dochermes

"Rumours of War"

(5/25/19777)

3/25/1986


Three men and two women stepped out into the courtyard of the new complex on Hawk Island. Construction was finished, all the utilities were working and the facility was open but some rooms were still empty. Before them was a hangar with its wide doors slid open to reveal one of the CORBYs, sleek black stealth helicopters which used technology beyond Human knowledge. The team had finished their training schedule for the week and were ready to go off-duty and scatter. Overhead, a gull shrieked and wheeled in the sun. There were in fact no hawks here; the island was named after the family which had owned it.

In the lead of the group was the newest Tel Shai knight, a small slim Chinese woman with short glossy black hair and huge dark eyes. Tang Ming had just turned eighteen, she could not have joined while still a minor despite the adventures she had already experienced. Ming wore simple cotton slacks and long-sleeved blouse, all navy blue, with soft slippers. She carried no weapons as a rule. Normally reserved, she had an impish grin now as she listened to the conversation close at hand.

A few steps behind her was a tall, powerfully built gladiator of a man with a shock of black hair and blue eyes in a craggy face. He wore slacks and white dress shirt with the cuffs rolled back. This was Sulak, the Champion of Androval and he was arguing with an American black man who had medium length hair and a thick mustache. He was wearing black sweat pants and a blue T-shirt with a picture of a sunburst on it. Stephen Weaver was going on at length about what women really wanted as opposed to what they said they wanted. The two of them stopped to argue and Tang Ming smiled over one shoulder at them.

Bringing up the rear, silent and unsmiling, were Jessica Frost and Ethan Petrov. This was their normal attitude. Frost was a pale young woman with hair that was almost white and light blue eyes. Her expression was always serious and withdrawn. Walking beside her was a thin man with a hard, spare musculature. Ethan wore denim jeans and a nylon warm-up jacket. In contrast to the serene expression of Frost, he usually looked grouchy and annoyed and today was no exception. All he thought about was weapons.

Watching the four of them, Ming felt more excited than ever. So much to learn. She was still giddy over being accepted as a knight of Tel Shai and a member of the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Both Sulak and Weaver were already holding those positions. Jessica Frost and Ethan Petrov had been granted some Tel Shai training and both had applied to be reserve KDF members, serving as needed. Now, as she listened to Sulak and Weaver debate how to get along with women, it was all she could do not to laugh.

"See here, you two," she said as she swung around to face them. "Speaking AS a woman, I have to inform you that you're both so wrong it's not even funny-" Ming broke off as she sensed something. Everyone was alert at once. They knew her powers involved perception and they knew she was picking up on some presence they themselves could not detect as yet.

The young Chinese girl turned, arms whirling up in a defensive pose. A red gralic gate burst almost within arm's reach, and thirty invaders appeared with water dripping off them. They wore shark-hide armor, dyed bright red and green, with wide shoulder pieces and crested helmets. All were armed with short swords and tridents. In the silence which followed their sudden arrival, the sound of water falling off them to the concrete was loud.

The five KDF members formed a loose line facing the intruders, each picking a share and planning how to attack. The leader of the invaders was taller than the rest, wearing a bizarre horned helmet made of coral. He held in one hand a long knife with a bone blade and he seemed to recognize one of the KDF. "Can it be? Sulak!"

"I AM Sulak," the big Melgar announced boldly as he stepped closer.

"It is my happy duty to inform you that you and your companions are prisoners of war. Ulgor has come to avenge itself for the crimes which Androval did-" He was cut off as a knotted fist blasted against his helmet so quickly that no one watching was sure they had seen the blow. Fragments flew away from that coral helmet as the man was flung back off his feet. As Sulak struck, the Ulgoran warriors swarmed over him and went hurtling back from devastating blows that broke bones wherever they touched.

Jessica Frost did not need to move to use her power. Just concentrating, she glared at one of the Gelydrim and the water vapor in the air around his head froze instantly into an opaque shell that cut off all air and light. He struck out in panic as one of his fellows tried to seize him to chip off the ice before he suffocated. Turning her deadly gaze to another, she froze him completely, so he fell to the ground with a heavy thud like a statue being knocked over.

Stephen Weaver did not have the uniform designed by the USAF for its Black Angel project, but he could function well enough without it. The artificial wings helped guide his flight, but his levitating power was his own. As an Ulgoran lunged forward and thrust with his trident, the lanky black man levitated up six feet into the air and kicked the man square in the face. As the Gelydra dropped, Weaver tried to turn in mid-air by using just his arms and legs to guide his body. It wasn't easy. Most levitaphs feel successful if they can rise up off the ground at all. Without the artificial wings to help, any manuever took longer and was more work.

For her part, Tang Ming moved elusively among the invaders, tripping one so he tangled up another, striking with stiffened fingers where a windpipe was exposed, sweeping a soldier's feet out from under him. Every time she saw an opening, her hard tight fist cracked in to stun an opponent. Ming's gift of perception gave her uncanny timing and precision limited only by her physical capacity. She had been brought up in the Fu Jow Pai style and had not learned enough Kumundu yet to use it in a fight. The enemy seemed to be deliberately missing her but this was an illusion caused by her skill.

Ethan Petrov was for once not carrying a weapon, something almost unprecedented. Three Ulgorans charged at him. Two had short swords and one weilded a halberd. With a terrible predator smile, Ethan decided he would take the halberd. With a quickness none of his opponents could follow, the Weapons Master yanked his leather belt from his thin hips and lashed with it like a tiger swatting. It was a perfectly ordinary belt with a round metal buckle, but it cracked hard against one Ulgoran's face, blinding him and breaking his nose. The invader screamed and pawed at his face, releasing the halberd which Ethan seized eagerly. A strange gleam showed in the Weapons Master's eye as he spun the six-foot staff with its axe blade at the far end. This was what he lived for. If he had ever abandoned his discipline and ethics against harming innocents, Ethan could have been the most dangerous maniac in history.

The halberd's blade sliced through one Ulgoran's neck in a neat swipe. Ethan reversed the weapon and swung its butt to break the skull of another, then dropped into a crouch and shot the butt of the weapon forward like a pool cue to drive into the groin of a third. He struck again and again, and suddenly he was surrounded by a circle of dead or disabled men with no one left to strike at. Watching from a few feet away, Tang Ming frowned. Her teammate had a demon in him just beneath the surface, struggling to escape. She caught his glance and nodded solemnly.

Only one invader remain on his feet, the leader. It seemed incredible that any man could
stand toe to toe with the immensely powerful Melgar and survive, but the helmeted invader held his own. He fought with skill and ferocity, launching attacks that grew fiercer rather than less. He was not tiring. Sulak stepped in close, slapped his opponent's guard down and threw a simple jab that carried irresistable impact. The Ulgoran tumbled back to the ground, fought to get up on one knee, snarling in fury. His helmet had been shattered into a shapeless mess and he tugged it off to toss it aside.

The Ulgoran had pale sandy hair, light blue eyes that were burning with anger, and two curious bumps on his temples as if twin round objects were buried just under the skin. Even those of the five Tel Shai knights who had never seen him before instantly recognized the notorious berserker of the Midnight War.

"Atron!"

"Aye," growled the Ulgoran. "Atron Ke the Destroyer, Warlord of New Ulgor. It would seem you have bested these sorry excuses sent with me."

"Only them?" scoffed Sulak. "Have I not laid you low as well, Destroyer?"

"Not so easily. I am born to combat, a child of the Sulla Chun. I do not doubt that in time I can wear your brute strength down through superior skill. But Demrak Sum orders otherwise, and if I must use unmanly tricks as he orders, well I must."

"Orders? I thought you were a proud man, Atron." Sulak shook his head sadly. "Have you sold your arm for mere gold, then?"

"Nay! Never. But I am not here to justify my actions to a butcher like yourself." Atron acted with lightning speed, tugging a chamois pounch from his belt and flinging its contents at Sulak. Glittering golden dust swirled around the big Melgar in a haze. Shockingly, Sulak dropped to his knees, choking, visibly suffering. He could not rise. "Cyrinkyl.. but how?" he wheezed.

Atron Ke did not answer but he must have known what the Melgar was wondering. Cyrinkyl, the star-snow, was a vitality-sapping substance which did not lasting harm. It was the closest thing to a humane weapon possible. It was crafted only by two Races: the immortal Eldarin and their more aggressive offshoot, the Melgarin. That Atron should possess cyrinkyl could mean.. a Melgar traitor?

As Sulak fell, his four teammate surrounded Atron Ke and moved in. He grinned wickedly, curled his hands into fists and waited for the first to make a move. But a quiet, confident voice interrupted with, "Stand down, team. Step back away from him."

As the four KDF members obeyed that voice, the Ulgoran chieftain blinked. "Of course. Dire Wolf, I should have known you would be here."

Standing by the stealth copter was a gaunt man all in black, with short dark hair and cold grey eyes under feral brows. As the KDF members backed up, Bane drew and fired his airgun four times but the soft cough of the propulsion was drowned out by sharp detonations against Atron's head. Four small explosions blasted against him in less than a second, spinning him around and flinging him onto his stomach. Holstering his gun, the Dire Wolf strode closer and slapped two pairs of handcuffs on his prisoner, binding his wrists and ankles together.

"Nice timing, captain," said Weaver with relief. "Are those bracelets gonna hold him?"

"They are not regulation cuffs," answered Bane. "They're designed for Melgarin." He examined the stunned Gelydra. "Atron again. Talk about a bad penny. Ming, Jessica... I want you to brush off the cyrinkyl from Sulak so he recovers faster. Steve, go into the facility and get the brig ready. Ethan, stand by for when these soldiers revive. Those two over there are stirring."

Kneeling in front of the cuffed Ulgoran, Bane said, "Well, Atron. Here we are again. What's the deal? Why did you attack my team?"

"It is war!" growled the Warlord. "Not against you Tel Shai dancers but against Androval. My orders were to bring Sulak back to stand trial for his crimes against my people."

"Well, you can't have him. He's our boy now."

"You know a little of our history, Dire Wolf." Atron tried to get up, pulling against the cuffs until his wrists bled. "Who was it that struck the first blow. Was it Ulgor? No. We were subjugated for twelve long years by the Melgarin. I was only a child but I remember the humiliation and the starvation. Demrak Sum is right. Androval must be sacked and its people punished before our own realm can live in honor."

Bane shook his head sadly, "War because of war. It could go on forever." He straightened as he saw Stephen Weaver returning. "Help me get this guy into the holding cell, Steve. We have some hard choices ahead."

( the rest of the story )

"The Terror of Li Tung"

2/14/1980

I.

The doorbell rang in a single unbroken note, as if whoever was outside dared not let it stop. It was one-thirty on a dark cloudy night with a wind chill in the single digits, and the old ten-story building had been dark except for a single light on the second floor. In a few seconds, lights blazed on in the windows of the first floor and a gaunt young man dressed all in black opened the door to the street. "Okay already," he snapped. "What's the problem?"

"Let me in, hurry, hurry please." The visitor was a beefy man in shabby clothes, unshaven and not smelling too fresh. He tried shoving past the young man, who turned sideways to let him into the tiny foyer. It was just big enough for the two of them to stand without brushing against each other, all it held was a bench and a shelf with a lamp on it. On the wall was an oil portrait of a gnomish elderly man tagged KENNETH DRED 1900-1979.

"You better calm down," suggested the man in black with just a trace of menace in his voice. "Give me your name and why you're here, right now."

"Metzger! Phil Metzger. I need to see Kenneth Dred. Hurry, please."

The young man glared with cold grey eyes at the frantic visitor. "You're a little late, pal." He pointed at the portrait behind him. "Mr Dred passed away last year. My name is Jeremy Bane, I'm carrying on his work."

"Oh my God, no. What am I gonna do? Listen, I met Dred a few years ago when I got mixed up with Red Sect. He helped me escape them. He told me to come here if I ever needed help again." Metzger's eyes swung wildly around the tiny room. The door to 38th Street still stood wide open. "You're Dire wolf, aren't you? I've heard of you."

Bane jabbed a finger into Metzger's chest. "Get a grip. Tell you what. Step inside and you can tell me what you're so afraid of."

"There's no time. Li Tung knows I'm running. I thought he was a fraud but he's real... I've seen too much. I've seen the monster he keeps. Someone has to stop him!"

Those were Metzger's last words. Jeremy Bane instinctively swung aside, flattening against the wall as his instincts for danger flared up. A blinding flash of lurid red light tore right through Metzger's chest with a stink of burning meat. He didn't even have time to scream before Bane was catching his corpse. With a low curse, the Dire Wolf dropped the body and dove out through the open door into the empty street. He was just a second too late, the red tailights of a black Pontiac were swinging around the corner to Lexington Avenue. Fast as he was, he couldn't catch it on foot and all he had on him was the anesthetic dart gun which was no use against a vehicle.

For one second, his eyes swept the buildings on the opposite side of the street, but he couldn't spot a clue that anyone would have seen what happened. The few lit windows in apartments above ground level stores were closed and curtained against the winter. Instantly, he swung back inside and closed the door. The Trom-built locks and alarms went on automatically with low clicks. He stared down at the body at his feet with a calmness that was remarkable under the circumstances but then, he had become used to sudden unexplainable violence in his life.

At the moment, he was alone in the headquarters building. His teammates were all scattered on their own business, even Cindy was at Tel Shai training for a few days. Taking a pair of thin latex gloves from a pocket of his black sport jacket, he knelt down and searched the body as Hawk had been teaching him how to do. Metzger was wearing work shoes, jeans and a red flannel shirt, all almost worn out. Whoever Li Tung was, he didn't seem to pay his stooges well. The pockets held three keys on a ring, none of them for a car. There was an ancient wallet which did hold a driver's license though, as well as a few assorted ticket stubs and so forth. There was forty dollars and some change, a folding knife and a clean red handkerchief. Bane put all these items on a shelf just inside the inner door, then picked up the body under the arms and dragged it inside.

The Dire Wolf closed the inner door and hauled what remained of Phil Metzger into the emergency room to his left. This held two adjustable hospital beds and he placed the corpse on one of them, got a sheet from a closet and covered it up. He had no intention of reporting the death. It was far from the first felony he had committed this way. The Dire Wolf had decided to dispose of the corpse through a Gateway crystal, sending it hundreds of miles out into the Atlantic. Several hitmen who had been sent after him had disappeared this way, leaving no evidence and soon their bosses had stopped trying.

As he covered the body, Bane felt a slight twinge. If he had let Metzger into the hall and closed the door, the man would still be alive. Under the floor was the powerful talisman Yellow Shield which would have blocked that gralic bolt. Well, too late now. If this guy had hired out to a warlock after having previously gotten in trouble working for Red Sect, he had been no choir boy. Bane remembered everything that Atron Ke had told him about Li Tung when they had met a year earlier. The warlock was a Gelydra and a worshipper of Grelok, so he would be as near the ocean as possible. Using one of the Eldar arrows that pointed toward gralic force, Bane thought he should be able to track down Li Tung almost at once, especially if he headed down toward the Battery to start. Right now was a good time for that start.

Turning off the light in the emergency ward, the Dire Wolf trotted quickly up the stairs toward the second floor but before he reached the landing, an oppressive sensation of impending danger hit him with almost physical intensity. His Midnight War experiences had sharpened all his instincts. Bane stopped in mid-step and swung around to see a roiling ball of red light churn in the air almost within reach.

He folded his arms in front of him, hands near the hilts of the silver daggers sheathed under his sleeves. This was something new. A grotesque face took shape within that red cloud, unstable and wavering as if seen through turbulent water, growing clearer and suddenly seeming able to see him. It was the grotesque face of one of the Ulgorans with marked piscine qualities. The bulging dark eyes, two thin mustaches hanging from the corners of a wide lipless mouth, the smooth rubbery skin.. all marked the man as an inhabitant of sunken Ulgor.

Bane had never seen the face before but there was no doubt. "So. Li Tung, eh? You've got your nerve."

"Surface man!" hissed a voice across a great distance. "You have much to answer for."

"Yeah? You blasted a hole through a guy right inside my front door and you tell me I did wrong? We're going to meet face to face, buddy, and I promise you that you won't like it." Bane stood his ground as the unsteady red cloud drifted closer.

Li Tung did not speak for a long moment. Evidently he was used to people being terrified by this image of his face appearing in mid-air and Bane's steady defiance surprised him. The Ulgoran sorcerer continued, "You will tell me now what that fool said to you!"

"I will tell you now to drop dead," Bane answered. He suddenly whipped out a dagger from its sheath and slashed it right through the red aura. Those daggers had their silver blades ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin and they were potent. The boiling cloud dispersed with a sharp popping noise like a bubble bursting. Bane watched the space where it had been suspiciously before sliding the dagger back under his sleeve. "And don't come back," he snapped at the empty air.

II.

In a damp chamber deep underground, Li Tung cried out and reeled back a step. He pawed at his face and was reassured he had not actually been harmed. When those ensalir daggers had pierced his gralic projection, it had felt as if his real face had been slashed. Getting his bearings, drawing his long heavy cloak about his corpulent body, the Geldydra hissed angrily and turned to face his three Human hirelings. They shrank back in unconcealed dread.

It was disconcerting to see big powerful men, with thick necks and muscular arms, step back fearfully before the stare of a single strange being. Any one of them looked as if he would be able to break the sorcerer without trouble, but they all fell back against the wall as if he were aiming a deadly weapon at them. The chamber they were in had rough stone walls decorated with abstract murals painted in shades of blue and green. In one wall was set a massive steel plate ten feet to a side, and against the wall facing it was a carved stone throne draped with some rubbery fabric. The high back of that throne curved forward in a shape resembling a shark snout, even the eyes reresented by black gems. The sorcerer stood in front of that throne, trembling with murderous rage.

"The fool Metzger has gone to join his ancestors," Li Tung announced in a voice that had slight sibilance to it. "But he has spoken to a surface man. Now that air-breather must die as well. My presence here above the waves must remain secret until I am ready to strike. Madigan! You are a member of this city's criminal underworld. It is you who will slay this Jeremy Bane."

"Bane....?" gasped Madigan. He was massive enough to be a professional wrestler, and his flattened features suggested he had taken a few beatings in his life. "You mean, the Dire Wolf? Kill him? Hell."

"Yes." Li Tung held up clawlike hands and a vague red shimmer played around them. "Do not tell me you fear him more than you do me!"

"No, boss, of course not." Madigan stood up straighter, tugged his jacket down and squared his shoulders. "You want him dead, he's on the way to the morgue."

The warlock smiled, his face more fishlike than ever. "It is well you have answered thus. Your rewards have been substantial so far, have they not? You have been given more wealth since serving me than you have ever seen before." Li Tung lowered his hands and the gralic force faded. "Make your plans. Purchase whatever weapons you need, hire more men if necessary, but I want to see the head of this Dire Wolf on the floor before me."

From nearby, a deep rumbling growl sounded through the thick walls. Again, the hired thugs flinched involuntarily and Li Tung smirked as he saw this. "Do not fear the Malak," he reassured him. "He will be well fed on normal meat from now on. Go now. I command you to slay Jeremy Bane."

"You can try," came a mocking voice from behind him.

III.

Everyone jumped as if stung by scorpions. In the doorway to that chamber stood a thin figure all in black, watching them with grey eyes that missed nothing. The three hired goons snatched for shoulder holsters or waistbands but, although they were tough hardened killers, their reflexes were hopelessly inadequate against what they faced. Bane drew and fired three times so quickly it sounded like one explosion, his long-barreled Smith & Wesson booming unbearably loud in the enclosed space. The thugs twitched and fell in different directions, one of them staying alive just long enough to break his fall with his hands before sagging down to the moist floor. The echoes of those three shots slammed back and forth from wall to wall.

The Dire Wolf swung his pistol over to cover Li Tung, holding his arm out full length. The sorcerer glanced back and forth from the intruder to the three dead men, then deliberately strode over to the throne set against the far wall and lowered himself with as much dignity as he could summon. He concealed his taloned hands in the loose sleeves of his robe and met Bane's glare without unease.

"You will want to know why I am here in your surface world," said the warlock with a smirk. "Surely you will not slay me before you learn that?"

"Don't be too sure," Bane answered, but he did gently lower the hammer on the pistol and brought his arm down. "It might be safer to just plug you now."

"I must know, how did you locate me? And so quickly?"

"Why should I give away my tricks? Look, Li Tung. Your life is hanging by a thread right now. I suggest it's in your best interests to start telling me things." The Dire Wolf stepped closer, moving past the still-warm body of the man who had been called Madigan. "Every time a Gelydra shows himself on the surface, there's a lot of dead people. Maybe we can prevent that. Maybe you yourself can survive this night."

Li Tung made a wheezing sound that was his Race's type of laughter. "Oh, the confidence of youth! Little air-breather, you have more to learn than I have patience to teach. But let me give a slight lesson. Do you know this throne room is under sea level? That this wall right there has tons of water beyond it?"

"Yeah, so does the Lincoln Tunnel. So what?"

"And that steel panel suggests nothing to you?" As he said that, Li Tung saw Bane's eyes flicker almost involuntarily toward the huge metal plate set in the far wall and the sorcerer yanked a chain that hung by his throne. The plate crashed down inward on hidden hinges and a solid wall of freezing sea water thundered into that chamber like a living thing. It swept furiously to fling Bane off his feet and throw him head over heels. Even as he realized what had happened, the Dire Wolf was tugged a thin clear membrane from its slit inside the lapel of his jacket. The membrane had tabs which hooked over his ears to cover his nose and mouth.

With an effort of will because it was not a natural thing to do underwater, Bane took a breath. The Trom-crafted membrane separated oxygen from water by its one molecule-thick permeability. The Dire Wolf got his footing as the chamber had been known filled completely with icy water. He could survive with the membrane, but it was meant for emergencies and he was not drawing in as much to breathe as he would in open air. He always felt out of breath when using the Trom membranes. Stroking with his arms, he faced the Gelydra warlock and realized he had dropped his gun during the deluge.

Li Tung breathed in through his lipless mouth and as he exhaled, gills slits opened on either side of his throat. It was the final touch to demonstrate just how inhuman he was. He had not stirred as the room had been flooded. "Interesting. I thought you would be floating dead by now, but you seem to have some clever surface gadget. Hah! Well, I have a few surprises of my own yet."

"Time to finish this," Bane answered, his voice distorted by the water. He lunged toward the sorcerer but swung around barely in time to evade a huge dark shape that had flashed toward him and which his peripheral vision barely caught. The clash of fanged jaws snapping shut was right in his ear. The Dire Wolf pushed up off the stone floor as strongly as he could and just escaped being swiped by a dark leathery arm as thick as his body.

It was a Malak! He had never seen one but he had read of them in Kenneth Dred's notes. Created by the Darthim to guard the island of Maroch, they were unnatural hybrids. Its ten foot long body was like that of a tiger shark but with humanlike arms and legs ending in clawed digits. The Malak's head had a noticeable forehead and vicious intelligence in the glassy eyes. The beast swept up toward Bane, its gaping mouth opening wide enough to take him in whole in another second. Fighting the water resistance, the Dire Wolf twisted sideways. He heard Li Tung laugh gleefully. Bane swirled upwards toward the ceiling, drawing his daggers and as the Malak lunged, its snout was sliced deeply by a silver blade. Black blood spread in the water.

The sharkbeast pawed at its injured nose and plunged forward again, but Bane evaded that charge and the silver blades slid along the monster's flank, slitting the skin for a good nine inches. That hide was so abrasive that just brushing against it tore Bane's skin. With a roar, the Malak spun and its tail crashed against Bane harder than a sledge hammer. The Dire Wolf spun backwards, losing control and dropping one of his knives. The flexible Trom-foil armor he wore under his clothes was good but not perfect and some of that impact got though. It was hard enough to breathe through the membrane and now his ribs ached and he was not drawing a full breath at all. Bane shifted his grip on his remaining dagger as the Malak touched its wounded side. The small piglike eyes fastened on him with murderous intent.

In that instant, a new form hurtled through the opening to the ocean and slammed headlong into the injured brute. The newcomer was a man in a grey hide outfit, wielding a three-foot knive with a bone blade honed sharper than steel. He drove that weapon deep into the Malak's chest cavity, twisted it and tugged it down to cut the beast's torso open so internal organs spilled out into the water. All this happened in less than a second. The newcomer kicked away from the dying brute and stared up at the stunned Dire Wolf.

Atron Ke had sandy blond hair over a bony angular face and cloudy blue eyes. He wore his usual tunic and leggings of grey rough sharkhide, and the bone-bladed machete now had strings of dark blood and gore clinging to it. As he saw Bane, Atron chuckled. The two short fleshy horns at his temples gave him a demonic aspect.

"Ah, you have not forgotten me, Dire Wolf! Did you think you would be glad to meet the Destroyer again?"

Bane caught his breath, sheathed his dagger and managed a smile. "Yeah, you picked a good time to make a dramatic entrance." He hesitated, but added, "Thanks, Atron. I had my hands full."

"And where is Li Tung?" demanded the Destroyer. They both glared about the submerged room but only the dead were there with them... the Malak and the three thugs. "Ever the coward. When he saw me arrive, the warlock fled. He has no stomach for battle. Bah, what a weakling."

Retrieving his other dagger, Bane sheathed it carefully. Those blades had been a gift to him from Kenneth Dred when they had first met and he would do whatever was necessary to hold onto them. "You came here looking for Li Tung? What was he up? What was his scheme this time?"

"Take time to let your breath return," the Gelydra warrior told him. "This water is too cold for your Human body, Dire Wolf. Come. Let us get up in the air." Bane swam toward the door through which he had entered that chamber and they moved up steep stone steps. As the two of them emerged to a corridor above sea level, they broke surface and were standing on a dry floor. Bane yanked off the oxygen membrane and took some deep breaths. That device kept him alive under water but it was nowhere near as good as natural air.

Watching him, Atron had rinsed off his weapon and now he placed it in the carved walrus tusk scabbard across his back. "Long have I pursued Li Tung," he somberly said. "Never will I forgive him for his attempts to enthrall me... as happened on the night we fought, you and I. Well, he may have postponed my cutting his head off for the moment but I will catch him yet. Back to my world beneath the waves I go! Fare thee well, Jeremy."

"Wait. Atron, wait. I need to know what Li Tung was planning. In case he comes back, so I can keep an eye on him." Bane was dripping and shivering but his voice kept its usual authority.

The Gelydra shrugged. "I know he was meeting a Human named Lee Hutchins. An Alchemist. What he intended to do with this Alchemist, I cannot say. But you would be wise to locate Lee Hutchins and keep a wary eye on him."

"I'll do that. Thanks again, Atron. Maybe I can repay you someday."

The ferocious Destroyer grinned and raised an admonishing forefinger. "I do not doubt it. We shall meet again, perhaps as allies, perhaps not. The Midnight War rages and both our lives are far from over." With that, Atron dove headlong down into the cold dark waters which covered the steps leading into the flooded chamber. Bane stood there thoughtfully watching the ripples lessen, then his pragmatic matter-of-fact mind took over and he decided that the moment his main concern was getting into dry clothes in a warm room. Then he realized he never did find out what Li Tung's scheme had been.

1/24/1972- Rev 6/15/2014

"Cold Dark Waters"

3/11-/14/1981

I.

He came up out of the ocean, lurching from the surface into the moonlight and stumbling onto the shore. Two unsteady steps he took, before dropping to his knees and sagging to lie face down onto the cold sand. He was a tall man, slim but fit, dressed in a tight suit of a rough grey material that covered him from collar to foot. The man tried to rise again, but failed and lay panting before passing out completely. Across his back was a flat sheath of carved ivory which held a long stabbing knife of sharpened bone. The man's short bristly hair looked white under the moon. As he sprawled unmoving on the beach, two short fleshy horns could be seen on at his temples, giving him a demonic aspect.

It was just after midnight when a white Mercury Marquis slowed on the beach road and pulled over. The driver got out, peering down at the prone figure before getting a flashlight from the trunk and making his way down to get a better look. Jim Schoeber was sixty-one and overweight, and it took him a few minutes to get to the downed man. The bizarre outfit and weapons, the fleshy horns on the man's head, all fascinated him. The skintight suit had small triangular scales that meant it was made of sharkhide. The stranger groaned and stirred. Schoeber took a pulse and found it strong and steady. He rushed back up to his car and went along the beach road to where a phone booth stood near the exit to the highway. Schoeber called the number of a building on East 38th Street.


Legally, he should have called the police or at least an ambulance. But Schoeber was one of a hundred people in the New York area who owed a debt and who paid it back by reporting anything weird or inexplicable. Two years earlier, his daughter had been abducted by a maniac named Samhain. While the police did their best, it had been a man named Jeremy Bane who had located Samhain, pushed the psychotic killer off a roof and brought Schoeber's daughter back home. Bane had refused a reward. All he wanted was for Schoeber to let him know if he ever spotted anything supernatural or occult. Now was his chance to repay Bane.


After speaking into the phone for a few minutes, Jim Schoeber got back in his car and made a U-turn to head back to where he had spotted the strange man. Just retired after thirty years on the job, Schoeber was enjoying staying out late and not having to get up at five-thirty every morning, which is why he had been driving around aimlessly by Long Island Sound. Parking the big Mercury in the same spot, getting the flashlight out again, he trudged down toward where the man in the sharkhide outfit was still lying. The light from a street lamp just reached the man.

Schoeber paused as a powerful wind sprang up and whipped the freezing winter air in his face. A huge dark shape passed overhead in complete silence. His heart skipped a beat and he gaped as he saw a black helicopter with no lights or identifying logos descend and settle on the beach not twenty yards away from him. The four rotors slowed and stopped. Schoeber stared in fascination as the hatches opened with a hiss of pressurized air being released and two men emerged.

One saw him and waved for Schoeber to join them. Heart pounding with excitement, the retired machinist made his way down the beach and recognized the famous Michael Hawk from his pictures in the newspapers. The wide weathered face with the drooping mustache, the shaggy brown hair heavily sprinkled with grey... it was a familiar face to the public. Hawk had captured enough serial killers and kidnappers and escaped convicts over the decades of his career as a manhunter. He was wearing a brown coat with a fur-lined collar and a Stetson, but he would have looked like a cowboy in any clothing.

Emerging with Hawk was a slightly taller man, with short black hair and an expressionless face. This one was wearing a black jumpsuit fitted with many pouches and pockets. He knelt by the prone figure and seemed to be examining him as a paramedic would.

As they drew near, Hawk addressed him in a Montana accent. "Jim Schoeber, right? I spoke to you a few minutes ago?"

"Yes, sir. I don't know if you know who I am. I owe Jeremy Bane my daughter's life."

"I heard about that. Samhain. Bane asked you to report anything bizarre you saw instead of paying him a reward, right?" Hawk snorted in amusement. "It's a good idea. You've done something important tonight by bringing this man to our attention. Come on over."


They approached where the other man was trying to revive the stranger from the ocean. Hawk said, "What's the lowdown, Len?"

Leonard Slade did not look up. He was taking readings on a small electronic device. "He is alive and will recover shortly. Exhaustion is the main problem." The man glanced up to turn probing dark eyes at them. "Jim Schoeber. Thank you for calling us. Jeremy will be pleased with you."

"Who is this guy?" the retired machinist blurted. "What's he doing on the beach in the middle of night in early March? It's freezing out here."



Hawk answered slowly. "You might call this fellow an illegal alien. He has no business coming up on our shores. We're going to turn him over to his own people." The manhunter gestured for Schoeber to go back up to his car. "I'd suggest you go home and not mention this to anyone. Bane will visit you in a day or two and explain as much as he can."



Leonard Slade had opened the back hatch of the helicopter and carried the limp man over to it as if lifting a bundle of empty clothing. He strapped the unconscious stranger in the back, sealed the hatch and then went around to the pilot seat. The overhead rotors began to slowly turn. As Schoeber reluctantly backed away, Michael Hawk went to get in the co-pilot seat. "Thanks again!" he called. "You did the right thing."



The CORBY lifted straight up, but there was little backwash. Somehow the craft seemed to be moving faster and more smoothly than it should have. In a second, the black helicopter was lost in the overcast winter night. It swung around, heading northwest and skimmed silently high overhead.



Within the CORBY, the only illumination came from the subdued blue and red lights on the instrument panel. Strapped in the co-pilot seat, Michael Hawk checked all the status dials and gauges. Everything seemed fine. "So, Len. What's the story on our guest back there?"



"I identified him at once," the Trom Monitor said in his usual even tones. "Atron Ke, the Gelydra. His detailed description is in our files from when Jeremy fought him twice before."



Hawk scoffed. "Those Gelydrim. I never really believed they were real. Men who lived at the bottom of the ocean.. it just seems impossible."



"They are a variant of Human, modified by Darthan sorcery ages ago. I am gratified to have an opportunity to examine one. Atron is a male mammal, with some cartilage substitute where bone would be in a Human. He has functional lungs as well as gill slits on the sides of the throat, and I believe he can switch back and forth as needed. My projection is that he is much stronger than a typical Human, more resistant to extremes. I want to run some tests on his eyes and his cardiac systems."



"Fine with me," Hawk said. He glanced behind him where the Gelydra slumped on the back bench. "What the heck are those things on his head? They look like horns."



"Sensory organs. They emit sonic pulses which echo back for Atron to interpret. I interpet their function as used in dark or murky waters."



"Like dolphins and whales, hey?" Hawk said. "Sounds logical. He's a right interesting fella."



"Coming in on headquarters," Slade told him. "I am going to decelerate sharply."



Hawk was already strapped in but he held onto the curved bar of the hatch to steady himself. The CORBY came to a sudden stop and dropped straight down so abruptly it seemed to be falling but it landed lightly inside a hangar. In those few seconds, the copter had sped over midtown Manhattan, cut its speed to zero and descended neatly through the opening in the roof of the ten story building on 38th Street. As soon as the landing gear touched down on pressure plates in the floor, the huge overhead panel slid shut again to cut off the night sky.



They were in a high-ceiling, brightly-lit chamber. The walls were lined with metal cabinets and workbenches and supplies. One corner held a table with a few folding chairs but most of the floor space was kept open. As the CORBY settled and the rotors stopped, a man in black stepped through the door into the hangar.



At only twenty-five, Jeremy Bane carried himself with an intensity that gave him the authority of a much older man. Six feet tall and gaunt, he was wearing his usual black outfit of slacks, long-sleeved turtleneck and sport jacket. The pale grey eyes were alert. He stepped forward as the hatches of the CORBY hissed open. "What have you got for us?" he asked.



Stepping out, Slade replied casually, "Atron."



"Really!" Bane said. "I wasn't expecting to meet him again. Atron the Destroyer. Is he okay?"



The Trom reached into the back compartment and picked the heavy Gelydra up in his arms as if it was no effort. "I observe over-exertion with no permanent damage but a full exam is indicated." With that, Slade carried his burden through the open doorway to where the elevator was located.



Bane turned to where Michael Hawk was just climbing out of the copter. "So, that WAS Jim Schoeber who phoned us? I thought so."



The manhunter unzipped his jacket and draped it over one of the folding chairs, with his Stetson on top of it. "Yep. One of your army of observers came through."



The Dire Wolf gave the faintest of smiles. People had to know him a long time to realize he was not completely deadpan. "The elevator is coming back up. Let's join Len in the medical ward and see what he comes up with." They stepped through the door leaving the hangar and had to go down a flight of stairs to reach the elevator. The hangar had originally been the roof of the building until Bane had ordered it enclosed. Descending to the ground floor, the two KDF members walked down the front hall. Ahead of them was the small foyer, to their right was the reception room. To their left, the door was open and light spilled out into the hall.



II.



This emergency ward held two regulation hospital beds, able to be raised or lowered or tilted as necessary. The lights were very bright, and the air cool and dry. Every inch of the walls was taken up with gleaming electronic equipment designed by Slade himself. It took a few minutes of study to identify the purpose of some of the devices. A sink with a paper towel dispenser was the only apparatus instantly recognizable. Just inside the door were mounted boxes of latex gloves and cotton face masks, but they did not need them in this case.



Slade had Atron stretched out on one of the beds, and was unfastening the hide cords which held the sharkhide outfit on. Under the glare, it could be seen more clearly the Geldyra's stiff bristly hair and bony face were not quite Human. "He is breathing normally," the Trom said.



Stepping up, the Dire Wolf attached a clear bag of saline solution to a hanger and stuck a needle in the back of Atron's hand to attach it. "I'm starting an IV. He's amphibious, so he gets dehydrated faster than we do." Satisfied with that, Bane swung a vitals monitor over to stand by Atron's head. "We don't need to attach leads with him this close," he said. "Let me calibrate. There we go."



Watching from a few feet back, Michael Hawk slid the bone knife from its ivory scabbard. The edge was sharp enough to shave with he decided, a two foot length that came to an angled point. The grip was wrapped with sharkhide as well. The Manhunter placed the weapon out in the hall on a bench, out of reach just in case. Atron wore a cuff of carved walrus ivory on his left forearm but Hawk left that.



"Readings are up," Bane said. "Let's see. 129 beats per minute, blood pressure 160 over 123, temperature inside mouth 83 degrees."



"All normal for one of his Race," Slade observed.



"I guess. I'd hate to have readings like that." Bane picked up one of the restraint cuffs that hung down over the side of the bed. "No. I don't think strapping him down is a good idea, do you?"



"We would just have to replace the straps after he broke free," the Trom observed humourlessly. "I think we have some time before he regains consciousness. Thirty to forty minutes."



The Dire Wolf headed for the door. "All right. Let's assemble over in the reception room where we can hear if he starts acting up." Bane walked across the wide front hall and opened the door to a room where visitors were shown. Against the right hand wall was an oak desk, sitting under a huge hand-painted world map from 1937. The wall facing them as they entered had two curtained windows, and a long leather couch, with a low coffee table scattered with newspapers. Against the far wall were waist-high shelves containing reference books, and on top of that case was an illuminated fish tank.



Six comfortable leatherbound chairs were scattered about. Bane pulled one over by the couch and seated himself. He used the desk for his detective agency but didn't sit behind it for KDF meetings because he felt it would mean treating his teammates as clients. Michael Hawk went over and started a coffee pot, while Slade lowered himself to the couch. A second later, a little blonde woman hustled through the doorway.



Cindy Brunner was just over five feet tall and just over one hundred pounds, a slim young woman with dark blonde hair pulled back in a thick ponytail. She was wearing snug white jeans and a red corded sweater she was still adjusting as she hurried over to take a seat. Cindy had been asleep when the call from Jim Schoeber had come in, while Bane had been still up and reading in the conference room. It was the activity of the various minds that had stirred her to wake. Her telepathy picked up on her teammates' thoughts as if overhearing snatches of conversation. "So! Atron again, eh?"



Bane said, "Yep. Talk about trouble. Everytime he shows up, it means bad news. Mike, I don't know if you've read all our files yet. One of my earliest cases for Mr Dred was acting as bodyguard when Atron came to the surface world. Mr Dred tried to interview him for a book he was researching, but Atron went berserk and beat the tar out of me before he was persuaded to leave."



"What?" said Hawk. "Atron beat you up? I wouldn't have thought anyone could do that. Not easily, anyway."



"Oh that. I was young and had no training. I hadn't even started Kumundu then. Today would be a different story. Anyway, last year just around this time, I was fighting an Ulgoran warlock named Li Tung. He got me in a tank filled with water and released a Malak. You haven't met them, they're basically a tiger shark with arms and legs." Bane leaned back and frowned. "I was keeping the damn thing back with my daggers but I admit it was going to be tricky to kill something like that. Atron burst in. He had been tracking Li Tung on his own, they had a vendetta going on. Between us, we killed the Malak and got out. Li Tung had escaped in the meantime and Atron said he would come back some day to resolve our mutual debt. Maybe that's why he's here."



Cindy glanced at the doorway. "Brainwave surge," she said. "He's waking up."



As the KDF members watched, the tall thin form of Atron Ke appeared in that doorway, fastening the thongs to close his outfit. He carried the sheathed horn knife in one hand. The Ulgoran still had the needle taped to the back of his wrist but he had unhooked the IV. "Greetings!" he called out in a bizarre accent that sounded vaguely Hungarian. "I see you have brought me here and treated me well, and for that I thank you."



The Dire Wolf came over to offer a hand and led the Gelydra to a spot on the couch. "You look better than you did a few minutes ago. Your Race bounces back fast."



Atron turned his pale blue eyes on Bane. Their expression was hard to read at best. "It is not easy for me to come here seeking help, Dire Wolf. Proud I am, too proud for my own best interests perhaps."



"You can talk freely here," Bane said. "Just tell us what the situation is."



"Perhaps some of you do not know of Ulgor, 'the Mountain Under the Sea,' which is my home. At the end of the Darthan Age, Jordyn sundered the world and splintered off the adjacent realms, each behind its own barrier. Ulgor is one of those realms. We were placed deep beneath the ocean of our realm, with our City transported there bodily. The Darthim had changed us from so-called 'normal' Humans. We have gills as well as lungs, we are adapted to crushing water pressure and cold depths. Each of us is born at the same time a shark hatches, we have the spirit of the shark within us."



Cindy moved her chair a little closer, skimming the surface of Atron's mind without probing deep enough to get his attention. He glanced over at her movement and she smiled sweetly.



"For ages, little changed. Time seems to move more slowly in the adjacent realms than here. Have you noticed that? We had our civil strife and our battles with the creatures of the deep. Two hundred years ago, a Sulla Chun stirred beneath our City, we had not known such a horror was buried there. A generation of monsters and madmen ran amok, but in time they died out and calm returned. Then there was the invasion from Androval and the occupation for a decade. The Melgarin will pay for that yet. During that occupation, I was born as the Sulla Chun convulsed beneath the city. Its fell energy swept through me even as my father lifted me overhead to proclaim my name. Both my parents died at that moment, but I survived and thrived. Perhaps it was that exposure which made me stronger and hardier than other Gelydrim! Certainly I suspect it was the exposure which tainted me with fits." Those opaque blue eyes glowered. "For know that all my life I have been prone to attacks of berserker rage..."



Not unkindly, Michael Hawk asked, "What brings you here now, though?"



Atron's head snapped up. "Quickly then. Let me explain. Some four hundred of my folk broke off from our city. They were tired of the oppressive rule of Gimkul San. The heavy taxes, the constant labor at monuments to vanity, the public lashings. Our group went a day's swim away and established a fresh start. New Ulgor! With herding of fish and cultivation of edible seaweed and time for crafts and art. I went with them. I was weary of the duels and feuds which took so much of my time. I abdicated the rank of Warlord and was happy to be just Citizen. But Li Tung would not have it so."

"Li Tung being the warlock we fought together," said Bane. "What about him?"



"He has gathered an army of subhuman creatures. Shapeless blobs within suits of false-flesh. The Other-Men. Somehow he is breeding them faster than they can be slain. With Demrak Sum as their general, the Other-Men are wearing down our defenses. And our leader, Geruw Cas, has been captured by them. Courage is not enough, skill at arms is not enough to triumph. I knew I must go to those who know many forbidden secrets of the Midnight War, and hope that you might aid us."



Jeremy Bane stood up and came to stand next to the distraught Gelydra. "So this is not a civil war, your people fighting among themselves? This is a sorceror attempting to conquer a colony to which he has no right."



"Yes! That is exactly right! And I have tarried here too long!" Atron leaped up with such tigerish quickness that everyone gave a start. "I must return, now, this very moment!"



The Dire Wolf laid a restraining hand on Atron's arm, disregarding the outraged glare. "Hey. Take a second. We can bring you home in our CORBY much faster than you possibly swim, right? Right?"



"Yes," Atron admitted. "That is just good sense. But we must leave now."



"One thing first. We fought these Other-Men ourselves, here on land. They're golems of false-flesh. The only alchemist I know who can craft them was named Lee Hutchins. I suspect he's supplying these monsters to Li Tung in exchange for something. You following? You will return to New Ulgor, Len there will pilot the CORBY. But some of us here will track down Lee Hutchins and stop his little game."



"... and by doing so, halt the flow of Other-Men attacking my colony. Yes! Very good! You are no fool, Dire Wolf."



"I like to think so." Bane faced his team. "Steve is on his way. He was up in Westchester. I think logically Len and Steve should be the team to accompany Atron home. You both can fly, which underwater will translate into swimming faster than the enemy. Mike, Cindy and I will remain up here to locate Lee Hutchins and stop his golem factory. That guy! He's always trouble."



"Where's Khang? Or Larry?" asked Cindy.



"Your guess is as good as mine. The last I heard, Larry was out west. They haven't answered the Blue Alert, and I don't think a full Red Alert is called for. Ted is on overnight duty at Temper Memorial Hospital. If they turn up, they can pitch in, of course." He turned to Atron. "I remember you ate regular Human food without trouble. You came a long way here without stopping, so maybe you'd want to get some food and drink inside you before we get going."



"The kitchen's at the end of the hall," Cindy told him. "Come on, I'll show you. We've got lots of macaroni salad with chicken I made myself..."



The Dire Wolf turned to find Hawk shaking his head with a grin. "That gal..."



"She knows how to calm down even someone like him," Bane agreed. "I'm going to get in the field suit. As soon as Steve arrives, we can launch." The Dire Wolf spun and trotted up two flights of stairs to his private room on the third floor.



III.



Ten minutes later, Black Angel came down lightly on the roof. With his artificial wings spread, he lowered his legs and alighted easily without a stumble. The streamlined black jumpsuit with red trim had been designed by the USAF and it was not clear how Weaver had managed to retain use of it after his discharge. He never explained the circumstances. As he straightened up, the wings folded flat to his back with a faint hum of the tiny motors mounted between his shoulders.



As he approached one corner of the roof, a metal panel slid back to reveal an opening with a set of concrete stairs leading down a short well to a door. Weaver moved down these steps, through the door and into the hangar where the CORBY sat. He always caught his breath at the sight. He had been a helicopter pilot for nine years and the sight of the advanced Trom jetcopter still fascinated him. He had worked with Leonard Slade on a few of the modifications but he freely admitted most of what made the CORBY work was beyond him.



Steven Weaver unlocked his fibreglass helmet with the long rearward crest and tucked it under one arm. He was a lanky American black man with a thick mustache and a face that seemed friendly and accessible until you caught the thoughtfulness in the deepset eyes. Weaver entered the elevator and descended to the ground floor, emerging just as Bane was coming down the staircase.



"Evening or morning, whichever," Weaver said.



"Good to see you, Steve." The Dire Wolf was now wearing the black outfit of boots, pants and waist-length jacket, with its own inner layer of Trom armor. He was carrying his own helmet, with a retractible visor, and an airgun was holstered at his left hip. "We've got something interesting going on..." He filled Weaver in on the situation as they walked over to the reception room. Leonard Slade and Michael Hawk on the couch, relaxed and ready. Cindy had changed into her own tailored field suit identical to Bane's. And Atron stood tense in the center of the room, visibly eager to get moving.



"Atron, Len and Steve here will return with you to New Ulgor. The plan is for them to find where Geruw Cas is being held and free him. With him as a visible inspiration, the Gelydra should feel renewed spirit." Bane then gestured to himself. "Meanwhile, Mike and Cindy and I will locate Lee Hutchins and bust up his golem assembly line. Without the constant reinforcements, the enemy will not be able to outnumber you so easily."



The Gelydra was fidgeting, eager to get going. "We should go now. Right now. Who knows how the fighting is going?"



"All right," Bane said. He handed Weaver a short metal baton and a leather bag. "Steve, here's one of the boomsticks we talked about. Twenty-five resonance caps. Escort Atron to the hangar. Len is already warming the CORBY up. We'll be leaving in a car. Good luck!"



weaver went with the Gelydra into the elevator and rode to the top floor. They emerged and went up one short step of stairs into the hangar. The CORBY's rotors were turning slowly, and Slade could be seen in the pilot seat checking the systems. Weaver thumbed the keypad to open the co-pilot hatch and ushered Atron into it. "You sit up here," he said. "With those wings, I need more room. I'm going on the bench in the back compartment. As everyone was strapped in, Leonard Slade raised the CORBY to knee level and retracted the landing gear. "Stand by," he said.



The Trom slid open a panel by his head to reveal a pale blue gem in an incongruous silver setting. He pressed a hand to it and exerted his formidable concentration. Blue light filled the hangar, swirling silently, and when it faded, the CORBY was gone.


Hawk did not wear one of the field suits, and Bane did not press him. The manhunter did put on the flexible Trom armor under his regular clothing, though, and he stowed various KDF gadgets in his pockets. Following Bane and Cindy, they went through the back panel of a walk-in closet by the front door and down steep concrete steps to a narrow walkway between the arsenal and the vault. At the end of the walkway was a plain wooden door. Bane opened it, flicked on the lights and stepped into the underground garage. It was big enough to hold two cars, and there was a workbench with tools.



"What do you think?" he asked. "The Buick Regal or the Mustang?"



"Hell, the Buick. More room," said Hawk.



Cindy Brunner snatched a set of keys from a hook on the wall. "I call driver. I never get to drive." She slid behind the wheel of the dark grey Buick and started it up. Hawk got in the back and Bane took the front passenger seat, holding his helmet in his lap. Cindy started up the concrete ramp with its sharp turn to emerge through a sliding metal door onto Lexington Avenue.



( the rest of the story )