"Silver and Stone"
May. 17th, 2022 02:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Silver and Stone"
(12/31/1972)
1/14- 1/15/1982
[REVISION: The origin of Simon Cohen has been completely changed and all mentions of it have to be rewritten. He actually was an aging Kabbalist and disgraced Rabbi who teamed up with Alchemist Lee Hutchins' help to permanently placed his consciousness into a stone Golem of their making. He became his own Targhul.]
I.
By ten-thirty, Hutchins had finished the Southern Comfort and felt a bit better. He could still research alchemy and write about it, even if those Tel Shai fools had given him a mental block against practicing it. After seeing a few weeks of him on good behavior, they had even loaned him some rare books on the subject from the library that Kenneth Dred had left. He had sketched a solid outline for his definitive work on Velkandu, gralic alchemy, and he was ready to start writing in earnest.
Walking slowly around his apartment and turning out the lights, he felt he had gotten off easy. When he had created those Other-men, he had been associated with the Ulgoran wizard Li Tung and some form of sinister influence had obviously been at work. He had never been able to create the magick effects before or since that he had when Li Tung was coaching him. Hutchins did not think of himself as a bad person, maybe just a weak one easily swayed by bad company and the KDF had obviously agreed. After all, he had heard rumors of how their enemies tended to just disappear and never been heard from again. But the KDF had not done anything like that to him. No, their telepath had just put an edict in his mind against any more alchemical experiments.
In the doorway to his bedroom, Hutchins paused to sadly look back over his apartment. So much was gone. There were still stacks and piles of books and manuscripts but none of the esoteric solutions and powders he had labored so long to create. Gone now. He had managed to hold on to only one alchemical construct that the KDF had by chance overlooked. On a small table by itself, under a glass dome, was a dark grey rock the size of a human fist. Even now, when light hit this rock, flecks of red and gold and blue flickered wildly.
This was the Stone of Malberon, the great talisman sought by many but fabricated by very few. Velkandu created its magickal potions by infusing gralic force into the ingredients, something only made possible by the Stone. Hutchins could no longer utilize the talisman and its potency lay dormant but so many years had gone into its making he could not bear to give it up. Struck with self-pity, he went to bed and the summer heat and the liquor put him to sleep at once. Hours passed. A little after one, the door opened to the soft clink of a picked lock and a big man in dark clothes stepped silently within.
Using a pencil flashlight, the intruder spotted the Stone of Malberon, refracting its multicolored lights in the dimness. It was not too late for Simon Cohen to turn away and save himself. But the lure of that great talisman drew him as it had so many others over the ages. He carefully lifted the glass dome and set it aside, taking the Stone in his grasp, and now it was too late for him. He had taken his destiny in his hand.
Hutchins awoke with a gasp. The occult link between him and his creation was still potent. He had no weapons in his apartment. Wearing only the bottom half of an old pair of striped pajamas, he plunged out of bed and through the doorway, one hand flipping up the light switch.
Simon Cohen raised his revolver but did not fire. He was a bit over six feet tall, stout and sturdy with a thick waist. His teeth flashed from within a black beard. "This prize deserves a new master, fool."
"Put that down! I know you, Cohen. I never thought you would sink to this."
The warlock snickered. "You can't use this treasure! Why let it sit idle, Lee?"
"I'm warning you. Put it down."
"Do what thou wilt," Cohen said and extended his arm to aim his gun right at the alchemist.
"Grelok take your soul! May you turn to stone!" screamed Lee Hutchins.
The ancient curse came naturally to Hutchins, but he did not forsee the Stone would rouse and obey its master. A nimbus of brilliant gralic force burst from the talisman, swirling and crackling around the warlock who held it. Red and gold and green flared for a timeless moment and Cohen howled in despair and agony. Then that moment passed and the long nightmare began. Hutchins suddenly understood what had happened, as did his longtime rival. "Damn you," Cohen grated with the words scraping his throat. His finger tightened on the trigger but, instead of firing, the revolver cracked and fell apart into metal shards. Only the grip remained in his hand.
In growing horror, Cohen glared down at his hands. His skin had become hard, granular, the color of granite. When he flexed his fingers, a crystalline nature showed at the joints. The change was taking place faster now. His shirt split across the shoulders, the buttons at chest and wrists popped off, the waistband of his trousers broke and his pants tore open. His clothes hung in tatters. In seconds, his entire body had expanded visibly, taller and thicker. Cohen squeezed his eyes shut, thiking this could not be real. But when he opened them, deepset now under a protruding brow ledge, he could not help but believe.
It hurt to speak, as the vocal chords scraped against each other. His last words were, "What did you DO to me?"
"The Stone," Hutchins mumbled. "It transformed you- silicon carbide. Great Jordyn, you're turning to stone. I never meant-"
The monster tried to speak, to roar its rage but the change had gone too far. He could only make a low grinding rasp. Shaking his bulky head, he angrily threw away the Stone. It whistled through the air to imbed itself deeply in the plaster wall. Hutchins tried to run for the door to the hall, but the beast swung a knotted fist the size of a bowling ball. With the crunch of bones breaking, the alchemist spun across the room to slam hard into a bookcase, knocking it over and lying motionless of the debris.
The Stone Man stood where he was, massive chest heaving, fists clenching and unclenching. The brilliant mind of the warlock clouded and grew dim, but it knew something was very wrong. He suddenly felt he had to get out of there. If only he could think more clearly...
Out in the hallway, three young men returning from the neighborhood bar were arguing about politics when the door to apartment 3G exploded outward, entirely off its hinges, slamming down to the floor. A huge grey hulk crashed through them, brushing them aside without even noticing them. As they sprawled and tried to get up, they heard thumping steps booming down the stairs.
II.
At two-thirty on a misty cold morning, one window was still lit on the second floor of a building on East 38th Street. Here stood one who never slept. A hand reached across a desk to pick up the phone. That hand was immense, nearly twice normal size, with a thumb four inches long. It seemed to be coated with liquid silver which flexed naturally over powerful tendons and muscles beneath that skin. It was not silver. Actually, it was not even matter, in the sense physicists used the term, but densely solidified gralic force that defied explanation. Khang looked like a gleaming statue of burnished metal brought to life.
"Good morning," he said in a voice that seemed to come from every direction at once.
"Khang? Is that you? This is Inspector Halwick. Sorry to wake you so early."
"You did not wake me," answered the silver man. He leaned forward and the flourescent overhead lights played over the smooth helmet of his head. Except for two glowing eyeslots, his face was a featureless mask. "What is wrong?"
"Something out of the ordinary, just the sort of thing we always bring to you boys. Down on 12th Street, some maniac was running loose. He knocked a door clean off, walked over three guys. Two of them are in the hospital with broken bones. In the apartment was another man, badly hurt. ID confirmed as Lee Hutchins."
"Hutchins again!" Khang's voice was no louder but it suddenly resonated in the room. "We have dealt with his mischief before. Very well, Inspector. We are on our way!" The silver man took care to place the phone down gently. That cursed alchemist again, this time with men dead and with some brute unleashed. What foolishness was Hutchins guilty of this time? He rose to his full height, well over seven feet and took one long stride to press a button by the door. The blue alert sounded. Throughout the building a low beeping sounded and a blue light flashed in every room. Khang had come here well after midnight and did not know how many of his colleagues were on hand. In less than a minute, though, they rushed through the door to the conference room, buttoning shirts and and tugging on boots as they entered.
Two were the members who lived in the building full time. Jeremy Bane, the Dire Wolf, was the chairman of the Kenneth Dred Foundation. His partner and lover was the blonde telepath Cindy Brunner. They had adjoining rooms on the third floor. Bane was wearing his usual black slacks and turtleneck, tugging on his sports jacket. Cindy had faded jeans and a bright green T-shirt; she was tying her dark blonde hair into a ponytail with a ribbon. Entering behind them was Michael Hawk, the criminologist who was the only member famous to the general public. He happened to be staying for a day or so while tidying up an extortion case.
Bane took charge. Not only he was captain of the team of Tel Shai knights and chairman of the KDF, he just had that sort of personality. As soon as Khang had explained the alert, the Dire Wolf brushed his dark hair back with his fingers and addressed his friends. "Hutchins, that guy was always trouble. Mike, you and I will investigate. Cindy, stay here with Khang in case the so-called maniac is reported."
The telepath pouted just a bit. "I should go with you. I can tell who is truthful or not, and I can dig around in anyone's memories if needed, remember?"
"There's no witnesses there to question," Bane said. "They're in the hospital. Mike is the trained observer. If our other members report for the blue alert, have them stand by."
"Okay. I suppose." Her voice was grudging. Cindy went over to the rack by the door and got her windbreaker, then plopped down at the conference table. Khang tilted his featureless head as if amused, although it was difficult to tell.
Bane led Hawk down the stairs to the first floor. Michael Hawk was in his early sixties, getting grey but still very tough and energetic. He was wearing Levis, blue work shirt and boots; when he stopped to put on his tan coat with the white fur lining, he looked even more like a grizzled cowboy. The two of them went through the false panel in the walk-in closet, down steep concrete steps and through the basement to the small underground garage which held two cars. They glanced at each other and Bane got in the passenger seat to let the better driver take the wheel of the big Lincoln. Going up the ramp to the street was tricky, there was a sharp turn and Bane had scraped paint once or twice in his impatience. They rolled out on Lexington Avenue, still dark and almost deserted.
As Hawk turned south, he said quietly, "I wouldn't mind if Khang covered up some. In his topcoat and scarf and fedora, he's easier to take than when he's walking around all shiny that way."
"I'll mention it to him." Bane watched the street signs go by. "He's conspicuous enough at seven foot four without showing that metal hide. Listen, you know that was Inspector Halwick."
"Jim Halwick. Sure. Honest cop. Not the quickest thinker but he's persistent like a bulldog. I told him and a few others to let us know about anything weird or uncanny going on."
"And Mr Dred had a few NYPD officers who called him when the Midnight War flared up. Good. As long as they know when to step out of the way and let us work. Here's 12th Street. That building there, the red brick one."
Hawk slid into a parking spot and got out, with Bane beside him. There were two police cars with lights flashing, parked in front of a five story apartment building that looked at least a century old and needed some work. A uniformed officer nodded politely. "Morning. Inspector's in there, third floor."
"Thanks, Gillen. Cold morning to be standing guard," Hawk said.
"Part of the job," the cop answered as the two went through the open door and up creaking wooden stairs. At the third floor landing, they met Halwick and a sergeant. The forensics squad had packed up just minutes earlier.
"Morning, Mike. Jeremy," Halwick said. He was a lanky man with a long sorrowful face and blue eyes. His tie was loosened and his collar opened. "Come on in... but of course, I don't have to tell you not to touch anything."
For the next fifteen minutes, Michael Hawk questioned the police as if they were the suspects. Bane watched and listened. He was still learning from the master. As a fighter, the Dire Wolf had few equals but he was not a trained detective yet. Halwick and the sergeant seemed to speak freely. They had learned that the KDF was not interested in taking credit and invariably kept a low profile. Hawk studied the room, frowning and rubbing his chin. Finally, he stood near the overturned bookcase and said, "Here's how I see it. Fresh scratch marks on the lock of the door out there. The suspect picked the lock to get in. No alarms. He's standing here with a .32 revolver in his right hand. The glass dome on the floor was taken off this velvet stand on this table, so he removed something valuable from it. The bedroom door is open, blankets thrown aside. Hutchins emerges to confront him. And here's where things get a mite odd."
Crouching over, Hawk indicated where the shards of metal had been found. "The gun falls apart in the suspect's hand. It didn't explode. No shells were fired. You say the grip was bent and distorted. I think the gun was squeezed in a grip so powerful that it broke the gun to pieces."
Bane raised an eyebrow. "That sure narrows the number of suspects. Your average burglar can't crumple a revolver in his hand."
"Lee Hutchins was thrown against that wall so hard he bounced off and took the bookcase down with him. He left a circular depression in the plaster. Inspector Halwick tells us the man had multiple fractures and head trauma, died within seconds. But there is one more funny item." Hawk pointed to where the Stone was sunk an inch into the wall.
"I recognize that," Bane said grimly. "The Stone of Malberon. Hutchins tried to use it on me, not a full month ago."
The police sergeant leaned closer and volunteered his opinion. "The guy used a hammer to drive that rock into the wall."
"I don't think so. No fracture marks in the plaster." Hawk always sounded somber. "The stone penetrated in one quick impact, very fast. Considering the other stunts our suspect pulled, I think he threw it as fast as a bullet."
Halwick whistled and the sergeant obviously agreed.
The Dire Wolf was inspecting the Stone. "You know, this thing looks different. It used to have a sort of glitter to it, little flecks of color. Now it's dull. Lifeless. It's been drained of force."
Hawk came over to stand beside the younger man. "You know more about this stuff than I do, Jeremy. But I reckon the gralic force has been drained out of it somehow."
The cold grey eyes of Jeremy Bane were narrow and suspicious at best. "The Stone of Malberon was a major talisman. There was a huge amount of gralic energy stored in that rock, and you know, I think we better find out where it went."
III.
The creature which had been Simon Cohen stumbled aimlessly west, trying to focus his dazed mind. Did he need a doctor? He didn't feel sick. In fact, he was stronger than ever, almost vibrating with power. But his thought processes were changing as the protein in his body transmuted into silica. The once brilliant scheming mind of the master warlock was now clouded and raging. His remaining clothes hung in tatters over his body. He was now along Eleventh Avenue near the Hudson, and the streets were empty. The high crime rate and freezing wind had combined to leave him alone in a city that seemed deserted. Then, a car pulled up ahead and three young black men got out.
They were loud and boisterous, slapping each other on the back and congratulating themselves for their great success with women. As two stepped away from the car, one swung around almost walked into the massive bulk of the Stone Man. In a sudden unreasonable rage, Cohen seized the man in massive granite hands, lifting him overhead and bending his spine the wrong way with a grisly crunching noise.
"Paddy!" shrieked the other man. "Oh my God, Paddy!" He tugged a cheap Saturday Night Special from his coat and blasted three shots point-blank at the brute. Vivid in the gunflashes, Simon Cohen stood there unmoved as tiny chips of rock spun away from the impacts. Then the giant creature laughed.
The young black man's last words were "Jesus help me," just before a huge fist swung like a pendulum in a downward arc, smashing him to the pavement as if he had fallen from a great height, Blood splattered in grisly blobs over Cohen's legs. The third man had gotten out of his Ford and locked it just before the first death, and now he was too filled with panic to think he should get back in his car. Instead he took off at a run toward a patrol car he had spotted the next block over. It was the first time in his life he had been glad to see the police.
The cops got out, guns drawn. "Awright buddy, hold it right there. What the hell is your problem..?"
"It's a monster! It's a monster! It killed my buddies! It took three caps and didn't mind. LOOK AT IT!"
The officers froze in sudden terror. Looming over two bloody corpses was the biggest man they had ever seen, dressed in rags, with grey skin that looked like rock. As he spotted the police car, Simon Cohen roared like a beast. He took a step toward them, then lumbered forward. One cop extended his arm and fired three times without a verbal warning and again the bullets didn't even get the monster's notice. Both cops jumped into the car at the same time and peeled out. The black man had taken off at a full run around the corner as soon as he saw police open fire.
Cohen stopped and realized the police car was out of reach. Around him, lights were going on in a few windows but no faces showed in a neighborhood where people learned caution early on. Some remaining traces of the warlock's enhanced senses remained, telling the brute to turn. Striding up the block toward him were two men who not only did not look fearful but seemed determined to confront him. The Stone Man rumbled a warning.
The taller of the two newcomers was a black man with a short beard and hair sprinkled with gray, a sad thoughtful face and watchful eyes. He wore a long topcoat and thin leather gloves. Next to him was a white man a few inches shorter, not as imposing, with a bland face and even a hint of a smile despite the circumstances. At nearly four in the morning, he was well dressed in a Navy blue suit with a light blue dress shirt and solid black tie.
Only a few minutes earlier, Ted Wright and Larry Taper had arrived at the KDF headquarters on East 38th Street, called by the blue alert which had sounded in their nearby apartments. They had left immediately in the other car kept in the underground garage and headed directly here.
Wright's perception had drawn them right to Simon Cohen. One of the Blue Guides, healers of the Midnight war, Wright could sense lifeforce to strengthen or smooth its flow, and the presence of the Stone Man was like a beacon in the night to him. "There he is," he said to Taper. Wright looked older than he was because of the grey in his beard and because responsibility weighed him down. "He's burning with gralic force!"
The smaller man paused. "Is it just me or does he look like a granite statue moving around? Hey you! Yeah, I'm talking to you." Taper gestured for the Stone Man's attention and got it, as the huge brute lumbered toward them.
I swear, thought Wright, that man has no sense of caution. When he gets excited, he forgets those annoying big words, though.
It was the gift of the Eldarin that the Silver Skull could summon his talismans at will and Larry Taper had found ways to utilize this. As the brute reached him and brought down a fist like a sledge hammer, Taper raised his left arm and a circular metal shield blurred into existence upon it. The shield rang like a gong from the impact and the Skull was driven down to one knee. Only the enchantment kept his arm from being broken. Taper got back to his feet and just managed to bring up the shield in time to take another blow from a huge stone hand. Even braced for the blow, he was driven back a few steps and he felt his arm go numb. Overconfidence left him at that. He called upon the identity of the Silver Skull.
Simon Cohen hesitated as the air flickered around his enemy and a mild civilian in normal clothing was replaced by a grotesque figure in black leather, with a silver helmet cast in the shape of a grim unsmiling human skull. On his left arm was strapped that round shield; in his gloved right hand was the straight sword Chalcemar.
Faces were beginning to peek from behind curtains or barely-opened doors but as yet no one had stepped forth and the police had not returned with reinforcements. It was as if the three of them had the streets to themselves as an arena. The Silver Skull raised his shield, wincing behind the concealing helmet at how sore his arm was, and edged in closer to the six foot hulk. Cohen glared at him with amber eyes that were losing intelligence from their crystalline depths. The ancient sword Chalcemar had been forged and blessed by the immortal Eldarin long ago at the dawn of the world. It was ensorcelled to never slay an innocent. If wielded against a being capable of redemption, the blade passed harmlessly through, leaving no mark but stunning the foe. Only when striking an ememy utterly beyond hope would Chalcemar slay.
Taper feinted and lunged- and the sword ground against Cohen's broad chest without penetrating. It was like jabbing a needle at a brick wall. The Skull whirled a backhand stroke that succeeded in chipping off a small flake of stone from the monster's neck but no blood started and Cohen seemed not to feel it. Those hands grabbed for him and Taper jumped back. "Hey, ted, I can't hurt him. He IS made out of rock or something."
"Fall back," Wright ordered. "Give me a chance."
"Damned if I run from an ape like this," Taper snapped. He stubbornly stood his ground, hefting the sword with both hands and his feet well apart. The blade flashed left and right, back and forth, but only the smallest chip flew off the monster. Then it was too late. Taper swung his most powerful stroke, chopping against that stone neck as if with an axe and the sword rebounded almost out of his grip. One grey hand clamped down around his forearm and Taper knew with a sick certainty that he could never break that grip. He struggled to keep hold of the sword and never saw the other stone fist come crashing against his helmeted head. The impact of rock on metal sounded like a gunshot. Cohen lifted the suddenly limp form off its feet and flung it down hard to the sidewalk.
A blast of electric-blue light exploded against the Stone Man's head with a crackle. The monster turned away from his victim and caught a second bolt squarely in the face. Twenty feet away, Ted Wright stood with his open hands raised, face intent. He was not a warrior by nature, but a genuine MD specializing in trauma surgery. Although he carried one of the anesthtic dart guns, he knew they would be useless against this brute. The thing that had been Simon Cohen lurched toward him and Wright concentrated. A nimbus of pale blue light played over the giant, swirling like a whirlwind. Wright was trying to draw the lifeforce out of the monster. Against a normal Human, this technique made the subject faint and pass out within seconds but it was not working now. The Stone Man was just chargedc with too much raw power to be weakened that way.
As the monster stomped toward him, Ted Wright concentrated and raised a wall of blue light in front of him. Luminous and shimmering, the gralic barriers worked by repelling the lifeforce of any creatures attempting to get through them. Wright had seen horses and bulls bounce off a blue wall because their own bodies convulsed backward when touching it. It did not stop Cohen. He lowered his head and waded through as if walking against a gale.
Wright dropped the wall and set up a Veil, a gralic effect that made him invisible. This was also subjective. The Veil affected the perception of living things so that their eyes did not perceive him; he still would show up in photos. Cohen ignored the Veil and swung a huge beam of an arm with a wide looping blow that would have killed Wright if it had hit him. The Blue Guide stepped quickly back, crouching low to let that swing pass overhead. Every application of his power failed as it never had failed before. Again, he concentrated, visualizing what he wanted to appear. A luminous ball of blue light surrounded Cohen's head, cutting off air. The Stone Man staggered and groped at the blue ball with his blunt fingers but he could not get a good grip on it.
While he had won a few seconds, Ted Wright to where Larry Taper was lying on the sidewalk. He could perceive that Taper was alive but injured. Mild concussion. Damage to the left collarbone. Broken left wrist. The Blue Guide knelt over his teammate and felt that the heartbeat was strong and breathing steady, all without touching him. As he perceived this, Simon Cohen started slamming his rock fists against the blue light around his head. Some of that impact was transmitted back to Wright, who gasped and almost fell. The blue light faded and Cohen lowered his hand, giving his full murderous gaze to Ted Wright.
But the Stone Man hesitated. He stopped and seemed distracted. As Wright watched, he continued to transform. The rocklike body swelled up, growing taller and wider. The hands became disproportionately large and the head distorted. With a rasping growl, Cohen swung around and stomped off into the night, swaying from side to side.
As he sighed with relief when the monster was gone from sight, Ted Wright fell to his knees next to his injured friend. From the south, three patrol cars came up with lights flashing and sirens on. Of course, he thought, perfect timing.
IV.
It was past noon before the KDF managed to assemble in the conference room at their headquarters. Taper was at the emergency room at Tremper Memorial Hospital, diagnosed with the same injuries that Wright had detected by glancing at him. He would not be released any time soon. Wright had gone along to confer with the ER doctors and to claim the armor and weapons of the Skull, which were now piled on a chair by the long oak table. Hours of discussion with the NYPD had gone around and round without useful results. Hawk had handled this with his decades of experience. The police had not issued a statement, nor was there an APB on Cohen. Unofficially, every officer was searching for the Stone Man but the public had not been informed. There had been nothing on the news so far.
Here in the nine story headquarters on 38th Street, Jeremy Bane had assembled his team. Carefully, they had pieced together what they had found out and were working on a plan of action. Khang had dressed himself in wool trousers, belted trenchcoat, fedora and brown gloves, with a scarf concealing his face. He was still imposing but less distracting this way.
With Hawk's help, Cindy Brunner had gone down to the kitchen and now the conference table held two coffee pots with mugs for everyone, as well as a serving platter piled with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and boxes of cold cereal. The men dug in with a vengeance, and she did not miss her share.
Joining the team was the final member, Leonard Slade, who had flown down from his upstate lab. Slade was a Trom, a Monitor of that Race where intellect was promoted and emotion nearly eradicated. He wore a neat dark blue suit without a tie, the collar open. There was something unnerving about Slade. He was a little too calm, his gaze a little bit too sharp for anyone to warm up to him. As always, he had spoken little but had listened to everything, and when he spoke, every one there turned to listen.
"I conclude that Simon Cohen is not longer a Human being. Much if not all of the carbon which makes up the protein in his body has been changed to silicon carbide by the power of the Stone of Malberon. We Trom have long believed that silicon-based lifeforms are possible. Cohen is not a naturally-occuring life form but an artificial construct.
"The creature will difficult is not nearly impossible to destroy. His outer layer of epithelial cells seem to regenerate in proportion to how they are damaged. He will have high degree of resistance to radiation, temperature extremes, external trauma or poison."
All the KDF members were watching the Trom with worry. He had rarely been wrong.
Ted Wright spoke up, "He was still changing the last I saw him. Getting bigger."
"Yes. The transmutation is not yet complete. I project he will stabilize at a final size of seven feet five inches tall, with a weight in excess of fifteen hundred pounds. Providing his internal density is consistent."
"Knockout gas?" asked Bane.
"No, he derives his motive power not from food or air but from the gralic charge of the Stone." Was there the faintest hint of irritation in his smooth, even tone? "I admit we Trom can not understand gralir, even in theory. It makes no sense by any theory of physics. One of the reasons my people have asked you to accept me as a member is to study gralic effects."
Bane nodded. When he had first met with Leonard Slade two years earlier, they had worked out an agreement. As a member of the KDF, Slade received the benefits of Tel Shai training and knowledge; in return, he provided access to some advanced Trom tech, such as the Corby stealthcopters. It was a good deal but it did bother Bane a little that Slade saw his membership as a business arrangement rather than a crusade. But, he thought, that was the Trom for you.
Cindy had been sitting curled up in one of the chairs, legs tucked under her. "You guys always forget me. If I make contact with his mind, I could try to get him to surrender. Or at the very least, find out what he wants. He may be in pain and scared. A burglar finds himself turning in a big rock monster, I mean, come on--"
"No," said Slade. "Ted's observations lead me to conclude that the transformation has diminished his intellect. He may soon lose all capacity for rational thought. Even more dangerous is this Stone Man was not some innocent passer-by. Jeremy?"
Bane sat up straighter. "Yeah. Cohen's a nasty piece of work. I tangled with him with back in late 1977, when I first started working for Mr Dred. I went out to Cohen's house to rescue two underage girls. Cohen was a disgraced rabbi who got into the Kabbalah and used it for his own purposes. Blackmail, extortion, intimidation. He knew just enough gralic magick to get whatever he wanted from regular people." The Dire Wolf snorted angrily. "Charges were dropped against him, I always figured heavy money kept everything out of court."
"That is the mind that is now within an indestructible stone body. Only greater force, either physical or gralic, has any chance to defeat him." Here he turned his eyes on Khang at the end of the table.
"Do not doubt that I will destroy this monster," the silver man said in a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Even someone looking directly at Khang was often confused by that voice. "This is why I was granted this form and this mission."
"You're our big gun," Bane admitted.
IV.
Walt had been a drunk for so long he hardly remembered any earlier life. He had no strong emotions left. Most of his day was spent scrounging off tourists, mostly men with dates who didn't want to seem cheap, checking phone booths for change and rounding up stray soda cans for the refund. He always got enough for a bottle of cheap red wine and maybe a hot dog. Today, a businessman sitting on a park bench had left half a club sandwich in its wrapper, giving Walt a sympathetic glance as he walked off, so it had been a bonanza.
Damn, it was cold and the wind would not stop blowing. He was on Eleventh Avenue, heading to a boarded up store with CONDEMNED stickers all over it. It was still better than sleeping on the street. The side door had been knocked off its hinges during the day and was lying on the floor. Getting down on his knees, he crawled through a broken basement window and fell to the floor inside. Getting up took a minute. He felt like he could sleep all night. Maybe, just maybe he would not have to wake up again. There is in the corner was the mildewed couch which was as much a home as he had these days.
Walt stopped and held his breath. The couch was occupied.
Some of the dim winter light still slanted in through the window high up on the wall, and Walt saw a man on the couch- his couch- big as a horse. He made the couch look like a narrow cot. Cautiously, Walt stepped closer. It couldn't be real. Nobody wwas that big, that massive. It had to be a statue of some kind. It sure looked like a statue, with rough grey stone for skin. Like unpolished rock. The thing had some strips of white cloth hanging from its shoulders, with material from black trousers remaining as shorts. The feet had no toes, they were just big flat pads of stone at the end of thick legs.
How could anyone get this statue down and why would they? Why was lying on his couch? Walt bent over for a better look. Under heavy protruding brow ledge, hard amber-colored eyes snapped open. It was alive!
Even back during the war, Walt had never felt such strong terror. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have gotten out of that cellar as fast as he could. But he was paralyzed with fear. He could not even step back as the hulking beast rose to loom over him.
Simon Cohen stared wildly about. He held up his great blunt-fingered hands, which looked now almost like lion paws, and stared at them as if they belonged to someone else. The transmutation had reached a stable stage. Now, he turned those yellow eyes on Walt. "I.. begin to remember. My head seems clearer."
"Good to hear that," Walt managed to answer.
"Simon Cohen. Yes, that was my name. I remember.. the apartment. The Stone of Malberon. That fool Hutchins! He said, 'may you turn to stone.' Oh, he did not know." The great block of a head swivelled to glare down at Walt. "And WHO might you be?"
"Me? Oh, I'm nobody, I was looking for a flop. I'll be going." With the last word, he spun on his heel and took just one step before an open hand swung as if on a crane and smashed him across the basement. Walt died instantly, hitting the far wall with fatal impact even if the blow had not been enough. The corpse bounced off and lay still.
Simon Cohen grinned a terrifying predatory leer. He pressed his hands to his hair, really coarse mineral fibres, and got hold of himself. It was just beginning to dawn on him that this was not the worst thing that could have happened. He had been getting old, waking with aches and pains. His vision had been getting weak. Now, he was in this body made of living stone, filled with enormous gralic force. His life was just beginning. A laugh broke loose. Oh, he had many scores to settle.
V.
Ted Wright had taken a nap, showered and dressed in fresh clothes, feeling back to normal. He entered the recreation room on the same floor as the conference room and looked around with a smile. Hawk was sitting at a table piled with newspapers. Slade was making phone calls. Over on the couch, Cindy was lying with her head in Bane's lap, smiling dreamily at the music.
"Herbie Hancock and Chic Corea," Wright said. "You like them, Jeremy?"
Bane looked up with a surprised expression. "I don't listen to music. It doesn't sink in with me. I can't see what you guys get out of it to be honest."
"He doesn't watch TV or movies, either," Cindy put in. "I can't figure it out. Who doesn't like one sort of music or another? Our Jeremy has his own funny ways, I guess."
"I have plenty of things to occupy my mind. We heard from the hospital. Larry is conscious and demanding to be released. The doctors are arguing with him. Ted, I want you to go see him and see if he's ready or if he needs to stay."
"I want to stay on the hunt for Cohen," Wright said.
"You are the only one of us who is actually a doctor," Bane answered. "I trust your opinion more than the ER docs. If he can be released, I know he would want to be here."
"All right, I see your point. Ill call a taxi. It's too cold to wait outside while a cab stops for a black man."
Standing by the windows looking down at 38th Street, Khang swung around. "I can feel his presence out there. Gralic force blazing like a beacon. He is foe worthy to challenge me."
"You're way too confident," Wright said. "Look, Khang, I know you're powerful. But every tough guy meets someone tougher. Maybe this is the enemy who can go at it toe to toe with you."
Slade spoke without looking up. "Neither your power nor his has been accurately measured. Indeed, I can not come up with a way to do so. We are dealing with unknowns, Khang. Nothing is certain."
The giant silver man made a scoffing noise. "You are from a Race without faith, my friend. Wait and see."
Bane had gotten up and gone over to where Khang stood. "Getting dark. I have a feeling he'll be on the move at night. Listen, you guys, I'm going to order Chinese food. Anybody have some preferences?"
For the next few minutes, everyone spoke at once and Bane had to get a memo pad. As grim as he was by nature, there were moments he enjoyed, when his team acted like a group of friends rather than a commando squad.
"Wait, I changed my mind, I want sesame chicken instead." Cindy took the memo pad. "I'll call this in. This is great, not having to pay for food. I was going broke living on my own."
Bane went over to where Michael Hawk was folding the newspapers. The wide, weathered cowboy face lifted up. "Nothing. The five o'clock news will be coming on soon, but I doubt if there will be anything there either. Before you got me into the Midnight War, Jeremy, I never realized how much went on that the public never knew."
The phone rang as Cindy hung up, and she put it on speaker. "Kenneth Dred Foundation," she chirped in her most cheerful voice.
"Hi, Halwick here. Can I talk to Jeremy Bane?"
"Go ahead, Inspector." The Dire wolf came over to look down at the speaker.
"We got something here that might be of interest to you guys. 24th Street and Eleventh. There's a condemned building there. Someone knocked the door down from the outside, right off the hinges. A patrolman went in to look around and found a body lying in a corner. Unidentified white male, age 50 or so. It sure looks as if someone bounced him off the wall hard enough to break a dozen bones."
Hawk stood up, reaching for his coat. As the KDF's trained investigator, this was his area. "On it. I'll report as soon as i get a look."
"Thanks. Michael Hawk is on his way. Anything else?"
"Nope. Nothing for you ghostbusters. We have toned the presence down in that area because frankly our force is tied up with some gang shootings uptown. If I hear anything, I'll let you know."
"We appreciate it," Bane said.
"What, I am trying to send you kids out to tackle a giant stone monster? You don't even get paid for it." He broke off the connection.
"He'll never understand us," Bane said.
"Heck, I don't understand us," put in Cindy. "Time to move out, Captain?"
"Yes, I think so," Bane said as he turned to face his team. "Mike has taken his own car to the scene. We will split up and go out in pairs. Cindy, you're with me. Len, you drive Khang. Between Cindy's telepathic browsing and Khang's perception, I hope we will pick up Cohen's whereabouts."
"But what about our food? My sesame chicken?"
"Sorry, Cindy Lee. You can grab a sandwich if you like."
"Not the same," she grumbled as she went to the cooler to put a prewrapped ham and cheese in a paper bag, adding a couple of Granola bars and a can of soda. "Crummy sandwich."
Bane was wearing his usual black turtleneck and sport jacket. Now he went with Cindy down the hall to the conference room where some lockers stood in a corner. They each put on a waist-length field jacket, with its own inner layer of the Trom armor. He kept three of these jackets around the headquarters building. The Dire Wolf discarded the anesthetic dart clip from his airgun and slid in a clip of the resonance caps. Cindy watched him. "You figure those will do any good?"
"Can't hurt," Bane said, heading back with her to join his team. Khang was coming up the stairs from the ground floor, carrying a big white bag of Chinese food. The sight of the silver man doing anything so mundane as paying a delivery boy always tickled Cindy's insolent sense of humor.
"Now that's just rubbing it in," she muttered. "Oh well, it'll still be here when we get back."
Slade had changed into his operations uniform, a one-piece jumpsuit fitted with control patches and various devices. He had once told Bane that if his suit fell into government hands, Human technology would take a huge step forward. If this seemed about to happen or if Slade died while wearing it, the suit had a self-destruct function.
"Let's move out," the Dire Wolf said. The four of them went down the stairs to the ground floor, through the false back of a walk-in closet and down steep concrete stairs. To their left was the emergency generator, hot water tank and furnace. They turned right, down a narrow walkway that ended in a plain wooden door which opened on their garage. Here was a Buick Regal and a Ford Mustang, both dark green. Bane was not satisfied with these vehicles. He wanted to get something bigger that could carry all the members at once and he wanted something with all-wheel drive. Slade had added some Kevlar body panels and bullet-resistant glass to all the windows.
Cindy raced to hop in the passenger seat of the Mustang, leaving the Buick for Slade to drive. Keys hung on hooks near the door. Bane grabbed his pair and started the Mustang up while Slade got in the Buick with Khang in the back seat, where there was more headroom. They rolled up the ramp to the alley, with the door sliding up to let them pass and closing behind them.
Pulling out on Lexington Avenue, Bane noted that traffic was light. The freezing wind kept people inside as much as they could. He went down a few blocks and turned, eyes moving restlessly. Beside him, Cindy Brunner sat up straight and closed her eyes, reaching out with her priceless telepathic mind. She called this "browsing," lightly touching every mind as it came within range, looking for a specific image. Most telepaths could not manage this. She kept an image of a hulking stone man in the back of her thoughts and skimmed for something matching. After five minutes, she sighed.
"No luck yet," she told Bane and went back to browsing. The Dire Wolf was on Eleventh Avenue now. He went past a building where he spotted Hawk's Jeep Cherokee and kept going. He was down almost by the Hudson when Cindy suddenly twitched and said, "Whoa! Damn. Keep going, hon. I'm getting a sighting. Another block over."
VI.
Bane had spotted a patrol car with its lights flashing. He slid in behind it and Cindy joined him as they stepped out into the bitter night air. Two officers crouched in front of their cruisers, sidearms drawn, facing a terrifying sight. The Patron Trading Company seemed to have gone out of business years ago, judging by the dusty windows and faded paint. A rusted out car without wheels sat on blocks by the door. From behind it, a concrete apron slid out into the river, evidently for seaplanes. Standing in front of the big metal door was a huge rocklike figure that growled at the cops. The headlights of the cars showed every detail of the Stone Man clearly.
"Get everyone over here," he told Cindy. As she started calling the team on her Link, Bane stepped up behind the officers and called out to make sure they heard him approaching. "Stand down, men. Inspector Halwick called us in. We're taking over."
"And who might YOU be one?" one of the cops asked, turning his attention back to the monster.
"We're a special strike force that handles this sort of thing. Call Halwick and tell the KDF is on the scene. Has he made any threatening moves?"
"No. Just him standing there is threatening enough to suit me!" said the cop, going to the radio in the car.
The Dire Wolf strode past the police to where the Stone Man could see him. "Simon Cohen? Can you understand me?"
The brute stuck his head forward and grinned wickedly. "Oh yes. Jeremy Bane. You came into my house, punched me in the face and had me taken away in handcuffs. I think I should remember you."
"Those two little girls were glad I showed up. Look at you. You've changed a bit from the pudgy warlock I remember."
"Come closer," Cohen laughed. "I have much to say to you."
"Yeah, I bet you do." Bane did indeed step closer, not seemingly intimidated by the monster.
There came a brilliant flare of gralic force that lit the night and made everyone dazzled. With a peal of thunder, Khang had appeared. He seized the wrist of Simon Cohen, swing him around and cuffed him a backhand blow that sounded like a gunshot. The Stone Man lurched to one side, more surprised than hurt, and Khang hit him again, slamming him back against the warehouse wall, cracking loose big chunks of plaster. But he did not fall, as Khang had expected, nor did he seem alarmed. The amber eyes burned with a red glint.
"Oh, I have heard of you," the brute said. "Khang! Servant of Halar-Koth. You are quite the talk among occult circles."
"I command you to yield," Khang boomed. "No living thing can stand before me."
"So you say," rumbled Cohen. Quicker than expected, he stepped in and drove a simple straight punch to the chest that lifted Khang off his feet. As the silver man got his footing, Cohen slammed a huge fist to Khang's head that knocked him off balance, sliding along the icy boards.
"By my Source, you have no right to such strength," Khang said as he rose. Cohen rushed in and Khang backhanded him with a slap that spun the giant around. They stood face to face trading blows, great crashing punches that sounded like gongs ringing. It was a stunning sight. Nothing of flesh and blood could have survive one of those impacts but it seemed the two titans could not do either any real damage. Khang seized his opponent by the arm and swung him to slam into the warehouse wall, knocking the wooden overhead sign off its nails. Cohen roared with rage and swung one hooking punch after another, a weak man suddenly given immeasurable power.
From over by the police car, Bane and Cindy watched helplessly. They put all their faith in Khang but he seemed to be actually meeting his equal. Simon Cohen had to be stopped, there and then. On the loose, the scheming warlock mind in the stone body was a terrible threat to every living person.
Silver and stone clashed. Khang drew back his right arm and, for the first time since his creation, used his full physical strength. He struck a blow that echoed through the streets like an explosion. Cohen hurtled backward, directly onto the hood of the police car. The officers had drawn back and were unharmed, as were Bane and Cindy but the car was a total loss. Khang lowered his fist, confident now that the battle had been won.
And Simon Cohen leaped off the ruined car, pouncing on the startled silver man. He was unhurt and filled with more savage rage than before. Khang was taken by surprise and did not defend himself as the Stone Man piled on one murderous punch after another. He seized the silver man by the coat, lifted him overhead as if raising a ballon and hurled the limp form into the Hudson River. With a tidal splash, Khang disappeared beneath the surface.
Instantly, faster than any Human, Jeremy Bane raced forward, past Cohen's useless attempt to grab him and dove out over the water. Even as he plunged down into cold darkness, the Dire Wolf yanked an oxygen membrane from his pocket and pulled it over his face, slipping the tabs over his ears. He took a breath. The membrane let him breathe underwater by extracting oxygen but it wasn't as good as breathing real air.
Within the space of a half second, Cindy and Cohen cried out in pain. The blonde telepath had tried to contact Cohen's mind, with the idea of distracting him, but the potent charge of gralic force he carried drove her back out. She slid to her knees, pressing her hands to her temples. "I am never trying that again," she muttered.
The Stone Man glared at her. "What was that? Ah, a telepath, eh? Not bad looking, either, I wonder how loud you'll scream."
VI.
At the bottom of the Hudson, a huge form sank limply to the mud and silt while rancid water washed over it. Khang had no nose or mouth; he did not breathe as Humans did and so could not drown. Even now, he was not truly unconscious but dazed and unaware of his surroundings. Stroking down from the surface, Bane held a pencil flashlight which was just enough to show the great bulk. The Dire wolf swam down quickly. This water is freezing, he thought, I'm going to be lucky not to contract pneumonia from this dive. He tugged at an arm, then tried to lift the silver man by the collar, kicking with both legs. It was hopeless. Even underwater, Khang was too heavy to budge.
Bane groped until he found the metallic head. There was nothing to grasp, no hair, no features, just a smooth surface. He shook it from side to side and shouted desperately, "Khang, wake up! You have to wake up." Although he did not fully realize it at this time, he had a vague feeling that somehow Khang was compelled to follow his orders. This was in fact a penance the Silver man accepted for accidentally killing William Murdock years earlier and it was also a control on the silver man to keep him in line. "Khang, I ORDER you to get up."
The great body stirred, shimmering in the murky water with its own luminance. Khang's outer garments had been torn to shreds during the fighting and now he ripped them away. "Jeremy?" he said weakly.
"Are you hurt bad, buddY?" Bane asked, waving his arms to keep from rising. He was shaking with the cold.
"No. It was pride that led me to trade blows with him like a vulgar brawler. He surprised me. But now I will do what I should have from the start and Simon Cohen will not survive this night." Khang vanished in a blast of white light that illuminated the river bed for yards around.
Bane swum frantically toward where the concrete apron extended down into the water and got on it, scrambling up to the surface. He was trembling convulsively with exposure and fell to his hands and knees. Michael Hawk was there now, helping him up and over to their cars. "Damn, son, you got more nerve than I do, jumping into that river in January. Hurry, over here."
The Dire Wolf looked about frantically. "Mike? What's the situation?"
"Slade is holding that critter off with his gadgets but he isn't having an easy time of it. Here," Hawk popped open the trunk of the Mustang and started taking out spare clothes. "Get that stuff off right now. Come on, get the shirt off too and put this dry one on." Hawk unfolded a blanket and wrapped it around Bane. "No, no arguing, you'll be heading for the hospital yourself if you pull more fool stunts like this." Bane was too distressed to resist.
Over by the warehouse door, Simon Cohen took a step forward. He was fighting the resistance of a pale beam which Leonard Slade shone at him from a tiny metal device. The photon ram had flipped cars over and knocked down walls in the past, but it could not stop Cohen completely. With obvious effort, the Stone Man leaned into the beam as if resisting a stiff gale and took another step. Slade lowered the beam and played it over Cohen's lower legs, toppling him onto his face. The creature hit the planking hard but was already getting up again. Slade was actually frowning, although nobody there noticed it.
Cohen got to his feet and roared with laughter. "You might have been my servants. I could use your skills, but now you are nothing but dead men." He continued to advance, going over where the rusted wreck sat on concrete building blocks. Bending low, the monster lifted the car overhead without visible effort. "This country will have a king on his throne. The era of Simon the First begins tonight."
Behind him, white light flashed and Khang appeared, revealed in his natural state. Visible energy crackling around him.
Cohen bellowed like a bull and threw the wreck right as his enemy. A glistening silver arm pointed and a blinding bolt of divine force vaporized the car entirely. Nothing remained to hit the ground. The smell of molten metal stung the air.
Wrapped in his blanket, Bane started herding everyone back. "Come on, I don't think we want to be too close to this."
"This is going to be GOOD!" Cindy yelled. "Get 'im, Khang!"
Furious at being defied, Cohen lumbered toward his enemy and was met by a single blast of power which shredded what little remained of his clothes. He leaped on Khang. A dazzling fireball of pure power flared up around them, casting strong shadows in all directions and thunder sounded too loud for comfort. No one could see what was going on. If anything, the glare brightened until they could not bear to look at it directly. Then came the explosion. Debris and river water rose high in the air, windows broke in nearby buildings and people in that neighborhood went outside to wonder if a bomb had gone off. One of the police officers died as a chunk of cement hit his head, making him the last victim of the Stone Man.
Finally, after the storm, there was silence. The agitated waters boiled and settled down. The Patron Trading Company warehouse was gone, simply gone as if it had never been there. On the ruins of the planked platform stood Khang, steam rising from his white-hot body.
Bane went over to where the dead policeman was being held by his partner. "I'm sorry about your friend," he said. "I tried to get everyone back."
The cop was very young and quite good-looking. "I can't catch my breath. This is horrible. I never knew things like this were possible."
"It's a weird world. What's your name?"
"Tom, Thomas Luez. Is that- thing gone?"
Bane looked over to where Khang stood gazing down into the waters. Cindy and Hawk were coming over. "My friend there would go after him if there was any trace. I think our Stone Man is destroyed. At least, I certainly hope so."
12/31/1972- Rev 5/13/2013F
(12/31/1972)
1/14- 1/15/1982
[REVISION: The origin of Simon Cohen has been completely changed and all mentions of it have to be rewritten. He actually was an aging Kabbalist and disgraced Rabbi who teamed up with Alchemist Lee Hutchins' help to permanently placed his consciousness into a stone Golem of their making. He became his own Targhul.]
I.
By ten-thirty, Hutchins had finished the Southern Comfort and felt a bit better. He could still research alchemy and write about it, even if those Tel Shai fools had given him a mental block against practicing it. After seeing a few weeks of him on good behavior, they had even loaned him some rare books on the subject from the library that Kenneth Dred had left. He had sketched a solid outline for his definitive work on Velkandu, gralic alchemy, and he was ready to start writing in earnest.
Walking slowly around his apartment and turning out the lights, he felt he had gotten off easy. When he had created those Other-men, he had been associated with the Ulgoran wizard Li Tung and some form of sinister influence had obviously been at work. He had never been able to create the magick effects before or since that he had when Li Tung was coaching him. Hutchins did not think of himself as a bad person, maybe just a weak one easily swayed by bad company and the KDF had obviously agreed. After all, he had heard rumors of how their enemies tended to just disappear and never been heard from again. But the KDF had not done anything like that to him. No, their telepath had just put an edict in his mind against any more alchemical experiments.
In the doorway to his bedroom, Hutchins paused to sadly look back over his apartment. So much was gone. There were still stacks and piles of books and manuscripts but none of the esoteric solutions and powders he had labored so long to create. Gone now. He had managed to hold on to only one alchemical construct that the KDF had by chance overlooked. On a small table by itself, under a glass dome, was a dark grey rock the size of a human fist. Even now, when light hit this rock, flecks of red and gold and blue flickered wildly.
This was the Stone of Malberon, the great talisman sought by many but fabricated by very few. Velkandu created its magickal potions by infusing gralic force into the ingredients, something only made possible by the Stone. Hutchins could no longer utilize the talisman and its potency lay dormant but so many years had gone into its making he could not bear to give it up. Struck with self-pity, he went to bed and the summer heat and the liquor put him to sleep at once. Hours passed. A little after one, the door opened to the soft clink of a picked lock and a big man in dark clothes stepped silently within.
Using a pencil flashlight, the intruder spotted the Stone of Malberon, refracting its multicolored lights in the dimness. It was not too late for Simon Cohen to turn away and save himself. But the lure of that great talisman drew him as it had so many others over the ages. He carefully lifted the glass dome and set it aside, taking the Stone in his grasp, and now it was too late for him. He had taken his destiny in his hand.
Hutchins awoke with a gasp. The occult link between him and his creation was still potent. He had no weapons in his apartment. Wearing only the bottom half of an old pair of striped pajamas, he plunged out of bed and through the doorway, one hand flipping up the light switch.
Simon Cohen raised his revolver but did not fire. He was a bit over six feet tall, stout and sturdy with a thick waist. His teeth flashed from within a black beard. "This prize deserves a new master, fool."
"Put that down! I know you, Cohen. I never thought you would sink to this."
The warlock snickered. "You can't use this treasure! Why let it sit idle, Lee?"
"I'm warning you. Put it down."
"Do what thou wilt," Cohen said and extended his arm to aim his gun right at the alchemist.
"Grelok take your soul! May you turn to stone!" screamed Lee Hutchins.
The ancient curse came naturally to Hutchins, but he did not forsee the Stone would rouse and obey its master. A nimbus of brilliant gralic force burst from the talisman, swirling and crackling around the warlock who held it. Red and gold and green flared for a timeless moment and Cohen howled in despair and agony. Then that moment passed and the long nightmare began. Hutchins suddenly understood what had happened, as did his longtime rival. "Damn you," Cohen grated with the words scraping his throat. His finger tightened on the trigger but, instead of firing, the revolver cracked and fell apart into metal shards. Only the grip remained in his hand.
In growing horror, Cohen glared down at his hands. His skin had become hard, granular, the color of granite. When he flexed his fingers, a crystalline nature showed at the joints. The change was taking place faster now. His shirt split across the shoulders, the buttons at chest and wrists popped off, the waistband of his trousers broke and his pants tore open. His clothes hung in tatters. In seconds, his entire body had expanded visibly, taller and thicker. Cohen squeezed his eyes shut, thiking this could not be real. But when he opened them, deepset now under a protruding brow ledge, he could not help but believe.
It hurt to speak, as the vocal chords scraped against each other. His last words were, "What did you DO to me?"
"The Stone," Hutchins mumbled. "It transformed you- silicon carbide. Great Jordyn, you're turning to stone. I never meant-"
The monster tried to speak, to roar its rage but the change had gone too far. He could only make a low grinding rasp. Shaking his bulky head, he angrily threw away the Stone. It whistled through the air to imbed itself deeply in the plaster wall. Hutchins tried to run for the door to the hall, but the beast swung a knotted fist the size of a bowling ball. With the crunch of bones breaking, the alchemist spun across the room to slam hard into a bookcase, knocking it over and lying motionless of the debris.
The Stone Man stood where he was, massive chest heaving, fists clenching and unclenching. The brilliant mind of the warlock clouded and grew dim, but it knew something was very wrong. He suddenly felt he had to get out of there. If only he could think more clearly...
Out in the hallway, three young men returning from the neighborhood bar were arguing about politics when the door to apartment 3G exploded outward, entirely off its hinges, slamming down to the floor. A huge grey hulk crashed through them, brushing them aside without even noticing them. As they sprawled and tried to get up, they heard thumping steps booming down the stairs.
II.
At two-thirty on a misty cold morning, one window was still lit on the second floor of a building on East 38th Street. Here stood one who never slept. A hand reached across a desk to pick up the phone. That hand was immense, nearly twice normal size, with a thumb four inches long. It seemed to be coated with liquid silver which flexed naturally over powerful tendons and muscles beneath that skin. It was not silver. Actually, it was not even matter, in the sense physicists used the term, but densely solidified gralic force that defied explanation. Khang looked like a gleaming statue of burnished metal brought to life.
"Good morning," he said in a voice that seemed to come from every direction at once.
"Khang? Is that you? This is Inspector Halwick. Sorry to wake you so early."
"You did not wake me," answered the silver man. He leaned forward and the flourescent overhead lights played over the smooth helmet of his head. Except for two glowing eyeslots, his face was a featureless mask. "What is wrong?"
"Something out of the ordinary, just the sort of thing we always bring to you boys. Down on 12th Street, some maniac was running loose. He knocked a door clean off, walked over three guys. Two of them are in the hospital with broken bones. In the apartment was another man, badly hurt. ID confirmed as Lee Hutchins."
"Hutchins again!" Khang's voice was no louder but it suddenly resonated in the room. "We have dealt with his mischief before. Very well, Inspector. We are on our way!" The silver man took care to place the phone down gently. That cursed alchemist again, this time with men dead and with some brute unleashed. What foolishness was Hutchins guilty of this time? He rose to his full height, well over seven feet and took one long stride to press a button by the door. The blue alert sounded. Throughout the building a low beeping sounded and a blue light flashed in every room. Khang had come here well after midnight and did not know how many of his colleagues were on hand. In less than a minute, though, they rushed through the door to the conference room, buttoning shirts and and tugging on boots as they entered.
Two were the members who lived in the building full time. Jeremy Bane, the Dire Wolf, was the chairman of the Kenneth Dred Foundation. His partner and lover was the blonde telepath Cindy Brunner. They had adjoining rooms on the third floor. Bane was wearing his usual black slacks and turtleneck, tugging on his sports jacket. Cindy had faded jeans and a bright green T-shirt; she was tying her dark blonde hair into a ponytail with a ribbon. Entering behind them was Michael Hawk, the criminologist who was the only member famous to the general public. He happened to be staying for a day or so while tidying up an extortion case.
Bane took charge. Not only he was captain of the team of Tel Shai knights and chairman of the KDF, he just had that sort of personality. As soon as Khang had explained the alert, the Dire Wolf brushed his dark hair back with his fingers and addressed his friends. "Hutchins, that guy was always trouble. Mike, you and I will investigate. Cindy, stay here with Khang in case the so-called maniac is reported."
The telepath pouted just a bit. "I should go with you. I can tell who is truthful or not, and I can dig around in anyone's memories if needed, remember?"
"There's no witnesses there to question," Bane said. "They're in the hospital. Mike is the trained observer. If our other members report for the blue alert, have them stand by."
"Okay. I suppose." Her voice was grudging. Cindy went over to the rack by the door and got her windbreaker, then plopped down at the conference table. Khang tilted his featureless head as if amused, although it was difficult to tell.
Bane led Hawk down the stairs to the first floor. Michael Hawk was in his early sixties, getting grey but still very tough and energetic. He was wearing Levis, blue work shirt and boots; when he stopped to put on his tan coat with the white fur lining, he looked even more like a grizzled cowboy. The two of them went through the false panel in the walk-in closet, down steep concrete steps and through the basement to the small underground garage which held two cars. They glanced at each other and Bane got in the passenger seat to let the better driver take the wheel of the big Lincoln. Going up the ramp to the street was tricky, there was a sharp turn and Bane had scraped paint once or twice in his impatience. They rolled out on Lexington Avenue, still dark and almost deserted.
As Hawk turned south, he said quietly, "I wouldn't mind if Khang covered up some. In his topcoat and scarf and fedora, he's easier to take than when he's walking around all shiny that way."
"I'll mention it to him." Bane watched the street signs go by. "He's conspicuous enough at seven foot four without showing that metal hide. Listen, you know that was Inspector Halwick."
"Jim Halwick. Sure. Honest cop. Not the quickest thinker but he's persistent like a bulldog. I told him and a few others to let us know about anything weird or uncanny going on."
"And Mr Dred had a few NYPD officers who called him when the Midnight War flared up. Good. As long as they know when to step out of the way and let us work. Here's 12th Street. That building there, the red brick one."
Hawk slid into a parking spot and got out, with Bane beside him. There were two police cars with lights flashing, parked in front of a five story apartment building that looked at least a century old and needed some work. A uniformed officer nodded politely. "Morning. Inspector's in there, third floor."
"Thanks, Gillen. Cold morning to be standing guard," Hawk said.
"Part of the job," the cop answered as the two went through the open door and up creaking wooden stairs. At the third floor landing, they met Halwick and a sergeant. The forensics squad had packed up just minutes earlier.
"Morning, Mike. Jeremy," Halwick said. He was a lanky man with a long sorrowful face and blue eyes. His tie was loosened and his collar opened. "Come on in... but of course, I don't have to tell you not to touch anything."
For the next fifteen minutes, Michael Hawk questioned the police as if they were the suspects. Bane watched and listened. He was still learning from the master. As a fighter, the Dire Wolf had few equals but he was not a trained detective yet. Halwick and the sergeant seemed to speak freely. They had learned that the KDF was not interested in taking credit and invariably kept a low profile. Hawk studied the room, frowning and rubbing his chin. Finally, he stood near the overturned bookcase and said, "Here's how I see it. Fresh scratch marks on the lock of the door out there. The suspect picked the lock to get in. No alarms. He's standing here with a .32 revolver in his right hand. The glass dome on the floor was taken off this velvet stand on this table, so he removed something valuable from it. The bedroom door is open, blankets thrown aside. Hutchins emerges to confront him. And here's where things get a mite odd."
Crouching over, Hawk indicated where the shards of metal had been found. "The gun falls apart in the suspect's hand. It didn't explode. No shells were fired. You say the grip was bent and distorted. I think the gun was squeezed in a grip so powerful that it broke the gun to pieces."
Bane raised an eyebrow. "That sure narrows the number of suspects. Your average burglar can't crumple a revolver in his hand."
"Lee Hutchins was thrown against that wall so hard he bounced off and took the bookcase down with him. He left a circular depression in the plaster. Inspector Halwick tells us the man had multiple fractures and head trauma, died within seconds. But there is one more funny item." Hawk pointed to where the Stone was sunk an inch into the wall.
"I recognize that," Bane said grimly. "The Stone of Malberon. Hutchins tried to use it on me, not a full month ago."
The police sergeant leaned closer and volunteered his opinion. "The guy used a hammer to drive that rock into the wall."
"I don't think so. No fracture marks in the plaster." Hawk always sounded somber. "The stone penetrated in one quick impact, very fast. Considering the other stunts our suspect pulled, I think he threw it as fast as a bullet."
Halwick whistled and the sergeant obviously agreed.
The Dire Wolf was inspecting the Stone. "You know, this thing looks different. It used to have a sort of glitter to it, little flecks of color. Now it's dull. Lifeless. It's been drained of force."
Hawk came over to stand beside the younger man. "You know more about this stuff than I do, Jeremy. But I reckon the gralic force has been drained out of it somehow."
The cold grey eyes of Jeremy Bane were narrow and suspicious at best. "The Stone of Malberon was a major talisman. There was a huge amount of gralic energy stored in that rock, and you know, I think we better find out where it went."
III.
The creature which had been Simon Cohen stumbled aimlessly west, trying to focus his dazed mind. Did he need a doctor? He didn't feel sick. In fact, he was stronger than ever, almost vibrating with power. But his thought processes were changing as the protein in his body transmuted into silica. The once brilliant scheming mind of the master warlock was now clouded and raging. His remaining clothes hung in tatters over his body. He was now along Eleventh Avenue near the Hudson, and the streets were empty. The high crime rate and freezing wind had combined to leave him alone in a city that seemed deserted. Then, a car pulled up ahead and three young black men got out.
They were loud and boisterous, slapping each other on the back and congratulating themselves for their great success with women. As two stepped away from the car, one swung around almost walked into the massive bulk of the Stone Man. In a sudden unreasonable rage, Cohen seized the man in massive granite hands, lifting him overhead and bending his spine the wrong way with a grisly crunching noise.
"Paddy!" shrieked the other man. "Oh my God, Paddy!" He tugged a cheap Saturday Night Special from his coat and blasted three shots point-blank at the brute. Vivid in the gunflashes, Simon Cohen stood there unmoved as tiny chips of rock spun away from the impacts. Then the giant creature laughed.
The young black man's last words were "Jesus help me," just before a huge fist swung like a pendulum in a downward arc, smashing him to the pavement as if he had fallen from a great height, Blood splattered in grisly blobs over Cohen's legs. The third man had gotten out of his Ford and locked it just before the first death, and now he was too filled with panic to think he should get back in his car. Instead he took off at a run toward a patrol car he had spotted the next block over. It was the first time in his life he had been glad to see the police.
The cops got out, guns drawn. "Awright buddy, hold it right there. What the hell is your problem..?"
"It's a monster! It's a monster! It killed my buddies! It took three caps and didn't mind. LOOK AT IT!"
The officers froze in sudden terror. Looming over two bloody corpses was the biggest man they had ever seen, dressed in rags, with grey skin that looked like rock. As he spotted the police car, Simon Cohen roared like a beast. He took a step toward them, then lumbered forward. One cop extended his arm and fired three times without a verbal warning and again the bullets didn't even get the monster's notice. Both cops jumped into the car at the same time and peeled out. The black man had taken off at a full run around the corner as soon as he saw police open fire.
Cohen stopped and realized the police car was out of reach. Around him, lights were going on in a few windows but no faces showed in a neighborhood where people learned caution early on. Some remaining traces of the warlock's enhanced senses remained, telling the brute to turn. Striding up the block toward him were two men who not only did not look fearful but seemed determined to confront him. The Stone Man rumbled a warning.
The taller of the two newcomers was a black man with a short beard and hair sprinkled with gray, a sad thoughtful face and watchful eyes. He wore a long topcoat and thin leather gloves. Next to him was a white man a few inches shorter, not as imposing, with a bland face and even a hint of a smile despite the circumstances. At nearly four in the morning, he was well dressed in a Navy blue suit with a light blue dress shirt and solid black tie.
Only a few minutes earlier, Ted Wright and Larry Taper had arrived at the KDF headquarters on East 38th Street, called by the blue alert which had sounded in their nearby apartments. They had left immediately in the other car kept in the underground garage and headed directly here.
Wright's perception had drawn them right to Simon Cohen. One of the Blue Guides, healers of the Midnight war, Wright could sense lifeforce to strengthen or smooth its flow, and the presence of the Stone Man was like a beacon in the night to him. "There he is," he said to Taper. Wright looked older than he was because of the grey in his beard and because responsibility weighed him down. "He's burning with gralic force!"
The smaller man paused. "Is it just me or does he look like a granite statue moving around? Hey you! Yeah, I'm talking to you." Taper gestured for the Stone Man's attention and got it, as the huge brute lumbered toward them.
I swear, thought Wright, that man has no sense of caution. When he gets excited, he forgets those annoying big words, though.
It was the gift of the Eldarin that the Silver Skull could summon his talismans at will and Larry Taper had found ways to utilize this. As the brute reached him and brought down a fist like a sledge hammer, Taper raised his left arm and a circular metal shield blurred into existence upon it. The shield rang like a gong from the impact and the Skull was driven down to one knee. Only the enchantment kept his arm from being broken. Taper got back to his feet and just managed to bring up the shield in time to take another blow from a huge stone hand. Even braced for the blow, he was driven back a few steps and he felt his arm go numb. Overconfidence left him at that. He called upon the identity of the Silver Skull.
Simon Cohen hesitated as the air flickered around his enemy and a mild civilian in normal clothing was replaced by a grotesque figure in black leather, with a silver helmet cast in the shape of a grim unsmiling human skull. On his left arm was strapped that round shield; in his gloved right hand was the straight sword Chalcemar.
Faces were beginning to peek from behind curtains or barely-opened doors but as yet no one had stepped forth and the police had not returned with reinforcements. It was as if the three of them had the streets to themselves as an arena. The Silver Skull raised his shield, wincing behind the concealing helmet at how sore his arm was, and edged in closer to the six foot hulk. Cohen glared at him with amber eyes that were losing intelligence from their crystalline depths. The ancient sword Chalcemar had been forged and blessed by the immortal Eldarin long ago at the dawn of the world. It was ensorcelled to never slay an innocent. If wielded against a being capable of redemption, the blade passed harmlessly through, leaving no mark but stunning the foe. Only when striking an ememy utterly beyond hope would Chalcemar slay.
Taper feinted and lunged- and the sword ground against Cohen's broad chest without penetrating. It was like jabbing a needle at a brick wall. The Skull whirled a backhand stroke that succeeded in chipping off a small flake of stone from the monster's neck but no blood started and Cohen seemed not to feel it. Those hands grabbed for him and Taper jumped back. "Hey, ted, I can't hurt him. He IS made out of rock or something."
"Fall back," Wright ordered. "Give me a chance."
"Damned if I run from an ape like this," Taper snapped. He stubbornly stood his ground, hefting the sword with both hands and his feet well apart. The blade flashed left and right, back and forth, but only the smallest chip flew off the monster. Then it was too late. Taper swung his most powerful stroke, chopping against that stone neck as if with an axe and the sword rebounded almost out of his grip. One grey hand clamped down around his forearm and Taper knew with a sick certainty that he could never break that grip. He struggled to keep hold of the sword and never saw the other stone fist come crashing against his helmeted head. The impact of rock on metal sounded like a gunshot. Cohen lifted the suddenly limp form off its feet and flung it down hard to the sidewalk.
A blast of electric-blue light exploded against the Stone Man's head with a crackle. The monster turned away from his victim and caught a second bolt squarely in the face. Twenty feet away, Ted Wright stood with his open hands raised, face intent. He was not a warrior by nature, but a genuine MD specializing in trauma surgery. Although he carried one of the anesthtic dart guns, he knew they would be useless against this brute. The thing that had been Simon Cohen lurched toward him and Wright concentrated. A nimbus of pale blue light played over the giant, swirling like a whirlwind. Wright was trying to draw the lifeforce out of the monster. Against a normal Human, this technique made the subject faint and pass out within seconds but it was not working now. The Stone Man was just chargedc with too much raw power to be weakened that way.
As the monster stomped toward him, Ted Wright concentrated and raised a wall of blue light in front of him. Luminous and shimmering, the gralic barriers worked by repelling the lifeforce of any creatures attempting to get through them. Wright had seen horses and bulls bounce off a blue wall because their own bodies convulsed backward when touching it. It did not stop Cohen. He lowered his head and waded through as if walking against a gale.
Wright dropped the wall and set up a Veil, a gralic effect that made him invisible. This was also subjective. The Veil affected the perception of living things so that their eyes did not perceive him; he still would show up in photos. Cohen ignored the Veil and swung a huge beam of an arm with a wide looping blow that would have killed Wright if it had hit him. The Blue Guide stepped quickly back, crouching low to let that swing pass overhead. Every application of his power failed as it never had failed before. Again, he concentrated, visualizing what he wanted to appear. A luminous ball of blue light surrounded Cohen's head, cutting off air. The Stone Man staggered and groped at the blue ball with his blunt fingers but he could not get a good grip on it.
While he had won a few seconds, Ted Wright to where Larry Taper was lying on the sidewalk. He could perceive that Taper was alive but injured. Mild concussion. Damage to the left collarbone. Broken left wrist. The Blue Guide knelt over his teammate and felt that the heartbeat was strong and breathing steady, all without touching him. As he perceived this, Simon Cohen started slamming his rock fists against the blue light around his head. Some of that impact was transmitted back to Wright, who gasped and almost fell. The blue light faded and Cohen lowered his hand, giving his full murderous gaze to Ted Wright.
But the Stone Man hesitated. He stopped and seemed distracted. As Wright watched, he continued to transform. The rocklike body swelled up, growing taller and wider. The hands became disproportionately large and the head distorted. With a rasping growl, Cohen swung around and stomped off into the night, swaying from side to side.
As he sighed with relief when the monster was gone from sight, Ted Wright fell to his knees next to his injured friend. From the south, three patrol cars came up with lights flashing and sirens on. Of course, he thought, perfect timing.
IV.
It was past noon before the KDF managed to assemble in the conference room at their headquarters. Taper was at the emergency room at Tremper Memorial Hospital, diagnosed with the same injuries that Wright had detected by glancing at him. He would not be released any time soon. Wright had gone along to confer with the ER doctors and to claim the armor and weapons of the Skull, which were now piled on a chair by the long oak table. Hours of discussion with the NYPD had gone around and round without useful results. Hawk had handled this with his decades of experience. The police had not issued a statement, nor was there an APB on Cohen. Unofficially, every officer was searching for the Stone Man but the public had not been informed. There had been nothing on the news so far.
Here in the nine story headquarters on 38th Street, Jeremy Bane had assembled his team. Carefully, they had pieced together what they had found out and were working on a plan of action. Khang had dressed himself in wool trousers, belted trenchcoat, fedora and brown gloves, with a scarf concealing his face. He was still imposing but less distracting this way.
With Hawk's help, Cindy Brunner had gone down to the kitchen and now the conference table held two coffee pots with mugs for everyone, as well as a serving platter piled with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and boxes of cold cereal. The men dug in with a vengeance, and she did not miss her share.
Joining the team was the final member, Leonard Slade, who had flown down from his upstate lab. Slade was a Trom, a Monitor of that Race where intellect was promoted and emotion nearly eradicated. He wore a neat dark blue suit without a tie, the collar open. There was something unnerving about Slade. He was a little too calm, his gaze a little bit too sharp for anyone to warm up to him. As always, he had spoken little but had listened to everything, and when he spoke, every one there turned to listen.
"I conclude that Simon Cohen is not longer a Human being. Much if not all of the carbon which makes up the protein in his body has been changed to silicon carbide by the power of the Stone of Malberon. We Trom have long believed that silicon-based lifeforms are possible. Cohen is not a naturally-occuring life form but an artificial construct.
"The creature will difficult is not nearly impossible to destroy. His outer layer of epithelial cells seem to regenerate in proportion to how they are damaged. He will have high degree of resistance to radiation, temperature extremes, external trauma or poison."
All the KDF members were watching the Trom with worry. He had rarely been wrong.
Ted Wright spoke up, "He was still changing the last I saw him. Getting bigger."
"Yes. The transmutation is not yet complete. I project he will stabilize at a final size of seven feet five inches tall, with a weight in excess of fifteen hundred pounds. Providing his internal density is consistent."
"Knockout gas?" asked Bane.
"No, he derives his motive power not from food or air but from the gralic charge of the Stone." Was there the faintest hint of irritation in his smooth, even tone? "I admit we Trom can not understand gralir, even in theory. It makes no sense by any theory of physics. One of the reasons my people have asked you to accept me as a member is to study gralic effects."
Bane nodded. When he had first met with Leonard Slade two years earlier, they had worked out an agreement. As a member of the KDF, Slade received the benefits of Tel Shai training and knowledge; in return, he provided access to some advanced Trom tech, such as the Corby stealthcopters. It was a good deal but it did bother Bane a little that Slade saw his membership as a business arrangement rather than a crusade. But, he thought, that was the Trom for you.
Cindy had been sitting curled up in one of the chairs, legs tucked under her. "You guys always forget me. If I make contact with his mind, I could try to get him to surrender. Or at the very least, find out what he wants. He may be in pain and scared. A burglar finds himself turning in a big rock monster, I mean, come on--"
"No," said Slade. "Ted's observations lead me to conclude that the transformation has diminished his intellect. He may soon lose all capacity for rational thought. Even more dangerous is this Stone Man was not some innocent passer-by. Jeremy?"
Bane sat up straighter. "Yeah. Cohen's a nasty piece of work. I tangled with him with back in late 1977, when I first started working for Mr Dred. I went out to Cohen's house to rescue two underage girls. Cohen was a disgraced rabbi who got into the Kabbalah and used it for his own purposes. Blackmail, extortion, intimidation. He knew just enough gralic magick to get whatever he wanted from regular people." The Dire Wolf snorted angrily. "Charges were dropped against him, I always figured heavy money kept everything out of court."
"That is the mind that is now within an indestructible stone body. Only greater force, either physical or gralic, has any chance to defeat him." Here he turned his eyes on Khang at the end of the table.
"Do not doubt that I will destroy this monster," the silver man said in a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Even someone looking directly at Khang was often confused by that voice. "This is why I was granted this form and this mission."
"You're our big gun," Bane admitted.
IV.
Walt had been a drunk for so long he hardly remembered any earlier life. He had no strong emotions left. Most of his day was spent scrounging off tourists, mostly men with dates who didn't want to seem cheap, checking phone booths for change and rounding up stray soda cans for the refund. He always got enough for a bottle of cheap red wine and maybe a hot dog. Today, a businessman sitting on a park bench had left half a club sandwich in its wrapper, giving Walt a sympathetic glance as he walked off, so it had been a bonanza.
Damn, it was cold and the wind would not stop blowing. He was on Eleventh Avenue, heading to a boarded up store with CONDEMNED stickers all over it. It was still better than sleeping on the street. The side door had been knocked off its hinges during the day and was lying on the floor. Getting down on his knees, he crawled through a broken basement window and fell to the floor inside. Getting up took a minute. He felt like he could sleep all night. Maybe, just maybe he would not have to wake up again. There is in the corner was the mildewed couch which was as much a home as he had these days.
Walt stopped and held his breath. The couch was occupied.
Some of the dim winter light still slanted in through the window high up on the wall, and Walt saw a man on the couch- his couch- big as a horse. He made the couch look like a narrow cot. Cautiously, Walt stepped closer. It couldn't be real. Nobody wwas that big, that massive. It had to be a statue of some kind. It sure looked like a statue, with rough grey stone for skin. Like unpolished rock. The thing had some strips of white cloth hanging from its shoulders, with material from black trousers remaining as shorts. The feet had no toes, they were just big flat pads of stone at the end of thick legs.
How could anyone get this statue down and why would they? Why was lying on his couch? Walt bent over for a better look. Under heavy protruding brow ledge, hard amber-colored eyes snapped open. It was alive!
Even back during the war, Walt had never felt such strong terror. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have gotten out of that cellar as fast as he could. But he was paralyzed with fear. He could not even step back as the hulking beast rose to loom over him.
Simon Cohen stared wildly about. He held up his great blunt-fingered hands, which looked now almost like lion paws, and stared at them as if they belonged to someone else. The transmutation had reached a stable stage. Now, he turned those yellow eyes on Walt. "I.. begin to remember. My head seems clearer."
"Good to hear that," Walt managed to answer.
"Simon Cohen. Yes, that was my name. I remember.. the apartment. The Stone of Malberon. That fool Hutchins! He said, 'may you turn to stone.' Oh, he did not know." The great block of a head swivelled to glare down at Walt. "And WHO might you be?"
"Me? Oh, I'm nobody, I was looking for a flop. I'll be going." With the last word, he spun on his heel and took just one step before an open hand swung as if on a crane and smashed him across the basement. Walt died instantly, hitting the far wall with fatal impact even if the blow had not been enough. The corpse bounced off and lay still.
Simon Cohen grinned a terrifying predatory leer. He pressed his hands to his hair, really coarse mineral fibres, and got hold of himself. It was just beginning to dawn on him that this was not the worst thing that could have happened. He had been getting old, waking with aches and pains. His vision had been getting weak. Now, he was in this body made of living stone, filled with enormous gralic force. His life was just beginning. A laugh broke loose. Oh, he had many scores to settle.
V.
Ted Wright had taken a nap, showered and dressed in fresh clothes, feeling back to normal. He entered the recreation room on the same floor as the conference room and looked around with a smile. Hawk was sitting at a table piled with newspapers. Slade was making phone calls. Over on the couch, Cindy was lying with her head in Bane's lap, smiling dreamily at the music.
"Herbie Hancock and Chic Corea," Wright said. "You like them, Jeremy?"
Bane looked up with a surprised expression. "I don't listen to music. It doesn't sink in with me. I can't see what you guys get out of it to be honest."
"He doesn't watch TV or movies, either," Cindy put in. "I can't figure it out. Who doesn't like one sort of music or another? Our Jeremy has his own funny ways, I guess."
"I have plenty of things to occupy my mind. We heard from the hospital. Larry is conscious and demanding to be released. The doctors are arguing with him. Ted, I want you to go see him and see if he's ready or if he needs to stay."
"I want to stay on the hunt for Cohen," Wright said.
"You are the only one of us who is actually a doctor," Bane answered. "I trust your opinion more than the ER docs. If he can be released, I know he would want to be here."
"All right, I see your point. Ill call a taxi. It's too cold to wait outside while a cab stops for a black man."
Standing by the windows looking down at 38th Street, Khang swung around. "I can feel his presence out there. Gralic force blazing like a beacon. He is foe worthy to challenge me."
"You're way too confident," Wright said. "Look, Khang, I know you're powerful. But every tough guy meets someone tougher. Maybe this is the enemy who can go at it toe to toe with you."
Slade spoke without looking up. "Neither your power nor his has been accurately measured. Indeed, I can not come up with a way to do so. We are dealing with unknowns, Khang. Nothing is certain."
The giant silver man made a scoffing noise. "You are from a Race without faith, my friend. Wait and see."
Bane had gotten up and gone over to where Khang stood. "Getting dark. I have a feeling he'll be on the move at night. Listen, you guys, I'm going to order Chinese food. Anybody have some preferences?"
For the next few minutes, everyone spoke at once and Bane had to get a memo pad. As grim as he was by nature, there were moments he enjoyed, when his team acted like a group of friends rather than a commando squad.
"Wait, I changed my mind, I want sesame chicken instead." Cindy took the memo pad. "I'll call this in. This is great, not having to pay for food. I was going broke living on my own."
Bane went over to where Michael Hawk was folding the newspapers. The wide, weathered cowboy face lifted up. "Nothing. The five o'clock news will be coming on soon, but I doubt if there will be anything there either. Before you got me into the Midnight War, Jeremy, I never realized how much went on that the public never knew."
The phone rang as Cindy hung up, and she put it on speaker. "Kenneth Dred Foundation," she chirped in her most cheerful voice.
"Hi, Halwick here. Can I talk to Jeremy Bane?"
"Go ahead, Inspector." The Dire wolf came over to look down at the speaker.
"We got something here that might be of interest to you guys. 24th Street and Eleventh. There's a condemned building there. Someone knocked the door down from the outside, right off the hinges. A patrolman went in to look around and found a body lying in a corner. Unidentified white male, age 50 or so. It sure looks as if someone bounced him off the wall hard enough to break a dozen bones."
Hawk stood up, reaching for his coat. As the KDF's trained investigator, this was his area. "On it. I'll report as soon as i get a look."
"Thanks. Michael Hawk is on his way. Anything else?"
"Nope. Nothing for you ghostbusters. We have toned the presence down in that area because frankly our force is tied up with some gang shootings uptown. If I hear anything, I'll let you know."
"We appreciate it," Bane said.
"What, I am trying to send you kids out to tackle a giant stone monster? You don't even get paid for it." He broke off the connection.
"He'll never understand us," Bane said.
"Heck, I don't understand us," put in Cindy. "Time to move out, Captain?"
"Yes, I think so," Bane said as he turned to face his team. "Mike has taken his own car to the scene. We will split up and go out in pairs. Cindy, you're with me. Len, you drive Khang. Between Cindy's telepathic browsing and Khang's perception, I hope we will pick up Cohen's whereabouts."
"But what about our food? My sesame chicken?"
"Sorry, Cindy Lee. You can grab a sandwich if you like."
"Not the same," she grumbled as she went to the cooler to put a prewrapped ham and cheese in a paper bag, adding a couple of Granola bars and a can of soda. "Crummy sandwich."
Bane was wearing his usual black turtleneck and sport jacket. Now he went with Cindy down the hall to the conference room where some lockers stood in a corner. They each put on a waist-length field jacket, with its own inner layer of the Trom armor. He kept three of these jackets around the headquarters building. The Dire Wolf discarded the anesthetic dart clip from his airgun and slid in a clip of the resonance caps. Cindy watched him. "You figure those will do any good?"
"Can't hurt," Bane said, heading back with her to join his team. Khang was coming up the stairs from the ground floor, carrying a big white bag of Chinese food. The sight of the silver man doing anything so mundane as paying a delivery boy always tickled Cindy's insolent sense of humor.
"Now that's just rubbing it in," she muttered. "Oh well, it'll still be here when we get back."
Slade had changed into his operations uniform, a one-piece jumpsuit fitted with control patches and various devices. He had once told Bane that if his suit fell into government hands, Human technology would take a huge step forward. If this seemed about to happen or if Slade died while wearing it, the suit had a self-destruct function.
"Let's move out," the Dire Wolf said. The four of them went down the stairs to the ground floor, through the false back of a walk-in closet and down steep concrete stairs. To their left was the emergency generator, hot water tank and furnace. They turned right, down a narrow walkway that ended in a plain wooden door which opened on their garage. Here was a Buick Regal and a Ford Mustang, both dark green. Bane was not satisfied with these vehicles. He wanted to get something bigger that could carry all the members at once and he wanted something with all-wheel drive. Slade had added some Kevlar body panels and bullet-resistant glass to all the windows.
Cindy raced to hop in the passenger seat of the Mustang, leaving the Buick for Slade to drive. Keys hung on hooks near the door. Bane grabbed his pair and started the Mustang up while Slade got in the Buick with Khang in the back seat, where there was more headroom. They rolled up the ramp to the alley, with the door sliding up to let them pass and closing behind them.
Pulling out on Lexington Avenue, Bane noted that traffic was light. The freezing wind kept people inside as much as they could. He went down a few blocks and turned, eyes moving restlessly. Beside him, Cindy Brunner sat up straight and closed her eyes, reaching out with her priceless telepathic mind. She called this "browsing," lightly touching every mind as it came within range, looking for a specific image. Most telepaths could not manage this. She kept an image of a hulking stone man in the back of her thoughts and skimmed for something matching. After five minutes, she sighed.
"No luck yet," she told Bane and went back to browsing. The Dire Wolf was on Eleventh Avenue now. He went past a building where he spotted Hawk's Jeep Cherokee and kept going. He was down almost by the Hudson when Cindy suddenly twitched and said, "Whoa! Damn. Keep going, hon. I'm getting a sighting. Another block over."
VI.
Bane had spotted a patrol car with its lights flashing. He slid in behind it and Cindy joined him as they stepped out into the bitter night air. Two officers crouched in front of their cruisers, sidearms drawn, facing a terrifying sight. The Patron Trading Company seemed to have gone out of business years ago, judging by the dusty windows and faded paint. A rusted out car without wheels sat on blocks by the door. From behind it, a concrete apron slid out into the river, evidently for seaplanes. Standing in front of the big metal door was a huge rocklike figure that growled at the cops. The headlights of the cars showed every detail of the Stone Man clearly.
"Get everyone over here," he told Cindy. As she started calling the team on her Link, Bane stepped up behind the officers and called out to make sure they heard him approaching. "Stand down, men. Inspector Halwick called us in. We're taking over."
"And who might YOU be one?" one of the cops asked, turning his attention back to the monster.
"We're a special strike force that handles this sort of thing. Call Halwick and tell the KDF is on the scene. Has he made any threatening moves?"
"No. Just him standing there is threatening enough to suit me!" said the cop, going to the radio in the car.
The Dire Wolf strode past the police to where the Stone Man could see him. "Simon Cohen? Can you understand me?"
The brute stuck his head forward and grinned wickedly. "Oh yes. Jeremy Bane. You came into my house, punched me in the face and had me taken away in handcuffs. I think I should remember you."
"Those two little girls were glad I showed up. Look at you. You've changed a bit from the pudgy warlock I remember."
"Come closer," Cohen laughed. "I have much to say to you."
"Yeah, I bet you do." Bane did indeed step closer, not seemingly intimidated by the monster.
There came a brilliant flare of gralic force that lit the night and made everyone dazzled. With a peal of thunder, Khang had appeared. He seized the wrist of Simon Cohen, swing him around and cuffed him a backhand blow that sounded like a gunshot. The Stone Man lurched to one side, more surprised than hurt, and Khang hit him again, slamming him back against the warehouse wall, cracking loose big chunks of plaster. But he did not fall, as Khang had expected, nor did he seem alarmed. The amber eyes burned with a red glint.
"Oh, I have heard of you," the brute said. "Khang! Servant of Halar-Koth. You are quite the talk among occult circles."
"I command you to yield," Khang boomed. "No living thing can stand before me."
"So you say," rumbled Cohen. Quicker than expected, he stepped in and drove a simple straight punch to the chest that lifted Khang off his feet. As the silver man got his footing, Cohen slammed a huge fist to Khang's head that knocked him off balance, sliding along the icy boards.
"By my Source, you have no right to such strength," Khang said as he rose. Cohen rushed in and Khang backhanded him with a slap that spun the giant around. They stood face to face trading blows, great crashing punches that sounded like gongs ringing. It was a stunning sight. Nothing of flesh and blood could have survive one of those impacts but it seemed the two titans could not do either any real damage. Khang seized his opponent by the arm and swung him to slam into the warehouse wall, knocking the wooden overhead sign off its nails. Cohen roared with rage and swung one hooking punch after another, a weak man suddenly given immeasurable power.
From over by the police car, Bane and Cindy watched helplessly. They put all their faith in Khang but he seemed to be actually meeting his equal. Simon Cohen had to be stopped, there and then. On the loose, the scheming warlock mind in the stone body was a terrible threat to every living person.
Silver and stone clashed. Khang drew back his right arm and, for the first time since his creation, used his full physical strength. He struck a blow that echoed through the streets like an explosion. Cohen hurtled backward, directly onto the hood of the police car. The officers had drawn back and were unharmed, as were Bane and Cindy but the car was a total loss. Khang lowered his fist, confident now that the battle had been won.
And Simon Cohen leaped off the ruined car, pouncing on the startled silver man. He was unhurt and filled with more savage rage than before. Khang was taken by surprise and did not defend himself as the Stone Man piled on one murderous punch after another. He seized the silver man by the coat, lifted him overhead as if raising a ballon and hurled the limp form into the Hudson River. With a tidal splash, Khang disappeared beneath the surface.
Instantly, faster than any Human, Jeremy Bane raced forward, past Cohen's useless attempt to grab him and dove out over the water. Even as he plunged down into cold darkness, the Dire Wolf yanked an oxygen membrane from his pocket and pulled it over his face, slipping the tabs over his ears. He took a breath. The membrane let him breathe underwater by extracting oxygen but it wasn't as good as breathing real air.
Within the space of a half second, Cindy and Cohen cried out in pain. The blonde telepath had tried to contact Cohen's mind, with the idea of distracting him, but the potent charge of gralic force he carried drove her back out. She slid to her knees, pressing her hands to her temples. "I am never trying that again," she muttered.
The Stone Man glared at her. "What was that? Ah, a telepath, eh? Not bad looking, either, I wonder how loud you'll scream."
VI.
At the bottom of the Hudson, a huge form sank limply to the mud and silt while rancid water washed over it. Khang had no nose or mouth; he did not breathe as Humans did and so could not drown. Even now, he was not truly unconscious but dazed and unaware of his surroundings. Stroking down from the surface, Bane held a pencil flashlight which was just enough to show the great bulk. The Dire wolf swam down quickly. This water is freezing, he thought, I'm going to be lucky not to contract pneumonia from this dive. He tugged at an arm, then tried to lift the silver man by the collar, kicking with both legs. It was hopeless. Even underwater, Khang was too heavy to budge.
Bane groped until he found the metallic head. There was nothing to grasp, no hair, no features, just a smooth surface. He shook it from side to side and shouted desperately, "Khang, wake up! You have to wake up." Although he did not fully realize it at this time, he had a vague feeling that somehow Khang was compelled to follow his orders. This was in fact a penance the Silver man accepted for accidentally killing William Murdock years earlier and it was also a control on the silver man to keep him in line. "Khang, I ORDER you to get up."
The great body stirred, shimmering in the murky water with its own luminance. Khang's outer garments had been torn to shreds during the fighting and now he ripped them away. "Jeremy?" he said weakly.
"Are you hurt bad, buddY?" Bane asked, waving his arms to keep from rising. He was shaking with the cold.
"No. It was pride that led me to trade blows with him like a vulgar brawler. He surprised me. But now I will do what I should have from the start and Simon Cohen will not survive this night." Khang vanished in a blast of white light that illuminated the river bed for yards around.
Bane swum frantically toward where the concrete apron extended down into the water and got on it, scrambling up to the surface. He was trembling convulsively with exposure and fell to his hands and knees. Michael Hawk was there now, helping him up and over to their cars. "Damn, son, you got more nerve than I do, jumping into that river in January. Hurry, over here."
The Dire Wolf looked about frantically. "Mike? What's the situation?"
"Slade is holding that critter off with his gadgets but he isn't having an easy time of it. Here," Hawk popped open the trunk of the Mustang and started taking out spare clothes. "Get that stuff off right now. Come on, get the shirt off too and put this dry one on." Hawk unfolded a blanket and wrapped it around Bane. "No, no arguing, you'll be heading for the hospital yourself if you pull more fool stunts like this." Bane was too distressed to resist.
Over by the warehouse door, Simon Cohen took a step forward. He was fighting the resistance of a pale beam which Leonard Slade shone at him from a tiny metal device. The photon ram had flipped cars over and knocked down walls in the past, but it could not stop Cohen completely. With obvious effort, the Stone Man leaned into the beam as if resisting a stiff gale and took another step. Slade lowered the beam and played it over Cohen's lower legs, toppling him onto his face. The creature hit the planking hard but was already getting up again. Slade was actually frowning, although nobody there noticed it.
Cohen got to his feet and roared with laughter. "You might have been my servants. I could use your skills, but now you are nothing but dead men." He continued to advance, going over where the rusted wreck sat on concrete building blocks. Bending low, the monster lifted the car overhead without visible effort. "This country will have a king on his throne. The era of Simon the First begins tonight."
Behind him, white light flashed and Khang appeared, revealed in his natural state. Visible energy crackling around him.
Cohen bellowed like a bull and threw the wreck right as his enemy. A glistening silver arm pointed and a blinding bolt of divine force vaporized the car entirely. Nothing remained to hit the ground. The smell of molten metal stung the air.
Wrapped in his blanket, Bane started herding everyone back. "Come on, I don't think we want to be too close to this."
"This is going to be GOOD!" Cindy yelled. "Get 'im, Khang!"
Furious at being defied, Cohen lumbered toward his enemy and was met by a single blast of power which shredded what little remained of his clothes. He leaped on Khang. A dazzling fireball of pure power flared up around them, casting strong shadows in all directions and thunder sounded too loud for comfort. No one could see what was going on. If anything, the glare brightened until they could not bear to look at it directly. Then came the explosion. Debris and river water rose high in the air, windows broke in nearby buildings and people in that neighborhood went outside to wonder if a bomb had gone off. One of the police officers died as a chunk of cement hit his head, making him the last victim of the Stone Man.
Finally, after the storm, there was silence. The agitated waters boiled and settled down. The Patron Trading Company warehouse was gone, simply gone as if it had never been there. On the ruins of the planked platform stood Khang, steam rising from his white-hot body.
Bane went over to where the dead policeman was being held by his partner. "I'm sorry about your friend," he said. "I tried to get everyone back."
The cop was very young and quite good-looking. "I can't catch my breath. This is horrible. I never knew things like this were possible."
"It's a weird world. What's your name?"
"Tom, Thomas Luez. Is that- thing gone?"
Bane looked over to where Khang stood gazing down into the waters. Cindy and Hawk were coming over. "My friend there would go after him if there was any trace. I think our Stone Man is destroyed. At least, I certainly hope so."
12/31/1972- Rev 5/13/2013F
