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 Her expression was always serious and withdrawn.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 World Is Our Arena"

1/8/2021

I.

Jeremy Bane actually felt the cold of the winter night for the first time in forty years. Closing his car door, he drew out a pair of thin leather gloves from his topcoat pocket and pulled them on. He didn't think he even owned a hat or scarf. On the Tagra tea regimen, his body had been enhanced enough that it adjusted to temperature extremes, just as it healing unnaturally fast from injuries. The Dire Wolf had become used to recovering from wounds or cracked bones or severe burns within a day or so. He didn't have to worry about infections or shock or even most poisons.

All that was gone now.

Standing in the secondary parking lot down the hill from Metro General, he absently rubbed the small of his back where a steady if not unbearable pain started after standing for a few minutes. The bruise on his chest he had received in that fight with Ulamak a week earlier still was sore. This was what normal people had to put up with, he thought. The aches and pains everyone talked about.

Bane made himself stand up straight and squared his shoulders. So what. He wouldn't let himself get discouraged. He was still the Dire Wolf, still faster than any normal Human. Rolling into the entrance was a long black sedan with windows tinted beyond the legal limit. He watched it pull into an empty space facing him. After a few minutes, both the front doors opened and two tall men in dark suits and white dress shirts got out. He recognized one, Agent Wilfred Granville.

With his Kumundu training, Bane knew from their stances and gaits that both men were armed, each with a pistol at the belt and a smaller LCP holstered to one ankle. But they were not intent on attacking him. Their body language said otherwise. And when Granville spoke, Bane caught the subvocal tremors of someone stressed but not angry.

"Good to see you again, Jeremy," the INTERCEPT operative began. "I didn't know there were going to be wind chill effects like this or I would have arranged the meeting in a diner."

"Hello, Wilfred. And you, we haven't met?"

"Agent Keith Gilmore. Glad to meet the famous Dire Wolf in person," said the other man.

"I officially retired six years ago," Bane said. "Yet I keep getting pulled back in for one last job, and it's always supposed to be something so dangerous no one else can handle it. What is the pitch this time?"

"An assassin. We're transporting a Chinese-American geneticist who has lived in North Korea the past decade, not that he wanted to. He was basically kidnapped and enslaved. Once he escaped from his handlers, as the cost of taking a bullet in the arm, we managed to get him back to the States. But someone has been sighted on his trail."

"Let me guess. A world class assassin. Not Dandelion, I hope?"

Granville made a disgusted noise. "Dandelion? No, she hasn't been heard from in years. No, this is a bare hands killer. You remember the Open Fist of Furious Buddha? The latest Master of that school has left a few broken bodies in Hawaii while trying to find Ling. Those were our men."

"Hmm. I don't know if I'm really needed," the Dire Wolf responded. "No matter how good they are, 're Furious Buddhas aren't bulletproof."

Off to one side, Gilmore added, "Our agents had their guns in their hands, standing out in the open and this killer still closed in on them and tore them apart. Our chief says a threat like this is more than normal human beings can handle..."

Not knowing he was going to react this way, Bane blew up. "I am so sick of this! You guys or the Mandate or Department 21 Black, you're all the same. You all lie so much. I can't believe a word you say. The hostages turn out to be your undercover men, the double agent is really just getting too old and you want him out of the way, the valuable secret papers turn out to be bribe money for some politician. I don't care any more. Goodbye, I'm leaving."

"Jeremy," came the quiet voice. "This isn't like you. You've always been in control."

"Well, maybe it's time I wasn't in control. I'm sixty-four. I've been fighting the Midnight War and criminals and spies since I was a teenager. Forget it. Find someone else."

Reaching out, Granville took Bane by one arm, which was a liberty few would dare. In the light from a lamppost overhead, the Dire Wolf's grey eyes flashed but he did not tug his arm away. After a second, Bane said, "As far as I know, Wilfred, you've been straight with me every time. You're one of the few. That's the only reason I even come out here tonight."

"There IS one more thing," the INTERCEPT agent said. "And that's why I thought you would want to be in on this. The new Furious Fist assassin is someone you have history with. You haven't forgotten Ethan Petrov?"

II.

Back in his Mustang heading out of the city, Bane fumed and gripped the steering wheel so hard his fingers hurt. He started deliberately taking deeper and slower breaths. Ethan! Of all people to have been trained by Furious Buddha. Like that school of assassins wasn't already deadly enough.

In part of his racing mind, the Dire Wolf recognized some of his anger came from self-reproach. He had allowed himself to check up on Ethan's activities at longer intervals and eventually had lost track of the man. The mental blocks that Cindy had telepathically put in the man's mind should have lasted a lifetime. Ethan should have been locked into a non-violent state where he could not have been shoved someone aside. That precaution had never failed before.

But then, this was the Open Fist of Furious Buddha. Their methods were nearly as ancient and effective as those of the Order of Tel Shai.

Ahead was Exit 7, leading toward New Dover. Traffic was sparse this close to dawn, and Bane had as always been automatically watching for any cars shadowing him ahead or behind. At the last second, he swung over up onto the ramp and hit a red light at the intersection of Crosby Road. No vehicles were in sight at he sat there.

Ethan Petrov, he thought with the rage building up again that he had to repress. In all the years the different KDF teams had operated, Ethan had been the only member to be expelled. The sharp observant minds of the Teachers of Tel Shai included several telepaths and they had cautioned that Ethan was not completely suitable. And in fact, the man had lasted less than a year before he committed enough offenses that he had to be dropped. Only a short time later, Ethan had begun hiring out as a professional executioner. Bane had reluctantly activated a protocol in the man's consciousness placed by Cindy Brunner and shut down some parts of the mind. It was supposed to leave him non-violent and last forever.

Cruising along the outskirts of the sleeping town of New Dover, Bane could not suppress a snort. Forever? In life, there was no use in counting on words like never or forever. Somehow, one of the surviving Masters of Furious Buddha had located Ethan and offered him the invaluable training that made them known as the Walking Weapons.

Ahead was a side road he had been told to find, John Nelson Lane, and he wheeled over onto it. No one was following him, he was certain. The Dire Wolf slowed as he rolled along between flanking yards holding expensive and immaculately maintained houses. He had to force self-reproach from his thoughts but he was stricken by the thought he had not made a project to track down the three known Masters of Furious Buddha and neutralize them. There had been slack periods when he had the time, the resources and the ability to do so but, looking back, Bane realized he had been too reactive and not proactive enough.

But enough of that. Stick to the here and now.

There was the two-story house with tan siding and the attached carport. 551 John Nelson Lane. The dark shape of an SUV could be made out in the shadows of that carport, but there was no movement at all and the windows of the house were dark with a single light over the front door. In that split-second of passing by, Bane had not spotted any watchers on guard.

After the next house was a stretch of untended woods and he pulled his car over under some dead leafless trees. Before he got out, Bane took several minutes to focus. He was going into this mission with too much loose emotion. Between his history with Ethan and the loss of his healing factor, he was way too distracted. Feeling he was ready, the Dire Wolf got out, closed his door silently and took off at a sprint through the woods.

Despite the darkness and the patches of snow, he made no sound and seemed as sure of his path as if it was daylight. An unsuspecting civilian standing only a few feet away might not have even been aware of his presence. In a minute, he approached the rear of the yard adjoining the house where that Chinese scientist was supposed to be hiding. Even now, he was skeptical of the whole situation. Spies couldn't be trusted to tell you what day of the week it was.

Even before he reached the ankle-high hedge that separated the two yards, Bane knew someone was waiting for him. He reached behind his left hip and drew his long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 revolver without breaking stride. It was only when a tall bone-thin figure swung around from behind two trees that Bane slowed and came to a halt fifty feet away.

"You're not going to shoot me," said a silky-smooth voice that had never quite lost its childhood Georgian accent. "I know you better than that. Killing an unarmed man who isn't physically attacking you. You're too soft for this trade, Jeremy."

A year older than Bane, Ethan Petrov was the same height and general build but thinner, almost fragile looking. He dropped a down-filled parka to the ground and stood unmoving. In the faint light from a single bulb over the front door of the house, little of his saturnine face could be seen.

Bane slowly holstered his gun. It was true, he wasn't capable to cold-blooding execution, no matter how much easier it would make everything. "I had hoped the mental blocks would keep you harmless the rest of your life."

"Hah! They would have. But Master Park found me by chance or by fate. He abducted me and started the Furious Buddha training. You know what it entails, I take it?"

From where he stood, Bane decided Ethan was in fact unarmed. "They put you in a coma for three days, actually bury you in the ground and then dig you up and revive you with their Alchemy serum. Most of your memory is gone after that. Then it's nothing but exercise and sparring and practice until you're one of the Walking Weapons."

"Come this way," said Ethan, stepping over more to the center of the yard. "My memories came back to me for some reason. It doesn't matter why, I was glad to go along with the initiation. Adding the Furious Buddha techniques with the Kumundu training I already had, I became an apex martial artist. As you will see."

"Oh, godammit!" Bane snapped. "I am sick of all the fighting. I've had enough. Look, Ethan, we were teammates once. I kept speaking up for you when even the Teachers warned you were unstable. Walk away now. Vanish. Or I will put a few slugs through your face and go home to a warm bed with nice clean sheets."

"WHAT?! Is that someone else talking? Is that really Jeremy Bane?" Ethan sounded more hurt than angry. "The Dire Wolf I knew would never be afraid to accept a challenge. Come on, old friend! For men like you and me, the world is our arena."

A full minute crawled by before Bane shrugged out of his topcoat and dropped it behind him. He was wearing his trademark uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket so only the pale oval of his face was clearly visible in the night. "I guess this is the only way."

III.

Even in the light had been better, a civilian Human witness to that duel would have seen only a baffling blur of movement where the crisp sounds of impact seemed to come from no blow being struck. Both Bane and Ethan began with short straight punches and kicks. These were economical in energy used. After thirty seconds, combination attacks were tried, more complicated strikes from different angles, more attempts to seize an arm or leg for leverage.

At ninety seconds at a pace that no normal athlete could have maintained, Ethan saw an opening and whipped a backfist that caught Bane squarely on the cheekbone. The Dire Wolf reeled to one side and fell. Ethan had drawn back, fists raised for an expected counter-attack but none came.

It only took an instant for Bane to leap back up to his feet but the fact he had been dropped at all was a surprise. "What is wrong with you?" demanded Ethan, still breathing easily enough to talk."

Lunging forward, Bane threw a left side kick that was a feint. Before it could make contact, while Ethan was slamming his hand down to deflect it, Bane redirected the kick upward and cracked it to his opponent's nose with a whiplash noise. Now it was Ethan who staggered backward a few steps. The Dire Wolf closed in to launch a series of drumming body blows with both fists, intending to sidestep before he could be seized. But that backfist to the face had hurt him more than he had expected. He stayed too close too long and paid for it by taking an open-hand chop to the base of the neck.

This time, when he dropped to hands and knees, Bane had trouble recovering. He was so used to even the most brutal blows being nothing but vague thumps he hardly felt. The pain had become something new.

"Oh my God!" whispered his enemy. "You've lost your healing factor." In the second before Bane could rise, Ethan blasted a front snap kick that caught Bane under the chin and swung his head back so far his neck almost broke. The Dire Wolf landed full on his back, gasping for breath.

Lowering his hands to his hips, Ethan Petrov laughed out loud. "Hurts, doesn't it? Good. Now you know what it's like."

With infinite effort, Bane rolled over and got on his hands and knees. He was having resistance moving his neck and could not look up. The ringing in his ears made it difficult to hear what Ethan said.

"Well. Maybe I will let you live and we can resume this some other time," Ethan announced. "Beating you now wouldn't prove anything. I do have my chore to attend to. After I kill that geneticist in the house and his INTERCEPT guards, I might come back to hurt you a little more. Like this!" With terrifying speed, Ethan plunged forward, seized Bane's right arm and yanked it straight, then broke it at the elbow with his free palm.

For the first time, Bane cried out at an injury. He caught himself with his left hand, then rolled over onto his side with his right arm bent at an unnatural angle. He was breathing in short rapid gasps. "Wait. Don't go after Ling, Ethan."

"Why not? I've already been paid half. Furious Buddha has its reputation to uphold, you know. Come to think of it, I should take you prisoner. You still have many enemies in the Midnight War, Dire Wolf. Some would pay well to see you die."

There was no choice any more. Bane managed to get over onto his back and sit up a little using mostly his stomach muscles. He had reached behind him with his left hand. As Ethan stood grinning, Bane raised his Smith & Wesson and fired three times in a horizontal grouping at chest level.

As he had expected, Ethan's reflexes were at peak Human and he had stepped to one side as soon as he saw the muzzle pointed at him... but this placed him right in the path of the second of the three slugs. The impact drove directly into the left side of his chest. Ethan grunted and fell over backwards without trying to catch himself.

Tears were running down his face but Bane did not know this and would not have cared. Moving more carefully, trying to keep his broken arm still, he slid over on the frozen grass until he could see Ethan's head. His former teammate's eyes were open and blank but the Dire Wolf shot once more to be absolutely certain. At that range, the bullet made a good half of Ethan's face vanish in a spray of blood that was black in the winter night.

Then, panting with effort, Bane tried to sit up without success. He was going into shock, which he had forgotten all about. He could hear yelling from the house and the INTERCEPT bodyguards were running toward the scene. They were asking questions, examining Ethan, gently helping Bane to his feet.

"Hold still," one of them said. "We're calling an ambulance now. You'll be all right."

"That's the end of Ethan Petrov," added another. "Ling will make it into relocation and a new identity. You've done good work, Mr Bane."

"It's still dirty work," the Dire Wolf replied miserably.

5/19/2021