dochermes | Entries tagged with 2024

"Still Flying, Still a Fool"

11/6-11/8/2024

I.

Twenty-eight thousand pounds of armored car lifted straight up into the air and were gone from sight within seconds. It was a clear morning in early October with plenty of bright sunlight. Only eleven people nearby the South Valley Credit Union got a good look at the event, and only one had the alertness to whip up his phone and take four seconds of blurry, poorly framed video. Online media played this footage obsessively for a week, a number of TV channels also ran it once or twice. The two uniformed guards had just entered the credit union and ironically did not witness their car being stolen. The strange event was quickly and thoroughly dismissed by the general public as an amusing hoax of unknown purpose. But the Swift Security Company, which had lost the considerably expensive vehicle as well as its cargo of three hundred million dollars, did not laugh.

Gliding smoothly along at two thousand feet, where it was not visible to the naked eye of an observer on the ground, the dark green armored car slowed and then descended to a rift deep in the scenic Poconos. Neatly as any helicopter, it settled down within a ring of a half dozen all-terrain vehicles. Ten men in sturdy work clothing stood back and watched the landing. On the ground were two heavy duty acetylene torch kits, crowbars and other tools. Standing away from the others was a single figure in a black business and tan topcoat.

Riding on the roof of the stolen armored vehicle was the notorious Flying Fool. A man of average height and build, he was wearing a snug one-piece jumpsuit of a light blue color which made him difficult to spot from the ground. A black flight helmet with tinted visor concealed his face. The Fool's garment had wrist to elbow gauntlets set with complex control panels, and the leather belt supported six pouches big enough to hold a dinner plate in each one.

Secured in a flat holster on that belt was a small .32 LCP. In all his many heists, the Flying Fool had not yet needed to use it. He had both a personal and a professional dislike of violence.

"Right on time as always," announced the man in the business suit. "Well done. Check your account."

Glancing at a screen on his left gauntlet, the Fool nodded. His amplified voice boomed down through a speaker in his helmet. "Correct amount deposited and locked. All right then! I believe our transaction is concluded then."

"My boss has another job in mind for you," called up the man in the dark suit. "He would like a speedy small yacht suitable for little trips between Florida and Cuba."

The Flying Fool laughed. "I'll start shopping right away! Have fun cutting open your Christmas present, boys." With that, he tapped a button on his cuff and shot silently upward into the sky. Spinning as he rose, leveling off at three thousand feet, the Fool swung around to zip quickly back toward the border between Pennsylvania and New York. Inside the crash helmet, David Woodley was grinning. He loved his life.

( the rest of the story )

"Ever Feel Like You Might Be a Vampire?"

12/20/2024

I.

In a leased cherry-red Toyota Camry, Jeremy Bane sped north along State Route 1. Before dropping him off in California, Unicorn had told him that there was in fact no Ventura Highway as such, but Route 1 did have an exit to the city of Ventura. This had meant nothing to Bane. He never listened to music or watched movies or TV. He read no fiction, only factual material he needed to know. The Dire Wolf was so focused on his lifelong crusade that he had completely missed out on enjoying any entertainment. Unicorn had shrugged her shoulders and given up on trying to get him to at least have music playing for background noise.

Less than a week before Christmas, it was sixty-seven degrees out, with a fresh breeze blowing in from the ocean visible to his left. By coincidence, Bane himself was also sixty-seven that year. The silver strands were more visible in his black hair and the infamous grey eyes had deeper crow's-feet at their corners, but Bane was still lean and agile. He still moved with decisive energy. He would always be the Dire Wolf.

And it seems he would never escape the Midnight War. Officially, he had retired a decade earlier, closing the Dire Wolf Agency and buying a house in Forest Hills. If he had seriously expected a quiet peaceful era, he was disillusioned. At least every few weeks, someone would come to him for help or he would hear about some bizarre inexplicable threat somewhere, and off into the violent night he would go. No client, no fee, he did this because it was his nature. He had come to accept it.

An overhead sign explained the different exits ahead. Bane swung right, and headed for the resort town of New Corona. That was not his goal. Only a short distance inward, he slowed before a hard-packed dirt road and saw a stone slab propped up on the ground. Written on its surface in bright crimson letters was CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT and beneath that, ENTER FREELY IF YOU BE SINCERE. The Dire Wolf took a deep breath and felt the old familiar adrenalin jolt run through him. The hunt was on again.

For more than a mile, he drove up the dirt road with nothing but dry dead grass on either side, a few straggly trees struggling to survive. If this property had ever been developed, no signs remained in sight. Cresting over a slight rise, he caught sight of one of the most incongruous buildings to be seen in Southern California. A classic Victorian mansion three stories high, painted off-white, it had gabled windows, a widow's walk, an exterior red brick chimney and a windsock flying from a short tower on the rear of the roof. Nearby was an open white and red gazebo. Parked on a stretch of crushed shale were eight cars which ranged from a new Nissan hybrid to a rust-holed Dodge pick-up.

With a barely visible wry smile, the Dire Wolf pulled his leased car over to an empty area and got out. In his trademark uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, he somehow looked ominous even in the bright afternoon sunlight. Despite a serious lack of a sense of humor, Bane was amused that this Gothic recreation did not have peeling paint, sagging roof, broken windows or dangling shutters. It was fresh and new.

The Dire Wolf stepped up onto the wide front porch. Beside the door, a swinging bench hung on two chains and a potted aloe plant was thriving. Before he could ring the bell, the door swung open and a young woman peered myopically out at him. "Mr Bane?"

"Yes." The combination of his private detective experience and his Kumundu martial arts took in every detail in a flash. She was very young, no more than twenty, five feet six and slender verging on thin. Naturally pale skin contrasted with the gleaming ebony hair that hung straight down her back, and the dark eyes matched the black lipstick. The girl wore a black leotard with an open black shirt over it, and was barefoot. Bane noted every visible mole and freckle, memorized the whorls of her ears and noted what her shoe size would be. This was all so automatic that he was hardly aware of it. Weeks later, he would able to remember these minute details and pick her out of a line-up.

"Welcome," she said in a husky voice. "I am Moonshadow. Ebonwing has been expecting you."

"Thank you," he said, stepping into the doorway. He wondered if he was wasting his time. This living girl was not Undead in the slightest. Bane had fought and destroyed enough genuine vampires in his career to be sure of that.

( the rest of the story )

7/10/2024

I.

At this time of year, Seven PM was still light enough outside to easily read a newspaper. As they rolled over the Mid-Hudson Bridge, Timothy took a glimpse down at the river far below. "Looks like two speedboats are playing tag. Are the people drunk or what? They're going to sink each other."

Next to him in the front passenger seat, Lauren Sable Reilly gazed down and drew on her gift. Her senses could be enhanced by gralic force far beyond what flesh and blood organs could logically do. "Hmm. An open cooler full of beer cans on that boat with blue trim. Two girls arguing with their faces inches away from each other. I hope they don't cause an accident, they shouldn't be on the water in that condition."

Reaching the opposite shore from Poughkeepsie, Timothy swung down a curving ramp and merged with traffic heading north on Rt 9W. He laughed out loud. "If Jin was with us, she'd probably want to dive off the bridge into the river and haul those boaters ashore. She could do it, too."

From the back seat, Jocelyn Garimara said, "I have to face it. What's going to happen to my membership? None of you have mentioned whether I should step down or resign."

"What?" Timothy made a confused sound. "Joss, of course you're still part of the team. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Because I lost my Red Spectre! I don't have any special abilities now. I'm just a skinny little Abo woman. Maybe I'll get a job working in a dollar store."

"None of that," Tim scoffed. "Come on, Jocelyn. We've worked so closely together for all these years. We know we can trust you to have our backs. You won't panic and you know how to make quick decisions in crisis situations. How important do you think that is?"

"Well...I suppose..."

Sable said, "I wasn't even thinking of you stepping down from the team. You're a Tel Shai knight. You know Kumundu and you know all about the Midnight War. Jocelyn, even if your Spectre doesn't remanifest, you're our friend. Don't give it another thought."

"Okay," Jocelyn agreed. "It's nice to be appreciated. I didn't really want to go into retail."

They were entering the town of Highland. On either side of the highway, various business were stretched out with long spaces between them. Many residential houses could be seen on side streets. Spending so much of their time in Manhattan with its skyscrapers, the three KDF members felt a sort of relief at so much open sky around them. Dramatic white cumulus clouds were drifting by slowly overhead.

"Did Sulak and Valera go back to Androval?" asked Tim.

"No. I don't think they're too eager to go home after getting thrashed so thoroughly by Sirion," Sable answered. "There's the pool place."

She turned on to the side road next to the SwimDream Pool Contractors, where a short man with a cigar stub idly watched them roll past. He was talking into his phone with some agitation, next to a children's plastic pool with a SOLD sign on it.

Further down the road was a three story house which, one hundred years ago, had been home to a lkarge extended family and their live-in servants. Those gilded days were long gone. As Sable slowed while going past, the KDF members could see a vertical row of call buttons and name tags. The building had been divided up into five apartments.

"And there's the Accord," she said. "Matches Frank's description exactly, including the license plate."

"Man, he does a lot of work on research," Timothy said. "We described the car we saw Sirion get into. Frank got clear shots of it from red light cameras in the area. Then he compared it to every Accord in this county, found a match and tracked it down. How long would that take?"

"Well, he IS a Trom," Jocelyn put in from the back. "Who does it belong to?"

"He said it's registered to someone named Vincent Massarani, 58, address down in White Plains. The driver's license photo doesn't look anything like the old fellow with the beard we saw."

Sable went back up to normal speed and headed further down the road, then turned aaround and ent back. "That was the only car parked near the house. I think now is when we should check the scene out."

"Funny to be acting in daylight," Timothy observed. "We usually attack in the middle of the night."

Pulling into the parking lot of the boarding house, Sable tapped her Link. "Frank can you get us the floor plan of this house?"

"I'm sending it to your Links now," the Trom's steady voice answered. "It is from when renovations were made in 2021, so there may have been some changes since then."

"Thank you. Stand by. If they run for it, you might be needed to track them."

"I am monitoring business security cameras and home front door cameras surrounding the target," he said. "There is sufficient input to work with."

"Good to know. Carry on." As Sable broke off, she raised one eyebrow at her teammates. "It'd be reassuring to have Frank on the scene, of course, but I think he serves our purposes better this way. For this case, at least."

In the rear, Jocelyn Garimara tapped the three leather satchels on the seat next to her. "In my opinion, we've come up with a better approach than force. When the three strongest living beings all get the snot punched out of them, you can scratch 'strength' off the options."

"Time for your friendly ghosts," Sable said.

"On their way." Timothy held out his upturned hands. Two of the faintly visible whirlwinds formed, five inches high and spinning quickly. They shot out through the partly opened car window and whooshed toward the boarding house.

Watching, Jocelyn Garimara bit back a remark about how lucky Tim was to still have his power. She was determined not to be a bitter drag of a person. She would get up after being knocked down, dust herself off and keep moving. She simply said, "This Sirion didn't pull a robbery last night. I guess the right barney with our Melgarin gave him plenty to think about."

"One death so far," Sable said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "That woman who was jogging. We can't wait for Unicorn to get back. I want this threat ended."

Leaning back, Tim had an unfocussed, faraway look in his eyes. "Only one person in the house right now. Up on the top floor, room in the North corner. There's a man lying on a ratty couch, reading a newspaper. He doesn't have white hair or a beard, though."

"Any evidence in sight?"

"Absolutely," Tim said. "A couple expensive cameras on the dresser, lots of jewelry lying out in the open. There's a small paper bag next to the couch, my caspers are poking into it.. Yep, it's bundles of twenty dollar bills..."

"Good enough," Jocelyn snorted, "If we were cops, we'd have probable cause."

Sable unbuckled her seat belt. "Everyone get their satchels strapped on and ready. Jocelyn, you're coming in with me. Tim, I want you behind the wheel and watching the area with your caspers. If you see Sirion, hit the silent alert on the Links."

They all got out, Timothy moving around the car to get in the driver's seat. Walking close by her captain, Jocelyn realized she had seldom seem Sable so grim.

( the rest of the story )

SIRION II: Strength Alone Is Not Enough

7/9/2024

I.

Timothy Limbo felt an oppressive sense of being overwhelmed by the three Melgarin in the car. It wasn't that the grey Toyota Matrix was cramped, it was that all three of the passengers were so much bigger than he was. Next to him, even Princess Valera was six feet tall, athletic in build like a tennis player and imposing in dignity even with her fine-featured face and golden hair. In the back seat, both Sulak and Galvan were well over that height and more than two hundred and forty pounds of hard muscle and bone. Their sheer physical presence was intimidating. Timothy himself was only five ten and wiry in build, but even if he had been a weightlifter, he would still be only Human. And they were not.

He had seen each of them in action. Their bodies were charged with sheer gralic force until they were almost impossible to harm and as strong as flesh and blood could possibly be. Sitting close to them felt like being next to a humming machine of immense power. It felt risky. Tim's own gift of distance viewing through his floating 'caspers' seemed so trivial in comparison.

"I'm still surprised that all three of you are in the real world together," he said. Tim was driving slowly through evening traffic on the main street of Poughkeepsie, with plenty of red lights. "In any other circumstances, having you assembled would seem like overkill."

In the back, Galvan responded. He knew Tim best, as he had been a member of the KDF team the past few years and they had worked together. Wearing a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled back a turn and faded jeans, with his curly brown hair and short beard, he resembled a stereotypical lumberjack. "To be honest, Tim, King Holmir keeps us separated most of the time in case we get killed. He doesn't want to lose all three living Champions at once."

Sulak added, "You see what a serious threat this is, Tim. Our liege feels all three of us may be needed. To fight Sirion...! I don't know what would compare in your culture. Seeing a respected, even venerated hero from earliest history alive today as a common criminal." Sulak was slightly taller and lighter in build than Galvan, with shaggy black hair and dark blue eyes in a rough, craggy face. He was wearing dark business suits without a tie, the top shirt button left open.

"That's the scene of last night's attack," said Timothy, pulling into a small parking lot at the end of a block. A one-story building with the sign COLLICK'S PHARMACY - THERAPEUTIC AND DISABLED EQUIPMENT. The store was closed and dark with only the minor lights on inside the window for insurance purposes. All four of them got out to get a look. Standing next to the Melgarin, Timothy felt uncomfortably like a young boy, which irritated him enough to deliberately focus entirely on the situation.

The rear door to the building was entirely missing. A heavy piece of wood had been fixed into place over the opening, and yellow police tape made an X over it. As they stood there taking it in, Timothy said, "Our sources with the police tell us that at two in the morning, silent alarms went off. The security cameras only recorded a brief glimpse of someone entering before they were smashed. Locked metal cabinets were pulled open and quantities of painkillers including Oxycontin and Fentanyl patches were taken, as well as some Amyl Nitrate."

Valera walked over to the low white metal barrier intended to keep cars from rolling into the side street. "Still some broken glass. The door was thrown twenty feet?"

Unexpectedly, Sulak made a disgusted growling sound and shook his head. "Obviously this is not Sirion, he can't be still alive all these thousands of years. It must be a new Melgar born with the Legacy of Malberon. We do not appear at any specific intervals. The lad displayed growing strength and some elderly rogue is exploiting him!"

"That may well be," Galvan grudgingly admitted. He seldom agreed with anything Sulak said, but even the bad blood between them was not enough to contradict the idea at this time. "No portraits or sculptures of Sirion have survived to the present. We have only the brief mention in an epic poem of a thin body and black hair."

Still standing where the door had been thrown, Valera asked, "What about the woman who was killed?"

The three men came over to join her. Timothy's voice had softened, "That was awful. The police identified her as a forty-eight year old insurance agent who was out walking her dog late. This is usually a quiet residential part of the city. The left side of her head was flattened by a single impact."

"She must have heard the noise and come closer out of curiosity," Sulak added.

Galvan lowered his head. "And this new Sirion...we might as well call him that for the moment... didn't want her to talk. So he swatted her like an annoying fly."

"This is NOT our ancestor Sirion," objected Sulak, "And I don't think we should use such a respected name for a common thief and murderer."

"Oh, seriously? It's just for convenience..."

Valera interrupted. Although she looked like a fresh college graduate in her early twenties, she was in fact over eighty. Melgarin enjoyed a lengthy life span. "Don't start another quarrel, you two. We must concentrate on this if we want to keep more Humans from being killed."

Leaning her head so she could whisper to Timothy, who was standing next to her, she said, "They have a grudge going back fifty years! I'll explain later." Then, to her fellow Melgarin, she continued, "This robbery is quite a distance from the first one. What does that mean?"

"That this Sirion imposter is on the move," Sulak offered. "He may be heading South."

"No, no," Galvan said. "We need a third crime to be sure. If it continues in a southerly direction, you have a point. But if it's within the same general area, the fake Sirion is probably operating within a convenient circle of his home base."

Timothy stepped in. "It's already ten. Our Trom scanners can pick up police broadcasts and called-in burglar alarms. We could be ready to head for the next crime as soon as it happens."

Everyone agreed. It was Princess Valera who said, "If I know my fellow Champions, they would like to roast a bull by now and eat it bones and all."

"I saw a diner on the way here, maybe ten minutes away," Timothy offered. "I might get a meat loaf dinner instead of half a bull, though."

( the rest of the story )

"SIRION I: Lost Lightning"

7/2024

I.

Early in the morning in Wappingers Falls, New York. Nothing was open in the Sunset Mall, even the formerly twenty-four hour Price Chopper had cut its hours back. A separate white brick building sat at the end of the strip, the People's Credit Union. At one-thirty AM, a brief flash of deep red light burst near the back of that building and a thin young boy walked around toward the drive-through window.

Maybe twelve years old, no more than five feet six and with the straight sticklike arms and legs of pre-puberty, the boy was wearing tight blue tunic and pants, with odd red leather boots and gloves. In one hand, he dangled a mundane plastic shopping bag. Shaggy black hair had not been cut in quite a while.

Stepping up to the ATM and dropping the bag, the boy grinned insolently up at the camera. Then, as easily as peeling off slices of warm pizza, he tore the ATM open with his hands. He threw metal parts aside, digging deeper until he was reaching into the receptable where the cash was stored. With no particular urgency, the boy threw handfuls of bills into the shopping bag. No audible alarm sounded, no lights flashed, but certainly the local police were getting an urgent signal at that moment.

The boy was laughing gleefully. He paused as he saw headlights approaching from the other end of the mall. He spun and, with the slightest of crouches, leaped twenty feet in the shadows. A minute later, a tan Nissan Sentra swung around toward the drive-through lane and stopped as the driver saw the wreckage scattered along the ground.

II.

Before the meeting began, Sable had set up four laptops on the long oak table. A dozen of them were kept on hand in case the entire team assembled at any one time, and one of the duty watch officer's duties was checking that they were all charged. At the head of the table, she took her chair and opened her own computer. Lauren Sable Reilly had been captain of the KDF for twenty-four years, more than half her life. While she wasn't tired of the responsibility yet, she had been gradually taking less of an active role in missions. The younger and more enthusiastic members were more than ready to rush out on what they saw as adventures.

In her mid-forties, Sable's face had matured in a handsome oval with unstressed authority in the dark eyes. The thick black hair, brushed straight back off a high forehead, added to the air of seriousness she always showed. She dressed more formally than her teammates in general did. In a pearl grey pantsuit with a cream-colored blouse and a thin silver chain under her collar, she would have been accepted as professional in any office setting.

Not so the first two members to arrive in the doorway. Jocelyn Garimara was in casual black slacks and a bright yellow jersey that went well with her dark skin. Close behind her was Timothy Limbo in his inevitable uniform of biker boots, worn-out jeans and white T-shirt under a new black leather jacket. His teammates teased him until he wore a different outfit once in a while.

As they settled into their chairs, the third on-duty member entered and sat down. Frank Mills was a tall man in a business suit, wearing a look of calm thoughtfulness on an unremarkable face. The Trom joined his teammates in opening his laptop and logging into Skype.

"Our team is really scattered right now," Sable began. "Let's see. Galvan is in Androval for a few days, he has to take care of his estate. Sheng and Josef are busy on their own missions, I don't want to recall them unless circumstances get serious. Okay, our other three are coming onscreen. What's your situations, guys?"

Everyone's monitors had split-screened to show three faces in separate boxes. Answering first was a small white-haired woman with a pugnacious resting face. "Hello, everyone," said Demrak Jin. "I am home with Pol. He's sleeping right now. If you need me, I can call Mrs Prescott to babysit."

"Thanks, Jin. Carlo, how are you doing?"

The gaunt face of Carlo Ventura smiled slightly. "I'm back home upstate, visiting with friends I haven't seen in a while. It's my off-day but of course I am on call. If necessary, I will return to headquarters at once."

Sable said, "Thanks for standing by. And that leaves Unicorn."

The piquant little face of a platinum blonde wearing oversized mirrored sunglasses blinked into view on the screen. "Hey there! Something big has definitely been eating goats here on Mykronos. I see a pattern. As a side benefit, the Greek sun is turning me a luscious golden brown."

"Okay. I'll make sure your next assignment is in Juneau, Alaska, Ashley. Now, let's all watch this footage. It's from two security cameras at a credit union up in Wappingers Falls."

Everyone studied the surreal events, then watched them again at half-speed. Finally, Timothy exhaled sharply. "I have no idea who or what that kid is."

"The image is not detailed enough for me to be certain," Frank Mills said, "But I believe he is a young Melgar. The facial bone structure is characteristic, and his clothing resembles an Androval arena uniform."

"Yeah, bright red boots and gloves for young guys aren't exactly in style," Jocelyn added. "But, you know, even though Melgarin are stronger than Human, they're not THAT strong. He ripped that ATM apart awful easily. And he jumped away like a grasshopper."

Sable gestured at Timothy Limbo with a command gesture. "Tim, use an Eldanar travel crystal and go to Androval. Find Galvan and ask him to come back here. I think our tentative conclusion merits that. If he's too tied up with his boundary dispute, see if Sulak or Valera are around. We need a powerhouse."

"We need some kind of phone or radio to talk to the adjacent realms," Tim complained.

"It'd be convenient for sure," Sable agreed.

"I'm on my way." Timothy stood up and headed out of the room.

"Frank and Jocelyn, that leaves you two to go to the scene. The Duchess County police sent us the video with the usual disclaimer about not involving civilians. So they're not going to be much help."

Jocelyn scoffed and folded her arms. "Never are. They give us just enough to make us curious. They know we're going to investigate. Bloody wankers. They're just using us."

"You've got a point," Sable said. "But honestly, we're Tel Shai knights. We'd fight the Midnight War even if we were fugitives and the police were actively chasing us."

"Hey, guys? I think I see something," said Ashley's voice. "Everybody play the video again. Okay. Freeze it now! There, by the corner of the bank. Is that a man standing there?"

After a few seconds, they all agreed. They had been concentrating on the boy ripping apart the ATM and had missed a vague figure in the shadows.

"All I can make out is he's pretty tall, maybe six three, and there's a lighter color patch on the front," Ashley said. "Captain, how about your microscopic eyes? I know you can identify pollen by sight."

"Not much use with this," Sable admitted. "The data isn't there for me to see. I do think there's the same shade of lighter material on his head. Possibly white hair and a beard."

Frank Mills shook his head. "I can only enhance the image slightly. It's a poor quality camera with inadequate light."

"But it does help," Sable went on. "We can keep in mind the boy is working with an adult. A tall man with white hair and beard. That's useful."

"I do such good work, even from thousands of miles away," Ashley said with a straight face.

"Yes, Unicorn, you're wonderful," Jocelyn grumbled. "Someday you'll meet someone who loves you as much as you do."

"Hey!"

"ANYway..." Sable continued. "I want Frank and Jocelyn to drive up to the scene this afternoon and start investigating. You are two of our most powerful members but be cautious if you confront the suspect. I know it sounds odd, warning a Trom and the Red Spectre host about a preteen boy, but we've seen what he can do. I don't want you to end up like that ATM."

( the rest of the story )

"The Brazen Skull"

10/10-10/13/2024

I.

"Now is when I'm going to turn all my diplomas to the wall and go total crackpot," announced Professor Emeritus Alan T. Sherrinford.

Seated at that openwork wrought iron table outside the bistro, his two colleagues did not visibly react. Sherrinford had always been given to flamboyant figures of speech. The oldest of the group at seventy-three, he was a solid bulk whose face and body had relaxed into a comfortable sagging shape. The old-fashioned Irish tweed suit with a herringbone pattern was conservative enough, but his tie was so loosely knotted that both his friends had to fight an urge to reach over and fix it. Thin white fluffy hair refused to stay in place if there was the slightest breeze.

To his right sat Dr Helen Fletcher, poised at a handsome middle age of fifty where her cherubic good looks had become more dignified and imposing. The still-thick black hair was pulled back into a bun and the dark thoughtful eyes were countered by a wry smile growing more pronounced. At the third post of their triangle was the youngest, Ben 'Snark' Millet, still under thirty but quite well off from his simpified YouTube essays on prehistory which were helpful to students desperate to finish their own papers. Snark was a small, energetic young man distinguished by wild stiff black hair that never remained tame for too long. A pointed nose and zealous expression added to the impression he made.

"Ah, it wouldn't be the first time you went off at a wild angle," Fletcher said. "I rather enjoy these digressions. They are always colorful and refreshing."

"Yes, yes, what is it this time?" demanded Snark.

Sherrinford tapped his long dead pipe with evident disappointment and pocketed it. "Damned briar won't stay lit. Anyway my friends, I think I'm on to something big but at the moment, it's all terribly tenuous. You know about the thin layer of iridium found all over the planet?"

"Yes, certainly, it was left by the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs."

"What I seem to have found is something rather similar. I've been noting incidents and collecting examples for more than twenty years now," Sherrinford said. "Let me phrase this carefully. All over the world, I have found a paper-thin line through archaeological digs every kind. No one seems to have even noticed it. The earth and rocks above and below this line are very nearly identical... but not quite!"

"Well, that's interesting," Helen Fletcher said diplomatically, smiling and leaning forward. "Just
how long ago was this line created?"

"Thirty thousand years. Give or take a few thousand, I use that date for convenience. During the Neolithic. Samples above and below the line are chemically and structurally almost identical but," and here he repeated himself with emphasis, "Not quite!"

They had all ordered mixed drinks and Snark had finished his promptly. He had been examining the empty glass with evident disappointment but now he glanced up. "I'll admit it, I have no idea what you're getting at. Was there some sort of worldwide disaster? Volcanos? A global flood or something?"

"No." Sherrinford took a minute to gather his thoughts. "All my hypotheses are completely ridiculous. The explanations I come up with are so wild I laugh at them myself."

"Alan, we know you too well," Fletcher said. "You're agitated. You're still fiddling with your pipe and you keep watching everyone walking by as if they're going to hit you. What's the matter?"

Sherrinford sighed. "I can't hide anything from you two. Yes. Let me get to it. I've spent way too much time on this but basically, since the early 1800s, there have been hundreds of anomalous finds discovered exactly at this thirty thousand year mark. Steel tools where there should be no steel, unidentifiable coins, buckles and brooches, even a few curved swords... way before even the earliest proposed Bronze Age limits."

"That IS odd," Fletcher put in.

"The archaeological community simply shrugs and overlooks all this. There's not even any effort to cover it up, all the journals and seminars just act like there's nothing worth discussing. And even that's not the worst." Sherrinford's rather fair-skinned features had gone even paler. "I've been concentrating on a dozen instances of artifacts discovered which are made of a strange reddish-colored metal which seems to be an iron alloy. These particular artifacts go missing soon after discovery.. and violence is involved!"

Between his long pointed nose and swept-back porcupine hair, Snark always seemed inquisitive but now he actually leaned forward and stared fixedly at his long-time friend. "Are you telling us a campfire story or what? You're giving me the chills."

"I'm all too serious," Sherrinford said. "At least four murders, three more suspicious deaths or disappearances and several burglaries. Everything made of this ruddy-colored metal seems to be sought with great determination by someone. That's why I'm so uneasy about going to this report in North Dakota."

"What, where that rancher wrote you about the metal crate he found while excavating? He said it was the size of a steamer trunk, right?"

"Yes," Sherrinford said. "He actually called my Museum and the Director handed the assignment to me without much interest. The rancher's waiting to open it until a few experts show up. Fellow says he hopes to sell it for a good sum. I'm supposed to fly out there tomorrow."

"Don't tell me," Fletcher said. "This crate he found, is it made of the red steel?"

"That's how he describes it," Sherrinford confirmed as if delivering grim news.

( the rest of the story )

"Eager For Oblivion"

4/22-4/24/2024

I.

In the doorway to the rec room, Jocelyn Garimara paused. "Is that Oblivion again? I hate that bloody band."

Timothy looked up from the couch but made no move to change the station. The KDF rec room had a satellite hookup with hundreds of international channels feeding to the huge super-definition screen. So sharp it was like looking through a window at a scene within reach, the image showed a stage with lasers criss-crossing overhead through colored smoke and a band plucking melancholy guitars in a minor note. A plaintive tenor voice was singing,

"The moment before the plunge
When the great weight eases
Is like the fencer's lunge
As the epee point frees you...."

"What the Hell is that crap?" the Australian woman went on, coming over to drop down next to her teammate. "I thought you liked Metal, Tim. You know, hard and loud and rude. Real down and dirty rock."

"I do, mostly." Looking more boyish than his actual age of thirty-four, Timothy Limbo was a thin wiry man with a mop of butter-yellow hair over a friendly face. Off duty, he was relaxing in grey sweatpants, slippers and a T-shirt that had been black years ago but was now a mild beige. "But this band, their songs are just weird. The more I listen to them, the more I wonder if they're saying what I think they're saying."

"They're damn catchy, I'll give them that," Jocelyn said. A few years older than Tim, she had the smooth deep brown skin and thick straight hair of her clan from the Northwest. Her wry smile eased up a face that was too often glum. "A few seconds of listening and this song plays in my head all day, whether I want it to or not."

"I started reading all the lyrics, Joss, and dang! They're dark. All about how unbearable life is and looking forward to going to sleep forever. I mean, the band IS called Oblivion. Their biggest album is EAGER FOR OBLIVION."

She sat up straighter and gave him a questioning look. "Are you just bored because we haven't had any missions lately? What are you getting at, Tim boy?"

"Maybe I'm reading too much into it, I dunno. But it sure seems to me that they're sort of promoting suicide as a way to solve all your problems."

All levity evaporated from her manner. "That's not a great message to be sending to young people."

Tim sighed and turned the sound way down. "I've been thinking about this band for a few days. They're not the biggest act right now, they're way down on the sales list from Paige Polar and Lil Blast, but they're getting bigger. I would have thought parents' groups would be in an outraged uproar over a pro-suicide band but I guess not."

"I figure parents and teachers have given up by now, kids can listen to whatever nonsense they like. Tim, I don't like the idea of a pop group encouraging suicide... that's just evil!... but it's not really what our team was founded to fight. We've got our hands full with the Midnight War."

Timothy leaned forward again, propping one elbow on his knee and resting his chin on his palm. "I know, I know, we mostly chase creatures of the night but still this bothers me."

The song was winding down and the laser lights swung away to leave four silhouettes with bowed heads. Across the screen appeared red Gothic letters NEXT BIG SHOW AT KEYSER STADIUM - BUFFALO NY - APRIL 24! and then, abruptly, there was a brief flash of a horrible face like a laughing skull covered with white flesh and the name MALACODA. Both Jocelyn and Timothy leaped to their feet without realizing it.

"A Nekrosan!"

"An ALBINO Nekrosan, oh my God!"

Timothy fumbled with the remote, managed to roll the video back and froze the image. "It's not a Human in a mask. It can't be!"

Unclipping her Link, Jocelyn snapped several photos of the leering image. "That made me heart miss a beat. Come on, Tim, let's show Sable. I think we've got our next mission."

For once, they did not find their team captain behind her desk in the front office. Timothy and Jocelyn trotted up the wide central staircase to the conference room on the second floor but it was also empty.

From down the hall, they heard her voice call, "You two looking for me?"

It did not surprise them that she had heard their soft footfalls on carpet from twenty feet away. Sable's enhanced senses allowed her to follow a moth in a darkened room. Tim and Jocelyn smiled at each other and walked down to the open door of the Gallery.

This was the one room which had been left almost unchanged from the way Kenneth Dred had left it. High-ceilinged, airy, with extra windows to let in natural light, it displayed a dozen original oil paintings, sculptures on bases and a long French tapestry. None of these were related to the Midnight War. Dred had collected them purely for their beauty.

Sitting on a bench, Lauren Sable Reilly had been regarding a charcoal sketch of a young girl holding a baby fox. She glanced up as they entered. "You caught me taking a break. Paperwork all day every day. What's up?"

Sitting down on either side of her, Timothy and Jocelyn quickly summed up their thoughts about Oblivion. Being shown that ghoulish face captured on the Link clinched the urgency for their captain.

"Nekrosim are always bad news," Sable said. "They are not the most potent sorcerers in the Midnight War but they are the most morbid. Their whole culture is death-oriented. Every time a Nekrosan comes into the world from their realm, it means people will die. Obviously, you two will be at that concert tomorrow night."

"Are you coming with us, captain?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I have to go with Galvan and Jin to Androval. Some diplomatic ceremony about their status we can't get out of if we want to keep Galvan as a member. But Carlo is free tomorrow. With the Eyeless Helmet helping, you should be able to send Oblivion into, well, oblivion."

( the rest of the story )

"Racing To the Gallows"

8/11-8/12/2024

I.

"I'm not making much money doing this," the Uber driver admitted. "After expenses and wear and tear on the car, you know? But hell, I get to drive around all night and stream music in between customers, so at least I'm having some fun."

They were out on Route 232 at the far western edge of lower New York State, miles from the nearest town at one in the morning. Ahead, an intersection of four roads was marked by a stop sign in each direction and a single lamp post. A gas station sat dark and forlorn at the corner, apparently long out of business. The driver was young, still in his twenties, with a goatee and an earring. "I don't have GPS in this sad old beast," he said, "Which way?"

In the passenger seat next to him, Tommy the Gloom raised his head from where he had been staring down at his feet. Long greasy black hair hung down on either side of a wide pockmarked face. The voice was low and monotone. "Pull over. I'm going to be sick."

"Really? Sure. Here, I'm going next to this old gas station."

As soon as the car was in parked, Tommy's left hand seized the driver's right wrist and yanked it up to expose the man's entire torso. Before the driver could react, an eight inch blade was plunging into the side of his body, again and again. The man couldn't even scream. He only gasped, struggling uselessly as he felt the unexpected agony. The passenger was stabbing in a frenzy, ignoring the blood spurting out over his arm.

In a few seconds, it was all over. Panting heavily and visibly shaking, Tommy fell back against the car seat. It took a few minutes before his breathing got back to normal. His face felt sticky and he rubbed the back of his hand across it. Time to get going. Tommy opened his door and slid out, then leaned back in to tug the body over the center console and across the passenger seat to dump him on the ground behind the gas station.

The jerk had no wallet, he discovered, only a driver's license and a Visa card in a shirt pocket. Only two twenties and a few singles in his pants. Damn, Tommy thought, some more cash would be useful. He got in behind the wheel of the still running car and pulled out onto the deserted country road. He knew where to dump this car so that he could walk back through the woods to his shack.

He felt only a little bit better. Some of that pressure behind his eyes had eased up. This loser had given him some fun. But it wasn't enough. He needed a girl to have a real good time.

( the rest of the story )

"Squidlings Rule, Okay?"

6/2024

I.

At three in the morning, the CORBY dropped silently out of an overcast sky. With no visible lights and making no more sound than a breeze, the black stealthcopter might not have even been noticed by anyone driving on this stretch of Northern California highway. The rotors slowed as the craft settled to the hardpacked sand.

In the pilot seat, Ashley Whitaker turned her head toward her teammate. The platinum hair shone in the subdued pastel greens and blues of all the dials and gauges. "You sure you have everything? You brought your field suit just in case?"

Sheng Mo-Yuan unbuckled his restraint straps and reached through the opening in the divider between the cockpit and the section behind them. He tugged out two matching suitcases and managed to place them in the tight space by his feet. "Sure, I'm all set."

"And you'll call your Uncle Pao at breakfast time?"

"And be ready for an hour lecture about how I didn't leave the playlist exactly the way he likes it so he can watch movies on my laptop all day."

"Sure," said the little blonde, twisting the combined collective/cyclic stick by her hand. "Wave when you're far enough away from the rotors so I can lift up without lopping your fool head off."

Sheng opened the hatch to his left with a hiss as pressurized air escaped. "Oh come on, Unicorn. When did you start being such a worry bug?"

"Our team is going to Androval for at least a few days," she said. "We won't even have anyone answering the phone."

"I'm used to working alone." As he hopped out, he called back before the hatch sealed again, "But your concern is appreciated. You be careful, too."

When he was fifty feet away, Sheng waved both arms in the all clear signal. Faster and smoother than any normal helicopter, the CORBY shot straight up and was gone from sight in a second. Sheng honestly could not tell in which direction it had gone. He picked up both suitcases and started a brisk walk alongside the highway, facing any oncoming traffic.

The motel he was heading for was a mile and a half away. Sheng could have used his Argent power to channel gralic force into his body for enhanced speed, but there was no need for that. Moving at his normal rate was fine. It was a crisp, almost chilly night and he enjoyed the walk. Tomorrow, he had to lease a car and investigate what his captain Sable had found were strange things afoot in this area.

There were an increasing number of missing persons and, significantly, they were people the police would not be noticeably energetic about looking for. The homeless, drug dealers, drifters with no families. There were odd break-ins for the theft of items that were not particularly valuable. And there had been so much senseless vandalism. Breaking windows of cars but not stealing anything from them, splashing red paint on houses, snapping mailboxes in half. None of it made much sense, which in itself was alarming. So Sheng had been assigned to investigate.

He heard a deep rumble behind him and moved well off the highway as a huge eighteen wheeler roared past on the opposite side of the highway. Sheng moved back and started walking again, going over the reports again in his head and wondering if some of the crimes were unrelated. Headlights were coming toward him. He moved a bit to one side before realizing that the oncoming car was accelerating sharply. In the split-second he had, Sheng drew on gralic force to increase his body's resilience just before he was struck by a car going ninety miles an hour and thrown high into the air.

( the rest of the story )