"Spiders of the Mind"
May. 20th, 2022 12:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Spiders of the Mind"
3/2- 3/5/1982
I.
Two dozen reporters chatted and gossiped and ate as much as they could shovel down from the buffet table. They represented everything from the WASHINGTON POST to POPULAR SCIENCE to UPI, and there were several present from obscure small-run technical journals. Most had hand-held tape recorders and a few carried cameras with big round flashbulbs in old-fashioned vertical attachments. The reporters seemed perfectly content to stand and talk and eat, even after forty minutes had gone by with no sign of their host. Only one man in black remained silent toward the back, keeping to himself and watching somberly.
The presentation room was huge and airy, with the floor space kept clear. Only a few folding chairs stood against one wall. Under a huge skylight that let in the afternoon sunshine, a knee-high raised area held a podium and two seats. Set in the wall behind it were two wide metal doors marked NO ADMITTANCE.
Finishing a paper plate of macaroni salad, olives and sliced ham, Jeremy Bane dumped the plate in a bin and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He looked even more grim than usual. At six feet even and one hundred and seventy pounds, the Dire Wolf had a gaunt appearance that suited his war name. As always, he was dressed all in black- slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, but a rectangular name tag was pinned to his left lapel that read KENNETH DRED FOUNDATION.
A stout man with a grizzled beard sipped some ice water and came over. He was wearing a suit and tie that fit poorly, as evidently he had lost some weight recently, and his name tag read NY DAILY RECORD. "Long wait," he announced quietly. "I'd heard Grim was always late for everything."
Bane gave him an unfriendly glance, but tried to be polite. "Yes. John Grim always has too many projects underway at the same time."
"Kenneth Dred Foundation, eh? I don't think I've heard of you guys before."
The Dire Wolf's first reaction would have been to tell the reporter to get lost, but he was making an effort to learn patience and basic courtesy. Since he had formed his team of Tel Shai knights, he had found how important this was, and Cindy had been working to smooth out his naturally abrasive nature. "We're a nonprofit research organization," he told the reporter. "Mostly we disprove sightings of paranormal events."
"Oh? Glad to hear that. We need more skeptics in journalism. But what does that have to do with John Grim Enterprises?"
Bane turned his pale grey eyes on the reporter, who gave a slight start. Those eyes under their heavy black brows were startlingly intense. "We also investigate scientific claims that seem too good to be true."
The man grinned. "Sounds juicy. Are you telling me that great John Grim might be making exaggerated claims? Maybe some of his super-astounding inventions don't live up to the hype his publicity machine cranks out?"
"I'm just here to observe," said the Dire Wolf and started to turn back to the buffet table. An excited murmur running through the crowd made him snap his head around. From one of the doors at the rear of the stage, a gorgeous young woman in a lilac-colored dress had emerged and was strutting up to the podium. All eyes were on her. She looked to be in her early twenties, slim rather than voluptuous, with great legs showing beneath the short skirt. The woman had light brown hair with just enough red highlights, bright green eyes in an inquisitive face, and a friendly smile. As all the reporters drew closer and stared, she tapped the microphone.
"Hello. Hello? Is this thing on?" she said with a grin. "Good afternoon, everyone. For those who don't know me, my name is Caitlyn McEntee and I'm Mr Grim's personal aide. Welcome to today's presentation. Sorry we're running a little late, but well, we're running a little late. Mr Grim will be out in a few seconds but I wanted to make sure everyone is set. To be honest, every demonstration from our company seems to be remarkable but I believe today's will be exceptional even by our standards."
Unnoticed by anyone, the Dire Wolf had taken from his belt a metal device the size of a cigarette pack, pressed two buttons on it and started recording the presentation. The Link was a Trom device crafted for the KDF by Leonard Slade, more advanced than anything Humans could match.
As Caitlyn spoke, the door behind her opened again and John Grim himself strode quickly across the stage. The famous inventor and industrialist stood a little over six feet tall, fit and athletic looking in a well-tailored tan suit and a brown tie, with a white lab smock over it. Grim had blond hair the color of straw, a bit long and untidy as if due for a barber. His face was regular and unremarkable except for the dark blue eyes that seemed to never stop moving about, taking everything in, judging and analyzing. Nodding as Caitlyn stepped to one side, Grim took the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, welcome. First, I want to stress that what you are about to witness is a prototype. It will not be ready to go into production for months, perhaps years, as refinements need to be made and inevitable bugs are found and corrected. You are witnessing something that will revolutionize every field of science, which will have applications in everything from exploration to rescue work to peacekeeping." He pressed a switch on the podium and behind him the great skylight rolled open to let in air.
Alone among the crowd, Jeremy Bane did not seem excited or eager. He was giving Grim the level deadly gaze a predator fixes on its prey.
"I gave you, the first of the Solar Knights!" Grim announced. Through the open skylight, a golden armored figure came down with brilliant light flaring from its boots and down from a cylinder on its back. It landed rather hard, with a thump and a sound of wood cracking beneath the impact but stood erect easily and faced the stunned crowd.
The Solar Knight looked something like a medieval knight in full plate armor and something like a 1950s sci-fi robot. The gold-colored metal was highly burnished and reflected light with dazzling effect. Beneath that armor, nothing could be seen of the man presumably inside; the flat faceplate's only feature was a pair of eyeslits which were lit from within. Standing close to seven feet tall, wide enough to fill a doorway, the Knight regarded the crowd with its expressionless mask.
Naturally, every reporter was talking at the same time, and Grim held up his hands for silence. "Quiet. Quiet, please. Your questions will be taken in a minute. Let me just say that the Solar Knights are the most ambitious project yet by my team. You are looking at a powered exoskeleton, capable of surviving point-blank rifle fire or the heat of a blast furnace without sustaining damage. Its power source is primarily stored solar energy although it does carry an array of high-density batteries as back-up. The Knight's flight capacity and range must remain classified for the moment, but believe me when I say TWA need not fear any competition." A nervous round of laughter ran through the reporters at this.
"As you can imagine," Grim continued, "A fleet of these Knights will be invaluable in many crises. Children lost in the Rocky Mountains? People trapped on the roof of a burning building? A psychotic with a rifle shooting at traffic from a 20 story window? Medical supplies need to be delivered during a blizzard? Specialized Solar Knights will be able to handle these emergencies and many more. But I want to stress right now there will be no military applications. These Knights will not become weapons of war."
Scattered applause greeted that last sentence, and John Grim paused. "Regretfully, I must get back to work now. There are other projects just as revolutionary under way which require my attention. But a few of you will be permitted to come up and examine the Solar Knight at close range.."
"Is that safe?" blurted a voice from the crowd.
Grim smiled slightly. "Of course. Inside this armor is a former test pilot for the US Navy, Colonel William Kearney. Bill?"
"Hello everyone," came an amplified voice from the golden helmet. "It's okay, I don't bite."
Relieved laughter came from the reporters again, and Grim waved farewell. "I leave you with the very capable Caitlyn McEntee." The famous scientist turned to leave but paused for the barest instant. He seemed to seek out one face in the crowd. For a split-second, the eyes of John Grim and Jeremy Bane locked across the distance between them. Then Grim rushed from the presentation room, closing the door as Caitlyn started picking out reporters to ask their barrage of questions.
Silent, Bane stood frowning at the back of the crowd. He had worked for years with gifted telepaths, first Katherine Wheatley and then Cindy Brunner. He recognized the feeling you experienced when another consciousness first reached into your awareness from outside. Until you got used to it, it felt very much like tiny insects crawling around inside your skull. Spiders of the mind.
II.
"John Grim is a telepath?" Cindy Brunner seemed mortally offended. "Well, I never would have thought so." The little blonde put the backs of her hands on her hips and tapped one foot. "Imagine that."
Standing in the doorway to the conference room, Bane regarded her with amusement. On the drive back from Flushing, he had tried to figure what her reaction would be and had decided she would likely be annoyed at the idea of someone under suspicion turning out to be a telepath like herself. As if she belonged to some exclusive club that wanted to keep riff-raff out. He was slightly pleased at guessing correctly, because he seldom predicted her reactions right.
At twenty-four, Cindy was an immensely appealing young woman, just over five feet tall and just under one hundred pounds, with narrow hips and breasts just a bit large for her frame. Her dark blonde hair was tied back in a thick ponytail, her large blue eyes stood out vividly in an inquisitive freckled face. Now she dropped the frown from that face and smiled wryly at Bane. "He only contacted you for a second, you said?"
"Not more than a full second," he answered. The Dire Wolf went over to the long oak table that took up much of the conference room and tossed the bundle of mail on its surface. "He looked up straight up at me and kept moving without a pause. But I absolutely had that feeling I get when telepathic contact is first made, like insects running around inside my skull."
"Yeah, 'spiders of the mind.' Not the most flattering phrase." She pulled out a chair and dropped down next to the table. "I don't think he could have pulled anything significant from your memory that quick, especially across a room. Even Christopher Lincoln couldn't do that. My bet is he just targeted you so he could recognize your thought waves if you ever met again."
"Why is he interested in me in the first place?" Bane asked as he sat down next to her. "I got that invitation to the showing of the Solar Knight, or rather the KDF did. But we are not that well known as a research group. Grim knows something about us. All my instincts are warning me."
"Your instincts are usually right on target. I'd pay attention to them," she said.
In the doorway, Leonard Slade silently appeared. The Trom Monitor unzipped his light blue coveralls down to the waist, revealing the white dress shirt underneath. Slade had as usual only a calm, self-possessed expression on his handsome olive-skinned face. His short black hair was neat as a skullcap, and in general he was immaculate despite the fact he had been doing maintenance work on a helicopter the past three hours.
"The CORBY is fully checked and tuned," he announced in his subdued tone. "With a five minute warmup, she can leave whenever needed." The Trom examined their faces. "You both show signs of excitement and elevated adrenalin."
Bane said, "Have a seat, Len. I'm not sure but I think we might be starting a new case." As concisely as he could, the Dire Wolf explained what had happened that afternoon at the Solar Knight presentation and Grim's apparent telepathic contact.
The Trom picked up a remote control from the table, aimed it at the 17" monitor screen on the wall behind them and lit it up. "Let me see your Link, Jeremy." As Bane handed the device over, Slade set its controls and the recorded video of that afternoon's events played on the screen. They watched as Caitlyn McEntee stepped up to the microphone again...
When the short video concluded, Slade turned the screen off and returned the Link to Bane. "It is good you recorded that, captain," he said. Was there the slightest unprecedented tinge of emotion in his voice? "I conclude that John Grim's so-called Solar Knight armor utilizes stolen Trom technology."
"What? I didn't think that was possible," Bane said.
"It should not be possible. Yet there it is. I see in that armor knowledge beyond what Human society contains at this point. Somehow John Grim has done this."
Cindy cut in, "Jeremy felt John Grim contact his mind for an instant. He's a telepath."
"We Trom have a limited number working alongside Human scientists. Mostly we act as mere observers but when appropriate, a Trom will nudge Human researchers past a stalling point or point out a way an obstacle might be resolved. It seems likely that Grim has come in contact with one of my Race and learned through that Trom's mind what is not meant to be shared yet." Leonard Slade was less than his normal placid self, he seemed almost to be showing feelings as he seldom did.
"Len..." Cindy asked. "Just how many Trom ARE there among us Humans?"
"I am not authorized to reveal that. I may tell you the number is quite small and widely dispersed." He leaned forward toward his teammates. "In unauthorized hands, Trom technology is a threat to society. Even well-meaning ethical researchers might misuse my Race's knowledge, and I have doubts about the intentions of John Grim."
Bane shot to his feet. Sitting still was an effort for him at the best of times, and now he was excited. "Oh yes. There have been shady rumors about Grim for the past year. Nothing the authorities can act on, especially with Grim's squad of high-priced lawyers on guard. But I've had my eye on him." The Dire Wolf paused, then added, "And today I think we learned he knows this. His staff invited the KDF to the demonstration so he could size me up."
Cindy and Slade also got to their feet and watched as Bane began to pace. "Does he know we have a Trom as a member? Len, you're a Monitor. You've said you know more secrets of your people than the average Trom, if there is such a thing. And your operations suit is packed with gadgets. You've only shared a few of them with us. If Grim got hold of you, or got possession of your gizmos..."
"This must not happen. An unscrupulous Human with Trom technology could build weapons no nation on Earth could defy. A world war would ensue with unprecedented loss of life." Slade watched his two partners thoughtfully. "Grim's telepathy is the final complication."
"Why? What do you mean?"
Slade hesitated almost inperceptibly. It was alarming to see him not at his normal unbreakable calm. "We do not even have a theory how telepathy works. A tentative hypothesis is that a telepathic mind taps the gralic force to establish communication with other minds, but we have no way to verify or disprove this. Telepathy remains a mystery."
"Good," Cindy put in. "I think some things should remain a mystery."
"The point is that I have no defense against a telepathic intrusion," said Slade. "Grim could possibly pick my memory for any information he wants and I could not stop him. My plan to confront him must be abandoned."
"Well, don't forget we do have an ace. Someone who can meet him on his own terms." She pressed a thumb to her own chest. "Me."
IV.
At just before noon two days later, a red MG convertible pulled into a spot in the parking lot of the John Grim plant in Flushing. Stephen Weaver glanced around and said, "This matches the stub the guard gave us at the front gate. Section 3, slot 19. They even tell you where to park in this place." Weaver was an American black man in his early thirties, lanky, with short hair and a thick mustache. He had shaved closely just an hour earlier and was wearing his best suit.. black with thin blue lines, a powder blue shirt and red tie. As he turned the engine off, he shook his head. "How big is this place anyway? I'm gonna get lost trying to get back on the Grand Central Parkway."
In the seat beside him, Cindy Brunner chuckled and undid the scarf that had kept her hair in place during the ride. She was also dressed more conservatively than usual, in a sleeveless white dress that buttoned down the front. "You can always pull over and fly up to get your bearings."
"Hah. Listen, Cin, do you want to come in with me and provide moral support?"
"Not the plan," she replied lightly. "I stay here and shield you at a distance from Grim's mind-picking. This way, he doesn't know about me."
Weaver unbuckled his seat belt and reluctantly got out. He left the keys in the ignition. "I suppose. If he does start poking around in my brain, at least I know what to watch for. Jeremy said it feels like bugs inside your skull. Spiders of the mind."
"I'm getting to dislike that phrase," she said. "We telepaths are so misunderstood."
The Black Angel closed his door and waved a casual hand to her as he started heading toward the nearest building. A sign on a pole said RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT 3. When he drew near the double glass doors, they slid open automatically and he stepped into a lobby that was almost chilly. Behind a counter, a bulky security guard stood up to greet him. Weaver confirmed his appointment, signed a register and was given a triangular badge to pin to his lapel. He didn't know why he was so apprehensive about this.
From the other side of the lobby, a beautiful young redhead in a dark pantsuit came over to meet him. "Stephen Weaver? Hi. I'm Kaitlyn McEntee. Come with me, please." She lead him through swinging doors down a long corridor, the only sound the clicking of her high heels, and made a left to stop before a wooden door that had a frosted glass panel which read R & D LAB 1. The woman swiped her nametag through a slot next to the door, which opened with a buzz and a click, and ushered him into a huge high-ceilinged room which was too brightly lit for comfort.
Something that looked like a combination vacuum cleaner and motorcyle stood in the center of that lab, surrounded by scattered parts and a waist-high tool chest with drawers. Weaver could not imagine what it was. Two men wearing white smocks over their clothing were poking around inside the device.
Caitlyn McEntee pressed a finger to her lips and they both watched in silence. The older man, who had wire-rim glasses and a prominent nose, stepped back and complained, "There just isn't enough room in there for another converter, sir! I insist we must enlarge the cavity."
John Grim straightened up and clapped the older man on the shoulder. "Find a way to fit it in there, Sergei. Make some sketches. Come back to me tomorrow with a solution."
"Very well, sir. Maybe.. if I move the cables..." He walked past Weaver and McEntee without seeming to notice them. Weaver heard the man still muttering as he left the room.
John Grim turned and his eyes met Weaver's, and for the barest split-second the Black Angel felt that uneasy sensation he had been warned of. But it passed so quickly he wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it. Grim smiled and said, "Ah, right on time. Excellent. Thank you, Kaitlyn, I'll see you back at the main office before you punch out. No staying late tonight. Mr Weaver, please. Over here, have a seat."
They went to a low table in one corner that had empty styrofoam coffee cups and a scattered copy of THE NEW YORK TIMES on it, sitting down on metal folding chairs. Grim said, "So. I understand you were the sole subject of the Air Force's Black Angel Project? A powered flightsuit reportedly capable of a standing take-off and complete aerial manueverability, yet a project abruptly terminated. What would you like to tell me about it?"
Weaver took a deep breath. "You understand I am still bound by the Official Secrets Act I signed, as well as my service oath. But I have been informed by the board I report to that you are cleared for this information. Your contracts with the Defense Department give you Top Secret clearance."
"I try to help my country," Grim said.
"All right. The Black Angel suit was not powered by a jetpack or rockets or anything like that. It flew because of me." Weaver stood up again, placed his feet well apart and rose smoothly up in the air to hover at head level. "I am a highly gifted levitaph. The Black Angel rig helped me steer my flight but the lift and thrust came from me."
"Well," Grim said while staring up at the startling sight. "This is a bit of a jolt. I hadn't heard anything about this. I can verify this lab has no hidden apparatus you could be using. How are you doing that?"
"No one knows. The Air Force studied my ability for two years and got nowhere. It's still a mystery." Weaver slid back to the floor and took his seat again. "Lots of theories, of course."
John Grim peered closely at his visitor. "Now I want to run tests on you myself. Nothing against the Air Force, but I have the best scientists here from all over the world. Are you willing to be examined by them?"
"It could be arranged," Weaver said, "although I don't know how much better they'll do. But that's not why I'm here. I'm looking for a place in your Solar Knight operation. Imagine a Solar Knight who can fly by his own power in case of malfunction, who has years of experience in the air."
Grim smiled. "Tell me more."
"I am certified as a Mechanic Test Pilot, which means my time in the service was spent checking out helicopters which had been repaired after sustaining damage. I have combat experience in Desert Storm. Right now, I am on Special Reserve Status but that expires soon and I haven't decided to renew. My guess is that you would offer better pay and benefits for someone of my talent." Weaver leaned back and raised an eyebrow.
"Hm. I believe you are right. At the moment, there is only one operational Solar Knight, with twenty in construction. My pilot is a good man, he also was a helicopter pilot although he served in the Navy, but I will need more," Grim said. "And of course, there is the chance that my scientists might find out how you levitate in the first place. If your levitation can be duplicated, it would be the biggest breakthrough in modern history."
"Yeah, well, good luck with that," Weaver said. "I want to be in the Solar Knight armor, being a human guinea pig is not something I'd want to do forever."
"Of course. But I hope you understand how excited I am after seeing you levitate right in front of me. Naturally I want to find out how you do that, and as soon as possible. I'll tell you what. Today, right this minute, I want you to report to Section 11 and have the people there run some basic tests on you. Blood work, an MRI, EKG, nothing exotic. And after we have you signed up, more research on your ability while we modify a Solar Knight armor to fit you... each one is individually tailored, of course."
"Sounds good for the moment," Weaver said. "And of course, my ability is not to become public knowledge."
"Of course not. Only a few of the medical researchers will even know what they are looking for." Grim thumbed a tiny device on the inside of his lapel. "Caitlyn, where are you?"
"Standing by in the lobby," came the pleasant voice.
"Excellent. Please escort Mr Weaver to Section 11."
"Yes, sir."
John Grim stood and, as Weaver did the same, extended a hand. As the Black Angel shook it, he still felt a dreadful apprehension he couldn't dismiss. Everything seemed to be going well and yet...
IV.
At half past two, Cindy was uneasy enough that she considered contacting Bane on her Link to see what he suggested. She had finished two crossword puzzles in her magazine and she tucked it under the seat. The little blonde was still in light contact with Weaver's mind but he seemed to have gone to sleep... a slumber deep enough that he was not dreaming but only resting. This was so unlikely that she was about to go looking for him when she spotted the redhead crossing the parking lot toward her.
It was Caitlyn McEntee, she recognized the woman from the video taken at the Solar Knight demonstration. This had to be bad news. Cindy got out of the passenger seat and stood by the side of Weaver's MG, feeling that the battle was about to begin. The car was a two-seater but it had a narrow storage area behind the seats and she took her brown leather handbag from there and unbuckled its snaps. If she needed her dartgun, it would be accessible.
Stepping up to the MG, McEntee flashed a reassuring smile. "Hello. You're Cindy, right? Steven asked me to come talk with you. He's decided to stay here the rest of the day and tour the facility. He would like you to take the car home rather than wait out here in the sun, and Mr Grim will have him driven home later."
"You're lying," Cindy answered quietly. She locked eyes with McEntee, who swayed and almost fell before catching herself with one hand on the car.
"My head," said the redhaired woman. "The oddest feeling... I don't understand..."
"Like insects in your skull," Cindy whispered. "I know." She stared at the dazed woman for a silent minute and then said sharply, "Get in the car!" McEntee obeyed quietly, plopping down in the passenger seat and gazing straight ahead with those green eyes unfocussed. Cindy rushed around the car to get behind the wheel, starting it up and pulling out of the spot. Her face was taut with concentration. As they went through the exit, they passed a security guard in a booth but he made no move to interfere.
Cindy drove along an access road that led to the Parkway, and headed back toward Manhattan. She hoped she was making the right decisions here. As she reached midtown, she got to 38th Street and drove east toward Lexington, made a left and entered a deadend alley next to the KDF building. Here she turned sharply as a metal panel rose in the alley wall to reveal a ramp leading down. The young telepath was frowning at the mental effort she had to summon to drive in traffic while keeping McEntee subdued.
Pulling next to the Mustang in the small underground garage, she shut off the engine and felt she could relax her mental efforts a little. Taking her Link from her handbag, she thumbed a contact patch. "Jeremy? Come down to the garage. Trouble." Sliding out from behind the wheel, she faced Caitlyn McEntee and commanded her to get out and stand up.
The door slammed open and the Dire Wolf came through as if expecting a firefight. "Cin?"
"Jeremy, here's the situation. Stephen is back at Grim's plant. He seems sedated, I couldn't get coherent thoughts from him. This woman is Grim's assistant, you met her at that show. Her story is that Steve wants to stay at the Grim facility and I was supposed to just go about my business. But her words didn't match what she was thinking at all. This is so out of line with our procedures that I decided to take her as a bargaining chip and bring her here."
Bane stepped closer to the dazed redhead. "You've got her under mental control?"
"Yes. And it's not easy. She's fighting me and she's strong-willed."
"Got it," he said. Reaching into an inner pocket of his jacket, Bane drew out a clip for his airgun and ejected one of the anesthetic darts. He jabbed its point into the side of McEntee's neck, then caught her as she sagged in sudden unconsciousness. The Dire Wolf reached one hand under her knees and the other around her shoulders, hefted her up and carried her as easily as if she were weightless. "Len is in the conference room," he said. "Let's bring her there."
They hurried down the narrow walkway that led from the garage to the steep concrete steps up to the front hall. Bane almost ran up the stairs to the second floor and into the conference room. Leonard Slade was sitting at the long oak table, doing some maintenance work on one of their field suit helmets. He was wearing a dark jumpsuit of some tough leatherlike material, fitted with small pouches and devices; a round metal disc the size of a dinner plate was fastened between his shoulder blades. As they entered, Slade rose smoothly to his feet and seemed to immediately understand the situation. He brought over a solid wooden chair from one corner of the room and he held it as Bane lowered Caitlyn McEntee to a seated position. Her head lolled to one side.
"I guess we gave John Grim too much credit," Cindy said. "He's just another crimelord. He thinks he's above all law. We'd never see Stephen again if it was up to him."
Slade went to pick up the helmet he had been working on and clicked its assembly shut. "You plan on an exchange of prisoners."
"Yes. This woman is the closest Grim has to a friend. She knows most of his secret activities and she's his sex playmate," Cindy gave a shudder at the imagery. "I think he'll want her back. I've been digging through her memories on the way here. John Grim is responsible for a dozen deaths, he's ruined lives and he's building a paramilitary force for some future plan. He's stolen the ideas for most of his famous discoveries... the guy's a major threat."
Bane made sure McEntee was propped up securely, not tying her to the chair just yet. "How's his telepathy?"
"Low-level. I'm not sure he even knows he has it," she said. "I think he just subconsciously swipes ideas from minds he comes into contact with. He may actually think his inventions are his own."
"That includes Trom technology. He has at least one Trom in his organization, whether he knows it or not,and he has managed to steal some of our knowledge which is not meant for Human use." Slade did not sound angry or outraged, but his voice did convey determination. "This can not be allowed to
Bane said simply, "I have a plan." He pulled a first aid kit off its shelf by the door, opened it and carefully placed gauze pads over McEntee's eyes, taping them securely until he was sure she would not be able to see anything. Using the white surgical tape, he bound her wrists behind her and tugged on the tape to be certain it would hold. As he replaced the kit to its shelf, he told his partners, "We're going to tell Grim we want a simple trade."
"But of course you have something more in mind," Cindy said with a slight smile.
"Of course. Our guest here will not wake up from the dart for at least an hour yet, so I need to give her the antidote." He produced a preloaded disposable syringe and injected its contents in the redhead's forearm. "It'll still be a few minutes before she revives. Cin, dig in her memory as she wakes up. I want Grim's personal phone number."
"Sure," the blonde said. She stood next to the unconscious prisoner and gazed down. "Nothing yet."
Bane turned to Slade, "Len, you said the CORBY is checked out and ready?"
"Yes, captain. Five minutes to warm up would be sufficient."
"Good. We're going to need it. I'm going to change into my field suit, I'll be back in a minute." He spun and hurried from the room.
Five minutes passed in silence, then Cindy took a breath and leaned closer. Her eyebrows drew together. "Got it." As she stepped back, Caitlyn McEntee moaned and stirred, raising her head and panting. Suddenly, she tried to get up and dimly realized she was blindfolded and tied to a chair. The redhead was breathing heavily, on the edge of panic.
Cindy spoke quietly, "Hold still and listen. You are not in any immediate danger. We are not going to harm you. Our problem is with your boss. Lean back. Relax."
The Dire Wolf came back into the conference room, wearing the field suit with its boots, pants and waist-length jacket, all of tough black material and with an inner layer of the flexible armor. In the crook of his arm, he carried a visored helmet which he placed on the long oak table. Bane gestured at the row of three phones which sat on a stand, each with its own number, and Cindy went to dial, then handed the receiver to him. It was on speaker so everyone could hear what was said.
"Hello? Who is this?" came Grim's voice.
"I'm calling to arrange a trade," Bane said without any attempt to sound tough. "We each have something the other one wants. It's simple."
"How did you get this number? Who are you?"
"We know you are keeping a man named Stephen Weaver against his will. In exchange for him, we will give you Caitlyn McEntee."
"WHAT!" Grim yelled. "I've had everyone looking for her. By God, I'll kill all of you if anything happens to her-"
"Stop it. Here, Caitlyn, reassure your boss." He held the phone receiver toward the redhaired woman, who blurted out, "John! John, I'm okay. They haven't hurt me. I have no idea where I am, please do what they say.."
"That's enough," Bane said. "He knows you're unharmed. Well, Grim, let's discuss the meeting place."
"Wait. Let me think. Just a minute."
The Dire Wolf's voice grew slightly mocking. "You're not thinking that Weaver's ability might be worth more than Caitlyn's return, are you?"
"No, of course not," Grim answered without conviction. "It's just, how can I trust you?"
"Believe me, we are more deserving of trust than you are. We know what you've been up to. We know what the Solar Knights are really for. Bring the man Weaver to the south shore of Long Island tonight. Twenty miles past the town of Flinders, there's a long stretch of beach. Right at midnight. See you then."
As he hung up, Bane said to McEntee, "Your boss didn't seem too sure he wanted to trade for you, lady."
"He'll take care of you. All of you! You'll be sorry you started this," she spat.
"You're the ones who abducted Stephen Weaver," Bane said coldly. "I'm sure Grim's team is running test after test to see if they can duplicate his flying power. Grim wasn't going to ever release him without learning that secret. And you're in on it. You're as bad as he is." He came closer. "But we'll treat you humanely. You can eat if you want, you can use the bathroom if you need to. You might as well settle back for a wait. It's six hours till midnight."
V.
At eight, the three KDF members had eaten mafalda pasta in parmesan sauce which had been prepared early in the day, along with hot buttered Italian bread. Slade normally was on a planned dietary regimen but he made exceptions during a case, where eating with his partners was a social bond. After McEntee smelled the aroma, she decided to accept a plate and her hands were unbound to allow her to eat. Still blindfolded, the redhead used the bathroom across the hall under Cindy's custody and then returned to her chair. She had not spoken more than a few words.
The hours dragged. Slade was always busy maintaining the tech in the building, as well as his own research in his rooms on the seventh floor. Cindy took a two hour nap, showered and put on her own field suit. But Bane did not want to get far from the phones in case John Grim called, so he remained in the conference room. He started filing reports, adding comments to notes taken on earlier cases, doing inventory. Finally, eleven o'clock came. Bane injected Caitlyn McEntee without warning her, then explained it was a mild sedative to keep her from causing trouble during the exchange. She told him sharply that it was a felony to administer drugs to anyone without permission, especially those which would require a doctor's authorization.
"That's funny coming from you," he snapped. "Your group has Weaver knocked out by now and hooked up to a dozen diagnostic machines. He went there looking for a job, not to be dissected."
McEntee turned her head away and said nothing. Her eyes were still bandaged. Bane sliced the tape holding her to the chair with one of his daggers and lifted her to her feet. "Well, in any case, we're taking you to your boss now. If he plays it straight, you'll be back home safe tonight."
"Who ARE you people?" she demanded suddenly.
"You'll find out soon enough," Bane replied. "And so will John Grim." He marched her out of the room and into the elevator across the hall. They rode up to the ninth floor, but then had to walk up short concrete steps to the hangar, since it had been created by erecting walls and a sliding panel over the original roof. Most of the hangar was taken up by the CORBY, a sleek stealth jetcopter. Solid black with no identifying numbers or logos, the CORBY had been rebuilt over the years using Trom technology until nothing built by Humans could match it. The rotors were slowly turning, and Cindy Brunner could be seen in the pilot seat.
The hatch behind the cabin was open, and from within Leonard Slade reached out to pick Caitlyn McEntee off the floor and placed her on the bench next to him. He did it with an ease that hinted at the superhuman strength in his body. The Trom pulled the hatch shut and it sealed with a hiss. Walking around to the co-pilot hatch, Bane swung up into the seat and pulled that hatch shut as well. The interior was pressurized and climate controlled. Strapping himself in, the Dire Wolf glanced over at Cindy and said, "Good to go."
"Wheels up in thirty seconds," she replied. The CORBY rose smoothly up to chest height. "Landing gear retracted. Roof panel opening." The little blonde pulled back on the collective stick. "In flight, captain."
Below them, the segmented roof panel closed again automatically. Almost invisible in the night sky, a black helicopter with no external lights rose straight up out of normal traffic patterns and swung around to head south. Cindy kept the CORBY at a cruising speed of just over one hundred miles per hour. Beside her, Bane made a constant round of the various dials and gauges that glowed with pastel greens and blues in the dark interior. Because of their advanced design and computer assist, the CORBYs were much easier to fly than regular helicopters were. They sped through the night in nearly complete silence, just a dark blur against the dark sky.
As they passed over the town of Flinders on the coast of Long Island, Cindy slowed the CORBY to just thirty mph and gave Bane a quizzical look. He peered down through the windscreen with its light enhancing function that made the ground below stand out as sharply as if in bright daylight. "There's the strip. No one in sight yet. Land by those trees and taxi back under them."
"Got it," she said and brought the craft down to a soft landing, the landing wheels lowering beneath them as they gently touched the rocky shore, facing a cluster of trees. It was cold at night this early in March, and the beach was deserted. As the rotors slowed, she backed the CORBY into the shadows of the trees where it would not be easily spotted. Cindy brought systems down to minimum and released the stick with a sigh.
"I want you to remain in the cabin," Bane said. "Be ready for a getaway or to engage an enemy. But your main task is to deflect and protect us from any probing."
"Understood," she replied. She realized Bane was choosing his words carefully, to not give away to McEntee that they knew Grim was a telepath. None of them had addressed each other by name since McEntee had been taken prisoner. Cindy remained strapped in the pilot seat as Bane unfastened his own restraints and hopped out onto the ground.
Slade handed McEntee over to the Dire Wolf, who said, "The moment of truth is coming up. Frankly, I don't trust your boss to do the right thing but we'll see. Come on." With Slade behind them, he walked the redhead further up the coast, stopping where he could see a dirt trail leading down a slope where the road was. To their left, Long Island Sound lapped up on the small rounded rocks. It was a dark night but both KDF members had the visors down on their helmets and the light enhancers showed their surroundings vividly.
Staying fifty yards away from where the trail met the shore, Bane removed the bandages from McEntee's eyes. She did not react at once, letting her eyes adjust before slowly turning around to take in the scene. Then she regarded Bane and Slade warily. "Nice," she said. "With those helmets and the visors, I still can't identify you."
"Just as well," Bane told her. "There are things you're better off not knowing." He broke off as headlights approached down the trail and a black van rolled to a stop facing them. The headlights remained on, as a man in a white lab smock stepped out of the passenger door and stood staring at them.
For an instant, Bane felt that unmistakable crawling sensation in his head. The Spiders of the Mind, that must be Grim himself. But the feeling ended almost at once and he knew Cindy was diverting the telepathic probe from Grim harmlessly.
"Caitlyn? Is that you?" called the billionaire industrialist and international criminal.
"Yes, John," she yelled back. "I'm okay."
"You! Whoever you are. I have Weaver here. Let Caitlyn start walking towards me and I'll do the same with Weaver." Grim opened the back door of the van and the Black Angel climbed unsteadily out. He was wearing only pants and an unbuttoned shirt. As Grim gave him a rough shove, Weaver began walking toward where Bane and the others stood. He seemed confused and uncertain.
The Dire Wolf pressed his hand against McEntee's back. "Get going. Walk slowly, you two must meet halfway across for this to work." The redhead gave him a caustic glare and started striding along the beach toward where the van and John Grim waited. The next few minutes were tense and silent. The two hostages passed each other at the mid-point without seeming to notice each other. Soon, McEntee reached Grim, who examined her anxiously and rushed her into the back of the van.
As Weaver drew near, Bane jumped to meet him. "Steve? Are you all right? You seem dazed."
"Captain?" Black Angel answered. "I..I'm not sure what's going on here. Give me a hand."
Bane put an arm around his friend and started helping him walk. Drugged or in shock, he thought angrily. "Len! Take over the confrontation," he said. "I'm getting Steve back to the CORBY."
"Acknowledged," replied the Trom with an unusual emphasis in his normally placid voice. He unclipped a metal device the size of a deck of cards and clicked a rectangular cartridge into it, holding it like a weapon. "John Grim! You possess technology which is not lawfully yours. You must surrender it now to avoid consequences."
"What?" Grim laughed. "You can't be serious. Who are you to tell me to give up my discoveries?"
Slade began striding determinedly toward where the van stood with its headlights shining directly at him. "You are deluding yourself if you believe you have made advances centuries ahead of everyone else. Your so-called inventions are not truly yours but are stolen."
"You're crazy! Stay where you are. Stop right there, I'm warning you."
The Trom did not pause, walking steadily along the beach. Overhead came a roar of engines and a blinding white light as the Solar Knight plummeted out of the black sky directly at him.
VII.
Getting Weaver up into the rear hatch of the CORBY, Bane took his pulse and found it strong. From a pocket, he drew out two tagra lozenges in foil, got them unwrapped and popped them in the Black Angel's mouth. "Hang in there, Steve. Cindy's right up in the pilot seat. Len and I will get you home as soon as we settle with John Grim."
"You're back with your friends," Cindy said, turning around to face him in the rear compartment.
"Glad to see you guys," Weaver managed to say, getting into a seated position against the metal wall behind him. "I've had an awful day..."
"Be right back," Bane said, closing the hatch and wheeling around to run back to the meeting. He looked up at a flare of brilliance and realized it was the Solar Knight roaring down out of the sky. Grim brought some back-up, he thought sourly.
The confrontation between the Trom Monitor and the Solar Knight was brief and brutally anticlimactic. When the armored man was forty feet overhead, Slade raised his beam projector and clicked its trigger twice, and the Solar Knight fell straight down to hit with a loud metallic crash. The golden figure rolled up on its knees and raised an arm in a threatening gesture. On the back of the gauntlet, a circular lense slid up and glowed bright red.
Slade made an adjustment on his device and clicked it again. The Knight's lense faded and the armored man froze in place. Then, resisting but losing against the weight of the suit, the man slumped to the rocky ground and was still. The Trom knelt over him and opened a panel in the back of the Solar Knight armor to throw the power switch off. As he rose, two bullets ricocheted off his suit, knocking him off-balance but doing no harm.
John Grim held a 9mm automatic at full extension. "How did you do that? Never mind. It doesn't matter. Get away from him, I'm taking him to the plant and restoring him. He's the first of my army of Solar Knights. Get back, I tell you."
"You are wrong about almost everything," Slade replied calmly. "and you are a fraud. I see that the rockets in this suit's boots and backpack do not propel it. It's the stolen gravity shield technology which enables the Solar Knight to fly. You have not been able to duplicate it. I claim the property of my people here and now."
Grim fired again, and the bullet glanced off Slade's helmet without leaving a mark. "No. You're wrong. You just don't appreciate my genius," but as Grim said that, a strong hand seized his shoulder and yanked him around into a savage left hook that dropped him senseless to the ground. Jeremy Bane lowered his fist and nodded over at Slade, "There's no use arguing with guys like this, Len. He'll never admit he's wrong."
"If you say so," Slade replied, beginning to remove part of the Solar Knight back assembly. "You understand Human psychology better than I do."
The Dire Wolf checked Grim. "He should come out of it in a few minutes. I could have hit him a lot harder, maybe I should have." He rose and noticed Caitlyn McEntee hiding behind the van. "And what should we do about you?"
The redheaded woman stood up straight, squared her shoulders and faced him. "I can see there's no point in trying to run from you guys. I don't know what you are. Some kind of Delta Force or Navy SEALS? Department 21 Black? The Mandate? Whatever, you boys are too much for me to deal with. I might as well stand here and take it."
Bane made a noise that was almost a laugh. "Now, that's sensible. All right. Get in the van. We're going to strip the Solar Knight armor and reclaim it. Its design was stolen, as my friend mentioned. When Grim wakes up, he's going to have a sore jaw and a bad attitude. You can take him and the joker who was in the armor back with you, if you want. But tell John Grim this. He needs to keep those spiders of the mind to himself. He'll know what that means. He'd better not cross our paths again."
6/7/2014
3/2- 3/5/1982
I.
Two dozen reporters chatted and gossiped and ate as much as they could shovel down from the buffet table. They represented everything from the WASHINGTON POST to POPULAR SCIENCE to UPI, and there were several present from obscure small-run technical journals. Most had hand-held tape recorders and a few carried cameras with big round flashbulbs in old-fashioned vertical attachments. The reporters seemed perfectly content to stand and talk and eat, even after forty minutes had gone by with no sign of their host. Only one man in black remained silent toward the back, keeping to himself and watching somberly.
The presentation room was huge and airy, with the floor space kept clear. Only a few folding chairs stood against one wall. Under a huge skylight that let in the afternoon sunshine, a knee-high raised area held a podium and two seats. Set in the wall behind it were two wide metal doors marked NO ADMITTANCE.
Finishing a paper plate of macaroni salad, olives and sliced ham, Jeremy Bane dumped the plate in a bin and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He looked even more grim than usual. At six feet even and one hundred and seventy pounds, the Dire Wolf had a gaunt appearance that suited his war name. As always, he was dressed all in black- slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, but a rectangular name tag was pinned to his left lapel that read KENNETH DRED FOUNDATION.
A stout man with a grizzled beard sipped some ice water and came over. He was wearing a suit and tie that fit poorly, as evidently he had lost some weight recently, and his name tag read NY DAILY RECORD. "Long wait," he announced quietly. "I'd heard Grim was always late for everything."
Bane gave him an unfriendly glance, but tried to be polite. "Yes. John Grim always has too many projects underway at the same time."
"Kenneth Dred Foundation, eh? I don't think I've heard of you guys before."
The Dire Wolf's first reaction would have been to tell the reporter to get lost, but he was making an effort to learn patience and basic courtesy. Since he had formed his team of Tel Shai knights, he had found how important this was, and Cindy had been working to smooth out his naturally abrasive nature. "We're a nonprofit research organization," he told the reporter. "Mostly we disprove sightings of paranormal events."
"Oh? Glad to hear that. We need more skeptics in journalism. But what does that have to do with John Grim Enterprises?"
Bane turned his pale grey eyes on the reporter, who gave a slight start. Those eyes under their heavy black brows were startlingly intense. "We also investigate scientific claims that seem too good to be true."
The man grinned. "Sounds juicy. Are you telling me that great John Grim might be making exaggerated claims? Maybe some of his super-astounding inventions don't live up to the hype his publicity machine cranks out?"
"I'm just here to observe," said the Dire Wolf and started to turn back to the buffet table. An excited murmur running through the crowd made him snap his head around. From one of the doors at the rear of the stage, a gorgeous young woman in a lilac-colored dress had emerged and was strutting up to the podium. All eyes were on her. She looked to be in her early twenties, slim rather than voluptuous, with great legs showing beneath the short skirt. The woman had light brown hair with just enough red highlights, bright green eyes in an inquisitive face, and a friendly smile. As all the reporters drew closer and stared, she tapped the microphone.
"Hello. Hello? Is this thing on?" she said with a grin. "Good afternoon, everyone. For those who don't know me, my name is Caitlyn McEntee and I'm Mr Grim's personal aide. Welcome to today's presentation. Sorry we're running a little late, but well, we're running a little late. Mr Grim will be out in a few seconds but I wanted to make sure everyone is set. To be honest, every demonstration from our company seems to be remarkable but I believe today's will be exceptional even by our standards."
Unnoticed by anyone, the Dire Wolf had taken from his belt a metal device the size of a cigarette pack, pressed two buttons on it and started recording the presentation. The Link was a Trom device crafted for the KDF by Leonard Slade, more advanced than anything Humans could match.
As Caitlyn spoke, the door behind her opened again and John Grim himself strode quickly across the stage. The famous inventor and industrialist stood a little over six feet tall, fit and athletic looking in a well-tailored tan suit and a brown tie, with a white lab smock over it. Grim had blond hair the color of straw, a bit long and untidy as if due for a barber. His face was regular and unremarkable except for the dark blue eyes that seemed to never stop moving about, taking everything in, judging and analyzing. Nodding as Caitlyn stepped to one side, Grim took the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, welcome. First, I want to stress that what you are about to witness is a prototype. It will not be ready to go into production for months, perhaps years, as refinements need to be made and inevitable bugs are found and corrected. You are witnessing something that will revolutionize every field of science, which will have applications in everything from exploration to rescue work to peacekeeping." He pressed a switch on the podium and behind him the great skylight rolled open to let in air.
Alone among the crowd, Jeremy Bane did not seem excited or eager. He was giving Grim the level deadly gaze a predator fixes on its prey.
"I gave you, the first of the Solar Knights!" Grim announced. Through the open skylight, a golden armored figure came down with brilliant light flaring from its boots and down from a cylinder on its back. It landed rather hard, with a thump and a sound of wood cracking beneath the impact but stood erect easily and faced the stunned crowd.
The Solar Knight looked something like a medieval knight in full plate armor and something like a 1950s sci-fi robot. The gold-colored metal was highly burnished and reflected light with dazzling effect. Beneath that armor, nothing could be seen of the man presumably inside; the flat faceplate's only feature was a pair of eyeslits which were lit from within. Standing close to seven feet tall, wide enough to fill a doorway, the Knight regarded the crowd with its expressionless mask.
Naturally, every reporter was talking at the same time, and Grim held up his hands for silence. "Quiet. Quiet, please. Your questions will be taken in a minute. Let me just say that the Solar Knights are the most ambitious project yet by my team. You are looking at a powered exoskeleton, capable of surviving point-blank rifle fire or the heat of a blast furnace without sustaining damage. Its power source is primarily stored solar energy although it does carry an array of high-density batteries as back-up. The Knight's flight capacity and range must remain classified for the moment, but believe me when I say TWA need not fear any competition." A nervous round of laughter ran through the reporters at this.
"As you can imagine," Grim continued, "A fleet of these Knights will be invaluable in many crises. Children lost in the Rocky Mountains? People trapped on the roof of a burning building? A psychotic with a rifle shooting at traffic from a 20 story window? Medical supplies need to be delivered during a blizzard? Specialized Solar Knights will be able to handle these emergencies and many more. But I want to stress right now there will be no military applications. These Knights will not become weapons of war."
Scattered applause greeted that last sentence, and John Grim paused. "Regretfully, I must get back to work now. There are other projects just as revolutionary under way which require my attention. But a few of you will be permitted to come up and examine the Solar Knight at close range.."
"Is that safe?" blurted a voice from the crowd.
Grim smiled slightly. "Of course. Inside this armor is a former test pilot for the US Navy, Colonel William Kearney. Bill?"
"Hello everyone," came an amplified voice from the golden helmet. "It's okay, I don't bite."
Relieved laughter came from the reporters again, and Grim waved farewell. "I leave you with the very capable Caitlyn McEntee." The famous scientist turned to leave but paused for the barest instant. He seemed to seek out one face in the crowd. For a split-second, the eyes of John Grim and Jeremy Bane locked across the distance between them. Then Grim rushed from the presentation room, closing the door as Caitlyn started picking out reporters to ask their barrage of questions.
Silent, Bane stood frowning at the back of the crowd. He had worked for years with gifted telepaths, first Katherine Wheatley and then Cindy Brunner. He recognized the feeling you experienced when another consciousness first reached into your awareness from outside. Until you got used to it, it felt very much like tiny insects crawling around inside your skull. Spiders of the mind.
II.
"John Grim is a telepath?" Cindy Brunner seemed mortally offended. "Well, I never would have thought so." The little blonde put the backs of her hands on her hips and tapped one foot. "Imagine that."
Standing in the doorway to the conference room, Bane regarded her with amusement. On the drive back from Flushing, he had tried to figure what her reaction would be and had decided she would likely be annoyed at the idea of someone under suspicion turning out to be a telepath like herself. As if she belonged to some exclusive club that wanted to keep riff-raff out. He was slightly pleased at guessing correctly, because he seldom predicted her reactions right.
At twenty-four, Cindy was an immensely appealing young woman, just over five feet tall and just under one hundred pounds, with narrow hips and breasts just a bit large for her frame. Her dark blonde hair was tied back in a thick ponytail, her large blue eyes stood out vividly in an inquisitive freckled face. Now she dropped the frown from that face and smiled wryly at Bane. "He only contacted you for a second, you said?"
"Not more than a full second," he answered. The Dire Wolf went over to the long oak table that took up much of the conference room and tossed the bundle of mail on its surface. "He looked up straight up at me and kept moving without a pause. But I absolutely had that feeling I get when telepathic contact is first made, like insects running around inside my skull."
"Yeah, 'spiders of the mind.' Not the most flattering phrase." She pulled out a chair and dropped down next to the table. "I don't think he could have pulled anything significant from your memory that quick, especially across a room. Even Christopher Lincoln couldn't do that. My bet is he just targeted you so he could recognize your thought waves if you ever met again."
"Why is he interested in me in the first place?" Bane asked as he sat down next to her. "I got that invitation to the showing of the Solar Knight, or rather the KDF did. But we are not that well known as a research group. Grim knows something about us. All my instincts are warning me."
"Your instincts are usually right on target. I'd pay attention to them," she said.
In the doorway, Leonard Slade silently appeared. The Trom Monitor unzipped his light blue coveralls down to the waist, revealing the white dress shirt underneath. Slade had as usual only a calm, self-possessed expression on his handsome olive-skinned face. His short black hair was neat as a skullcap, and in general he was immaculate despite the fact he had been doing maintenance work on a helicopter the past three hours.
"The CORBY is fully checked and tuned," he announced in his subdued tone. "With a five minute warmup, she can leave whenever needed." The Trom examined their faces. "You both show signs of excitement and elevated adrenalin."
Bane said, "Have a seat, Len. I'm not sure but I think we might be starting a new case." As concisely as he could, the Dire Wolf explained what had happened that afternoon at the Solar Knight presentation and Grim's apparent telepathic contact.
The Trom picked up a remote control from the table, aimed it at the 17" monitor screen on the wall behind them and lit it up. "Let me see your Link, Jeremy." As Bane handed the device over, Slade set its controls and the recorded video of that afternoon's events played on the screen. They watched as Caitlyn McEntee stepped up to the microphone again...
When the short video concluded, Slade turned the screen off and returned the Link to Bane. "It is good you recorded that, captain," he said. Was there the slightest unprecedented tinge of emotion in his voice? "I conclude that John Grim's so-called Solar Knight armor utilizes stolen Trom technology."
"What? I didn't think that was possible," Bane said.
"It should not be possible. Yet there it is. I see in that armor knowledge beyond what Human society contains at this point. Somehow John Grim has done this."
Cindy cut in, "Jeremy felt John Grim contact his mind for an instant. He's a telepath."
"We Trom have a limited number working alongside Human scientists. Mostly we act as mere observers but when appropriate, a Trom will nudge Human researchers past a stalling point or point out a way an obstacle might be resolved. It seems likely that Grim has come in contact with one of my Race and learned through that Trom's mind what is not meant to be shared yet." Leonard Slade was less than his normal placid self, he seemed almost to be showing feelings as he seldom did.
"Len..." Cindy asked. "Just how many Trom ARE there among us Humans?"
"I am not authorized to reveal that. I may tell you the number is quite small and widely dispersed." He leaned forward toward his teammates. "In unauthorized hands, Trom technology is a threat to society. Even well-meaning ethical researchers might misuse my Race's knowledge, and I have doubts about the intentions of John Grim."
Bane shot to his feet. Sitting still was an effort for him at the best of times, and now he was excited. "Oh yes. There have been shady rumors about Grim for the past year. Nothing the authorities can act on, especially with Grim's squad of high-priced lawyers on guard. But I've had my eye on him." The Dire Wolf paused, then added, "And today I think we learned he knows this. His staff invited the KDF to the demonstration so he could size me up."
Cindy and Slade also got to their feet and watched as Bane began to pace. "Does he know we have a Trom as a member? Len, you're a Monitor. You've said you know more secrets of your people than the average Trom, if there is such a thing. And your operations suit is packed with gadgets. You've only shared a few of them with us. If Grim got hold of you, or got possession of your gizmos..."
"This must not happen. An unscrupulous Human with Trom technology could build weapons no nation on Earth could defy. A world war would ensue with unprecedented loss of life." Slade watched his two partners thoughtfully. "Grim's telepathy is the final complication."
"Why? What do you mean?"
Slade hesitated almost inperceptibly. It was alarming to see him not at his normal unbreakable calm. "We do not even have a theory how telepathy works. A tentative hypothesis is that a telepathic mind taps the gralic force to establish communication with other minds, but we have no way to verify or disprove this. Telepathy remains a mystery."
"Good," Cindy put in. "I think some things should remain a mystery."
"The point is that I have no defense against a telepathic intrusion," said Slade. "Grim could possibly pick my memory for any information he wants and I could not stop him. My plan to confront him must be abandoned."
"Well, don't forget we do have an ace. Someone who can meet him on his own terms." She pressed a thumb to her own chest. "Me."
IV.
At just before noon two days later, a red MG convertible pulled into a spot in the parking lot of the John Grim plant in Flushing. Stephen Weaver glanced around and said, "This matches the stub the guard gave us at the front gate. Section 3, slot 19. They even tell you where to park in this place." Weaver was an American black man in his early thirties, lanky, with short hair and a thick mustache. He had shaved closely just an hour earlier and was wearing his best suit.. black with thin blue lines, a powder blue shirt and red tie. As he turned the engine off, he shook his head. "How big is this place anyway? I'm gonna get lost trying to get back on the Grand Central Parkway."
In the seat beside him, Cindy Brunner chuckled and undid the scarf that had kept her hair in place during the ride. She was also dressed more conservatively than usual, in a sleeveless white dress that buttoned down the front. "You can always pull over and fly up to get your bearings."
"Hah. Listen, Cin, do you want to come in with me and provide moral support?"
"Not the plan," she replied lightly. "I stay here and shield you at a distance from Grim's mind-picking. This way, he doesn't know about me."
Weaver unbuckled his seat belt and reluctantly got out. He left the keys in the ignition. "I suppose. If he does start poking around in my brain, at least I know what to watch for. Jeremy said it feels like bugs inside your skull. Spiders of the mind."
"I'm getting to dislike that phrase," she said. "We telepaths are so misunderstood."
The Black Angel closed his door and waved a casual hand to her as he started heading toward the nearest building. A sign on a pole said RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT 3. When he drew near the double glass doors, they slid open automatically and he stepped into a lobby that was almost chilly. Behind a counter, a bulky security guard stood up to greet him. Weaver confirmed his appointment, signed a register and was given a triangular badge to pin to his lapel. He didn't know why he was so apprehensive about this.
From the other side of the lobby, a beautiful young redhead in a dark pantsuit came over to meet him. "Stephen Weaver? Hi. I'm Kaitlyn McEntee. Come with me, please." She lead him through swinging doors down a long corridor, the only sound the clicking of her high heels, and made a left to stop before a wooden door that had a frosted glass panel which read R & D LAB 1. The woman swiped her nametag through a slot next to the door, which opened with a buzz and a click, and ushered him into a huge high-ceilinged room which was too brightly lit for comfort.
Something that looked like a combination vacuum cleaner and motorcyle stood in the center of that lab, surrounded by scattered parts and a waist-high tool chest with drawers. Weaver could not imagine what it was. Two men wearing white smocks over their clothing were poking around inside the device.
Caitlyn McEntee pressed a finger to her lips and they both watched in silence. The older man, who had wire-rim glasses and a prominent nose, stepped back and complained, "There just isn't enough room in there for another converter, sir! I insist we must enlarge the cavity."
John Grim straightened up and clapped the older man on the shoulder. "Find a way to fit it in there, Sergei. Make some sketches. Come back to me tomorrow with a solution."
"Very well, sir. Maybe.. if I move the cables..." He walked past Weaver and McEntee without seeming to notice them. Weaver heard the man still muttering as he left the room.
John Grim turned and his eyes met Weaver's, and for the barest split-second the Black Angel felt that uneasy sensation he had been warned of. But it passed so quickly he wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it. Grim smiled and said, "Ah, right on time. Excellent. Thank you, Kaitlyn, I'll see you back at the main office before you punch out. No staying late tonight. Mr Weaver, please. Over here, have a seat."
They went to a low table in one corner that had empty styrofoam coffee cups and a scattered copy of THE NEW YORK TIMES on it, sitting down on metal folding chairs. Grim said, "So. I understand you were the sole subject of the Air Force's Black Angel Project? A powered flightsuit reportedly capable of a standing take-off and complete aerial manueverability, yet a project abruptly terminated. What would you like to tell me about it?"
Weaver took a deep breath. "You understand I am still bound by the Official Secrets Act I signed, as well as my service oath. But I have been informed by the board I report to that you are cleared for this information. Your contracts with the Defense Department give you Top Secret clearance."
"I try to help my country," Grim said.
"All right. The Black Angel suit was not powered by a jetpack or rockets or anything like that. It flew because of me." Weaver stood up again, placed his feet well apart and rose smoothly up in the air to hover at head level. "I am a highly gifted levitaph. The Black Angel rig helped me steer my flight but the lift and thrust came from me."
"Well," Grim said while staring up at the startling sight. "This is a bit of a jolt. I hadn't heard anything about this. I can verify this lab has no hidden apparatus you could be using. How are you doing that?"
"No one knows. The Air Force studied my ability for two years and got nowhere. It's still a mystery." Weaver slid back to the floor and took his seat again. "Lots of theories, of course."
John Grim peered closely at his visitor. "Now I want to run tests on you myself. Nothing against the Air Force, but I have the best scientists here from all over the world. Are you willing to be examined by them?"
"It could be arranged," Weaver said, "although I don't know how much better they'll do. But that's not why I'm here. I'm looking for a place in your Solar Knight operation. Imagine a Solar Knight who can fly by his own power in case of malfunction, who has years of experience in the air."
Grim smiled. "Tell me more."
"I am certified as a Mechanic Test Pilot, which means my time in the service was spent checking out helicopters which had been repaired after sustaining damage. I have combat experience in Desert Storm. Right now, I am on Special Reserve Status but that expires soon and I haven't decided to renew. My guess is that you would offer better pay and benefits for someone of my talent." Weaver leaned back and raised an eyebrow.
"Hm. I believe you are right. At the moment, there is only one operational Solar Knight, with twenty in construction. My pilot is a good man, he also was a helicopter pilot although he served in the Navy, but I will need more," Grim said. "And of course, there is the chance that my scientists might find out how you levitate in the first place. If your levitation can be duplicated, it would be the biggest breakthrough in modern history."
"Yeah, well, good luck with that," Weaver said. "I want to be in the Solar Knight armor, being a human guinea pig is not something I'd want to do forever."
"Of course. But I hope you understand how excited I am after seeing you levitate right in front of me. Naturally I want to find out how you do that, and as soon as possible. I'll tell you what. Today, right this minute, I want you to report to Section 11 and have the people there run some basic tests on you. Blood work, an MRI, EKG, nothing exotic. And after we have you signed up, more research on your ability while we modify a Solar Knight armor to fit you... each one is individually tailored, of course."
"Sounds good for the moment," Weaver said. "And of course, my ability is not to become public knowledge."
"Of course not. Only a few of the medical researchers will even know what they are looking for." Grim thumbed a tiny device on the inside of his lapel. "Caitlyn, where are you?"
"Standing by in the lobby," came the pleasant voice.
"Excellent. Please escort Mr Weaver to Section 11."
"Yes, sir."
John Grim stood and, as Weaver did the same, extended a hand. As the Black Angel shook it, he still felt a dreadful apprehension he couldn't dismiss. Everything seemed to be going well and yet...
IV.
At half past two, Cindy was uneasy enough that she considered contacting Bane on her Link to see what he suggested. She had finished two crossword puzzles in her magazine and she tucked it under the seat. The little blonde was still in light contact with Weaver's mind but he seemed to have gone to sleep... a slumber deep enough that he was not dreaming but only resting. This was so unlikely that she was about to go looking for him when she spotted the redhead crossing the parking lot toward her.
It was Caitlyn McEntee, she recognized the woman from the video taken at the Solar Knight demonstration. This had to be bad news. Cindy got out of the passenger seat and stood by the side of Weaver's MG, feeling that the battle was about to begin. The car was a two-seater but it had a narrow storage area behind the seats and she took her brown leather handbag from there and unbuckled its snaps. If she needed her dartgun, it would be accessible.
Stepping up to the MG, McEntee flashed a reassuring smile. "Hello. You're Cindy, right? Steven asked me to come talk with you. He's decided to stay here the rest of the day and tour the facility. He would like you to take the car home rather than wait out here in the sun, and Mr Grim will have him driven home later."
"You're lying," Cindy answered quietly. She locked eyes with McEntee, who swayed and almost fell before catching herself with one hand on the car.
"My head," said the redhaired woman. "The oddest feeling... I don't understand..."
"Like insects in your skull," Cindy whispered. "I know." She stared at the dazed woman for a silent minute and then said sharply, "Get in the car!" McEntee obeyed quietly, plopping down in the passenger seat and gazing straight ahead with those green eyes unfocussed. Cindy rushed around the car to get behind the wheel, starting it up and pulling out of the spot. Her face was taut with concentration. As they went through the exit, they passed a security guard in a booth but he made no move to interfere.
Cindy drove along an access road that led to the Parkway, and headed back toward Manhattan. She hoped she was making the right decisions here. As she reached midtown, she got to 38th Street and drove east toward Lexington, made a left and entered a deadend alley next to the KDF building. Here she turned sharply as a metal panel rose in the alley wall to reveal a ramp leading down. The young telepath was frowning at the mental effort she had to summon to drive in traffic while keeping McEntee subdued.
Pulling next to the Mustang in the small underground garage, she shut off the engine and felt she could relax her mental efforts a little. Taking her Link from her handbag, she thumbed a contact patch. "Jeremy? Come down to the garage. Trouble." Sliding out from behind the wheel, she faced Caitlyn McEntee and commanded her to get out and stand up.
The door slammed open and the Dire Wolf came through as if expecting a firefight. "Cin?"
"Jeremy, here's the situation. Stephen is back at Grim's plant. He seems sedated, I couldn't get coherent thoughts from him. This woman is Grim's assistant, you met her at that show. Her story is that Steve wants to stay at the Grim facility and I was supposed to just go about my business. But her words didn't match what she was thinking at all. This is so out of line with our procedures that I decided to take her as a bargaining chip and bring her here."
Bane stepped closer to the dazed redhead. "You've got her under mental control?"
"Yes. And it's not easy. She's fighting me and she's strong-willed."
"Got it," he said. Reaching into an inner pocket of his jacket, Bane drew out a clip for his airgun and ejected one of the anesthetic darts. He jabbed its point into the side of McEntee's neck, then caught her as she sagged in sudden unconsciousness. The Dire Wolf reached one hand under her knees and the other around her shoulders, hefted her up and carried her as easily as if she were weightless. "Len is in the conference room," he said. "Let's bring her there."
They hurried down the narrow walkway that led from the garage to the steep concrete steps up to the front hall. Bane almost ran up the stairs to the second floor and into the conference room. Leonard Slade was sitting at the long oak table, doing some maintenance work on one of their field suit helmets. He was wearing a dark jumpsuit of some tough leatherlike material, fitted with small pouches and devices; a round metal disc the size of a dinner plate was fastened between his shoulder blades. As they entered, Slade rose smoothly to his feet and seemed to immediately understand the situation. He brought over a solid wooden chair from one corner of the room and he held it as Bane lowered Caitlyn McEntee to a seated position. Her head lolled to one side.
"I guess we gave John Grim too much credit," Cindy said. "He's just another crimelord. He thinks he's above all law. We'd never see Stephen again if it was up to him."
Slade went to pick up the helmet he had been working on and clicked its assembly shut. "You plan on an exchange of prisoners."
"Yes. This woman is the closest Grim has to a friend. She knows most of his secret activities and she's his sex playmate," Cindy gave a shudder at the imagery. "I think he'll want her back. I've been digging through her memories on the way here. John Grim is responsible for a dozen deaths, he's ruined lives and he's building a paramilitary force for some future plan. He's stolen the ideas for most of his famous discoveries... the guy's a major threat."
Bane made sure McEntee was propped up securely, not tying her to the chair just yet. "How's his telepathy?"
"Low-level. I'm not sure he even knows he has it," she said. "I think he just subconsciously swipes ideas from minds he comes into contact with. He may actually think his inventions are his own."
"That includes Trom technology. He has at least one Trom in his organization, whether he knows it or not,and he has managed to steal some of our knowledge which is not meant for Human use." Slade did not sound angry or outraged, but his voice did convey determination. "This can not be allowed to
Bane said simply, "I have a plan." He pulled a first aid kit off its shelf by the door, opened it and carefully placed gauze pads over McEntee's eyes, taping them securely until he was sure she would not be able to see anything. Using the white surgical tape, he bound her wrists behind her and tugged on the tape to be certain it would hold. As he replaced the kit to its shelf, he told his partners, "We're going to tell Grim we want a simple trade."
"But of course you have something more in mind," Cindy said with a slight smile.
"Of course. Our guest here will not wake up from the dart for at least an hour yet, so I need to give her the antidote." He produced a preloaded disposable syringe and injected its contents in the redhead's forearm. "It'll still be a few minutes before she revives. Cin, dig in her memory as she wakes up. I want Grim's personal phone number."
"Sure," the blonde said. She stood next to the unconscious prisoner and gazed down. "Nothing yet."
Bane turned to Slade, "Len, you said the CORBY is checked out and ready?"
"Yes, captain. Five minutes to warm up would be sufficient."
"Good. We're going to need it. I'm going to change into my field suit, I'll be back in a minute." He spun and hurried from the room.
Five minutes passed in silence, then Cindy took a breath and leaned closer. Her eyebrows drew together. "Got it." As she stepped back, Caitlyn McEntee moaned and stirred, raising her head and panting. Suddenly, she tried to get up and dimly realized she was blindfolded and tied to a chair. The redhead was breathing heavily, on the edge of panic.
Cindy spoke quietly, "Hold still and listen. You are not in any immediate danger. We are not going to harm you. Our problem is with your boss. Lean back. Relax."
The Dire Wolf came back into the conference room, wearing the field suit with its boots, pants and waist-length jacket, all of tough black material and with an inner layer of the flexible armor. In the crook of his arm, he carried a visored helmet which he placed on the long oak table. Bane gestured at the row of three phones which sat on a stand, each with its own number, and Cindy went to dial, then handed the receiver to him. It was on speaker so everyone could hear what was said.
"Hello? Who is this?" came Grim's voice.
"I'm calling to arrange a trade," Bane said without any attempt to sound tough. "We each have something the other one wants. It's simple."
"How did you get this number? Who are you?"
"We know you are keeping a man named Stephen Weaver against his will. In exchange for him, we will give you Caitlyn McEntee."
"WHAT!" Grim yelled. "I've had everyone looking for her. By God, I'll kill all of you if anything happens to her-"
"Stop it. Here, Caitlyn, reassure your boss." He held the phone receiver toward the redhaired woman, who blurted out, "John! John, I'm okay. They haven't hurt me. I have no idea where I am, please do what they say.."
"That's enough," Bane said. "He knows you're unharmed. Well, Grim, let's discuss the meeting place."
"Wait. Let me think. Just a minute."
The Dire Wolf's voice grew slightly mocking. "You're not thinking that Weaver's ability might be worth more than Caitlyn's return, are you?"
"No, of course not," Grim answered without conviction. "It's just, how can I trust you?"
"Believe me, we are more deserving of trust than you are. We know what you've been up to. We know what the Solar Knights are really for. Bring the man Weaver to the south shore of Long Island tonight. Twenty miles past the town of Flinders, there's a long stretch of beach. Right at midnight. See you then."
As he hung up, Bane said to McEntee, "Your boss didn't seem too sure he wanted to trade for you, lady."
"He'll take care of you. All of you! You'll be sorry you started this," she spat.
"You're the ones who abducted Stephen Weaver," Bane said coldly. "I'm sure Grim's team is running test after test to see if they can duplicate his flying power. Grim wasn't going to ever release him without learning that secret. And you're in on it. You're as bad as he is." He came closer. "But we'll treat you humanely. You can eat if you want, you can use the bathroom if you need to. You might as well settle back for a wait. It's six hours till midnight."
V.
At eight, the three KDF members had eaten mafalda pasta in parmesan sauce which had been prepared early in the day, along with hot buttered Italian bread. Slade normally was on a planned dietary regimen but he made exceptions during a case, where eating with his partners was a social bond. After McEntee smelled the aroma, she decided to accept a plate and her hands were unbound to allow her to eat. Still blindfolded, the redhead used the bathroom across the hall under Cindy's custody and then returned to her chair. She had not spoken more than a few words.
The hours dragged. Slade was always busy maintaining the tech in the building, as well as his own research in his rooms on the seventh floor. Cindy took a two hour nap, showered and put on her own field suit. But Bane did not want to get far from the phones in case John Grim called, so he remained in the conference room. He started filing reports, adding comments to notes taken on earlier cases, doing inventory. Finally, eleven o'clock came. Bane injected Caitlyn McEntee without warning her, then explained it was a mild sedative to keep her from causing trouble during the exchange. She told him sharply that it was a felony to administer drugs to anyone without permission, especially those which would require a doctor's authorization.
"That's funny coming from you," he snapped. "Your group has Weaver knocked out by now and hooked up to a dozen diagnostic machines. He went there looking for a job, not to be dissected."
McEntee turned her head away and said nothing. Her eyes were still bandaged. Bane sliced the tape holding her to the chair with one of his daggers and lifted her to her feet. "Well, in any case, we're taking you to your boss now. If he plays it straight, you'll be back home safe tonight."
"Who ARE you people?" she demanded suddenly.
"You'll find out soon enough," Bane replied. "And so will John Grim." He marched her out of the room and into the elevator across the hall. They rode up to the ninth floor, but then had to walk up short concrete steps to the hangar, since it had been created by erecting walls and a sliding panel over the original roof. Most of the hangar was taken up by the CORBY, a sleek stealth jetcopter. Solid black with no identifying numbers or logos, the CORBY had been rebuilt over the years using Trom technology until nothing built by Humans could match it. The rotors were slowly turning, and Cindy Brunner could be seen in the pilot seat.
The hatch behind the cabin was open, and from within Leonard Slade reached out to pick Caitlyn McEntee off the floor and placed her on the bench next to him. He did it with an ease that hinted at the superhuman strength in his body. The Trom pulled the hatch shut and it sealed with a hiss. Walking around to the co-pilot hatch, Bane swung up into the seat and pulled that hatch shut as well. The interior was pressurized and climate controlled. Strapping himself in, the Dire Wolf glanced over at Cindy and said, "Good to go."
"Wheels up in thirty seconds," she replied. The CORBY rose smoothly up to chest height. "Landing gear retracted. Roof panel opening." The little blonde pulled back on the collective stick. "In flight, captain."
Below them, the segmented roof panel closed again automatically. Almost invisible in the night sky, a black helicopter with no external lights rose straight up out of normal traffic patterns and swung around to head south. Cindy kept the CORBY at a cruising speed of just over one hundred miles per hour. Beside her, Bane made a constant round of the various dials and gauges that glowed with pastel greens and blues in the dark interior. Because of their advanced design and computer assist, the CORBYs were much easier to fly than regular helicopters were. They sped through the night in nearly complete silence, just a dark blur against the dark sky.
As they passed over the town of Flinders on the coast of Long Island, Cindy slowed the CORBY to just thirty mph and gave Bane a quizzical look. He peered down through the windscreen with its light enhancing function that made the ground below stand out as sharply as if in bright daylight. "There's the strip. No one in sight yet. Land by those trees and taxi back under them."
"Got it," she said and brought the craft down to a soft landing, the landing wheels lowering beneath them as they gently touched the rocky shore, facing a cluster of trees. It was cold at night this early in March, and the beach was deserted. As the rotors slowed, she backed the CORBY into the shadows of the trees where it would not be easily spotted. Cindy brought systems down to minimum and released the stick with a sigh.
"I want you to remain in the cabin," Bane said. "Be ready for a getaway or to engage an enemy. But your main task is to deflect and protect us from any probing."
"Understood," she replied. She realized Bane was choosing his words carefully, to not give away to McEntee that they knew Grim was a telepath. None of them had addressed each other by name since McEntee had been taken prisoner. Cindy remained strapped in the pilot seat as Bane unfastened his own restraints and hopped out onto the ground.
Slade handed McEntee over to the Dire Wolf, who said, "The moment of truth is coming up. Frankly, I don't trust your boss to do the right thing but we'll see. Come on." With Slade behind them, he walked the redhead further up the coast, stopping where he could see a dirt trail leading down a slope where the road was. To their left, Long Island Sound lapped up on the small rounded rocks. It was a dark night but both KDF members had the visors down on their helmets and the light enhancers showed their surroundings vividly.
Staying fifty yards away from where the trail met the shore, Bane removed the bandages from McEntee's eyes. She did not react at once, letting her eyes adjust before slowly turning around to take in the scene. Then she regarded Bane and Slade warily. "Nice," she said. "With those helmets and the visors, I still can't identify you."
"Just as well," Bane told her. "There are things you're better off not knowing." He broke off as headlights approached down the trail and a black van rolled to a stop facing them. The headlights remained on, as a man in a white lab smock stepped out of the passenger door and stood staring at them.
For an instant, Bane felt that unmistakable crawling sensation in his head. The Spiders of the Mind, that must be Grim himself. But the feeling ended almost at once and he knew Cindy was diverting the telepathic probe from Grim harmlessly.
"Caitlyn? Is that you?" called the billionaire industrialist and international criminal.
"Yes, John," she yelled back. "I'm okay."
"You! Whoever you are. I have Weaver here. Let Caitlyn start walking towards me and I'll do the same with Weaver." Grim opened the back door of the van and the Black Angel climbed unsteadily out. He was wearing only pants and an unbuttoned shirt. As Grim gave him a rough shove, Weaver began walking toward where Bane and the others stood. He seemed confused and uncertain.
The Dire Wolf pressed his hand against McEntee's back. "Get going. Walk slowly, you two must meet halfway across for this to work." The redhead gave him a caustic glare and started striding along the beach toward where the van and John Grim waited. The next few minutes were tense and silent. The two hostages passed each other at the mid-point without seeming to notice each other. Soon, McEntee reached Grim, who examined her anxiously and rushed her into the back of the van.
As Weaver drew near, Bane jumped to meet him. "Steve? Are you all right? You seem dazed."
"Captain?" Black Angel answered. "I..I'm not sure what's going on here. Give me a hand."
Bane put an arm around his friend and started helping him walk. Drugged or in shock, he thought angrily. "Len! Take over the confrontation," he said. "I'm getting Steve back to the CORBY."
"Acknowledged," replied the Trom with an unusual emphasis in his normally placid voice. He unclipped a metal device the size of a deck of cards and clicked a rectangular cartridge into it, holding it like a weapon. "John Grim! You possess technology which is not lawfully yours. You must surrender it now to avoid consequences."
"What?" Grim laughed. "You can't be serious. Who are you to tell me to give up my discoveries?"
Slade began striding determinedly toward where the van stood with its headlights shining directly at him. "You are deluding yourself if you believe you have made advances centuries ahead of everyone else. Your so-called inventions are not truly yours but are stolen."
"You're crazy! Stay where you are. Stop right there, I'm warning you."
The Trom did not pause, walking steadily along the beach. Overhead came a roar of engines and a blinding white light as the Solar Knight plummeted out of the black sky directly at him.
VII.
Getting Weaver up into the rear hatch of the CORBY, Bane took his pulse and found it strong. From a pocket, he drew out two tagra lozenges in foil, got them unwrapped and popped them in the Black Angel's mouth. "Hang in there, Steve. Cindy's right up in the pilot seat. Len and I will get you home as soon as we settle with John Grim."
"You're back with your friends," Cindy said, turning around to face him in the rear compartment.
"Glad to see you guys," Weaver managed to say, getting into a seated position against the metal wall behind him. "I've had an awful day..."
"Be right back," Bane said, closing the hatch and wheeling around to run back to the meeting. He looked up at a flare of brilliance and realized it was the Solar Knight roaring down out of the sky. Grim brought some back-up, he thought sourly.
The confrontation between the Trom Monitor and the Solar Knight was brief and brutally anticlimactic. When the armored man was forty feet overhead, Slade raised his beam projector and clicked its trigger twice, and the Solar Knight fell straight down to hit with a loud metallic crash. The golden figure rolled up on its knees and raised an arm in a threatening gesture. On the back of the gauntlet, a circular lense slid up and glowed bright red.
Slade made an adjustment on his device and clicked it again. The Knight's lense faded and the armored man froze in place. Then, resisting but losing against the weight of the suit, the man slumped to the rocky ground and was still. The Trom knelt over him and opened a panel in the back of the Solar Knight armor to throw the power switch off. As he rose, two bullets ricocheted off his suit, knocking him off-balance but doing no harm.
John Grim held a 9mm automatic at full extension. "How did you do that? Never mind. It doesn't matter. Get away from him, I'm taking him to the plant and restoring him. He's the first of my army of Solar Knights. Get back, I tell you."
"You are wrong about almost everything," Slade replied calmly. "and you are a fraud. I see that the rockets in this suit's boots and backpack do not propel it. It's the stolen gravity shield technology which enables the Solar Knight to fly. You have not been able to duplicate it. I claim the property of my people here and now."
Grim fired again, and the bullet glanced off Slade's helmet without leaving a mark. "No. You're wrong. You just don't appreciate my genius," but as Grim said that, a strong hand seized his shoulder and yanked him around into a savage left hook that dropped him senseless to the ground. Jeremy Bane lowered his fist and nodded over at Slade, "There's no use arguing with guys like this, Len. He'll never admit he's wrong."
"If you say so," Slade replied, beginning to remove part of the Solar Knight back assembly. "You understand Human psychology better than I do."
The Dire Wolf checked Grim. "He should come out of it in a few minutes. I could have hit him a lot harder, maybe I should have." He rose and noticed Caitlyn McEntee hiding behind the van. "And what should we do about you?"
The redheaded woman stood up straight, squared her shoulders and faced him. "I can see there's no point in trying to run from you guys. I don't know what you are. Some kind of Delta Force or Navy SEALS? Department 21 Black? The Mandate? Whatever, you boys are too much for me to deal with. I might as well stand here and take it."
Bane made a noise that was almost a laugh. "Now, that's sensible. All right. Get in the van. We're going to strip the Solar Knight armor and reclaim it. Its design was stolen, as my friend mentioned. When Grim wakes up, he's going to have a sore jaw and a bad attitude. You can take him and the joker who was in the armor back with you, if you want. But tell John Grim this. He needs to keep those spiders of the mind to himself. He'll know what that means. He'd better not cross our paths again."
6/7/2014
