dochermes | Entries tagged with 2017

"Full Body Donors"

2/23/2017

I.

Nothing about Konrad Tiko seemed right to Sheng Mo-Yuan. The eighty-seven year old mobster seemed to be a withered old man with a thick mane of white hair that covered his ears, a beaked nose, skin like an apple dried by the sun and a spine bent forward in the motorized wheelchair. But Sheng's Kumundu training was alerting him of many discrepancies.

The whites of Tiko's eyes were clear and clean. The exposed skin was wrinkled but had not one dark spot or blemish. The fingernails were healthy without yellowing. The cracked timbre of the voice sounded forced. And, in the bright afternoon sunlight in the glassed-in solarium, Sheng could see other details that alarmed him. What was that ridge of scar tissue barely visible up above the hairline?

Sheng had seen Tiko's passport photo and most observers would have said the ID was solid. But he was certain this man was not Konrad Tiko. Why would a much younger man be posing as Tiko?

He realized that the international criminal was checking him out as well, of course. To most people, Sheng seemed to be a Northern Chinese man about forty. Five foot five, trim and athletic in a well-tailored dark brown suit, he had the coarse straight black hair, distinctive skin tones and inner eyelid fold. But the high cheekbones and eagle-like beaked nose contradicted that. In fact, Sheng was from the adjacent realm of Chujir, whose people were said to have been the ancestors of the Han.

The glass walls and roof of the solarium extension produced a greenhouse effect. Even in winter, the air inside was warm and a bit stuffy. The huge brute over by the door was standing at attention but even he was starting to look drowsy. Sheng looked out at Long Island Sound, reflected how icy those waters must be and the thought was enough to brace him. As if the situation wasn't enough to keep him alert.

"It sounds as if you are not inclined to accept my offer, then?" repeated Tiko.

"I can't say I'm not tempted. Your terms are certainly generous. But I've been with the Kenneth Dred Foundation for so long, and my own detective agency is very important to me. I couldn't break off from either, Mr Tiko, so I have to decline." Sheng kept his voice subdued and agreeable. "Thank you for considering me."

One of Tiko's bony hands pulled a toggle switch and the wheelchair swung around with a hum. "You would make an excellent bodyguard. The famous Argent, the Tel Shai knight who can become invulnerable or super-strong or super-swift. There are wild stories of you throwing a motorcycle or shrugging off rifle fire."

"Heh, people do exaggerate."

"How true. Well, keep my offer in mind. Charles, would you escort Mr Sheng back to his car? I believe I will doze in the sunlight... like a cat, heh heh."

Following the bodyguard through the mansion, through one room dominated by a grand piano and another room that was a gallery of original oil paintings, Sheng felt an odd twinge about the different places he found himself in. A homeless camp of tents under a railroad bridge one day and this monument to criminal wealth the next. He had been to so many countries, to all the adjacent realms, to places that appeared on no map and places that seemed outside the grasp of time...

Back outside in the chilly air, he hurried across the circular driveway with its elaborate marble fountain and found Unicorn was sitting behind the wheel of his cherry-red Ferrari Italia. His heart sank. "Very funny, Ashley. Move over and we'll get going."

The platinum blonde hair shone like silver in the clear afternoon sunlight. She put on her expression of angelic innocence and made no move to vacate the driver's seat. "You owe me this because I wasn't allowed in there with you."

"What? Are you getting crazier lately? I didn't say you couldn't come in. The goon did."

"Don't confuse the issue with the facts, Sheng."

"Do you even hear the things you say sometime? You're not driving my car!"

Ashley smiled sweetly and started up the finely tuned engine. "Better get in before I'm forced to leave you here."

Knowing his teammate was fully capable of doing just that, Sheng gave in for the moment. He swung around the car to drop down in the passenger seat and was buckling his seat belt when she peeled out. He settled back for the ordeal. "You know, when you start to lose your looks in a few years, you won't be able to get away with half the stunts you pull."

"I don't know WHAT you could be talking about," she scoffed. That perfect little face with its delicate features, sapphire eyes and slightly cleft chin remained serene. "People are nice to me because I'm just such a wonderful person."

Sheng resigned himself to suffering in silent terror as she sailed blithely past a stop sign. Unicorn had mentioned once that she considered traffic signs and signals as helpful suggestions but nothing more. What really drove him crazy was that Ashley not only had never been in an accident, she had never even gotten a ticket. Their captain Sable had said that the Unicorn must have not one but a team of guardian angels working full time.

"Anywayyyy, I was scanning with my Link on full power," she said. "No signs of unusual electricity use. Heat signatures and chemical exudations of six life forms within normal Human range. That's not counting you, of course."

Sheng looked down at his feet as they hurtled past a State Trooper car which seemed not to notice them. "What about the readings on Tiko himself?"

"Ooh, that's very tantalizing. Listen. The person next to you in the solarium? He had a heartbeat, respiration and skin temperature consistent with a healthy young man in his early twenties! Nothing like what an eighty-odd year old geezer would be showing. Intriguing, eh?"

He filled her in on all the discrepancies he had noted about Konrad Tiko's appearance. "Under other circumstances, my question would be why would a young man be disguised as an elderly one? But then, we're dealing with Midnight War here!"

"I know, even by Midnight War standards, this feels weird as all hell," Ashley said with insolence suddenly absent from her voice. "Whatever Tiko is up to, we can be sure it's something horrible."

( the rest of the story )

"Hiding Between Your Memories"

9/3/2017

I.

The walls of the long narrow walkway were lined with open wooden shelves. Most of these had been filled with luggage, lamps, old televisions, bundles of clothing in clear bags and similar detritus. There were also accordion files crammed with receipts and insurance forms and court documents dating back decades, not likely to be ever needed.

Jeremy Bane picked up the last of four cardboard boxes sealed with duct tape and labelled with marker TED 9/2017. The Dire Wolf stepped back and adjusted the box a fraction of an inch to line it up with the others. At sixty, he remained lean and active, almost gaunt in his trademark uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. The grey was sprinkled more thickly in his short black hair and the narrow feral face had wrinkles at the corners of the grey eyes, but he had not aged much.

Watching from behind him, Ted Wright smiled affectionately. His own short-cropped hair and beard had turned completely white in dramatic contrast to the dark brown skin. Deep vertical creases in his cheeks added to the naturally saturnine cast of his face. Wright was wearing a charcoal-grey suit with a white dress shirt but no tie.

Turning to face his oldest friend, Bane began to say something but hesitated. For once, the grim hard exterior of the Dire Wolf faltered.

Wright said, "It's okay to be a little choked up, Jeremy. I'm struggling with it, myself. This is a big change."

"Well, you ARE seventy-four, Ted." Bane moved over and placed a hand on the Blue Guide's shoulder. "You've been working overnights at the ER and carrying your own diagnostic clinic for what, thirty-seven years? Thirty-eight? If anyone deserves to take it easy, it's you."

"Not to mention all the KDF missions we worked on. I went up against everyone from Quilt to Wu Lung to Karl Eldritch in my time. Frankly, I'm beat. Lately I feel like I'm not bringing my best faculties to my duties. If I start making egregious mistakes... no, it's time to pass my chores to younger hands."

Squeezing Wright's shoulder, Bane led him along the walkway past the massive iron doors of the Vault and the Arsenal. They ascended steep concrete steps that went into a walk-in closet from which they emerged in the front hall of the KDF headquarters.

"Too bad none of the current team is here tonight," Bane said. "But everyone will get a chance to see you Friday at the dinner."

"Oh bother. You know I don't like fuss and ceremony, Jeremy."

"It's not for you, Ted... it's for us. For our benefit. We need to say goodbye."

"Hah! That's what they say about funerals," Wright said. He took a lightweight white topcoat from an oak rack and shrugged into it with a barely perceptible twinge of discomfort as he raised his arms. "I'll be at Tel Shai most of the time. Teacher Kerlaw has two new students studying to be Blue Guides. He wants me to assist him."

Bane took a breath to speak but was interrupted by the familiar ring of the outside bell. Over the door by their side, a red bulb flashed. "Here we go again," he muttered. The Dire Wolf strode over to slide aside a wooden panel. This revealed a monitor screen which lit up automatically to reveal the man standing on the front steps.

"I don't know him," Bane said at once. "Ted?"

"No, but he looks agitated. His gralic flow is tangled."

"If you say so," Bane replied. He pressed a button on the control panel and said, "Come in. We'll be right with you." A buzzer clicked as the outside door unlocked and swung open to allow the visitor entry to the tiny vestibule.

On the side of the monitor screen, yellow-green letters rolled upward as Trom scanners examined the man more thoroughly than any MRI could. NO KNOWN ID, the figures said. BIOLOGICAL AGE FORTY NINE, FIVE FEET NINE, ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY POUNDS, HAIR BLACK, EYES MEDIUM BROWN. HEALED FRACTURE RIGHT FOREARM. Extensive measurements of the man followed, including scans of his dental work and retinal images, EKG and cardio graphs.

But Bane was mostly interested to find that no metallic object larger than a set of keys was on the visitor, no chemical signatures of poison or explosives. "Clean enough," he said.

"Yes, let's admit him," Wright replied. "His heartbeat is dangerously fast. We should hear what he has to say."

Still ready for an attack, the Dire Wolf swung the inner door open and stood to one side as the man rushed in past him.

"Oh thank God," the visitor began but Ted Wright took him by the shoulders and firmly pushed him down to sit in a chair by the coat rack.

"I want you to take a deep breath," the Blue Guide ordered with the doctor's habit of expecting compliance. "Do it. Again. Slower and deeper. Good."

Watching, Bane could not entirely hide a smile. Ted had calmed him down the same way many times when they had first started working together. Bane studied the visitor. Underfed, probably a drinking problem judging by the shaky hands, hair hadn't been cut in two months and the last shave had been a week earlier. The man work unremarkable clothing... work shoes, khaki pants and a red flannel shirt, all worn out.

What struck Bane most, of course, was that the visitor was in a grip of terror that had him visibly shaking.

"You've got to protect me!" yelled the man in shrill tones. "Nothing can stop him. He swore he'd kill me!"

"Who?" demanded Bane.

"The Figment...!"

( the rest of the story )

"Mr and Mrs Temerity"

4/22/2017

I.

Fuming, Sheng Mo-Yuan stood with his hands clenched behind his back, staring down out of his office window. There, directly opposite his building on lower Canal Street, a window on the street level had the cursive words TEMERITY DETECTIVE AGENCY-BEST IN THE CITY, with a phone number. For three months, the husband and wife team had been swiping cases that Sheng rightfully thought should have been his. When he had been visited by one of the two owners of the agency, the blond man Roger Temerity, he had been politely given an offer to sell his practice and let the new team take over. Sheng had been too affronted to dare speak his mind.

His own FIST FOR HIRE agency still kept the unusual hours of Midnight to Eight AM and tended to specialize in weird or uncanny crimes that crossed over into the outright supernatural. Those affairs would not be poached by these newcomers. And of course, Sheng was still a reserve member of the Kenneth Dred Foundation with full stipend and benefits; he could always go back to part-time duty there if he wanted to be busier.

With an exasperated grunt, the Chujiran went and filled his mug with steaming hot water from the coffee dispenser. He should not let rivals annoy him so much. His record was phenomenal and spoke for itself. Sheng reached up onto an open shelf and drew out a round wooden canister from the back. He took a handful of crisp dark purple leaves and crumbled them into the water. A refreshing minty aroma rose from the mug and Sheng sipped the sharp tangy liquid gratefully.

This was the secret of how Tel Shai knights recovered so quickly and thoroughly from injuries that would send most victims to ICU, how they never suffered illnesses and how they remained vigorous well past middle age. The Tagra Tea diet was also thought by some scholars to help Tel Shai knights mentally; the most horrifying and traumatic experiences had little effect on knights and usually did not even leave a nightmare. Very few outsiders knew the secret of Tagra. Tel Shai knights were sworn not to discuss it nor share the tea with anyone on pain of expulsion from the Order. Tagra was only grown at Tel Shai and only a small amount existed at any time.

As soon as he finished his cup, fresh vigor rushed through his body and his mood evened out. Most people thought Sheng was Chinese and he let it slide. At five feet five and a trim one hundred and fifty pounds, he had the tawny skin tones, double eyelid fold and coarse black hair associated with Northern Chinese. But there was something about the high cheekbones and beaked nose that didn't fit. He seldom mentioned he had actually come to the world from Chujir. Most people outside the Midnight War knew nothing of the adjacent realms.

At eight-thirty, he heard quick footsteps coming up in the staircase to their third floor landing. Uncle Pao usually stayed in the office during the day. Officially, he answered the phone and arranged appointments with clients and handled some mundane paperwork like paying utilities. In practice, he tended to read newspapers, keep esoteric food simmering on the hot plate and enjoy long naps with a damp cloth over his eyes. Sheng was so fond of the cantankerous old man that he didn't mind any of it. Also, Uncle Pao's shrewd cynical analysis of people was always helpful.

At eighty, Sheng Pao-Wang remained nimble and light on his feet. Only an inch over five feet tall and weighing less than a hundred pounds, he had stayed wiry. Sheng was amazed that the old man blithely took the subway here each morning and sprang up three flights of stairs without a cane or even relying on the banister. As usual, Pao wore soft slippers, baggy black trousers and a white T-shirt under an open denim vest with overfilled pockets. The shock of white hair sticking out in various directions and the eyeglasses with lenses thick enough to start fires let Pao make an unforgettable first impression.

As soon as he strode in, the old man slapped three different newspapers onto Sheng's desk, including the Chinese language WORLD. "Again, your rivals have stolen your thunder! Why aren't you doing something about it instead of standing around with your finger digging in your ear? There are no potatoes in there!"

"Good morning, Uncle," Sheng replied amiably, pulling out his swivel chair and settling back to examine the papers. "Ah, let's see. Roger and Brooke Temerity have managed to retrieve nearly all of the jewelry stolen from Mrs Hughford Garland's apartment. Only a few of the diamond necklaces and a remarkably large emerald remain unaccounted for."

"Read on, nephew! Let some sunlight peek in through the cracks of your disinterest." Pao went over to the coffeemaker which they used mostly for hot water, fetched two bags of green ginseng tea and stirred with unnecessary vigor.

"The Temerities claim to have negotiated with a go-between for an underworld fence and arranged the return of the loot in exchange for not disclosing the thief's identity. Well, that's not the most ethical way to handle the crime. But I remember they did the same thing a few weeks ago when that Wall Street broker had some valuable handcrafted cameras stolen. That Temerity pair retrieved all but one."

Uncle Pao had his own smaller desk set off to one side, facing Sheng's at an angle. From there he could scrutinize clients, give Sheng silent cues and sometimes make insulting faces at police officers who came to ask questions. The old man insisted on keeping an old-fashioned landline phone on his desk, as well as a small potted plant which had been barely clinging to life for years now. "These are the two frauds who grab headlines, Nephew. You run unseen through back streets chasing creatures of the night and no one applauds your deeds."

"Yeah, I accept that," Sheng agreed. "Mostly I handle Midnight War threats. Monsters and maniacs that the public is better off not knowing about. My straight detective work is a small part of what I do. You know, you should wonder about the integrity of these two. Remember the kidnaping case that the Temerities handled?"

Sheng started straightening out the mess of newspaper pages before him. "Sure. That infant, what was its name? Brewster? Roger and Brooke Temerity brought the kid home safe and said they scared the crooks away with a few gunshots. But the kidnapers were never caught."

"Aha! A faint gleam of awareness dawns far off on the horizon in your mind, does it?"

"Yeah. It's funny. Sometimes the Temerity Agency nabs a burglar or brings in someone who committed assault. But their biggest and most famous cases are suspicious. Some loot isn't recovered and the perps get away. If I didn't know better...."

( the rest of the story )

"The Cairn of Black Stones"

1/10-1/11/2017

I.

They had seen nothing but hot yellow sand beneath them for the last hour. The black helicopter CORBY was flying at an easy cruising speed of three hundred miles per hour at two thousand feet. At the stick, Jocelyn Garimara wore the full field suit complete with helmet that was patched into the ship's data and sensors. Reaching up to thumb the left ear pod, she made the visor slide up into its track inside her helmet.

The face revealed was serious and thoughtful, with very dark smooth skin and large dark eyes. Bits of her straight thick hair could be seen intruding on the sides of the face opening. Jocelyn turned her face toward her teammate in the co-pilot seat.

"You seem apprehensive, Tim," she said in a friendly way.

Wearing an identical outfit, but with the helmet strapped in its niche beside him, Timothy Limbo made an attempt to smile. He was a slightly built young man with a mop of yellow hair that hung down over a normally insolent face. He definitely did seem worried. "I guess I am. I mean, I knew in an objective way that this site was isolated but honestly...! We haven't seen anything but desert for a long time."

"Absolutely. It's twelve hundred kilometers to Darwin, and even further to the next city beyond that. That'd be seven hundred and fifty miles to Americans. Most of the roads are closed to casual traffic. I'd say that this expedition had to pull a thirteen hour drive to get to the Cairn." She smiled slightly. "Sometimes I forget how big Australia really is. It's not all desert of course, we have a wide range of terrains. But it certainly is big."

He shrugged in an attempt to seem casual. "Ah, I shouldn't worry. We're in a CORBY. These things are way more reliable and durable than anything Human technology can provide. And I'm sure you packed supplies."

Now Jocelyn did laugh, the flash of perfect teeth in a dark face showing honest amusement. "The storage hold is crammed with five-gallon jugs of water, canned food, extra medical gear and two pup tents. I even brought two tins of Milo that you folks have got to try. We could camp out for weeks. Now, seriously, Tim... what's bothering you?"

"All right. It's this Cairn of Black Stones. We're close enough now that I could send a few of my caspers ahead to investigate. They won't go."

"Really? That's unprecedented, isn't it?" Jocelyn turned her attention back to the array of indicator dials and gauges that glowed in pastel greens and blues within the dim cockpit. If any of them had switched to red, it would have caught her eye immediately. A row of six small monitors displayed exterior views from different angles, schematics of the craft, maps or analyses. "What's the problem?"

"I don't know. They can't talk, you realize, I just pick up on what they see and how they feel." Timothy Limbo folded his arms defensively across his chest. "Twice, they've refused to go where I send them and both times it was because of something extremely dangerous that would have destroyed them."

Turning her head toward the clear plastic panel which separated them from the rear compartment, Jocelyn asked, "You two hear that?"

Strapped in on the metal bench next to Demrak Jin, Galvan responded. "Oh yes. That sounds like something we should make a point to investigate, actually."

"There's the site," Jocelyn said. "I'm going to circle it so we all get a good look. Get ready to disembark, team."

Below them, two Range Rovers and a Jeep Wrangler faced each other in a semi-circle. Nearby were two large khaki-colored tents with folding chairs in front of them and a stack of supplies. People could be seen moving about. But none of this made much of an impression. The four Tel Shai knights in the helicopter were staring down at the Cairn.

A loose pyramid thirty feet high, made of small rounded black stones, the Cairn stood alone in desert hundreds of miles from the nearest town. Even in the blinding morning sunlight, the Cairn stood like a blot of emptiness that caused an uneasy crawling sensation in the four people gazing at it from far overhead.

"Yes..." Jocelyn said just above a whisper. "I think I agree with your friendly ghosts, Tim."

( the rest of the story )

"Screaming Into the Darkness"

12/18/-12/19/2017

I.

Bane was in a foul mood as he crossed the street toward his new house in Forest Hills. Christmas songs had annoyed him as far back as he could remember. Making it worse recently, he had noticed that the past few years had seen a shift from traditional carols which at least had some dignity to nothing but simple-minded novelty Christmas songs. Just walking past stores and taverns inflicted "You're the Present I Want To Unwrap" and "Santa Was a Rapper" on him. Every day, he walked a few more miles from his house and back just to burn off some of the excess energy his enhanced metabolism gave him. Even the Christmas decorations everywhere seemed increasingly hollow and fake to him.

At fifty-nine, the Dire Wolf showed only a few signs of aging. There were more flecks of white in the full head of black hair lately, and lines had deepened at the corners of his mouth and eyes. But he had stayed lean and muscular, and he strode along the sidewalks as briskly as a teenager. He even still wore all black as a habit, including the long cloth coat and thin leather gloves on this chilly day.

Only in the pale grey eyes had something changed. Under the heavy feral eyebrows, some of the ferocity had left those eyes. They were increasingly dull and introspective. Maybe retiring had not been the best decision for him. He had expected getting away from the constant tension and fear of the Midnight War would make him happy but he still felt restless and unsatisfied.

The Dire Wolf stepped up to the corner and looked ahead at his house. After five months living in it, somehow he still did not feel quite at home there. He had been more at ease in his apartment on 48th Street over in Manhattan, as well as in his old office where he had worked for more than fourteen years. Bane exhaled deeply and wondered if maybe he was just never meant to be happy. He had been told more than once that he was a personality that reacted well to high stress and the soft life would kill him.

Then he saw the unmarked police car in front of his house.

Without realizing it, he drew himself up straighter as he marched quickly toward the vehicle. Some of the old predatory glint came back into his eyes. It was probably nothing, the cops were probably watching for a drug deal or staking out a bait car with keys left in it. And yet....

As he approached, the two men in front spotted him and one got out. Bane noticed the guy was careful to show both hands were empty and no threat. Of course, the Dire Wolf had automatically checked out the driver as well. Both hands were up on the steering wheel in plain sight. Evidently these men were a little apprehensive about him.

Long decades of Kumundu training enabled Bane to read the standing man's body language instantly. His brain filed away details one after another. The man was six foot one, two hundred and twenty pounds, in decent condition with a slight twinge in the lower back from some injury years earlier. Dark brown hair recently cut, medium brown eyes, some faint acne scars on left side of face. From the way the man's clothes sagged, he was carrying a 9mm Glock in a belt holster on his right side beneath the brown suit jacket. The man was in his mid-forties, tense and high-strung, blood pressure evidently a little high. Wedding ring, flashy wristwatch, nails clean and trimmed. From the way his suit fit to his shoes to the way he kept one hand on the car, he had plainclothes detective written clearly all over him.

"Excuse me," the cop called in a voice just loud enough to carry. "Aren't you the Dire Wolf?"

"I was..." Bane answered.

"I met you once years and years ago. The Samhain case. I'm Detective Daniel Adriesson. Can you spare us a few minutes? It's something that might interest you, Mr Bane."

Staying just out of reach from long habit, Bane shook his head. "I'm retired now, I informed the department about that."

"It's about three missing college kids," Andriesson said. "And a little game they play called 'Screaming Into the Darkness...'"

( the rest of the story )

"The Air Devils"

10/9/2017

Bane pushed the Jeep Cherokee up one last steep stretch and pulled over at a level area. He was vaguely concerned about getting back down the mountain without burning his brakes, there were some near-vertical bits of road behind him. This time of year, the Catskills were gorgeous as even he had to notice. The red and gold leaves flashed in the late afternoon sun and a crisp cool breeze stirred his hair. Satisfied the Jeep was well off the road, the Dire Wolf got out and stretched. From between two birch trees behind him, a tall figure stepped out silently. "Captain!" the man called out in a low husky voice. "Good to see you."

Josef Jubilec had changed only a little since Bane had first met him more than a dozen years ago. Now hitting forty, he looked a bit older because his face was weathered and lined, pale blue eyes peering out under short sandy hair. The Blind Archer was a few inches taller than Bane, wider across across the shoulders and deeper in the chest. He was wearing camoflauge pants and hiking boots, with a sleeveless leather vest over a white T-shirt. Jubilec's arms had remarkable definition, the muscles stood out dramatically but then, Bane reflected, a lifetime of pulling heavy bows will do that.

( the rest of the story )

"Red Pins In a Cloth Doll"

10/4/2017

I.

The fact that the apartment door was ajar triggered all of Bane's wariness. He glared up and down the short hall, then bent to look back down the iron-bannistered stairs behind him. He saw and heard nothing. From an inner pocket of his black jacket, the Dire Wolf pulled out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on.

At sixty, Bane still showed only a few marks of age. There was a more liberal sprinkling of white in the short black hair and crow's feet had formed at the corners of the cold grey eyes. But he was still lean and agile, still moving with a restless quickness. He would always be the Dire Wolf.

Pushing the door open with his knuckles but keeping his body out in the hall, Bane leaned in and saw what he had half expected. The corpse was lying on its side, curled up with knees by its chest and one hand reaching for a cell phone. The man had aged badly since Bane had last seen him, putting on considerable weight and losing most of that dark red hair, but he recognized Gene R. Holmquist immediately.

Taking a short step inside, the Dire Wolf crouched over the body and examined it. There was no pulse, of course, and the flesh was at room temperature. Both eyes were open and cloudy. Bane stood up, unclipped the Link from his belt and set it to take wide-range readings. The Trom device clicked and hummed as he swung it in an arc back and forth over the body, then to cover the room.

All his instincts were screaming at him to get out of there immediately. Earlier in his career, he would have risked a few minutes to search the apartment for clues, but the Link had made that less essential. Bane stepped back into the hall and trotted down two flights of stairs. In the tiny foyer, he saw the knob on the street door start to turn.

In a flash, Bane had whipped around to conceal himself behind the stairwell. His eyebrows lowered in a scowl as he heard heavy footfalls up the stairs. Two men, each at least two hundred pounds and active enough to hurry up those stairs without difficulty. As he heard their voices on the second floor landing, the Dire Wolf went through the door and out onto the street.
Idling next to a FINE FOR PARKING sign was a black and white patrol car. Bane kept his head down, swung left and strode up the street at a normal pace. There were passers-by on the sidewalk across the street but no one was in his path. Rounding the corner, Bane slowed and headed back to his hotel. That was no coincidence. He didn't believe in coincidence where dead bodies or the police were involved.

Someone had seen him enter the apartment door between a furniture store and a dance studio and had called 911. Most likely it had been an anonymous tip about seeing the body through the open door and it was chance that a prowl car had been near by.

Bane kept walking, not even noticing the scenery that so many people milling about him had journeyed to see. He had only been in New Orleans once before and that had been when he and Cindy had taken six months off from the Midnight War to idly travel and sightsee. That hiatus hadn't lasted long.

In fact, he reflected wryly, he was supposed to be officially retired now. He had closed the Dire Wolf Agency, vacated his office and informed everyone he worked with from the NYPD to the FBI's Department 21 Black. Yet here he was. One pleading phone call in the middle of the night from someone he had barely known and he had gone directly to Newark Airport to catch the next available flight. He guessed he would never change...

He needed a few minutes to check what his Link had recorded. Spotting an open-air bistro, he took a table where his back was to the restaurant's wall and where he could see anyone approaching. Bane ordered a hot roast beef sandwich, hash browns and an iced tea. As he ate, keeping one eye on the people walking past, he examined his Link.

Human technology had caught up with the Links in many ways, but the Trom devices still had many functions no smartphone was close to approaching. Bane read the vitals taken on the body, viewed what amounted to an enhanced color MRI scan and concluded that Holmquist had died between one hour and two hours before he had found the body. There was no obvious cause of death.

Bane switched to infra-red imaging but saw no signs anyone else had been in that apartment recently. Residual heat patterns on the couch matched the idea that Holmquist had stood up from sitting there and fallen directly to the floor. Different scans turned up nothing more suggestive. There were no traces in the air of common poisons or carbon monoxide.

Of course, Bane wished there had been time to go through the man's pockets, search the dressers and desk drawers, examine the medicine cabinet and kitchen. Even checking the cell phone for any attempt to call out might have been invaluable.

Considering Holmquist's age and weight, Bane figured the Medical Examiner would decide on a heart attack. It would be a safe verdict. He paused to look around the bistro more thoroughly. To his amusement, nearly everyone there was also staring at a screen on a small electronic device. Bane finished his meal and requested a second serving, which he also devoured as he studied images of the apartment.

Finally, he reluctantly turned off the Link and clipped it to his belt again. He hadn't spotted anything worth following up on. If he had only been allowed ten minutes to search that apartment... but then he would likely be under arrest by the NOLA Police right now. Even if there was no sign of foul play, local Homicide would have detained him for extensive questioning as a person of interest.

Paying his check and leaving an appropriate tip, the Dire Wolf started walking again. He was moving up St Peter Street toward Armstrong Park. Despite all his misgivings, he knew that he had to consult with Samuel Watesa.

( the rest of the story )

"Starve Goat Island"

7/28/- 7/30/2017

I.

It was getting foggy as the temperature dropped and the wind blew in from the Pacific. In a port city like Hernandez, wise citizens did not stroll about the docks unless necessary, but here came an American carrying bags of equipment, with a knapsack across his back. The man was tall but heavy around the waist, with plenty of grey in his boring brown hair and with bloodshot brown eyes. He wore a tan suit, with a white dress shirt but no tie, and he had three cameras in cases on slings hanging from him. "Hi there!" he sang out cheerfully. "Fred Bigelow, I'm in Cabin 8."

The crew member by the boarding ramp watched him with a noticeable lack of friendliness. "All in order. Come aboard."

"Wish I could stay in Argentina longer," said the American, walking up the ramp with just a bit of difficulty. "Beautiful country. Got lots of great shots!"

From the railing, a short stout man in a black jacket and a billed cap watched. His drooping mustache and untrimmed hair were white with a touch of yellow as if stained. "We set sail in one hour, Mister Bigelow. Get yer gear stowed."

"Ah, Captain... Dutton, wasn't it?"

"That's right," said the captain, turning on his heel and heading aft. "Ready to weigh anchor," he called out. The ship was a steamer of minor size, in good repair but getting old. It smelled of burning oil and fish and cabbage, none of which worked well together. Fred Bigelow found his way to Cabin 8, smelled the mildew and smiled dryly to himself. It was tiny but he didn't need much. The American got his bags and knapsack and equipment put away securely. He heard the engines thumping and vibrations beneath his feet. Looking out the grimy porthole over his bunk, he noticed that no one was at the dock to say farewell to any of his fellow passengers. Just as well.

There was a light bulb hanging on a cord from the ceiling and he tugged that chain, then went over to the mirror on the dresser. From an inner pocket of his jacket, he took out a small plastic cylinder and some saline solution. Wiping his hands first on paper towels someone had left on the top of the dresser, he bent his head and removed the colored contact lenses. Good to get them out, he never liked wearing the damn things. When he raised his head and looked in the mirror again,a pair of pale grey eyes stared back at him with a distinctive glare. Carrying everything to the bunk because he had to be ready to put the lenses back in quickly, he stretched out. This was not the way he liked to handle things, he was by nature direct and confrontational.

Bigelow tried to doze without success. He was a light sleeper at the best of times. A few hours later, a knock came on the door and a sullen voice said, "Dinner ready in the passenger mess." He called out a pleasant thanks and got the contact lenses back in. Heading down a companion way, Bigelow passed two sailors standing with their elbows on the rail. He nodded politely and caught a predatory smile in the face of the skinny one with the flat nose. There was no mistaking that leer, he had seen it too many times before and for the first time he felt he was on the right trail. In the mess, at a round table, were three other passengers and he joined them for stew, biscuits, apple pie and coffee... all of which was not as bad as he had been expecting.

Introducing himself as a retired insurance salesman, Fred Bigelow went into too much detail about his hobby of photography, making sure he came across as dull and boring. One of the passengers was also an American, an elderly frail scarecrow with just wisps of white hair and a beaky nose. He ate in silence, chewing slowly and looking down at the table. To his side was an attractive woman around thirty, with glossy black hair and a roundish face with bright dark eyes. She was wearing a light cotton dress with a thin white cardigan over it. Her companion, on the other hand, loomed up over the table. he was several inches over six feet in height with impressive wide shoulders and a long narrow face filled with gloom. They made an unlikely pair. She did most of the talking as soon as Bigelow let her get started. Her name was Maria Patino and she introduced the somber man as her cousin, Raoul. Yes, she was from San Francisco and in no hurry to get back from her visit to relatives here but Raoul did have to get back to his landfill business, boring as it was.

Bigelow tried not to give it away, but he immediately had picked up that he was sitting with dangerous people. Maria and Raoul, with the way they sat and moved and the way they glanced at each other at certain moments, made all his instincts twitch a warning. Whoever they really were and what they were up to, he could not guess yet. Then he caught just the barest glint of an expression in her eyes that suggested she was suspicious of him, too. Bigelow did not change his manner, he let some clumsy compliments pass that Maria accepted with good nature. One of the crewmen with a rag over one shoulder came and took their plates in a manner that said he would as soon have smashed them over their heads. Maria watched him with a faint smirk.

"The captain hasn't made any sort of speech," Bigelow said. "Usually the captain of a ship at least wishes his passengers a happy voyage and remarks what a good ship they are on."

"Maybe he's just a modest man," she countered, without any extra emphasis on the word modest. But it was enough. The spark between them was palpable. Bigelow got up and excused himself, he had been up all night before boarding and said he hoped to see more of everyone before the trip was done. Maria presented him with the present of a beautiful smile and got up as well, followed by Raoul. Only the ancient one remained at the table, reluctant to finish the second cup of coffee.

The next day went without incident. Bigelow kept to his cabin, thinking and waiting. Searching carefully, he satisfied himself that there were no peepholes through which he could be seen. Wedging a chair under the doorknob, he removed his contact lenses and rinsed his eyes. Then he kicked off his loafers, got out of his tan slacks and dress shirt. Wearing shorts and a T-shirt, he was suddenly a bizarre figure. Arms and legs showed long wiry muscles, and strapped to sheaths on his forearms were two throwing daggers, hilts toward his wrists. The man who called himself Fred Bigelow unbuckled padding from under his shirt and yanked it off. Without it, he was slim to the point of being gaunt.

The man spun into a series of stretching and flexing poses that became a complicated martial arts form. He was amazingly fast. His fists made whistling noises as they snapped out and back, For fifteen minutes, he whirled through combination kicks and punches and blocks, then slowed again. He bowed to his Teacher far away, then hurried to put the padding back on and get a fresh shirt from his bags. Yanking on the slacks, he grudgingly put the contact lenses back in. Fred Bigelow checked his hair in the mirror, longer and greyer than his own. With a resigned frown, he went to his bunk and sat unhappily. For those few minutes, it had been good to be Jeremy Bane again.

( the rest of the story )

"Even Golems Want To Be Free"

5/13-5/15/2017

I.

On an outdoor pavilion shaded by a gossamer canopy, six immensely obese people, four men and two women, sat facing inward in a circle. They reclined back on elaborate padded couches. These couches were on wheels for the mansion Manikin to push them about, had a number of swivel shelves holding tasty tidits and tumblers of amber liquid, and each had a series of bells of varying sizes to summon different Manikins. As the rulers of Gulbadar met for the first time in a desperate council, each had a medium-sized Manikin standing by attentively.

At barely three hundred pounds, Baroness Red was the smallest of the rulers presents. The largest was unquestionably Baron Yellow, a vast blob of flesh from which a head protruded on top like an unhealthy growth, and whose arms could not meet across his chest. All the masters of Gulbadar were discreetly covered in silk knee-length tunics wound around their bulks, each wearing cloth the distinctive hue of their titles. As it happened, these rulers had assembled from adjoining estates and none claimed the same color. They knew that, for example, there was another Baron Green in the realm but he lived far enough away that there would be no disputes over who had the greater claim.

"I trust everyone is comfortable?" asked Baron Yellow after a long uneasy silence. Like the others, his head was shaven. It would have been difficult for an outsider to tell those doughy, shapeless faces apart. "My Manikins have been instructed to treat you each as well as they would treat me."

"Oh, there is no cause for complaint there," wheezed Baroness Red as she struggled vainly to hoist her swollen body up a few inches. Seeing her effort, one of the mansion Manikins bent forward to assist her, although she was so used to the golems' helping that she didn't notice. "I regret the gravity of the situation has impelled us to meet at all."

"Hah, I had not left my estate in more than a century before this day..." grumbled Baron Green. He moved a finger in the direction of the tumbler on the shelf to his right and a Manikin promptly held it for him to take a sip.

These mansion Manikins were the medium-sized golems, a bit under six feet in height. Completely hairless without even eyelashes, they had light brown skin and features completely identical with each other. Where the laboring Manikins of the fields or the mines wore coarse burlap tunics, these mansion golems had tunics of fine white linen with an identifying number boldly sewn on front and back.

"Where is the outworlder we hired? Shouldn't he be here to protect us?" asked Baron Green. "He should earn his gold!"

"I expect him here immediately," Baron Yellow said. "My messenger Manikin went to fetch him and I take pride in how swift my messengers are. Barons, Baronesses, have there been any further... incidents?"

"Sadly, yes," said Baroness Red. She was the only rule of Gulbadar present who had blue eyes, sunk in folds of flesh as they were. "At my forges, of all places. One of my smithy Manikins began mumbling and muttering even though he had not been given leave or reason to speak. According to the foreman Manikin, the smithy started yelling nonsense and swinging his work hammer about wildly. My foreman acted as I had instructed him and led the other Manikins in the workplace to destroy the rogue."

"It makes me so uneasy," said Baron Green. "Thank Jordyn you were nowhere nearby. So far, none of us have been harmed by the madness of these... these rogues."

"Yet it is just a matter of time," interrupted Baron Yellow. He was the oldest, wealthiest and fattest of the royalty and everyone hung on his next words. "We have managed to bring in an outside mercenary only because my youngest is still mobile enough to go to the real world. I admit, only to you as my peers, that I am deeply afraid..."

"As.. you.. should be!" barked a flat hollow voice. Striding up toward the pavilion was one of the landscaping Manikins. The largest and strongest of the golems, these stood well over six feet tall and were well-muscled. This one wielded a long-handled pruning hook in both hands as he stalked closer.

"Manikin Yellow 49!" snapped the Baron with terror making his voice shrill. "Stay where you are! How DARE you come here unsummoned?"

The rogue golem swung the pruning hook up behind his head, readying to strike. Horribly, the tan face remained passive and blank, with emotion showing only in its hollow voice, "You... deserve this!"

The rulers of Gulbadar gasped but couldn't possibly get up off their couches unassisted, nor did they have any remote chance of defending themselves. In their panic, none of them thought to order their servant Manikins to protect them. They were each close to suffering heart attacks in their sheer terror.

The rogue raised his farm implement overhead, stepping closer to his lord and master, the Baron Yellow. Then there was a harsh slashing sound and dark blood spurting in a gush as the Manikin's head flew off his body and spun away to roll across the pavilion floor. The headless corpse fell to its knees with the pruning hook clattering from lifeless hands.

Standing behind the dying golem, a huge muscular man with long black hair and a bristling black beard swung his two-handed claymore in a figure-8 that flung drops of blood off its blade. On his saturnine face was grim satisfaction.

"Fergus!" cried Baron Yellow in relief.

"Not a second too soon," added Baroness Red. "Fergus! I had not thought to ever meet you!"

"My lords. My ladies. I take it you are agreed now that I am worthy of the fee I ask?" The bearded face split in a grin that flashed flawless white teeth. He bent to wipe his sword on the dead Manikin's tunic before returning it to the scabbard that was strapped diagonally across his back. Because of its length, he had to swing the scabbard forward over one shoulder to sheath the sword.

"Fergus Dunlop, you have served us well indeed," said Baron Yellow. "And yet, as formidable as you are, you are still one man. How can you protect us all from these monsters?"

The man called Gallowglass folded brawny arms across his chest and heaved a sigh that started down by his waist. He was wearing hiking boots, loose trousers of tough material, and an open leather vest without sleeves. "Aye, aye, tis true. Amazing as I admittedly am, I can only be in one place at a time. I have a suggestion, Barons and Baronesses. Let me bring a second warrior from the real world to Gulbadar."

Baron Yellow did not notice as the mansion Manikin wiped the nervous sweat off his flabby cheeks. "But how much difference would one more fighter do?"

"This man is greatly experienced in solving thorny problems such as this," chuckled the
Gallowglass. "I regard him as very nearly my equal in combat, as well. In the Midnight War, he is known as the Dire Wolf. His name is Jeremy Bane."

( the rest of the story )

"You Do Realize You're Married To An Alien Being?"

8/20/2017

I.

It was getting near dusk of a sullen humid July day before Jeremy Bane rolled into the tiny hamlet of Shermanton, up past Buffalo. He had been driving since leaving Manhattan at dawn, but far from being tired, he was boiling with an excitement he had not felt in weeks. More and more, he realized that closing his PI agency had been a mistake. After the gruesome deaths of his longtime friends Bleak and Lt Montez in close succession, he had been further shaken when Haley Lawson had been traumatized by a violent incident enough to make her leave the Midnight War herself. Watching that sassy insolent spirit broken in such a young woman had been the tipping point for him. Bane had closed his detective agency, bought a house in a quiet Forest Hills neighborhood and tried his best to live a peaceful life.

But he had quickly become restless and miserable. None of the hobbies he tried satisfied him. Whenever someone approached him with some weird or inexplicable trouble, he jumped at the chance. He thrived on stress and mystery. Maybe he would always be the Dire Wolf.

Shermanton was a hamlet of barely a thousand inhabitants residing in houses scattered along six miles of paved road and several side trails. There was a post office on the unimaginatively named Main Street, but no store or gas station. Years ago, there had been a Country-Western bar up the road, but it had been damaged in a fire and eventually torn down to leave only an empty lot. That was all a quick search online had informed him. There were hundreds of undistinguished little towns like this scattered all over upstate New York. Bane spotted a sign at an intersection that read SERENITY LANE and turned onto it. There were two houses on either side with a larger one at the dead end. That was where he would find Evelyn Hutton. The widowed Mrs Hutton. And he would hopefully figure out what had happened to her husband.

Parking in front of the house, the Dire Wolf stood by his dark green Mustang and took in the scene. Just over sixty years old, he remained gaunt and active, a lean six-footer wearing his invariable uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. He gave the impression of a much younger man.
More white strands turned up in the short black hair every week, but his most distinctive feature remained unchanged... a startling pair of light grey eyes that were never still.

The house was a new two-story building with beige aluminum siding and a deck in the back holding wicker chairs. An aboveground pool stood covered with a tarp, and a corrugated sheet on posts sheltered a gleaming SUV. He thought that the property showed considerable expense had gone into its establishing but that, for the past few weeks, upkeep had been skipped. The lawn was unevenly mowed, the shrubbery uneven and there was a broken styrofoam coffee cup by the road that had been there for a few days. This made sense if her story was accurate.

As Bane stood there taking it all in, the front door slammed open and a stout woman in her late forties rushed out. Mrs Evelyn Hutton was seemingly a likeable, down to Earth woman wearing olive-colored pants and a loose brown blouse with bell sleeves. Her dark hair was pulled tightly back, and that tightness showed also in her distraut features. "Oh, you're here! Thank God. I've tried so hard not to reach you by phone while waiting for you to arrive...."

"I drove straight here," he said. Bane stepped forward to meet her but disengaged himself immediately when she clutched at both his forearms. There had been many times when he had needed to react instantly to an unforseen attack. "When we talked last night, I thought you were too upset to give a really clear account. Let me go over what I know. You were married for twelve years to Richard Hutton. He worked in an auto and home insurance office down in Wilkins. Everything seemed normal until he went missing for a few days and you reported it."

"Yes. Yes. Volunteers searched the area and they found him at the bottom of a steep hill. The police concluded he had fallen, hurt himself too badly to move and had died of exposure. But..."

"But? What did the autopsy show?" Bane asked bluntly.

"It was inconclusive. I couldn't get a straight answer from the Medical Examiner. All I found was that he had not broken anything, not his neck or his legs. You'd think a healthy man in good shape like Richard could have at least dragged himself toward the road." The widow hesitated, then continued in a rush, "But there's more to it than that. I've heard about you, Mr Bane. The occult is a hobby of mine and I have read many intriguing reports about you, your team the Kenneth Dred Foundation, all your activities in what they called the Midnight War. That's why I managed to get you personal number and contact you."

The Dire Wolf moved back a step, gazing at her with a concentration that was normal for him. His Kumundu training made him automatically listen for subvocal tremors in her voice, for how often she blinked, for the degree of visible tension in her neck muscles. He concluded she was speaking the truth as she knew it. "There's something else bothering you," he ventured.

"Yes. I don't know how to put it. For maybe a month before he disappeared, Richard acted a little off. Nothing obvious. He didn't get my mother's name wrong or suddenly hate his favorite dinner, nothing like that. It was his behavior patterns. After you live with someone so long, you get used to their moods and whims. Richard always got cranky late at night, he always got lost in crossword puzzles on Sundays, he sometimes brought home unexpected trinkets as presents. Those little details changed. He spent a lot of time sitting on the desk with a newspaper but not even reading it."

"Hmm," Bane commented noncomittally. "What was your conclusion about these changes?"

"This is going to sound crazy. There was nothing blatant to point at. But more and more, I began to wonder if somehow Richard had an identical twin he had never told me about. Seriously I know he didn't, I've known his family most of my life, but that's how I reacted. It was like was living with a twin who didn't quite get every detail right about impersonating my husband..."

There was absolutely no flippancy or disbelief in Bane's voice. "I've seen stranger things with my own eyes."

"But even that's not the worst. It's my friend Beth. She told me the same odd discrepancies are happening with her husband!"

II.

Straightening up, Bane turned those pale eyes on her with an intensity that made the woman flinch involuntarily. "Where does she live?"

"Only about five minutes up Main Street. Wait, you don't think...?"

"Hurry! Grab your purse and lock your front door if you think you have to." Without looking back, he sprinted over to his Mustang and dove in behind the wheel. As he started the smooth-running motor up, Evelyn had gotten a brown leather handbag and slammed her door shut, hustling toward the passenger side door he pushed open for her. He was rolling back down Serenity Lane before she got her seatbelt fastened. At the intersection, he wheeled right on Main Street and sped along.

"Mr Bane, please! What do you think is going on? Tell me."

"I'm not at all sure yet," he answered. "My instincts say it's bad, though. Point out your friend Beth's house before we shoot past it. How old is she? What's her husband's name? What jobs do they have?"

"Umm, she's younger than me, thirty-six. She works at the Healthcare Facility across the river and Stan is a manager at the gravel and landfill pit. When I confided in her at Richard's funeral how he had been acting, she almost broke down. There! That red brick house up at the end of the driveway, that's them."

Swerving too sharply for comfort, Bane hurtled up the short driveway flanked by pine trees. Before them was a rather tiny building that could not have held more than five or six rooms, and next to it were parked a red Kia and a black Hyundai Accord. No one was in sight. As he brought his own car to a skidding halt, the Dire Wolf snapped, "Call her! If she's in there, tell her she's got a visitor coming in."

Yanking out her smartphone, Evelyn hit a number of speed dial and a voice instantly answered, "Evvie? What's up?"

"Listen, I'm right outside. A man in black clothes is going to be at your door in a second. Don't worry, let him in."

"Wait, what?" Then the voice broke off as Bane had reached the house and flung the front door open to rush in as if he owned the place. He found himself in a living room crowded with excess furniture including little tables holding decorative knickknacks. Jumping up from the brown cloth couch was a tall man wearing a business suit with the tie loosened and the top button unsnapped. He had black curly hair over a heavy-featured weary face that now tightened with alarm.

"Hey, what the hell?" he yelled.

Bane held up his billfold to display his PI license and his consultant card with the FBI's Department 21 Black. "Stay calm. I'm a private detective from New York City. I've been asked to look into the death of Richard Hutton and clear up some questions." As he tucked the billfold away, the Dire Wolf automatically checked the room to see any exits and any places where possible ambushers could be hidden. From the open doorway to the kitchen, a petite woman in a light summer dress stuck her head through uncertainly. She would barely hit five feet tall and being barefoot didn't help.

"Evvie?" she called out, not daring to enter the living room until she knew what was going on.

Behind Bane, Evelyn had come in and she waved to the couple. "Beth! Stan! It's all right. Mr Bane is here to help figure out what happened to Richard. He's not going to hurt anyone."

Hearing this, Beth relaxed visibly but Stan rose from the couch to walk over toward this strange intruder. There was obvious belligerence in his tensed form but Bane perceived much more. Half of Kumundu training was not in punching or kicking technique, but about reading an opponent. Bane automatically judged the balance, the co-ordination, the potential strength and speed of everyone he met without consciously doing it. It was a reflex to him after the decades of training. He decided that Stan did not move like a man six foot three and weighing two hundred and sixty pounds. He moved like a much smaller person carrying less weight, light on his feet and energetic. This man was not what he seemed. "Hold it right there, 'Stan,' he said with an odd emphasis on the name.

Gesturing to Evelyn without taking his eyes off Stan, Bane motioned for her to come fully inside the house. "I want you and your friend to stay here. This guy and I have to step outside for a second."

As she obeyed while shaking her head dubiously, the Dire Wolf had kept his full attention on Stan, whose face had become expressionless and masklike instead of angry. "Very well," the big man said in a hollow tone. As Bane stepped aside to let the man pass through the door, he said, "You ladies stay inside and keep well back." Then he followed out into the twilight of an early summer evening.

Fifteen feet away from the house, Stan swung around with belligerence in his body language but a lack of emotion on his face that was eerie in contrast. "Tell me what you think you know."

"Aren't you going to add, 'Human' to the end of that sentence?" retorted Bane. "Never mind. I'm starting to recall something I read in Mr Dred's notes a long time. Something rare I haven't encountered in the Midnight War before. Impersonators from Fanedral. And you're one of them."

As he spat out the last word, Bane plunged forward with the lightning-fast closing technique of a fencer and his tight left fist cracked up under Stan's jaw with an impact that cracked a few teeth. His opponent was flung back, one foot swinging up in the air as he fell, hitting the hard dry dirt with a thud. Something dropped from his limp hand. Still pressing forward in one continuous movement, Bane had drawn back his fist for a follow-up blow but he saw that it wouldn't be needed. That single punch had broken the Impersonator's thin neck. The Dire Wolf glared down as the body at his feet shimmered and changed to its natural state.

III.

From the corner of his eye, he was aware of the two women emerging slowly out of the house to huddle together behind him. They were all grippred by uneasy fascination at what they saw. Stretched out on the ground was a small being who would not have stood more than four feet six inches tall in life. He wore a snug tunic of some fuzzy velour-like material that left his arms and legs bare. All the exposed skin was bright Kelly green, vivid even in the fading light. As gnarled as the long-fingered hands with their talons were, it was the oversized cabbage-shaped head that held their attention. Ropy veins stood out on the hairless cranium, the ears rose to sharp points and the wizened little face had barely a snub excuse for a nose and a pursed mouth. Even in death, the green-irised eyes stared hatefully straight up.

Behind Bane, Evelyn breathed, "A little green man. Oh my God. It's all true. All the wild sightings and UFO reports and whacky movies."

"I do NOT understand," Beth interrupted. "What is this monster? Where's Stan? What the hell is going on here anyway?"

The Dire Wolf reached over and picked up the short metal rod that the creature had dropped when it had been struck. Capped with a polished green gem, the copper-colored staff shimmered hotly as if it had just been taken out of a fire. "A Darthan blasting wand," he mumbled. "I tagged him just in time." He did not clarify his other thought about how, at the last possible split-second, he had struck not at where 'Stan's' jaw had seemed to be but at where his instinct told him it really was. That was why his punch had been so lethal.

"Can someone please explain this to me?" continued Beth. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

The calm assurance in Bane's voice settled her slightly as he turned to place a hand on her shoulder, "You're okay. You're not going crazy. This creature impersonated your husband. When he died, he reverted to his true form. I don't think he actually changed shape so much as he used some sort of illusion to look Human."

"Is he a Martian? I can't believe I'm saying this. You know, a Martian? An alien from another planet?"

"Not exactly," Bane said. "It's hard to explain. The important thing is that I suspect this is what happened to Richard. He was abducted by these Infiltratrors and one of them took his place."

"You've got to be kidding," Evelyn objected. "As if I wouldn't know the difference. Living under the same roof for weeks, eating our meals together, sleeping in the same bed..." Her voice trembled and she pressed a hand tightly over her mouth before saying, "But that means that we... That I did it with that monster, thinking it was Richard?"

Bane stopped her with a sharpness in his voice. "Right now, we have to concentrate on the immediate danger. Where are they holding the real Stan? It seems likely they keep the original alive during the impersonation. Does anyone Human know about all this? And most importantly, how many more of these Impersonators are there?"

III.

"I think I'm taking this remarkably well," Beth mumbled. "It's a nightmare. I used to hate those science-fiction movies and now I'm in one. Heh."

With relief, Bane decided he did not hear any hysteria in her voice. It was not unsteady or rising in tone. "I have a plan but I need to count on you two to carry it out. You both seem pretty tough-minded. Do you think you can go along with me for a little while?"

"Oh, yeah," Evelyn said. "We've both been through a lot in life. Divorce. Parents dying. Kids with opiate problems. I feel like I can handle this and Beth is tougher than I am." She was almost hugging her friend, one arm rubbing on Beth's back. "We need to start calling everyone we know. Sue. Brooke. Maybe Bernadette. We ask them if they notice their men have been acting a little funny lately. It's so insane. 'Excuse me, hon, you do realize you're married to an alien being, right?' "

"Wait, don't do that," said the Dire Wolf. "Not yet. I want to try something else first. I want both of you to get in my car right now. Come on, we're going to leave that thing where it is." He hustled Beth into the back seat of his Mustang and Evelyn in front, then jumped behind the wheel and sped back up the driveway. He had brought the blasting wand and he stuck it under his seat for the moment. At the main street, Bane swung right and drove for only a mile before slowing and pulling off the road. He had seen a spot where he could drive up behind a few elms and leave his car mostly concealed.

"Everybody out," he ordered as if the two understandably anxious women were working for him. "We're going to hike slowly back to the house but keeping out of sight. And I want you ladies to stay well behind me as we get closer. Understand?"

"Right, right, but first explain a little. Okay? We deserve that," demanded Beth.

"Here's what I think. These creatures are called Impersonators. They're from a realm known as Fanedral, and they're very rare. I don't think they've been heard of in fifty years. Now, as I recall from reading about them, they have some telepathic abilities. Not that they can read your minds directly or control your actions, but they do have an image casting power." He started leading Beth and Evelyn through the forest at a creeping pace slower than a walk, finding easy going for them considering their distress. It was early enough on a summer night that the stars gave sufficient illumination after their eyes adjusted.

Behind him, Evelyn asked, "So my Richard IS dead, then?"

"I'm afraid so. Sorry," replied Bane. "That was him they found at the bottom of that hill. For some reason, the Impersonator posing as him had to call the charade off but they couldn't dare release him to talk about his abduction. I wish I could give you some hope that he's still alive but I don't think so."

"I don't get it. How can these things impersonate our husbands, of all people?" Beth sounded increasingly distraught as everything seemed to sink in. "This are men we know so intimately. How can these creatures get every detail right? Even spies can't do that."

The Dire Wolf paused at a clearing near the back of an old rundown house that they had to pass on their way. "It's the telepathy. The Impersonators keep their victims alive, probably in a sort of trance, so they can draw on the memories in the Human brains. That's my guess, anyway. Not much is known about these beings." He herded the two around out of sight of the house and they continued on their way.

After a few more minutes, Evelyn let a small sob escape her. "Poor Richard. I was just getting to accept to him being gone. It's so unfair, he never hurt anyone."

"The worst things happen to the best people," Beth offered to her friend. "Listen, I have my phone. I'm going to call 911. The State Police. The FBI. We need to report all this."

"Not yet." Bane turned his head to fix his grey eyes on her startled gaze. "If the Impersonators have other victims imprisoned somewhere, and there's an alarm raised, they might simply kill the men and escape. I want to see if we can find out more before we're suspected. For all we know, half the men in this town are being held somewhere while Impersonators are passing as them."

"What a thought," Beth replied. "Shouldn't I be hysterical at this point? You know, screaming and crying and having to be restrained? I feel sort of... numb."

"You're doing fine," he said. "You're in crisis mode right now. This is such an emergency that both of you are repressing your natural reactions until everything is settled. Trust me, I've been handling horrors like this all my life."

By now, they were slowly approaching the back of the yard where Beth had lived with the real Stan. Bane whispered to them to keep as quiet as they could while they moved from one cluster of trees to another. Soon they could see the house where a white Ford Explorer was coming to a stop near the grotesque little corpse sprawled in the dirt. Three men got out and circled around the body, leaving the vehicle running with its headlights revealing the scene. They looked like normal enough people in their thirties and forties, wearing regular jeans and flannel shirts. But Bane studied how they moved, how they balanced their weight, how their heads snapped around at slight noises and he knew these were more imposters.

Raising a finger to his lips for his companions to be silent, the Dire Wolf dropped to his hands and knees and then scuttled through some bushes without making the slightest noise. Decades of training and experience explained his uncanny passage through the brush and up within reach of the Impersonators without being detected. In a dark blur, he exploded out of the woods onto the aliens faster than a real wolf pouncing.

IV.

Bane had been concerned about fighting these Impersonators and he took no chances. They looked to be of normal size, each within a few inches of six feet tall and two hundred pounds. But his Kumundu intrpretation of their movements contradicted this and he knew they were actually much smaller. This left him confused and uncertain, and he worried that in a prolonged brawl he would make mistakes that would make him vulnerable. As he rushed at the surprised creatures, he had drawn a silver-bladed dagger in each hand. The Dire Wolf slammed into two of the Impersonators from behind, plunging a blade each into their sides and whipping it back out again. As the creatures made high screeching noises and fell, Bane closed in on the third one and smashed a straight side kick to a point three feet off the ground. The impact was solid. The Impersonator was thrown violently back.

All this had taken place in less than half a second. Wheeling around, Bane crouched over the two creatures he had stabbed. One was already dead and had revealed its true appearance. As he watched, the second one wheezed and went limp. A shimmer passed over the body, then it was shown as a bizarre green man with an oversized bald head and gnarled limbs. He jumped up and whirled to see the final Impersonator was up on its hands and knees, unable to rise. As the creature struggled to catch its breath after the blow to its chest, the guise of a normal Human flickered once or twice.

Watching the creature , Bane knelt and wiped his dagger blades on the tunics of the two dead monsters. He returned them to their leather sheaths which he always wore under his sleeves. The Dire Wolf went over to the stunned Impersonator and judged there would be a few more minutes before the creature would recover. He dropped down to one knee, grabbed the back of the creature's head and snapped a powerful left hook that made a whiplash noise. The Impersonator sagged down prone to the ground without a sound.

From back by the trees, he heard one of the woman take in a deep shaky breath at what she had witnessed. Bane turned at the waist and gestured for them to come forward. "Sorry you two had to see that," he admitted.

"They look dead. ARE they dead?"

"Yes." Bane knelt over the gasping survivor. "But I need one to answer questions. He'll be recovering for a few minutes." Since he had already determined that they could not be seen from the main road, he did not try to conceal the grotesque bodies. Instead, he hauled them around to prop them sitting up against the side of their Explorer. Neither one carried another Darthan wand, but one did have a vicious-looking curved blade tied to its waist sash. Now that he had a chance, he examined the creatures. As he flexed their lifeless hands and thumbed up an eyelid to check out the wide-irised green eyes with vertical slit pupils, he felt Evelyn standing behind him.

"They can't really be aliens, I mean Extraterrestrials, can they?" Evelyn breathed. "I mean, the odds that they could breathe our air are ridiculously low."

"You're right," Bane answered as he straightened up. "They're descended from ordinary Humans. Like the Nekrosim and the Gelydrim and a dozen other sub-Races, the Darthim modified them. They've been made this way deliberately."

Stepping closer, Beth started to prod one body with her toe but stopped short. "Magic, you mean?"

"I guess that's a convenient word," the Dire Wolf replied. "It's incredibly ancient knowledge that might as well be called magic." He was keeping an eye on the two women. Hardened combat veterans had gone into hysterics at seeing weirdness like this but Beth and Evelyn seemed as cool and unaffected as if regarding a minor traffic accident. He expect that all the trauma would catch up to them at some point. The Dire Wolf dragged the reviving Impersonator over to where the creature was facing his two dead comrades, then squatted down between them to wait.

As the being from Fanedral moaned and struggled to sit up, Bane planned his questioning. Tricks and ruses usually weren't needed in a situation like this with most captured crooks or occultists. Just the nearness of impending death frightened almost everyone into talking, but then these Impersonators weren't Human and he couldn't be sure how they would react. They might be dedicated, even fanatical.

In the next split-second, he heard one of the women take in a sharp breath. All his heightened sense of danger rang the alarm and he jumped up to his feet as a brutal impact to the back of his head made everything flash white. Even falling, he began to catch himself but a second blow to his head stunned him beyond knowing what was going on. For the next few seconds, he was completely vulnerable. Something fumbled at the small of his back. He heard voices but couldn't make out what they were saying over the thumping pain.

It only took another second or two before his enhanced healing factor kicked in. The pain subsided to a throb, his vision cleared and he became aware again. Heaving up off the ground, he swung around with fists raised but froze into place. Something he had not expected greeted him.
Beth was standing well out of reach, holding Bane's own Smith & Wesson .38 revolver in both hands with a steady grip and she grinned at him with wicked delight.

"Beth, have you lost your mind?!" screamed Evelyn. She took a step toward her friend but hesitated at the murderous expression on the woman's face. "What happened to you?"

"Neither of you move, not a muscle," Beth ordered. "Wanru, are you able to stand?"

"Yes. Yes, thank you." The Impersonator got shakily to his feet. "Oh, may Draldros be merciful to his servants. This Human has slain both Menel and Dupra. Look at them! They are dead. My heart breaks."

Taking in the situation, Bane had raised his open hands in surrender but only to chest level. His hands were close enough that he could snatch the daggers from his forearm sheaths easily. All he needed was an imperceptible distraction. "You're not one of these Impersonators," he declared.

"No. They're all male. Only males survived the purge by Draldros. Or that's what Yende told me, anyway. I realized he was wasn't Stan right away, but when he explained the situation, he won me over. I decided to help these Impersonators. They deserve to live, to perpetuate their kind." Beth smirked in a way that was thoroughly creepy. "And if the only way for them to reproduce is through Earth women, well, so be it."

Evelyn was breathing in short rapid gasps, ready to hyperventilate. "I can't handle this. It's too much to take in. Beth, you can't be serious."

"Don't I sound serious?"

"She has sold everyone out, not only the women of this town but the Human race as a whole," Bane said. "Talk about treason..."

"Oh, shut up!" Beth snapped, cocking back of the gun's hammer with her thumb. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I grew very fond of Yende. In some ways, he was a better person than Stan ever was, ha ha!"

The Dire Wolf did not move, did not even shift his weight to announce his imminent attack. "How many more Impersonators are here in the world, anyway?"

"Wanru is the only one still alive. Four were sent here," Beth said as the green man came around to stand beside her. "I guess I'll be mating with him now to see if we can breed. So far no luck. Evvie, it's too bad you found out about all this. I'm sorry, dear."

"Wait, what do you mean?" asked Evelyn Hutton. "You wouldn't... kill me?"

"What choice do we have?" Beth said. "Wanru, you have to report back to Draldros. Can we allow these Humans to abort your mission?"

"No," said the strange creature. He turned his oversized head to regard her thoughtfully. "Very few of us are left. There isn't much time. If I don't report soon to the Dread One, my kind is doomed."

At that moment, Evelyn's nerve broke completely. She shrieked and spun around to start running faster than she ever had before. As Beth swung her arm to take aim, Bane took the opening. Silver flashed in the backglow from the SUV's headlights. With a hiss, the thin blade of a throwing dagger slid inbetween Beth's ribs up under her left breast and she gasped as she dropped to her knees. The Dire Wolf hopped in close to wrest the gun away from her dying hand and he whirled to loose a single shot that caught the Impersonator right in the center of that high hairless forehead. Blood spurted from the exit wound in the back of the skull. One hand dropped the fist-sized rock that the creature had snatched up, the same rock that Beth had used a minute earlier to strike Bane with. That had been closer than expected, he realized.

The Dire Wolf eased slightly, glaring around to see that Evelyn had stopped her flight at the sound of that gunshot. She was staring with bugged eyes. He lowered his weapon and called over to her, "It's over. Don't run. You're not in any danger now."

"She's dead. Beth. I've known her all my life. We grew up together."

"Well, she didn't give me much choice. She was right about to shoot you in the back." Bane tugged his dagger out of the dead woman and cleaned its blade for the second time that time. "I'm not happy about it, but honestly it was you or her. And then me."

With a shuddering sigh, Evelyn dropped her knees and her head hung down. Her body was visibly shaking. "Beth. Stan. My Richard. All gone. This can't be real, I have to be hallucinating. Or dreaming, but it doesn't feel like a dream..."

The Dire Wolf came over and sat down on the ground next to her. She clutched at him with both hands and he let her tremble as she tried to assimilate all that happened. "Do me a favor," he said in as close to a gentle tone as he could, "Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Again. Deep as you can. The worst is behind you. Breathe in and let it out. There you go."

"How... how can things like this happen? I can't believe any of it, but there she is. Beth, dead. And she was really going to shoot me!"

"I know, I know," Bane said as he supported her weight. "Listen. I am going to have to load all those bodies into their SUV and leave it deep in the woods. This is hard to explain, but the force that brought the Impersonators here will wear off if it's not reinforced. It's like a sort of rubber band that will pull them back where they came from. Those monsters will be returned to Fandedral. And because I'm going to leave Beth in contact with them, she'll go there too."

"Huh? Are you sure? What about her family? What about a funeral for her?" Evelyn looked up and her face was wet but she had not been crying audibly. "But I guess you know what you're doing."

"It's for the best." Bane gave her an encouraging hug. "Listen to me, you're in a sort of emergency denial right now. That happens in a real crisis. It'll pass and you'll be exhausted, traumatized, grief-stricken. I'm going to call a few friends of mine to come up here and help you through it. Sable is a great person, she has helped many other victims deal with nightmares like this. Okay?"

Evelyn got hold of herself and rose to her feet, still holding on to Bane's arms. "I guess. I mean I owe you my life. I should trust you enough to do as you say. It's all too much to digest."

"Sable will come right up here and I think she will bring Timothy with her. They're the best emotional support you can hope for in a situation like this. You'll get through this, Evelyn. You're stronger than you realize. But even though everyone in in town will be wondering what happened to your friend and her husband, you can't ever explain the truth about why they disappeared."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare," she said, wiping her face with her hands. "My God, I'd be kept so medicated I couldn't dress myself if I told what happened today."

9/11/201