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"Watercolors In the Rain"
Apr. 27th, 2023 08:53 am"Watercolors In the Rain"
3/27/1985
I.
Standing in the doorway to the KDF rec room, Jeremy Bane said, "I have no idea what you're doing."
Cindy Brunner twisted her head around to give him a chagrined smile that had melted many hearts. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of two VCRs that had dubbing cables running between them and then from each of them up to the big wall-mounted TV. Three separate remote controls, a stack of six VHS tapes and a manual added to the confusing sight. "Drat, neither do I."
"It looks as if you're trying to make copies of movies," ventured the Dire Wolf. As always, he was wearing what amounted to his uniform of all black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket which made him look even taller and leaner than he was.
The telepath jumped up to her feet with the ease of both youth and perfect physical conditioning. At twenty-six, an inch over five feet tall and maybe a hundred pounds even, she had never looked better. The long straight blonde hair was glossy and the dark blue eyes bright. Both the Tagra tea diet and her Kumundu training had gotten her blazing with life. "Yeah. Well, it's taking a while. Somehow I keep recording what's on TV instead of from the store tape to the blank. I think I should unhook everything and start over again slowly."
For once, Bane's pale grey eyes were not cold but relaxed, even mellow. She was one of a small handful of people who ever saw him that way. "Good luck. Anyway, I came to tell you we're going to have a visitor in a few minutes."
Cindy glanced past him. "Um. He's at the door now, actually."
A second after she spoke, the buzzer sounded out in the hall. Bane wheeled and strode out of the rec room at a walk faster than most people could run. He went past the row of bookshelves which lined the front hall, past the wide staircase leading up, past the office where he met visitors to the Kenneth Dred Foundation.
Stopping by the solid oak front door, he slid open a panel set at eye level to reveal a bank of controls. He pressed the speaker button.
"Good morning, please come in. We'll be with you in a moment," the Dire Wolf said. He hit a second switch which unlocked the outer street door, allowing the visitor to enter the foyer. Bane activated the advanced Trom sensors and watched as the monitor screen lit up.
Cindy had come up behind him, tugging down her loose grey swearshirt that read SCARABS WORLD TOUR 1983 across its front and back. "His mind is calm but worried. I'm picking up he has long-term stress from responsibility. Not anger, not tenseness from impending action. He's not here to attack us."
"Thanks, Cin." Bane was studying the image on the monitor screen of a sturdy man in middle-age, well-dressed in a light brown suit and tie. A neatly kept goatee and mustache, plus touches of grey in the dark hair, added to the professional impression. Along one side of the screen, pale green letters rolled off details about the man.. exact height and weight, heartbeat and blood pressure, EKG results, levels of adrenalin in trace perspiration. All these factors had been scanned within a second.
Most importantly, the sensors showed no weapons. Nothing of metal other than some keys, no chemical signatures of possible poisons or explosions. The Trom security system had cleared their visitor. Bane swung the inner door open and said, "Come right in, Dr Fairchild."
Cindy caught Bane's eye for a second and she nodded approval. Her telepathy was skimming over the surface of Fairchild's mind, too lightly for him to be aware of it but she had found nothing to alarm her.
Stepping into the hall, Dr Benjamin Fairchild extended a hand which Bane shook. The man did appeared worried, with dark circles under his deepset eyes and a general worn down expression. "I'm glad you agreed to see me right away. I came at once."
"Let's see if we can help. Dr Fairchild, this is Cynthia Brunner, my partner at the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Come on, let's get started." He gestured for the man to enter the open office to their right, where Cindy touched the back of a chair for the man.
Bane himself circled around behind a massive desk and took his own seat under a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. As Dr Fairchild got himself settled in the plain wooden chair facing the desk, Cindy remained standing. She folded her arms over her bust and gave the visitor a reassuring half-smile.
"First, let me mention that I've been doing research into the effects of sleep deprivation on dreams," Fairchild began. "I'm attached to the Osborne Medical Institute in Jersey City. So I have all the proper credentials. The staff and the scientific community see me as a solid, responsible professional."
Bane said nothing, merely raising a feral eyebrow to indicate the doctor should go on.
"But, and there's always a 'but,'" continued Fairchild, "Despite all my atheism and materialism and skepticism, I have increasingly encountered phenomena which I simply can not explain and can not ignore. I have heard of your Kenneth Dred Foundation and the work you do. In fact, I have learned quite a bit about the Midnight War."
"That's not something the general public ever hears about," Bane said. "It's probably better that way."
"Yes. The world is scary enough without adding awareness of the Midnight War to it. Be that as it may, right now we have a patient at the Institute. She volunteered for some deprivation experiments but something went wrong. Mr Bane, Miss Brunner, it's quite inexplicable but Joan Brunswick has been asleep for forty-eight hours as of this morning. Physicians have been tentatively trying to wake her with medications but with no results. And according to her EEGs, she has been having strong dreams the whole time."
Leaning a narrow hip against the desk, Cindy interrupted. "There's something more than natural causes for this, then. That's why you came to us?"
"Yes. I hesitate to say this, it sounds ridiculous, and yet... I have been gathering folklore data on something or someone called Meremoth. A living, intelligent presence that preys on sleeping victims."
Something changed in that office. Bane was already sitting up straight, his face alert and interested but suddenly those pale eyes lit with intensity. "Preys on them how?"
"In their dreams," replied Dr Fairchild. "Meremoth is a dream parasite."
( the rest of the story )
3/27/1985
I.
Standing in the doorway to the KDF rec room, Jeremy Bane said, "I have no idea what you're doing."
Cindy Brunner twisted her head around to give him a chagrined smile that had melted many hearts. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of two VCRs that had dubbing cables running between them and then from each of them up to the big wall-mounted TV. Three separate remote controls, a stack of six VHS tapes and a manual added to the confusing sight. "Drat, neither do I."
"It looks as if you're trying to make copies of movies," ventured the Dire Wolf. As always, he was wearing what amounted to his uniform of all black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket which made him look even taller and leaner than he was.
The telepath jumped up to her feet with the ease of both youth and perfect physical conditioning. At twenty-six, an inch over five feet tall and maybe a hundred pounds even, she had never looked better. The long straight blonde hair was glossy and the dark blue eyes bright. Both the Tagra tea diet and her Kumundu training had gotten her blazing with life. "Yeah. Well, it's taking a while. Somehow I keep recording what's on TV instead of from the store tape to the blank. I think I should unhook everything and start over again slowly."
For once, Bane's pale grey eyes were not cold but relaxed, even mellow. She was one of a small handful of people who ever saw him that way. "Good luck. Anyway, I came to tell you we're going to have a visitor in a few minutes."
Cindy glanced past him. "Um. He's at the door now, actually."
A second after she spoke, the buzzer sounded out in the hall. Bane wheeled and strode out of the rec room at a walk faster than most people could run. He went past the row of bookshelves which lined the front hall, past the wide staircase leading up, past the office where he met visitors to the Kenneth Dred Foundation.
Stopping by the solid oak front door, he slid open a panel set at eye level to reveal a bank of controls. He pressed the speaker button.
"Good morning, please come in. We'll be with you in a moment," the Dire Wolf said. He hit a second switch which unlocked the outer street door, allowing the visitor to enter the foyer. Bane activated the advanced Trom sensors and watched as the monitor screen lit up.
Cindy had come up behind him, tugging down her loose grey swearshirt that read SCARABS WORLD TOUR 1983 across its front and back. "His mind is calm but worried. I'm picking up he has long-term stress from responsibility. Not anger, not tenseness from impending action. He's not here to attack us."
"Thanks, Cin." Bane was studying the image on the monitor screen of a sturdy man in middle-age, well-dressed in a light brown suit and tie. A neatly kept goatee and mustache, plus touches of grey in the dark hair, added to the professional impression. Along one side of the screen, pale green letters rolled off details about the man.. exact height and weight, heartbeat and blood pressure, EKG results, levels of adrenalin in trace perspiration. All these factors had been scanned within a second.
Most importantly, the sensors showed no weapons. Nothing of metal other than some keys, no chemical signatures of possible poisons or explosions. The Trom security system had cleared their visitor. Bane swung the inner door open and said, "Come right in, Dr Fairchild."
Cindy caught Bane's eye for a second and she nodded approval. Her telepathy was skimming over the surface of Fairchild's mind, too lightly for him to be aware of it but she had found nothing to alarm her.
Stepping into the hall, Dr Benjamin Fairchild extended a hand which Bane shook. The man did appeared worried, with dark circles under his deepset eyes and a general worn down expression. "I'm glad you agreed to see me right away. I came at once."
"Let's see if we can help. Dr Fairchild, this is Cynthia Brunner, my partner at the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Come on, let's get started." He gestured for the man to enter the open office to their right, where Cindy touched the back of a chair for the man.
Bane himself circled around behind a massive desk and took his own seat under a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. As Dr Fairchild got himself settled in the plain wooden chair facing the desk, Cindy remained standing. She folded her arms over her bust and gave the visitor a reassuring half-smile.
"First, let me mention that I've been doing research into the effects of sleep deprivation on dreams," Fairchild began. "I'm attached to the Osborne Medical Institute in Jersey City. So I have all the proper credentials. The staff and the scientific community see me as a solid, responsible professional."
Bane said nothing, merely raising a feral eyebrow to indicate the doctor should go on.
"But, and there's always a 'but,'" continued Fairchild, "Despite all my atheism and materialism and skepticism, I have increasingly encountered phenomena which I simply can not explain and can not ignore. I have heard of your Kenneth Dred Foundation and the work you do. In fact, I have learned quite a bit about the Midnight War."
"That's not something the general public ever hears about," Bane said. "It's probably better that way."
"Yes. The world is scary enough without adding awareness of the Midnight War to it. Be that as it may, right now we have a patient at the Institute. She volunteered for some deprivation experiments but something went wrong. Mr Bane, Miss Brunner, it's quite inexplicable but Joan Brunswick has been asleep for forty-eight hours as of this morning. Physicians have been tentatively trying to wake her with medications but with no results. And according to her EEGs, she has been having strong dreams the whole time."
Leaning a narrow hip against the desk, Cindy interrupted. "There's something more than natural causes for this, then. That's why you came to us?"
"Yes. I hesitate to say this, it sounds ridiculous, and yet... I have been gathering folklore data on something or someone called Meremoth. A living, intelligent presence that preys on sleeping victims."
Something changed in that office. Bane was already sitting up straight, his face alert and interested but suddenly those pale eyes lit with intensity. "Preys on them how?"
"In their dreams," replied Dr Fairchild. "Meremoth is a dream parasite."
( the rest of the story )
