dochermes

"The Red Blur"

9/23/1944

I.

By the corner of 112th Street and Eighth Avenue, a white ambulance rolled to a halt against the curb and its motor shut off. Neither its lightbar nor its siren had been active. On either side of the chassis , the ambulance showed a narrow blue rectangle with white lettering that read CROSSTOWN MEDICAL SERVICES. In fact, there was no such company. Phone calls to the number on the sign reached a regretful-sounding middle-aged secretary from the Service who had volunteered for the cause and who redirected the caller to a different, genuine company. In the rear compartment of the anomalous vehicle, much of the original medical equipment had been retained. There was also a keg of fresh water, boxes of assorted clothing and disguise paraphenalia and a startling array of pistols and shotguns with plenty of ammo.

This was the mobile headquarters of that intriguing urban legend, the Red Blur.

Behind the wheel, surveying the neighborhood streets with restless eyes, sat the senior member of the team. Both men in front were fit, tough-looking men, all wearing sedate dark business streets and crisp fedoras. But Harry Kendrick was a few years past forty, with worry lines vertical between his eyes and a distant expression that showed he was carrying a great unseen weight. Sitting next to him in the shotgun seat was a slightly built man with thinning blond hair, Lloyd Holston, also studying the area as if expecting an ambush at any second.

In the rear compartment, lying back on the tied-down gurney, the newest member of Team Blur yawned and stretched. Lew Gardner was also the youngest, no more than twenty-two, a thin active man with curly brown hair and an insolent face. He had stripped off his business suit to lie there in a snug white undershirt and tights of plain cotton. Like his teammates, Gardner was an agent of the Treasury Department on strictly Top Secret duty. Their actions were known only to the head of the Secret Service and the President of the United States himself. There was nothing on paper about them. Their funding was concealed in nooks and corners of more mundane budgets of other departments.

"There's the building," Kendrick sat from the front of the ambulance. "2839 112th Street. Not much to look at but I bet it was a handsome joint a generation ago. This whole neighborhood is going to seed."

"I blame it on jazz. That Negro music is just a bad influence," Holston offered.

"Aw, you blame everything on jazz. Or pulp novels. Or indecent clothing on women," Kendrick scoffed. "Hey, Lew. You been kinda quiet back there."

"Yeah." Gardner sat up on one elbow and swiveled his head around toward the front compartment. "I've been wondering if there isn't a single mind guiding all these Axis agents who have been reported lately. In the past month, there have been sightings of that freak Skull-Face, the Dummy, the Hangman, even Hunchback. All turning up along the Eastern seaboard, busy as bees with sabotage and theft of secret papers. You have to wonder if there isn't a puppet master somewhere pulling all the strings to make 'em dance."

"If there is, you know his orders come from Berlin. But if Hitler is sending his monsters here, he'll get them shipped back in coffins courtesy of America's mystery men." Kendrick gave his teammates a wry smile. "Did I tell you I got a glimpse of Mark Drum leaving the director's office the other day?"

"Well. Sounds like our Blur is playing the game with the big boys," said Holston from the front seat. "Right now, we need to concentrate on our own assigment. Lew, it's your turn tonight for the velocition. I am required to ask you, do you accept the risk?"

"Hell, yes," Gardner laughed. "Proud to serve, let's get to it." He unpacked a crate beside the gurney and started struggling into a bizarre outfit. There was a bright red one-piece jumpsuit belted at the waist, with short boots and gloves of thin yellow leather. The mystery men who had sprung up during the war tended to dress in flamboyant and even irrational costumes; it seemed to boost morale in the public. Over his head went a crash helmet the same scarlet as the suit, complete with tinted goggles and gas-mask respirator that covered the nose and mouth. On the brow of the helmet were two yellow lightning bolts making a V For Victory symbol. He loosened the straps on the respirator to let it hang down and waited as his partners left the front of the ambulance and climbed in through the rear doors.

"Synchronize watches," said Kendrick. He removed a small metal case from his inner jacket pocket and extracted the single yellow pill that had been nestled within. "Here it is. Velocitin donated by Dr Mercado Vitarius. Alchemy put to the service of defending democracy and fighting fascism."

Next to him, Holsten had filled a cone-shaped paper cup with water from the keg. As they watched, Lew Gardner swallowed the pill with a good gulp and put the cup down. He shook his head and made a brrring noise. "More bitter than my ex-girlfriend...."

Kendrick had left the rear doors open. He stretched out a wrist and checked his watch. "Twelve-forty-one. It'll kick in within ninety seconds, guys."

Without a word, Lew Grade vaulted out of the ambulance entirely and stood on the street. He was visibly trembling as if freezing but it was a mild September night. "Yeah! That's the real stuff! I'm off." He took off at a full sprint that broke Olympics records by a wide margin. A crimson streak in the night, he was gone from sight so quickly that neither of his partners could have said in which direction he had gone. The Blur lived again.

Velocitin was a serum that could be created only by the most learned of Alchemists. In this era, no more than three of four practitioners of the Great Art were able to produce the drug and it was fortunate that Dr Vitarius was one of them. He had reluctantly agreed to create a limited amount of Velocitin, no more than one dose a week and he had taken serious convincing that these three Secret Service men could be trusted to not abuse it. For Velocitin was harmful. It was based on the ancient Tao-Tsin crystals which were invariably fatal to use. Even at a minimal dosage every three weeks as the men rotated the duty, they knew they would start suffering damage to their hearts and lungs in a short time.

But there was a war on. Many made sacrifices.

Left behind, Kendrick and Holston gave each other somber glances. They would wait here, ready for the return of Lew Gardner. The youngest member of the team might return jubilant and triumphant, or he might crawl back with mortal wounds or he might stagger into the ambulance and collapse with cardiac failure or respiratory distress. Other members of Team Blur had already died that way. They were all playing with fire.

( the rest of the story )

"The War Squid"

2/11/1983


I.

In the freezing seas off the Northwest Coast near Washington state, Atron the Destroyer tore swiftly through the water just beneath the surface. He was raging with a fury that was unusual even for him. At first, the Gelydra seemed to be a normal Human man six feet tall and lean, dressed in a skintight garb of grey sharkhide with the rough scaly side outward. But looking closer, one would see his whitish-blond hair was stiff and bristly like seal fur, the bones of his face were not quite right and his feet were twice as long as a normal person's. As he swam, those feet had spread open to reveal toes with wide webbing in between them. Atron swam with powerful kicks of legs that never tired, shooting through the murky water faster than the fastest fish.

One of the Gelydrim of Ulgor, Atron Ke had been exiled to the real world for years now but had not come close to accepting his fate. He had tried to make the best of things. Here off the Northwest shores of America, he had found the ruins of an Ulgor outpost from centuries ago and he had rebuilt it into his own little palace. Exploring, hunting, fighting with the monsters of the deep, he had kept busy enough to pass the time. Perhaps he would have found some measure of peace if the surface people had not been so foolish and thoughtless. It was too bad those sailors had had to die, but they would not listen and they had left him no choice.

Diving sharply, Atron saw below him the circular stone walls and flat roof of the military outpost left behind by his people. Two hundred years ago, they had come to this real world to establish a few footholds and to bring back sea life which did not exist in Ulgor, delicacies the Lords of Ulgor craved for their feasts. With great labor, Atron had repaired this outpost and made it his home.

Standing in front of his palace without diving suit or scuba gear was a huge surface man wearing an outfit of snug black rubber on his massive body. The bald head and deepset eyes were upturned to watch. Not breathing, not needing to breathe, Karl Eldritch watched his supposed partner approach and silently planned the next stage of his scheme.

( the rest of the story )

"Project Regulus II- Everybody Loves a Clone"

7/29/-7/30/1989

I.

Just before seven-thirty that evening, Jeremy Bane walked into the conference room at the KDF headquarters and saw his team was assembled and ready. The long oak table which took up much of that room had a dozen swivel chairs arranged along its length, five on each side and one at each end. He looked over the members available for this case. Cindy. Steve. Shiro. Len. Khang. A good assortment of powers and skills. Bane entered the room and said, "Hello, everyone, glad to see you're all on duty. Let me explain the situation."

Taking his place at the chairman's seat at the head of the table, the Dire Wolf continued, "I was contacted this morning by agents of Department 21 Black. That's the FBI section which handles crimes of a baffling or seemingly occult nature. They've gotten used to dumping these cases on us, but in an unofficial and off the books way. We're basically acting on our own responsibility with the authorities using us a freelance vigilantes."

Shiro Mitsuru made a disgusted noise. "Just once I would like the FBI or the NYPD or the Mandate to back us up! I don't expect praise but some appreciation would be nice." The Tiger Fury was wearing a plain white T-shirt with a sleeveless denim vest and the wiry muscles on his arms stood out vividly as he gestured. "We take all the risks doing their dirty work."

Bane allowed himself a faint sigh, rare for him. "I know. I feel the same, Shiro. But this is our duty as Tel Shai knights. We would be tracking down monsters and masterminds even if the authorities were actively trying to stop us. So. Two days ago, there was a massacre in New Jersey. Five men were murdered at the Stanmore Records Facility near Woodbridge. That's a place where the state keeps microfilm and paper documents. Some files were stolen, but nothing important. One guard, three record keepers and one janitor were all killed by two intruders."

"Well, that's odd," Steven Weaver said. The Black Angel had been on the top floor, helping Slade to do maintenance on the CORBY. He still had a oil-smeared tan jumpsuit on. Weaver was a black American with a thick mustache and an open, relaxed face. "I happen to know some military contractors keep records at Stanmore. Some realvaluable information on file there. Why assault the place and kill the staff but not take anything worth the risk?"

Jeremy Bane leaned forward. His pale grey eyes were always intense but now they seem especially bright. "My guess? It's a trick to lure us in. One of our enemies staged this so 21 Black would call us. Arem Kamende, Wu Lung, John Grim... hard to say which one."

"Sounds possible," Weaver admitted. "What else do we know?"

"The facility has a security tape they allowed 21 Black to copy, and I recorded it on my Link. The other camera was out of service at the time. Of course, I'm supposed to erase it within twenty-four hours. Here, let's get a look." Standing up, Bane went to turn off the overhead lights and clicked on a large video monitor built into one wall. The screen lit up and showed a logo RESTRICTED- CLASS A PERSONNEL ONLY, FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION, with a paragraph detailing the punishment that would befall any unauthorized people watching the tape.

They saw a warehouse, filmed from up by the ceiling. Rows of metal framework held cardboard boxes stacked neatly and labelled with prominents white numbers. A man in a white dress shirt and slacks was pushing a cart with two more boxes on it down between two rows of the shelving and he stopped to chat with an older man pushing a bucket with a mop in it. Both men gave a start and swung around at some noise. A thin dark-haired man in a black jumpsuit rushed at them so quickly his movements could barely be followed. He stabbed the janitor in the chest with a dagger, shoved him away, and then pounced on the other man. Faster than a big cat striking, the man in black swung the second victim around and slashed his throat open, then flung him aside and raced from the warehouse.

"Dang, that guy is nimble," Weaver said. "You think he's fast as you, captain?"

"Could be." Bane played the brief segment again. "Certainly faster than normal, even a Kumundu Master. There's an Alchemy drug called Velocitin, it accelerates a person but causes a lot of damaging side effects. The Mongoose team used it."

( the rest of the story )

"The Kings In the Crypt"

2/22/1973

I.

He was running for his life in the wrong direction. Fred Hogarty hurtled along the great sluggish brown river Nyatowa, heading away from where his two-seater seaplane was moored. But he could not help it. Close enough that their ferocious howling could be heard was a war party of the Acerimos. Their voices were getting louder as they gained on him.

The saw-edged high grass was cutting through his corduroy pants and khaki shirt, both soaked through with sweat from exertion in this hot humid climate. At thirty-four, Hogarty was in good condition but this situation was calling on more than he had to give. Holstered at his hip was a big Colt .44 with five bullets in its chambers but if he had to use it, he knew it would be best to put the barrel in his own mouth.

He had seen these Acerimos skinning captives over hot coals while screams echoed out over the trees. The Jaguar Ghosts, the xenophobic tribe called itself. They thought they were the only true people in the world and everyone else was prey.

There was no way to escape this. His legs were beginning to tremble. Soon he would fall, the Acerimos would seize him and carry him off with gales of triumphant laughter. That night, the stew pots would be extra tasty for these devils. Fred Hogarty felt not terror but sorrow... regret for all that he would never get to do in life. And so many had warned him not to venture into this Green Hell on the border of Venezuela.

Behind, delighted shrieks rang out. A dozen Acerimos burst into view and quickened their pace. These warriors had sleeky glossy skin with a distinct coppery red tint. They were tall and gangly, with long arms and legs. Their heads were mostly shaven, with caps made of jaguar fur. And they carried spears and short swords and clubs with pieces of sharp stone embedded in the heads.

Seeing them from the corner of one eye, Hogarty wheeled toward the riverbank twenty yards to his side. He would still be killed if he dove in. Spears would pierce his body, but maybe the current would carry him away so at least he would not be eaten. Small comfort.

A different note of confusion echoed in the tribesmen's voices. Fred Hogarty had a brief glimpse of something made of shiny gold flashing past him, heading toward the Acerimos. Despite all his instincts, he slowed and turned back to see an astonishing whirlwind of violence.

At the center of the mayhem was a short stocky Asian man. Not more than five feet six inches tall and stocky, he had a wide face and a nose that had been broken at some point. The man was in his late forties, his head was almost shaven with just a black bristle covering it. He wore boots and leggings of soft leather, but his loosely-sashed tunic was of a beautiful gold silk that glimmered in the late afternoon sunlight. In black on the back of his tunic were those Korean ideograms for 'gold' and 'sun.'

Incredibly, the newcomer moved through the savage spear thrusts and furious clubbing as if the Acerimos were trying to miss him. His co-ordination and deftness were that skilled. At every opening he saw, the man crashed out a fist or foot with murderous precision. He seized a warrior's arm by the wrist and pulled it out straight, at the same time kicking up into the man's armpit to dislocate that arm with torn tendons. In an instant, four of the Acerimos sprawled dead in the damp grass and three were reeling back with crippling injuries.

One of the spears came hurtling straight for his face at point-blank range. The Asian snatched it out of the air as if grabbing a vagrant butterfly, then snapped the thick shaft without apparent effort. That broke the warriors' nerves. Those still alive spun and ran, the wounded following as best they could.

"Ah ha ha! Golden Sun has taught you manners!" taunted the man. He threw the spear fragments aside and whirled to make the nerve-stricken Hogarty jump. "You! The American Fred Hogarty from Northwest University. Come with me and your chances of living are much better."

"Ack. Eeee, Erk," was all he could manage.

"Come on, man, get hold of yourself." Golden Sun grabbed Hogarty's shirt front and started him off at a trot. Despite his near exhaustion, the explorer managed to keep up.

After a few minutes at that steady pace, Hogarty caught his breath enough to ask, "Who are you?"

"Ah, curious eh? Not surprising. I am Chong Kyu Sung from a little town north of Seoul. Everyone calls me Golden Sun. I am the first Tiger Fury in a hundred years, the first man that Teacher Chael has dignified as recognizing as a Master of Kumundu in a full century."

Seeing the blank reaction, Sun continued with disappointment, "That means nothing to you, does it? Ah well. I suppose Tel Shai is not common knowledge. We're almost at the camp. When you meet my partner, he'll explain better what a mess you have thrust yourself into."

The man called Golden Sun slowed to a halt, listening. He nodded in approval. "Jaguar Ghosts, they dare call themselves. They run more like Rabbit Ghosts. Come on, Mr Hogarty. Andrew Steel is waiting."

( The rest of the story )

6/13/1984

I.

For what seemed like ages, Bane struggled to fully regain consciousness. There was a fog of pain and confusion wrapped around him, holding him down. It was like trying to wake up from a deep slumber because an alarm clock would not stop ringing. Somehow he remembered his Kumundu training and began to breathe deeply in, hold it, then exhale more slowly. Again, drawing air in his lungs and clearing his head. Everything hurt. He became aware he was sitting up, but he could not move. Finally, one eye opened and then the other, blinking at the light.

He was in what looked like a rather ritzy hotel suite, with wine-colored carpeting and wood-panelled walls and modernistic furniture. A chrome sculpture of a rearing horse stood on a separate pillar of its own. Afternoon sunlight came in from French doors that opened to a balcony. He recognized the Chrysler Building in the skyline, so he was still in Manhattan. The Dire Wolf glanced down and saw he was strapped to a solid wooden chair that sat next to an identical chair. Leather straps held his wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles to its legs, and there was a broader strap across his chest. Bane flexed and tugged, getting nowhere. There should be a way out of this. If he could start rocking and tilt the chair over... no, there didn't seem a chance it would break from the impact but if the straps loosened just a bit, maybe he could reach one of the gadgets hidden in his clothing. Always worth a try.

Then the door to the balcony opened and a huge man came through. Bane's pulse sped up and adrenalin surged through his blood. The man was seven inches over six feet in height, broad and muscular, dressed in a formal dark suit and tie with matching vest. His head was shaved, and pale hazel eyes under prominent brow ledges mocked Bane.

Karl Eldritch.

"I don't believe it," Bane said. "I was sure the world was rid of you."

( the rest of the story )

"Five Minutes Missing, Here and There"

9/11/1983

I.

After running full tilt for forty minutes, Karina slowed the treadmill to a walk and lowered its angle to be level. She checked her pulse and found it was ninety per minute. Toward the end, she had broken out in a light sweat. For the next few minutes, she walked slowly and then shut the treadmill off. Hanging on its grip bar was a small damp cloth that she used to wipe the machine, then ran it over her face and neck.

Karina looked as if she was nineteen and would stay that way for decades. That was the age Barbara Hoyt had been when she had willingly taken the ancient spirit into her body. She stood five feet eight and was slim, built like a runner with long legs and a remarkably narrow waist. Her auburn hair was in a shag cut that just reached the nape of her neck, and she had deep dark green eyes in a serious face with a wide jawline that ended in a square chin. Karina was not pretty but she was charismatic; it was difficult not to stare at her when she was near. At the moment, she was wearing sneakers, Navy blue shorts and a plain white T-shirt.

As she stepped down off the treadmill, the wall phone by the door to the gym rang. Karina went over quickly and picked up the receiver, "Yes? Hello, Jeremy. Is it urgent? I should shower and change, I just did a run. Good. I'll be down in a few minutes."

Suddenly excited, the Myrrwhan goddess hurried from the gym out in the hall where the stairs were. There was an elevator, but she never used it. The gym took up most of the seventh floor of the KDF headquarters building, she only had to race down three flights to be on the fourth floor. Here were a few guest rooms and the quarters for those who were associates but not full KDF members. At this point, that consisted only of herself, Shiro Mitsuru and Garrison Nebel.

The door was unlocked. Her main room was Spartan, even drab. There was a Queen-sized bed by the window on 38th Street, a desk with a computer, a shelf with a dozen books, a few chairs and not much else. No pictures on the wall, no knick-knacks, none of the little touches people add to personalize their space. But then, she was not here that often. Karina went into the bathroom, threw her clothes in the hamper and took a steaming hot shower before getting out and drying herself brusquely with a towel.

The muscles in her arms and legs showed unusual definition when she moved but otherwise she looked like a normal woman in great condition. Back in her room, she put on panties, white socks, black tights and a loose linen tunic that was tailored in at the waist. She never wore a bra, feeling they restricted movement in a duel and her small firm breasts didn't need one. Dropping down on the bed, the Myrrwhan goddess laced up plain black canvas sneakers and was ready. With her hair still damp, she rushed out and down the stairs to the second floor where the conference room was.

Here, at the head of a long oak meeting table, sat one of the few Humans she fully admired and respected. Jeremy Bane glanced up as she entered and gave the faintest of welcoming smiles. It took people a long time to get to where they could read expressions on his usually deadpan face. The Dire Wolf gestured to the chair next to him. "Good to have you here. I think there's an important case opening up and the two of us are the only ones available."

"Great," she replied as she dropped down into the chair at his right side. "I was thinking of going to Okali for a while... maybe straighten out those Skullhunters."

"You're the only person I know who can travel through the adjacent realms without using a travel crystal or something. Except for Khang, of course." Bane had a manila file folder in front of him. He leafed through its contents and then looked up at her. Those infamous pale grey eyes were more subdued than usual. "First, we need to clear up a few details. Okay. As an associate member, you have been receiving a monthly stipend from the Kenneth Dred Foundation. It's not a fortune but it has been piling up in the bank account kept under Barbara Hoyt's name. I just want to remind you of that."

Leaning forward, Karina propped up her chin with one fist, elbow on the table. She was more relaxed around Bane than with almost anyone else. "Myrrwha provides me with what I need, captain. When I go there, I am after all regarded as their patron spirit. I leave with a pouch of gold coins and whatever equipment seems useful. Still, that bank account might be needed someday."

"This next bit is kind of personal," the Dire Wolf said, hesitating. "Barbara's family called a few times. The letters and phone calls have been getting spaced further and further apart. The family hasn't had an actual visit from Barbara in over a year. I assured them that you were fine--I mean, that she was fine."

The deep green eyes studied him for a moment. "Barbara IS fine," Karina said at last. "But she will surface less and less as time goes by. Eventually, she will slumber deeply. We are not in a possessed state where Barbara and I trade places. She knew that. But I will phone her family more often and reassure them."

"What exactly will happen to Barbara?" Bane asked.

"Nothing. She will sleep deep inside me. When this body becomes aged or is destroyed, her spirit will travel on to wherever all Humans go. That is as much a mystery to me as to anyone."

"All right," Bane said. "When we first met, I sort of thought that Barbara would go about her life like before and call on you when you were needed. It's not like that."

"No." Just the single word.

"Well, anyway, Inspector Klein was here and just left after filling me in on three very odd robberies. Some of the details make me think that an artifact from ancient Zhune was used. And that inevitably means we will tangle with probably our worst enemy."

Karina smiled in an anticpatory way. "Karl Eldritch..."

II.

Stepping out into a warm stuffy September afternoon, Karina could not help smiling. She loved visiting the KDF and participating in their cases. She could not commit herself to full-time membership, of course, nor apply to be a student at the Order of Tel Shai. Her duty to her homeland Myrrwha came first. Still, the ancient spirit of the first Karina had been born at the very beginning of the Darthan Age and had dared to receive forbidden knowledge from the Sulla Chun on Ulgor; she was a warlike spirit that thrived on conflict and peril.

Bane wanted to contact some of his army of observers to get some information before acting. Over the years, instead of accepting rewards from people he had saved, Bane had asked instead that they keep an eye out for any weird or supernatural activity. It had worked out amazingly well for him, and now he was calling some of those observers who might have heard about Eldritch being spotted recently. She had been too impatient to wait.

In a few minutes, she was nearing Times Square. Before leaving the headquarters, she had clipped two items to her waistband. The communications Link and a flat leather case that held Barbara Hoyt's driver's license and other ID, a credit card and some cash. Karina refused to wear the flexible Trom armor or to carry any of the KDF gadgets and weaponry. She had to go her own way. Reaching 44th Street, she swung toward Sixth Avenue and spotted a small shop on the corner.

The window read SCHNITZER CAMERAS. The owner himself had been manning the shop when it had been robbed and she had a description of him. When she entered, a small bell over the door rang. Behind the cash register to her right, a rather small man in a light blue suit with a red tie straightened.
"Good afternoon, miss."

"Hello," she answered as she glanced around the store. The counters seemed sparsely stocked, with quite a bit of space between the merchandise. That figured. She went over to face the owner. Donald Schnitzer was not far from being sixty, the grey hair had receded far back on his head and he peered at her through thick-lensed glasses. The smile was strained.

Karina held up her leather case and showed him the laminated photo ID card that identified her as representing the Kenneth Dred Foundation, working as consultants to the NYPD. The ID card was official-looking and Karina's sheer presence won him over. She had a confidence and self-assurance that few people resisted. "Have you been told that there have been other robberies like the one that happened here?"

"What? No. You mean, with people not remembering what happened?"

"Exactly. In each case, the people suddenly realized that money or valuables were missing and they had seen nothing. Then they figured out that roughly five minutes had gone by that they could not remember. They had just gone blank." She turned those dark green eyes on him thoughtfully. "The same as happened to you."

Schnitzer sagged visibly. "Oh, thank God. That sounds strange. Let me explain, I was thinking I had a stroke or something. That I had a blackout and something was medically very wrong. But not if it happened to others the same way."

"It should be reassuring," she said. "According to the police, you said you heard the door open and looked at that clock on the wall."

"Yes. It said 4:51 and I remember thinking my assistant Lewis would be coming in at 5 and then I could finally go home as my feet hurt." Schnitzer leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Then it happened. I blinked. I was standing in front of this counter with both hands raised up by my head."

"Go on," she prompted, also in a low voice.

"Naturally I was confused. Nothing like that had ever happened before. For some reason I looked at the clock and it now read 4:56. I had lost five minutes somehow. This was so upsetting that I just stood there. Then Carl came in and immediately said, 'what happened to all the cameras?'"

"The police tell us that over a dozen of your most expensive cameras were stolen, along with some lenses and other equipment. You didn't see who came in the door?"

"No, not all. I wish I had."

"And you don't have a security camera?" Karina asked.

"No, I don't. I know it's ironic, a camera shop lacking a camera..." He looked up at her face in desperation. "The police didn't tell me there had been other robberies like this."

She made a scoffing noise. "They are not always thoughtful. Have you remembered of any details you noticed? Not matter how small, it may be useful."

"Welll... there was the smell of cigarette smoke in here when I came out of it. Neither my wife nor I smoke, so I'm sensitive to the odor. That's about it, I'm afraid." He was studying her face closely. "What do YOU think happened?"

Karina shrugged. "My guess is some kind of fast-acting narcotic gas, but then I can't explain why you didn't fall down. Maybe some new electronic effect that jolts a victim's thought processes? There's not much to go on."
Two low beeps sounded at the back of her waistband. As she unclipped the Link, she said, "Thank you for your co-operation, sir. I will try to get back to you."

Stepping outside, Karina held the device up to her face. The Links were Trom devices, grey metal oblongs small enough that she could close her fingers around it. She saw the number on the screen. "Yes, captain?"

"Karina, hi," came the distinctive Jeremy Bane voice. "I've turned up a few leads. One is down by Battery Park, one not far from where you are and there is a more remote possibility way over in Brooklyn."

"Tell me more," she said, heading up the sidewalk.

"Someone resembling Eldritch was seen at Newark Airport a week ago. When you're six foot seven and bald, you stand out in a crowd. He has five thugs who work for him in the area, two of them down by the World Trade Center and three who operate in Times Square. Three of the goons seem to be staying at the Ace of Clubs on Eighth Avenue."

The Myrrwhan goddess swung right and started in that direction with long-legged strides. "Those are mine, then. I suppose you want them kept alive?"

"Yes, absolutely," Bane said. "The NYPD likes to use us unofficially as loose cannons but we can't go overboard all the time. These guys might not have done any crimes that carry the death penalty."

The full lips turned up slightly at the edges. "As you say, captain. I will merely hurt them a lot. Anything else?"

"Just a reminder about Eldritch," said Bane's voice. "He's the one bad guy I try to avoid confronting without a plan. He's almost impossible to destroy. He comes back from having his chest blown out, being frozen solid, being shrunk to the size of a dust mite... I give up on getting rid of him permanently."

"Understood," she said and impatiently broke the connection. She wanted to get this underway. Walking briskly to Eighth Avenue, she turned right and started heading north. At 48th Street, she spotted a smoked glass door propped open with a brick. On it in fancy gold lettering was ACE OF CLUBS -LIVE MUSIC FRIDAY AND SATURDAY NIGHTS. Karina adjusted her tunic, squared her shoulders and walked boldly right through the door.

The big dance floor was deserted and still littered with debris from the previous night, including cigarette butts and lighters, scraps of paper, assorted change and even a set of keys. The far wall was mirrored, the bar was to the right and the bathrooms to the left. Three men were in that dance room, two of them sitting on wooden chairs tilted back against the wall. The third man was pacing back and forth, swinging a metal rod two feet long in 'one hand. All three men were big, intimidating guys in work clothes. They all had black curly hair and olive skin, so Karina thought it likely they were related.

They did not see her in the doorway at first and the standing man was grumbling, "Wait till the boss shows up. That's when we can negotiate new terms."

"I gotta say, I want to get away from him," said another of the thugs. "He scares me so bad I can't think straight.. hey. You want something, girlie?"

Walking steadily toward them, Karina smiled and they thought she was being friendly. In the dim light from the open doorway, they could not see the lowered eyebrows that made her expression ominous. "There is no point in trying diplomacy," she answered. "I have seen your type in many lands through the ages. Violence is all you respect."

With that, she took two quick steps forward and spun on one heel, her other leg whipping around to smack her heel right to the side of the standing man's jaw. His head turned around far to that side and he fell in a heap, dropping the red metal baton. The other two had jumped up at the sudden burst of motion. One must have already had his gun in hand, there was no sign of his drawing as he extended the Walther P99 and fired once. The flash of white light was dazzling in the dim room and the shot sounded like thunder.

Karina was not invulnerable. When taken off guard, she could be injured as easily as anyone else, but when she tensed up her body with gralic force, she became dense and hard to harm. Wheeling about, she flung out her open hand and the bullet struck her palm as if striking an iron wall. With a whine, the slug ricocheted to one side and burst apart a whiskey bottle on the wall. The man fired again, not sure what had happened, and this time the Myrrwhan goddess slapped the bullet to one side. It smacked home right in the center of the other thug's chest. That man howled in pain and surprise, and sank to his knees as he curled up into a ball.

One thug dazed by that kick to the jaw, another dying of a bullet in the heart, and Karina lunged at the remaining goon. With her right hand, she seized his gunhand at the wrist and tugged it out straight. In the same motion, she drove her left leg up into his armpit and dislocated that arm violently. The thug yelped and dropped the gun, too preoccupied with his pain to think of the situation.

Automatically, Karina kicked the pistol far to one side before deciding she could ignore the three men for a second. The baton that had been dropped had rolled up against a counter. It was two feet long, slim enough that a hand could be closed completely around it. Like all Zhune artifacts, the baton was constructed of a copper-colored metal that had a hot sheen to it. One end was capped by a glass lens, with a conspicuous button just beneath it. It matched the characteristics of other Zhune relics she had heard about.

The Myrrwhan warrior took a single step toward that rod and froze. Filling the open doorway was an immense bald man who glared at her with open menace in his hazel eyes.

III.

The two towers of the World Trade Buildings loomed up nearby, almost surreal in their height, but a row of warehouses and shipping offices in their shadow remained dingy and rundown in sharp contrast. Here was a street of stone facades unbroken by windows, with an occasional loading dock and ramp to break the stolid surfaces. Delivery trucks rumbled by as Jeremy Bane pulled his Mustang onto a side street. At the end of this block stood a five story brick building with an arched sign over the front door that read VALHALLA ARMS and a smaller sign, ROOMS AVAILABLE.

Here was where his sources had told him two of Eldritch's gunmen had lived for the past month. Bane hated coming up against Karl Eldritch because the man was seemingly impossible to get rid of permanently. Years earlier, Eldritch had learned the ultimate secret of the ancient Zhune civilization, the way to convert matter into energy and energy into matter. The warlock recovered from damage that would kill any other life form as his body took in any energy from light to heat and used it to rebuild himself.

And there was the technique Eldritch had of converting a tiny bit of his body mass into primal atomic force. He could throw destructive bolts of force that sheared through steel or stone or human beings with equal ease. Facing Eldritch, Bane had had to come up with tricks and surprises to get the warlock out of the way even for a few months. He hated the way that Eldritch kept returning.

And here the nuisance was, back again. Still searching for the surviving relics of Zhune with their weird properties. Bane was more annoyed than anything else at this point. He walked up the alley between the hotel and the warehouse next to it, trying windows as he went. Sure enough, one was not only unlocked but actually open a crack. The Dire Wolf pushed it up and listened for a seconds, then took a big chance and easily slid through intio a dingy hallway. His early teens had been spent doing a lot of breaking and entry, and he was more nimble now than he had been then.

There was an open staircase to his left and he moved up to the third floor, placing his feet on the outer edges of each step to minimize squeaking. It smelled as if someone was boiling cabbage in one of the rooms as he stalked past the the first few doors. The one at the end had small numbers 34 on it. That was where his source had told him to check. This place is sure quiet, Bane thought to himself, maybe it's not doing good business. Even without trying, he could hear the unreal buzz of television voices in the room, as opposed to voices from someone physically present.

The Dire Wolf looked up and down the hall, seeing no one. All the doors were closed. There was no sound of the elevator motor being used. He dropped to one knee and peered through the keyhole of room 34, then smiled to himself. Sitting in a chair not five feet from the door was a big man with curly black hair, holding a .357 Magnum in one hand. He was facing away from the door and the back of his neck was completely exposed. This was too tempting to pass up. Bane drew his dart pistol and calculated the angles for a moment, then pressed the long thin barrel up against the keyhole and squeezed the trigger.

The barely audible cough of the gas-powered weapon was immediately covered by a loud curse from inside the room. The thug slapped at the back of his neck and just discovered the small metal dart sticking out from it before he fell to the floor. The Trom-formula drug in those darts disoriented a victim almost instantly and brought about unconsciousness within three to four seconds. As Bane holstered his gun again, he heard the other man in that room yell, "Hey! Danny, what's the matter? Are you okay?"

Standing up, the Dire Wolf tried the doorknob and found it was unlocked. This was just going way too smoothly. It smelled like a trap. He drew the dart gun again and waited. After a few seconds, he heard the low murmur of voices inside the room, so there was a third gunman in there. No, two more. He could distinguish the voices. Someone growled, "Well, go LOOK!"

As the door opened, Bane drew up his left leg and drove it out in a straight side kick to the chest that hurled that man backwards as if he had been thrown by a catapult. The thug crashed into two men behind them and they all went down in a surprised tangle of arms and legs. Even as they hit the floor, Bane was on top of them. He smacked one hard on top of the head with the butt of his dart gun, then drove his elbow down into the pit of another gunman's stomach. That thug vomited all over himself from the blow.

Leaping up, seizing the Uzi that the man on the bottom of the pile was holding and wrenching it away, Bane pointed the dart gun at the dazed man he had struck and gave him a dart in the neck. The goon who was retching was still holding a shotgun which had its barrels sawn off halfway down and he took that away, too. Bane grabbed the man on the bottom and yanked him up on his feet.

"I only need one of you to answer questions," the Dire Wolf said quietly. He prodded the man under the chin with the thin barrel of his dart gun. The weapon was non-lethal but this thug didn't know it.

"Don't kill me, man! Don't kill me!"

"Here's what I know," Bane said. From the corner of his eye, he saw the sick one trying to get up. Too quickly to be seen, the steel-capped toe of his boot cracked against the man's head and dropped him senseless. "Here's what I know," he repeated, "You guys are working for Karl Eldritch. I've tangled with him six times already, I know all he cares about is getting his hands on Zhune devices. Where is he? What's his next move?"

As the thug hesitated, the Dire Wolf said, "There's nobody listening."

"I know who you are," the thug answered. "I know you. We were told to be ready for you. The boss said you might, well, he said 'get in the way.'"

"Come on, talk. Think about it, I just did all of this without being angry. Do you want to annoy me?"

"Okay, okay, Eldritch is gonna be with the other team at the Ace of Clubs. That's in Times Square. That team had a gadget that erases peoples' memories. You flash it at people and they forget everything that happened in the last five minutes. I don't know how it works, it's weird."

"And his other team has been pulling the mysterious robberies this week? They hold a place up and then blank out the witnesses?"

"Yeah, that's it. No one got hurt, Mr Bane. I swear it."

The Dire Wolf pushed the gunman hard to fall back onto the worn-out couch. "When is Eldritch supposed to show up at that club?"

"Around noon. He's staying at a fancy place by Central Park."

"It's almost noon now," Bane said. He headed for the door, then paused to point a finger at the gunman. "For your own good, don't let me see any of you guys again." With that, he was gone and the man sat unmoving on that couch, too overwhelmed by the past few minutes to think clearly.


IV.

She had managed to position herself to block Eldritch's view of the fallen Zhune artifact. Karina had never felt such fear, not in this incarnation. It was not the size of the warlock that intimidated her, nor the hostility on his face. She had battled Trolls and Kobalim. It was the aura of seething unseen force around him, the immensely potent destructive power contained within him. Karina could sense it and she realized she was in the presence of an enemy that her fighting skill was useless against.

The warlock was wearing an expensive dark blue suit with a white shirt and black tie, obviously tailored for his huge body. Eldritch kept his head shaved, but the eyebrows above those pale eyes were thick and bushy. In that square unyielding face, the eyes were alert and seemingly always angry. Leaving the door to the street open, he took three long strides into the room and surveyed the scene.

"I don't know you," he rumbled at Karina, pointing a finger. "Stay where you are." He turned back to the three thugs, one of whom was sitting up and just regaining his senses and one of whom was holding a dislocated arm. The third was an unmoving heap on the dusty floor. "Who did this to you men?"

"She did," said the dazed thug as he struggled to get his feet, using one of the chairs as leverage. "Some kind of kung fu or karate expert, I guess. We weren't expecting that."

Eldritch grunted and turned his attention to the man on the floor. "Sergio is dead," he declared and held out one massive hand. Intolerably bright white energy erupted from that hand and rushed over the corpse like a stream from a firehose. The body was gone without a trace. As everyone blinked and tried to see past the dark spots remaining in their vision, Karina decided on her next action.

"Aw, boss," said the man who had been kicked in the jaw. He was still touching it gingerly. "He deserved a decent burial. There's nothing left."

"Be silent! You, Frank. Come here and I will reset that arm." As the suffering man reluctantly came closer, Eldritch reached out to place one hand high up on his shoulder. "The pain will be much less after I do this."

At that moment, with everyone focused on the dislocated arm being reset, Karina seized the Zhune artifact and dove at the open door. She swung around just as Karl Eldritch turned his head at the movement. The Myrrwhan goddess held out the metal rod like a flashlight and pressed the single button, looking away as she did so. There was a brief flash of that same white light, flooding the dance floor for an instant, and then she was out on the street in a full run.

Quicker than an Olympic sprinter, Karina raced around the back of the building and across Ninth Avenue to swing around out of sight down an alley and out the other side. She ran south for a few blocks and turned at 38th Street. Even though she glanced behind her frequently, she felt certain that a lumbering brute like Eldritch could not possibly have kept up with her. If the Zhune wand had worked properly, he had forgotten everything that had happened in the previous five minutes and was right now trying to make sense of what his hired men were telling him but they knew nothing either. Suddenly, she was grinning in delight as she ran.

V.

Just as she rounded the corner at Lexington, Karina felt the Link in her waistband buzz. She brought it up to her face without breaking stride and heard Bane's voice ask, "Can you talk?"

"Yes. I have the Zhune artifact, I am within sight of our building now. Oh, I see you in the doorway!"

"You have great timing," said the voice as contact was broken. Standing in the open doorway of the headquarters, Bane raised a hand in greeting. "Get inside, quick," he said. The Dire Wolf led her through the panel at the back of the walk-in closet close by the door. They went down steep concrete steps, past the generator and water heater, and stopped before a massive door of cold iron. He punched in a dozen numbers on the keypad and swung the door open. To the right was a light switch he flicked.

"I don't believe I have ever been in here, captain." Karina stepped in before him and stared at wooden shelves holding a bizarre assortment of swords and ceremonial knives, shrunken heads, a drum with a cat's head design, goblets and chalices, the Spiked Gauntlet, small clay idols, the Brand of Submission, the Ghoul-summoning pendant, locked wooden boxes bound with Eldar talismans and much more. Stacked against one bare stone wall were a dozen assorted devices made of the same reddish metal.

Taking the baton from her, Bane walked over and carefully placed it on the pile of similar artifacts. "When this is over, we should spend an afternoon down here," he told her. "Everything in this vault has a story behind it. That chest holds the fragments of Hellspawn, for example."

"The Darthan sword? Really. I encountered it in an earlier incarnation." She jabbed a thumb at the Zhune relics. "Why don't we use these gadgets ourselves? They would be useful."

Bane folded his arms and stared at the pile of ancient relics. "I wish we could. But Eldritch is the only one who can charge them up. They run out of power quickly, and nobody else has the secret to recharge them. All we can do is keep them out of his hands."

"Hmm. Captain, we should fill each other in on what we found. Karl Eldritch is, as far as I know, not far from here and no doubt furious that someone stole one of the Zhune gizmos."

"You're right," Bane said. He went back out into the narrow corridor and, once she joined him, sealed the vault door again. "You start..."

They went back up to the front hall as she briefly told her story. Bane listened and then explained what he had been doing that morning. To her surprise, he went into the tiny foyer and started to open the door to the street again.

"Where are you going?"

"Let's sit outside for the moment," the Dire Wolf said. He dropped down on the top step in front of the outside door and she sat down next to him. "I have a hunch Eldritch will be coming here," he told her. "His men down by the World Trade Center saw me. They'll tell him everything. He may not remember meeting you, because of that gadget you used. But he will know that someone beat up his men at the Ace of Clubs and took it."

"That makes sense," she agreed. "And you'd rather meet him out here?"

"Well, he might burn a hole through a wall or door with his atomic force. Why let him damage the building? We'll intercept him out here." The Dire Wolf turned his head to meet her gaze. "And I have an idea how to get rid of him."

"I've been thinking that over, too," Karina said. "It seems like nothing destroys him permanently. He may be literally immortal. Maybe if we could drop a mountain to pin him down..."

Bane leaned closer. "There's one trick that might work. One of your abilities is the key. Listen.."

The Myrrwhan goddess broke into a delighted grin at his suggestion. "Oh, I like that. Captain, I am starving. I know you are always hungry. Maybe I can run in and grab something from the kitchen for us?"

The Dire Wolf got up. "I think it's better that you stay out here in case Eldritch shows up. How about sandwiches and something to drink? Ham and cheese on rye okay? Juice?"

"Yes," she said, still smiling. "Make mine really thick, with lots of mustard. But just ice water to drink."

"Be right back," Bane said but he stopped where he was. A dark limousine with tinted windows had pulled up against the curb. From the back seat, a huge bulk in a blue business suit squeezed out and Karl Eldritch slammed the door behind him furiously. As the limo pulled away, the warlock stood on the sidewalk and raised his fist at them.

"I'm sure you know why I am here!" Eldritch yelled as passers-by slowed to listen and stare at the bald giant. "Return to me what is rightfully mine."

"You don't own those Zhune artifacts," Bane replied calmly, "and you sure don't deserve them."

Karina got to her feet and went down the steps to stand in front of the warlock. "I don't believe we have met, have we?"

"My agents have told me of you working with Dire Wolf," Eldritch grumbled. "The patron of Myrrwha. Karina, is it?"

"Exactly," she said and unexpectedly lunged to wrap her arms around his shoulders. In a shimmer of blue light, they were both gone. It was so quick that people who were not looking directly at them saw nothing, and only a few bystanders blinked in confusion.

VI.

Karina jumped back away from Eldritch. They were standing on hot yellow sand under a sun blazing in a sky without a single cloud. Not far away were ruins. Stone columns that had fallen over, colossal statues without their heads, a paved road almost covered with drifting sand. The only life in sight was a small stretch of dried and unhealthy looking grass alongside the road.

The warlock stared wildly around him but recovered his wits quickly. "Khebir? Yes, it must be Khebir."

"A deserted realm," Karina told him coldly. "Since the death of Menekartes, no living soul has resided here. Nothing but ruins and a few lizards and insects."

"And you have brought me here...?" he said, moving toward her.

"Not exactly. I am leaving you here!" With that, she was gone in another flare of the blue light. Suddenly she was standing at the foot of the steps of the KDF building again, with traffic rumbling past and the sound of human voices. Karina stumbled as she returned, having reappeared an inch or so off the ground.

"Looks like it worked," Bane said.

"I think so. I can travel between realms but he can't."

"He's never shown that ability," the Dire Wolf said. "Hopefully, he's stuck in Khebir now and out of our hair."

Karina straightened her tunic and smiled. "It is always interesting to visit you, captain. Let's have that lunch and congratulate each other on how very clever we are."

"Sounds good," answered Bane. He stepped aside to let her pass. "I'd be glad to see you stay here as a full time member, Karina."

"Oh, that is not my nature," she said lightly. The green eyes were bright. "I come and go and answer to no one. Maybe tomorrow I will wander to another realm. Looking for trouble. Chujir? Androval? I can't say."

"Well, I bet you won't be visiting Khebir any time soon," Bane said as he followed her inside.

3/23/2016

"The Dwindle Horn"

5/30/1981


At nine-thirty, Jeremy Bane stepped out of his rental car and pocketed the keys after parking in the first available spot. The young valet bowed slightly and walked stiffly away, evidently miffed at missing a possible tip. Watching him go, the Dire Wolf frowned more than usual. He was always serious and sour, but the nature of this case made him uncomfortable. On a beautiful warm May evening, Bane was standing in front of an exclusive casino in the South of France with a half million dollars in his pocket to gamble, and he felt no excitement at all.

For one thing, he was in disguise, which he hated and which always made him feel ridiculous. It was a bare minimum, just his black hair lightened to a sandy brown and given a few weeks extra growth, dark contact lenses over his pale grey eyes, and some wax injected in his nose to widen its bridge, but the change was enough. Bane's white dinner jacket and suit had been tailored to make him look heavier than his gaunt frame, and he remembered to slouch which took two inches off his height. The Dire Wolf glanced around and found no one was paying the slightest attention to him. Perhaps he didn't look as foolish as he feared. Taking a deep breath, he started up the wide marble steps to the front doors of Casino Frisson, walking past mostly elderly men and women in clothing that cost more than a new car would. Everything was brilliantly lit. The excited chatter of the upper class looking forward to throw their money away buzzed around him and he felt so out of place it hurt.

( the rest of the story )