. He had hired expensive artisans to mold rubber forms over the sheaths which felt as exactly like human muscles as possible. So far, every time he had been searched, that molding had been deceptive enough that the daggers had not been detected. Those daggers had been a gift from Kenneth Dred, who had weilded them himself forty years earlier, and they were what Bane valued most in the world.
Leaving his room, the Dire Wolf trotted down three flights of stairs to the ground floor. He always moved briskly, he couldn't help it. Doctors had labelled Bane a successful Variant, with reflexes three times faster than a normal Human and voluntary movements not far below that. The price of this was a hyperactive nature that made him restless and jumpy. Heading into the kitchen, he scrambled three eggs, ripping up a chunk of cheddar cheese to mix in with it. At the same time, he put four pieces of wheat bread in the toaster and devoured everything as if he had been lost in the woods. He was going through an apple juice phase, downed a huge tumbler of it and following with ice water. He never touched coffee; caffeine was the last thing he needed. Bane scrubbed the frying pan and washed the dishes, leaving everything in a rack to dry.
Now he felt fully alive. In the bathroom on the ground floor, which was little more than a closet with toilet and sink, Bane brushed his teeth and combed his short, fine-textured black hair. The face that glared back at him from the mirror was narrow and feral, with thick black brows and a pair of startlingly pale grey eyes. Bane was just twenty-four, but he acted with the confidence of someone older and more experienced. By now, it was nearly 8:30 in the morning. He went to the front door and opened it to step into the foyer. Here was the heavy iron mailbox and he opened it to remove a thick wad of envelopes. Glancing through them as he walked, the Wolf went back up the stairs to the second floor, where the conference room waited.
Inside the doorway, he thumbed on the fluorescent lights and gazed proudly at the conference room. The walls were lined with green metal filing cabinets and rows of reference books, but the most important feature was the long oak meeting table. There were four swivel chairs on each side, with an additional chair at each end. Passing the table, Bane dropped the mail on it and pushed the button that made the heavy curtains slide aside from the windows. For a long moment, he looked down at Park Avenue between 38th and 39th Street. Only a few years ago, he had been out there, sleeping where he could, fighting and stealing and taking jobs as bodyguard or courier when his enhanced speed made him dangerous enough to defy gangland enforcers. Kenneth Dred had changed all that.
With a faint snort at realizing he was stalling, Bane got to work. He draped his jacket over the chair at the end of the table and dug in. The first pass seperated bills and junk mail. Those he would take care of last thing at night. He was left with a dozen items that seemed promising. Unfortunately, the first was adressed to Chairman, Kenneth Dred Foundation, 28 E. 38th Street, New York, NY. The return address was Fargo, North Dakota. In a long rambling letter handwritten in tiny letters, the author told of his journeys to Venus after being captured by tall voluptuous bald-headed women in their invisible flying saucer. Bane tossed that with the junk mail. He felt it was better not to reply and encourage further extraterrestrial orgy reports.
The next letter was an improvement. It was from Garrison Nebel, not a KDF member but an ally in the Midnight War. This was a single-spaced typewritten report summarizing everything known about the Group Mind. The final page listed every known member of the Mind, with a description and noted abilities. Bane studied this intently. It had been only a month since the KDF had fought with a colony of the Group Mind, killing eight members and breaking up Prime's plans. Since then, nothing had been heard of that bizarre union of a hundred minds into one new organism, but with Nebel's report, Bane thought they had something to go on. Bane read through the report again to make sure it stuck in his memory, then got a manila folder from the drawer to his right and wrote "GROUP MIND September 1982" on it. When the other members returned, he would make sure each read through it.
There was a brief note from Shiro Mitsuru, saying he would be in the South of France until further notice and giving an address where he could be reached. A thick packet of documents from Donna Worth, their legal counsel, had to be filed. Another letter was almost embarassing in its profuse gratitude from a man who had been cleared of a manslaughter charge and the real culprit identified. That killer had been convicted and gotten a thirty year sentence, and the man falsely accused had been spared the same fate for himself. Bane tried to arrange things so he did not have to appear in court but he had been forced to testify and now, looking at this letter, he was glad he had.
Last was a letter in an expensive, quality envelope with the return address FROM THE OFFICE OF HENRY VALDIVIA. Bane vaguely recognized the name, a popular city official widely reported to be considering a try for the US Senate. The single sheet of paper inside told how Valdivia had attempted to contact Michael Hawk, who was unavailable, and he had been advised to see Bane instead. The man's private number was included, he asked that Bane contact him within normal business hours if possible. The Dire Wolf scowled at the letter as if it burned his fingers. Michael Hawk was the only KDF member known to the general public, being a criminologist and investigator of world-class ability. This was not the first time someone trying to reach Hawk had turned to the KDF.
Bane folded the letter and placed it in the center drawer, rising to his feet. Hawk had arranged for him to get his Private Investigator license, vouching for his ability. Bane had passed the exams, posted his bond and declared himself in practice. Being a PI gave him some advantages when at crime scenes. Still, the Dire Wolf knew his limitations. As a fighter, he had few equals but he simply did not posssess the observational and deductive skills that Hawk did.
Nothing else was at hand, and an idle day drove him crazy. He decided to go talk with this Valdivia. Shrugging into his jacket, he hurried down the stairs to the front hallway. As he closed the door behind him, advanced Trom-designed security systems clicked and buzzed into active status. On the sidewalk, Bane swung right and started walking downtown. A day without trouble was hardly worth getting up for.
II.
Walking with a tireless stride that got him through Manhattan faster than driving a car would, Bane found the building near City Hall where Valdivia had his office in the party fundraising headquarters, and he circled it warily out of long habit. Nothing looked suspicious. He entered the lobby and crossed over to the two elevators which stood side by side. The security guard at his station sat up and watched, but said nothing. On the eighth floor, the Dire Wolf found almost the entire space taken up by cubicles with young men and women pounding away at noiseless typewriters or talking quietly into phones. A few were smoking. At the far end was a door with a frosted glass panel and Bane headed straight for it.
Sitting a desk next to that door was a tough-looking middle-aged man making notes in the margins of official documents. He glanced up and gave Bane an unwelcoming expression. "Help you?"
"Valdivia wants to see me. My name is Bane." He watched as the man picked up a red phone and spoke into it with a hushed tone, then regarded the Dire Wolf with less hostility. "Go on in."
Bane stepped into an office packed with stacks and bundles of papers, walls lined with matched sets of legal reference books, framed certificates and licenses and diplomas on the walls, and just a general clutter of empty paper coffee cups and ashtrays with butts in them. Behind a desk with a reading lamp, two matched pens in a holder, and an old-fashioned stand holding a dozen rubber stamps, sat Henry Valdivia. He slammed a ledger shut and slid it to one side as Bane entered.
The Dire Wolf saw that the man was slim, well-dressed, with a full head of hair and black horn-rimmed glasses. He shook the offered hand and said, "I got your letter."
Valdivia gestured for him to take a seat and Bane found an empty space. "I didn't expect you to call on me at my office," the assistant DA muttered, "But it's just as well. I had hoped the famous Michael Hawk could be on hand."
"He's occupied," Bane said. "What seems to be the problem?"
The man opened his mouth, then closed it and finally said, "I know Hawk. To be honest, I don't know you except by reputation, Mr Bane. This is a delicate situation I find myself in."
"I get it. You do know that I am licensed by the City and State of New York as a private investigator, right? Good. Hand me a dollar."
"What?" Valdivia blinked but reached in his pants and fished out a single dollar.
Bane took it. "You are now my client. I am working on your behalf and so anything you tell me falls under the protection of confidentiality."
Thinking about it for a second, Valdivia smiled. He pushed his glasses back on his nose. "Oh very good. All right. I received a letter yesterday, full of threats that my career would be stopped before it could get really started. A picture was enclosed." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out a 4x5 photo with a matte finish and handed it over.
"The letter was signed, 'Corona.' I've searched my brain and am positive I have never heard of anyone with that name."
"Oh, it's not his real name," Bane said offhandedly. "There's a con artist and grifter, Archie Hughes. He calls himself Corona because he had delusions of class. I've run into him three or four times, but he's not really in my area of interest." Bane looked up from the photo with a raised eyebrow. "Rizzi, huh? Aldo Rizzi. Bad company for a future senator to be keeping."
"I have never met that scum in my life!" Valdivia snorted. "He's a well-known mobster. A lifelong criminal."
"I know who he is. Right up there in the New York families. The question is, why would you be talking to him in an alley like this picture shows?"
"It never happened. Never. My God, I am just getting established and this would wreck me beyond hope. What can I do? What can you do?"
Bane looked at the photo again. "Mr Valdivia, you have nothing to worry about. Look here. See this, the shadows on you go straight down, the one on Rizzi goes a little to the right. This photo's a fake. A composite. A judge would laugh at it."
"Oh thank goodness. I guess I was too upset to think clearly. Now that you point it out, the difference is clear. This Corona person made this picture to shake me down for money."
The Dire Wolf handed the photo back and said, "Would you testify against Hughes?"
"Absolutely. I want an example made of him."
"Good. That's what I like to hear. You get back to work and I'll drag Archie Hughes here by his feet." Bane turned for the door.
"Wait. I appreciate what you've done. Surely, some reimbursement-"
Bane gave the faintest of smiles over one shoulder as he left. "I've got your dollar."
III.
Back on the street, Bane headed north again, unreasonably pleased with himself. The last day of September was ugly. A cold wind blew rain into his face with stinging impact but he hardly noticed. He was thinking that maybe Valdivia would remember this in the future but it was better not to count on it. Bane had collected a number of favors owed to him by people he had saved from violence or ruin, but it was smart not to count on ever collecting them. People sometimes had short memories, politicians more than most. As he approached Times Square, the rain let up. He made for a small bar on 8th Avenue. Early in the afternoon, only a few people were in there, watching TV and drinking, or listlessly playing pool in the corner. As Bane closed the door behind him, Vinnie put down the rag he had been wiping the bar with and lowered his head. Not this guy again.
The tension in that bar was immediate and the Dire Wolf saw no real reason for it. He had not said anything. Behind the bar, Vinnie reached one hairy arm down out of sight. It was a movement meant to distract and Bane caught it. Behind him, one of the guys who had been playing pool swung a leather sap up behind his head and brought it down but Bane had already stepped to one side and slammed his elbow hard into the center of the guy's doughy stomach. The man grunted and sat down on the floor. Even as he fell, the other pool player was moving in fast, hands outstretched, and he ran right into a boot that caught him in the chest and threw him back against the wall hard enough to knock a framed picture off its hook.
The Dire Wolf swivelled and saw Vinnie reaching for a phone at the end of the bar. There was a barely perceptible glitter of metal in the air. A silver dagger sliced into the wood of the bar top with a crisp thwack, not a full inch away from Vinnie's hand. That stopped him. He stood staring at the weapon as if it were a rearing rattlesnake. Bane came over and tugged the dagger free, twirling it in front of Vinnie's flat nose.
"Now, what's all this about?" the Dire Wolf asked casually. "I don't have any problem with you, Vinnie. We've known each other for years, right?"
"Yeah, sure. I've never crossed you, Bane."
"Just sit tight. I won't be long. You'll have new tenants renting rooms upstairs by tomorrow, anyway." Sheathing the dagger and giving the bartender a last intimidating look, Bane went to the corner of the room and through a door that said PRIVATE - STAFF ONLY. Up a narrow flight of creaking stairs lit by a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, Bane crinkled his nose at the faint smell of fish... not of fish cooking, but of the sea and its salt air. At the top of the stairs was a stool on which no guard sat. That was luck. To his right was a plain unmarked wooden door. Assuming it would be locked, he set himself, drew back his arm and smacked his palm just above the handle. The lock snapped and the door flew inward to crash against the wall. Bane stepped through in a typically unsubtle entrance. The dart gun was still holstered; he had supreme confidence in his own ability.
It was a shabby office that had seen better days. The fishy smell was stronger. Behind a desk marked with holes left by burning cigarettes, a fat man in a tan suit sat like a toad on a log. He was gesturing with a thick cigar held in thick fingers at a young black man in a football jersey and blue sweat pants. Archie Hughes had always been a con artist, always looking for a sheep to fleece. Sometimes he was flush and sometimes he was flat, but he was always ready to cheat someone. Now, his mouth fell open as if the muscles holding his jaw had come loose. The cigar fell from his fingers and rolled off the desk. He forced a tiny amount of air out to breathe the word, "Bane."
"Hello, Archie. I figured you'd be either here or down on the Lower East Side in that coldwater dump. You need to grab your coat, it's raining out."
The young thug turned his shaven head to look, not moving his body and keeping his empty hands in sight. The dark eyes in the dark face were expressionless, not giving anything away. He was shrewd.
"Is there a problem?" asked Hughes as slowly as possible.
Bane had taken in the layout when he had first entered. To the left of the small living room was the open door of a bedroom, to the right was a sink and stove, then a door barely ajar. He realized the odor was coming from that room. What the hell did Hughes have in there, a bathtub full of trout or something? "You can come with me or you can wait while I call some of New York's finest to escort us. But either way, you're in for questioning."
"Don't be in such a hurry," the grifter smiled. "You kids, you always rush into things. Who put you up to this? Valdivia?"
"Oh, that's good. That's almost a confession," Bane said. He took a step forward, which was a mistake as it turned out, because it put the bathroom door a bit behind him. "Do you want to be booked as Hughes or Corona?"
"Corona has a nice ring to it, don't you think? It means crown." He lurched up and slapped meaty paws on the desk. "Take him! Both of you, take him!" As he screamed the final words, the black kid stepped in and took a swing at Bane. He's not bad, thought the Dire Wolf as he blocked the punch off to the side and brought his other fist up and then down to the base of the thug's neck. It was over in an instant, but that instant was enough. Bane caught the bathroom door opening from the corner of his eye-
Suddenly, the air was vibrating with a high, teeth-jarring whine. Bane's vision blurred and he swayed unsteadily. It was like the loudest shrilling buzzing in the world. Bane felt he was close to passing out. His left hand dropped to the dart gun holstered behind his hip and for that split-second, he was in so much pain and confusion he did not remember why he wanted it. A big blonde man was coming at him through the haze and he understood when it was too late. A supernormal fist smashed against his head like a horse's leg kicking. Bane was flung halfway across the room, the dart gun spinning away, and he fell over a low coffee table. The last thing he was conscious of was that nasty cold smell.
The man who loomed taut and menacing over the unconscious Bane was an inch over six feet tall, slim and muscular like a swimmer. There was an elemental hardness to him, the uncompromising leanness of a barbaric warrior. The man's short, tousled hair was ash blonde and his eyes light blue. On his forehead, near each temple, were two short fleshy protruberances like the horns of a snail. The fish-like odor came from him.
"The Dire Wolf recognized me before I struck him down. I saw the awareness in his eyes. And if I have not forgotten Jeremy Bane, surely he has not forgotten Atron Ke of Ulgor!"
Archie Hughes had fallen behind his desk and now he pulled himself up with effort. "God in Heaven, Atron! What did you do to us? What was that howling?"
"Just my way of seeing in murky water, Lord Corona. At full strength, it disorients my foes. I have been told it is a sort of natural sonar."
"I thought you was just gonna hit the guy," Hughes said. "I didn't know you could do things like that."
"There is much you do not know of me," replied Atron in his usual sullen tone. He was wearing snug tunic and pants of grey sharkhide with the rough scales outward. Sheathed on his back with its two-handled grip protruding over one shoulder was a long knife as big as a machete. Its blade was of sharpened bone. Atron wore a cuff of carved walrus ivory on his left forearm. As he stood down, the fleshy horns retracted to leave two slight bumps on his forehead.
Archie Hughes came tentatively out from behind his desk, keeping a watchful eye on the unconscious Bane. He bent and roused the dazed thug. "Stevie! Stevie, you okay?"
The young black man sat up and got to his feet, unsteady for a moment. Those punches had hurt. "Sorry he got past me, boss. But you know, I don't see how you can hold it against me. Look at who it is!"
"You armed, Stevie?"
"Yeah, course I'm packing. Got the Colt."
"Everybody knows he wears a bulletproof vest." Hughes almost touched Bane with the toe of his shoe but thought better of it. "Hit him in the head. Empty the gun, Stevie, blow his face right off."
"No." The single word touched Hughes and Stevie like a slap, stopping them short. Atron was facing them, hands down at his sides, his pale eyes fixed on them like a predator's. There was something so quiet and controlled in the way he looked at them that both Humans knew they were close to death at that moment.
"Whaddaya mean, NO?" Hughes said at last. "I'm the boss here, Atron, and I say we snuff this guy. His head is worth fifty big ones, last I heard."
The blonde man moved to stand between Hughes and the unconscious Bane. "Do not press me, Lord Corona. This is a warrior I have faced hand to hand. He is brave and he deserves a more honorable death than to be killed while helpless."
"Look here, Atron. Listen good. You're working for that crown. Do as I say or you'll never get it back."
"Air-breathing fool!" hissed the Gelydra. "The taint of the Sulla Chun is upon me. I was born with the shark in my heart. I love the bright madness of slaying and here you stand taunting me."
Hughes was not an educated man, he knew nothing of the Midnight War, nor of the inhabitants of sunken Ulgor. But he had dealt with tough guys before and he could tell the wrong word might trigger this madman into a rage. "Okay. Calm down. Look, we will let him go. Just for you. All right."
"Where is the crown of my ancestors?" Atron said. This close, it could be seen that he was not quite human. The thick white-blonde hair had a strange texture and the bony face was shaped just a little bit wrong. "I am not your meek servant. I want that crown! I want to return to the sea."
Archie Hughes reached to place a reassuring hand on Atron's shoulder, but the Gelydra slapped it aside with a stinging, backhand, Automatically, Stevie moved to protect his boss. The revolver was still in his hand and he raised it, but before he could complete the motion, the razor edge of a bone knife was within a hair of his throat. Stevie froze as motionless as he could. In the eyes of this lunatic, he saw a killing rage barely held in check.
After a long moment, Atron sheathed the knife back in its scabbard on his back. "I agreed to do your bidding for three days, my lord. That time has passed."
Hughes was as smooth as he knew how to be. "That's right. One more job. Tomorrow, after the robbery, it will all be over. We'll loot the boat and you can go your way."
"I curse the day the Melgarin invaded Ulgor! I curse the vandal who stole the crown from the very throne room of Ulgor and I doubly curse how it passed from hand to hand until you obtained it. For the crown to be the loot of a Melgar is bad enough but for you.. a Human.. to claim it. Faugh! I can't stomach this." He turned his strange pale eyes on the uneasy con man who dared command him. "These are my words, Lord Corona. By tomorrow's ebb tide, I shall hold the crown of my people in my hands. Or I shall hold your beating heart in my hands."
Gulping audibly, Hughes stepped back a pace. "You know, let's get out of here. We'll go to my office down by Canal Street and lay low until tonight."
"Very well." Atron went to snatch up a white topcoat from a chair and flung it over his shoulders like a cloak. "Leave the Dire Wolf where he lies, I say. We have fought before, he and I, and he has earned a worthy death when his hour comes."
Archie Hughes had to comply, he could tell he was on the thinnest ice. With Stevie, he followed the Gelydra out the door. There was nothing in these cheap rooms he could not leave behind. With a regretful glance back at Bane, who was stirring, Hughes tugged on his coat. He followed Atron, the strange creature who supposedly served him, down the stairs to the street.
III.
It was another ten minutes before Jeremy Bane grumbled, got to his hands and knees and managed to sit up. He had not been completely knocked out but had heard part of the conversation through a fog. Taking deep slow breaths, sat waiting for his head to clear. He was not too proud of himself at the moment. Going after Archie Hughes, he had strutted in all cocky, expecting just a few minutes of play. He knew he could handle any average goon without serious difficulty. But Hughes had a secret weapon on hand.. Atron Ke, Warlord of New Ulgor, and suddenly the game turned serious as he had to deal with someone on his own level.
One freak against another, he thought bitterly. Bane took a step, stumbled and fell, catching himself on the couch. Because of his Tagra tea diet, he had enhanced healing and resistance but everything had its limits and Atron punched hard enough to split a coconut. As a few more minutes passed, he came back to normal. Why was he still alive? Hughes hadn't done any murders that he knew of, but going up on extortion charges was reason enough. Maybe Atron had prevented it? Could be. The Gelydra had his own code of honor. Bane began to circle the apartment, searching. It seemed as if Hughes had just rented it as a place to hide. There were no clothes in the closet, no personal items in the bathroom. Bane thought it seemed as if Hughes had taken this place just as a refuge.
He did find an empty cigar box and a bottle of Jack Daniels with just an eighth of an inch on the bottom. There was a pizza box and Kentucky Fried Chicken container, with a few scraps. By the couch were two copies of THE DAILY NEWS, from yesterday and that day. And a folded map of the metropolitan area. Bane perked up. Archie Hughes was a Queens boy, he wouldn't need a map of the area but maybe Atron would. The Dire Wolf straightened the map out and examined it. It was more obvious than he had hoped. A faint pencilled line reached from the southern tip of Manhattan to Staten Island and back, with an asterisk drawn in at midpoint.
Bane knew this was the usual route of the Staten Island Ferry. Why would Hughes be showing this to Atron? Here was an amphibious superman obeying a low grade crook, what was their plan? Ransom? Sinking it as an act of terrorism? Bane decided plain simple robbery was the scheme. Hughes did not have grandiose ideas. He dreamed small dreams. The Wolf held the map up to the light from the window, checking for other clues like a pinhole or something which had been erased which might have left a smudge. Nothing. He wished he had Michael Hawk's skills... Hawk could look at the map and rattle off a dozen observations. Bane preferred the cases when he dove into a room and started swinging.
After another fifteen minutes, he decided he had found all he was going to find. The door was still open, since the lock had been punched off it, and he went down the narrow stairs more carefully than he normally would have. By now, a dull headache was all he felt after taking a full power blow from a fighter stronger than any heavweight boxer. He left the bar by the exit door, not wanting to explain to Vinnie. Let him wonder. Bane found himself on 8th Avenue and 50th Street. It was raining off and on. He started walking and thinking.
Atron the Destroyer. Bane had clashed with him three times over the years. They had first met at the very start of Bane's apprenticeship to Kenneth Dred, when he was just a hostile punk with fast hands and a flair of survival. Atron had thrashed him handily, Bane remembered unhappily, but he had received a lot of training since then. Now he was a Master of Kumundu, instructed by Teacher Chael. Things would be different.
As he crossed Lexington and turned right, going south, he reviewed what he knew of the Gelydrim. They were one of the so-called Cousins of Men, not able to interbreed successfully but otherwise obviously related. The Gelydrim were amphibians, able to survive on land for a day or two before becoming increasingly weaker and sluggish. They were just above the normal Human range of speed and strength, but Atron was an exception.
As he reached 40th Street, Bane remembered he had been told by Kenneth Dred why Atron Ke was so exceptional. During his birth, he had been exposed to the Sulla Chun, the dread Old Ones who slept under Ulgor. He had been forever marked by this. Not only he was much stronger than normal, he had struggled all his life with fits of rage in which he might attack anyone nearby. Atron also had that fleshy horns which emitted an ultrasonic whine which disoriented any living thing within range. Only a few of his Race had this rare adaptation. The Gelydrim had been created by the Darthim after the Corruption, to be used for retrieving treasures that sank with Ulgor. Even the best Gelydrim were not good company for surface Humans.
Now, he reached 38th Street and stepped up to the front door of the old brownstone building left to him by Kenneth Dred. Flipping open a panel, he punched in his code and the door unlocked. Bane stepped through the small foyer and pondered his next move. To his right was their medical ward. He turned on the lights over the sink and examined his reflection in the magnifying mirror. Not too bad. There would be a bruise but no swelling and no black eye. Bane glanced around the ward and remembered times he and other KDf members had crawled in there bloody and half-dead, to be patched up. Today he had gotten off easy.
It was getting on late afternoon. Bane went to the kitchen at the end of the hall, fixed a thick ham and cheese sandwich with mustard and ate it, drank a glass of milk and then went back to grab two hard-boiled eggs sitting in a bowl. He had decided that he was likely to run into Hughes on the Ferry but didn't want to have to deal with him. Now he had to go back to his bedroom. Up the stairs to the third floor, he rushed into his room. Boy, a lot had happened since he had left here a few hours earlier.
Bane stripped off his black sport jacket and located an old white raincoat at the back of his closet, where it had sat unworn for years. Some of the gadgets from his jacket got transferred, but the raincoat did not have all the hidden pockets and slits, so he left a few items behind. From a shelf in the closet, he yanked out a make-up kit as big as a suitcase and brought it over in front of the mirror on his dresser. He didn't like disguises and seldom used them, feeling silly when made up. But sometimes they were a good idea. He found a drooping mustache that had been made from his own hair and fixed it on with waterproof spirit gum. Sideburn extensions came next, not too extreme, just enough to look different. A pair of glasses with non-prescription lenses that had a 10% amber tint camoflauged the grey eyes which were his most distinctive feature. That was it. Bane had found that a minimal disguise worked better than something elaborate which would draw attention.
He went back to the hall by the front door and into a closet which had a panel in its back that slid open. Down steep concrete steps to the basement, he thumbed on the overhead lights. To his left was the Trom power generator, the heating and air-conditioning unit and a hot water tank. Straight ahead was the elevator machinery. Bane turned to his right and opened the door to the arsenal. There was an assortment of handguns and rifles here, as well as regular grenades and plastic explosive. But mostly there was pre-gunpowder weaponry. Most of the adjacent realms were ensorcelled so that gunpowder would not explode there. Bane looked over a wall filled with swords, dirks, maces, staffs, axes and warhammers. One section held Asian weapons like nunchakus, kusari-gama and tonfas. Most interestingly was a counter stocked with special weapons Bane had devised himself for the unusual targets he would face in the Midnight War.
Since they had first fought the Gelydrim, Bane had looked for a weapon that would dehydrate them. They were amphibians and he figured some sort of chemical spray or powder would dry them out enough to make them helpless but so far nothing had worked out. Taking his air pistol, Bane ejected the clip of anesthetic darts and slid in some of the resonance caps. Over in a box of odds and ends, he found wax ear plugs, and hanging on a hook was a pair of noise suppressing earcovers. They were inches thick and heavy, but needed for target practice. He hung them around his neck, and could not think of anything else he would need. Leaving the arsenal, he turned left and through the door in the plain concrete wall. Now he was in the garage. One of the cars was gone, Cindy had taken it upstate. That left the big Ford Malibu. A set of key hung from a nail by the door, Bane took them and started the car up. Getting up the ramp and out to the street took a tight turn and some care, but he hadn't scraped any paint yet.
It was raining again, colder than usual for this time of year. Reaching Battery Park, Bane left his car in a municipal lot and walked to the terminal. The rain coat was ironically a good use for the disguise. People were rushing from doorway to doorway, holding newspapers over theur heads. The Dire Wolf strode up to the terminal and up the wide stairs. He paid the toll (still a bargain for NYC prices), walked into the waiting area and found an empty bench. There wasn't much of a crowd and he figured Hughes was in for disappointment if he expected to rake in a fortune today.
Without seeming to, he scanned the area and saw no sign of Hughes or of Atron. He settled back to wait, having twenty minutes until the Ferry arrived. There was a magazine rack on one wall, but he wasn't interested. The Dire Wolf leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head lowered, trying to look like just another weary citizen glad to going home after a day at work. He wondered if any other denizens of the Midnight War were also aboard, inconspicuous as he was, wolves hidden in the flock.
He spotted Hughes. The man was alone, a white topcoat hanging over his dumpy body. Hughes had a battered fedora on, water drippinf off its rim, and he looked miserable. In one hand, the veteran con man carried a plastic Macy's bag, which stirred Bane's curiosity. It was obvious what he would be toting around. Bane felt an odd twinge of sympathy at how beaten down Hughes seemed after dealing with Atron. He had always been devious and deceitful, always with a trick to be played, but now he seemed to have had the wind taken out of him. All of these commuters, businessmen, students, housewives... did they ever get a suspicion about the strange beings who walked among them? They were better off not knowing.
Hughes waddled by, oblivious to Bane as he passed almost within reach. He's terribly out of shape, thought Bane as he heard the puffing. Those cigars'll kill him, if Atron doesn't. The bell rang to announce the boat had docked and was ready to load. Hughes mixed with the crowd and got in step as the big doors slid open and they all marched up the ramp. Bane got up and followed, staying behind two tall black men with suitcases to keep out of sight. There were about a hundred and fifty passengers, he estimated, and they all headed for shelter within the superstructure. The deck was slick with rain. Hughes went right to the snack bar, bought two hot dogs with relish and tried to get one into his mouth without chewing. Yeah, you need that, thought Bane. Go for a walk once in a while. The Wolf sat down near the rear of the seating and waited.
The Ferry lurched. Its engines could be felt throbbing beneath the deck. As it pulled away from the dock, Jeremy Bane looked out at the dark surface of the Hudson River, pitting with rain. Somewhere down there in the chill and the dark, Atron was moving.
IV.
The ride was dull. Most of the passengers stared out at the sheet of rain just beyond the windows. By the time they neared the Statue of Liberty, Bane was half ready to dive in the water and search for Atron himself. Lack of patience was his greatest flaw. He got to his feet and to the open stern, standing by the coin-operated telescope on a stand. He was getting wet but he didn't care. Come on, he thought, let's get this over with.
The Dire wolf had expected Atron to climb up onto the Ferry somehow, maybe with a grappling line. He had underestimated the sheer power of the Gelydra because, on the other side of the boat, a geyser of water flung itself up like the wake of a Polaris missile. As Bane wheeled around and passengers shrieked, Atron shot up from the river and came down to land on the wet deck. His grey sharkhide suit glistened in the gloom and his devil-horned face looked maniacal. By chance, he landed near Bane, who lunged for him but who was struck down by a sharp backward blow of an elbow.
The passengers were in an uproar, not surprisingly, and Atron plowed through them without pausing. Two tough-looking guys in flannel work shirts tried to tackle him, and the Gelydra slapped them aside. Making it to the pilot house, ripping the door off its hinges entirely and tossing it behind him, Atron drew his long knife and wrecked the radio and whistle, so that no outside help could intervene. One of the crew opened a drawer and came up with a Smith & Wesson, but never got a shot fired. The bone knife flashed and the gun spun away, taking three fingers with it. After that, the crewman was preoccupied with trying to stop the bleeding.
Going back to where the passengers were staring in confusion, Atron took a canvas sack from over one shoulder and opened it. "I am here to rob you!" he yelled. "Put your money in here or swim with the fish."
One of the tall black men looked at his friend, nodded, and shouted, "Come on! He's only one guy, let's get him!" More than twenty of the men began to close in on this strange robber. Atron's blue eyes glittered, the fleshy horns on his brow were fully extended as he laughed.
"Fools!" he cackled. The sonar effect hit the crowd like a physical pressure, forcing many to their knees and causing some to black out. No one reached Atron. They fell back before the high-pitched whine that filled their skulls with agony. The crowd was moaning and sobbing in pain.
"Your money, I said." Atron seized an elderly man by the collar and yanked him forward. The victim began hurriedly emptying his pockets into the bag, hoping to stop the agony.
From the deck, Jeremy Bane angrily got to his feet. This was the second time that day that Atron had floored him with a sucker punch. He was soaked with cold rain and the droning sonar whine made it hard to think straight. The Dire Wolf took the noise suppressors from around his neck and managed to get them over his ears. Instantly, the sonic shrill faded to a distant drone. He ripped the false sideburns and mustache off, wrestled out of the sodden raincoat and threw it to the deck. Furious, he stalked up to the superstructure where the Gelydra stood over the cowering passengers.
Bane drew and fired three times. The resonance caps detonated against Atron's chest and arm, throwing him down to the deck and making his drop the sonar effect in his surprise. Those caps were designed to be less than fatal, but what would stun a Human was only a sting to the powerful Gelydra. Swinging over to one knee with his fingertips on the deck, Atron actually growled before he rushed at Bane in a full run.
The Dire Wolf had replayed his earlier fights with the Gelydra in his mind many times. Atron was much stronger than any Human, he was tough and quick. But he counted too much on these advantages. He had never felt the need to develop as much real technique as he should have. As Atron rushed him, Bane kicked the man's front leg backward from under him and drove his own elbow down right at the back of that blonde head. The Gelydra was not hurt. He bounced back up right into a straight side kick that flung him upside down. Again, Atron leaped up and came in like lightning and again, Bane used his momentum against him, grabbing an arm and tugging him off-balance while cracking his own fist like a hammer down at the base of Atron's neck. Tough as the guy was, those blows had to hurt.
The Destroyer rose in a crouch, extending the fleshy tendrils at his temples to begin the sonar effect. Bane had been waiting for this. He slapped those horns as hard as he possibly could, left and right, and Atron stepped back wincing with his hands up defensively. Everyone had a weak spot.
"Why are you doing this?" Bane roared over the downpour. "What could you possibly want money for?"
"Money? You fool! I don't want your money?" Atron yelled back as the bruised tendrils retracted.
"Then why are you doing this?"
"Because of the crown!" the Gelydra raised one fist in a melodramatic gesture. "I have been charged with returning the crown and your Human criminal Corona has it. Bane, if he destroys that crown, my honor is lost."
Now Bane took a step forward, lowering his voice, "I don't know if I understand. But Corona- that is, Archie Hughes- is right over there with a shopping bag and I think you know what he's carrying in it."
"Hah! I do indeed." The Gelydra wheeled and raced back toward the crowd inside the superstructure. The sonar whine had ended, but everyone was still dazed and beweildered, huddled into a mass. Atron loomed over them, frightening them even more. He spotted Archie Hughes in the crowd, reached down and hauled the man up with one hand.
As Bane approached, the Gelydra seized the plastic shopping bag and dropped Hughes to the desk. Reaching in, Atron pulled out another bag which had been tied shut and ripped it open to display a thin gold circlet with a three gems on the pointed lozenge on its front... two white pearls and a larger black one.
"At last!" Atron roared. He turned and leaped lightly up onto the chest high railing. As he wrapped the crown up inside the plastic bag, he spotted Bane watching him. "Our battle is ended, Dire Wolf. We shall meet again. Our lives are far from over." He turned and dove high into the air, arced down and was gone into the dark river.
Letting out a long breath, Bane stepped inside the superstructure and wiped rain from his face. Personally, he would be just as happy not to meet Atron again. The Dire Wolf looked over the crowd and decided they would recover. So far, they were still numb and confused as the effects of the sonar weapon lingered but in a few minutes they would be full of questions. Archie Hughes had gotten to his feet and tried to wriggle to the back of the miserable mob, as if he could hide himself. Bane grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him clear.
"Where do you think you're going?" Bane snarled. He ached to punch the fat old man hard but managed to hold back. He couldn't justify it. "Damn you for all the trouble you caused. You're still coming with me for questioning." He shoved the con artist back onto a wet bench. There was nothing now but days of answering questions, filling out reports, being questioned over and over by the police, then even looking forward to a court date and testifying. He hated all of that. For one second, he wished he could just dive overboard and swim away like Atron.
3/24/2013
9/30/1982
I.
Bane woke up alone. he absently patted Cindy's side of the bed, blinked, grunted and sat up. Yes, he remembered now. She was staying upstate for a few days to help with her sister's wedding. Cindy had told Bane at the start that she would not drift away from her family. He knew he was alone in the headquarters building, and he ran through the roster in his head and noted where each member was.
Crossing to the small enclosed bathroom, Bane shaved while taking a hot shower. The desperate poverty of his childhood on the streets had left him content with even the slightest comfort and he regarded a shower whenever he wanted as a positive luxury. As he toweled dry, the Dire Wolf was thinking about the KDF, the Kenneth Dred Foundation, which had started as nothing more than a cover name for his team of Tel Shai knights. The KDF was not a military organization where the members stayed on duty and available at a second's notice. Each had his own life elsewhere and his own responsibilities. Still, they had agreed, as a condition to being accepted by the Order of Tel Shai, to be ready to drop everything when Bane summoned them. When they were free, they often stayed in the rooms provided to them at the HQ building to study and train, but much of the time Bane found himself alone when trouble stirred.
Drying off, the Dire Wolf made the bed and got dressed. He put on plain cotton socks and underwear and white T-shirt, but over this went the flexible Trom-metal armor. Provided to the KDF by Leonard Slade, this armor looked like dark silk but would disperse the impact of anything up to a high-powered rifle bullet safely. The rest of his wardrobe was invariably black: longsleeved turtleneck, slacks and boots. In the various pockets were stowed a variety of specialized tools and gadgets, everything from pencil flares to the oxygen membrane to a compact first aid kit. Depending on the situation, he would vary the contents.
On his forearms under the turtleneck sleeves, Bane wore two leather sheaths with held a pair of matched daggers with silver blades. He had hired expensive artisans to mold rubber forms over the sheaths which felt as exactly like human muscles as possible. So far, every time he had been searched, that molding had been deceptive enough that the daggers had not been detected. Those daggers had been a gift from Kenneth Dred, who had weilded them himself forty years earlier, and they were what Bane valued most in the world.
Leaving his room, the Dire Wolf trotted down three flights of stairs to the ground floor. He always moved briskly, he couldn't help it. Doctors had labelled Bane a successful Variant, with reflexes three times faster than a normal Human and voluntary movements not far below that. The price of this was a hyperactive nature that made him restless and jumpy. Heading into the kitchen, he scrambled three eggs, ripping up a chunk of cheddar cheese to mix in with it. At the same time, he put four pieces of wheat bread in the toaster and devoured everything as if he had been lost in the woods. He was going through an apple juice phase, downed a huge tumbler of it and following with ice water. He never touched coffee; caffeine was the last thing he needed. Bane scrubbed the frying pan and washed the dishes, leaving everything in a rack to dry.
Now he felt fully alive. In the bathroom on the ground floor, which was little more than a closet with toilet and sink, Bane brushed his teeth and combed his short, fine-textured black hair. The face that glared back at him from the mirror was narrow and feral, with thick black brows and a pair of startlingly pale grey eyes. Bane was just twenty-four, but he acted with the confidence of someone older and more experienced. By now, it was nearly 8:30 in the morning. He went to the front door and opened it to step into the foyer. Here was the heavy iron mailbox and he opened it to remove a thick wad of envelopes. Glancing through them as he walked, the Wolf went back up the stairs to the second floor, where the conference room waited.
Inside the doorway, he thumbed on the fluorescent lights and gazed proudly at the conference room. The walls were lined with green metal filing cabinets and rows of reference books, but the most important feature was the long oak meeting table. There were four swivel chairs on each side, with an additional chair at each end. Passing the table, Bane dropped the mail on it and pushed the button that made the heavy curtains slide aside from the windows. For a long moment, he looked down at Park Avenue between 38th and 39th Street. Only a few years ago, he had been out there, sleeping where he could, fighting and stealing and taking jobs as bodyguard or courier when his enhanced speed made him dangerous enough to defy gangland enforcers. Kenneth Dred had changed all that.
With a faint snort at realizing he was stalling, Bane got to work. He draped his jacket over the chair at the end of the table and dug in. The first pass seperated bills and junk mail. Those he would take care of last thing at night. He was left with a dozen items that seemed promising. Unfortunately, the first was adressed to Chairman, Kenneth Dred Foundation, 28 E. 38th Street, New York, NY. The return address was Fargo, North Dakota. In a long rambling letter handwritten in tiny letters, the author told of his journeys to Venus after being captured by tall voluptuous bald-headed women in their invisible flying saucer. Bane tossed that with the junk mail. He felt it was better not to reply and encourage further extraterrestrial orgy reports.
The next letter was an improvement. It was from Garrison Nebel, not a KDF member but an ally in the Midnight War. This was a single-spaced typewritten report summarizing everything known about the Group Mind. The final page listed every known member of the Mind, with a description and noted abilities. Bane studied this intently. It had been only a month since the KDF had fought with a colony of the Group Mind, killing eight members and breaking up Prime's plans. Since then, nothing had been heard of that bizarre union of a hundred minds into one new organism, but with Nebel's report, Bane thought they had something to go on. Bane read through the report again to make sure it stuck in his memory, then got a manila folder from the drawer to his right and wrote "GROUP MIND September 1982" on it. When the other members returned, he would make sure each read through it.
There was a brief note from Shiro Mitsuru, saying he would be in the South of France until further notice and giving an address where he could be reached. A thick packet of documents from Donna Worth, their legal counsel, had to be filed. Another letter was almost embarassing in its profuse gratitude from a man who had been cleared of a manslaughter charge and the real culprit identified. That killer had been convicted and gotten a thirty year sentence, and the man falsely accused had been spared the same fate for himself. Bane tried to arrange things so he did not have to appear in court but he had been forced to testify and now, looking at this letter, he was glad he had.
Last was a letter in an expensive, quality envelope with the return address FROM THE OFFICE OF HENRY VALDIVIA. Bane vaguely recognized the name, a popular city official widely reported to be considering a try for the US Senate. The single sheet of paper inside told how Valdivia had attempted to contact Michael Hawk, who was unavailable, and he had been advised to see Bane instead. The man's private number was included, he asked that Bane contact him within normal business hours if possible. The Dire Wolf scowled at the letter as if it burned his fingers. Michael Hawk was the only KDF member known to the general public, being a criminologist and investigator of world-class ability. This was not the first time someone trying to reach Hawk had turned to the KDF.
Bane folded the letter and placed it in the center drawer, rising to his feet. Hawk had arranged for him to get his Private Investigator license, vouching for his ability. Bane had passed the exams, posted his bond and declared himself in practice. Being a PI gave him some advantages when at crime scenes. Still, the Dire Wolf knew his limitations. As a fighter, he had few equals but he simply did not posssess the observational and deductive skills that Hawk did.
Nothing else was at hand, and an idle day drove him crazy. He decided to go talk with this Valdivia. Shrugging into his jacket, he hurried down the stairs to the front hallway. As he closed the door behind him, advanced Trom-designed security systems clicked and buzzed into active status. On the sidewalk, Bane swung right and started walking downtown. A day without trouble was hardly worth getting up for.
II.
Walking with a tireless stride that got him through Manhattan faster than driving a car would, Bane found the building near City Hall where Valdivia had his office in the party fundraising headquarters, and he circled it warily out of long habit. Nothing looked suspicious. He entered the lobby and crossed over to the two elevators which stood side by side. The security guard at his station sat up and watched, but said nothing. On the eighth floor, the Dire Wolf found almost the entire space taken up by cubicles with young men and women pounding away at noiseless typewriters or talking quietly into phones. A few were smoking. At the far end was a door with a frosted glass panel and Bane headed straight for it.
Sitting a desk next to that door was a tough-looking middle-aged man making notes in the margins of official documents. He glanced up and gave Bane an unwelcoming expression. "Help you?"
"Valdivia wants to see me. My name is Bane." He watched as the man picked up a red phone and spoke into it with a hushed tone, then regarded the Dire Wolf with less hostility. "Go on in."
Bane stepped into an office packed with stacks and bundles of papers, walls lined with matched sets of legal reference books, framed certificates and licenses and diplomas on the walls, and just a general clutter of empty paper coffee cups and ashtrays with butts in them. Behind a desk with a reading lamp, two matched pens in a holder, and an old-fashioned stand holding a dozen rubber stamps, sat Henry Valdivia. He slammed a ledger shut and slid it to one side as Bane entered.
The Dire Wolf saw that the man was slim, well-dressed, with a full head of hair and black horn-rimmed glasses. He shook the offered hand and said, "I got your letter."
Valdivia gestured for him to take a seat and Bane found an empty space. "I didn't expect you to call on me at my office," the assistant DA muttered, "But it's just as well. I had hoped the famous Michael Hawk could be on hand."
"He's occupied," Bane said. "What seems to be the problem?"
The man opened his mouth, then closed it and finally said, "I know Hawk. To be honest, I don't know you except by reputation, Mr Bane. This is a delicate situation I find myself in."
"I get it. You do know that I am licensed by the City and State of New York as a private investigator, right? Good. Hand me a dollar."
"What?" Valdivia blinked but reached in his pants and fished out a single dollar.
Bane took it. "You are now my client. I am working on your behalf and so anything you tell me falls under the protection of confidentiality."
Thinking about it for a second, Valdivia smiled. He pushed his glasses back on his nose. "Oh very good. All right. I received a letter yesterday, full of threats that my career would be stopped before it could get really started. A picture was enclosed." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out a 4x5 photo with a matte finish and handed it over.
"The letter was signed, 'Corona.' I've searched my brain and am positive I have never heard of anyone with that name."
"Oh, it's not his real name," Bane said offhandedly. "There's a con artist and grifter, Archie Hughes. He calls himself Corona because he had delusions of class. I've run into him three or four times, but he's not really in my area of interest." Bane looked up from the photo with a raised eyebrow. "Rizzi, huh? Aldo Rizzi. Bad company for a future senator to be keeping."
"I have never met that scum in my life!" Valdivia snorted. "He's a well-known mobster. A lifelong criminal."
"I know who he is. Right up there in the New York families. The question is, why would you be talking to him in an alley like this picture shows?"
"It never happened. Never. My God, I am just getting established and this would wreck me beyond hope. What can I do? What can you do?"
Bane looked at the photo again. "Mr Valdivia, you have nothing to worry about. Look here. See this, the shadows on you go straight down, the one on Rizzi goes a little to the right. This photo's a fake. A composite. A judge would laugh at it."
"Oh thank goodness. I guess I was too upset to think clearly. Now that you point it out, the difference is clear. This Corona person made this picture to shake me down for money."
The Dire Wolf handed the photo back and said, "Would you testify against Hughes?"
"Absolutely. I want an example made of him."
"Good. That's what I like to hear. You get back to work and I'll drag Archie Hughes here by his feet." Bane turned for the door.
"Wait. I appreciate what you've done. Surely, some reimbursement-"
Bane gave the faintest of smiles over one shoulder as he left. "I've got your dollar."
III.
Back on the street, Bane headed north again, unreasonably pleased with himself. The last day of September was ugly. A cold wind blew rain into his face with stinging impact but he hardly noticed. He was thinking that maybe Valdivia would remember this in the future but it was better not to count on it. Bane had collected a number of favors owed to him by people he had saved from violence or ruin, but it was smart not to count on ever collecting them. People sometimes had short memories, politicians more than most. As he approached Times Square, the rain let up. He made for a small bar on 8th Avenue. Early in the afternoon, only a few people were in there, watching TV and drinking, or listlessly playing pool in the corner. As Bane closed the door behind him, Vinnie put down the rag he had been wiping the bar with and lowered his head. Not this guy again.
The tension in that bar was immediate and the Dire Wolf saw no real reason for it. He had not said anything. Behind the bar, Vinnie reached one hairy arm down out of sight. It was a movement meant to distract and Bane caught it. Behind him, one of the guys who had been playing pool swung a leather sap up behind his head and brought it down but Bane had already stepped to one side and slammed his elbow hard into the center of the guy's doughy stomach. The man grunted and sat down on the floor. Even as he fell, the other pool player was moving in fast, hands outstretched, and he ran right into a boot that caught him in the chest and threw him back against the wall hard enough to knock a framed picture off its hook.
The Dire Wolf swivelled and saw Vinnie reaching for a phone at the end of the bar. There was a barely perceptible glitter of metal in the air. A silver dagger sliced into the wood of the bar top with a crisp thwack, not a full inch away from Vinnie's hand. That stopped him. He stood staring at the weapon as if it were a rearing rattlesnake. Bane came over and tugged the dagger free, twirling it in front of Vinnie's flat nose.
"Now, what's all this about?" the Dire Wolf asked casually. "I don't have any problem with you, Vinnie. We've known each other for years, right?"
"Yeah, sure. I've never crossed you, Bane."
"Just sit tight. I won't be long. You'll have new tenants renting rooms upstairs by tomorrow, anyway." Sheathing the dagger and giving the bartender a last intimidating look, Bane went to the corner of the room and through a door that said PRIVATE - STAFF ONLY. Up a narrow flight of creaking stairs lit by a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, Bane crinkled his nose at the faint smell of fish... not of fish cooking, but of the sea and its salt air. At the top of the stairs was a stool on which no guard sat. That was luck. To his right was a plain unmarked wooden door. Assuming it would be locked, he set himself, drew back his arm and smacked his palm just above the handle. The lock snapped and the door flew inward to crash against the wall. Bane stepped through in a typically unsubtle entrance. The dart gun was still holstered; he had supreme confidence in his own ability.
It was a shabby office that had seen better days. The fishy smell was stronger. Behind a desk marked with holes left by burning cigarettes, a fat man in a tan suit sat like a toad on a log. He was gesturing with a thick cigar held in thick fingers at a young black man in a football jersey and blue sweat pants. Archie Hughes had always been a con artist, always looking for a sheep to fleece. Sometimes he was flush and sometimes he was flat, but he was always ready to cheat someone. Now, his mouth fell open as if the muscles holding his jaw had come loose. The cigar fell from his fingers and rolled off the desk. He forced a tiny amount of air out to breathe the word, "Bane."
"Hello, Archie. I figured you'd be either here or down on the Lower East Side in that coldwater dump. You need to grab your coat, it's raining out."
The young thug turned his shaven head to look, not moving his body and keeping his empty hands in sight. The dark eyes in the dark face were expressionless, not giving anything away. He was shrewd.
"Is there a problem?" asked Hughes as slowly as possible.
Bane had taken in the layout when he had first entered. To the left of the small living room was the open door of a bedroom, to the right was a sink and stove, then a door barely ajar. He realized the odor was coming from that room. What the hell did Hughes have in there, a bathtub full of trout or something? "You can come with me or you can wait while I call some of New York's finest to escort us. But either way, you're in for questioning."
"Don't be in such a hurry," the grifter smiled. "You kids, you always rush into things. Who put you up to this? Valdivia?"
"Oh, that's good. That's almost a confession," Bane said. He took a step forward, which was a mistake as it turned out, because it put the bathroom door a bit behind him. "Do you want to be booked as Hughes or Corona?"
"Corona has a nice ring to it, don't you think? It means crown." He lurched up and slapped meaty paws on the desk. "Take him! Both of you, take him!" As he screamed the final words, the black kid stepped in and took a swing at Bane. He's not bad, thought the Dire Wolf as he blocked the punch off to the side and brought his other fist up and then down to the base of the thug's neck. It was over in an instant, but that instant was enough. Bane caught the bathroom door opening from the corner of his eye-
Suddenly, the air was vibrating with a high, teeth-jarring whine. Bane's vision blurred and he swayed unsteadily. It was like the loudest shrilling buzzing in the world. Bane felt he was close to passing out. His left hand dropped to the dart gun holstered behind his hip and for that split-second, he was in so much pain and confusion he did not remember why he wanted it. A big blonde man was coming at him through the haze and he understood when it was too late. A supernormal fist smashed against his head like a horse's leg kicking. Bane was flung halfway across the room, the dart gun spinning away, and he fell over a low coffee table. The last thing he was conscious of was that nasty cold smell.
The man who loomed taut and menacing over the unconscious Bane was an inch over six feet tall, slim and muscular like a swimmer. There was an elemental hardness to him, the uncompromising leanness of a barbaric warrior. The man's short, tousled hair was ash blonde and his eyes light blue. On his forehead, near each temple, were two short fleshy protruberances like the horns of a snail. The fish-like odor came from him.
"The Dire Wolf recognized me before I struck him down. I saw the awareness in his eyes. And if I have not forgotten Jeremy Bane, surely he has not forgotten Atron Ke of Ulgor!"
Archie Hughes had fallen behind his desk and now he pulled himself up with effort. "God in Heaven, Atron! What did you do to us? What was that howling?"
"Just my way of seeing in murky water, Lord Corona. At full strength, it disorients my foes. I have been told it is a sort of natural sonar."
"I thought you was just gonna hit the guy," Hughes said. "I didn't know you could do things like that."
"There is much you do not know of me," replied Atron in his usual sullen tone. He was wearing snug tunic and pants of grey sharkhide with the rough scales outward. Sheathed on his back with its two-handled grip protruding over one shoulder was a long knife as big as a machete. Its blade was of sharpened bone. Atron wore a cuff of carved walrus ivory on his left forearm. As he stood down, the fleshy horns retracted to leave two slight bumps on his forehead.
Archie Hughes came tentatively out from behind his desk, keeping a watchful eye on the unconscious Bane. He bent and roused the dazed thug. "Stevie! Stevie, you okay?"
The young black man sat up and got to his feet, unsteady for a moment. Those punches had hurt. "Sorry he got past me, boss. But you know, I don't see how you can hold it against me. Look at who it is!"
"You armed, Stevie?"
"Yeah, course I'm packing. Got the Colt."
"Everybody knows he wears a bulletproof vest." Hughes almost touched Bane with the toe of his shoe but thought better of it. "Hit him in the head. Empty the gun, Stevie, blow his face right off."
"No." The single word touched Hughes and Stevie like a slap, stopping them short. Atron was facing them, hands down at his sides, his pale eyes fixed on them like a predator's. There was something so quiet and controlled in the way he looked at them that both Humans knew they were close to death at that moment.
"Whaddaya mean, NO?" Hughes said at last. "I'm the boss here, Atron, and I say we snuff this guy. His head is worth fifty big ones, last I heard."
The blonde man moved to stand between Hughes and the unconscious Bane. "Do not press me, Lord Corona. This is a warrior I have faced hand to hand. He is brave and he deserves a more honorable death than to be killed while helpless."
"Look here, Atron. Listen good. You're working for that crown. Do as I say or you'll never get it back."
"Air-breathing fool!" hissed the Gelydra. "The taint of the Sulla Chun is upon me. I was born with the shark in my heart. I love the bright madness of slaying and here you stand taunting me."
Hughes was not an educated man, he knew nothing of the Midnight War, nor of the inhabitants of sunken Ulgor. But he had dealt with tough guys before and he could tell the wrong word might trigger this madman into a rage. "Okay. Calm down. Look, we will let him go. Just for you. All right."
"Where is the crown of my ancestors?" Atron said. This close, it could be seen that he was not quite human. The thick white-blonde hair had a strange texture and the bony face was shaped just a little bit wrong. "I am not your meek servant. I want that crown! I want to return to the sea."
Archie Hughes reached to place a reassuring hand on Atron's shoulder, but the Gelydra slapped it aside with a stinging, backhand, Automatically, Stevie moved to protect his boss. The revolver was still in his hand and he raised it, but before he could complete the motion, the razor edge of a bone knife was within a hair of his throat. Stevie froze as motionless as he could. In the eyes of this lunatic, he saw a killing rage barely held in check.
After a long moment, Atron sheathed the knife back in its scabbard on his back. "I agreed to do your bidding for three days, my lord. That time has passed."
Hughes was as smooth as he knew how to be. "That's right. One more job. Tomorrow, after the robbery, it will all be over. We'll loot the boat and you can go your way."
"I curse the day the Melgarin invaded Ulgor! I curse the vandal who stole the crown from the very throne room of Ulgor and I doubly curse how it passed from hand to hand until you obtained it. For the crown to be the loot of a Melgar is bad enough but for you.. a Human.. to claim it. Faugh! I can't stomach this." He turned his strange pale eyes on the uneasy con man who dared command him. "These are my words, Lord Corona. By tomorrow's ebb tide, I shall hold the crown of my people in my hands. Or I shall hold your beating heart in my hands."
Gulping audibly, Hughes stepped back a pace. "You know, let's get out of here. We'll go to my office down by Canal Street and lay low until tonight."
"Very well." Atron went to snatch up a white topcoat from a chair and flung it over his shoulders like a cloak. "Leave the Dire Wolf where he lies, I say. We have fought before, he and I, and he has earned a worthy death when his hour comes."
Archie Hughes had to comply, he could tell he was on the thinnest ice. With Stevie, he followed the Gelydra out the door. There was nothing in these cheap rooms he could not leave behind. With a regretful glance back at Bane, who was stirring, Hughes tugged on his coat. He followed Atron, the strange creature who supposedly served him, down the stairs to the street.
III.
It was another ten minutes before Jeremy Bane grumbled, got to his hands and knees and managed to sit up. He had not been completely knocked out but had heard part of the conversation through a fog. Taking deep slow breaths, sat waiting for his head to clear. He was not too proud of himself at the moment. Going after Archie Hughes, he had strutted in all cocky, expecting just a few minutes of play. He knew he could handle any average goon without serious difficulty. But Hughes had a secret weapon on hand.. Atron Ke, Warlord of New Ulgor, and suddenly the game turned serious as he had to deal with someone on his own level.
One freak against another, he thought bitterly. Bane took a step, stumbled and fell, catching himself on the couch. Because of his Tagra tea diet, he had enhanced healing and resistance but everything had its limits and Atron punched hard enough to split a coconut. As a few more minutes passed, he came back to normal. Why was he still alive? Hughes hadn't done any murders that he knew of, but going up on extortion charges was reason enough. Maybe Atron had prevented it? Could be. The Gelydra had his own code of honor. Bane began to circle the apartment, searching. It seemed as if Hughes had just rented it as a place to hide. There were no clothes in the closet, no personal items in the bathroom. Bane thought it seemed as if Hughes had taken this place just as a refuge.
He did find an empty cigar box and a bottle of Jack Daniels with just an eighth of an inch on the bottom. There was a pizza box and Kentucky Fried Chicken container, with a few scraps. By the couch were two copies of THE DAILY NEWS, from yesterday and that day. And a folded map of the metropolitan area. Bane perked up. Archie Hughes was a Queens boy, he wouldn't need a map of the area but maybe Atron would. The Dire Wolf straightened the map out and examined it. It was more obvious than he had hoped. A faint pencilled line reached from the southern tip of Manhattan to Staten Island and back, with an asterisk drawn in at midpoint.
Bane knew this was the usual route of the Staten Island Ferry. Why would Hughes be showing this to Atron? Here was an amphibious superman obeying a low grade crook, what was their plan? Ransom? Sinking it as an act of terrorism? Bane decided plain simple robbery was the scheme. Hughes did not have grandiose ideas. He dreamed small dreams. The Wolf held the map up to the light from the window, checking for other clues like a pinhole or something which had been erased which might have left a smudge. Nothing. He wished he had Michael Hawk's skills... Hawk could look at the map and rattle off a dozen observations. Bane preferred the cases when he dove into a room and started swinging.
After another fifteen minutes, he decided he had found all he was going to find. The door was still open, since the lock had been punched off it, and he went down the narrow stairs more carefully than he normally would have. By now, a dull headache was all he felt after taking a full power blow from a fighter stronger than any heavweight boxer. He left the bar by the exit door, not wanting to explain to Vinnie. Let him wonder. Bane found himself on 8th Avenue and 50th Street. It was raining off and on. He started walking and thinking.
Atron the Destroyer. Bane had clashed with him three times over the years. They had first met at the very start of Bane's apprenticeship to Kenneth Dred, when he was just a hostile punk with fast hands and a flair of survival. Atron had thrashed him handily, Bane remembered unhappily, but he had received a lot of training since then. Now he was a Master of Kumundu, instructed by Teacher Chael. Things would be different.
As he crossed Lexington and turned right, going south, he reviewed what he knew of the Gelydrim. They were one of the so-called Cousins of Men, not able to interbreed successfully but otherwise obviously related. The Gelydrim were amphibians, able to survive on land for a day or two before becoming increasingly weaker and sluggish. They were just above the normal Human range of speed and strength, but Atron was an exception.
As he reached 40th Street, Bane remembered he had been told by Kenneth Dred why Atron Ke was so exceptional. During his birth, he had been exposed to the Sulla Chun, the dread Old Ones who slept under Ulgor. He had been forever marked by this. Not only he was much stronger than normal, he had struggled all his life with fits of rage in which he might attack anyone nearby. Atron also had that fleshy horns which emitted an ultrasonic whine which disoriented any living thing within range. Only a few of his Race had this rare adaptation. The Gelydrim had been created by the Darthim after the Corruption, to be used for retrieving treasures that sank with Ulgor. Even the best Gelydrim were not good company for surface Humans.
Now, he reached 38th Street and stepped up to the front door of the old brownstone building left to him by Kenneth Dred. Flipping open a panel, he punched in his code and the door unlocked. Bane stepped through the small foyer and pondered his next move. To his right was their medical ward. He turned on the lights over the sink and examined his reflection in the magnifying mirror. Not too bad. There would be a bruise but no swelling and no black eye. Bane glanced around the ward and remembered times he and other KDf members had crawled in there bloody and half-dead, to be patched up. Today he had gotten off easy.
It was getting on late afternoon. Bane went to the kitchen at the end of the hall, fixed a thick ham and cheese sandwich with mustard and ate it, drank a glass of milk and then went back to grab two hard-boiled eggs sitting in a bowl. He had decided that he was likely to run into Hughes on the Ferry but didn't want to have to deal with him. Now he had to go back to his bedroom. Up the stairs to the third floor, he rushed into his room. Boy, a lot had happened since he had left here a few hours earlier.
Bane stripped off his black sport jacket and located an old white raincoat at the back of his closet, where it had sat unworn for years. Some of the gadgets from his jacket got transferred, but the raincoat did not have all the hidden pockets and slits, so he left a few items behind. From a shelf in the closet, he yanked out a make-up kit as big as a suitcase and brought it over in front of the mirror on his dresser. He didn't like disguises and seldom used them, feeling silly when made up. But sometimes they were a good idea. He found a drooping mustache that had been made from his own hair and fixed it on with waterproof spirit gum. Sideburn extensions came next, not too extreme, just enough to look different. A pair of glasses with non-prescription lenses that had a 10% amber tint camoflauged the grey eyes which were his most distinctive feature. That was it. Bane had found that a minimal disguise worked better than something elaborate which would draw attention.
He went back to the hall by the front door and into a closet which had a panel in its back that slid open. Down steep concrete steps to the basement, he thumbed on the overhead lights. To his left was the Trom power generator, the heating and air-conditioning unit and a hot water tank. Straight ahead was the elevator machinery. Bane turned to his right and opened the door to the arsenal. There was an assortment of handguns and rifles here, as well as regular grenades and plastic explosive. But mostly there was pre-gunpowder weaponry. Most of the adjacent realms were ensorcelled so that gunpowder would not explode there. Bane looked over a wall filled with swords, dirks, maces, staffs, axes and warhammers. One section held Asian weapons like nunchakus, kusari-gama and tonfas. Most interestingly was a counter stocked with special weapons Bane had devised himself for the unusual targets he would face in the Midnight War.
Since they had first fought the Gelydrim, Bane had looked for a weapon that would dehydrate them. They were amphibians and he figured some sort of chemical spray or powder would dry them out enough to make them helpless but so far nothing had worked out. Taking his air pistol, Bane ejected the clip of anesthetic darts and slid in some of the resonance caps. Over in a box of odds and ends, he found wax ear plugs, and hanging on a hook was a pair of noise suppressing earcovers. They were inches thick and heavy, but needed for target practice. He hung them around his neck, and could not think of anything else he would need. Leaving the arsenal, he turned left and through the door in the plain concrete wall. Now he was in the garage. One of the cars was gone, Cindy had taken it upstate. That left the big Ford Malibu. A set of key hung from a nail by the door, Bane took them and started the car up. Getting up the ramp and out to the street took a tight turn and some care, but he hadn't scraped any paint yet.
It was raining again, colder than usual for this time of year. Reaching Battery Park, Bane left his car in a municipal lot and walked to the terminal. The rain coat was ironically a good use for the disguise. People were rushing from doorway to doorway, holding newspapers over theur heads. The Dire Wolf strode up to the terminal and up the wide stairs. He paid the toll (still a bargain for NYC prices), walked into the waiting area and found an empty bench. There wasn't much of a crowd and he figured Hughes was in for disappointment if he expected to rake in a fortune today.
Without seeming to, he scanned the area and saw no sign of Hughes or of Atron. He settled back to wait, having twenty minutes until the Ferry arrived. There was a magazine rack on one wall, but he wasn't interested. The Dire Wolf leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head lowered, trying to look like just another weary citizen glad to going home after a day at work. He wondered if any other denizens of the Midnight War were also aboard, inconspicuous as he was, wolves hidden in the flock.
He spotted Hughes. The man was alone, a white topcoat hanging over his dumpy body. Hughes had a battered fedora on, water drippinf off its rim, and he looked miserable. In one hand, the veteran con man carried a plastic Macy's bag, which stirred Bane's curiosity. It was obvious what he would be toting around. Bane felt an odd twinge of sympathy at how beaten down Hughes seemed after dealing with Atron. He had always been devious and deceitful, always with a trick to be played, but now he seemed to have had the wind taken out of him. All of these commuters, businessmen, students, housewives... did they ever get a suspicion about the strange beings who walked among them? They were better off not knowing.
Hughes waddled by, oblivious to Bane as he passed almost within reach. He's terribly out of shape, thought Bane as he heard the puffing. Those cigars'll kill him, if Atron doesn't. The bell rang to announce the boat had docked and was ready to load. Hughes mixed with the crowd and got in step as the big doors slid open and they all marched up the ramp. Bane got up and followed, staying behind two tall black men with suitcases to keep out of sight. There were about a hundred and fifty passengers, he estimated, and they all headed for shelter within the superstructure. The deck was slick with rain. Hughes went right to the snack bar, bought two hot dogs with relish and tried to get one into his mouth without chewing. Yeah, you need that, thought Bane. Go for a walk once in a while. The Wolf sat down near the rear of the seating and waited.
The Ferry lurched. Its engines could be felt throbbing beneath the deck. As it pulled away from the dock, Jeremy Bane looked out at the dark surface of the Hudson River, pitting with rain. Somewhere down there in the chill and the dark, Atron was moving.
IV.
The ride was dull. Most of the passengers stared out at the sheet of rain just beyond the windows. By the time they neared the Statue of Liberty, Bane was half ready to dive in the water and search for Atron himself. Lack of patience was his greatest flaw. He got to his feet and to the open stern, standing by the coin-operated telescope on a stand. He was getting wet but he didn't care. Come on, he thought, let's get this over with.
The Dire wolf had expected Atron to climb up onto the Ferry somehow, maybe with a grappling line. He had underestimated the sheer power of the Gelydra because, on the other side of the boat, a geyser of water flung itself up like the wake of a Polaris missile. As Bane wheeled around and passengers shrieked, Atron shot up from the river and came down to land on the wet deck. His grey sharkhide suit glistened in the gloom and his devil-horned face looked maniacal. By chance, he landed near Bane, who lunged for him but who was struck down by a sharp backward blow of an elbow.
The passengers were in an uproar, not surprisingly, and Atron plowed through them without pausing. Two tough-looking guys in flannel work shirts tried to tackle him, and the Gelydra slapped them aside. Making it to the pilot house, ripping the door off its hinges entirely and tossing it behind him, Atron drew his long knife and wrecked the radio and whistle, so that no outside help could intervene. One of the crew opened a drawer and came up with a Smith & Wesson, but never got a shot fired. The bone knife flashed and the gun spun away, taking three fingers with it. After that, the crewman was preoccupied with trying to stop the bleeding.
Going back to where the passengers were staring in confusion, Atron took a canvas sack from over one shoulder and opened it. "I am here to rob you!" he yelled. "Put your money in here or swim with the fish."
One of the tall black men looked at his friend, nodded, and shouted, "Come on! He's only one guy, let's get him!" More than twenty of the men began to close in on this strange robber. Atron's blue eyes glittered, the fleshy horns on his brow were fully extended as he laughed.
"Fools!" he cackled. The sonar effect hit the crowd like a physical pressure, forcing many to their knees and causing some to black out. No one reached Atron. They fell back before the high-pitched whine that filled their skulls with agony. The crowd was moaning and sobbing in pain.
"Your money, I said." Atron seized an elderly man by the collar and yanked him forward. The victim began hurriedly emptying his pockets into the bag, hoping to stop the agony.
From the deck, Jeremy Bane angrily got to his feet. This was the second time that day that Atron had floored him with a sucker punch. He was soaked with cold rain and the droning sonar whine made it hard to think straight. The Dire Wolf took the noise suppressors from around his neck and managed to get them over his ears. Instantly, the sonic shrill faded to a distant drone. He ripped the false sideburns and mustache off, wrestled out of the sodden raincoat and threw it to the deck. Furious, he stalked up to the superstructure where the Gelydra stood over the cowering passengers.
Bane drew and fired three times. The resonance caps detonated against Atron's chest and arm, throwing him down to the deck and making his drop the sonar effect in his surprise. Those caps were designed to be less than fatal, but what would stun a Human was only a sting to the powerful Gelydra. Swinging over to one knee with his fingertips on the deck, Atron actually growled before he rushed at Bane in a full run.
The Dire Wolf had replayed his earlier fights with the Gelydra in his mind many times. Atron was much stronger than any Human, he was tough and quick. But he counted too much on these advantages. He had never felt the need to develop as much real technique as he should have. As Atron rushed him, Bane kicked the man's front leg backward from under him and drove his own elbow down right at the back of that blonde head. The Gelydra was not hurt. He bounced back up right into a straight side kick that flung him upside down. Again, Atron leaped up and came in like lightning and again, Bane used his momentum against him, grabbing an arm and tugging him off-balance while cracking his own fist like a hammer down at the base of Atron's neck. Tough as the guy was, those blows had to hurt.
The Destroyer rose in a crouch, extending the fleshy tendrils at his temples to begin the sonar effect. Bane had been waiting for this. He slapped those horns as hard as he possibly could, left and right, and Atron stepped back wincing with his hands up defensively. Everyone had a weak spot.
"Why are you doing this?" Bane roared over the downpour. "What could you possibly want money for?"
"Money? You fool! I don't want your money?" Atron yelled back as the bruised tendrils retracted.
"Then why are you doing this?"
"Because of the crown!" the Gelydra raised one fist in a melodramatic gesture. "I have been charged with returning the crown and your Human criminal Corona has it. Bane, if he destroys that crown, my honor is lost."
Now Bane took a step forward, lowering his voice, "I don't know if I understand. But Corona- that is, Archie Hughes- is right over there with a shopping bag and I think you know what he's carrying in it."
"Hah! I do indeed." The Gelydra wheeled and raced back toward the crowd inside the superstructure. The sonar whine had ended, but everyone was still dazed and beweildered, huddled into a mass. Atron loomed over them, frightening them even more. He spotted Archie Hughes in the crowd, reached down and hauled the man up with one hand.
As Bane approached, the Gelydra seized the plastic shopping bag and dropped Hughes to the desk. Reaching in, Atron pulled out another bag which had been tied shut and ripped it open to display a thin gold circlet with a three gems on the pointed lozenge on its front... two white pearls and a larger black one.
"At last!" Atron roared. He turned and leaped lightly up onto the chest high railing. As he wrapped the crown up inside the plastic bag, he spotted Bane watching him. "Our battle is ended, Dire Wolf. We shall meet again. Our lives are far from over." He turned and dove high into the air, arced down and was gone into the dark river.
Letting out a long breath, Bane stepped inside the superstructure and wiped rain from his face. Personally, he would be just as happy not to meet Atron again. The Dire Wolf looked over the crowd and decided they would recover. So far, they were still numb and confused as the effects of the sonar weapon lingered but in a few minutes they would be full of questions. Archie Hughes had gotten to his feet and tried to wriggle to the back of the miserable mob, as if he could hide himself. Bane grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him clear.
"Where do you think you're going?" Bane snarled. He ached to punch the fat old man hard but managed to hold back. He couldn't justify it. "Damn you for all the trouble you caused. You're still coming with me for questioning." He shoved the con artist back onto a wet bench. There was nothing now but days of answering questions, filling out reports, being questioned over and over by the police, then even looking forward to a court date and testifying. He hated all of that. For one second, he wished he could just dive overboard and swim away like Atron.
3/24/2013
