dochermes

"Worst Malpractice Ever"

9/21/2020

I.

The intercom on his nightstand buzzed. Snapping fully awake, Carlo turned over on the bed and responded, "Yes?"

The familiar subdued voice of Lauren Sable Reilly said, "I may have an assignment for you and Megan. Report to the office in five."

"On my way, captain."

Carlo Ventura felt more stiff and sore than he had ever been in his life. Just twenty years old, he had never exercised or played any sports. Necessity had made him walk everywhere, which had kept him in fairly good shape, but Kumundu martial art training under Teacher Chael was like breaking his body down and rebuilding it better.

The round analog clock on the wall facing him read ten after seven and the gloom outside the window facing 38th Street reassured him it was evening. He had fallen asleep fully dressed on top of the covers of his bed. Carlo grunted and grumbled, sitting up and wincing at how everything hurt. He was of average height but underweight to the point of looking a bit frail. The narrow face with its bony cheeks was topped by longish curly black hair and his dark eyes were sunken and tired.

On its own chest-high stand in one corner, the strange Eyeless Helmet seemed to regard him. Crafted in one piece of Ensalir, the Eldanar metal that resembled pale gold, it had no openings for the eyes, only outlines etched into the surface. The ancient helm was one of the most potent talismans in the Midnight War. Its bonding with him was what qualified Carlo to apply for KDF membership and to be a knight of Tel Shai.

For a few seconds, he enjoyed looking at his surroundings. This room had genuine wood walls, a double bed with a new mattress, a dresser with a mirror across its top, a desk with a laptop charging, a TV on a wheeled cart. In one corner, he had his own bathroom with a shower. This was more luxury than he had ever known. His childhood had been in a rundown shack with a hard-drinking father who kept him fed and clothed but not much more. At sixteen, he had left home to crash on different friends' couches or floors. One winter he had slept every night in a big SUV whose owner left unlocked, being sure to sneak out before daybreak.

He HAD to win full KDF membership. He couldn't bear losing this room, the hot meals, the company of new friends on the team who had so quickly accepted him. Going back to the streets, to a life without purpose or hope, would be intolerable. Whatever it took, whatever the Teachers of Tel Shai asked of him, he was determined to win their approval.

Stiff-legged, he shambled out into the hall and down the wide central staircase. His room was on the fourth floor. By the time he got down to the front hall on the ground level, his limbs had warmed up enough that he was moving normally. At the bottom step, he turned right to pass through the open door of the office.

On the right hand side as he entered was Sable sitting behind her desk. A handsome black-haired woman in her forties, she had been leader of the KDF and its team of Tel Shai knights for half her life. Her gift was enhanced sensory perception. Sable could follow a moth in an unlit room, read a newspaper from across a city street or detect the amount of stress chemicals in a person's trace perspiration. She gave him a friendly, understated smile as he entered.

There were two plain wooden chairs facing the desk and he lowered himself onto with a slight hesitation. Even without using her abilities Sable had observed how Carlo had lowered himself down, and she said, "Once the Tagra tea effect kicks in, your healing will be elevated. Our physical training becomes much easier to deal with after that."

"That's an encouraging thought, thanks."

Sitting in the other chair, turning her head to nod politely at him was Megan Salenger. Just because of scheduling and different assignments, he had spent the least amount of time with her out of all the team. He knew she had been a Human infant raised by a council of the unemotional advanced intellects called the Trom. She was known as the Trom Girl, and she operated at a genius level in a dozen demanding technical fields. From remarks the others dropped, Megan had tried to act entirely cold and logical for years but that shell had broken when she had tumbled headlong in love with her boyfriend Archie McAllister.

Megan was a slim young woman a few inches over five feet tall, with tousled black hair over an inquisitive face. Although forty years old, like most of the KDF members she looked considerably younger. Her enhanced healing and peak physical condition meant that most people would estimate she was in her late twenties. She was wearing sneakers, dark blue slacks and a white pullover shirt with a rolled collar. In her lap was one of their field helmets with a panel open, and she held a wire-thin tool in one hand. As Carlo settled down, she snapped the panel shut and pocketed the diagnostic tool.

Sable got their attention. "I've been looking over some reports from a few of our observers up in Westchester. I'll brief you both fully before you leave. Megan, tonight you were on monitor duty but Tim said he has no plans and can relieve you. Carlo, I had you scheduled for practice with the dart guns but that will have to be dropped for now."

Unconsciously, Megan and Carlo both leaned forward, prepared to hear almost anything. The Midnight War was always surprising.

"This case is going to be more gruesome than most," Sable said. "There have been three bodies found near Westlake Crossing in the past five weeks. From the police reports, it appears that a person or persons has a hobby of performing skilled but pointless surgery on conscious victims..."

( the rest of the story )

DUST MITES ATTACK! II - Skinless Faces

9/12-9/13/2010

I.

After a month, the novelty of having his own office was just beginning to wear off on Sheng. With his back to the fantail window overlooking Canal Street, he sat at his desk and gazed happily at the frosted glass panel of his door. Reversed from his viewpoint, the black letters and Chinese ideograms read CHUAN LO TSING - FIST FOR HIRE. ARGENT PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS 12 MIDNIGHT TO 8 AM, with a phone number.

Despite his name and his appearance, Sheng Mo-Yuan was not actually Chinese. He was from the adjacent realm of Chujir, whose inhabitants were thought by arcane scholars to be the ancient ancestors of the Han peoples. Sheng was five feet five, stocky but athletic, with the straight coarse black hair and tawny skin tones that led everyone to immediately decided he was East Asian. The inner eyelid fold was not very pronounced and his nose had an eagle arch that was distinctive. Sheng was also a snappy dresser, tonight he had chosen his favorite dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie, all carefully tailored.

Chujir was farther away from Canal Street than miles could measure, sundered from this world by gralic barriers. And yet here he had somehow semi-adopted new family. Sitting at his own smaller desk further back by the door, Uncle Pao was storming through a mess of opened letters as if he had lost money in it.

Pao had installed himself as an unofficial aide, nagging as much as helping. He had no fighting abilities nor clerical skill, but Pao did possess a keen understanding of human nature and a sharp sense of when clients were lying. Watching the office, taking messages, cooking meals were other ways in which Uncle Pao made himself useful.

Pao had met Sheng Mo-Yuan by chance only a few months earlier, had become became caught up in an investigation and immediately insisted that they were related. Sheng did not reveal that, since he had come from Chujir, he could not have any living relatives in the world. Instead, Sheng quickly accepted Uncle Pao, allowed the old man to start helping out at the FIST FOR HIRE offices and treated Pao as a genuine uncle. Maybe it only meant that Sheng missed having a family, since his teammates at the KDF were so unlike him culturally. In many ways, Uncle Pao resembled members of Sheng's real clan back in Chujir, both in appearance and in mannerisms. And he had learned enough Cantonese with the KDF to be able to converse easily with Pao. They were two lonely men who welcomed each other's company.

In a sudden burst of agitation, the old man shoved all the loose papers into the wide center drawer of his desk and slammed it shut. Hitting his mid-70s had dried him into a thin scarecrow in a white T-shirt and open black vest. Between the opaque-thick eyeglasses and wild white hair sticking out in random tufts, he was a colorful figure that distracted clients. As he sat fuming at his desk, he turned outraged eyes at his supposed nephew.

"Have you heard from your friend in Seattle again?" Sheng asked tentatively. "Miss Grace Liu?"

"Nephew, she was being insufferable on some cruise ship in Mexico the last I heard. When an eighty-four year old woman is left against her wishes at a random city, you know she has misbehaved. Something to do with making rude announcements over the PA system about the menus. Something about missing pets on stew days..."

On his own desk, Sheng still kept a landline phone because it fit his sense of what Private Eye decor should include. He did not smoke, but he had a vague urge to see his office filled with smoke swirling under the lazily turning overhead fan. That, and daylight slanting in through Venetian blinds would be a nice atmospheric touch. Before he could speak, the sound of the street door closing two floors beneath them caught his attention.

"Ah! Perhaps a client who will actually pay you?" asked Uncle Pao, then added "For once." But he did creak up on to his feet and went over to open the office door before seating himself again.

Light footsteps trotted up the staircase and a tall slender figure swung into the open doorway. A young woman in her twenties, wearing tight grey leggings and a baggy maroon sweater, stuck her head into sight. A long straight wing of jet black hair swung with the movement of her head as she glanced from side to side. "Mr Sheng?"

Rising and gesturing to an empty chair in front of his desk, Sheng said, "Please, come right in. I'm Sheng Mo-Yuan. Sometimes called Argent. This is my partner Sheng Pao. What brings you to us?"

"I'm in trouble, real trouble. Look at how my hands are shaking! My knees feel like rubber bands."

To his credit, Uncle Pao was immediately holding the chair for her and placing a reassuring palm against her upper back. "You are in good hands, miss."

"My name is Clemente, Clemente Suarez, I live in Queens. It's strange coming here at two in the morning, sir."

Sheng agreed. "I found most of my clients need help late at night, so I started keeping these hours. It's not called the Midnight War without good reason."

The young woman searched Sheng's face with desperation. "I'm ready for a complete meltdown, I'm freaking out, fuh-reaking out. It's the faceless deaths! You know about them, right? Faces without skin!"

( the rest of the story )

7/10/2024

I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well...I suppose..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Time for your friendly ghosts," Sable said.

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

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

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

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

"Any evidence in sight?"

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

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

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

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

( the rest of the story )

SIRION II: Strength Alone Is Not Enough

7/9/2024

I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

( the rest of the story )

"Eager For Oblivion"

4/22-4/24/2024

I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A Nekrosan!"

"An ALBINO Nekrosan, oh my God!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you coming with us, captain?"

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

( the rest of the story )

"When the Trumpets Fall Silent"

9/6-9/8/2015

I

For nearly a hundred years, the ten-story stone building on East 38th Street had seen many strange and even bizarre figures walk up to its front door. This pleasant September evening at exactly midnight, it saw yet another one. People stepped aside on the sidewalk not from apprehension but from sympathy, thinking that here was an elderly man afflicted with arthritis.

He would have been six feet tall if he had stood fully upright, but he was bent forward and leaning on a thick wooden cane. A long white coat hanging loosely from his shoulders disguised how powerful that broad body was, how thickly muscled the long arms and short bow legs must be. Clench wore a wide-brimmed slouch hat pulled low. His immense feet wore shoes that had to have been handmade. Ignoring stares, he moved easily up the six steps in front of a door that read "KDF 28" and pressed the bell.

Seconds later, a reserved female voice came through a speaker behind a panel over the door, "Hello there. can we help you?"

"Hello, I'm Clarence Ambrose. Clench?"

"Oh sure. Just a minute."

With buzzes and clicks that suggested multiple alarms and locks being turned off, the massive door swung outward on its own. The man who had called himself Clench stepped into a small vestibule which contained only a bench with a few magazines on it, a wall lamp and a life-sized oil portrait of a middle-aged gnomish man. The tab beneath read, KENNETH DRED 1900-1979.

Laying his cane on the bench, he shrugged off the coat and placed it down as well.
Immediately, Clench dropped to stand with his weight supported on stiff arms with his fists pressed down on the floor. This posture looked entirely reasonable for someone built that way. Simian comparisons were inevitable. The strange man looked as if he would weigh nearer three hundred pounds than two hundred, but he was not fat. His body and limbs seemed solid muscle. He was wearing loose navy blue sweatpants and an equally baggy sweatshirt that was canary yellow with blue side panels His oversized hands and feet were bare. The man had a wide, homely face under a thick thatch of light brown hair but his expression was amiable enough.

As he sighed with relief at not having to stand upright, Clench cocked his head. All around him sounded a deep, nearly subliminal hum. His skin tingled. Was he being X-rayed? Then the inner door swung open toward him and he swung around. Standing in the doorway were two women and a man.

Timothy Limbo he had met a month earlier. A bit under six feet tall and fit looking, the blond young man was wearing a plain white T-shirt, worn out jeans and biker boots. To his left was a dark-haired woman about forty, arms folded across her chest, watching him with a cold appraising gaze.

But it was the other woman that got his full attention. She was tiny, not much over five feet tall and thin, wearing a tight suit of grey shark-hide. Under short bristly white hair, cloudy dark blue eyes glared at him as if she was eager to attack. The woman slapped the flat of a long bone-bladed knife against one palm, which did not make her less threatening.

"Hey there," said Clench hopefully. "Sorry to drop in so late, but someone told me you guys are mostly active late at night and so many lights were on in the windows, so..."

"Oh, I remember YOU," Timothy interrupted. "As soon as we met, you kicked me in the head and kidnapped me!"

"Well, yeah, but let's not live in the past," the apelike man replied. "So, about why I'm here, maybe we can sit down to talk about it."

"I'm Sable, captain of this team," said the dark-haired woman. "Stand down, Jin. i don't think our visitor is any immediate threat."

Reluctantly, scowling all the time, Demrak Jin slid her weapon into a flat ivory sheath across her back. "Whatever you say," she growled.

Sable moved forward a step. "Adrenalin levels in your perspiration and your heartbeat are only slightly elevated. Muscle tension is normal, as are your pupils. I'm sure you didn't come here to attack us."

"You're puttin' me on," Clench said. "How do you know all that?"

"We all have our gifts. All right, come on in and tell us what's on your mind."

Escorted warily by all three KDF members, Clench loped in his unusual way across the front hall, past the wide staircase leading up, through an open door into the conference room. To the right, a desk sat against a wall under a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. A long, brown leather couch sat in the middle of the room, with six simple wooden chairs scattered about. Against the far wall to the left was a chest high bookcase filled with reference books and on its top a coffee pot with accessories and a tray of Danishes. The air was cool and dry, the lighting subdued.

"Have a seat facing the couch," Sable offered. "Mr Ambrose, you should be aware we have no reason to be cordial. I annotated the report that Timothy filed when he got back from his...encounter."

"True, true," Clench replied. "Sorry about all that. You know my family is, well, maybe you could call us mutants. Except instead of stray genes changing naturally, we were changed by our mother's sorcery. She WAS a head witch of Red Sect, after all."

"And..." interrupted Timothy, "She ordered me abducted to stage a fake marriage and wanted me to get her pregnant! And she's seventy years old!"

Clenched waved a broad hairy hand dismissively. "I thought we were past all that."

"What are you TALKING about?! 'Past all that'...?"

"Timothy, stand down," said Sable. "Take a seat. We have to be professional. Mr Ambrose, we'll hear you out."

"Fair enough, fair enough," the visitor said. "Ahem. Anyway, my family left the area recently. Grandma wanted to get a fresh start out West. But I decided to stay here. I've heard an awful lot of wild stories about the Kenneth Dred Foundation. You're knights of Tel Shai. Everyone says you're the greatest heroes the Midnight War had ever seen."

"And...?" asked Sable.

"Look at me, ma'am. You can imagine it's hard for me to get a regular job. When I go to apply anywhere, they all hide in the back. But I do have powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men--"

"Oh, brother," Tim groaned.

"I looked up records. I'm more than twice as strong as the record-holding weightlifter. I'm nimble and agile as an acrobat or Olympic gymnast. My toes are prehensile enough to tie and untie knots. I have a lot to offer."

"Wait," said Sable, "You're not saying...?"

"You bet, I want to join the KDF."

( Read more... )

"Skeeter"

10/6/2020


I.

On an unseasonably warm and muggy afternoon in early October, Timothy Limbo pulled up to the main entrance of the HealthAlliance Hospital. He was driving Foster's three year old Mazda CX-3 with its distinctive bright green paint job. A slightly built young man just below average height, Tim had a friendly, open face that people instinctively liked. His lank yellow hair hung down dangerously close to getting in his eyes.

The double doors hissed open and Foster hobbled out. A few years older than Timothy, a few inches taller and a few pounds heavier, Foster Whitcomb was wearing a black T-shirt and khaki shorts that revealed his left ankle was in a cast and his left knee bound with an Ace bandage. Gauze dressings covered most of his left forearm as well.

Out from behind the wheel in a rush, Tim handed Foster a wooden crutch and placed a comforting hand on his partner's uninjured shoulder. "They let you out kind of early, didn't they? I thought you'd be in there at least a day."

"Aw, it's not that bad, Tim. A hairline fracture in the ankle, some gouges and scrapes. They cleaned everything. I have to watch for signs of infection, though." As Tim opened the passenger door, Foster climbed in with a visible wince. "It'd be great to have your enhanced healing, Tim."

"I know, I know. The Teachers won't even consider it. I'm not even allowed to discuss it with you." Swinging around the front of the car, Timothy slid into the driver's seat again and started the engine. "I'll be honest, they don't approve of knights of Tel Shai having relationships with what they call civilians."

Struggling with the seat belt straps, Foster scoffed. "Think they'd feel different if I was a woman?"

"No. I don't think it matters. I mean, the Teachers ARE a hundred years old except for Cindy and Shaw, but they're open-minded. I've seen students of every ethnic group, including some I still can't figure out. The Order works on ability and character and potential. They don't care who or how you love."

"I suppose," Foster conceded. "Anyway. The doctors totally believed I slipped going down a hill and banged myself up on some rocks. Didn't ask any questions. No one but you knows what really happened."

Stopping at a light on Cedar Street, Tim snorted unhappily. "Silent Joe knows. He was almost within reach when you fell down that hill and I wasn't far behind him. That was a steep slope, Foster, and I couldn't see you from the road. I had to find out if you were okay."

"Are you annoyed about that?" Foster asked. "We were trying to locate Silent Josh for a week and you were just about to tackle him when I did somersaults down the hill. If I hadn't been there, you'd be turning Silent Josh over to the FBI's Department 21 Black."

Rolling forward again, Tim reached over to squeeze Foster's bruised hand very lightly. "I wasn't thinking that way. There was no decision to be made. Making sure you were all right was all that mattered. Department 21 Black is chasing Silent Josh now. Let them take over."

They were heading south along streets that started to show a gradual downward slope as they neared Esopus Creek. A few gorgeous old Episcopalm churches from the 1800s loomed up on either side. Tim asked, "Do we need to stop for anything? Groceries?"

"No, I'm all stocked up. My podcast has been turning a nice profit lately, Tim. I'm hinting at occult subjects that no one else knows about."

Timothy Limbo sounded more stern than he usually allowed his voice to express. "Oh no, Foster, don't give away secrets of the Midnight War. There's a reason it's forbidden knowledge. Let people tease themselves with silly things like astrology or palm reading or prophetic dreams. Those are safe. But I told you... Nothing in your podcast about the adjacent realms or the Seven Races. Nothing about gralic sorcery or what really comes out to stalk in the middle of the night."

Shifting his weight uneasily, Foster took a moment to answer. "I've been careful, Tim. Just hints and suggestions and little clues. Nothing that anyone could get in danger looking into. But after all, investigating the badlands is my life work. Even before we met, my WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES was the top podcast on the supernatural."

"I don't want to get into a fight," Tim answered. He pulled up against the curb near the ancient four story yellow brick building where Foster's apartment was. "You know. hon, have we thought about the inconvenience this place gives you? You're supposed to keep weight off that ankle AND the knee, but your building ha no elevator."

Unbuckling his seat belt, Foster rubbed a hand on the back of his partner's neck. "Heh, that's why the rent is so reasonable. Four flights of stairs and the building is at the bottom of a godawful hill no one can drive when it snows."

"True, true. But right now, I don't know if hiking up and down the stairs is in your best interest. And I can't stay here, I have to report back to headquarters tomorrow by three PM." He sighed with genuine exasperation. "KDF schedules are so whacky. We're mostly on duty from eleven at night until seven in the morning but one day a week we have monitor duty during the day. Our team is active overnight.:

"It's not called the Midnight War for nothing," Foster agreed. "I don't know if I've even mentioned it, Timothy Lucas Lambert, but I believe in what you do. The knights of Tel Shai, the members of the Kenneth Dred Foundation... you guys are needed. People don't realize what terrors of the darkness are kept away by your team."

"It's nice to hear that, buddy. I know my KDF schedule makes our getting together difficult but... You know what, let's get some drive-through fast food at Burger Hell."

Foster laughed and any tension between them evaporated. "Sounds good. I haven't eaten since yesterday's lunch. Some salt, grease and caffeine would hit the spot."

But as Tim turned the key in the ignition, a thin flat device on his belt beeped three times. He grumbled something incoherent and said, "I have to take this. Hello. Sable? What's up?"

As clear and rich as if she were sitting next to them, Sable's voice said, "Glad to reach you, Tim. I know it's your off day and you're with Foster, but something ominous is going on."

"And we're always on call," Tim answered without resentment. "Go ahead, captain."

"Something going on not twenty minutes from where your signal is," Sable continued. "You know the bicycle trail that runs to the uptown plaza. Some missing pets have been reported there the past few weeks and now a Human cadaver has been found. I'm told there's a puncture wound in the chest and the body is wrinkled from having most of its blood drained."

"I'm on my way," Tim replied. "I'll report as I go."

"One more thing," Sable's voice said. "I haven't been happy about Archie accompanying Megan on her 'Trom Girl Mysteries.' And Archie is a big bruiser who was in the Army and who can handle himself in a fight. I like Foster, he's a good person, but I don't want another civilian getting too deep into Midnight War. It's dangerous even for us. We should not be placing our friends and loved ones in harm's way."

"Understood, I'll keep him far back from any phenomena," Tim said and broke the connection. He turned to Foster and raised an eyebrow. "So my captain wants you to stay away from the monsters and murderers."

That made Foster laugh out loud. "Telling me NOT to do something guarantees I'll do it. Come on, buddy, let's look for a blood-sucker."

( the rest of the story )

"Squid Vicious"

3/11-3/12/2022

I.

Early on a frosty March morning, passers-by in Times Square found a badly injured Timothy Limbo lying in the alley between two buildings. Someone called for an ambulance but the EMTs were not hopeful about his chances. Timothy had four broken ribs, severe bruising, concussion, and was bleeding from nose and mouth. Strapping him to the gurney and securing him in the rear, they took his vitals. One drove while the other gave him nasal oxygen clips and tried to stanch the bleeding. Within a few blocks, though they could not know it, his enhanced healing kicked in. At a red light, Timothy unexpectedly broke free, unstrapped himself and jumped out the rear of the ambulance, brushing the confused paramedic aside. He was way down a side street and out of sightbefore the EMTs could react.

Recovering quickly, Timothy managed to get into the bathroom of a McDonalds without being stopped. He cleaned himself up as best he can, then started limping toward 38th Street. Despite his appearance, he was walking steadily and confidently enough that no one approached him.

Finally, after what seemed like the longest trudge of his life, Timothy tapped his ID code into the pad by the front door and entered the small foyer. For twenty seconds, clicks and buzzes sounded as he was scanned, identified and cleared. He did not try to locate his captain Sable, but stubbornly made it up the stairs to his rooms on the third floor. The air was cool and dry and immensely comforting. Sitting on the edge of his double bed, Timothy managed to tug off his heavy biker boots, torn jeans and leather jacket as if wrestling with stubborn living things. He stretched out on top of the covers and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

Waking easily, he blinked at the round clock hanging on the opposite wall. Two-twenty, and the yellow sunlight slanting in through his window told him it was afternoon. He felt much better, almost normal except for some stiffness. Timothy yawned and rolled over to get some high protein energy bars from his nightstand and wolf them down. He always kept a sixteen ounce of water within reach too, and sipping most of that helped his healing factor finish repairing all the damages done to his body.

The intercom panel by his headboard buzzed, he tapped the button and said, "Hi," rather uncertainly. "Sable?"

"How are you feeling?" came the voice of his captain.

"I'm okay. Give me a few minutes to clean up and I'll report."

"Take your time, I'm in the office." With a click, she broke the connection.

After a quick steaming shower, wearing fresh pants, T-shirt and sneakers, Timothy went down the staircase and turned right into the office. Sable greeted him with a mug of the Tagra tea. As he sipped it gratefully and felt the final twinges of pain ease away, Tim took a chair in front of the desk as Sable seated herself behind it facing him.

Lauren Sable Reilly's gift was enhanced perception. Gralic force augmented all her senses beyond what Human science could explain. Timothy was used to her abilities and knew she was examining him right then and there with a single glance. "I don't sense any internal damage left," she said after a few seconds. "No blood clots, no infection. Your ribs have already sealed up. Do you feel any dizziness or nausea?"

"No, captain. I'm ready for duty. Thanks for the Tagra." He put the mug down by his feet.

Sable leaned back in her swivel office chair and smiled reassuringly. She was an attractive woman in her early forties, with long straight black hair brushed back off a high forehead. A pug nose and slight overbite added to the huge dark eyes to give her a distinctive face most people liked on sight. "I have to say, I was worried when you came in this morning. Your injuries were serious enough that the Trom sensors alerted me. I stood outside your door and heard your breathing and heartbeat were fine, so I didn't bother you. Sleep seemed to be what you needed most."

"Thanks again," Timothy said. "Man! Without the Tagra healing, we'd all be in wheelchairs by now."

"We do take some punishment," Sable agreed. "So. I'm recording, starting now. I'll type it up in a few minutes and we can both add and correct the report before it goes into the files. Last night, you went out at eleven-thirty. Your aim was to check our observers and see what what you could learn about some of these senseless atrocities in the lower Manhattan area. All we had to go on was a name, 'Squid Vicious.'"

"That name cracked me up at first but now I don't find it funny. Okay. I went out on foot and walked down to the Korean neighborhood by the Empire State Building. A lot of our observers are active at night, of course. I made the rounds. Spanish Eddie, Nurse Robin, Old Lady Choi, Herman the German, the usual street folks we keep on retainer. They're all agitated. For a month now, there's been a wave of pointless violence going on. Fires started, windows smashed and cars vandalized. Some beatings and sexual assaults. Not many witnesses to any of these. Security cameras are no help. For some reason, video gets hazy and vague during the crimes."

"That's interesting," Sable interrupted. "That's what happens when we're around. Between our own gralic powers and the Eldanaran sigil we wear, recording equipment degrades in our presence. We fog film and distort videos."

"Yeah. That's true. So I thought, hey... these aren't just destructive punks. There's something Midnight War going on here. I kept going the route for a few hours, visiting the crime scenes, asking our people. At three, I got a grilled cheese and fries at an all-night corner shop and thought things over. When I left, I turned at the corner of Mulaney Street and First Avenue and got sucker punched from behind."

"Not too many people could catch you unaware like that, Tim."

"It's hard to explain. I mean, I'm not a top Kumundu master but I do have eight years training. There was a man ten feet behind me. His footsteps were even and balanced. I didn't hear the movement of a weapon being drawn. But something sure impacted the back of my head like a hammer."

"And then?"

"It's all a confused blur. I was yanked up off the ground, my arms held out to the sides, but I don't remember being aware of men holding me. I got smacked around severely enough that I was dazed, and they shook me during the beating. Then I was thrown against the side of a building and dropped. A voice said, 'Stop asking questions.' After a awhile, I was regaining my senses when some Good Samaritan saw me and called 911."

Timothy went on to relate how he escaped from the ambulance and made his way back to the base. "So here I am. There's one funny detail, though. The marks have faded but I had four or five of these on my body." He tugged back his shirt sleeve. On his inner forearm was a still visible round bruise two inches across, darker in the center. "The skin was broken but it's healed up now. I apologize for not taking a few pictures when I first saw them, but honestly I was exhausted."

"I understand," Sable said, peering with eyes that saw at the microscopic level. "Tim, this is Midnight War all right. Those marks were made by suckers such as are found on tentacles. Cephalopods."

There was an undertone of uneasiness in his comment, "SQUID Vicious."

II.


Sable called a full meeting for eight o'clock. On the second floor, most of the conference room was taken up by a long oak table at which five generations of heroes had met. Only four of the twelve chairs were occupied in person at the moment. Each member present had a tablet or laptop propped up in front of them, on the screens two additional KDF members could be seen and heard.

At the head of the table, she sat with Timothy Limbo on her right hand and Demrak Jin to her left. Ashley Whitaker, the Unicorn, was next to Tim and opposite her sat Carlo Ventura. Attending onscreen were Jocelyn Garimara, who was in Los Angeles, and Galvan, who was at home, holding the son he had with Demrak Jin.

Seated at the opposite end of the table was a newcomer. This man was tall and wide-shouldered in an immaculate black business suit with a dress white shirt and narrow tie. He had short black hair over an olive-skinned face with presentable but unremarkable features; the deepset dark eyes were notably alert and reserved. His face gave away nothing of what he was thinking. It did not look blank but simply thoughtful.

No one there remarked on his appearance, but this newcomer appeared to be a near-identical twin of KDF founding member Leonard Slade, who had died in action in 1990. None of the current members had met Slade, most had been children or unborn at the time of his death, but the resemblance still was on their minds.

After roll call, Sable opened the meeting. "Our first item of business is the admission of a new member. You have all met Frank here over the past few days.
Following the recent death of our Megan Salenger, the Trom have sent a replacement liaison. Frank Mills is a Monitor, same as founding member Leonard Slade. Unfortunately, we have just found out he has been rejected by as a student by Tel Shai."

Unicorn interrupted without preliminaries. The little platinum blonde had never hesitated to speak her mind. "And why is that? I think it's in our interests to know."

"Fair enough," Sable agreed. "Several of the Teachers are telepathic, of course. They state that Frank has, quote, 'a hidden agenda' which he declines to reveal."

"Well, THAT's ominous," grumbled Unicorn.

"Be that as it may," Sable continued, "This presents a real problem for us. Our agreement since 1979 was that the Trom provided some of their advanced tech in exchange for a Trom having access to Tel Shai secret lore. Now that deal seems in danger of failing. Without Trom devices like the Links and the CORBY stealthcopters, we risk losing much of the edge we enjoy in the Midnight War.

Unicorn blew up and raised an impeccable finger in protest. "Hey, we can function just fine on our own. No CORBYs? We have Eldanar travel crystals, and we can use regular cell phones instead of the Links. The armor is good for a lifetime if not longer. Anyway, half our team doesn't even use Trom tech. Galvan and Jin and Carlo don't need it and the rest of us will get along fine with our own abilities."

"Thank you, Ashley," Sable said calmly. "You're right. But it would be foolish to give up Trom tech if there's any way to retain it. Besides, a Trom Monitor as a member would be invaluable. His intelligence, skills and abilities would place himm among our most powerful members. So, we need to find some solution."

On their screens, the image of Jocelyn Garimara scoffed. "No sense in petitioning the Teachers of Tel Shai to change their minds. They're all over a hundred years old and completely sure of themselves. It'd be like telling a grove of oak trees to get up and move around."

"I think I have an idea," Timothy offered. "We Tel Shai knights can't directly teach Kumundu or Mind Arts or provide access to the Great Archives. But this headquarters building holds tens of thousands of rare books on the arcane and the occult. These belonged to Kenneth Dred and are the property of the KDF to use as they wish. We can provide Frank with access to them."

"Sounds like it's worth pursuing," Sable agreed. "Frank, what do you think?"

Like Slade before him, the new Trom put enough inflection into his voice that his speech sounded natural. The Trom were as close to being completely unemotional as flesh and blood sentients could be. Between the minimizing of hormones which affect behavior and a culture which had stressed logic and discipline for thousands of years, they struck Humans as both cold-blooded and rigidly formal. But Frank managed to sound normal enough.

"The proposal has merit," he said. "As I understand your rules, a Full Member must be a Tel Shai knight but the status of Associate Member is also available."

"Yes!" interrupted Demrak Jin. The Gelydran woman was wearing her snug outfit of grey sharkhide with the rough denticles on the outside, as if ready for instant action. Strapped across her back was the carved ivory sheath holding her bone-bladed knife. "I myself am an Associate Member. Those fools at Tel Shai turned me down as well..." her voice trailed down slightly, "For a bad temper which I admittedly have."

Frank Mills continued, "Of course, I will need to discuss this with the Trom Council in charge of this project. I project a high degree of probability they will approave. I would join the KDF as an Associate Member in exchange for being able to scan the rare books and send the images to the Trom Council. My full abilities would be at the team's service. We will establish a new arrangement between the Trom and the KDF, lesser in scope and productivity than the original but still very useful for both sides."

"Sounds workable to me. Okay, team, any objections?" Sable waited a minute, then went on. "Right now, I want to move on to our current mission. You've read Tim's report. I've been receiving tips and pointers from our army of observers and I think there are two likely areas where this Squid Vicious is likely to be found. One is in Tribeca. Unicorn and Carlo, that's your assignment. Take the Mustang and dig around. The other is further downtown, almost by the Battery. Timothy and Jin, that's for you. Considering the damages Tim took, I don't have to remind everyone to be even more alert than usual."

Demrak Jin made a rumbling noise deep in her narrow chest and reached back to tap the knife hilt up by her left shoulder. She came from a warrior Race in Ulgor and her thin-lipped smile was unnerving.

At the other end of the table, Frank Mills said, "I offer my services for this case, in an unofficial capacity if needed. The more I observe and interact with the team, the more competent I will be as a member."

"True." Sable nodded and looked out over the cool, unwelcoming faces of her teammates. "We'd be foolish to turn down having a Trom Monitor on hand."

"He can't replace Megan!" snapped Unicorn. "Nobody can."

Sable said, "Ashley, I know you believe in the work we do. As knights of Tel Shai and members of the Kenneth Dred Foundation, we are all that stand between innocent unknowing Humans and creatures of the night that are eager to prey on them. I am positive this is your life's work and you would not give it up for anything."

"Well, sure. Sorry if I sound... it's just that Megan's only been gone a month and already we're filling her chair, it seems disrepectful."

The bland face of Frank Mills regarded the little blonde without taking offense. "Would Megan Salenger have wanted you to turn down an arrangement which will make you and your friends safer?"

A long tense moment broke as Ashley huffed. "Yeah. I get it. Look, I'm not blaming you for Megan's death and I should give you a fair shot. That's not asking too much." She rose to her full five feet one inch and clapped both palms down on the meeting table. "Let's roll."


III.

Timothy was not surprised Demrak Jin does not recognize the pun in the name 'Squid Vicious' and he suggested the Gelydra to listen to music once in a while.. any kind of music. She had been living in the surface world for years and had not taken advantage of any of its various arts.

Close to midnight found the team of Timothy, Frank and Jin approaching an auto body shop in one of the worst part of lower Manhattan. Right next to an embankment edging the East River was a block long lot with a wire fence around it and a plain wooden sign FRANK'S. This was mostly a junk yard filled with cast iron bathtubs and sinks, broken furniture, unidentifiable machine parts and random scraps of metal. The pothole-riddled ground was a maze of jagged masonry and ankle deep rain puddles. It also boasted a small brick garage with a sign advertising body work and salvage. Eight bikers were there with their Harleys, working on a stolen BMW which was being painted for resale on the black market.

Facing the KDF team as he entered was a wide short man with a tan raincoat tossed over his shoulders. He was markedly bizarre in appearance, with a bald pointed head, and smooth unhealty-looking grey skin. Even this late at night, he was wearing round oversized sunglasses with nearly opaque lenses. "Our hours of business are clearly posted," he announced in a deep mournful voice. "So you are trespassing. My Squidlings and I must conclude you are burglars and home invaders, and so we are forced to defend ourselves."

Suddenly, Tim remembered everything. Frank Pugliese had been a bodyguard for a Red Sect warlock whom he tried to rob and been cursed by a Darthan spell as punishment.

Demrak Jin whipped her bone-bladed long knife from its sheath across her back and charged. From Squid's ribs at each side sprouted two thick, rubbery tentacles stretching eight feet in length, lined with hooked suckers. These were extremely tough and strong. These had taken Timothy off-guard the night before, but Demrak Jin was ready for them. She stamped down hard on one tentacle, pinning it to the cold concrete floor. Even as another of the limbs whipped around her torso, Jin sliced entirely through it with her bone-bladed knife. The severed limb whipped about wildly. Jin sprang in close and drove her knife to the hilt into Squid's chest, then kicked the wounded man back away from her.

As Squid sagged to the ground and the tentacles spasmed and twitched, she whirled around to confront the gang. Timothy had dropped several of them with his anesthetic dart gun, but more ran into the garage began shooting at the KDF members. Several of the gang are using AR-15s and the barrage was heavy enough that Timothy shielded Jin with his body, since he was wearing the Trom armor.

The merciless drumming of hundred of bullets across his back forced Timothy down on to his knees, still bent protectively over Jin. Her sharkhide suit would have shredded away within seconds and her body perforated beyond recognition. Even the flexible Trom armor was tested to its limits. Its film structure worked by dispersing impact over its entire surface, which worked fine against a single shot by even a high-powered rifle, but this barrage was too much.

Within a second of the onslaught, Frank Mills unclipped a small flat device from his belt and swung it back and forth as if waving a flashlight. The Squidlings dropped straight down where they stood. The hot rifles fell from limp hands and the shooters made no effort to even catch themselves. Their nervous system restarted normal functions after that disruption but it would be quite a while before any of them would even attempt to move around.

Even as the final gang member hit the ground, Mills replaced the beam projector to his belt and swung around to his new teammates. "How much damage have you sustained?"

Demrak Jin wriggled out from under Tim and immediately began supporting him instead. "I am unharmed. My comrade took the attack meant for me."

"Ow ow ow," Tim mumbled, stretched out face down in the cold gravel. "I was just getting over being beat half to death last night. My luck is all bad."

"Scanning now. No significant internal damage shows. The bruising is extensive and severe." Mills examined his Link's screen. "Even with your advanced healing, Timothy, I suggest you do not try to walk for the immediate future."

"Yeah, I'm not enthusiastic about trying out for the Marathon!" Tim groaned. Very little remained of the back of his jacket or pants and, as Jin carefully turned him over, the detached front of his field suit dropped off to the ground.

Without a word, Frank Mills silently launched straight up into the dark sky. Timothy and Jin were taken aback. They had become used to seeing Megan use her gravity shield but for some reason, neither had considered that Mills would have the same equipment.

"Where do you suppose he's gone off to?" asked Tim.

"I neither know nor care," the Gelydra said. "Can you sit up? Timothy, I do not know how many times we have saved each others' lives. But I think I am in your debt."

Starting to feel better, Timothy exhaled more easily than before. "Ahh, who can keep track? The important thing is we know we have each other's back."

"Maybe I am the first of my Race to understand teamwork. We are stubborn and solitary by nature. But then," she added with uncharacteristic wistfulness, "I am the Gelydra who fell in love with a Melgar! There is something wrong with me."

Daring to touch her, Tim reached over and patted her shoulder. "Not as far as I can see, Jin."

Silently, without any flash or roar from his device, Frank Mills descended and landed perfectly on both feet next to them. "I must report that the enemy has escaped. I scanned the surrounding area for a distance greater than he could have run."

"Wait, you don't think... Did he jump in the East River?"

"There is a high degree of probability he did so. My sensors do not penetrate water effectively. It seems likely that the 'Squid Vicious' has been altered more than he first seemed to be. In addition to the extensible tentacles, he was not seriously harmed by his wounds and he has remained under water for at least nineteen minutes."

"More of a Squid than we thought," Timothy added in a low voice.

Demrak Jin took a few determined steps toward the embankment before Tim called, "Hey wait! Don't go after him."

"Why not? If anyone can slay a Human squid, it is a daughter of Ulgor. I will bring you back his head as a trophy."

"He is several miles away by now."

"I can track him by his ammonia scent. He will not escape me, I promise you that."

"Please, Jin," Tim said. "We need you to come back to base. In a few minutes, the NYPD will be arriving in full battalion force. I'm sure there's enough evidence in plain sight to arrest all these Squidlings. An obvious chop shop with a stolen car half taken apart, dozens of firearm violations, probably a lot of illegal drugs and paranaphenalia. But the last thing we need is to get caught up in the investigation because we were waiting here for you to come out of the river with someone's cut off head."

Even Demrak Jin had to see the bizarre humor in that last sentence. "Bah. So be it. There will be another time." As she helped Tim maneuver himself into the rear seat of the KDF's car, Frank Mills got behind the wheel and started it up. As it happened, he was just turning right at the next intersection when flashing blue and red lights could be seen arriving at the Squidlings' shop.

5/19/2023

"Passing Lane On the Highway To Hell"

3/28/2003

I.


"What is your knight even doing way over there? He's useless, absolutely useless. He can't even feed himself or wipe his own butt. I'd trade him for a used beat-up old pawn, if you asked me. Wait. When did you take my queen? I didn't even see it."

When the flow of chatter from Unicorn paused for a second, Megan Salenger looked up from the war helmet she was adding new circuits to. "Two moves ago. You were concentrating on trying to attack my rook on E4."

Ashley threw back her long platinum blonde hair and huffed."Are you sure you didn't zap me with your raygun and erase my memory for a few seconds?"

The Trom Girl replied calmly, "No. You are still reacting to moves as they happen. You need to look ahead four or five moves and position your pieces accordingly."

Studying her small magnetic chess set, Unicorn launched into another tirade. "I don't like the way your bishops work together. They're creepy. The two of them have got all the good openings blocked off, As soon as I learn some more strategy, I'll take out both bishops at the start of the game."

"You are both intelligent and adaptable, Ashley, but you lack patience. Your game will improve if you slow down and consider what your opponent is planning."

The little blonde pouted in a way that had melted many hearts. Ashley Whitaker had always been pretty and at twenty-two, she was gorgeous enough that people often forgot what they were doing as she passed by. She raised a piece, changed her mind and moved a pawn forward to block an advance.

"See, I know you're smarter than me," she said. "The Trom raised you to be a super-genius who could win a different Nobel Prize every year. But what I have is creativity! There's no way to predict what I'm going to next."

"You do have a strong random factor in your psychological makeup," the Trom Girl agreed. She clicked the chin bar on her helmet closed and painstakingly replaced the wire-thin tools to their case. Megan Salenger was a few years older than Ashley, a little heavier in build and a few inches taller. Her untidy short hair was black and she had dark inquisitive eyes to complete the contrast between the two of them.

Leaning over, Megan didn't even glance at the board before moving her queen down to B3. "That's mate. Your defenses are getting stronger."

Unicorn reacted as if she had been punched hard in the chest. "I am stricken, absolutely stricken. My life is ruined. I will have to wear a bag over my head so other players don't laugh at me."

Before Megan could reply, their captain appeared in the doorway of the office. "Glad to see you two are still here. I know this is your free day, Megan."

"Oh, no! She's got a clipboard..." said Unicorn. "It's not my turn to scrub out the refrigerator AGAIN?"

"Relax," Sable said as she crossed over behind her desk and settled into her swivel chair. "I've got a report from one of our observers of possible Midnight War activity. It might turn out to be nothing, most of our investigations do. But it might also turn out to be anything from Karl Eldritch to Red Sect to a pack of Skinwalkers."

"Better than putting on those yellow rubber gloves and kneeling in front of the refrigerator all day," Ashley grumbled. "Let me run up to my room and get my gear."

With the effortless agility of youth and regular exercise, she leaped up and dove out of the room. A second later, they heard her light footfalls racing up the stairs.

Sable tapped the small chess set and smiled. "She's been on this kick for a month now."

"Ashley tends to move from one hobby to another as soon as she feels a minimal competency."

"OH, yes. I remember her harmonica phase. Are you ready to go?"

Megan stood up, tucking her helmet under one arm. She was wearing her version of the KDF field suit, all black... boots, snug pants and a waist-length jacket. "My gravity shield is stowed in my Jeep, but my superiors have mentioned I should be more discreet about its use when I might be seen."

The Unicorn galloped back into the office and almost skidded to a stop. Instead of her usual all white outfit, she seemed to be going through a baby blue phase.. sneakers, jeans, T-shirt and denim jacket all that color with darker blue trim on collars and cuffs.

In her hands was a cylindrical white leather sheath three feet long, tapering to a point at one end. "Armor under my clothes, dart gun in the small of my back, emergency Kitkat bars in my jacket pocket. I'm bringing my Unicorn horn. If we meet any critters with gralic powers, I can shut them down. How about our briefing, captain?"

"Not much to go on, to be honest. One of our oldest observers reports a sighting in Jamaica.."

"Jamaica! We're going to Jamaica!"

"Jamaica, Queens. Calm down, Ashley. It's Bennett Ferguson, he was one of Jeremy's first observers and over the years he's been reliable. This time he says he saw a man standing by the rear wall of a pharmacy. As he watched, the man apparently melted through the wall and was gone from sight. A few minutes later, the man appeared again and ran off with a plastic shopping bag in one hand."

Megan had been listening intently and now she interrupted. "This would be the All-Stop Pharmacy at 446 Lincoln Avenue, wouldn't it? The staff is being questioned by the police because a large quantity of restricted painkillers is missing with no sign of a break-in. Fentanyl and Percocet were mentioned."

"Hey, wait," said Unicorn, "I didn't hear about this on the news."

"I skim a daily summary of police reports in the metropolitan area."

Unicorn pointed an accusatory finger. "Science Nerd, some day you are going to get in big trouble hacking into Pentagon and FBI and NYPD files the way you do."

Disregarding Ashley for the moment, Sable continued, "That's really all we have right now, I'm afraid.I want you two to go see Ferguson and get more details, look around the scene, ask some questions, the usual procedure."

Already moving for the door, Ashley was dangling her Unicorn horn by one strap. "On the job, captain! This guy will find me and Megan are a wall he can't walk through.

( the rest of the story )

"Hell Must Be Full"

6/26-6/28/2019

I.

"Please excuse my unfortunate appearance," said John Burroughs Delver as Timothy was ushered into an office spacious enough to accommodate a softball game complete with bleachers. Under subdued fluorescent lighting, five staff members were working at separate desks. "I am afflicted with acromegaly. It's a glandular disorder. Modern treatments have slowed its progress and managed to keep my blood pressure stable but I'm still in some discomfort."

Trying not to stare and failing, Timothy Limbo saw that this incredibly wealthy developer was indeed grotesque. Several inches over six feet in height, Delver had thick arms and legs which ended in noticeably oversized hands and feet. Even the skillfully tailored dark blue Brioni suit could not conceal the barrel chest and unnaturally wide shoulders. Delver's misshapen, lumpy face had evidently received some plastic surgery with only middling success. The lantern jaw and protruding brow ridge were still bizarre, and even the excellent dentures and black wig were still dentures and wig when seen at close range.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Timothy said, offering his hand, which Delver engulfed in a rough-skinned paw nearly the size of a boxing glove. Dreading a bone-splintering grip, Timothy was relieved that Delver hardly closed his giant hand at all before disengaging.

Next, Delver demonstrated genuine authority by not having to raise his voice to get immediate obedience. "Everybody, take a ten minute break. Ava, hold any calls but do it from the outside office. Mr Limbo, please make yourself comfortable."

Four associates got up from their work stations at separate desks and briskly followed executive secretary Ava Morales out through the door. Timothy pulled out a chair next to a side table holding pewter trays of Danishes and bowls of fruit as well as a needlessly complex espresso machine. Delver promptly sat down facing him.

Despite his brand new conservative cut black suit with powder blue shirt, despite having shaved twice that morning and having had his normally abandoned mop of yellow hair cut and styled the day before, Timothy Limbo still felt like an oaf from the wilderness in that environment. It wasn't just the scale and layout of the office that unsettled him, it was the unobtrusive way all the furnishings were high quality. That was an original oil painting of a mountain with the Milky Way blazoned behind it and he could make out Simone Latrelle's famous signature in the lower right corner. From what he had read, that painting had been coveted by art fanciers for decades with bidding high into the millions.

"I have to admit I hadn't heard of your Kenneth Dred Foundation before yesterday," Delver began. "When the authorities strongly recommended I meet with you, naturally I had an assistant do some quick research."

Timothy's Kumundu training gave him skill at reading body language, micro-expressions and subvocal tremors. He decided right away that Delver was lying and trying to hide it. Worse, the man was boiling with anger and a barely repressed murderous urge. Why? He didn't know. The feeling of peril was like being in a room with a snarling tiger. But Tim kept his own face bland and his voice politely mild. "We're not a well-known organization."

"There are many wild rumors about your KDF, though. They read like scripts for horror movies or perhaps thrillers. It was two agents of the FBI's Department 21 Black who came here and advised me to meet with you." Delver shook his head in mock disbelief. "To be honest, they are another group whose activities are hard to believe."

"Yeah, our areas overlap," Tim said. "Mr Delver, I'm not going to try to convince you about the truth regarding the supernatural. My guess is the Midnight War is going to do all the convincing necessary. It all ties in with your new concert arena in New Jersey."

"Oh, do go on. Are you going to tell me my three hundred million dollar Stentor Arena has been built over a forgotten Indian burial ground?"

There was no humor in Timothy's voice. He was by nature a rather mild young man, but now the dark blue eyes were intense. "SOMEthing is going on, sir. For the past year, while construction was going on, households in the vicinity have been complaining of strange noises underground."

"Moles, presumably, if not mere imagination. Coffee?"

"No, thanks. These digging noises go on late at night, sounding as if they are coming from a considerable depth. Some people have felt vibrations underfoot when out in their yards. Of course, your project hasn't been shown to have any possible connection."

"Of course not," Delver responded with amusement. "The plumbing and electrical work was completed long ago. All that is being done now is cosmetic touches, paint and windows. Tell me, Mr Limbo, what exactly do you think is the problem?"

"Trolls."

"What? I don't spend much time online but even so I've encountered anonymous comments designed to rile people up. They are annoying but hardly the sort of people to be digging underground for months at a stretch."

"No, sir, I mean real Trolls. The creatures who inspired the legends. They are semi-human brutes with incredible strength and endurance. Most are the Digger type, five feet tall and not much threat. But the warrior Trolls grow up past seven feet tall and are strong enough to tear gorillas apart. It takes a lot of bullets to hurt them and they love to fight with stone axes and hammers."

Jonathan Burroughs Delver sat up straighter and clasped his hands in front of him, obviously flustered. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this short, Mr Limbo, I do have a lot of business to attend to today.."

"I haven't told you the worst yet." Timothy leaned forward and his voice lowered. "Trolls farm mushrooms in their tunnels and they often trap small game or gather fruit and nuts and roots. But their favorite food walks on two legs."

( the rest of the story )