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dochermesPROJECT REGULUS III - A Pack of Dire Wolves
6/17-6/18/1990
I.
Bane had seldom felt his awareness of danger react more strongly. Every sense was keyed up to the point where it was taking an effort to stop himself from turning around and heading back to his car. What he felt was not fear so much as an awareness of imminent threats all around him. The Dire Wolf made himself breathe deeply and slowly, bringing out his enhanced hearing but still not being able to pinpoint what was alarming him.
At two o'clock on a muggy Sunday morning, this area off Wall Street was as deserted as any part of Manhattan ever became. The darkened skyscrapers on all sides were so tall that it felt like being at the bottom of a canyon, and he had not seen anyone on foot since coming down here. Every five or ten minutes, a taxi or police car might roll by, but that was about it. This was not a residential area. In the shadows of a deep doorway, Bane stared at the ancient church across the street and was annoyed at not being able to specify what was bothering him.
The church of Our Lady of Perpetual Hope was a protected historical site, dating back more than two hundred years and still in use. It hunched down between two towering office buildings, set back from the sidewalk behind a wrought iron fence, lit by a standing lamp post with a plaque detailing the church's history. Funny that the steeple had once been the tallest structure in the neighborhood, he thought. By the side of the church, pressed up against its wall of closely packed stones, was the woman who had called him here.
He had spotted her immediately but she was not the threat that was keeping him alarmed. Her body language indicated fear and uncertainty, not aggression. The woman was tall, about five feet eight, thin, dressed in a dark windbreaker and slacks. Straight black hair reached to her collar and even from across the street, he could see how unusually pale her skin was. But it was not her that his training was warning him about.
Finally, Bane strode across the street toward the church. The woman straightened up as he came into view. Getting closer, he saw she had a narrow face with pale eyes and there was something unsettlingly familiar about her. He realized that she looked a lot like he himself did...
Not speaking, still watching and listening as if surrounded by wild animals on all sides, the Dire Wolf walked up to her. He stopped just out of reach in a wary stance, ready to move in any direction instantly.
"Oh, you came at last," the woman said just above a whisper. "I'm Lucinda. I called you."
"Well, here I am." He turned slowly in a half-circle. "Is someone following you?"
"Yes. We have to get somewhere safe," she said. This close, her features were so much like his that they could have been brother and sister. "I have to warn you, there is danger..."
"You're telling me," Bane snorted. He whirled just as a dark figure dropped down off the roof of the church right at him. The Dire Wolf sidestepped and drove a hard left hook up into the attacker's oncoming body. The man grunted from the impact but still landed lightly on his feet. As the attacker straigtened, Bane was within a split-second of throwing a follow-up blow when he sensed something behind him. Quicker than any normal Human, a second attacker pounced and seized him around the body to pin his arms down.
The first man closed in fast, whipping out a straight jab. Bane rolled his head back so that blow barely scraped his jaw and pushed back against the man holding him so he could blast a front snap kick that cracked against the first man's chin. Bane brought that same leg back down to hook behind his grappler's ankle and got him off-balance.
If anyone had been passing by, they would have seen only a confusing blur of motion as Bane traded blows with his attackers, striking and blocking faster than an untrained eye could follow. He realized with a jolt that these men were just as fast as he was, maybe even a bit quicker. Snake men? Gelydrim? It was so rare that he encountered anyone who could meet his enhanced speed that he was taken aback. They were skilled fighters, too, and he had his hands full.
One of the men had drawn a knife and managed to get in a slash along Bane's cheek but he was left open by the swing and Bane caught him with a backfist that spun the man around. In the same continuous movement, the Dire Wolf whirled and drove out a high side kick that slammed the other attacker back against the wall of the church directly behind him. Bane had felt the man's bones crack under his boot at that blow. The attacker slumped limply to the ground.
Stepping back, the Dire Wolf touched his cheek and found the bleeding had stopped already. His healing factor from the tagra tea diet was at its peak. He stared down at the men he had beaten. Everything had taken place within a second or two and for the first time, Bane got a clear look at his enemies. The two men were wearing all black and they looked exactly like him with one difference. Their skin was the flat dull grey of a corpse.
"Project Regulus...." he growled.
II.
Bane had seldom been so enraged. With the death of Karl Eldritch a year earlier, he had thought there was no one else able to operate the ancient Zhune artifacts that made Project Regulus feasible. Obviously the threat was not over yet.
"We have to get out of here," Lucinda pleaded. "More are coming."
"Turn toward the light," he said. "Come on. Yeah, you've got that skin tone. You're one of them."
"No. Well, not really. I mean, I am from the Project but I'm not one of the Antares assassins. Hurry, please, I came to you for help!"
The Dire Wolf hesitated for the barest instant. He did want to get to the bottom of this. Even if this woman were just the lure for a trap, he had walked into traps before to get things over with. "All right," he grumbled. "Let's get somewhere safe. My car is two blocks up."
"No, please, my brothers are in our van. Right across the street. Please, trust me." She reached to take his arm but he drew back and she did not press the matter. Lucinda hurried across the street and up to a white Chevy van parked just around the corner. Bane glanced back at the two Antares killers who were sprawled on the sidewalk, unhappy at leaving them where they would soon revive and possibly come after him again.
Through the windshield of the van, a white-haired man could be seen sitting in the passenger seat. The grey-skinned woman opened the driver's door and had started to say something when Bane abruptly leaped past her and swung around behind the van. He collided head-on with one of the Antareans. The assassin lunged with a dagger, quick and accurate as a viper striking, but Bane seemed to have been anticipating the thrust. He seized the attacker's elbow with one hand and the wrist with his other, folding the arm back and forcing the blade deep into the Antarean's chest. The clone sighed in a strange way as life left his body. The Dire Wolf flung the dying man to one side, turned and climbed into the back seat of the van.
"Drive!" he snapped. "I saw two more of them out there!" As Lucinda started up the Chevy and pulled out into the street, Bane was surprised to find he was sitting next to a young boy, no more than eight years old. They ran the first red light they came to, but stopped at the next one and Bane got a good look at the boy.
Small and thin, wearing a baggy black sweatshirt and jeans, the kid had jet black hair and a narrow feral face with the same light grey eyes Bane had been expecting. The kid stared back in confusion at the intense scrutiny.
"I think I understand now," the Dire Wolf said. "What's your name, buddy?"
"Kenny."
"After Kenneth Dred. Of course. Your brain held enough of my memories to prompt that name. And Lucinda? After Cindy. You up there, what's your name?"
In the thin voice of the elderly, the white-haired man answered, "Me? Why, Ted."
"After my best friend." Bane took a deep breath and tried to get hold of himself. "That damn Eldritch. Nothing was beneath him to try. I get it now."
Behind the wheel, Lucinda said, "Yes. We are clones based on samples taken from you when you were prisoner. All this has been explained to us. We were still in the cauldrons when the Master died."
Sitting next to Bane, the boy Kenny broke in. "I don't understand. Aren't you one of the Antares?"
"No," the Dire Wolf said in as gentle a tone as he could manage. He was not good at sounding friendly. "They're clones of me."
"And you're the original?"
"Yes," Bane told the boy. "I'm not a clone."
"How do you know?" asked Kenny.
That caught him off-guard. For a long moment, he couldn't think of a good answer. "I just do, okay? So why are you three on the run? Why are those Antares chasing you?"
From the front, the old man answered. "We only know what happened second-hand, you understand. When the Master was killed and the facility destroyed, all of us were only tiny blobs floating in Alchemical solution-"
"Hold it," Bane interrupted. He was peering through the rear window. "There's only one car on the streets and it just turned to follow us. Lucinda, run that stop sign ahead."
"Did they stop?" she asked.
"Didn't even pause." The Dire Wolf dug in an inner pocket of his jacket and came out with a metal sphere the size of a cherry tomato. He pressed down on a stud projecting from its surface and rolled down the window next to him.
"Whatcha doing?" asked the boy.
"Listen. Everyone stare straight ahead. Do not even look in a rearview mirror. You might want to cover your ears, too." With that, he twisted the top of the sphere, leaned out the open window and lobbed the device at the car behind them. As soon as he had done this, Bane squeezed his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears.
The flash of incandescent white light and the sharp crack of thunder behind them was stunning. Anyone within a mile must have heard that detonation and seen the glare. Despite herself, the woman at the wheel slowed and gasped in surprise.
Looking back, the Dire Wolf saw that the pursuing car had swerved over with its front wheel up on the curb. The windshield was a pattern of tiny cracks. "Take off!" he yelled at Lucinda. "Now is our chance."
She sped up the street, swung right at the corner and started heading uptown. "What WAS that? A grenade?"
"In a way," Bane answered. "Not as strong as the flash-bangs SWAT teams use but it sure discourages pursuers." He leaned back in his seat, satisfied that the Antareans would not be coming after them right away.
"You carry grenades on you?!" asked Kenny in an awed voice.
Surprising himself, Bane smiled at the eight year old. "Doesn't everyone? Also, two smoke bombs and a couple of tear gas pellets. You never know when you'll need them."
Everyone in the van had an uncomfortable ringing in their ears and there was no further conversation for a few minutes. At 11th Street, Lucinda turned and pulled into a side street within sight of the East River. "Here's where we are hiding for the moment," she said in an oddly hollow voice as she had trouble hearing herself.
The Dire Wolf studied the old delapidated buildings on both sides of the street, the boarded-up store window, the trash on the sidewalk. He opened the van door and hopped out, scanning warily in all directions. Without his even knowing it, his hand had dropped back to the butt of the dart gun holstered behind his left hip.
The elderly man who called himself Ted stepped out onto the curb, holding one hand on the van door cautiously. He was a little stiff and hesitant in his motions. The streetlight showed a face with some wrinkles, bags under the eyes and a softening under the jawline but it was still recognizably the face of Jeremy Bane.
Is that how I'm going to look in forty years? the Dire Wolf thought and then immediately snapped back to the situation at hand. "Let's get out of sight," he said. "I want answers and lots of them."
III.
The basement had fake wood paneling on the walls and two standing lamps, but it felt damp and musty. There was a toilet and sink in one corner behind a folding screen, a couch and a mattress on the floor with a tangle of blankets covering it. A dresser, all chipped and stained, with a mirror and a radio on it, completed the furnishings.
"I was the one who rented this cellar from the family upstairs," the white-haired clone explained. He lowered himself carefully to the couch and leaned back with a sigh. "Their English is not that good, but they know cash when they see it."
The female clone and the eight year old clone dropped down on the couch alongside Ted and watched Bane hopefully. He stood in front of them with folded arms and a total lack of sympathy on his face.
"My God, I hate what Karl Eldritch did!" he snapped. "When I was his prisoner, he took samples from me while I was unconscious and used his goddam Zhune technology to grow copies of me. Without my knowledge! Without my permission. He stole my individual identity... the one thing a person really has in this world."
Lucinda interrupted timidly. "We know there are twenty of the Antares class. They are as exact copies of you as the Master could manage. They are the assassins that are chasing us now."
The Dire Wolf glared at them. "And what's the deal with you three? A version of me as a kid and an old man and as a woman? What the hell. I figure he just dropped the Y chromosome and duplicated the X to make a female clone. I know that much science at least. But what's the point? Why did he make you three so different?"
Unexpectedly, the young boy began to cry. His face twisted up, tears dripped and suddenly he was sobbing. "It's not our fault. We didn't ask to be made like this. And we came to you for help! We thought you were a good person and would want to help us."
Bane drew back a step, surprised, and then dropped to one knee in front of the kid. He tried to soften his voice. "Kenny. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Calm down. Stop crying."
Putting her arm around the boy, Lucinda gave the Dire Wolf an icy stare with pale eyes just like his own. "We're victims, Mr Bane, just trying to survive. Like Kenny said, we haven't done anything to you."
"Okay, I said I was sorry. I'll try to protect you three against those Antareans." Bane moved to a seated position in front of the couch and exaled sharply. "I would have to track them down in any case. Killers with my face running around Manhattan? I can't let that go on."
"I regret there is not much information we can give you," said the elderly one. "We were never released from the facility. No outsiders ever visited. In the past year, we have been taught some useful skills. Lucinda can drive and I can do bookkeeping. But we don't know much about the world. We were only allowed to watch news on TV that had been edited for us."
"Where is this facility where you were kept?" Bane asked.
"North of here. More than two hours drive north. We escaped without a plan, since that car was in front of the building with the keys in it. No guards were in sight. Lucinda and Kenny and I just jumped in with no more than what we were wearing and headed here. We knew where New York City was."
Bane shook his head slowly. "And where did you get money? Did you find it in the car?"
"Why... yes," said the old man. "There was a wallet in the glove box with credit cards and a lot of cash. How did you know?"
"They let you escape. That's why one of you was taught how to drive. The only question is why." The Dire Wolf leaped nimbly up on his feet and headed quickly for the steps that led up to the street door. "You three stay here!" He flung the door open to face an Antares assassin who was holding a dagger in one hand. The killer reacted as quickly as Bane himself did, lunging forward and thrusting the blade out. Pivoting sideways, bringing his fist up and then down, Bane hammered a vicious rabbit punch to the back of the clone's neck. He felt the decisive snap beneath his fist. Already dying, the Antarean tumbled down the stairs and rolled over on one side.
There was another of the killers right behind where the first had been, moving forward. Bane kicked the clone's feet backward from under him, seized him by the shirt front and threw him headlong down the stairs to land on the body of the first one. The Antarean reacted well, rolling and leaping up onto his feet even as Bane hopped down beside him. They traded a flurry of blows back and forth for a second, then the Dire Wolf saw an opening and dropped down to drive a straight punch right over the Antarean's heart. That staggered the assassin for a second, leaving him open as Bane struck again harder to the same spot. The man's sternum cracked apart under that blow.
The Antareans were fast, maybe even faster than Bane himself was since they had been tweaked while forming. They obviously had some training and indoctrination in how to fight. But they had not studied Kumundu under Teacher Chael of Tel Shai for a dozen years as Bane had, and this gave him an edge when confronting them.
When the assassin dropped, his head hit the concrete floor with a solid clunk that showed he had made no effort to break his fall. His grey eyes remained open. Bane made a disgusted noise. "I guess we won't be questioning these two," he said.
The three clones he had taken under his protection had gotten to their feet but were staring at him uncertainly. Bane said, "We have to get out of here right this second. Leave everything, follow me outside."
IV.
Unexpectedly, the next forty minutes went smoothly. The bodies of the two assassins were left where they had fallen, since Bane figured the others would claim the corpses when they came to investigate. He got the three clones into their van without encountering any more of the Antareans. Sitting in the front passenger seat with his dart gun in hand while Lucinda drove, the Dire Wolf had them go back to the Wall Street area where they had met. It was getting near dawn by this time.
Bane made them abandon the white van on a side street and loaded them all into his own car, which he had left nearby before meeting Lucinda at the church. That seemed like days ago, but it had only been a few hours. He swung east across town and headed north. At 38th Street, Bane turned onto Lexington Avenue and approached the KDF headquarters building which had become his base after the team's disbanding.
In the tiny underground garage beneath the old building, just big enough to hold two cars at a time, he parked his Mustang and got the three clones out. They certainly seemed exhausted. Despite his outrage at the forbidden process that had produced them, Bane was beginning to feel a twinge of sympathy for their situation. He marched them down the corridor between the vault and the arsenal, up through the panel in the walk-in closet and out into the front hall. As much as he wanted to immediately start the campaign against the Antares killers, Bane decided that he had to take care of these three versions of himself first.
Using the elevator, the Dire Wolf escorted them up to the fourth floor and into one of the unused guest rooms. While they used the bathroom one at a time and cleaned themselves up as best they could, he checked the house phone for messages. Nothing. He told the three clones they might as well get a few hours sleep before he planned their next move. The old man Ted gratefully stretched out on the couch, kicked off his shoes, rolled over on his side and was asleep within seconds. Lucinda stretched out on the bed, gestured for Kenny to join her and put her arms around him protectively. Just before she drifted off, she whispered, "Thank you, Mr Bane."
"Might as well call me Jeremy," he answered but he wasn't sure if she had stayed awake long enough to hear him. He stepped out into the hall and softly closed the door behind him. Thinking things over, he went down to his own quarters on the third floor for a shower and to change into a fresh uniform. Down in the kitchen, he found some sliced turkey and made two thick sandwiches which he toasted in a frying pan and devoured.
One problem was that he could not think of any of his teammates to call in on this case. Cindy was in California handling court testimony and would be occupied there at least a few more days. Everyone was scattered on assignments or their personal lives. He knew Shiro or Karina would come in a heartbeat if he summoned them. But to be honest, Bane had to admit he was stubborn and proud enough that he preferred to handle problems by himself.
Stopping at the conference room, he opened a metal cabinet up on the wall and took out a red metal cannister that resembled a fire extinguisher except that its hose ended in a narrow nozzle. Like most KDF equipment, it had no labels or instructions on it, just the cryptic number 33. Only the members would ever use it and they would know what it was. Back up on the fourth floor, Bane paused outside the door were he had left his guests. He slowed his breathing down and, after thirty seconds, his hearing jumped up to enhanced levels. This had been one of the earliest Tel Shai techniques he had learned. There were three distinct patterns of breathing in that room, all deep and slow. He matched them to the three clones. At least they would be ready to move on when they woke.
Kneeling, he inserted the rubber nozzle of the cannister under the lower edge of the door and released a long hissing burst of the cannister's contents. It was the same Trom-formulated anesthetic they used in the dart guns. He took the cannister back to the conference room on the second floor and returned it to the cabinet, then returned to the room where the clones were sleeping. By now, a few minutes had passed and the gas had dissipated. It was designed to lose potency after being in the air for three or four minutes. Only the Trom could have devised a formula so effective and yet safe enough to use this way.
Entering the room, Bane found the three clones in deep slumber, from which they would not awaken for at least an hour. He unclipped his Link from his belt and used its sensors to begin taking detailed readings on the three. As he did this, he also examined them himself. He studied their fingernails, looked for any scars or unusual marks, tested their muscle tone. That dead grey skin was a big drawback of the cloning process. Tanning booths only gave them normal appearances for a day or so. The readings on the Link indicated that these clones had only a limited amount of the healing factor. Well, that figured. They would duplicate his healing ability from the time his tissue samples had been taken, but they did not have regular access to the tagra plant to reinforce the factor. They would recover from injury more quickly and thoroughly than a normal Human would, but not to the same extent he himself did.
That would be true for the Antares assassins as well, he thought. Good to know.
Going through their clothing, he found the wallet that had been mentioned in the rear pants pocket of the elderly clone. Bane examined it, took images of the drivers' license and other ID cards within. Finally, he dug inside the cuffs of the old man's pants and found enough dust to examine. The Link clicked and buzzed as it began to analyze the dust.
Lucinda had a small notebook and pen in her pants pocket, but there was nothing written on it. Not even an impression showed to indicate a page had been used and torn off. She also had a tube of Chapstick and some tissues. The boy Kenny had a crumpled up KitKat wrapper and a scratched-off Take Five ticket. They had evidently stopped at least once on the trip up here.
Making sure he had returned the three sleeping clones to the same positions they had been in when he had entered the room, the Dire Wolf watched them thoughtfully for a few minutes and then went back out into the hall. Down at the end of the hall, a bench sat under one window and he dropped down on it. The Link had completed its analysis of the dust from the pants cuff and had found tiny bits of pollen native to the Southwest, specifically Arizona or New Mexico. His expression was more grim than usual as he read this.
The driver's license was completely bogus. No such person as the man shown had ever registered with the DMV of New York State, and the address shown did not exist. The credit cards were not valid, either. They were mockups. The money in the wallet had all been crisp twenty dollar bills in a neat bundle, taken from an ATM at the same time. There were no receipts from gas stations or convenience marts in the wallet or in the pockets of any of the clones. They said they had driven for hours from upstate to get to New York City, yet he had noticed the gas gauge on their van read as full. It was likely that they had paid cash when they filled the tank and thrown away the receipts, of course. He was trying to consider all the possibilities.
Standing up, Bane pulled the curtain aside and stared down at East 38th Street. He was suspicious by nature and his long years in the Midnight War had not made him any less so. Deciding he had enough time before his guests stirred, he trotted down the stairs to the front hall and left the building. Watching for any of the Antares assassins, he figured they were unlikely to attack on a bright morning in the busy streets but you never knew.
Walking quicker than most people could run, he approached the street where they had left the white van from Project Regulus. It was gone. Bane was not surprised. He returned to the KDF building, still keeping a wary eye for any suspicious movement around him. Going up to the fourth floor one more time, he listened to the steady relaxed breathing patterns in the guest room before sliding down to the floor. Sitting with his back to the wall next to the door, the Dire Wolf lowered his head and used Tel Shai techniques to drop off into a light slumber himself for an hour or two while he had a chance.
V.
Just after noon, Bane's head snapped up and he glared around, instantly alert and ready for attack. None of the building's alarms had sounded. He heard a low murmur through the door beside him and realized it was that sound which had awoken him. Getting easily up on his feet, he felt refreshed and ready to go another day and night non-stop. With his accelerated metabolism, a few hours of sleep was all he ever needed. He stretched and yawned, then knocked softly on the door.
"Come on in," came Lucinda's voice. "We're up."
Bane entered the room. The old man, Ted, was going into the bathroom that every guest quarters had, but Lucinda and Kenny were standing up and watching him nervously.
"We will be leaving soon," the Dire Wolf announced, "but first I imagine you guys want some food."
"Oh, absolutely," Lucinda said at once.
"I'm STARVING!" Kenny added. "I'll eat anything, broccoli or Brussel sprouts or anything gross, I'm so hungry."
As Ted emerged from the bathroom, Bane led the three of them into the rather small elevator that Kenneth Dred had first installed so long ago. Down on the first floor, he escorted them into the kitchen and got them seated at the round table under the window.
"There's the toaster. Here's a loaf of whole wheat and the butter dish. Wait, here's a knife. You guys start on some toast." Bane took down two frying pans and started scrambled eggs in one and bacon in the other.
Shoveling a piece of toast in his mouth, the eight year old mumbled, "Can I get something to drink, Mr Bane?"
"Go right ahead. Glasses are in that cabinet. I think we have apple juice and milk, maybe some iced tea in the back of the refrigerator." The next half hour was spent feeding everyone, and Bane himself ate a huge amount. When the three seemed satisfied, he placed all the dishes and glasses in the sink.
Lucinda started over to begin washing the utensils, but Bane stopped her. "I'll take care of them later. Right now, we have a pack of Antareans out there to worry about."
"A pack of Dire Wolves!" Kenny said. "Like prehistoric times."
"Yeah, I suppose," Bane agreed without enthusiasm. "Come on, we're heading back to Project Regulus." He led them to the office in the front door and asked them to sit there for a few minutes. "I'm going to check the car out and make sure it's fully stocked. You guys might as well be comfortable. I'll bring the car around front when it's ready."
Stepping out into the hall, the Dire Wolf swung into a wall nook out of sight and picked up an extension telephone that sat on a shelf by itself. He listened in silence and waited for the click before gently hanging up. With a faint sigh, he went through the panel in the back of the closet, down along the corridor and into the underground garage. The expression on his face was more glum than usual. He rolled up the concrete ramp with its sharp angle at the top, out into the alley and then onto Lexington Avenue.
Double parked for the moment, Bane hustled the three clones into his Mustang and eased out into traffic. Kenny took the front passenger seat. For the entire three hour drive upstate, the eight year old kept up a rapid conversation with Bane that really consisted of one question after another.
How many people had Bane killed? Bane said he had no idea what the number might be and it was better not to dwell on it. The important thing was that the killings were justified to protect an innocent life or in his own self-defence.
What style of kung fu did Bane use? The answer was that Bane had been trained in Kumundu, taught only by Chael of Tel Shai. Chael was over a hundred years old, although he looked about thirty, and he taught his students elements of whatever martial arts would work best with each student's body and personality. Bane personally used a lot of Wing Chun, Western boxing and Hapkido.
How did Bane feel about fighting the Antareans? Bane said he had no feelings about them either way. They had been basically brainwashed from birth and were lost cases. They would attack him as long as they were alive. His survival depended on eliminating them as quickly as he could.. and since they would try to kill him on sight, he really had no choice.
How many of the silver daggers were there and was he wearing them now? Bane explained there were only the two which had been ensorcelled by the Eldarin ages ago. Those were the ensalir daggers which could disrupt spells and slay almost any creature of the night. There were six more daggers he had had made which looked identical, four with steel blades and two with a silver alloy, but he used them as decoys when he knew he would be forced to disarm. Yes, he had the real ensalir knives on him now.
Was there anyone in the world who could defeat him in a fair fight? Bane laughed and said Sure, he had been completely beaten a number of times. No matter who you are, there's always someone out there who's a little bit better.
At this point, Lucinda spoke up from the back seat. "That's enough questions, Kenny. Let Mr Bane concentrate on his driving. We're getting near Albany."
"Actually, there are a few things I have to ask you three before we reach the facility," the Dire Wolf said as he pulled onto the exit ramp from the Thruway. "Ted, you told me that you never left the facility. Is that right?"
"Yes sir. We were allowed out into the parking lot once in a while," the old man answered.
"And the clothes you are wearing, is that your normal wardrobe?"
"Yes. We did our own laundry and cooked our own meals," said Ted. "They said it was to prepare us for when we would be sent out into the world. I don't understand, why do you ask?"
Bane did not answer directly. "Do you know the names of any of the scientists working on you? The director of the facility?"
It was Lucinda who said, "The administrator was Dr Elizabeth Altieri. We had two therapists who worked on us, Stanley Lindquist and Rita Wilton. Our medical doctor was a man named Pratt, Edmond Pratt. Do you recognize those names?"
"Only Altieri, but that's enough," Bane said. "She was a researcher for John Grim a few years ago. Now I know who took what remained of Karl Eldritch's equipment. Grim must have been working with Eldritch, supplying infrastructure and staff."
They left the main highway and started on some back roads as Bane followed the directions Lucinda had given them. It was late afternoon by now. In the back seat, the female clone asked uncertainly, "Is that important, Jeremy?"
"Oh yes. John Grim himself is in a coma in a West Virginia hospital but his empire is still running." The Dire Wolf slowed at an intersection and pulled onto a road marked O'BEAL LANE. "It helps to know what we're facing."
For the next few miles, there was nothing but the road and the woods on either side. The silence in the car had become tense for some reason. Finally, the eight year old sitting next to Bane said, "How do you feel about us, I mean the three of us?"
The Dire Wolf did not answer for a moment. "You three didn't ask to be created," he said quietly. "You weren't volunteers. The real villains here were Eldritch and Grim, and they are both out of the picture now. All I can do is get rid of the killers those two made from my DNA."
There was a catch in Kenny's voice and he suddenly sounded more like a little boy than ever. "So... What's gonna happen to us?"
"We'll figure something out. I'm pulling over here." Bane went off the road onto a flat area and came to a stop by two huge pine trees. "Soon we'd be setting off alarms. Everybody out and go over by those trees there."
"The facility is down at the bottom of that hill," Lucinda told him as she emerged from the back seat. In the afternoon sunlight, her dead grey skin looked more ghastly than ever. That was the biggest flaw in the Zhune cloning process. Even make-up and tanning booths only gave them a natural appearance for a short time.
"That's what I figured," Bane said. He directed them over by the pines and got the three clones side by side. "Now I want you all watching that building down there. Stand close together, that's good."
"That's our facility, all right," the old man Ted muttered unhappily. "I don't understand..."
Standing fifteen feet beind them, Bane reached behind his left hip and drew the air pistol. "All of you, hold still. Don't say anything. I've got you covered."
VI.
Lucinda began to protest but the tone in Bane's voice as he said, "Quiet," stopped her.
"A few things in your story didn't add up," he told them in a low tone. "There was evidence that at least Ted had been in the Southwest very recently. You three are not the innocent pawns you seem to be. When I left you in the office, I picked up the extension and heard the call Lucinda made."
The female clone gave a gasp and started to turn her head but stopped as Bane snapped, "I said hold still! I heard you report here to recommend that all the Antares assassins be given the recall signal. They are all down there right now, waiting to ambush me. Is that right?"
"Yes," admitted Lucinda. "But we didn't have any choice..."
Without saying anything further, Bane stepped closer and fired three times. The airgun made a low cough and each of the clones was jabbed in the back of the neck with a tiny metal dart. Those darts stung when they broke the skin, and the clones gave a start and went, "Ow," in the instant before the drug was in their systems. Within three seconds, they were dazed and confused, immediately after that they sagged to the ground.
Holstering the air pistol, Bane knelt and checked the clones. Each was breathing normally and their pulses were strong. The Trom formula was more potent than anything Human chemistry could come up with. Usually it was safe to use on any healthy individual, but Leonard Slade had warned Bane that a person with heart disease or very high blood pressure could die if injected with the drug. Allergic reactions were always a remote possibility as well. So far, no one had died after being hit with the darts but Bane always kept in mind that it could happen. These three seemed fine. In an hour more or less, they would regain consciousness but feel nauseous and weak for a period after that.
He stared down at them with mixed feelings. Despite his resistance, he was starting to feel a certain vague kinship with the three. They shared his DNA and this stirred an irrational sense that they were his family in some sense. The fact that the boy Kenny looked so much the way he had as a child made the kinship stronger. But obviously he could not trust them at all. He went back over to his Mustang and popped open the trunk. Removing the detachable holster with the dart gun from his belt, Bane replaced it with one that held his long-barreled Smith & Wesson 38. He checked again that it was ready and loaded, with even a sixth bullet in the chamber the hammer was resting on.
Walking past where the three clones lay senseless, the Dire Wolf stared down sourly at what seemed to be an unremarkable three-story office building with its parking lot holding six cars. An unmarked panel truck stood by a loading bay on the far side of the structure. Several of the windows were lit, including the lobby. There were no signs anywhere, nothing on the building to indicate who owned it or what its purpose was. Only Karl Eldritch had known the secret of charging up the ancient Zune technology. With him gone, the genetic cauldrons would have run down by now and there would be no more of these clones after today. Bane flexed his shoulders, took a few deep breaths and strode quickly down the small hill. As soon as he crossed the edge of the asphalt lot, doors slammed open facing him.
Eighteen Dire Wolves charged out at a full run. They all looked exactly like him except for the unhealthy grey skin, and about half of them were holding daggers in their left hands. Without a sound, grim and intent, the clones rushed forward in a loose mass. They weren't going to spread out and try to encircle him. That would have been too easy.
Dropping into a marksman's stance, both arms extended, Bane let off six shots so close together that it sounded like one long detonation. The six of the Antareans weilding knives reeled and fell, tangling up their brethren right behind them. Then the main swarm of clones piled on top of the Dire Wolf like a wave crashing down. The gun was struck away, but he would have not been able to reload it anyway. There was a writhing mass of black-clad bodies in a jumble, arms and legs pounding away. Suddenly, howls of pain rang out. The clones rolled off or jumped onto their feet and backed up.
Rising up over three dead Antareans, Jeremy Bane held one of the silver daggers in each hand. His nose was bleeding and one eye was swollen almost shut. The Trom armor he wore under his clothing left his head and hands exposed and the Antareans took advantage of that vulnerability. There were ten of the clones left standing. The dead grey skin and the way they all looked identical gave the scene a nightmarish quality. One was closer than the others and Bane lunged forward, his arm sweeping in a backward slash that drew the blade across the clone's throat. Using the momentum of that swing, Bane whipped a low side kick to another Antarean's crotch, killing him from the shock. Then the rest rushed forward to swarm on him again.
Even as he fell under the mob, Bane drove a dagger deep into a clone's chest. But there was one of them seizing each of his arms and legs apiece, pinning him down. Two of the Antareans began to pound the back of his head against the asphalt. Healing factor or not, he couldn't survive much more of that. Bending his wrist around, he sliced the dagger along a clone's arm and that freed his arm. Immediately, he swung that hand over to stab the face of the Antarean holding his other arm down. With both arms free, he sat up and broke the hold they had on his legs. With a convulsive surge of all his strength, he got free and leaped to one side away from the enemy.
He had lost one of the daggers in the struggle. As two of the clones came at him, their spacing gave him the opportunity he needed. Bane slashed open an Antarean's abdomen with his remaining dagger, then slammed a simple looping roundhouse punch that twisted the other clone's head around so far that his neck broke.
Now there were seven left. Bane hurtled at them, taking the initiative, smashing his knee up into the chin of one Antarean and flinging him back against another. The clones were as fast as he was, maybe a bit more so. They were single-minded killers who had had been raised to feel no doubts or fear. But their combat training was nothing at all like the Kumundu of Tel Shai. Again, they charged him all at once. Bane stopped one short with the silver dagger to the hilt in the clone's chest, and then received a stunning shock as something pierced him deeply in the side. With a snarl, he drove that attacker away with a backfist that sounded like a gunshot and caved in the man's forehead.
In the split-second he had open, the Dire Wolf realized he had been stabbed by his own weapon. The gralic-charged silver dagger had slid right through the Trom armor as if it wasn't there and had driven in just under his rib cage. Part of his mind realized he had never wondered before if the ensorcelled blades would be effective against the Trom armor. But even as this thought flashed through the back of his mind, Bane's free hand dug in an inside pocket of his jacket at the front and tossed something up just above head level. He had just enough time to squeeze his eyes shut and open his mouth wide before intolerable white light flared up just overhead. The deep boom of the detonation almost knocked him down.
It took him a few seconds to regain awareness. He could not hear anything at all, it felt as if his head was stuffed with cotton, and dark blurs swam across his vision. But the Antareans had all glanced up involuntarily and had been looking right at the dazzle grenade at close range. Holding the dagger in place into his wound for the moment, Bane went around to the stunned Antareans and began the ugly work of finishing them off. It only took a few minutes but he hated having to do it.
Dizzy and weak, the Dire Wolf took a moment to survey the clones and make sure none were just unconscious or injured. They were all dead. He glanced over at the facility and its opaque windows. Certainly, some of the John Grim staff had been watching this. Even if they were mostly just lab technicians and office workers, there were bound to be a few security guards and they might be coming out at any minute.
Bane knew he was in no shape to deal with armed men shooting at him from a distance. He had to get out of here. As he walked stiffly across the parking lot, he bent to retrieve his pistol and jam it into his holster. In a minute, he was in the woods and out of sight. Looking back, he saw no sign of anyone emerging from the facility yet.
Sinking down to rest against an elm, he forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly. The healing factor from the tagra regimen was great but everything had its limits. Bane realized he was still holding the free dagger so tightly that his fingers hurt. He cleaned its blade on some leaves and sheathed it under his sleeve. What he had to do next was not going to be fun. Reaching for an inner pocket toward the back of his jacket, he took out some adhesive gauze pads in sterile wrappers. Carefully, he opened the packages and laid the pads down within reach. He tugged the black jacket off the arm on the side where the wound was, took a few deeper breaths, and slid the dagger out of his side. Immediately, he pressed a gauze pad down over the opening, and it soaked through with blood but the second pad over that only showed a small blotch of red.
He had to sit still for a while. Bane had been hurt worse than this in the past and had survived, but it was never something to be taken for granted. The risk of infection was minimal with his aggressive immune system, but repair of internal organs that had been damaged was really testing the limits of his ability. Tel Shai knights were neither indestructible nor immortal, and most died in action.
Sitting there motionless, slowly starting to feel better, the Dire Wolf made a checklist of his injuries. His hearing was still gone. Hopefully that would come back soon. After-images from the dazzler grenade were fading. His head ached horribly, his nose had stopped bleeding and his swollen eye was starting to open a little. He reached up and gingerly probed the back of his head. The scalp had split open and blood clotted his hair but he didn't think there was a concussion. He did not feel nausea or disoriention. He did some math in his head, an old technique after taking head blows, and had no difficulty.
As he waited, the Dire Wolf cleaned the other dagger of his own blood and replaced it to its sheath. That had never happened to him before, an enemy using his trademark weapon against him. Eventually, he decided it was time to get moving. He could hear faint voices from the parking lot not far away and figured it meant the John Grim staff were getting bold enough to investigate the carnage. Well, they sure had a mess to clean up. They deserved it.
Getting up carefully, pressing one hand over his wound, Bane found it did not hurt as much as he had expected. Still, once he got back down to the city, he would have to roust Ted Wright for a real examination. Bane smiled despite the pain as he imagined the angry lecture Wright would give him for not going straight to the nearest emergency room. But, in the Midnight War you kept things secret as much as possible from the general public.
Walking slowly, keeping aware of any possibility he might stumble and fall, the Dire Wolf made his way back up the hill. He felt exhausted. Maybe he would check into a nearby motel for the night and get some sleep while the healing factor did its work. It certainly sounded more appealing than facing a three hour drive. Then he saw the two pine trees where he had left the three clones. He had completely forgotten them after all the violence. They were gone.
Bane examined the scene, saw the scattered pine needles where they had been lying and retrieved the spent darts the three clones had taken out of their necks. He spotted two distinct footprints heading back to the road but nothing else. Their own healing ability was not as effective as his, but it was probably enough that they had shaken off the anesthetic darts in a few minutes. He should have realized that and tied them up, he realized, but hindsight was no comfort.
Heading back to where he had left his car, walking more easily with every minute but still wincing as each step shot fresh pain through the wound in his side, Bane decided he would have to search for the clones. He would drive a few miles in one direction and then backtrack the other way. They could not have gotten too far on foot. Unlocking the driver's door and sliding behind the wheel, the Dire Wolf grunted as he settled down. There was a piece of paper folded under the windshield wiper. He opened the door without getting out and reached around to grab the paper.
It was a page from Lucinda's little notebook, and the neat tiny handwriting had a feminine flair to it. THANK YOU FOR LETTING US GET AWAY, it read. WE THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO KILL US. MAYBE WE WILL MEET AGAIN. And it was signed with all three names.
Bane scowled at the note. Actually, he hadn't decided what he would have done with the three clones. After all, they had led him into this ambush but he felt they didn't have much choice with the Antareans watching them. 'Maybe we will meet again...' He had no idea how to feel about that. Finally, he started up the motor and wearily swung the car back toward the main road.
6/1/2016
6/17-6/18/1990
I.
Bane had seldom felt his awareness of danger react more strongly. Every sense was keyed up to the point where it was taking an effort to stop himself from turning around and heading back to his car. What he felt was not fear so much as an awareness of imminent threats all around him. The Dire Wolf made himself breathe deeply and slowly, bringing out his enhanced hearing but still not being able to pinpoint what was alarming him.
At two o'clock on a muggy Sunday morning, this area off Wall Street was as deserted as any part of Manhattan ever became. The darkened skyscrapers on all sides were so tall that it felt like being at the bottom of a canyon, and he had not seen anyone on foot since coming down here. Every five or ten minutes, a taxi or police car might roll by, but that was about it. This was not a residential area. In the shadows of a deep doorway, Bane stared at the ancient church across the street and was annoyed at not being able to specify what was bothering him.
The church of Our Lady of Perpetual Hope was a protected historical site, dating back more than two hundred years and still in use. It hunched down between two towering office buildings, set back from the sidewalk behind a wrought iron fence, lit by a standing lamp post with a plaque detailing the church's history. Funny that the steeple had once been the tallest structure in the neighborhood, he thought. By the side of the church, pressed up against its wall of closely packed stones, was the woman who had called him here.
He had spotted her immediately but she was not the threat that was keeping him alarmed. Her body language indicated fear and uncertainty, not aggression. The woman was tall, about five feet eight, thin, dressed in a dark windbreaker and slacks. Straight black hair reached to her collar and even from across the street, he could see how unusually pale her skin was. But it was not her that his training was warning him about.
Finally, Bane strode across the street toward the church. The woman straightened up as he came into view. Getting closer, he saw she had a narrow face with pale eyes and there was something unsettlingly familiar about her. He realized that she looked a lot like he himself did...
Not speaking, still watching and listening as if surrounded by wild animals on all sides, the Dire Wolf walked up to her. He stopped just out of reach in a wary stance, ready to move in any direction instantly.
"Oh, you came at last," the woman said just above a whisper. "I'm Lucinda. I called you."
"Well, here I am." He turned slowly in a half-circle. "Is someone following you?"
"Yes. We have to get somewhere safe," she said. This close, her features were so much like his that they could have been brother and sister. "I have to warn you, there is danger..."
"You're telling me," Bane snorted. He whirled just as a dark figure dropped down off the roof of the church right at him. The Dire Wolf sidestepped and drove a hard left hook up into the attacker's oncoming body. The man grunted from the impact but still landed lightly on his feet. As the attacker straigtened, Bane was within a split-second of throwing a follow-up blow when he sensed something behind him. Quicker than any normal Human, a second attacker pounced and seized him around the body to pin his arms down.
The first man closed in fast, whipping out a straight jab. Bane rolled his head back so that blow barely scraped his jaw and pushed back against the man holding him so he could blast a front snap kick that cracked against the first man's chin. Bane brought that same leg back down to hook behind his grappler's ankle and got him off-balance.
If anyone had been passing by, they would have seen only a confusing blur of motion as Bane traded blows with his attackers, striking and blocking faster than an untrained eye could follow. He realized with a jolt that these men were just as fast as he was, maybe even a bit quicker. Snake men? Gelydrim? It was so rare that he encountered anyone who could meet his enhanced speed that he was taken aback. They were skilled fighters, too, and he had his hands full.
One of the men had drawn a knife and managed to get in a slash along Bane's cheek but he was left open by the swing and Bane caught him with a backfist that spun the man around. In the same continuous movement, the Dire Wolf whirled and drove out a high side kick that slammed the other attacker back against the wall of the church directly behind him. Bane had felt the man's bones crack under his boot at that blow. The attacker slumped limply to the ground.
Stepping back, the Dire Wolf touched his cheek and found the bleeding had stopped already. His healing factor from the tagra tea diet was at its peak. He stared down at the men he had beaten. Everything had taken place within a second or two and for the first time, Bane got a clear look at his enemies. The two men were wearing all black and they looked exactly like him with one difference. Their skin was the flat dull grey of a corpse.
"Project Regulus...." he growled.
II.
Bane had seldom been so enraged. With the death of Karl Eldritch a year earlier, he had thought there was no one else able to operate the ancient Zhune artifacts that made Project Regulus feasible. Obviously the threat was not over yet.
"We have to get out of here," Lucinda pleaded. "More are coming."
"Turn toward the light," he said. "Come on. Yeah, you've got that skin tone. You're one of them."
"No. Well, not really. I mean, I am from the Project but I'm not one of the Antares assassins. Hurry, please, I came to you for help!"
The Dire Wolf hesitated for the barest instant. He did want to get to the bottom of this. Even if this woman were just the lure for a trap, he had walked into traps before to get things over with. "All right," he grumbled. "Let's get somewhere safe. My car is two blocks up."
"No, please, my brothers are in our van. Right across the street. Please, trust me." She reached to take his arm but he drew back and she did not press the matter. Lucinda hurried across the street and up to a white Chevy van parked just around the corner. Bane glanced back at the two Antares killers who were sprawled on the sidewalk, unhappy at leaving them where they would soon revive and possibly come after him again.
Through the windshield of the van, a white-haired man could be seen sitting in the passenger seat. The grey-skinned woman opened the driver's door and had started to say something when Bane abruptly leaped past her and swung around behind the van. He collided head-on with one of the Antareans. The assassin lunged with a dagger, quick and accurate as a viper striking, but Bane seemed to have been anticipating the thrust. He seized the attacker's elbow with one hand and the wrist with his other, folding the arm back and forcing the blade deep into the Antarean's chest. The clone sighed in a strange way as life left his body. The Dire Wolf flung the dying man to one side, turned and climbed into the back seat of the van.
"Drive!" he snapped. "I saw two more of them out there!" As Lucinda started up the Chevy and pulled out into the street, Bane was surprised to find he was sitting next to a young boy, no more than eight years old. They ran the first red light they came to, but stopped at the next one and Bane got a good look at the boy.
Small and thin, wearing a baggy black sweatshirt and jeans, the kid had jet black hair and a narrow feral face with the same light grey eyes Bane had been expecting. The kid stared back in confusion at the intense scrutiny.
"I think I understand now," the Dire Wolf said. "What's your name, buddy?"
"Kenny."
"After Kenneth Dred. Of course. Your brain held enough of my memories to prompt that name. And Lucinda? After Cindy. You up there, what's your name?"
In the thin voice of the elderly, the white-haired man answered, "Me? Why, Ted."
"After my best friend." Bane took a deep breath and tried to get hold of himself. "That damn Eldritch. Nothing was beneath him to try. I get it now."
Behind the wheel, Lucinda said, "Yes. We are clones based on samples taken from you when you were prisoner. All this has been explained to us. We were still in the cauldrons when the Master died."
Sitting next to Bane, the boy Kenny broke in. "I don't understand. Aren't you one of the Antares?"
"No," the Dire Wolf said in as gentle a tone as he could manage. He was not good at sounding friendly. "They're clones of me."
"And you're the original?"
"Yes," Bane told the boy. "I'm not a clone."
"How do you know?" asked Kenny.
That caught him off-guard. For a long moment, he couldn't think of a good answer. "I just do, okay? So why are you three on the run? Why are those Antares chasing you?"
From the front, the old man answered. "We only know what happened second-hand, you understand. When the Master was killed and the facility destroyed, all of us were only tiny blobs floating in Alchemical solution-"
"Hold it," Bane interrupted. He was peering through the rear window. "There's only one car on the streets and it just turned to follow us. Lucinda, run that stop sign ahead."
"Did they stop?" she asked.
"Didn't even pause." The Dire Wolf dug in an inner pocket of his jacket and came out with a metal sphere the size of a cherry tomato. He pressed down on a stud projecting from its surface and rolled down the window next to him.
"Whatcha doing?" asked the boy.
"Listen. Everyone stare straight ahead. Do not even look in a rearview mirror. You might want to cover your ears, too." With that, he twisted the top of the sphere, leaned out the open window and lobbed the device at the car behind them. As soon as he had done this, Bane squeezed his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears.
The flash of incandescent white light and the sharp crack of thunder behind them was stunning. Anyone within a mile must have heard that detonation and seen the glare. Despite herself, the woman at the wheel slowed and gasped in surprise.
Looking back, the Dire Wolf saw that the pursuing car had swerved over with its front wheel up on the curb. The windshield was a pattern of tiny cracks. "Take off!" he yelled at Lucinda. "Now is our chance."
She sped up the street, swung right at the corner and started heading uptown. "What WAS that? A grenade?"
"In a way," Bane answered. "Not as strong as the flash-bangs SWAT teams use but it sure discourages pursuers." He leaned back in his seat, satisfied that the Antareans would not be coming after them right away.
"You carry grenades on you?!" asked Kenny in an awed voice.
Surprising himself, Bane smiled at the eight year old. "Doesn't everyone? Also, two smoke bombs and a couple of tear gas pellets. You never know when you'll need them."
Everyone in the van had an uncomfortable ringing in their ears and there was no further conversation for a few minutes. At 11th Street, Lucinda turned and pulled into a side street within sight of the East River. "Here's where we are hiding for the moment," she said in an oddly hollow voice as she had trouble hearing herself.
The Dire Wolf studied the old delapidated buildings on both sides of the street, the boarded-up store window, the trash on the sidewalk. He opened the van door and hopped out, scanning warily in all directions. Without his even knowing it, his hand had dropped back to the butt of the dart gun holstered behind his left hip.
The elderly man who called himself Ted stepped out onto the curb, holding one hand on the van door cautiously. He was a little stiff and hesitant in his motions. The streetlight showed a face with some wrinkles, bags under the eyes and a softening under the jawline but it was still recognizably the face of Jeremy Bane.
Is that how I'm going to look in forty years? the Dire Wolf thought and then immediately snapped back to the situation at hand. "Let's get out of sight," he said. "I want answers and lots of them."
III.
The basement had fake wood paneling on the walls and two standing lamps, but it felt damp and musty. There was a toilet and sink in one corner behind a folding screen, a couch and a mattress on the floor with a tangle of blankets covering it. A dresser, all chipped and stained, with a mirror and a radio on it, completed the furnishings.
"I was the one who rented this cellar from the family upstairs," the white-haired clone explained. He lowered himself carefully to the couch and leaned back with a sigh. "Their English is not that good, but they know cash when they see it."
The female clone and the eight year old clone dropped down on the couch alongside Ted and watched Bane hopefully. He stood in front of them with folded arms and a total lack of sympathy on his face.
"My God, I hate what Karl Eldritch did!" he snapped. "When I was his prisoner, he took samples from me while I was unconscious and used his goddam Zhune technology to grow copies of me. Without my knowledge! Without my permission. He stole my individual identity... the one thing a person really has in this world."
Lucinda interrupted timidly. "We know there are twenty of the Antares class. They are as exact copies of you as the Master could manage. They are the assassins that are chasing us now."
The Dire Wolf glared at them. "And what's the deal with you three? A version of me as a kid and an old man and as a woman? What the hell. I figure he just dropped the Y chromosome and duplicated the X to make a female clone. I know that much science at least. But what's the point? Why did he make you three so different?"
Unexpectedly, the young boy began to cry. His face twisted up, tears dripped and suddenly he was sobbing. "It's not our fault. We didn't ask to be made like this. And we came to you for help! We thought you were a good person and would want to help us."
Bane drew back a step, surprised, and then dropped to one knee in front of the kid. He tried to soften his voice. "Kenny. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Calm down. Stop crying."
Putting her arm around the boy, Lucinda gave the Dire Wolf an icy stare with pale eyes just like his own. "We're victims, Mr Bane, just trying to survive. Like Kenny said, we haven't done anything to you."
"Okay, I said I was sorry. I'll try to protect you three against those Antareans." Bane moved to a seated position in front of the couch and exaled sharply. "I would have to track them down in any case. Killers with my face running around Manhattan? I can't let that go on."
"I regret there is not much information we can give you," said the elderly one. "We were never released from the facility. No outsiders ever visited. In the past year, we have been taught some useful skills. Lucinda can drive and I can do bookkeeping. But we don't know much about the world. We were only allowed to watch news on TV that had been edited for us."
"Where is this facility where you were kept?" Bane asked.
"North of here. More than two hours drive north. We escaped without a plan, since that car was in front of the building with the keys in it. No guards were in sight. Lucinda and Kenny and I just jumped in with no more than what we were wearing and headed here. We knew where New York City was."
Bane shook his head slowly. "And where did you get money? Did you find it in the car?"
"Why... yes," said the old man. "There was a wallet in the glove box with credit cards and a lot of cash. How did you know?"
"They let you escape. That's why one of you was taught how to drive. The only question is why." The Dire Wolf leaped nimbly up on his feet and headed quickly for the steps that led up to the street door. "You three stay here!" He flung the door open to face an Antares assassin who was holding a dagger in one hand. The killer reacted as quickly as Bane himself did, lunging forward and thrusting the blade out. Pivoting sideways, bringing his fist up and then down, Bane hammered a vicious rabbit punch to the back of the clone's neck. He felt the decisive snap beneath his fist. Already dying, the Antarean tumbled down the stairs and rolled over on one side.
There was another of the killers right behind where the first had been, moving forward. Bane kicked the clone's feet backward from under him, seized him by the shirt front and threw him headlong down the stairs to land on the body of the first one. The Antarean reacted well, rolling and leaping up onto his feet even as Bane hopped down beside him. They traded a flurry of blows back and forth for a second, then the Dire Wolf saw an opening and dropped down to drive a straight punch right over the Antarean's heart. That staggered the assassin for a second, leaving him open as Bane struck again harder to the same spot. The man's sternum cracked apart under that blow.
The Antareans were fast, maybe even faster than Bane himself was since they had been tweaked while forming. They obviously had some training and indoctrination in how to fight. But they had not studied Kumundu under Teacher Chael of Tel Shai for a dozen years as Bane had, and this gave him an edge when confronting them.
When the assassin dropped, his head hit the concrete floor with a solid clunk that showed he had made no effort to break his fall. His grey eyes remained open. Bane made a disgusted noise. "I guess we won't be questioning these two," he said.
The three clones he had taken under his protection had gotten to their feet but were staring at him uncertainly. Bane said, "We have to get out of here right this second. Leave everything, follow me outside."
IV.
Unexpectedly, the next forty minutes went smoothly. The bodies of the two assassins were left where they had fallen, since Bane figured the others would claim the corpses when they came to investigate. He got the three clones into their van without encountering any more of the Antareans. Sitting in the front passenger seat with his dart gun in hand while Lucinda drove, the Dire Wolf had them go back to the Wall Street area where they had met. It was getting near dawn by this time.
Bane made them abandon the white van on a side street and loaded them all into his own car, which he had left nearby before meeting Lucinda at the church. That seemed like days ago, but it had only been a few hours. He swung east across town and headed north. At 38th Street, Bane turned onto Lexington Avenue and approached the KDF headquarters building which had become his base after the team's disbanding.
In the tiny underground garage beneath the old building, just big enough to hold two cars at a time, he parked his Mustang and got the three clones out. They certainly seemed exhausted. Despite his outrage at the forbidden process that had produced them, Bane was beginning to feel a twinge of sympathy for their situation. He marched them down the corridor between the vault and the arsenal, up through the panel in the walk-in closet and out into the front hall. As much as he wanted to immediately start the campaign against the Antares killers, Bane decided that he had to take care of these three versions of himself first.
Using the elevator, the Dire Wolf escorted them up to the fourth floor and into one of the unused guest rooms. While they used the bathroom one at a time and cleaned themselves up as best they could, he checked the house phone for messages. Nothing. He told the three clones they might as well get a few hours sleep before he planned their next move. The old man Ted gratefully stretched out on the couch, kicked off his shoes, rolled over on his side and was asleep within seconds. Lucinda stretched out on the bed, gestured for Kenny to join her and put her arms around him protectively. Just before she drifted off, she whispered, "Thank you, Mr Bane."
"Might as well call me Jeremy," he answered but he wasn't sure if she had stayed awake long enough to hear him. He stepped out into the hall and softly closed the door behind him. Thinking things over, he went down to his own quarters on the third floor for a shower and to change into a fresh uniform. Down in the kitchen, he found some sliced turkey and made two thick sandwiches which he toasted in a frying pan and devoured.
One problem was that he could not think of any of his teammates to call in on this case. Cindy was in California handling court testimony and would be occupied there at least a few more days. Everyone was scattered on assignments or their personal lives. He knew Shiro or Karina would come in a heartbeat if he summoned them. But to be honest, Bane had to admit he was stubborn and proud enough that he preferred to handle problems by himself.
Stopping at the conference room, he opened a metal cabinet up on the wall and took out a red metal cannister that resembled a fire extinguisher except that its hose ended in a narrow nozzle. Like most KDF equipment, it had no labels or instructions on it, just the cryptic number 33. Only the members would ever use it and they would know what it was. Back up on the fourth floor, Bane paused outside the door were he had left his guests. He slowed his breathing down and, after thirty seconds, his hearing jumped up to enhanced levels. This had been one of the earliest Tel Shai techniques he had learned. There were three distinct patterns of breathing in that room, all deep and slow. He matched them to the three clones. At least they would be ready to move on when they woke.
Kneeling, he inserted the rubber nozzle of the cannister under the lower edge of the door and released a long hissing burst of the cannister's contents. It was the same Trom-formulated anesthetic they used in the dart guns. He took the cannister back to the conference room on the second floor and returned it to the cabinet, then returned to the room where the clones were sleeping. By now, a few minutes had passed and the gas had dissipated. It was designed to lose potency after being in the air for three or four minutes. Only the Trom could have devised a formula so effective and yet safe enough to use this way.
Entering the room, Bane found the three clones in deep slumber, from which they would not awaken for at least an hour. He unclipped his Link from his belt and used its sensors to begin taking detailed readings on the three. As he did this, he also examined them himself. He studied their fingernails, looked for any scars or unusual marks, tested their muscle tone. That dead grey skin was a big drawback of the cloning process. Tanning booths only gave them normal appearances for a day or so. The readings on the Link indicated that these clones had only a limited amount of the healing factor. Well, that figured. They would duplicate his healing ability from the time his tissue samples had been taken, but they did not have regular access to the tagra plant to reinforce the factor. They would recover from injury more quickly and thoroughly than a normal Human would, but not to the same extent he himself did.
That would be true for the Antares assassins as well, he thought. Good to know.
Going through their clothing, he found the wallet that had been mentioned in the rear pants pocket of the elderly clone. Bane examined it, took images of the drivers' license and other ID cards within. Finally, he dug inside the cuffs of the old man's pants and found enough dust to examine. The Link clicked and buzzed as it began to analyze the dust.
Lucinda had a small notebook and pen in her pants pocket, but there was nothing written on it. Not even an impression showed to indicate a page had been used and torn off. She also had a tube of Chapstick and some tissues. The boy Kenny had a crumpled up KitKat wrapper and a scratched-off Take Five ticket. They had evidently stopped at least once on the trip up here.
Making sure he had returned the three sleeping clones to the same positions they had been in when he had entered the room, the Dire Wolf watched them thoughtfully for a few minutes and then went back out into the hall. Down at the end of the hall, a bench sat under one window and he dropped down on it. The Link had completed its analysis of the dust from the pants cuff and had found tiny bits of pollen native to the Southwest, specifically Arizona or New Mexico. His expression was more grim than usual as he read this.
The driver's license was completely bogus. No such person as the man shown had ever registered with the DMV of New York State, and the address shown did not exist. The credit cards were not valid, either. They were mockups. The money in the wallet had all been crisp twenty dollar bills in a neat bundle, taken from an ATM at the same time. There were no receipts from gas stations or convenience marts in the wallet or in the pockets of any of the clones. They said they had driven for hours from upstate to get to New York City, yet he had noticed the gas gauge on their van read as full. It was likely that they had paid cash when they filled the tank and thrown away the receipts, of course. He was trying to consider all the possibilities.
Standing up, Bane pulled the curtain aside and stared down at East 38th Street. He was suspicious by nature and his long years in the Midnight War had not made him any less so. Deciding he had enough time before his guests stirred, he trotted down the stairs to the front hall and left the building. Watching for any of the Antares assassins, he figured they were unlikely to attack on a bright morning in the busy streets but you never knew.
Walking quicker than most people could run, he approached the street where they had left the white van from Project Regulus. It was gone. Bane was not surprised. He returned to the KDF building, still keeping a wary eye for any suspicious movement around him. Going up to the fourth floor one more time, he listened to the steady relaxed breathing patterns in the guest room before sliding down to the floor. Sitting with his back to the wall next to the door, the Dire Wolf lowered his head and used Tel Shai techniques to drop off into a light slumber himself for an hour or two while he had a chance.
V.
Just after noon, Bane's head snapped up and he glared around, instantly alert and ready for attack. None of the building's alarms had sounded. He heard a low murmur through the door beside him and realized it was that sound which had awoken him. Getting easily up on his feet, he felt refreshed and ready to go another day and night non-stop. With his accelerated metabolism, a few hours of sleep was all he ever needed. He stretched and yawned, then knocked softly on the door.
"Come on in," came Lucinda's voice. "We're up."
Bane entered the room. The old man, Ted, was going into the bathroom that every guest quarters had, but Lucinda and Kenny were standing up and watching him nervously.
"We will be leaving soon," the Dire Wolf announced, "but first I imagine you guys want some food."
"Oh, absolutely," Lucinda said at once.
"I'm STARVING!" Kenny added. "I'll eat anything, broccoli or Brussel sprouts or anything gross, I'm so hungry."
As Ted emerged from the bathroom, Bane led the three of them into the rather small elevator that Kenneth Dred had first installed so long ago. Down on the first floor, he escorted them into the kitchen and got them seated at the round table under the window.
"There's the toaster. Here's a loaf of whole wheat and the butter dish. Wait, here's a knife. You guys start on some toast." Bane took down two frying pans and started scrambled eggs in one and bacon in the other.
Shoveling a piece of toast in his mouth, the eight year old mumbled, "Can I get something to drink, Mr Bane?"
"Go right ahead. Glasses are in that cabinet. I think we have apple juice and milk, maybe some iced tea in the back of the refrigerator." The next half hour was spent feeding everyone, and Bane himself ate a huge amount. When the three seemed satisfied, he placed all the dishes and glasses in the sink.
Lucinda started over to begin washing the utensils, but Bane stopped her. "I'll take care of them later. Right now, we have a pack of Antareans out there to worry about."
"A pack of Dire Wolves!" Kenny said. "Like prehistoric times."
"Yeah, I suppose," Bane agreed without enthusiasm. "Come on, we're heading back to Project Regulus." He led them to the office in the front door and asked them to sit there for a few minutes. "I'm going to check the car out and make sure it's fully stocked. You guys might as well be comfortable. I'll bring the car around front when it's ready."
Stepping out into the hall, the Dire Wolf swung into a wall nook out of sight and picked up an extension telephone that sat on a shelf by itself. He listened in silence and waited for the click before gently hanging up. With a faint sigh, he went through the panel in the back of the closet, down along the corridor and into the underground garage. The expression on his face was more glum than usual. He rolled up the concrete ramp with its sharp angle at the top, out into the alley and then onto Lexington Avenue.
Double parked for the moment, Bane hustled the three clones into his Mustang and eased out into traffic. Kenny took the front passenger seat. For the entire three hour drive upstate, the eight year old kept up a rapid conversation with Bane that really consisted of one question after another.
How many people had Bane killed? Bane said he had no idea what the number might be and it was better not to dwell on it. The important thing was that the killings were justified to protect an innocent life or in his own self-defence.
What style of kung fu did Bane use? The answer was that Bane had been trained in Kumundu, taught only by Chael of Tel Shai. Chael was over a hundred years old, although he looked about thirty, and he taught his students elements of whatever martial arts would work best with each student's body and personality. Bane personally used a lot of Wing Chun, Western boxing and Hapkido.
How did Bane feel about fighting the Antareans? Bane said he had no feelings about them either way. They had been basically brainwashed from birth and were lost cases. They would attack him as long as they were alive. His survival depended on eliminating them as quickly as he could.. and since they would try to kill him on sight, he really had no choice.
How many of the silver daggers were there and was he wearing them now? Bane explained there were only the two which had been ensorcelled by the Eldarin ages ago. Those were the ensalir daggers which could disrupt spells and slay almost any creature of the night. There were six more daggers he had had made which looked identical, four with steel blades and two with a silver alloy, but he used them as decoys when he knew he would be forced to disarm. Yes, he had the real ensalir knives on him now.
Was there anyone in the world who could defeat him in a fair fight? Bane laughed and said Sure, he had been completely beaten a number of times. No matter who you are, there's always someone out there who's a little bit better.
At this point, Lucinda spoke up from the back seat. "That's enough questions, Kenny. Let Mr Bane concentrate on his driving. We're getting near Albany."
"Actually, there are a few things I have to ask you three before we reach the facility," the Dire Wolf said as he pulled onto the exit ramp from the Thruway. "Ted, you told me that you never left the facility. Is that right?"
"Yes sir. We were allowed out into the parking lot once in a while," the old man answered.
"And the clothes you are wearing, is that your normal wardrobe?"
"Yes. We did our own laundry and cooked our own meals," said Ted. "They said it was to prepare us for when we would be sent out into the world. I don't understand, why do you ask?"
Bane did not answer directly. "Do you know the names of any of the scientists working on you? The director of the facility?"
It was Lucinda who said, "The administrator was Dr Elizabeth Altieri. We had two therapists who worked on us, Stanley Lindquist and Rita Wilton. Our medical doctor was a man named Pratt, Edmond Pratt. Do you recognize those names?"
"Only Altieri, but that's enough," Bane said. "She was a researcher for John Grim a few years ago. Now I know who took what remained of Karl Eldritch's equipment. Grim must have been working with Eldritch, supplying infrastructure and staff."
They left the main highway and started on some back roads as Bane followed the directions Lucinda had given them. It was late afternoon by now. In the back seat, the female clone asked uncertainly, "Is that important, Jeremy?"
"Oh yes. John Grim himself is in a coma in a West Virginia hospital but his empire is still running." The Dire Wolf slowed at an intersection and pulled onto a road marked O'BEAL LANE. "It helps to know what we're facing."
For the next few miles, there was nothing but the road and the woods on either side. The silence in the car had become tense for some reason. Finally, the eight year old sitting next to Bane said, "How do you feel about us, I mean the three of us?"
The Dire Wolf did not answer for a moment. "You three didn't ask to be created," he said quietly. "You weren't volunteers. The real villains here were Eldritch and Grim, and they are both out of the picture now. All I can do is get rid of the killers those two made from my DNA."
There was a catch in Kenny's voice and he suddenly sounded more like a little boy than ever. "So... What's gonna happen to us?"
"We'll figure something out. I'm pulling over here." Bane went off the road onto a flat area and came to a stop by two huge pine trees. "Soon we'd be setting off alarms. Everybody out and go over by those trees there."
"The facility is down at the bottom of that hill," Lucinda told him as she emerged from the back seat. In the afternoon sunlight, her dead grey skin looked more ghastly than ever. That was the biggest flaw in the Zhune cloning process. Even make-up and tanning booths only gave them a natural appearance for a short time.
"That's what I figured," Bane said. He directed them over by the pines and got the three clones side by side. "Now I want you all watching that building down there. Stand close together, that's good."
"That's our facility, all right," the old man Ted muttered unhappily. "I don't understand..."
Standing fifteen feet beind them, Bane reached behind his left hip and drew the air pistol. "All of you, hold still. Don't say anything. I've got you covered."
VI.
Lucinda began to protest but the tone in Bane's voice as he said, "Quiet," stopped her.
"A few things in your story didn't add up," he told them in a low tone. "There was evidence that at least Ted had been in the Southwest very recently. You three are not the innocent pawns you seem to be. When I left you in the office, I picked up the extension and heard the call Lucinda made."
The female clone gave a gasp and started to turn her head but stopped as Bane snapped, "I said hold still! I heard you report here to recommend that all the Antares assassins be given the recall signal. They are all down there right now, waiting to ambush me. Is that right?"
"Yes," admitted Lucinda. "But we didn't have any choice..."
Without saying anything further, Bane stepped closer and fired three times. The airgun made a low cough and each of the clones was jabbed in the back of the neck with a tiny metal dart. Those darts stung when they broke the skin, and the clones gave a start and went, "Ow," in the instant before the drug was in their systems. Within three seconds, they were dazed and confused, immediately after that they sagged to the ground.
Holstering the air pistol, Bane knelt and checked the clones. Each was breathing normally and their pulses were strong. The Trom formula was more potent than anything Human chemistry could come up with. Usually it was safe to use on any healthy individual, but Leonard Slade had warned Bane that a person with heart disease or very high blood pressure could die if injected with the drug. Allergic reactions were always a remote possibility as well. So far, no one had died after being hit with the darts but Bane always kept in mind that it could happen. These three seemed fine. In an hour more or less, they would regain consciousness but feel nauseous and weak for a period after that.
He stared down at them with mixed feelings. Despite his resistance, he was starting to feel a certain vague kinship with the three. They shared his DNA and this stirred an irrational sense that they were his family in some sense. The fact that the boy Kenny looked so much the way he had as a child made the kinship stronger. But obviously he could not trust them at all. He went back over to his Mustang and popped open the trunk. Removing the detachable holster with the dart gun from his belt, Bane replaced it with one that held his long-barreled Smith & Wesson 38. He checked again that it was ready and loaded, with even a sixth bullet in the chamber the hammer was resting on.
Walking past where the three clones lay senseless, the Dire Wolf stared down sourly at what seemed to be an unremarkable three-story office building with its parking lot holding six cars. An unmarked panel truck stood by a loading bay on the far side of the structure. Several of the windows were lit, including the lobby. There were no signs anywhere, nothing on the building to indicate who owned it or what its purpose was. Only Karl Eldritch had known the secret of charging up the ancient Zune technology. With him gone, the genetic cauldrons would have run down by now and there would be no more of these clones after today. Bane flexed his shoulders, took a few deep breaths and strode quickly down the small hill. As soon as he crossed the edge of the asphalt lot, doors slammed open facing him.
Eighteen Dire Wolves charged out at a full run. They all looked exactly like him except for the unhealthy grey skin, and about half of them were holding daggers in their left hands. Without a sound, grim and intent, the clones rushed forward in a loose mass. They weren't going to spread out and try to encircle him. That would have been too easy.
Dropping into a marksman's stance, both arms extended, Bane let off six shots so close together that it sounded like one long detonation. The six of the Antareans weilding knives reeled and fell, tangling up their brethren right behind them. Then the main swarm of clones piled on top of the Dire Wolf like a wave crashing down. The gun was struck away, but he would have not been able to reload it anyway. There was a writhing mass of black-clad bodies in a jumble, arms and legs pounding away. Suddenly, howls of pain rang out. The clones rolled off or jumped onto their feet and backed up.
Rising up over three dead Antareans, Jeremy Bane held one of the silver daggers in each hand. His nose was bleeding and one eye was swollen almost shut. The Trom armor he wore under his clothing left his head and hands exposed and the Antareans took advantage of that vulnerability. There were ten of the clones left standing. The dead grey skin and the way they all looked identical gave the scene a nightmarish quality. One was closer than the others and Bane lunged forward, his arm sweeping in a backward slash that drew the blade across the clone's throat. Using the momentum of that swing, Bane whipped a low side kick to another Antarean's crotch, killing him from the shock. Then the rest rushed forward to swarm on him again.
Even as he fell under the mob, Bane drove a dagger deep into a clone's chest. But there was one of them seizing each of his arms and legs apiece, pinning him down. Two of the Antareans began to pound the back of his head against the asphalt. Healing factor or not, he couldn't survive much more of that. Bending his wrist around, he sliced the dagger along a clone's arm and that freed his arm. Immediately, he swung that hand over to stab the face of the Antarean holding his other arm down. With both arms free, he sat up and broke the hold they had on his legs. With a convulsive surge of all his strength, he got free and leaped to one side away from the enemy.
He had lost one of the daggers in the struggle. As two of the clones came at him, their spacing gave him the opportunity he needed. Bane slashed open an Antarean's abdomen with his remaining dagger, then slammed a simple looping roundhouse punch that twisted the other clone's head around so far that his neck broke.
Now there were seven left. Bane hurtled at them, taking the initiative, smashing his knee up into the chin of one Antarean and flinging him back against another. The clones were as fast as he was, maybe a bit more so. They were single-minded killers who had had been raised to feel no doubts or fear. But their combat training was nothing at all like the Kumundu of Tel Shai. Again, they charged him all at once. Bane stopped one short with the silver dagger to the hilt in the clone's chest, and then received a stunning shock as something pierced him deeply in the side. With a snarl, he drove that attacker away with a backfist that sounded like a gunshot and caved in the man's forehead.
In the split-second he had open, the Dire Wolf realized he had been stabbed by his own weapon. The gralic-charged silver dagger had slid right through the Trom armor as if it wasn't there and had driven in just under his rib cage. Part of his mind realized he had never wondered before if the ensorcelled blades would be effective against the Trom armor. But even as this thought flashed through the back of his mind, Bane's free hand dug in an inside pocket of his jacket at the front and tossed something up just above head level. He had just enough time to squeeze his eyes shut and open his mouth wide before intolerable white light flared up just overhead. The deep boom of the detonation almost knocked him down.
It took him a few seconds to regain awareness. He could not hear anything at all, it felt as if his head was stuffed with cotton, and dark blurs swam across his vision. But the Antareans had all glanced up involuntarily and had been looking right at the dazzle grenade at close range. Holding the dagger in place into his wound for the moment, Bane went around to the stunned Antareans and began the ugly work of finishing them off. It only took a few minutes but he hated having to do it.
Dizzy and weak, the Dire Wolf took a moment to survey the clones and make sure none were just unconscious or injured. They were all dead. He glanced over at the facility and its opaque windows. Certainly, some of the John Grim staff had been watching this. Even if they were mostly just lab technicians and office workers, there were bound to be a few security guards and they might be coming out at any minute.
Bane knew he was in no shape to deal with armed men shooting at him from a distance. He had to get out of here. As he walked stiffly across the parking lot, he bent to retrieve his pistol and jam it into his holster. In a minute, he was in the woods and out of sight. Looking back, he saw no sign of anyone emerging from the facility yet.
Sinking down to rest against an elm, he forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly. The healing factor from the tagra regimen was great but everything had its limits. Bane realized he was still holding the free dagger so tightly that his fingers hurt. He cleaned its blade on some leaves and sheathed it under his sleeve. What he had to do next was not going to be fun. Reaching for an inner pocket toward the back of his jacket, he took out some adhesive gauze pads in sterile wrappers. Carefully, he opened the packages and laid the pads down within reach. He tugged the black jacket off the arm on the side where the wound was, took a few deeper breaths, and slid the dagger out of his side. Immediately, he pressed a gauze pad down over the opening, and it soaked through with blood but the second pad over that only showed a small blotch of red.
He had to sit still for a while. Bane had been hurt worse than this in the past and had survived, but it was never something to be taken for granted. The risk of infection was minimal with his aggressive immune system, but repair of internal organs that had been damaged was really testing the limits of his ability. Tel Shai knights were neither indestructible nor immortal, and most died in action.
Sitting there motionless, slowly starting to feel better, the Dire Wolf made a checklist of his injuries. His hearing was still gone. Hopefully that would come back soon. After-images from the dazzler grenade were fading. His head ached horribly, his nose had stopped bleeding and his swollen eye was starting to open a little. He reached up and gingerly probed the back of his head. The scalp had split open and blood clotted his hair but he didn't think there was a concussion. He did not feel nausea or disoriention. He did some math in his head, an old technique after taking head blows, and had no difficulty.
As he waited, the Dire Wolf cleaned the other dagger of his own blood and replaced it to its sheath. That had never happened to him before, an enemy using his trademark weapon against him. Eventually, he decided it was time to get moving. He could hear faint voices from the parking lot not far away and figured it meant the John Grim staff were getting bold enough to investigate the carnage. Well, they sure had a mess to clean up. They deserved it.
Getting up carefully, pressing one hand over his wound, Bane found it did not hurt as much as he had expected. Still, once he got back down to the city, he would have to roust Ted Wright for a real examination. Bane smiled despite the pain as he imagined the angry lecture Wright would give him for not going straight to the nearest emergency room. But, in the Midnight War you kept things secret as much as possible from the general public.
Walking slowly, keeping aware of any possibility he might stumble and fall, the Dire Wolf made his way back up the hill. He felt exhausted. Maybe he would check into a nearby motel for the night and get some sleep while the healing factor did its work. It certainly sounded more appealing than facing a three hour drive. Then he saw the two pine trees where he had left the three clones. He had completely forgotten them after all the violence. They were gone.
Bane examined the scene, saw the scattered pine needles where they had been lying and retrieved the spent darts the three clones had taken out of their necks. He spotted two distinct footprints heading back to the road but nothing else. Their own healing ability was not as effective as his, but it was probably enough that they had shaken off the anesthetic darts in a few minutes. He should have realized that and tied them up, he realized, but hindsight was no comfort.
Heading back to where he had left his car, walking more easily with every minute but still wincing as each step shot fresh pain through the wound in his side, Bane decided he would have to search for the clones. He would drive a few miles in one direction and then backtrack the other way. They could not have gotten too far on foot. Unlocking the driver's door and sliding behind the wheel, the Dire Wolf grunted as he settled down. There was a piece of paper folded under the windshield wiper. He opened the door without getting out and reached around to grab the paper.
It was a page from Lucinda's little notebook, and the neat tiny handwriting had a feminine flair to it. THANK YOU FOR LETTING US GET AWAY, it read. WE THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO KILL US. MAYBE WE WILL MEET AGAIN. And it was signed with all three names.
Bane scowled at the note. Actually, he hadn't decided what he would have done with the three clones. After all, they had led him into this ambush but he felt they didn't have much choice with the Antareans watching them. 'Maybe we will meet again...' He had no idea how to feel about that. Finally, he started up the motor and wearily swung the car back toward the main road.
6/1/2016
