dochermes

"Sharper Than A Serpent's Tooth"

8/1-8/4/1979

He had never been in New Mexico before. Jeremy Bane stood in the modernistic reception room and stared out through a wide picture window at a dramatic crevasse. Born and raised in New York City, the young Dire Wolf gazed in fascination at the jagged yawning slash in the earth, with its strata of red and yellow rock layers and the sharp contrast of light and shadow under the fierce sun. But as always, his matter of fact mind soon got back on track about why he had come all the way out here.

The flight from JFK had gone smoothly enough, but after that, it was still more than two hours drive from the New Mexico airport to the HCE Complex way out in the desert. He had rented a Jeep and made sure to stock it with bottles of water and a red plastic container with extra gas before setting out. For this research facility to be set up in such an inaccessible location raised a few questions in itself. Eventually, though, he had driven up to the high metal mesh fence and gotten out to identify himself to a voice from a speaker next to a camera before the gates had unlocked and swung themselves open to admit him. The hot blacktop of the parking lot was surprisingly vacant for a facility that showed six large one-story buildings.. only ten cars were in sight.

Bane had pulled up to the main building with its sign on a post, green letters against a white background, HCE HUMAN CAPABILITY ENHANCEMENT, and a listing of what was to be found in each of the six buildings. Mostly medical research labs, as far as he could tell from the listings. He entered the main doors, marked ADMINISTRATION, and was greeting by an attractive young woman with round-rimmed glasses and a white lab smock. She had checked his ID, shaken his hand and dropped him in this reception room before disappearing with the apology she had much to do that morning.

That had been ten minutes ago. Bane turned away from the window and looked over the room. The air was cool and dry, the lighting subdued and restful. Uncomfortable-looking aluminum tube chairs, a low table and a magazine rack on the wall by the door, a large clock on one wall. Nothing else. The Dire Wolf began to pace. His enhanced metabolism left him with a constant surplus of energy and he was always restless. He wanted to get things going.

The door opened and a man in a white lab coat over a suit and tie entered. He was a few inches taller than Bane's own six feet, with wider shoulders and a calm steady expression on his face. The man had short black hair, olive skin and dark eyes that regarded the Dire Wolf with clinical interest. "Mr Bane? I'm Leonard Slade, it's good that we are meeting."

( the rest of the story )

"The Inexorable Hourglass"

1/30/1979


I.

Just after midnight, a stout middle-aged man was held down into his overstuffed chair by unseen force. Dr Dale Brinnier stared with terrified bulging eyes at an old-fashioned foot-high hourglass he himself had placed on the coffee table in front of him. He looked as if he expected the object to violently explode in a minute.

Bent over that hourglass was a young man he had never seen before. Gaunt and intense, dressed all in black, Jeremy Bane was just twenty-one. He turned his pale grey eyes up at Brinnier, who winced at the hostile impact they had. Only a few moments earlier, Bane had charged in through his front door and explained that Kenneth Dred had sent him to help.

"So, this was in a package left at your door?" the Dire Wolf asked. "You took it out and the spell of the, what did you call it? The spell of the Inexorable Hourglass began?"

"Yes, yes," answered Brinnier. "Do something. Hurry, please. I can't get up out of this chair."

Examining the accursed artifact, Bane was scowling more than usual. "I can't lift this damn thing. Something's forcing it down to the table. Otherwise, I'd just flip it upside down and keep giving you another hour."

"I'm sure it's gralic force holding it down. Loukas would make sure of that. Oh God, look, there isn't much time left!" Brinnier rocked back and forth in his chair, hitting his hands on the arms in useless protest. "When the sands run out, I'll combust! I'll burst into flames."

The Dire Wolf covered his face with his hands for a second. "Quiet. Let me think. Every trap has a way out. I don't want to just smash the hourglass. That would probably just kill you instantly."

"Well, then don't do THAT!"

"I'm not going to." He bent down and examined the sorcerous device. It was evidently quite old. The surface of the glass itself was etched with mysterious symbols he did not recognize at all. The round top was made of dark wood, not thick at all, and there was a chip off one edge.

Jeremy Bane glanced over to where Dr Brinnier seemed ready to have a heart attack and die even before the final grains of sand trickled through. Then he suddenly straightened up. "Wait. Do you have a power drill?"

"What? Yes. It's up on top of the refrigerator. I was putting some trim on the baseboards, why?"

Not answering, Bane raced to the kitchen and came back with a cordless drill. The bit was thin. Quickly, he made a hole through the top of the hourglass. Dropping the drill, he barked, "Give me that handkerchief in your pocket."

"What do you want with it-?"

"You've got less than a minute, just co-operate." Bane stretched the handkerchief down tightly over the top of the hourglass. He fetched a vaccuum cleaner from the closet where Brinnier told him it was stored. Holding the handkerchief down tightly with one hand, he clicked the vaccuum on and held the nozzle near the handkerchief.

With only seconds to go, grains of sand swirled wildly around inside the hourglass, being pulled back up into the upper chamber and prevented from escaping by the taut handkerchief. When nearly all of the sand was back up near the top, the Dire Wolf snapped the vaccuum cleaner off and exhaled deeply. He realized he had been sweating from tension.

"That gives you another hour," he told Brinnier. "Maybe we can just keep doing this indefinitely. I don't know why I'M so shaky. It wasn't like a bomb about to go off, nothing was going to happen to me..."

Brinnier got to his feet, unsteady but starting to show relief. "I can move. I'm not held down in the chair any more. The spell has been broken."

Hearing that, Bane experimentally lifted the hourglass up off the coffee table. "Hey. Guess you're right. Is it harmless now?"

"For me. It will repeat the curse on its next victim. Loukas knows his dark craft."

Bane went over to where a pair of boots stood by the front door, tugged the lace out of one of them and used it to tie the handkerchief down securely over the hourglass' top disc. "What's Loukas's problem with you anyway?"

"Oh, he has hated me for years," said Brinnier. "I wouldn't sell him my family's real estate upstate for the ridiculously low price he demanded. He used threats but I wouldn't budge. Then Kenneth told me Emil Loukas was a genuine warlock who might put a curse on me, but I laughed that off. Until tonight."

"Good thing you have that phone by your chair. Calling Mr Dred was the best thing you could have done." Finding the packing box on the floor, Bane placed the hourglass in it. He was careful to be sure it was upright. "You know a lot about the Midnight War. How is the curse activated? Do you need to say certain words or something?"

"Oh no, nothing like that. Loukas performed the spell. Now, once the hourglass is inverted again, the person holding it will suffer the curse."

Brinnier sat down heavily and stared at Bane. "Young man, I owe you my life. When I called Kenneth Dred tonight, it was in desperation. I thought I was doomed and I just wanted to let him know who had done it."

The young Dire Wolf was holding the box and gazing down at it thoughtfully. "At least I got here in time. It's only a ten minute run from 38th Street. Mr Dred says you've been his friend for years, that's good enough for me. You know what, I've got an idea."

Seeing Bane head for the door, Brinnier cried out, "Wait. I don't understand. What do you intend to do?"

Not stopping, the Dire Wolf called back as he stepped out into the cold night, "I'll let you know how it works out."

( the rest of the story )

"Bad News Budo"

11/3/1979

I.

Toward the end of the class, when the students had finished sparring and were going through the long form in unison, Jeremy Bane came up the stairs and stood in the doorway. The Grange building was a meeting place for various civic groups most of the time, but on Tuesday and Friday nights the folding chairs and tables were put away. Hard mats were laid out along one wall, a large framed portrait of an elderly Japanese man was hung on the wall and a portable cassette player blared martial Asian music. It became a dojo.

Kneeling under the portrait, watching the twenty in the class do the long form as the senior student led them, was Sensei Vincent Colluchio. He was a tall, fit man in his early forties with a prominent jaw and watchful eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. His gi was starched and spotless, his obi was black with one thin red stripe running its length. Like the students, he showed no sign of having noticed the stranger in the doorway.

Only twenty-two but so serious and intense that most people treated him as if he were a decade older, the young Dire Wolf stayed in the doorway and watched the class. At six foot even and one hundred and seventy pounds, he had the lean gaunt build of a runner and the black wardrobe of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket added to the effect. But it was the eyes that caught everyone's attention. Under heavy dark brows, the cold grey eyes stabbed out at the world with suspicion that was like a challenge in itself. Even standing there quietly, arms folded, Bane seemed ominous.

Finally, the class was over and Sensei Calluchio gave final instructions to practice during the week, to wash their uniforms as soon as they got home, to think about what the art of Kujin-Ryu meant. He stood and bowed, all the students bowed in unison. Then the class bustled down the stairs to change back to their street clothes in the rooms on the first floor. Bane stepped aside to let them pass and now he was aware of Calluchio's disapproving stare.

The senior student was wiping sweat from his neck with a cloth. He was a wiry young Asian with shaggy thick hair and a flat face. Seeing this rather sinister looking stranger, he glanced inquiringly at his teacher.

"Stick around, Ken," Colluchio said quietly. Facing Bane, he asked, "What brings you to my class, son?"

Bane moved into the dojo, coming almost within reach of the sensei. "A couple of things. First, there's the way Sifu Yuan was injured. I just came from the ICU where he's going to be for a few more days."

"It was a fair fight," Colluchio answered angrily. "He didn't want me teaching next door to his own school. He challenged and I accepted. That's all there is to it."

"Really? I don't think so. Sifu Yuan was getting old but he was still skilled. Somehow you beat him senseless and left him with a severe concussion. The doctors are worried."

Sensei Colluchio studied his visitor. "And your connection with Yuan would be..?"

"He taught me some Black Mantis a few years ago. All I knew was Western boxing and street brawling. Even though we parted on bads terms, the Sifu was kind enough to take me in when he had only taught Chinese before. So I owe him something." Bane's pale eyes were fixed on Colluchio like a predator ready to pounce. "But actually, I was already preparing to talk to you about the smuggling."

Now the senior student started to protest, but the Sensei placed a hand on his arm. "Quiet. Go on, whoever you are."

"My name is Bane. Jeremy Bane. I'm looking into the smuggling of prohibited items into this country. Rhino horn. Tiger blood. Panda glands. It's not just that it's illegal to bring them here, it's what your boss does with them that concerns me." The Dire Wolf's voice had slowly gotten an edge to it. "These are ingredients for Fang Shih, the forbidden Alchemy. And the only man in America who is expert in that Alchemy is the one who pays you well to smuggle these items."

Colluchio removed his glasses, folded them and placed them on the window ledge behind him. He said nothing.

"You're working for Wu Lung, the Dragon of War. That makes your activities Midnight War, and that means you're my target." Bane held out an open hand, palm up. "I've heard rumors about you and your Kujin-Ryu style. The Bad News Budo, your school is called. You yourself are supposed to be a phenomenon in full contact. Look, I'm armed. No martial artist can beat a Smith & Wesson, let's be serious. But because of how you treated Sifu Yuan, I'm going to let you put a fight. I'm taking you into custody to bring you to NYPD headquarters. Do you feel like resisting?"

For an answer, Colluchio walked over to the center of the open room and dropped into a ready stance, weight on his foreward leg, left arm down in front of him and right fist up by his chest. He exhaled harshly and waited.

With the faintest of smiles, Bane strode over toward him. True, he had only had two months of Kumundu training at Tel Shai and Teacher Chael had warned him not to overestimate the value of that... a little knowledge could leave a fighter more vulnerable than none. But the Dire Wolf had been in one desperate struggle after another since childhood and he had sublime confidence in himself. It was his innate enhanced reflexes, twice as fast as the Human norm, that had always given him a decisive advantage.

Lunging in fast, he feinted with his right fist and whipped out a blurringly quick left cross instantly after it. But something went wrong. Colluchio ignored the feint, swayed just enough to let the other blow whiz past him and blasted his own short straight forefist that caught Bane squarely in the face. Surprised beyond words, the Dire Wolf reeled back a step and his defenses faltered. The Sensei followed with a high side kick to the torso that drove the breath out of Bane and knocked him back off his feet.

Shocked at all this, the Dire Wolf rolled and leaped back up. What was going on here? No matter how much skill this man had, he was still only Human and should be easy to beat. Bane attacked with a flurry of alternating left-right blows to the body, but Colluchio had stepped back just enough to lessen their impact. At the final strike by Bane, the Sensei blocked down hard with the heel of his palm and immediately snapped that hand up in a backfist that crashed directly under his opponent's chin. Bane backpedaled, fists raised defensively. He was starting to understand.

The two men circled each other, testing with preliminary moves, drawing closer. Bane spun on one heel, his other leg whipping around in a reverse roundhouse kick- and Colluchio caught that foot deftly, raised his arm and threw his opponent off-balance to the floor. In the second he was exposed, Bane took a vicious downward stomp to the stomach that brought bile up in his throat. The Dire Wolf got over and up on hands and toes, rising, but the Sensei threw a front snap kick that swung his head as far back as it could go without his neck breaking.

As Colluchio raised his foot again, the Dire Wolf somehow shoved it aside and managed to get back up on his feet. Everything hurt but he ignored that. As the Sensei got his balance, Bane came at him with a blindingly fast left hook but amazingly, it missed. Colluchio had started to dodge even before the blow was struck. In close,the Sensei crashed a brutal elbow strike to the throat and, as Bane was gagging, Colluchio seized his opponent and flung him through the open door and down the stairs. The thumping as he crashed headlong to the ground floor below echoed up the stairwell.

Sensei Colluchio and his student exchanged sour glances. This man knew too much. They headed for the door to go down and finish him. Standing on the landing, both men froze in disbelief. There was no body at the bottom of the stairs.

( the rest of the story )

"A Face Like Death"

[1969]

8/22-8/23/1979

Against the backdrop of twilight beyond the wide picture window, Golgora's head and shoulders were just a dark, ominous outline. The small red glow which marked the tip of his cigarette brightened as he drew upon it. "Proceed."

Harold Werner sat on a plain straightback chair in a circle of light from the ceiling. He was haggard, with dark circles under watery blue eyes and two days' growth of blond beard, but he had never been a large or imposing figure in his best days. Now he hunched forward, hands folded loosely and looked down at the floor. "Master, before we begin, may I-"

"No. Wait. Report first," came the hollow voice.

"Yes, Master. Your faithful servants have been watching the building on East 38th Street these past weeks. There has been much activity, many people coming and going, and we have identified eight regular visitors. It is most remarkable. Kenneth Dred died in his sleep last month. He had been a Midnight War adventurer in his youth and in his old age, he acted as counsellor and mentor to new adventurers. Two years ago, he hired a street thug called Jeremy Bane to act as his agent."

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"Fear Has Many Faces"

October 3, 1979-

I.

At ten minutes after eight, Jeremy Bane stepped into the conference room. He was wearing the black turtleneck and sport jacket and slacks which were his trademark. So much had to be done here yet. The long polished oak table had been there when he took ownership of the building, as had been the ten heavy straight back chairs that lined it. One wall was taken up with reference books and filing cabinets; another had two tall windows looking down on East 38th Street. There were two lockers he had brought up to hold his field suits, and a refrigerated cabinet at the far end held drinks and snacks. But he wanted to add more equipment, particularly communication equipment.

The Dire Wolf moved to the windows and held the heavy curtains aside. it was raining. He stood looking down at traffic, thinking that Kenneth Dred had been dead for barely two months now. It had been an uneventful passing, an old man's heart stopping in his sleep. They had already discussed what would happen, the will had been made out and transfer of property had been uncontested because there was no family. Bane was now wealthy, but it did not register. He now had millions in his bank account, when two years earlier he had owned only what he could carry. The Dire Wolf folded his arms, lost in thought. He did not grieve for Kenneth Dred as much as he had thought he would, but maybe it had not sunk in yet. Maybe he was just unfeeling. The old man had been failing for the past year. Perhaps that was another reason he had taken Bane on as a protege and heir.

At only twenty-two, the grim young man with pale eyes and cold demanor had taken on a huge responsibility. He was glad, though, it felt like something he had always been meant to do. The more he learned about the Midnight War, the more he was determined to assemble a group that could handle its menace. As an orphan of the streets, he had been offered membership in various gangs of thugs and racketeers but had always declined and worked alone. Now he would have his own gang, but one like nothing this city had ever seen.

Standing there, he felt a vague tickling in his thoughts that he was coming to recognize. He turned his head and saw Cindy in the doorway. A pretty blonde a little more than a year younger than himself, she had an impudent face, dark blue eyes and a wide grin. Cindy was dressed much more formally than usual, wearing navy blue slacks, an off-white blouse and a thin blue cardigan. Bane nodded to her, "Good morning."

"The BEST morning," she answered. "Don't try to hide your excitement, you've got a telepath in your life now."

"We agreed, no mind-reading without permission."

She came over to stand next to him, almost leaning up against his shoulder. "I know. I'll be good. Oh, I love my room. It's twice as big as my apartment down on Crampton Street, that was almost a closet."

"Here they start to come," said Bane, pointing outside. She leaned over to look out the window, deliberately pressing one soft breast against his arm. Down in the street, two men were walking up to the front door. They let themselves in and a moment later ascended to the stairs to the second floor and came into the conference room. Michael Hawk was the only KDF member known to the general public, a famous criminologist and manhunter from a family of crimefighters. Now hitting sixty, there was grey in his brown hair and his square face was lined but he still moved with confidence and authority. He was wearing a neat topcoat over a black business suit, with white shirt and dark maroon tie. "Hi, you two."

"Mike. Ted. Glad to see you."

Entering with Hawk was a tall black man with a sad heavy face and short beard. He wore a beige raincoat over a plain white dress shirt and dark slacks. Ted Wright was a Blue Guide, master of the Tel Shai healing art, and a man who took everything too seriously for his own good. He nodded to Bane and Cindy.

The blonde telepath came over to held them hang up their coats. She was helpful and gregarious by nature. "You guys look like you're freezing. Don't you think coffee is a good idea?" She seized Ted Wright by the arm and dragged him downstairs to the kitchen. "Come on, I need help not to burn it."

Left with Hawk, Bane said, "Mike, thanks again for helping me get my PI license. It'll be a big help."

Hawk grinned his crooked smile and came over to look out the window with him. "You had no documentation, Jeremy. Nothing. Not even a library card. I got you what you need but it's up to you to hold onto them. Not the first forged IDs I've created but I hope you put them to good use."

"Oh, I will," said the Dire Wolf. "You won't be sorry. Mr Dred told me you were the master in the fields of crimefighting and I should learn everything you want to teach."

Before Hawk could answer, Cindy and Wright entered with two pewter trays of mugs, sugar, milk and a huge coffee pot. Wright was smiling and more relaxed than when he had tentatively entered that building. Cindy had that effect. As they moved over to the conference table and started pouring and drinking, Bane was the one who abstained. With his enhanced metabolism, he needed to avoid caffeine.

Leonard Slade appeared in the doorway. He was very well dressed in a tailored dark blue suit. Slade was a Trom, without emotion but more intelligent than Humans in a scientific sense. His greeting was formal and polite, as he took a seat and waited. Bane watched him thoughtfully. He had met Slade not long earlier and they worked well together because they had common goals. But the Trom were sure cold fish.

Now it was nearly nine. A taxi door slammed outside in the street, they heard footsteps up the stairs and Dr Lawrence Taper hurried in, habitually late, his topcoat over one arm. "Hello! Hello, everybody!" Taper was not as imposing or dignified as the other KDf members. He was maybe five foot ten and solid in build, with a roundish face and short dark brown hair. Sometimes he had his glasses on but not now.

"Well, that just leaves Khang-" Bane started to say. He was interrupted by an explosion of white light in the hall outside and a peal of thunder. As the members jumped and one or two cursed at the sudden surprise, a huge form filled the doorway. Khang stood well over seven feet tall, bundled in a long coat, with a wide-brimmed slouch hat, wraparound sunglasses and muffler hiding as much as possible. Yet a gleam of silver could be spotted here and there when he moved.

"We are well met, my comrades," he rumbled in a deep voice that seemed to come from every direction. "Honored I am to join such illustrious knights."

"Glad to have you," said the Dire Wolf. He moved over to the head of the table. "Now if everyone will take a seat, we can begin. I call the first meeting of the Kenneth Dred Foundation to order."


( the rest of the story )