dochermes

"Granny Demure and Her Three Weird Boys"

8/19/2015


I.

As Timothy dropped down his kickstand and turned off the engine, Gabby disengaged herself from where she had been hugging him from behind. She hopped down to the side of the country road and gratefully tugged off her helmet to let a full mane of curly brown hair tumble free.

Only a few inches over five feet tall, Gabriella Elizabeth Marchetti felt she didn't have much of a figure, so she compensated by showing off two very trim legs which this late in the summer were nicely tanned a golden brown. Above the flip-flops and denim shorts, though, she sensibly wore one of Tim's leather jackets for protection in case of a fall. At the moment, the round piquant face was displaying an enormous grin of pure joy.

Timothy Lambert was under six feet tall and his own black leather jacket hung loosely over a slim body. When he tugged off his helmet, bright blond hair the color of fresh butter hung down into friendly blue eyes. He couldn't help smiling back at her blissful expression. "That was a nice ride, huh? Up one side of Overlook and down the other."

"I am STARVING, Tim!" she yelled loud enough to make a bird take off from a nearby tree. They were fifty feet from the tiny general store that sat tucked back from the road without a parking lot. Ancient hand-done lettering in the plate glass window read FRIENDLY MARKET - BEER, SODA, CIGARATTES with the misspelling immortalized by now. "I didn't have breakfast. We've been riding for two and a half hours."

"Except for that hour in the store outside Woodstock," he objected. "You like our rings?"

Gabby held up her left hand so the silver circlet on her second finger caught the sunlight. It was a Claddagh friendship ring with two clasped hands. "Oh, do I ever! I'm kind of glad there can't be any romance between us, Tim, it's just not in your hardwiring. But a solid friendship that has lasted since first grade is a real treasure."

"Yeah, we met when we were six!" Tucking his helmet in the crook of one arm, Tim patted his beloved Harley the way a cowboy stroked a beloved horse. "Boy, Megan made some great modifications, huh? We hardly used any gas, the bike handles like it can read my mind and I get GPS projected onto a corner of my visor."

"Are you deaf or something? My poor little stomach cries out in anguish. Let's empty that store! Do you think they have ready-made sandwiches? Oh, and maybe some potato salad or at least a big bag of Nachos? And I wouldn't say no to a can of Red Bull right now."

"Nothing's stopping you..." Tim protested politely as she seized his arm and dragged him bodily toward the store. Parked alongside old Germantown Road were a beat-up aged Dodge truck on tires twice normal height and a similarly old school Volkswagen Bug with a door held shut by clothesline. Off to the south, the rounded blue shape of Overlook Mountain loomed up in the sultry sky.

"I hope they have a bathroom," she muttered, "My kidneys are floating..." Gabby stopped short and her eyes bugged out behind the round-lensed glasses at the biarre individual who had dropped down from the driver's side of the pick-up truck.

It was hard to tell just how big the stranger was because of his strange posture, but he must have been well over six feet tall and nearer three hundred pounds than two hundred. He was wearing loose Navy blue sweatpants and an equally baggy sweatshirt that was Canary yellow with blue side panels His oversized hands and feet were bare. The man had a wide, homely face under a thick thatch of light brown hair but his expression was amiable enough.

What was remarkable was that he had dropped to stand with his weight supported on stiff arms with his fists pressed down on the hot roadway. The thick brawny arms were visibly longer than the massive legs, and this posture looked entirely reasonable for someone built that way. Simian comparisons were inevitable.

Gabby made a sound that could be best represented as "Gack."

"You'd be Timothy Limbo, right?" asked the apelike man in a rather mild and squeaky voice.

A veteran of the Midnight War for years, Tim was not taken aback at all. He smiled pleasantly. "I think I'd remember if we had met before."

"I DO make an impression," admitted the apelike man. He raised one thick-fingered hand in a greeting. Like his ankles, his wrists were matted with thick light brown hair. "My grandma would like to see you."

Tim leaned back, placing more weight on his rear leg, readying for an attack. His years of Kumundu training did not alert him to any body language indicating hostility in this strange man. No tension showed in the neck or facial muscles, there were no subvocal tremors in that childlike voice. And yet, it was always good to be wary. "You seem to know my name, Mr....?"

"Oh. I'm Clench. Clarence Rudolph Ambrose, but everyone calls me Clench."

"I'm Gabby. Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchetti, but everyone calls ME Gabby." She shrugged. "Not that you seem interested."

"This has to be Midnight War related, right?" asked Timothy as the VW Bug puttered finally away.

"I calculate so. Shall we proceed? Grandma is waiting." Clench waved an arm thick as most men's legs toward his truck.

"We are going to eat first," Gabby insisted, seizing Timothy by one arm. "That's not up for discussion."

"Yeah, whatever your grandmother wants, it'll have to wait a few minutes," Tim agreed just as a size 22 bare foot crashed against the side of his head. Even with all his experience and training, Timothy was taken off guard by the sheer speed and dexterity of the apelike man. That kick seemed to come out of nowhere and knocked him out completely. As he fell, dragging the confused Gabby down with him, she was tugged away by Clench and hauled straight up twenty feet into a thick horizontal branch of an elm tree. Gabby gasped and clung to the trunk of the tree by pure instinct before she was consciously aware of what had happened.

Picking up Timothy by the back of his jacket exactly as one might lift a kitten by the neck, Clench placed the limp form in the passenger seat of his truck. As he loped over to the driver's side, he waved up at where Gabby was stuck in the tree. "Please be careful getting down, miss," he called cheerfully. "You might want to wait for someone with a ladder."

( the rest of the story )

ATRUMO THE CONQUEROR II: The Sharp Edges of Hope

3/12/2015


I.

Valera kept herself visible to everyone as much as possible, knowing her fame made her a valuable rallying point. Along with the absent Sulak and Galvan, she was bearer of the Legacy of Malberon which charged her body with gralic force. Valera looked like a tall, athletic woman in her middle twenties but she was impervious to nearly all physical harm and was strong enough to throw boulders as sport. She had changed into her bright blue arena unform with its white leather boots and gloves, a wide white mantle across her shoulders bearing three vertical red bars showing her rank.

With her golden hair hanging straight past her shoulders and gleaming in the sunlight, Valera paced the walkway atop the outermost of the three concentric semi-circular walls. Behind her, twenty-five feet below on a paved courtyard, the soldiers of the permanent garrison were hustling about their duties. This stronghold normally housed five hundred soldiers, officers and craftsmen, with an additional eighty farmers and herdsmen who lived in cottages around the fortress.

Directly behind the stronghold, the Bulgane Mountains themselves loomed up more than a thousand feet high. Jagged raw peaks topped sheer cliffs that had never been successfully climbed, the mountains extended for miles in either direction before dropping down to become less imposing terrain. With the mountains as a backing and the rest of the valley all cultivated farmland and grazing fields, the fortress had been planned to offer any attacks no cover. Bulgane had been built during the initial occupation of Evaho by the Melgarin to defend against the native Cojobe.

Valera glanced down at the courtyard behind her where a handful of the Androval officers were conferring with one of her teammates. Josef Jubilec was a Blind Archer of Chujir, the most dreaded counter-assassins in the Midnight War. He was a lean, even gaunt man with short sandy hair and an unreadable poker face that gave away nothing of what he thought. Next to him was a short wheeled cart he had brought with him from the outside world. It held one hundred arrows in vertical slots for instant access, as well as a second yew longbow which matched the one he seldom let be out of reach. Across his back was a Y-shaped leather quiver holding twenty of the steel-tipped arrows. Seeing how well-prepared he was reassured Valera. She knew and respected his capabilities.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a dark figure trotting briskly up the steps from the courtyard. Jeremy Bane was wearing the black KDF field suit with its inner layer of flexible Trom armor. Tucked in the crook of one arm was his visored helmet. Even under peaceful circumstances, his pale eyes were stern but at the moment they were quite intimidating.

"How are you doing, Princess?" he asked.

As the youngest daughter of King Holmir, she was in fact a princess but Valera didn't care much for the title and never insisted on it. "I don't know what's worse," she answered, "if those Ghulgol attack here or if they attack some other realm where we're not present to help fight them."

"I know what you mean," he responded. "Our teams are scattered in the adjacent realms where we think they're most likely to invade. And I've called in as many of our allies as we can find. The Seven Swords are in Colegdar, Tang Ming and Sheng are on alert in Chujir. Megan and Jocelyn are in Signarm, Galvan and Jin went to Zheka. Even Gornak is standing by if we call him."

She glanced back around the courtyard. "Where's Timothy? I haven't seen him for a while."

"I gave him our travel crystal," said the Dire Wolf. "Tim is hopping from one realm to another to keep everyone up to date. I really wish there was a way to communicate between realms but there isn't. In most of the realms, modern technology won't function at all or I would have brought a truckload of assault rifles and grenades here. Not even a flashlight will work in Evaho."

Valera abruptly straightened and stabbed a finger out toward the north. "Horsemen! Looks like at least a dozen! They're Melgarin! They're my people!"

As Bane leaned forward to see for himself, Valera leaped down from the wall. She dropped twenty-five feet to land on the flagstone courtyard as casually as if stepping down off the bottom rung of a ladder. The startled garrison offices stared openly. They knew of her abilities but hadn't actually seen her in action before.

The huge front gate was secured by a bolt thicker than a Human body. It took several men pulling on the ropes secured to it to draw the bolt but Valera simply reached up and slid it to one side and then pulled the massive gate inward without seeming effort. Soldiers in their mail coats over leather tunics stopped short, having expected that she would need their help. A minute later, ten Melgarin came through the gate, both riders and horses stricken with arrows standing up from their bodies. One horseman fell from his saddle, dying as he hit the ground. From all directions, soldiers rushed to help.

Being assisted down from his horse, pressing one hand in a vain attempt to stanch the bleeding from his side, General Fanthor yelled, "They're coming! There are thousands of them!" Valera slammed the gate shut and drew the bolt closed without pausing to confirm his words.

Atop the outmost wall, Bane shouted, "There it is! The Yellow Fog!"


( the rest of the story )

"She'd Make the Devil Nervous"

4/28/2015

I.


It was a few minutes before noon when she heard the yelling and crashing from the third floor just above. Haley Lawson was hunched over at the long oak table in the conference room. In front of her was a huge 19th Century tome with tiny cramped lettering, all about how shape-shifters followed different rules and restrictions based more on what they believed to be true than what really bound them. Reading it made her head hurt. This was worse than being back in high school taking World Economics. But being a KDF member meant learning a wide variety of skills, from emergency trauma medicine to flying the CORBY stealthcopter to identifying bite marks from various mythological creatures who turned out to be not so mythical. It was a lot to digest.

After what sounded like furniture being smashed directly overhead, Haley lifted her head and surprisingly grinned. Her best feature was a pair of clear lime-green eyes under chestnut bangs, and her face was at its most appealing when she was smiling widely. The Windcatcher was wearing a plain white T-shirt, jeans and sneakers, being off-duty that day. She pushed her chair back from the table and heard the exchange of a deep thundering voice answering a louder, shriller one.

Demrak Jin and Galvan were fighting. Of course, she thought with perverse satisfaction, she had been expecting the clash. In fact, she was surprised it had taken this long. The Windcatcher got up and went over the door to the hall, peering out cautiously. A second later, she saw the tiny form of the Ulgoran woman racing furiously down the stairs. With her bristling short white hair, Demrak Jin was unmistakeable even at a glance. She was leaping down the stairs at a reckless pace.

Haley stepped out into the hallway, uncertain if she should ask what was going on or just keep out of the way. As she leaned over the bannister and looked down at the first floor below them, a huge dark form hurtled past her to land with a solid thump in the front hall. Galvan had simply jumped down from the third floor to the first, bypassing the stairs and absorbing the impact with his immense leg muscles. Even after the past few months of seeing him every day, Haley still stared at the giant Melgar. Wearing only a pair of khaki pants, his upper body was an amazing V-shaped wedge of broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, covered with hard well-defined muscles. She had never seen anyone built like that in real life.

Galvan landed just behind Demrak Jin. The Gelydra spun quickly, crouching with fists raised in comical defiance of a man who stood more than a foot taller and who weighed more than twice as much as she did. Jin had on her tunic and pants of grey sharkhide, worn with the rough denticle side out to abrade opponents, but the bone-bladed knife was not strapped across her narrow back for once. Despite the difference in their sizes, there was something elemental and savage about the Gelydra that made her seem threatening even to a huge brute like Galvan.

Galvan's broad, bearded face seemed obviously worried. He held up both open hands in a placating gesture. "Calm yourself, little shark. We both knew that this day would come...."

"Your words are not to be trusted!" Demrak Jin snarled. She took a menacing step toward the big Galvan and he actually backed up. "Shall you rip out my very heart and toss it aside and live to boast of the deed?"

Watching from the landing above, Haley muttered to herself, "Oh, this is gonna be juicy."

Galvan was tanned and handsome in a gruff lumberjack way, with thick curly hair that matched his beard. When he smiled in an attempt at being disarming, perfect teeth gleamed white as chalk. "Jin, Jin. We did talk of this. Our time together was great pleasure for both of us, but every season passes in its due.."

"I will hear no more!" The Gelydra dove forward in a blur of motion, bringing her right fist down almost by her knee and swinging it up in a vicious hook that smacked exactly on the side of Galvan's face. The Melgar did not even flinch at that blow but Jin fell back with a gasp. She gripped her right hand with her left and moved back a few steps.

"I hope you haven't hurt your hand," Galvan began. "You should know better than to strike me, little shark."

"A broken fist is naught compared to a broken heart!" Demrak Jin screamed. "I never thought I'd give myself to... to a Melgar!" And with that she whirled on one foot and raced out the front door to East 38th Street.

After the door slammed shut, Galvan stood motionless in the front hall. His shoulders lowered and he let out a sigh from deep within the huge chest. Coming down the stairs behind him, Haley cleared her throat.

"I couldn't help but hear that," she said. "Jin has always had a temper. I've seen her blow up like that over food being burnt in a restaurant."

The Melgar champion slowly turned to face Windcather. "The Melgarin have a saying, 'she'd make the Devil nervous.' Ah, so it goes. Perhaps I should not stay here any longer. There will always be friction and bad feelings between her and I. Too bad, as I have greatly enjoyed my adventures with your team and we two have not even teamed up."

Haley Lawson waggled a finger at him. "Just don't get any thoughts about landing ME in bed next. You've already tagged Jocelyn and Jin. Do you have a checklist or something?"

There was genuine hurt in the deepset brown eyes. "Oh, Haley, you misunderstand. Women have always been drawn to me and I to them. Like wine and song and tales of brave deeds, the company of women is a great joy in life. I do not seek it out. But I accept it when it comes to me."

"Get a shirt on, and we can talk on equal terms. You're too distracting with those muscles hanging out all over," she answered. "I suppose now we will have to wait for Jin to come back once she calms down."

He started up the stairs toward his guest room on the third floor. "And I expect Sable will have much to say about this when she returns later. More worries."

( the rest of the story )

"My Best Friend, the Sarcastic Robot"

12/23/2015

I.

Gabby stomped into the rec room with as much emphasis all her ninety pounds could summon. "Timothy! You see how she's giving me a dirty look?"

"You've got a dirty look but I didn't give it to you," scoffed a completely identical Gabby following closely behind the first one.

Even though his heart sank at this confrontation, Timothy Limbo sat up straighter on the couch and turned the BBC World Service way down with his remote. It wasn't seeing two Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchettis, more identical down to skin pores than natural twins could ever be, that flustered him. He had grown used to that. It was the snarking and sniping between them.

Both Gabbys were one and three-quarters of an inch over five feet in height, both looked as if they weighed about one hundred pounds. Both had curly light brown hair bordering on outright frizz, both had round appealing faces with full lips and huge dark brown eyes blinking from behind round-rimmed glases. As always, they wore matching outfits. Today, they had black sneakers, black knee-high socks and a pleated dark brown skirt, and a rust-colored cardigan over a white blouse.

As part of the way they impersonated each other, every item of clothing had been purchased in pairs for the past few months, even the fine-linked silver bracelets on their left wrists or the plain stud earrings. As Timothy watched, one of the Gabbys unbuttoned her blouse cuffs to roll them back a turn. Less than a second later, the other one did the same.

He sat up on the couch in the KDF recreation room where he had been half dozing. "Please don't move. Stay right there. For the moment, I know that YOU, the one on my left, are the flesh and blood original. That's because you changed your appearance and the Infiltrator immediately did the same. So don't move around right now."

The real Gabby gave her likeable grin with its slight overbite. "See. I always said you were clever, Tim. You're not fooled by four hundred pounds of titanium and plastic."

At twenty-five, Timothy Limbo remained a slightly built young man a few inches under six feet in height. For once, he was not wearing his inevitable biker boots, worn jeans and white T-shirt under a black leather jacket. In deference to the holidays, he had put on dark slacks and a heavy, tasteful red and white sweater with a row of holly berries aross the front. Timothy brushed back that mop of yellow hair and came fully awake. "So, ah, Gabby, what's the situation?"

"Can't you tell? Listen to her! My Infiltrator started insulting me every chance she gets. This morning, I happened to say I was feeling down in the dumps..."

"And I agreed it would explain that aroma," chirped in the second Gabby.

"Yikes. I mean, that's unexpected." Timothy glanced back and forth between two figures who were impossible to distinguish by sight or sound. The Infiltrator was an advanced cyborg developed by the John Grim Institute, and those criminals used stolen Trom tech, so this construct was decades ahead of anything human scientists could match.

Leaning forward, he took hold of the nearer Gabby's sleeve, saying "You hold still," and turned to the other one. "I want you to bring those two chairs over and sit down in one, okay?"

"I don't have to obey, of course, but why not?" came the response. The Infiltrator picked up a pair of straight-backed wooden chairs by Sable's desk and carried them over. She seemed to be using precisely the same amount of effort the real Gabby would have, although the Infiltrator could have lifted and fetched the heavy oak desk as easily.

When both were settled down, the real Gabby pouting with her arms folded and the Infiltrator smiling sweetly with legs crossed at the ankles like a lady, Timothy hemmed and hawed before continuing, "Well... You know what, I'm going to pass the buck to Megan. She's the certified multiple discipline genius on our team. She's the one that reprogrammed the Infiltrator to be non-violent and helpful, she can figure out what the glitch might be."

Rolling those big caramel-hued eyes over at the flesh Gabby, the cyborg said, "You might wonder why SHE didn't think to call on Trom Girl. But then you can't light a warehouse with a Christmas tree bulb."

"Ugh. Let's start over." He stared right into the Infiltratror's mellow gaze. "Who are you?"

"Aw c'mon, Tim, we went to first grade together," said the robot. "It's me, Gabby. Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchetti, you'd forget where your belly button was before you forgot me."

"Then who is this person over here?"

"You know her. That's Gabby. You two have been friends since you could first walk, although God knows why. She still can't fill a bra."

Timothy's head was beginning to hurt. "Let me get this straight. You're both Gabby?"

"I don't understand the question," responded the construct.

The real Gabby leaned forward and gently rubbed Timothy high up on the back. "That's not going to get us anywhere, buddy. Megan has studied her. The unit absolutely believes it IS me, but it also absolutely believes that I'M me and its thinking process doesn't see a conflict."

Timothy exhaled strongly and clapped his hands together. "Ouch. This is beyond me. Time to call an expert in. Let me get my Link. Just a minute. Hi, Megan? Tim here. Have you got a minute? It's about Gabby's Infiltrator."

He explained the situation as concisely as he could, then answered a few questions before holding out the Link to the Infiltratror, who accepted it readily and said, "Hello?"

The clear, self-assured voice of Megan Salenger was heard, "Protocol 17, Immediate Access."

"I don't understand the question," replied the construct.

"Protocol 17, Immediate Access," the Trom Girl repeated. "Shut down motor functions and reboot."

"Do you want to talk to Gabby?" asked the robot. "She's not doing anything but taking up space. Timothy? Sure, he's right here."

Taking the Link back, Tim heard Megan's voice with a rare note of agitation beneath the disciplined surface. "I'm on my way, don't let either of them leave our headquarters building. This is an unfortunate development."

II.

As they waited for the Trom Girl, Timothy went over to a side cabinet and brought back a tray of soft chocolate chip cookies with colorful sprinkles. Both Gabbys accepted a few agreeably enough. He knew as a clinical fact that the Infiltrator could only eat a limited amount of food which would be drawn in by suction into a plastic sac for later disposal. But watching them chew and swallow, he could not see the slightest difference.

Not for the first time, he was deeply grateful that the John Grim projects had been smashed and there would be no more Infiltrators created. The idea of world leaders being quietly replaced by undetectable imposters was nightmare fuel.

"It started a few days ago," the real Gabby began. "We're on Christmas break. I said maybe I would like to go see the Bronx Zoo..."

"If they want you, they'll come get you," the robot broke in.

"There! See what is freaking me out? Why would she start saying things like that? All I mentioned was getting into the Bronx Zoo for a day...."

"The problem would be whether they would let you out," came the interruption.

Despite himself, Timothy snorted. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Gabs. That WAS funny."

"And I used to think I wanted a sister!" Gabby groaned, plucking at her cardigan sleeves.

Before the Infiltrator could wound Gabby to the core with another remark, a chime sounded in the hall. The front door could be heard closing with a bit too much emphasis and Megan Salenger rushed into the rec room.

Now in her mid-thirties, the Trom Girl had hardly aged visibly since she had joined the KDF as a teen. She was still slim and nimble at five feet four, still studying the world with dark inquisitive eyes under a tousled mop of black hair. She had not removed her bright blue parka on her way in. "Timothy. Gabby," she greeted her friends before focusing all her attention on the Infiltrator.

"I don't get it," Timothy put in. "How can you tell which one's which?"

"The chair legs are sinking deeper into the carpet," Megan replied, still staring at the cyborg. "Protocol 23. Authorization One. Respond."

"Orders received," The robot Gabby said, still in the distinctive chipper tones Timothy had known in Gabby's speech since childhood. "All systems nominal. Scan reveals no anomaly."

The Trom Girl did not take a seat herself, but stood with fists on hips and feet braced well apart. "Explain unplanned statements to Gabrielle."

"I don't understand the question."

Megan's normally impassive face had a definite frown. "Gabby, say something innocuous."

The real girl blinked. "Sorry, what? My mind wandered."

"Don't worry," said the robot. "It's too weak to go far."

"There! You see what I mean? What the HELL is a robot doing being sarcastic? Whoever heard of such a thing?" Gabby made an accusing gesture at her mechanical companion.

"Watch where you point that finger, it's got a nail in it," said the Infiltrator.

"Har! Sorry, sorry, I thought that was a good one," Timothy put in before catching himself. "You have to admit, she's quick."

Megan gave her teammate a withering glare but softened after a second. "This may not be a dangerous symptom, Tim. Gabby, try not to worry. I think I see the problem." Turning back to the Infiltrator, the Trom Girl said, "Name something that is impossible."

"A square circle."

Batting out the questions rapidly, Megan continued, "What weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of gravel?"

"They both weigh a pound."

"How much dirt is in a hole one meter wide, one meter long and one meter deep?"

"There is no dirt in a hole."

"If a rooster lays an egg on a ridge, which way will it roll?"

"Roosters do not lay eggs."

Seeing the stupefied expressions on her friends' faces, Megan explained, "Those were tests of her logic processing. I detected no hesitation before answering." Turning back to the robot, she asked, "Would you snap the fingers on both hands simultaneously?'

After the Infiltrator did so, Megan Salenger visibly relaxed. She swung around and dropped down next to Tim on the couch. "I admit I am relieved. Those diagnoastic tests showed nothing grossly malfunctioning. I should perform a full internal scan, of course, but that would take three to four hours."

The real Gabby had shifted her chair around so she could watch both her friends and her unliving counterpart. "Megan, can I ask you a question?"

"That already IS a question," offered the Infiltrator.

"You see! She's been doing this since yesterday. Isn't there an off switch for wise-ass remarks?"

Megan glanced back and forth between the two Gabbys. "I knew there was a remote chance something like this might develop. Gabby, this construct was designed for assassination.
I put in safeguards and blocks so that it will freeze up and shut down before physically harming a human being."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Timothy interrupted. "I think I see what happened. The metal Gabby here still has a basic drive to kill but it can't overtly act on it. So it's blowing off steam through sarcasm and insults? Is that possible?"

"It's how normal humans release aggressive impulses," Megan agreed.

( the rest of the story )

"Infiltrator"

10/11/2015

I.

"I recognize the luggage but where's Gabby?" asked Timothy as he neared the Greyhound.

A happy little chuckle answered him. At five feet two and maybe a hundred and five pounds, Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchetti was at the center of an assembly of one large suitcase, a full-sized camper knapsack and a leather handbag capable of holding her within it. The round piquant face was split by a dazzling grin and the oversized round-framed glasses only added to the disarming effect. Light brown hair was curly to the point of bordering on outright frizz.

"Here I am, Tim! Right on time for once," she chirped. Gabby wriggled out of her encumbrances and tackled her greeter with an enthusiastic embrace.

At twenty-four, Timothy Limbo was the same age as his childhood friend. He was wearing what amounted to his trademark uniform of biker boots, jeans and a black leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt. The mop of butter-yellow hair was longer than usual at the moment, hanging down over a long likeable face that was not quite good-looking. "Good to see you again," he said. "Welcome to the big city."

"Squishy hug with both boobs," she answered. "Mmmm, squishy hugs are the best. I studied a map on my phone on the ride. We're at 42nd Street and Eighth Avenue, right? I did get off at the Port Authority right?" Gabby was taking in the feverish hustle of the crowds moving around them, the chatter and the rumble from the line of buses pulling up or easing out to continue their ongoing loops. "I don't CARE if I look like a tourist, Tim, I'm gonna stare at everything."

"As long as you're having fun," he said. "We might as well get moving."

"I mean, I wouldn't actually mind if you carried my suitcase...."

Timothy laughed and flipped the heavy knapsack up onto his shoulders, adjusting the straps. Like all Tel Shai knights, his Kumundu training meant he was much stronger than his rather lanky build would indicate. "Here, give me the suitcase, too. You'll have your hands full looking around."

"Whew, thanks. I packed as if I would be camping out in the rain forest rather than a city full of shops."

"This way. Past these shops. Don't even glance at them, Gab, it's all junk at three times the normal price."

They passed through the row of glass doors out onto the sidewalk and were just in time to join the mob crossing Eighth Avenue at the corner. "Less than a mile to our headquarters," Timothy said. "I figured you wouldn't mind walking."

"Oh, not at all. Tim, everything is so much cleaner than I expected. Almost futuristic." Her neck was craned back to the extent that he kept a hand on one elbow to steer her out of the paths of frantic pedestrians. "Those giant video screens on the buildings! They're freaking me out, but in a good way."

"You get used to them," Tim said. "They're just ads, after all."

"So.. futuristic. Like those sci-fi movies set in the future, except it's not all drizzly and gloomy. Wow. This is better than Disneyworld."

Gently guiding her through the crowds, Timothy found himself grinning. "Jeremy, our captain, says he misses the days when Times Square was sleazy and grimy and unsafe. Rows of second-run movie theaters and upstairs gambling joints and places a nice girl like you doesn't need to hear about. But then, he's at home where things are dangerous."

Slowing to a halt as they neared the next intersection, Gabby paused to study his face. "I didn't realize I was such a... hick. Tim, I feel like a hillbilly with her mouth hanging open seeing an elevator for the first time."

"You cheer me up, Gabby." Timothy reached across her narrow back with his free hand and squeezed her shoulder. "I've gotten too used to all this. I've lived here for years now. You make me realize how awesome the city really is."

By the time they reached 38th Street, Gabby had calmed down significantly. The buildings were still impressive but had become more mundane apartment complexes and commercial structures. The parade of various stores, from furniture outlets to health spas to alternating delis and bodegas, had a calming effect too as she window-shopped. At the corner of 38th and Lexington stood an unremarkable ten-story building of grey granite blocks. Five steps led up from the sidewalk to a massive oak door which bore a brass plate reading 28 and then in neat capitals, KENNETH DRED FOUNDATION.

"You'll have a guest room of your own on the third floor," Timothy said, putting a foot on the bottom step. "But if you go out of the building, you'll have to be buzzed back in by one of the team..."

As he spoke, that door swung open and a black-haired woman in her early forties stuck her head out. She was dressed as if for office work in dark slacks and white long-sleeved blouse with a single gold chain under the collar. "Hi, we've been expected you two. Wait a second, please."

( the rest of the story )

"Slaves To Their Own Skill"

5/3/2015

I.

Demrak Jin hurtled up out of the Atlantic, breaking surface as if she had been shot by a catapult. The young Gelydra cleared the rounded boulders which ringed Hawk Island and landed lightly in a crouch on her toes and fingertips. She was wearing the tunic and pants of rough grey sharkhide which fit tightly on her thin body, and the bone-bladed knife was sheathed across her shoulders. In one hand, Jin held a short trident. On its three barbed tines was impaled a twelve-pound salmon.

She grinned at the thought that she would be able to eat this fish raw as it should be eaten. If any her teammates had been here, their stubborn insistence on cooking food would detract from the flavor. The truth was, like many of her Gelydrim countrymen, she really preferred eating her catches while the creatures were still alive. But this was a habit she knew they would not understand.

At three inches over five feet tall, Demrak Jin looked thin and almost frail but that was deceptive. Like all her Race, her muscles were denser and stronger than Human, adapted for life at crushing water pressure. She had the stiff bristly white hair, cut short, common to inhabitants of Ulgor and her wide flat face with its pug nose and cloudy blue eyes was always sullen. Even when she was relaxed and satisfied, her expression remained angry. Haley had once said that Jin had a bad case of 'Resting Bitch Face,' which was accurate enough but which Jin had not appreciated.

Holding the spear so she could examine the still gasping salmon closely, the Gelydra woman stiffened. She had noticed something out of place. Fifty yards down the rocky shore sat a wooden boathouse that stored equipment and two small speedboats. Jeremy Bane had constructed that structure and ordered the boats so that KDF members would have a way off Hawk Island if anything happened to the CORBY helicopters. He always wanted to have back-ups for every contingency. But the boat which was tied up to a metal ring set alongside the boathouse was not one of theirs. It was a thirty-two footer Renegade, white with Kelly green trim and the name LOUISA written in cursive in the bow.

Jin scowled and bent to place the spear with its catch on a flat rock. She did not know any surface person named Louisa, she was sure of that much. Drawing the sword with its bone blade and ivory handle she had crafted herself, the Ulgoran strode grimly toward the boathouse. Just over a mile to her right was the Hawk Island complex. The main building was one story high, made of stone blocks painted white, with a wing on each end. The wing on the left held five rooms that visiting members could use as personal quarters on a first-come, first-served basis. The main building held the captain's office, a command center, a medical ward and a recreation room. The wing opposite the private rooms held training facilities... basically a gym and obstacle course.

Just beyond the complex was the hangar with its wide segmented steel doors. Here one of the three CORBY stealthcopters was stored, while another was kept at the KDF headquarters in New York City and the third was at the HCE Project in New Mexico where Stephen Weaver did maintenance and upgrades on them. The copters were rotated on a regular basis. Demrak Jin glared back over her shoulder, but the hangar door was down and there was no sign of a second CORBY. She became convinced that it was not one of her teammates who had come to the island in that speedboat.

As she trotted silently toward the boathouse, barefoot on the rocky ground but not noticing the sharp edges under her toughened soles, the Gelydra adjusted her grip on her weapon and readied herself to tackle any possible adversary. From around the side of the structure, looming up six inches over six feet in height, came a bearded man in plain white slacks and white polo shirt with deck shoes and a billed cap. He was an impressive example of highly developed muscle, with a V-shaped wedge of a torso above a narrow waist. The big Melgar grinned, showing a flash of white teeth through a thick short beard. Like his curly brown hair, the beard had flecks of grey scattered through it.

"Galvan?!" she gasped, almost dropping her weapon. "How dare you show up here on Hawk Island?"

"I have come to see you," the big Melgar said in an uncharacteristally subdued voice.

Jin reached up behind herself to sheath her sword. "Me? No. I certainly don't want to talk to you. We need not ever meet again. Go away."

"Now, now, don't be like that. I rented that boat in Southport to come here. These are treacherous waters indeed. If I had not already known about the reefs and sharp submerged rocks around this island, I doubt if I would have made it here."

Folding her arms across her narrow chest, Demrak Jin fixed her most ferocious scowl on her face. "I think you have done enough harm to me, son of Androval. Better a broken leg than a broken heart, as the old lore has it."

Stepping closer, towering by more than a foot over the diminuitive Gelydra, Galvan removed his cap and held it humbly in front of him. "I have been thinking about you, Jin. Often. I can picture your face and hear your voice in my daydreams. To be honest, this is new to me. I do not know what these feelings are."

"Oh, please. You are a hundred and forty years old. I am sure you have bedded more women than would fit on this island. You received what you sought from me, now move on as you said you intended."

"I was wrong," Galvan said simply. He lowered himself to sit on a flat rock so that their faces were on a level. "Jin, I did not know what this feeling was until it came to me. I am surprised by the joy. Even if you will not be with me, I have to tell you this."

"Are you serious? You ARE serious." The small white-haired Gelydra visibly softened, her shoulders lowering and her fists relaxing into open hands. "But me? Of all people, you are saying you have feelings for me?"

"That is the truth of it," the Melgar said. He clasped his big rough-skinned hands in front of him and gazed down at them. "I'm miserable, Jin. I had to see you again. But now that I am here, I do not know what to say."

She did not answer for a long tense moment, then came over to sit next to him. "Galvan, I was hurt when you said you were leaving. It still is a cold pang in my heart. But I think I can rise above that and move on. My anger should be a servant and not a master."

Galvan seemed as if he wanted to touch her, perhaps embrace, but he was restrained in a way she had never seen in him before. "At least, we should still work together," he said. "The comradeship you have with your team of Tel Shai knights is a rare thing."

"Oh, I have come to realize that," Demrak Jin told him. Suddenly she untensed. "I realize now that they put up with my moods and temper and lack of manners as few Humans would. I have even mentioned this to them."

"I'm glad I came to see you. Truth be told, Jin, I was more afraid of coming to see you than I have ever been facing Trolls or Darthim." He broke off as they both saw the black helicopter approach from the south.

It was one of the CORBYs, so well silenced that it made no more noise than a gust of wind would. Showing no external lights, bearing no identifying logos or numbers, the Trom-built craft swiftly lowered fifty yards away from them. As the landing gear swung into position and the rotors slowed, they could spot Haley Lawson in the pilot seat, giving them a cheerful salute. The front left hatch hissed open as pressurized air was released. A powerful figure in blue and white jumped out.

Galvan stood up. "Sulak!"

( the rest of the story )

RESURRECTION EMPIRE II: Pimping Out Zombies In Corona

2/19-2/20/2015


I.

Josef Jubilec found a parking spot and eased the Toyota Matrix into it before anyone else could claim the opening. The Blind Archer was wearing black slacks and suit jacket, with a white dress shirt but no tie. Even his leather shoes were highly polished. Tall and fit-looking, with short sandy hair over a freshly shaven if weathered face, he seemed to be a perfect example of an office-dwelling executive. Behind the wheel, he glared over at the two-story building they had come to find. It was old, the bricks were chipped and stained, the sidewalk in front of it was cracked and had a few strands of weed starting to grow up through the openings. Most of the windows were lit and curtains drawn.

Seated next to him, Haley shook her head. She herself was wearing a KDF field suit, complete with the waist-length jacket that had its own inner layer of armor. "It's just weird to see you without a bow within reach. It bothers me. Not even that folding contraption you hate to use."

Josef shrugged. "No choice. Our captain has sent us here to investigate and I am certain to be patted down for weapons. A longbow is slightly conspicuous. For that matter, you seem uneasy without your Windcatcher costume. No cloak? No white pullover and blue shorts?"

"Same here," she replied. Haley Lawson normally stayed insolent and slightly brash no matter what, but tonight she seemed subdued. Under the dark brown bangs, her green eyes were thoughtful. "Of course I am still wearing the Gem of Air under my collar. I can summon wind from a hurricane or Death Valley if I choose, so I'm not really disarmed."

"I'll be fine."

"I guess." Haley looked over at the rundown building herself, seeing it sat next to a bodega that was still open at this hour. "I don't think I've ever been in Corona before. Where are we? Roosevelt Avenue and 91st Street. Looks overwhelmingly Hispanic to me, even the signs are mostly in Spanish."

"Yes," Josef said, unbuckling his seat belt. "This isn't a bad part of Queens. You can buy some fresh produce here at a reasonable price. Tonight, of course, we are shopping for something more gruesome."

She stuck two fingers in her mouth and made a gagging noise. "Ugh, ick. A brothel. I can't believe places like this still exist in this day and age."

"This is called a 'fast house,'" the Blind Archer told her. "Very common in a lot of Latina neighborhoods. Forty or fifty dollars gets you fifteen minutes with a young chica. Then they toss you back out on the street."

"I think it's disgusting. Even with living prostitutes."

Josef got out of the car and leaned back in before closing the door. "I can't even bring my Link in with me. Just cash. But Megan has rigged a button on my belt buckle. When I press it, your Link will buzz and that's when you charge in to the rescue."

"If you really want to be rescued, ha hah."

"This is just a mission like any other," he said and closed the door. Josef Jubilec straightened up, looking around at the night, and his perception caught that he was being watched from a window of the fast house. He did not glance in that direction. The Blind Archer walked up to the front door with its simple tacked-on number 553 and pressed the white doorbell for a single long ring.

A short stocky man who had not shaven for a few days answered without opening the door more than a crack. In Spanish, he asked if his visitor needed help.

Josef answered in Spanish fluent enough that it seemed completely natural. Before joining Tel Shai, he had worked around the world as a bodyguard and counter-assassin, and he spoke several languages as if he had grown up with them. He replied that he needed the usual help a man requires, and held up two twenties and a ten. The man snatched the bills quickly and let him in.

In a long front hallway, with doors on either side, beneath a ceiling light in a grimy glass ball, the man asked him if he had any girl in mind. Josef managed a smile and answered that of course he wanted the youngest and prettiest in the building. This seemed to amuse the papi. He led the Blind Archer down the hall a ways and opened the fifth door they came to, then said "Only fifteen minutes, remember, then we knock."

At the end of the hall, another man was sitting in a plain wooden chair, studying a newspaper. He was bigger, tougher-looking and he had just stubbed out a cigarette on the arm of the chair. Reading their lifeforce with his gralic perception, the Blind Archer decided at once that these were normal living people even if not in the best of health. It was the ability to fix on a being's lifeforce without using sight that made the Blind Archers so feared. In darkness or rain or fog, their arrows never missed.

Thanking the papi, Josef went through the door into a hot, stuffy room lit by a single ceramic lamp on the wall. There was a chair and an empty nightstand, and aside from that only a Queen-sized bed with dingy sheets. Standing next to that bed was a tall, slightly chunky young woman with long curly black hair. She was wearing a yellow sundress and was barefoot. The vague smile on her face did not waver as she saw him.

Instantly, Josef knew that she was not fully alive. Her aura was faint and unsteady. He decided the room was kept overheated so that customers would not notice her flesh was not warm by itself. As Josef closed the door, she automatically drew the sundress up over her head to stand naked in front of him. There was a deep scar in her left ribcage that they had tried to mask with some sort of flesh-colored putty.

That must be the wound that had killed her, he thought. He asked her what her name was and she promptly replied it was Inez. Then he asked what day of the week it might be and she did not answer for a long moment before telling him he had better hurry and get undressed.

Josef felt a great weariness come over him. This was not a situation he wanted to be in any longer than necessary. In Spanish, he asked the woman if she remembered her family and if she realized what had happened to her. There was no reaction in her eyes at all. She walked closer and reached up to start unbuttoning his shirt.

The sooner the zombies were revived after dying, the more awareness and consciousness they retained. If they had been dead too long, they were mere automatons. Josef saw the stretch marks on her belly and decided to try one more question. He asked her if she remembered her children. There was not even a flicker of response in the blank cloudy eyes. Not anger, not bewilderment, not sorrow. She was acting out a limited choice of responses that had been drilled into her.

"I'm so sorry," he said. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he spun her around and brought down the rigid edge of his hand sharply down at the base of her neck. She dropped as limply as if she had never been resurrected at all, not trying to break her fall as her face hit the bare wooden floor. It was as if she had been eager to go into true death.

Moving slowly, Josef picked her up, tugged her sundress back onto her and stretched her out on the bed. He folded her hands across her chest and closed her eyes, giving her what little dignity she could have at that point. Where was this woman's family, he wondered. Were they still looking for her? Was her face up on home-made posters in some city, HAVE YOU SEEN ME? And would they really want to know what her horrific fate had been? With a face taut as stone, he opened the hall door to leave that room of horrors.

( the rest of the story )

"Eight Per Cent Human"

8/11/2015

I.

Looking down at the street from his bedroom on the second floor, Jeremy Bane spotted details like the extra lights behind the grille that betrayed the old Ford Crown Victoria as an unmarked police car. Yet it had regular plates. This was unexpected. He had bought this house in Forest Hills only a few weeks ago and, although his move here wasn't the most closely-kept secret in the world, he had not publicized it either. As he watched, a man in a tan business suit emerged from behind the wheel.

In less than a full second, Bane's Tel Shai training had kicked in as he evaluated the man. Between forty-five and forty-seven years old, only fair health, not physically fit and with a stiffness in the right leg that came from an old injury. There would be a limp. From the man's body language and the way his trousers hung, he was not armed. When the man straightened up and started across the sidewalk toward the front porch, the watching Bane judged his coordination and potential fighting skill just from that movement. He concluded that this visitor was no imminent threat and really not a serious danger even if it came to a confrontation.

The Dire Wolf spun away from the window and headed out into the hall, trotting briskly down the stairs. At fifty-seven himself, he still had not aged much. He was still slim to the point of seeming gaunt, and his full head of black hair was mixed with only scattered grey strands. In a narrow, serious face, the pale grey eyes remained his most distinctive feature. Lately, he had broken a lifelong habit by not wearing what had amounted to his uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. Today, he had on white sneakers, faded jeans and a dark red flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled back a turn. He moved down the stairs quickly enough that he had his hand on the knob of the front door even as the bell first rang.

As he opened the door, Bane said, "Can I help you?" in a neutral tone. This close, he analyzed the man's facial reactions and decided he could tentatively trust him. For the moment.

"Mr Bane? Of course you are. Hi, we haven't met before but I've certainly heard of you. Calvin Calvert, on staff at the NEW YORK DAILY UNION, but actually better known from my blog. 'What Really Happened,' it's called. Here." The man held out a beat-up leather billfold to show his laminated ID card. Taking the billfold, Bane examined the credentials carefully, not just glancing at them but checking details. Satisfied, he returned the billfold but did not invite the man inside.

Calvert seemed jumpy and hyper, talking quickly and darting his eyes in all directions to take down details. He was a redhead, with dark auburn hair that was receding quickly up at the temples, blue eyes under shaggy brows and a weathered face that matched his wrinkled suit. The top button of the dress shirt was open, the knot on the tie was loosened and a battered white fedora was pushed back far enough that it seemed dangerously close to falling off at any second.

"I'm retired, Mr Calvert," Bane snapped bluntly. "I closed the Dire Wolf agency at the end of last month." He did not step back from the doorway, as that could be taken as an invitation to enter his home. "And I informed all the agencies that I used to work with about it."

"I know that, sir, I respect that. Still. Even as a private citizen, though, your experience in unusual cases might be helpful with something that has come up. Or so your record indicates."

For a long second, those pale grey eyes stabbed coldly at the pushy reporter. Then, surprisingly, the Dire Wolf turned to one side and gestured for the man to come in. "I might as well hear you out."

The living room had nothing unusual about it. A couch facing a big screen TV, two comfortable chairs, a coffee table piled with loose newspapers, two lamps on end tables. There were thousands of parlors like it in Queens alone. Bane went over and lowered himself into one of the easy chairs so he was facing the reporter in the other. "All right, what's the story?"

Calvert took his white fedora off and started fidgeting with it. "Three men have disappeared in ten days. All top research scientists. Two were biochemists working for Prowisor Labs, that would be Ben Thayer and Julius Wasserman. The other one, Cesar Aguinaldo, was a former surgeon who had gone into reconstructive therapies. Their families said that each had been getting some odd phone calls at night, but apparently the calls came from throwaway phones. No one has been able to trace them." The reporter leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of you, watching Bane with outright curiosity. "What do you make of that, hah? Hah?"

"Okay," the Dire Wolf said. "Even I was still in the business, how would this be in my area of interest? You must have heard about me to come here. For thirty years, the NYPD came to me when they ran into anything too weird or horrifying to deal with. First, Inspector Klein. Then Lt Montez." Bane let out a deep unhappy sigh. "Poor Joe. Always off the books, always unofficial. Just pointing me in the right direction like some sort of trained attack animal. And then what happened to him... No, I'm done with that. I'm not interested."

"No, no, hear me out. There's one detail to the story you might want to learn," Calvert went on rapidly. "In one of the missing man's papers, we found brochures and flyers for John Grim Enterprises. Hey? Rings a bell, huh?"

Now, a sudden glint sparked in Bane's eyes and he sat up straighter. "John Grim! Really. Dead all these years but his company still carries on his work. I should have smashed Grim Enterprises when I... but, no. Stop. Listen, it's not my fight any more. Have you gone to the police?"

"Sure. They're not helpful. The third time they threw me out, I realized they weren't going to cooperate."

The Dire Wolf fixed his unnerving pale eyes on the reporter. "So. Midnight War. Have you ever heard of the phrase?"

"Are you kidding, pull the other leg!" Calvert snorted and began jabbing a finger at his host. "I've been digging into it since I got out of journalism school. Listen, I interviewed Karl Eldritch at an airport. I met Samhain once, luckily I was out of reach. When the Pudge tried to take over all the loose gangs, I was right on the job. And I followed the exploits of you and your KDF. What a crew! Michael Hawk, Ted Wright. Khang. Whatever happened to that little blonde that read minds? Yeah, I got enough material for a book!"

"That is all over." Bane spoke the next three words slowly and sternly, "I am retired. All I can do is wish you good luck, Mr Calvert. You've got a thread to follow and who knows where it will lead. Good luck and goodbye."

The reporter let his head hang down just perceptibly. "I'm sorry to hear that. To tell the truth, Mr Bane, I've heard so much about you I was looking forward to working alongside you on a case." He got heavily to his feet and tugged his suit jacket down. "Please let me know if you change your mind. You're badly needed."

Jumping to his feet, the Dire Wolf motioned toward the door. "Look. Understand, I'm worn out. I'm been fighting the most dangerous monsters and maniacs in creation since I was barely out of my teens. I can't do it any more. Do you know how many of my friends and partners I had to bury? Enough is enough." He started toward the door, forcing Calvert to go with him.

As he stood in the open doorway, the reporter shook his head, "Well, you're a civilian, Mr Bane. No one can give you orders. But I think it's a shame not to use the special abilities you have been given. I know I couldn't doze on the couch while monsters come out every night to chase people. " He turned and walked across the sidewalk to the where the unmarked car waited. "I guess that doesn't bother you."

"Yeah, try and make me feel guilty," Bane muttered as he closed the door. He went over to the couch and plopped down full length on it, putting his feet up and closing his eyes. Damn it. Would he have to move away to be left alone? Maybe no one would know him in North Dakota, he'd buy an old ranchhouse and sit on the porch at night doing nothing at all...


II.

After a few minutes, Bane sat up again and picked up the mess of disarranged newspapers to start sorting through them. Lately, he had been trying to do the crossword puzzles but since he had almost no formal education, it was hopeless. Larry Taper had been able to finish the SUNDAY TIMES puzzle but then he was an actual college professor. It had been Taper who had suggested that Bane start doing crosswords as much as he could and then look up some of the clues so he would know them next time. Over the years, he had been doing this in free moments and had picked up a wide if eclectic and incomplete knowledge of world history.

As he straightened the papers into a neater stack, the Dire Wolf could not help thinking over what Calvert had come here to ask of him. The man sure knew how to get under someone's skin. He remembered John Grim all too well. The man had been a genius in his own right but he also had a telepathic ability which let him pick knowledge from the minds of others without consciously realizing it. Grim had stolen secrets of advanced Trom technology way ahead of Human levels and had used it for his covert criminal activities. There had been that whole PENTAGRAM organization, the amazing aircraft that had been called "Devil Lights" in the press, ties with STIGMA, the clash with Wu Lung's empire...

John Grim himself had been dead for many years now. His son Alexander had taken over as CEO of the company, and although he was unscrupulous enough, the younger Grim was nowhere near the threat the father had been. Although, something like Grim Enterprises tended to attract people who were both highly intelligent and amoral, a bad combination.

Without quite realizing it, Bane found he had sorted through the papers to separate the stories about the three missing men. He started reading them, caught himself and grinned at his own foolishness. Was he never going to learn? Would he be eighty years old in a wheelchair, rolling after murderers and trying to smack them with his cane? But even as he thought that, the Dire Wolf had begun to arrange the reports in chronological order. A half hour passed in silence before he threw the newspapers back down and got to his feet.

Restless as ever, Bane paced around his living room, hands clasped behind his back. The three missing men had something in common... serious medical conditions. One was scheduled for double bypass surgery, one had advanced diabetes to the point where he would soon be scheduled for dialysis and the last one had inoperable pancreatic cancer. They had been making arrangements for others to carry on their research when they had vanished. No suicide notes, no changes in mood or attitude. Each in fact had been filling his schedule as much as he could.

This meant something, and with the John Grim organization possibly involved, it meant something bad. Jeremy Bane straightened up, all his instincts firing that trouble was near, and for the first time in a month, he felt really alive. He dug in his pocket for the Link he still carried and patched undetectably into the Verizon system to call Sable. All he got was a message that she was taking the team into Chujir with no way to tell when they would be back. He checked the date on the message, it was two days earlier. Grumbling, Bane next tried Fist For Hire, Sheng's own independent agency but got almost the same message; whenever the team had called, Sheng Mo-Yuan had been eager to go with them.

Holding the Link, Bane dug through his memory but could not think of anyone else he could dump this case on. There were a few private investigators in the city he respected, but they dealt with normal human crime. This was beyond them. With a slight twinge, he realized how few of his allies and colleagues were still active. Bane unlocked a plain door in one corner of the living room near the stairs and exhaled slowly. Down steep concrete steps he slowly went, flicking on a light switch to reveal a finished basement. Here was the furnace, the water heater, wooden shelves stocked with canned food and jugs of drinking water and metal cases of specialized equipment he had stored down here.

In one corner was a washer-dryer combination with the motor exposed and some tools scattered on the floor.There was actually nothing wrong with the washing machine, he could use it within a few minutes. Bane bent over, reached behind the motor and undid a concealed latch. The side panel of the machine popped open to reveal a bundle in a clear, tightly-wrapped bag. He yanked the bag out and closed the machine again. Stripping off his flannel shirt and jeans, he tugged on a snug bodysuit of what looked like wet silk, leaving only his feet, hands and head and neck exposed. This was a suit of the Trom armor which protected against impact up to and including high-powered rifle bullets. A matching pair of slim throwing daggers had already been strapped in sheaths on his forearms and he refastened them on the outside of the armor sleeves. Although he was not aware of it, Bane began to move more briskly and decisively as the familiar armor tightened slightly to fit his body.

In the bag was an assortment of small gadgets and devices, much no larger than a pencil stub or a AA battery. The one exception was a long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 revolver in a detachable holster. Even though he had checked the gun before packing it away, Bane examined it carefully again before being satisfied. Turning to his left, he took down black clothing which hung on a wooden holder and put his familiar uniform again. Heavy boots, trousers and a long-sleeved turtleneck, then the sport jacket. As he put them on, he stowed the various devices in their concealed slits and pouches. Two smoke bombs the size of grapes, two resonance grenades not much larger, two flares no thicker than soda straws. A flexible hacksaw blade in one lapel, a few lockpick tools under a layer of boot instep. Lastly, the holster snapped onto his belt behind his left hip. Now he realized how alive he felt, how everything seemed sharper and more in focus. He felt like he had woken up from a drowsy nap on the couch.

The Dire Wolf snapped off the lights as he sprang back up the steps from the basement. It was getting dark outside.

III.

At twenty after three in the morning, out far in the wilds of New Jersey where even the landfill projects and auto graveyards had been left behind, Bane left his car well off the road and stalked silently through the darkness. Ahead, lights on tall iron posts showed an access road that led down to an empty parking lot. Beyond that were a half dozen professional buildings of white brick, all the windows dark but with lights burning over each doorway. Green signs said in white letters JOHN GRIM ENTERPRISES -RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT Authorized Personnel Only. On a separate sign was the warning THIS IS A RESTRICTED AREA- TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

Standing just on the other side of the access road, the Dire Wolf studied the scene. Against any other facility, he would have relied on the Trom technology he had retained from his days in the KDF. Using his Link, he could disable all the security cameras and unlock every door long enough to get in. He had done it at strongholds ranging from the FBI's Department 21 Black to the headquarters of STIGMA. But this might not be as assured, since John Grim had obtained his advanced tech by stealing it from the Trom. This might be the one place where his gadgets would not be infallible.

Bane stepped over to the edge of the parking lot, spotting a few pressure plates under the dirt he was careful not to step on. Well, time to find out. He would send a signal to make this facility lower its defenses, hurry across the lot and get in before restoring all services. The security department here would see their cameras blur and wink out before coming back on. Certainly they would make rounds of the buildings in case it meant something, but Bane was confident he could conceal himself from normal Humans and then he could start investigating.

Just as he took out the Link from its clip on his belt, he noticed something odd. There were a few cars scattered across the parking lot, most of them near one entrance, but one looked exactly like the used undercover car that Calvin Calvert had been driving that afternoon. It couldn't be a coincidence. What was that lunatic doing here in the middle of the night, right after he had tried to recruit Bane to help him?

Half a mile away, a sharp explosion echoed with a flash of intensely bright white light. The entire facility went dark. Bane recognized it had been a transformer blowing. Instantly, he was hurtling across the gloom toward the nearest building, moving so fast he would have been a blur even in better light. In less than a second, he yanked a fire door open.. they all unlocked when the power went out in case of natural disaster requiring evacuation.. and leaped into a blackened corridor. This was something else that could not be coincidence. The Dire Wolf raced down the hallway as his enhanced night vision kicked in. Decades of the tagra diet and Kumundu training had made him able to function in what would seem complete darkness to a normal person. Ahead he saw a row of offices with frosted glass panels on their doors, they looked promising. The nearest one was still unlocked and he dove through.

He knew he had to move quickly. The emergency generator would going on soon. As he entered the room, he sensed immediately that someone was in there with him. A dim figure loomed up close at hand and Bane reacted instinctively with a short driving punch to the solar plexus that forced all the air from the man's lungs. As he grabbed his opponent's shirt front to lower him to the floor, lights went back on out in the hall. In the office itself, dim subdued illumination came from panels low on the floor.

In that light, Bane recognized who he had just slugged. Struggling feebly, still trying to take a full breath, Calvert gasped, "Hey, I thought we were friends."

III.

Not trusting himself to speak, the Dire Wolf clamped a hand down to hold the man's jaw shut and hauled him roughly behind a huge executive desk. There was room enough beneath it for Calvert, and Bane in his black outfit was difficult to spot in dim light. Still not allowing the man to make a noise, Bane pinned him down with a painfully tight grip and waited. His own breath grew deeper and slower until it could not be heard.

Within a minute, the door opened and two blazing cones of light swept the office. Visible in the back glow, big men in security uniforms looked around the room for a few seconds before backing out again. When the door closed, the lock clicking was audible. Bane still had Calvert held down with a hand over the man's mouth. Although the reporter struggled, he could not even make Bane's arms move in response. With his free hand, pinning Calvert down with a knee, Bane got the Link out and thumbed two buttons. Tiny green lights flickered on the Trom device.

"All right," Bane whispered. "Any cameras or mics in this office are not working for the moment. Keep your voice down. What on Earth possessed you to break in here?"

"Me? What about YOU? I should have known you weren't really retired." As he was relased, Calvin Calvert got stiffly to his feet. "My God, you're strong, Bane. You look skinny but you've got a grip like a pro wrestler."

Getting to his feet, the Dire Wolf said, "Look, I'm not taking responsibility for getting you out of here. You came here on your own. Now just be quiet!" He took out the Link from its clip on his belt and set it to jam. "The security cameras and door locks will only work for a few seconds and then keep shutting off. Hopefully, that will keep the enemy occupied trying to find the glitch."

Struggling up to his hands and knees, the reporter found his nearless shapeless fedora and jammed it down on his head. "Say, what kind of gizmo is that? Japanese? I sure could use one of those..."

"I told you already to be quiet," Bane snapped. "I'll knock you out and you'll wake up tomorrow in a holding cell." Taking another Trom device from his jacket, he used it to unlock the wide shallow center drawer of the desk and took out a slim black laptop. "Great," he said to himself. "Calvert, don't talk. I need to concentrate."

For the next few minutes, Bane used the Link's signals to override all the barriers that the laptop presented. He wished he could have Megan Salenger here to help. She was the real expert, a Human raised by the Trom themselves, and despite all her coaching, he would never know a fraction of what she did about computers. Still, bit by bit, he got in. Suddenly the screen flashed bright green and a symbol of the interlocked letters JG appeared before fading into an array of icons. The Dire Wolf studied them suspiciously, noticed the Link had landed on the one most in use, and clicked on it to open a series of folders. Each had its own lock that had to be unfastened.

Behind him, Calvin Calvert whispered, "Post Organic Humans. Oh, I don't like the sound of that."

Bane glared up at him. "What are you doing looking over my shoulder? Go listen by the door for a guard before we both get nabbed."

Mumbling about the First Amendment, Calvert backed off and stood by the office door for a full ten seconds before stealthily returning to stand right behind the Dire Wolf. By now, page after page of dense files were clicking by too rapidly to be read.

"Hey, slow down," the reporter said. "I thought I saw something interesting."

"I'm recording all these for later," Bane answered. He paused on one page. It showed an MRI scan of an adult male but more than half of the man's body had been replaced by prosthetics. Both arms and legs, much of the spine, the heart and lungs.. all were mechanical. Even the top of the skull was a plastic cap.

"Look at the listing," Calvert breathed. "Subject 211. That means there were at least two hundred others like him."

"Seems like it. This is medical research. Knee and hip replacements are nothing new. But that heart and those lungs..." He started the files whipping past again, then stopped on one and caught his breath. "I was afraid it would lead to this."

The page showed SUBJECT 399. Almost nothing was left of the original flesh and blood. What there was seemed to include half the liver, part of the spleen and a few glands suspended in a network of artificial tissues. Inside the high density plastic head was a chunk of brain smaller than a mouse. Specifications ran down one side of the image, including "Minimum eight per cent cerebral cortex mandatory to retain identity."

With a whistle, Calvert said, "Eight per cent human. That's all these guys save of the original. Hah. They should meet my editor, he's eight per cent human on a good day."

"I still haven't found out anything about the three missing scientists." Bane growled deep in his chest and shut the folder down. "Now be quiet, Calvert. I need to erase all traces that I was in here." After he ran a deep scan and deletion of the past few minutes' activities, he finally shut the laptop off and replaced it into the desk drawer, which he locked. He was wearing thin black latex gloves. "You may be sorry you insisted on seeing that," he said quietly.

"Hell, I've stuck my nose where it doesn't belong plenty of times. Right now, I'm uploading the pictures from my phone to my blog, where they'll be safe. What do you think we should do now, Jeremy?"

The Dire Wolf straightened up and gave a cold stare to the reporter. "We? I didn't invite you here, Calvert. I'm getting out and going to plan my next move. What you do is your own business." He paused, then added, "Frankly, I don't think your chances of survival are very good."

Crumpling his hat in one hand, the reporter switched to a pleading tone. "After all we've been through? Come on, Jeremy, how long have we been friends-"

"We have NEVER been friends. I met you for the first time this morning." Bane jabbed the man in the chest with a forefinger that drove him back a step. "Right now, the cameras and locks in this building aren't working. I'm going to sneak out. Whether you can make it is another matter, but you are not my problem." With that last word, the Dire Wolf swung over to the office door and gestured for silence. After a long thirty seconds, he opened the door and darted out into the hall.

No one was in sight, but the hall lights were on and he heard a door close sharply from around the corner. Bane whipped down the corridor and swung open the exit door and just as he was half outside, he heard Calvin Calvert shriek like a child. The pain and terror in that scream cut into Bane and, despite himself, he whirled around and dove headlong at the security guard who was pinning the reporter to the ground. Coming in faster than a real wolf, Bane pivoted on one foot and whipped the other leg around in a reverse roundhouse that exploded the steel-capped heel of his boot to the man's head. Sharp pain shot up Bane's leg as the guard did not even twitch. It was like kicking a streetlamp. Offbalance, the Dire Wolf backpedaled a few steps and froze into place.

The guard was aiming a Glock 19 directly at his face, with a hand so steady it seemed to belong to a statue. The man's face was expressionless, lifeless, like a wellmade rubber mask but the dark eyes moved to track his target. Bane realized he could not evade that shot, and he realized with a sinking feeling what he was dealing with.

"Calvert, stop struggling," he told the reporter. As the man held still, the guard lifted him to his feet easily, never letting the barrel of his gun move a fraction of an inch.

"What? Are you serious?" Calvert yelled. "I want a lawyer! Let me make one call. Hey, give me my phone back!"

"Quiet," said Bane. "We're going to go along with this... man and talk to his superiors. Don't give him any more reason to kill you."

IV.

Another guard appeared, looking nearly identical to the first, and they silently escorted Bane and Calvert down long corridors, into an elevator that rose five floors, and through a pair of metal doors that unlocked with audible clicking as they approached. Beyond was an office larger than most stores, subdued and tasteful with no ostentation. Potted plants, indirect lighting, dark solid furnishings.. it was all impressive.

Seated behind an immaculate desk was a tall trim man in a neatly tailored dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie. Beneath short black hair, an expressionless face lifted to regard the four figures entering his office.. a face as lifeless as a rubber mask except for the alert eyes.

Stepping away from the guards, Bane asked, "Well, you obviously weren't rousted from sound sleep."

"Sleep?" answered the man in a bland near-monotone. "No, I don't sleep. I know you, of course. Jeremy Bane, the Dire Wolf. You are in our files."

"And what am I, chopped liver?" Calvert interupted. "I'll have you know my blog gets a hundred thousand hits a day, Mr..?"

"Alan Haggerty."

Bane stepped a little closer. "Really? The Alan Haggerty who worked for John Grim would be in his eighties today."

"Yes. Eighty-seven to be accurate. Instead of lying in a bed in a nursing home getting sponge baths or being wheeled to the cafeteria, I am fully functional, still working, heading this division of Grim Enterprises." The mask of a face regarded Bane placidly. "Judging by your reputation, Mr Bane, I would not be surprised if you understand by now what we do here."

"I think so," the Dire Wolf answered quietly. "Organ replacement, but carried to its logical conclusion. So many people get an artificial hip, plastic corneas, valves in the heart. No one even thinks it's remarkable anymore. With John Grim technology, you just go all the way." He leaned over the desk to peer closely at the unresponsive face gazing back at him. Although he didn't mention it, he noticed that the Post Human was breathing, slowly and deeply. The irises were expanded for the dim light, maybe the eyes were still original. "How much of Alan Haggerty is left in there?"

"As much as needed." The head of Grim Enterprises glanced over at Calvert. "And you, I take it you are an investigative journalist?"

"Oh, one of the best." Calvert wriggled out of the loose grip one guard had on his arm. "But you know, why isn't this available to everyone? Why don't we see lots of robotroids like you walking around?"

"This is private research. Which brings us to the unavoidable question, why are you two in this restricted facility in the middle of the night?" No trace of menace came into the level voice. "Mr Calvert?"

"I'm here because of the First Amendment, which guarantees us a free and unhampered press with the public having a right to information which may be vital to their safety and best interests-"

Haggerty did not seem to give an order but suddenly one of the guards slapped a hand down over the reporter's mouth like a steel muzzle, cutting him off. "We are not prepared to have our research made public yet, Mr Calvert." the disinterested voice said as Calvert wriggled without getting anywhere.

"Now I have something to say," Bane broke in. "What you are doing here does not break any laws as far as I can see. If someone is old and sick, it's their business what prosthetics you give them. But what happened to the three missing scientists? Thayer? Wasserman, Aguinaldo? Where are they?"

"They have volunteered to become Post Organic Humans," Haggerty said. "The process is being kept secret from their families to make a clean break. In time, their bodies will be found as if they suffered accidental deaths."

The Dire Wolf did not seem convinced. "If you're drafting unusual experts, keeping their brains and discarding the rest, that changes everything."

"No. We have no need to coerce anyone."

"All right," Bane went on. "Let me propose something. Let us go without pressing charges and I guarantee that this guy here will keep his mouth shut. Deal?"

"You are known for keeping your agreements," Haggerty answered. "We bear you no grudge for what happened between you and John Grim. That was long ago." The man folded his hands in front of him in an unconvincing way, as if he was making gestures like that because he thought he should. "Without hormone surges, without testosterone or estrogen, one's thinking becomes clearer."

"And this guy here?" Bane went on. "Nobody believes the stuff he puts online. He's read by conspiracy theorists who believe all sorts of nonsense. The truth is, if Calvert reveals anything about your activities, most people will take it as proof that you're not real."

"An interesting paradox. He provides the opposite of truth, you would say?"

"Yeah. It's like testimony from a compulsive liar." Bane looked over where the reporter was making muffled protests from under the guard's hand. "He may not see it that way, I guess."

Alan Haggerty considered for a long tense moment. Then, without shaking his head or changing his tone of voice, he said, "Human nature is too unpredictable. We cannot risk it. Calvin Calvert can not be trusted. He will be put to good use."

The Dire Wolf was standing with his arms down by his sides, casual and not tense. "What's your plan, then?"

"You both will be used in our research-" Haggerty began. He was cut off as Bane flung one of the tear gas/smoke grenades to the floor, then whirled immediately and hurled a resonance grenade right into the face of the guard holding Calvert. While being led into the office, he had found a moment where he could get them from their tiny pouch inside the left bottom edge of his jacket. Instantly, a cloud of black stinging vapor rushed outward to fill the office, while a sharp concussion detonated to blow the face off of the guard who released Calvert. Haggerty and the other guard began coughing, as he had hoped they would. The fact that they retained some organic tissue meant that oxygen would be used.

In that split-second of twin explosions, Bane swung around and bodyslammed the free guard as hard as he could into the damaged one, tangling them both together. He hoped the one who had taken the resonance grenade in the face was incapacitated but he couldn't be sure of anything with these creatures. Even as they fell, the Dire Wolf seized Calvert by the shirt and lunged for the office door. He was holding his breath and could not see any better than any one else in there, so he was working from memory.

In the hall, the air was clearer and he took a deep breath. Less than three seconds had passed and no alarms were sounding yet. Seeing a fire exit door, he kicked it open and dove through. He was almost carrying the coughing and blinded reporter, who struggled hopelessly to keep up. Once in the parking lot, Bane yanked open the passenger door of the man's old Crown Victoria and threw him roughly into the seat, then rolled over the hood and jumped in behind the steering wheel.

"Give me the keys!" he roared. Even in his pain and confusion, Calvert obeyed and held them out. Bane gunned the motor, swung the convertible around and sped from that parking lot as if he expected it to explode. He hit the access road, doubled around and got on a highway heading south.

"Your eyes clear yet?" Bane demanded as he pulled behind a convenient mart and cut the lights. "Come on, can you see?"

"Yeah, you can call it that. What-how- one minute, that robotroid was sentencing us to vivisection and now.. we're in my car? Where are we?"

"Just a few miles down the road." Bane peered behind them but saw no signs of pursuit. "Don't rub your eyes, that'll make it worse. "I see a bottle of water in your back seat. Splash it in your eyes and blink."

"What about you? Was that tear gas? What happened?" Calvert poured the tepid water over his face and gasped.

"I got us out of there," Bane said. "Take a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself." He left the Crown Victoria, walked over to the edge of the convenient mart and studied the area. Seeing nothing suspicious yet, he got back behind the wheel. His own eyes stung and his throat tickled from the gas, but his enhanced healing was throwing off the effects rapidly.

"Well. I guess I'm at a loss," Calvert said at last. "Thanks. You saved my life back there and I can't even joke about it." The reporter somehow still had retained his beat-up fedora and he adjusted its angle thoughtfully. "They were going to use me for surgical experiments...!"

Bane snorted. "I was tempted to leave you there. You're a real pain to deal with."

"I don't want to be eight per cent human. This body's not much but it's all mine." He had one final coughing jag. "Are they going to come after us?"

"I don't know," Bane said. "I need to get back to my own car. I left it concealed a few miles that way. You know, I'm still not convinced that those three men went into the dehumanizing process willingly. This group needs to be looked into more thoroughly. Are you going to publish anything about this?"

"Why, I.. Yes. Absolutely. I've never been scared away from telling a story before and I once had my fingers bent backwards by a Jersey mobster. I've been threatened more times than I've had hot meals. Yeah. I'm definitely going to spill the whole story."

Bane remembered that Haggerty had seemed tentatively convinced that few believed what Calvert published on his blog and most people would discount it. "Maybe that's for the best." He started the Crown Victoria up again and eased out on the highway. "I don't think it would do any good to tell you to be careful and take precautions. If those things come for you, they're going to get you. Oh, and that guard took your phone, so you don't have any photos."

"Hah! Oh brother. I uploaded everything to my blog storage. And besides, that wasn't the one I used." He held up another phone and lit its screen with a touch. "I've played this game for years, my boy. When we left that office, I was holding a cheap throwaway phone for them to see. I always carry more than one."

10/14/2015

"Broken Knight"

7/12-7/18/2015

I.

Late on a muggy July night, Haley Lawson walked along the Long Island shore, next to Demrak Jin. She threw her ankle-length blue cloak back over her shoulders and appreciated the salty breeze off the ocean. Only a week earlier, she had celebrated turning twenty with a small party thrown by the other members of the KDF. Her mother, sister Lindsay, grandparents and a few friends from school had called to congratulate but she had told everyone that the next birthday, her 21st, would be a national scandal that would make the evening news.

Haley's dark blue shorts showed off her long tanned legs, and a white crewneck shirt and white sneakers made a nice contrast. Her most striking feature were her lime-green eyes which stood out vividly under dark brown bangs. Under her clothes, Windcatcher wore the torso version of the flexible Trom armor, and a utility belt around her narrow waist held several tools and gadgets in pouches. The dart gun holstered at the small of her back was concealed under the cloak. Noticing that Jin was no longer beside her, she stopped short and looked back.

The two of them made quite a contrast. Where Haley was five feet eight, Demrak Jin stood barely five feet three. The Gelydran woman was thin and wiry, flat-chested and almost hipless. Her white hair was cut short and bristled up in a strange way. Jin's flat face with its pug nose and deepset light blue eyes was not pretty by most standards, but there was something compelling about her. She had presence. Most people felt nervous and uncomfortable around her.

The Gelydra ["Guh-LIE-druh"] was wearing skin-tight long-sleeved tunic and leggings made of an odd grey material. Haley had learned the hard way not to brush up against that outfit; it was fashioned of sharkhide and would abrade your skin off if you touched it in the wrong direction. Jin was barefoot. Strapped across her back was a sheath holding a machete-like weapon she had crafted herself. It was made of bone, extremely sharp and serrated on one edge.

"Ready to go in?" Haley asked. "This is where that Ulgoran had been reported."

"Yes." Just the one word. They had been working together for two years and still the Gelydra seldom loosened up enough to reveal what she was thinking or feeling. Windcatcher had thought she was getting used to it but sometimes that unyielding silence got on her nerves.

Without glancing back, Jin strode quickly out in the Atlantic and, once she was waist-deep, arched up into the air and dove under. She did not need scuba equipment, of course. Haley watched the surface of the water and saw no disturbance which might give away where Jin was. The Gelydrim were ocean creatures and much more at home underwater than on land.

Windcatcher shrugged and started strolling back and forth along the beach. Not far away was a heap of charred wood where some kids had enjoyed a small bonefire earlier that night. She spotted an empty beer can but no other debris. Haley smiled wistfully but did not really regret having given up a so-called normal life. Being a Tel Shai knight and KDF member had been more exciting and fascinating than that normal life could match. It felt like what she was born to do.

This was not surprising, she thought as she looked up at the barely visible crescent moon in the sullen night sky. Haley's family had been heroes in the Midnight War before she had been born. As the Heirs of Buliwyf, they had wracked up an impressive record and she had grown up listening to their stories. It had been from her mother Lisa that Haley had claimed the Wind Cloak with its powers to summon air from anywhere in the world... tornado-level winds, subzero Antarctic blasts or even a bubble of breathable air around her in smoky conditions. She could have done that to follow Jin into the ocean.

Strolling closer to where the water was lapping up on the sand, Haley felt sticky and uncomfortable. What a humid day it had been. She lifted one foot and unlaced her sneaker and tugged the sock off, then did the same with the other foot. After a second's hesitation, she unclasped the collar of the blue cloak and folded it neatly next to her footgear. This was her big mistake.

Gingerly, a bit surprised at how icy the water felt, she waded out shin-deep. That certainly cooled her legs off, Haley thought. How Jin could feel at home in that temperature was beyond her.

Three times in the past few weeks, another Gelydra had been seen emerging from the ocean. The water-breathing man had terrified a young couple into running for their lives and had also reportedly broken into a beach house and stolen nothing but food before returning to the Atlantic. He had supposedly killed a guard dog with a single open-hand blow to the muzzle.

None of this had made the news. The mayor's office and the police commissioner had ordered a complete clampdown. There had been too many panics already that year from abnormal phenomena like the Goon attacks. Instead, the members of the Kenneth Dred Foundation had been called in as the area's specialists in the weird and inexplicable. The fact that the KDF now had a Gelydra of their own on the team was a bonus.

Halley stood knee deep in the cold water and waded carefully a little further along. She had no idea how Demrak Jin expected to find a countryman of hers out there in that vast dark ocean. Could Gelydra smell each other? Or maybe they had some sensory organs normal Humans didn't. She knew that Jin saw further down the spectrum into ultra-violet than everyone else did.

Off to one side, the surface of the water bubbled. Windcatcher turned to face it, saying, "Hey, Jin, what's the story?" just as a huge blond man in a sharkskin tunic heaved up out of the water and bodyslammed her down on her back.

( the rest of the story )