dochermes | Entries tagged with 1999

"Running Out of Thrills"

4/1-4/29/1999

I.

Exactly at midnight, the last of the four Adrenalati took his chair at the elegant green baize-covered card table. The others sat nursing their drinks, while one drew deeply on a clove cigarette before snuffing it out in a crystal ashtray. Cards were scattered on the table, but that was just for appearances. None of them cared about gambling anymore. They had reached new depths of being jaded even for the wealthy. Around them, the furnishings had cost fortunes, from the heavy maroon drapery to the marble counters to the genuine paintings by Kruipshank and LeDroit. None of this mattered to them at this point. Their pulses were only made rapid over something wicked.

As Ellsworth Eberhardt pulled out his King Francis era chair and took his seat at the head of the table, he was as impeccably dressed as ever. His white dinner jacket was tailored precisely, he seemed so clean-shaven and well-groomed that it was as if he had just stepped from a salon into the meeting room. Eberthardt was tall, slim, in his early fifties. The crisp brown hair had a sprinkling of white throughout it, the long face smiled at his friends with barely repressed glee. He picked up his bourbon on the rocks, sniffed it thoughtfully and took a long sip. "Everything went perfectly," he drawled. "The clueless police will be scratching their pointed heads."

Sitting to his left, the wide bulk of Mike Meade shifted restlessly. Despite the expensive clothing and the careful preparation, he still had a rough, unpolished look to him. Meade had started on the streets, son of immigrants who lived in the back of their deli and saved each coin to send their son to a good school. Recruited by ROTC, rising quickly to lieutenant in the Army, Meade had gone back to college after his tour of duty and had prospered in business. With his lantern jaw and flat nose, deepset brown eyes under heavy brows, he was intimidating without effort.

Meade watched their leader with a vague hostility. Ellsworth Eberthard had grown up with servants and every advantage on Martha's Vineyard. To be fair, he was a genius in computer design and troubleshooting and he had made his own millions. Meade had to admit the Adrenalate's leader deserved to be where he was. He made no answer but merely nodded.

It was Emilie who spoke in her low husky voice. "You were right. That was the first real jolt of life I've felt in weeks." A slender ash blonde with delicate features, Emilie Keyser wore a strapless burgundy dress and a simple turquoise and silver chain around her neck. She was watching Eberhardt with new appreciation. "The idea that I might get caught arrested, that was exciting! I believe you have found the solution to our, shall we say, ennui?"

"You and your word of the day," scoffed her brother. Emilie was just under thirty, while Kenny was five years younger. There was not much family resemblance. Both had light blonde hair, cloudy blue eyes and fine features. But the insolence and disrepect in Kenny's expression could not be concealed for long. He wore a neat dark grey suit, with matching vest and thin black tie over a crisp white shirt, but he alone did not seem at ease in it. "It was a real kick, Ellsworth. Just as you promised. And kicks keep getting harder to find."

"I am so glad to hear that," said their leader. "And the tokens of your misdeeds?"

Each placed an object on the card table. Mike Meade's token was a platinum cigarette lighter, Emilie's was a thin new leather billfold. Her brother Kenny bounced a steel money clip holding a thick wad of fifties. Leaning forward, smirking despite his best efforts, Eberthardt dropped a pair of rectangular emerald earrings trimmed in fine gold wire on the table.

"Now I'm impressed," Kenny chuckled. "How'd you do that without her noticing?"

"When you're a little older, I will tell you. Our first sins are petty, as you can see, but we will escalate quickly. Before we end the game, the sheep of this city will be looking over theirs shoulders in raw terror." He raised his tumbler in a gesture of salute. "My dear friends, the most exclusive club in Manhattan meets tonight to plan our next outrage. To the Adrenalati!"

They all raised their glasses. "The Adrenalati!"

( the rest of the story )

"Slaves of the Red Squid"

12/18/1999

I.

On a cold morning in the last month of the millennium, Jeremy Bane strode into the workout room and met the five members of his new team. The Dire Wolf regarded them somberly as they turned to face him. They're so young, he thought. All within a few years of either side of twenty. Just kids. Of course, so had he and the rest of his first team been when they had entered the Midnight War so long ago.

"Good morning, brothers and sisters," he said in his usual low tone. "Today we will start on our first mission and our briefing will be in the conference room. But first..." Turning his grey eyes to the young Chinese-looking man at the end of the loose line, he said quietly, "Argent, the discipline of our Tel Shai team is voluntary but it must be kept. I cannot accept your frequent challenges to my authority. At a critical moment, it could mean failure and death. So I ask you, do you think you would make a better captain than me?"

Sheng Mo-Yuan did not hesitate. He was a small man, still a teenager, not more than five feet five and one hundred and fifty pounds, wide and solid in build. He seemed to be Northern Chinese, but the high cheekbones and prominent eagle nose contradicted this and he was in fact from Chujir. "May I be honest? Yes, of course. I have heard much of you, the famous Dire Wolf, and your twenty years in the Midnight War. But that's the point!"

Bane did not change expression. "Go on."

"You are faster than Human but so am I. And I can also be stronger than Human and I can become resilient beyond harm. In battle, I should lead. I did fine on my own."

Now the Dire Wolf smiled very slightly. "This is not something to be settled by words. You ARE good, Argent but you have much to learn. There can be only one captain. Step to the mats."

"I was hoping for this," grinned Argent wickedly. "Let's do it, old man."

Silently, the two walked over to the thin padded mat which covered a quarter of the floor. The other four members turned to follow with uneasy expressions. Bane stood in the center and waved one hand, palm up in a 'come on' gesture. In a sudden blur, Argent flashed right at him and was met by a storm of short close punches to the body which threw him back off his feet. Bane eased in a loose ready stance again, hands down by his sides. Sheng shivered almost imperceptibly and rushed forward again. Bane knew that shudder meant Argent had changed the focus of his gralic focus from speed to a different ability. Hurtling in sideways, the Chujiran fighter whipped up a high side kick straight at Bane's face. That leg had enhanced strength in it, enough to break bone like candy cane if it had connected. The Dire Wolf swayed his upper body just enough to let it whoosh past. He anticipated the follow-up reverse kick and he caught that ankle with both hands, stepping back and flinging Argent down to the floor. Bane lunged down and slapped the back of Argent's head hard enough to daze, then straightened up and stepped back. The message was clear. That could have been a fatal strike instead of a warning palm.

Furious, Argent leaped up at the Dire Wolf, his face a tiger mask. The kid is as good as he thinks he is, Bane thought, but he's just too obvious. Yes. There was the shiver. Now Sheng was going to try invulnerability. The young Chujiran threw two quick roundhouse punches and Bane could see that he was leaving himself open deliberately, inviting a blow to a body that had become as hard as stone. A punch to Shen's torso would mean cracked knuckles at best.

Bane moved the punches aside, using soft deflecting blocks. As Argent kicked up at his stomach, Bane lifted that leg up and swept the youth's other leg out from under him. He let Sheng get up and then threw him again. Again, Sheng attacked and this time Bane whirled his opponent overhead and to the mat, pinning him down in an aikido lock. Argent shifted his focus to strength but he could not get leverage in that wrist lock.

Not even breathing hard, as calmly as if they had been discussing what to have for lunch, Bane said, "I trust I've made my point. I don't intend to speak of this again." Releasing the Chujiran, he stepped away and regarded the rest of his team.

"We will meet in the conference room in ten minutes, full field suits and gear." Not looking back, he turned and strode easily across the room and out the door.

( the rest of the story )

"Glaring With the Third Eye"

9/21/1999

I.

In the dim twilight of early morning, standing before one of a row of nearly identical whiteboard one-story houses in Queens, Calebdar studied the numbers posted by the front door. 733. Yes, he recognized them. He could not read English, of course, his scholarship had been in Darthan magick and forbidden secrets of the Sulla Chun and he had never planned on coming into the world beyond Androval. But he could cope with recognizing three numbers.

Unlike the typical Melgar, Calebdar was short, not more than five foot six, and thin. His loose raincoat did not lend bulk to his slight frame. The warlock had a long, bony face with deepset dark eyes and a wide flat nose; a slouch hat pulled low concealed most of that face. "Now we begin," he told his daughter beside him.

Miruvar was the same height and weight as her father, but her hair was dark blonde like her mother's and she had her mother's chiseled features with high cheekbones and a slightly cleft chin. The girl was bundled in a plain cloth coat, with a white scarf around her throat, and she had put the suitcases down on the sidewalk beside them.

"This realm is still so strange, father. I am not at ease here, so many Humans rushing about, these loud carriages with no horses to pull them, the high towers. I wish we were back in Androval."

"Cease your whining," Calebdar snapped. "You know what waits for me at home. Do you wish to kneel and place your head on the block? I for one do not. Come, follow me." He went through the tiny front yard and up onto the porch of the house, rapping sharply with his knuckles on the front door. Behind him, Miruvar sighed and lifted both heavy suitcases to trudge behind him. Within a few seconds, the door swung open and a stout middle-aged man with thick-lensed glasses greeted them.

"You DID come!" he laughed. "I still can't quite believe it. Welcome, welcome to the world. Please come in. You must be Miruvar, let me help you with those." Wilbur Schlegel took a suitcase from the girl's grasp and led them into his house. He was a solid, warm presence in a plain white dress shirt and black slacks, with a beige cardigan. Only a fringe of white hair circled his head behind his ears.

"I've never been to any of the adjacent realms," Schlegel gushed, "And I was SO excited to communicate with you. A scholar from Androval. Please, please, let me know anything you need. I'm at your service."

"More than that," said Calebdar, stepping closer. In the center of his forehead, the skin wrinkled and peeled apart as a bright green eye opened where no eye should be. Its iris flashed with a lambent light from within, and Wilbur Schlegel froze paralyzed with deep terror at the sight.

"More than that," the Melgar warlock repeated as the Third Eye took hold of its victim. "You are but a slave with a new master."

( the rest of the story )

"Instant Mummies"

2/3-2/4/1999

I.

Freezing rain had been drizzling since dusk and the roads were treacherous. A layer of ice had visibly gathered on the branches of the tree outside Abernethy's house. Frowning, Jeremy Bane turned grimly away from the picture window to the situation that had drawn him here. In his forties, he remained a lean, ominous figure, still dressed all in black, still glaring at the world with cold grey eyes from beneath dark brows. More than ever, he lived up to his war name Dire Wolf.

The room showed money had been spent wisely. The uncluttered, highly polished wood floors and walls, the stone fireplace with a low fire smoldering, the solid sedate furniture, the original oil paintings.. all showed the owner was comfortably off. None of this was any comfort to the man now. In his own house, surrounded by a half dozen big police officers and the famous Dire Wolf, Lawrence T Abernethy was still shaking with terror.

From where he stood by the window, Bane glanced over at the antique grandfather clock by the door and saw it was ten minutes to midnight. He turned and strode over to the plush easy chair where Abernethy sat. The attorney was not a good-looking man at the best of times, with his weak chin and large mole on the side of his nose, but now the fear on his face took away any dignity he might have had. Standing next to Abernethy, exhaling cigar smoke through his nostrils, was Inspector Harold Klein of Homicide West. Over the past nine years, his association with Jeremy Bane had led to his being regarded as a specialist in crimes involving the unexplained, the unnatural and the just plain weird.

Klein looked up quizzically. His hair was more white than grey at this point, a year beyond normal retirement age. He stayed on duty for the moment because his experience made him invaluable. As Bane approached, Klein tried talking to Abernethy again. "Look, there's not much point in denial at this late stage. You know Grier is dead. Yesterday he got a note just like yours and last night he died. Instant mummy. He had the Sphinx mad at him just like you do. Now, we are here to protect you, sir, but your cooperation may make all the difference."

"There's nothing I can tell you," the man repeated stubbornly.

Bane stepped closer. "You know me?"

"The Dire Wolf? Oh, certainly. What criminal lawyer in the metropolitan area hasn't heard of you?"

"Good. Let me remind me you of a few men I have personally captured or killed. Samhain. Seneca. Dr Sabbath. Wu Lung. John Grim. Get the picture?"

"I know your reputation, Mr Bane."

"Good," the Dire Wolf repeated. "Your client, the Sphinx, is right up there with the monsters and maniacs I've been fighting. He's using the name Nefu-Sobek but it's certainly fake. He claims to be an Egyptian businessman from Cairo but no one there has ever heard of him. What is clear is that Nefu-Sobek was a disciple of Menekartes. Now THERE was a sorceror of the first rank. His disciples scattered after his death and Nefu-Sobek gathered a few of them to start a cult of his own. Twenty murders, a dozen high-scale robberies, sale of forbidden Velkandu drugs to highest bidder, all in the past few years. The Sphinx has been busy."

Klein tossed his cigar butt into the fireplace. "Last night, his lieutenant was killed at midnight. In a locked room with a dozen witnessses. Timothy Grier suddenly shriveled up and turned into an instant mummy. They found a note in his pocket, threatening him with death that very night." He glanced over at Bane. "Mr Abernethy here was at that party. He saw it happen. And today he found an identical note addressed to him under his front door."

Suddenly Abernethy's self-control gave way. "Oh, what's the use? You can't know what you're dealing with. Nefu-Sobek isn't human, he's a devil from Hell and nothing we do can stop him."

Klein growled, "That's enough of that talk. I've got five good hand-picked men watching this house. Your food and your water have been brought in by officers. You haven't left this house since you came in last night."

Bane asked, "Has anyone else been in the house, even for a second?"

"No," Abernethy answered sullenly. "My wife left me three years ago. I've lived alone since then."

"And my boys have searched the house, Bane. No poisoned needles in a sofa pillow, no chemicals in the heating duct to send up fumes. They're thorough as army ants. No traps." Abern

"Sounds safe enough," Bane said slowly. "And yet.. Grier seemed to be safe too."

Abernethy stood up suddenly. "All this activity will scare him off. He won't dare to try anything in a house full of armed policemen, would he?"

"These masterminds have egos bigger than a dozen normal men," Bane said. "His pride will make him give it a try and when he shows up, he's mine!" The Dire Wolf stopped suddenly, staring at the lawyer. "You turned awful white all of a sudden. Do you feel okay?"

"No. I feel- I feel awful," Abernethy gasped just as he gave a strangled gargling noise and dropped back into his chair. In a few seconds, before Klein or Bane could react, the man's body shuddered and withered to half its size. A huge puddle of cloudy fluid gushed out onto the floor as the water in his tissues gushed out and he dried up into a leathery, wrinkled husk. His sunken eyes rolled up to show only the whites.

"Instant mummies," whispered Harold Klein. "My God."

Bane whirled to glare around the room, startling the horrified policemen. "A locked room, guarded by your own men. Food and water brought in. Windows sealed, house searched. And STILL the Sphinx got him. How the hell did he do it?!"

Three hours later, the forensic squad was cleaning up without having gotten anywhere. The body had been taken out on a stretcher for a full autopsy, dozens of samples had been taken and the house was being sealed off. As the yellow tape was going up, Jeremy Bane shrugged into his long black topcoat and frowned at the world.

"Think it was poison?" Klein asked. He was as usual wearing a raincoat that had not been white for years.

"Yes," the Dire Wolf answered. "The Sphinx has never shown any energy powers. He's not the warlock that Menekartes was. But he has used Velkandu potions a number of times, including truth serums and zombie-makers. I need to check my files on this guy."

Going over to stand by the front door, Inspector Klein peered out at the night. "I'll talk to you in the morning. You might want to drive under eighty this time, it looks slick out there."

Bane snorted. "Too bad murders don't all take place in May, huh? All right. See you later, Inspector."

On the drive back down to Manhattan, Bane in fact did take it more carefully than usual. The streets were icy but they were also deserted and he could go slow. The small dark green Mustang had new tires and he was used to how it handled. Soon he turned onto Lexington Avenue without incident. At 38th Street, the Wolf pulled into the dead end alley where a brick-covered steel panel rose automatically at a signal from his dashboard. With a feeling of genuine relief, he drove down a short concerete ramp and and parked his car in the small underground garage next to the Buick Regal. Bane got out, suddenly feeling tired, which was rare for him.

Walking past the vault and arsenal, up steep concrete steps to emerge from the back of a walk-in closet in the front hall, Bane shrugged out of his heavy coat and hung it on a hook by the front door. Cindy wasn't back yet. He went in the kitchen, finished off a huge bowl of leftover macaroni salad with chicken slices, drank a glass of apple juice and then a tumbler of ice water. Feeling a bit more alive, Bane trudged up the stairs to the third floor where his room was, stripped down and took a hot shower. It was four-fifteen. He set the alarm for eight-thirty, crawled between the sheets and was asleep so fast he didn't realize it.

( the rest of the story )

"Small Rider"

6/20/1999

I.

Tears filled Cindy's eyes unexpectedly and one drop slid down her cheek as she watched Unicorn tug on the black field jacket. Ashley looked like a baby to her suddenly, so young and eager. Even though she herself had been even younger when first entering the Midnight War, Cindy still felt a sudden pang at the sight.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the front hall, Ashley Whitaker twisted her head to check out how the snug black trousers fit. At nineteen, just over five feet tall and barely one hundred pounds, she was slim but curvy and naturally gorgeous. The new Unicorn had platinum blonde hair that hung straight past her shoulders, pale unblemished skin and crystal blue eyes in a doll-like face that was now grinning with wicked appreciation of herself. Ashley had always been attractive and had long since taken it for granted. In the black field suit, with its high boots, trousers and waist-length jacket, she looked great and she was pleased to acknowledge it.

Then she glanced up and the smile faltered as she saw the wistful expression on Cindy's face. "What?" she asked.

The same size as Ashley, Cindy Brunner had hair that was more a dark gold, lightly tanned skin with freckles across the bridge of a snub nose and darker blue eyes that were now moist. The telepath was almost forty, although she looked about ten years younger because she was in such perfect health and condition from her Tel Shai training. Now she sniffed and wiped her cheek with a finger. "Nothing," she said. "I just... You remind me so much of how young I was when I was first started."

Unicorn shrugged and fastened the front of the field suit jacket. "Awww. Well, I hope I do half as well as you did, Cindy. My mom has been training me since I was ten to be the new Unicorn and I've already gone on a few missions."

"I know," the telepath said. She held out what looked like a black motorcycle helmet. "Here. Try this on."

Ashley lowered the helmet and touched the right ear pod. With a hiss, the visor slid down into place within the jawbar. On the inside of that visor, light enhancers clicked on and small readouts appeared on the heads-up display. "Hmm. Fits fine. Everything seems to be working. It feels so light, it can't weigh more than a few ounces."

"Trom technology," Cindy answered. "Everything is more advanced than the best Human tech. You have two helmets and two field suits with all the equipment. Officially, you won't be a KDF member until December but we have to test everything first."

Ashley laughed easily. "It feels great. Even with the flexible armor and everything, I can move like I'm naked. This is so cool." She unfastened the helmet and tugged it off, being careful not to muss her hair. "Can I get a suit made in white? I always wear all white."

"White? I don't know. We'll see." Cindy reached to take the helmet. "You might as well get back in your regular clothes and we'll stow this in a locker by the CORBY. The other suit will be in your room on the third floor..."

Cindy's voice broke off as Bane appeared in the door behind them. They were standing in the front hall of the KDF headquarters and he had been in the reception room doing the paperwork he hated. At forty, the Dire Wolf had not visibly changed since he had been Ashley's age. He was still gaunt and wiry at six feet tall, wearing his invariable outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. For once, the grey eyes were not cold and watchful but amused.

"You might want to keep the field suit on," Bane said. "I think we have a possible mission. I was just talking to our observer in Key West."

"Townsend? I was wondering if he was still down there," said Cindy as she put the helmet down on one of the waist-high bookcases that lined the front hall.

"Yes. He told me there hasn't been anything to report until recently. But in the last few months, a lot of wild rumors have been circulating and he himself has done a little investigating. It sounds like Midnight War and I was going to fly down there and dig around myself."

Cindy frowned. "I can't go. This afternoon I'm tied up meeting with Taylor Worth to sign all kinds of legal documents. That'll take forever."

"But I could go...!" Ashley chirped. "Look, I'm already suited up. All I need is to grab my horn, be right back!" She spun on one heel and trotted up the wide staircase to the second floor, quick as a squirrel.

Bane met Cindy's amused gaze. "She's eager. Were we ever that young and gung ho?"

"I was just thinking that," the telepath answered quietly. "Well, she's ready for it. I've read some of the adventures she's already had on her own. Her mother has been grooming her for this life."

"Mary Cassidy did work on a Tel Shai level. As the Unicorn, she had a fine record. I'm a little worried because Ashley has no innate powers. Without that unicorn horn, she's a normal Human. All our other candidates have some special ability."

Cindy nodded slightly. "I've thought of that, too. The talisman is potent, she can take away the gralic force in everything from a Ghoul to a Darthan Kje. That is invaluable. But without the horn...?"

"I guess we'll see how it works out." Bane touched the lapels of his jacket. "I'm going like this but I'll stow my field suit in the CORBY. Maybe this will turn out to be a false alarm, after all"

Unicorn came galloping back down the stairs, with a leather cylinder three feet long strapped across her back, its pointed end down. "All right! Let's go right now. I'm all set."

Cindy smiled. "You'd run down there on foot if we let you."

( the rest of the world )

"Inksane"

10/6-10/9/1999

I.

Jeremy Bane paid the taxi driver and stepped onto the sidewalk where a uniformed officer was watching him suspiciously. Another cop stood just inside the revolnving door to the lobby of the Weissbach Towers on 83rd Street, also giving the Dire Wolf an unfriendly gaze. Bane hardly noticed. He was used to the NYPD being divided about his role as a freelance investigator into gruesome murders and inexplicable crimes, half the police welcomed his help and half resented him bitterly. As long as they kept out of his way, he didn't care one way or the other.

At forty, Bane was a gaunt six-footer who moved with restless energy he could barely contain. As usual, he was dressed all in black- slacks,turtleneck and sport jacket, and the somber outfit made the pale grey of his eyes stand out even more vividly. Stepping toward the officer in the doorway, Bane asked quietly, "You realize Inspector Klein asked me to come here?"

The cop had a sullen Italian face with a heavy five-o'clock shadow, and he glared at Bane before relenting and being professional. "Yes, sir," he said after a barely perceptible hesitation. "The inspector is waiting for you." He turned sideways.

As he pushed through the revolving doorway, the Dire Wolf muttered, "Thanks."

The lobby was impressive enough, marble and dark wood with chrome trim here and there but it was deserted. No one sat in the overstuffed armchairs, no one loitered by the phone booths. The clerk behind the reception desk was a frail-looking older man in a red jacket, staring down at his clasped hands in front of him. Leaning with one elbow on that desk was a short stocky man in an off-white raincoat he wore no matter what the weather. Inspector Harold Klein's curly hair had gone completely grey and his face was furrowed with stress lines from a career in Homicide, but he still managed a wry grin as he spotted his visitor.

"Hiya, Bane," he called out. "Got a lulu for you this time. Sorry the remains have already been wheeled away but I couldn't reach you."

"Fill me in, Klein. What makes this a Midnight War case?"

The Inspector brought Bane to one corner of the lobby and pointed a thick finger at a closed door. "Still lots of blood all over in there. That's a meeting room for building personnel. Table, chairs, coffee machine, about what you'd expect. At nine-twenty this morning, a joker named Jan Molenaar went in there. He was an attorney for Weissbach Towers and he said he needed to review some papers in privacy. A minute later, our suspect barged in and slammed the door behind him. The desk clerk heard what he describes as terrifying screams and then the suspect hurried out of the room across the lobby into the street." Klein glanced over at the man behind the desk, "The clerk, his name is Burgess by the way, took a peek inside and damn near had a heart attack. Fell right down. He got hold of himself enough to call the police but he was hyperventilating and they almost insisted on taking him to the hospital for panic attack. He seems to have settled down for now but I wouldn't make any loud noises around him for a while."

The Dire Wolf saw the clerk staring nervously at them and he gave the man what he intended to be a reassuring smile. "So, what did he see that shook him up like that?"

"Molenaar was in pieces. His head and his arms and legs had been pulled off by hand. Quite a mess. That takes a little bit more strength than the average Joe off the street could manage."

"I bet." Bane was staring at the door, as if aching to look inside. "Was the suspect a big weightlifter guy?"

"Nah, that's what clinched me calling you in. Clerk says the killer was just a kid, maybe twenty or twenty-one, skinny college student type. Good-looking, well-dressed. Except for the blood all over him when he left."

The Dire Wolf suddenly had a distinct predatory gleam in his eyes. He seemed almost about to smile. "Oh, that's interesting. This suspect, did he have curly blonde hair and a deeply cleft chin?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he did." Klein leaned closer. "Seems like maybe you know him."

"I thought he had gone to the West Coast but apparently not. This is a real world-class psycho we're hunting, Inspector, right up there with Samhain and Golgora. Now he's back in New York, and this time I swear I'll nail him."

"What are you trying to do, tease me? Gimme a name, buddy."

"His legal name is Martin Leiber, but in Midnight War, he's called Inksane."

( the rest of the story )

"Get Those Attack Frogs Out Of Here!"

8/22/1999

I.

When the wall phone rang, Ashley leaped up off the couch and dove across the office as if trying to grab a bomb before it exploded. Startled, Megan blinked and dropped the wire-thin tool she was using. On the desk in front of her, one of the Link devices sat disassembled on a white linen cloth and she had been painstakingly putting its components back together after some upgrades.

"Hello!" chirped the new Unicorn into the receiver. "Kenneth Dred Foundation." Only nineteen, Ashley Whitaker was a gorgeous little platinum-blonde absolutely boiling over with enthusiasm for life. As usual, she was wearing all white... sneakers, smug jeans and a long-sleeved pullover with dark blue trim on the collars and cuff. "What? No, sorry, Mr Bane is not here right now. Cindy isn't here either. This is Unicorn, maybe I can help you?"

Folding the cloth over itself to prevent the tiny electronic components from being lost, Megan stood up and watched her teammate with a dubious expression. The Trom Girl was a year older than Ashley, a few inches taller and a little heavier in build. Her tousled black hair and dark inqusitive eyes made a strong contrast to Unicorn's bright coloring, as did the dark field suit she was wearing with its waist-length jacket. "Ashley, I don't think..."

The little blonde held up one hand in a hushing gesture. "I see. I see. And you haven't called the police. Hmmm. Well, Mrs Bellamy, I agree we should look into it. What's the address again? Okey doke, my partner and I will drive right up there. Thank you. Goodbye." She clicked the receiver back on the unit and turned around to seem surprised at the disapproving gaze she was receiving. "Uh-oh, I know that look. NOW what?"

"Ashley, we are not KDF members yet. Our acceptance as students at Tel Shai is still probationary."

"And your point would be?" Unicorn replied blithely.

"We are not in any position to speak for the Foundation. Nor have we been authorized to accept cases for the KDF." Megan Salenger walked around from behind the massive oak desk and approached her new colleague. The Trom Girl tried to remain calm and unemotional under all circumstances, but Ashley's breezy attitude frequently made that difficult. "Did you just tell that caller we would investigate a crime scene?"

"Well, sure. Jeremy and Cindy won't be back until tomorrow night at the earliest. Every time they visit Androval, they get roped into staying for a feast. As long as they're not available, we might as well fill in." The crystal-blue eyes were shining with eagerness. "And you have to admit, we're are NOT exactly helpless little civilians. I was raised by my mom to be the new Unicorn, and you were brought up by those Trom stiffs to be a super-genius. Am I right, of course I'm right, you see that, right?"

Megan hesitated. In that instant, she was lost. Ashley grabbed her by one arm and tugged her forcibly toward the door to the hallway. "We better get moving. I've got my car down in the garage. Is your travel bag all set?"

"Yes. But wait, at least let me turn out the light in the office. We should also leave a message in case Jeremy and Cindy return early and find us missing." The Trom Girl picked up a memo pad on the desk but Ashley snatched the top sheet off first and scribbled on it before sticking the note's edge under the lamp where it would be seen.

Peering over her teammate's shoulder, Megan read 'WE WENT TO CHECK OUT A MYSTERIOUS MYSTERY, BRB.' The Trom Girl gasped, "Ashley, that does not give sufficient information. We can't leave that note."

"We just did." The Unicorn hustled the Trom Girl back out into the hall. They entered a walk-in closet near the front door and slid aside a panel to descend steep concrete steps. "I absolutely lovvvve all the trap doors and hidden rooms in this place, they're so cool," she said. Pulling Megan by one hand, she raced along a narrow walkway that ended in a plain wooden door. Beyond that was a small underground garage which only held a single vehicle, a gleaming white Nissan Sentra.

"My mom gave me that on my eighteenth birthday," Ashley explained. "I aced my driver test first try, natch." On an open shelf was a row of six knapsacks filled with changes of clothing, various tools and weapons, personal items and first aid kits. Ashley snatched up her own and flung the one belonging to Megan at her friend. "Always ready to travel to the gravel, that's us. We're like firefighters."

Stowing her knapsack in the back, Megan reluctantly lowered herself into the passenger seat. "As it happens, I am carrying the necessary equipment on me already," she said. "But I should go up to my quarters and get my helmet."

"Nah, we don't wanna break our stride. The building's defenses are all armed already, we're good." She started the car, gunned the motor and headed up the steep ramp before the Trom Girl had fastened her seatbelt. A segmented steel barrier rose automatically. Unicorn made a sharp turn to emerge in the dead-end alley between the KDF headquarters and the neighboring building, then eased out onto Lexington Avenue during a gap in traffic barely large enough to admit them.

Settling back, Megan Salenger exhaled in resignation. She had only met Ashley a few weeks earlier but had already been swept up in the new Unicorn's sudden excursions more than once. "Where are we going, if I may ask?"

"Delport. It's up in Sullivan County. We'll be there before dark." Whipping through a yellow light as it turned red, Ashley whooped, "Traffic signals are only suggestions!"

The Trom Girl started to object to that philosophy, decided it would be pointless and quietly went on, "What exactly are we going to investigate?"

"Oh. That. Yeah, that was Gloria Bellamy on the phone. Jeremy handled a Midnight War case for her family years ago and she thought he might be interested. Her house was robbed and it seems to have been perpetrated by frogs."

The disbelief in Megan's low reply was priceless. "Wait. Frogs..?"

"Yep. So I've been toad."

( the rest of the story )