dochermes

"The Jackal-Headed Servants of Menekartes"

3/2-3/4/1987

I.

Larry Taper had never looked worse. In the hospital bed, surrounded on three sides by drawn curtains which hung from a track in the ceiling, he seemed shrunken and somehow aged beyond his years. Taper was forty-two and normally at Olympic-level fitness from his decade of Tel Shai training, but an observer might pin his age just then at early sixties. The oxygen mask fastened over his lower face and the IV tubes leading up from his elbow to three plastic bags hanging on the stainless steel tree didn't help. What puzzled Bane was how dry and dehydrated Taper looked. His skin seemed almost brittle, as if it would flake off at a touch.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Jeremy Bane felt helpless in a way he seldom had before. Just thirty, the Dire Wolf was so serious and intense that he intimidated people without realizing it. Gaunt and wiry at six feet even, Bane was wearing his usual wardrobe of all black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. The somber outfit seemed grimly appropriate in these circumstances.

Aloud, in his characteristic low tones, Bane said, "I don't know if you can hear me, Larry. I hope so. Hang on. Keep fighting! We're doing everything we can for you. Don't give up."

Beind him, a stout, middle-aged nurse interrrupted as gently as she could. "I'm sorry, sir. Dr Wright is waiting for you down in the visitor room with your friends."

Bane turned, his grey eyes withdrawn and introspective. "Okay. Thank you." Giving Taper a final glance, the Dire Wolf left the room, went past the nursing station where everyone was buzzing over some X-rays and discussing whether to quarantine Room 544, and entered one of the twin color-coded elevators. He rode down three floors to Metropolitan General's new visitor's room. Everything was in soothing tones of pastel green and blue, there was a table holding assorted magazines and a bubbling tank in one corner with bright fish swimming about helped to keep worried people distracted.

Standing in that room were Jessica Frost, Stephen Weaver and Sulak. Three of his fellow Tel Shai knights and KDF members, watching him enter anxiously.

"What do you think, captain?" asked Weaver. A tall black man with a thick mustache, Weaver was wearing the casual blue work shirt and jeans he had on when the call had come to meet here.

"I don't know what to make of it," Bane said. "To me, he looks like he's been exposed to the elements. As if he's been out in the desert sun for a week. But we saw him last night and he was fine. Ted?"

Dr Thaddeus James Wright had just come in the room. He had been studying papers on a clipboard, which he now lowered. He was older than his teammates, with dark heavy features that always seemed sad. Grey was beginning to appear in his short tightly curled hair and beard, more from worry than from age. "Listen, everyone. The staff here is doing more blood work and and an MRI has been ordered. They suspect it's some rare virus and I'm going along with that. But we need to deal with the truth. It's gralic sorcery of the strongest and most baleful kind... Darthan magick."

"Bad news indeed," muttered Sulak. The Melgar champion looked like the gladiator he was. A few inches taller than the others, his tailored Royal blue suit with the dress white shirt and narrow blue tie could not conceal the massive hard muscles in his wide-shouldered body. Sulak's dark blue eyes remained fixed on Wright as if hoping the doctor would change what he said. Over a long career, he had lost many comrades and had never found a way to make it easy to take.

"I can't give you false hopes," Wright said slowly. "The truth is, an ordinary man struck by this spell would have died within seconds. Larry has been on a tagra diet for ten years and his regenerative abilities are beyond what medical science can acknowledge. All of us have survived severe injuries because of our enhanced healing. He's in peak athletic condition and he has a strong will to survive. Even now, close to being in a coma, he is fighting back at every level."

"Sounds like a 'but' is coming," Weaver put in sourly.

"Yes. 'But.' Larry is resisting but the Darthan magick is hideously potent. My own gralic powers can only help him a little. It's a question of time, my friends. Larry will hang on as long as he can, I will keep reinforcing his body with my own gralic powers. And I have slipped him some tagra tea secretly, which violates hospital procedure and which could land me on charges. We can only delay the inevitable."

Weaver stood slumped with folded arms, head down. "Can you give us some sort of time frame?"

"A few days. Maybe seventy-two hours, the way things stand now. After that, the damage will be established so deeply that I can't see him recovering." Wright raised the clipboard again. "I still have to check on Mrs Whitman in 521 to see how she's reacting to the antibiotic. As much as I love Larry as a fellow knight, I still have other patients to tend."

Jeremy Bane suddenly took command of the situation, his voice regaining its usual crispness. "We know where Larry had been before he was stricken. Khebir. We're going there to find out what happened to him. Ted, I don't have to ask you to do your best for him, I know you always do!"

"Thank you," Wright answered, heading for the door. "Good luck. I pray you find something that helps. Right now, I must see Mrs Whitman... her kidney tests came back with discouraging results." Reading from the clipboard again, he left the room.

Jessica Frost spoke for the first time. Since the traumatic incident that had awakened her freezing powers, she had become taciturn and withdrawn. Only her sense of gratitude to Bane and a feeling of duty had kept her involved with other people. With her ash-blonde hair down past her shoulders, her pale skin and light crystal blue eyes, Jessica looked every the chilly person she had become. "I thought Khebir was a dead realm," she stated as if that should settle the question.

"It is, as far as we know," Bane told her. "But Larry encountered Menekartes there ten years ago. That was where he became the Silver Skull and entered the Midnight War seriously. Come on, team, let's roll." The Dire Wolf led his friends to the elevators and suddenly their spirits lifted at the thought they still might be able to do something to help Larry Taper.

( the rest of the story )

"Those Who Remember"

11/2/- 11/3/1986

[REVISION: The origin of Simon Cohen has been completely changed and all mentions of it have to be rewritten. He actually was an aging Kabbalist and disgraced Rabbi who with Alchemist Lee Hutchins' help, permanently placed his consciousness into a stone Golem of their making. He became his own Targhul.]

I.


Even before the door had slammed fully open, the Dire Wolf was in the smoky room and attacking. The nearest thug opened his mouth but didn't get a chance to yell. Bane threw a left backfist that spun the man completely around and dropped him to his knees. A second thug rushed right into a side kick to the stomach that doubled him up and made him retch. On the other side of the dingy room, one of the goons snapped off a shot but it got nowhere near its fast-moving target. The Dire Wolf swerved and lunged, closing fifteen feet in a split-second. Left forefist to the jaw, then a right sidefist to the chest connected almost at the same time. The guard crashed back against the wall behind him so hard that a framed picture fell to the floor.
.
That left only one thug still on his feet in that room. His expression was complete dismay and fear. A few seconds ago, he had been arguing listlessly with the other hired help about sending one of them out for sub sandwiches and beer, and now his three pals were on the floor. Standing in front of him was a gaunt man just six feet tall, dressed all in black, with cold grey eyes stabbing out at him from a narrow feral face. The gunman knew who this had to be.

"Forget about going for your gun," Bane said quietly. "Keep your hands where I can see them. Good." Behind the Dire Wolf, the thug who had only taken a backfist groggily managed to get to his feet, one hand reaching into his waistband where the butt of a .38 showed. Without showing how he knew the man was up again, Bane whirled on his right heel, whipping his left leg around in a reverse roundhouse kick that cracked his heel to the goon's jaw. This time, that man would stay down.

As though nothing had interrupted him, Bane returned his full attention to the gunman in front of him. "Let's get this over with," he said in a calm voice that did not need to threaten. "You and your boys here have just re-entered the country. We know you were bringing supplies to Cohen, we found the van you abandoned. The question now is, where is he? Where is the Stone Man?"

"I can't tell you that! He'd break me in half."

"No, I am the one you should be afraid of. Cohen won't be in any shape to hurt you. Where is he?"

As the man hesitated, he suddenly felt a sharp stinging pain on the end of his nose. Somehow, a silver-bladed throwing dagger had appeared in Bane's hand and nicked him. The Wolf held the knife so the light reflected off it. The thug gasped and abruptly there was an identical pain in the lobe of one ear, and he still had not seen Bane move.

"Where is he?" repeated Bane in the same even tone of voice.

The gunman's nerve broke. "Are you sure you can stop him?"

"I know I can. Where?"

"Up in Canada. Toronto. 1138 Chichester Road. But... it's like a nightmare. He has a death squad of things that aren't human. And he's a monster himself! He ain't flesh and blood- he's made outta STONE!"

Bane smiled tautly. "I know he is. We've met. The cops will be here in a few minutes. Long before you and your buddies go to trial, Simon Cohen will be destroyed. That's a promise." The Dire Wolf's Kumundu training had long ago reached the point where he could strike from any position without giving any warning. Faster than a real wolf, he lunged in and his stiff open hand cracked down like an axe blade to the side of the man's neck. As the gunman dropped to the floor, Bane swung to survey the situation. This was the supervisor's office of a construction company in Jersey City, drab and sparse with a desk, some chairs, two filing cabinets and a bathroom in one corner. The four men sprawled where they had fallen. His best judgement estimated they would be unconscious for a few more minutes and not able to get up and walk around for maybe twenty minutes after that. Since the police were already on their way, Bane felt a certain satisfaction in getting here first and getting the information he needed. His informants had been reliable so far.

He was being watched. In an instant, Bane snapped to full alertness and whirled around, the dart gun appearing in his left hand. There in the doorway loomed a manlike figure that filled the opening. Wide batlike wings were folded, but even so it was obviously a Kulan. The beast from Fanedral had red leathery hide, talons and claws and a head like a hound with upright ears and lambent yellow eyes. Bane held the dart gun on the demon, even though he knew the anesthetic darts would not pierce that tough hide. "What do YOU want?" he demanded.

To the Dire Wolf's utter surprise, the Kulan answered. "Justice," it said and laughed wildly before leaping out of sight. Bane rushed to the doorway and looked up just in time to see the demon speed away over the rooftops, wings beating and tail whipping from side to side. He holstered his weapon and stared as the Kulan was gone in the distance. Seeing a beast from Fanedral here, following him, could only mean that Simon Cohen was aware he was being hunted. Cohen was known to command a small army of creatures from adjacent realms. He must have had this demon tracking Bane all the while. There was no time to lose.

Jumping down the metal stairs to the gravel, Bane got in his car and fired it up, pulling out of the construction yard and out onto the highway. Before he had gone more than a mile, two New Jersey State Police cars sped past him toward the construction site. That was close. Maybe the thugs would tell the cops who had thrashed them but he doubted it and he certainly wasn't going to volunteer the information. Bane raced toward the George Washington Bridge just below the speed at which he would get pulled over. It was just getting dark.

( the rest of the story )

"The Pit of Snakes"

4/20-4/21/1983

I.

With the faintest flicker of pale blue light, three figures appeared from nowhere, abruptly standing on a hill under a clear Spring sky. In the middle of their grouping was a woman in a bright Kelly green one-piece jumpsuit, who swayed and almost lost her footing. The fact she was holding hands with the man on her right and the woman on her left gave her enough support to remain standing.

"Whew," she said and took a deep shuddering breath. "That took more concentration than I expected." Tall at five feet eight, slim and athletic, Karina seemed to be in her late teens with auburn hair cut in a shag and deep luminous green eyes that her jumpsuit had been selected to match. Her appearance did not hint at the full truth. The body standing there was that of a nineteen year old college student named Barbara Hoyt but it was now the willing host to the ancient spirit of the warrior-goddess of Myrrwha. Karina had existed since the Darthan Age of thirty thousand years ago, inhabiting with permission the physical forms of one host after another.

"I thought your ability to cross into other realms was effortless," said the black man to her side as he helped steady her. Ted Wright wore one of the dark field suits with its heavy boots, pants and waist-length jacket that had an inner layer of the flexible Trom armor inside. He was very dark-skinned, with a serious thoughtful face and there was grey beginning to scatter here and there in his tightly curled beard and short hair. The Blue Guide always seemed worried and anxious because that was both his nature and a result of his rolr as one of the healers of the Midnight War. "Your vitals seem good. Heartbeat is a bit fast at one hundred and nine."

"Oh, I'm fine, don't worry, Ted." Karina straightened and took the small travel bag from its strap on her shoulder to lower it to the ground. Her snug jumpsuit had a thin vertical black stripe down each side of the body, and she wore ordinary white sneakers but she had no pockets. "I'm used to just traveling between realms by myself. I've only taken one person at a time with me before."

Standing to Karina's left, Cindy Brunner gazed around the countryside where they had just materialized. She was a tiny blonde, not much over five feet tall, with dark gold hair that hung straight down her back. Cindy wore a field suit like that which Ted had on, although her jacket showed an impressive bust ledge over an otherwise thin little body. Her dark blue eyes moved quickly around the area.

"I'm picking up Human minds, not too far away," she said. "Maybe... six or seven adult males. Kind of rough, raw minds. Not really bad people, though." She frowned and turned back to her friends. "They're riding horses."

"Good, Cin. We're ready for company." Wright unclipped a small flat device from his belt and examined it. "Ah, too bad. Technology doesn't work in this realm. All our gadgets and weapons are going to be useless."

"Yeah, we sort of expected that," Cindy said. "That's why our team all has innate powers."

Karina laughed. "Do we need electronic gimmicks and anesthetic dart guns when we have the Midnight War's best telepath, the best gralic healer and the best unarmed combat fighter ever?" She jabbed a thumb at her own chest. "By that last, I mean myself, of course."

The Blue Guide shielded his eyes from the sun with the flat of his hand, peering up the hill. "Evaho. None of us have been here before. I suppose our first step is to meet those horsemen Cindy detected and see what the situation is. Then we can worry about finding this Walking Snake sorcerer."

The blonde telepath raised a hand, "No need. They're riding this way. I'm getting a clearer sense of their attitudes. They're kind of direct, uneducated farmer types. Simple, but not in a bad way. Still, there's a lot of anger just under the surface."

The three KDF members stepped out into plain sight, as much in the open as possible. Higher up the hill, dense forest began but they stood on wild grass that grew shin-high. Overhead, a bird circled and then wheeled away... a raptor of some sort, much like a hawk.

Seven men came down the slope on horses, bent over their saddles with weariness, faces grimy with sweat and dust. They were big, sturdy men in simple leggings and tunics of coarse material almost like burlap, and each had a short sword at his belt and a bow with quiver fastened to the saddle behind him. The riders were darkly tanned and weathered, their brown hair was tied back behind the neck and they had roughly trimmed beards. As they saw the three unexpected strangers standing before them, the riders pulled their horses short.

"Pergamir!" yelled one. "What does this mean?"

The lead rider was also the biggest man there. He had wide shoulders and a massive barrel chest, and his hair and beard had scattered grey hairs which in a Melgar indicated considerable age. The leader leaned forward in his saddle and gazed down thoughtfully at the three strangers.

"Know you that I am Pergamir son of Harakon. I gather that you are not from this realm but from another. We have seen no people with black skins here, yet you do not seem like a Danarakan nor a Veganoran to me. And you, my lady, surely with that sunset-colored hair and emerald eyes, you must hail from Myrrwha itself."

"You are widely traveled, good Pergamir," Karina replied. "I am indeed a daughter of Myrrwha. My friends here are, like myself, knights of the Order of Tel Shai."

( the rest of the story )

"Subjects of the Worm"

6/3-6/4/1980

I.

A flash of clear blue light flared up and faded, barely visible in the bright New Mexico sunshine. A man in black had appeared out of nowhere. Instantly, Jeremy Bane glared about him and got his bearings.

He was a gaunt figure six feet tall, wearing what had become his trademark uniform in the Midnight War. All black, the slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket made him seen even more lean than he was. With a narrow face under short fine black hair and a pair of pale grey under eyes under thick feral brows, the Dire Wolf made a striking impression anywhere he went. In one hand, he held a sealed manila folder with the red letters RESTRICTED ACCESS - EYES ONLY AS NEEDED stenciled on a diagonal bar across its front.

In the split-second after his appearance, Bane had taken in his surroundings as if he had been expecting a trap. He had been at war all his life and knew no other way. This was the Human Capability Enhancement facility, a cluster of six low concrete buildings way out in the desert. The blacktopped parking area was surrounded by a seven-foot high chain link fence topped with flood lights and cameras as if to keep out an army. Bane relaxed visibly. He had only been here a handful of times but he knew how good the Trom security defenses were.

Bane recognized with satisfaction he was getting better at using the Eldar travel crystals. The flash of blue gralic light had transported him instantly from the KDF headquarters in Manhattan to this site in the Southwest ninety miles from the nearest town. The process was also becoming less of a mental strain with practice. too. He barely had a headache.

Twenty feet away, rolled out beyond the open doors of a sheet metal hangar, stood a sleek black helicopter that had no identifying logo or numbers on its surface. There was no tail rotor, just two vertical vanes that used high-pressure air streams for control. One panel behind the cabin was open, exposing a solid surface of color-coded wires. Stretched out on a canvas mat under that opening, making adjustments with a tiny set of pliers as if doing the most delicate surgery, was a man in an olive-drab jumpsuit. Opened next to him was a toolbox marked HCE 16.

Bane approached and said, "Stephen Weaver?"

The man gave a start, rolled over and leaped nimbly to his feet. He was slightly taller than Bane, a bit older. Weaver was an American black man with short-cropped hair and a thick mustache under a prominent nose. Behind the friendly smile, wary deepset eyes watched this stranger. "Whoa. I was not expecting any callers today. And I figure I should have heard the gates open when you drove in?" From his hip pocket he yanked a crumpled rag and wiped his hands.

Bane offered his own hand, which Weaver firmly shook. "My name is Jeremy Bane. We spoke briefly on the phone yesterday. Leonard Slade said you'd be free from duty this morning if I came to see you."

Gesturing with a thumb at the black helicopter, Weaver said, "Where these birds are concerned, there's always maintenance to be done. They're never a finished product, just a work in progress. But I can take a break." He moved over to a wooden picnic table with flanking benches. "Coffee, Mr Bane?"

"Call me Jeremy. No, thanks, caffeine is the last thing I need." The Dire Wolf placed the folder on the table and took a seat as Weaver dropped down facing him. "Stephen, you and I have more in common than you might think at first. We both were born with something extra, powers normal Humans never suspect."

When he paused for reaction, Weaver simply said, "I'm listening."

"I'm going to talk to you about classified information that frankly I am not cleared for. My KDF team cannot be kept out by normal security measures. I know all about the Air Force's Black Angel Project, that you were the only functional levitator they ever found. And I know that after two years of testing you, developing the flightsuit and equipment and spending a fortune on the project, that the Pentagon shut Black Angel down. You were given an honorable discharge and pay raise on condition you accept this position here at the Human Capability Enhancement facility."

Weaver kept his face as impassive as he could. "Look.. Jeremy, I am not admitting any of this is true. Even it was true, I'd still be restricted by the Confidential Secrets agreement I would have signed. Right?"

"Sure." Bane unfastened the tab on the folder and passed it over. "Here. Of course, officially I never had these documents and you never got a look at them. They're going to be destroyed before I leave here."

Studying the files in silence, Weaver started to scowl and finally slapped the folder down on the wooden lunch table with a loud retort. "I think you need to do a little bit more explaining, my friend."

"Of course," said Bane as he took the folder back and fastened it shut. "In the Midnight War, I'm known as the Dire Wolf. I am captain of a team of Tel Shai knights, and our cover is a non-profit research organization called the Kenneth Dred Foundation... the KDF."

Weaver snorted. "I understood maybe half of that."

"The Director of this facility, Leonard Slade, is a founding member of my team. He had a lot to do with having you assigned to the HCE and putting you to work on that CORBY. You must see that the avionics and propulsion on that copter are way more advanced than anything the military of any nation possesses, right?'

"I want to remind you again of the Official Secrets Act and of non-disclosure agreements I might or might not have signed here," Black Angel said. "But I can admit that you have my full attention, Jeremy."

The Dire Wolf leaned forward. "Listen, Steve. I need you on my team. Think of us as ghostbreakers, monster hunters, a paranormal SWAT team. We are fighting a desperate secret war against the most horrifying and lethal enemies the Human race has ever faced. Imagine every horror movies you've ever seen come to life, only worse. Every nightmare you've head, every monster and maniac that you thought people had made up in books and folklore.. they're all out there every night. Vampires, Ghouls, werewolves, Skinwalkers, Trolls... and there are worse things that most people have never heard of. There are the Darthim, the skull-faced Nekrosim, Snake men, the Night Gorillas, the Sulla Chun. Every night, the Midnight War starts up and creatures of darkness stalk Human victims."

"Whoa, whoa, stop for a second." Weaver wasn't amused at all, the icy conviction in Bane's voice prevented that, but he was recoiling in disbelief. "Hold on, Jeremy, wait. You can't expect me to believe all that without SOME evidence. I mean, come on."

The Dire Wolf did not smile. His grey eyes were bright with intensity that made Weaver more than a little uncomfortable. "Oh, you'll see more than enough proof, Steve," he answered. "I'm not going to just show you photos or reports. Come with me and my team tonight and see Midnight War for yourself."

"All right, suppose I do go along. Suppose it's all true. I've seen plenty of scary movies and listened to my grandma's stories about Haunts when I was a kid. People always get killed at the end, you know? That makes me a little cautious. Why won't we just get slaughtered too?"

"Because we are special cases ourselves. My team are all knights of Tel Shai with special abilities and training, not to mention advanced weaponry. I lead six people who all have an extra gift like you have. Like I have. We can take the initiative against these monsters and destroy them."

Weaver tried to take a deep breath and calm down. "Damn. I might as well admit what you obviously know. I am Black Angel. I'm the best levitaph ever known, I can in fact fly high and fast enough to catch a hawk by the throat. ...But what about you? You say you and your boys are special but I haven't seen any proof."

In reply, Bane simply stood up and turned to face the hangar door fifteen feet away from where they were. He handed an empty coffee mug to Weaver and said, "Here. Throw this through the door, Steve. Don't worry about breaking it."

After a moment's hesitation, Weaver grinned and lobbed the mug underhand toward the open hangar doors. Something happened that he couldn't quite follow. Suddenly, the white ceramic mug was dangling at face level on the hangar door, swinging back and forth, held there by a black-handled throwing dagger that hurled quicker than the human eye could register. Weaver snapped his head around. Jeremy Bane was just lowering his arm from that throw.

As Black Angel took in what had just happened, he saw Bane slide a second dagger out from a sheath under his right sleeve and transfer it to his left hand. He said, "Today is June Third," and again there was a blur that could barely be perceived. His arm lowered.

Weaver leaned over so he could see the calendar hanging behind the paper-littered desk just inside the hangar door. The dagger was protruding neatly from that calendar. "I don't need to go check," he said. "I'll assume that you hit June 3rd."

"That's my specialty," the Dire Wolf replied as he went to retrieve his knives. "I was born a bit quicker than the average person. Steve, I want you on the team as a fighter. I've read your record. And we need you as a pilot and mechanic for the second CORBY that Len is preparing for us. But that's not the full reason."

Coming back over to stand next to Weaver, Bane went on, "You are a Combat helicopter pilot and field repair specialist, Lieutenant Weaver of the United States Air Force. I know you can keep your head under stress, you can face danger and go under fire without losing it. You won't panic and you also won't go berserk. That's a rare set of traits. You are the one Human in a thousand who can handle being a knight of Tel Shai and a KDF member. What I'm offering is a chance for you to accompany our team tonight for one mission and see for yourself. If you're the man I think you are, you'll be excited and eager and want to sign up. Well. What do you say?"

Weaver did not answer immediately, meeting the cool, hard gaze of those grey eyes directly and judging his own reactions. Finally, he stood up with a grin and held out his open hands palms up. "I'm going to have to verify all this with Slade, of course. All I have right now is your side of the story. But for some reason I believe you. I believe it all.

"All my life, I've been an outsider," he continued. "I tried to hide what I should have been proud of. And now you give me a chance to meet other people like me, to use my gift for a good purpose. If I turned it down, for the rest of my life, I'd regret not found out for myself. Count me in. Dire Wolf, Black Angel is with you."

( the )

"Hiding Between Your Memories"

9/3/2017

I.


The walls of the long narrow walkway were lined with open wooden shelves. Most of these had been filled with luggage, lamps, old televisions, bundles of clothing in clear bags and similar detritus. There were also accordion files crammed with receipts and insurance forms and court documents dating back decades, not likely to be ever needed.

Jeremy Bane picked up the last of four cardboard boxes sealed with duct tape and labelled with marker TED 9/2017. The Dire Wolf stepped back and adjusted the box a fraction of an inch to line it up with the others. At sixty, he remained lean and active, almost gaunt in his trademark uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. The grey was sprinkled more thickly in his short black hair and the narrow feral face had wrinkles at the corners of the grey eyes, but he had not aged much.

Watching from behind him, Ted Wright smiled affectionately. His own short-cropped hair and beard had turned completely white in dramatic contrast to the dark brown skin. Deep vertical creases in his cheeks added to the naturally saturnine cast of his face. Wright was wearing a charcoal-grey suit with a white dress shirt but no tie.

Turning to face his oldest friend, Bane began to say something but hesitated. For once, the grim hard exterior of the Dire Wolf faltered.

Wright said, "It's okay to be a little choked up, Jeremy. I'm struggling with it, myself. This is a big change."

"Well, you ARE seventy-four, Ted." Bane moved over and placed a hand on the Blue Guide's shoulder. "You've been working overnights at the ER and carrying your own diagnostic clinic for what, thirty-seven years? Thirty-eight? If anyone deserves to take it easy, it's you."

"Not to mention all the KDF missions we worked on. I went up against everyone from Quilt to Wu Lung to Karl Eldritch in my time. Frankly, I'm beat. Lately I feel like I'm not bringing my best faculties to my duties. If I start making egregious mistakes... no, it's time to pass my chores to younger hands."

Squeezing Wright's shoulder, Bane led him along the walkway past the massive iron doors of the Vault and the Arsenal. They ascended steep concrete steps that went into a walk-in closet from which they emerged in the front hall of the KDF headquarters.

"Too bad none of the current team is here tonight," Bane said. "But everyone will get a chance to see you Friday at the dinner."

"Oh bother. You know I don't like fuss and ceremony, Jeremy."

"It's not for you, Ted... it's for us. For our benefit. We need to say goodbye."

"Hah! That's what they say about funerals," Wright said. He took a lightweight white topcoat from an oak rack and shrugged into it with a barely perceptible twinge of discomfort as he raised his arms. "I'll be at Tel Shai most of the time. Teacher Kerlaw has two new students studying to be Blue Guides. He wants me to assist him."

Bane took a breath to speak but was interrupted by the familiar ring of the outside bell. Over the door by their side, a red bulb flashed. "Here we go again," he muttered. The Dire Wolf strode over to slide aside a wooden panel. This revealed a monitor screen which lit up automatically to reveal the man standing on the front steps.

"I don't know him," Bane said at once. "Ted?"

"No, but he looks agitated. His gralic flow is tangled."

"If you say so," Bane replied. He pressed a button on the control panel and said, "Come in. We'll be right with you." A buzzer clicked as the outside door unlocked and swung open to allow the visitor entry to the tiny vestibule.

On the side of the monitor screen, yellow-green letters rolled upward as Trom scanners examined the man more thoroughly than any MRI could. NO KNOWN ID, the figures said. BIOLOGICAL AGE FORTY NINE, FIVE FEET NINE, ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY POUNDS, HAIR BLACK, EYES MEDIUM BROWN. HEALED FRACTURE RIGHT FOREARM. Extensive measurements of the man followed, including scans of his dental work and retinal images, EKG and cardio graphs.

But Bane was mostly interested to find that no metallic object larger than a set of keys was on the visitor, no chemical signatures of poison or explosives. "Clean enough," he said.

"Yes, let's admit him," Wright replied. "His heartbeat is dangerously fast. We should hear what he has to say."

Still ready for an attack, the Dire Wolf swung the inner door open and stood to one side as the man rushed in past him.

"Oh thank God," the visitor began but Ted Wright took him by the shoulders and firmly pushed him down to sit in a chair by the coat rack.

"I want you to take a deep breath," the Blue Guide ordered with the doctor's habit of expecting compliance. "Do it. Again. Slower and deeper. Good."

Watching, Bane could not entirely hide a smile. Ted had calmed him down the same way many times when they had first started working together. Bane studied the visitor. Underfed, probably a drinking problem judging by the shaky hands, hair hadn't been cut in two months and the last shave had been a week earlier. The man work unremarkable clothing... work shoes, khaki pants and a red flannel shirt, all worn out.

What struck Bane most, of course, was that the visitor was in a grip of terror that had him visibly shaking.

"You've got to protect me!" yelled the man in shrill tones. "Nothing can stop him. He swore he'd kill me!"

"Who?" demanded Bane.

"The Figment...!"

( the rest of the story )

"Always Later Than You Think"

6/22-6/25/1995

I.

He hadn't heard from Ted in quite a while, Bane realized. It was just before noon on a warm late June day and he decided the two of them needed to catch up on everything. Ted Wright had been a founding member of the Kenneth Dred Foundation; he was one of the very few human beings that Bane trusted without reservation and it suddenly bothered him that there had been no contact between them for weeks. With Wright's free clinic literally in the building next door, how could this happen?

Heading down to the tiny underground garage beneath the KDF building, the Dire Wolf hopped in his dark green Mustang and started it up. As always, the trunk was loaded with weaponry and gear, including a knapsack with everything he would need for an extended case. He headed up the steep concrete ramp as the steel barrier at its top slid up to let him out in the dead end alley. Bane turned right on Lexington, was back on East 38th Street and he double parked in front of the stolid stone building next to the KDF headquarters.

At just under forty, the Dire Wolf was at his physical peak. He was all bone and wire-hard muscle with nearly zero body fat. In his usual outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sportjacket, with the pale grey eyes sharp and alert in a narrow face, Bane was ominous without trying to be. Next to the front door was a vertical row of bronze plaques listing a dentist, a grief counseling service and a travel agency. The plaque on the bottom read THADDEUS J WRIGHT, MD - CONSULTATIONS. Bane stepped into the spotless lobby with its marble staircase and brand new elevator, and turned to his left. On the frosted glass panel of that door was the same information about Wright.

Bane opened the door and entered a waiting room not much different from thousands of others. Assorted chairs scattered about, a clock and a calendar on one wall, a rack of magazines and newspapers. There was a poster explaining what to do if someone was choking. In front of him was a solid desk behind which sat a heavyset Hispanic woman with a full head of curly hair. She had the warmest and most comforting eyes he had ever seen, and Bane sometimes realized what a reassuring influence she must be on the anxiety-struck patients who waited in that room.

Right now, there was no one else in there. Bane pointed to the plain wooden door to the receptionist's left. "Hi, Maria, I'm here to see Ted."

She did not answer right away but studied him thoughtfully. Then she sighed. "Dr Wright is in there. There's all I'm saying. Good thing you're here, Mr Bane."

Suddenly alarmed, the Dire Wolf moved past her silently and opened the office door without knocking. The room was a disaster. Textbooks, binders and loose stacks of papers were piled everywhere, with no organization. Behind his desk, Ted Wright was lying forward with his face resting on a bent forearm. On the edge of his desk was a half-eaten egg salad sandwich in its clear wrapper and a paper cup of coffee that had gone dry. The tightly curled hair was more grey than black at this point.

"Ted? What the hell?" asked Bane. He lunged forward and pressed two fingers to his friend's throat, placing his other hand on the man's back. The pulse was strong, breathing was deep and slow. That close, he sniffed and could tell Wright had not showered for at least three days. That was so unlike the Blue Guide. He was normally as clean in his person as a cat.

Wright stirred, moaned and sat up. He opened bleary dark eyes and blinked with some disorientation. "What? Is my one o'clock here...?"

Pulling him upright, Bane barked, "Come on, Ted, sit up. Come on now. It's me."

"Oh, hi, Jeremy. I must have dozed off." Wright was very dark-skinned, with heavy somber features and a full beard that was now peppered with grey at he entered his fifties. He rubbed his face with the back of one hand. "I, uh, I did an overnight at the ER last night. They called me in."

Bane's voice had a slight angry edge to it. "I know you gave up your apartment in the Village months ago. You only keep a couple of rooms on this floor with a bed and a bathroom. Ted, you're here at your clinic five days a week and usually Saturdays as well, mostly ten or eleven hours a day, and then you help out at the hospital at least two nights a week, more often three."

The Blue Guide gave a prodigious yawn and scratched his head. He was wearing a dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie, a white smock over it. His clothes were wrinkled and there was a coffee stain on his cuff. "Whew. Yeah, well, I have a responsibility, captain. My Blue Guide art lets me diagnose conditions before any lab test or blood work could...."

Jeremy Bane came around to stand in front of the desk. "Ted. Look at me. Am I your Tel Shai captain?"

That woke Wright to full awareness. "Yes, yes of course."

"Are you sworn to obey any lawful order I gave you, on penalty of losing your acceptance at Tel Shai?"

"Yes I am. Jeremy, what are you...?"

"Stand up, Ted. You're coming with me." Not giving the Blue Guide time to ask questions, Bane marched him out into the waiting room. "Maria!" he said. "Cancel all appointments for today and tomorrow. Call the ER and tell them Dr Wright will not be available until Monday at the earliest."

Seeing the confusion on her face, Wright told her, "It's okay, Maria. Do as he says. I owe this man my life several times over."

Heading for the door, pulling Wright by one arm, Bane called back, "We'll phone you Monday depending on how things go. Don't worry."

On on 38th Street, Bane manhandled Wright into the passenger seat. His car had not gotten a ticket yet. As they eased out into traffic, the Blue Guide exhaled sharply and asked, "Maybe an explanation?"

Bane was heading west, toward the Lincoln Tunnel. "Ted. I want you to take a nap for the next hour or so. I know you can do it with Tel Shai breathing techniques. Please, Ted."

"But.. Oh, very well. I'm too tired to argue." Leaning his seat back a little, Wright began the breathing cycle they had both been taught so long ago. In a few seconds, he had slipped off into a deep tranquil sleep. Bane drove on.

( the rest of the story )

"The Shore of Dreams"

7/21/2019

I.

Coming back into the air-conditioned living room, Timothy Limbo exhaled with relief. The lank yellow hair hung down over a forehead beaded with sweat. "The CORBY is secured and inspected, captain. Given three minutes for the impulse engines to warm up, we could take off whenever you like."

From the easy chair where she was pretending to thumb through a magazine, Lauren Sable Reilly managed a smile. "Thanks, Timothy. If Ulgor is in fact sending a strike force, we need to have all our options open."

"How's it going in there?" he asked, jerking a thumb toward the door at the other side of the room. "With your powers, you could hear everything from the next county."

"It's taking all my will power not to eavesdrop," Sable replied. "Of course, I could enhance my hearing. But I swore not to. I feel like they deserve privacy at this time."

Timothy turned toward the third person in that room. "What does our Trom Girl think?"

From the couch, Megan Salenger clicked shut the Link she had been making adjustments on with a tool fine as a hair. Now forty, she had filled out only a little from the lithe gymnast form she had always shown. Under the tousled black hair, the dark eyes remained as sharp and inquisitive as ever. "There are too many variables for me to reach any conclusions, I'm afraid. Melgarin are not much different from Humans. They are longer-lived of course, physically stronger and more durable. But Galvan is very much an exception. His body is charged with gralic force, known as the Legacy of Malberon, and he is as close to being invulnerable as an organic being can attain. This is not usually inheritable."

"I thought the Legacy just settled on a Melgar of each generation at random?" Sable gave up on the magazine and started pacing. Timothy had not seated himself and was still standing by the front door.

"So it is said," Megan replied. The Trom Girl fidgeted, something so rare for her that it alarmed her friends. She found her one foot was tapping on the floor and frowned. "Jin on the other hand is quite different from the Human norm. Her Race is so adapted to undersea life that her body has major deviations. The gill slits on the sides of her throat, the air bladder under her lungs, her third blood cell type with copper base, her vision extending into the ultra-violet... She has many natural modifications."

"But she doesn't lay eggs or anything? I mean, she has her period like any other woman, she never minded telling us about stuff like that," Timothy said.

"No. She is not that much of an alien," the Trom Girl said. "I admit I am unhappy at not having enough data to make an intelligent statement. To the best of my knowledge, this is an unprecedented situation."

Timothy came over and made himself sit down near her on the couch, perching on the edge as if ready to spring back up. "Believe me, you're not any more unsettled than I am. I didn't expect to be this worried."

"It would be a poorer world if we didn't worry about our friends." Sable had folded her arms and was standing by the wide picture window. "Did you get a look in that room?"

"No. I figured Dr Wright knows how to set up what he needs," Timothy said.

"The bed is actually a tilted hard rubber table," Sable told them. "Warm saline solution runs over Jin and out into the plumbing. She needs to be more hydrated than we do at the best of times. I helped Dr Wright set it up yesterday."

"We're so lucky to have him on hand, Sable. He's the only Blue Guide active today and he's been running his clinic and volunteering at Metro General for what, forty years?"

"He retired only two years ago," Megan added, lowering the Link she had been studying. "But he was more than glad to come out here. Between his Tel Shai healing abilities and his practical ER experience, he's the best possible doctor to have on hand. We can trust his judgement without reservation."

Timothy jumped up again. "I need to get out. I don't care if it's like an oven out there, I can't sit still."

"Stay put," Sable told him. "I don't want to order you, Tim, but you should be here and ready."

After a moment, he grumbled and went over to the old-fashioned refrigerator to get a bottle of club soda. Gulping half of it, he suppressed a belch. "How do you think Galvan is taking it?"

"The last I saw him, when he came out to use the bathroom, he seemed okay," Sable said. "Excited. Concerned. Proud. He was a tangle of emotions, but then he never was one to hide his feelings."

After seeing Timothy get a bottle of water, Megan got up and fetched one for herself. "Captain?" she asked while at the refrigerator.

"Eh? No. No, thank you. Timothy, I'm extending my senses to the south. I think I hear something. Send one of your Caspers, will you?"

"Oh, sure." He held out his open hand and a barely visible tornado of force shimmered into existence above it. It looked like a tiny dust devil that swayed and then shot across the room to squeeze out under the door. "My boy is on his way, captain."

"Stand by, Megan," Sable said, still staring out at the hazy orange sky. "We heard rumors that Ulgor had learned what was happening. Even in exile, even though she hasn't been back to her Realm in twelve years, Demrak Jin is still a member of the royal family."

"She is not in direct line to the throne," Megan objected. "I thought they had forgotten her."

"The Gelydrim of Ulgor have ideas about honor and purity that seem wrong to us." Sable shrugged. "Well, of course, they think we are decadent and shameless, so I guess it's all relative."

"My Casper sees them now," Timothy said. "I'm getting his perception. Two helicopters. Coming this way fast."

( the rest of the story )

"Die With Open Eyes"

2/20-2/24/1979

I.

"I had to lose it all. I had to fall so I could rise again." Ted Wright looked across the empty room at his colleague. "That may not make much sense to you, Henry."

Dr Easton was a thin, dry old man with only a fringe of white hair left down around his ears and the back of his head. He shook that head sadly. "I know you were deeply affected when you lost that young patient, Ted, but every doctor has to deal with a certain amount of failure..."

Thaddeus James Wright was a tall American black man with a somber face. His short hair and beard had traces of grey in them even though he was not forty yet. "It was not mere failure that struck me down. It was arrogance. I could not admit it was my fault. I blamed everyone but myself, and I nearly lost my license because of it." He folded his arms and looked down at the bare wooden floor. "You knew me then. Was I proud?"

"Yes. With good reason. You were quite the prodigy, Ted. Your talent at disagnoses was phenomenal. I have never seen anyone before or since who was your equal at spotting the cause of symptoms. If you were proud, you had a certain right to be."

"Yes," said Wright. He looked out the window at 9th Avenue. There were no curtains. Cold winter sunlight poured into the room. "I see now what a fool I was. I closed my practice. I lost my home and my woman. I wandered out in the darkness. The bottle and the pipe tried to claim me. You do not know how far I fell. But now I am back."

Easton came over and put a hand on the younger man's arm. "It's good to see you again. If you want me to speak to the board at the hospital for you, certainly I will. You were not gone all that long, they remember your skill..."

Wright smiled just a little. "Thank you, Henry. I will apply for admitting privileges. I expect to put in a certain number of volunteer hours but my main work will be here. I intend to open a free clinic here, offering counseling and guidance to those who need it. I will refer them to the specialists they need."

"A free clinic...?" Easton said with a touch of distress. "And doing volunteer work. Ted, maybe I am missing something, but where will your income come from?"

"It will provide itself. Ah, I see you do not understand, old friend. You do not know how I have changed."

Dr Easton did not answer at first, then said, "I was going to say the same thing, Ted. You're calm and confident in a way I have never seen before. It almost unnerves me." He headed for the door. "Keep in touch, please. As I said, if you need support establishing yourself, let me know."

"Thank you, Henry." Wright watched him go, then walked to the center of the bare room. Lowering himself to the floor, he crossed his legs in the lotus, back straight, and held up his open hands. Over his dark palms a beautiful pale blue light flickered and grew brighter. The blue light glimmered in his dark brown eyes and he smiled. Now his real work could begin.

( the rest of the story )

"Fear Has Many Faces"

October 3, 1979-

I.

At ten minutes after eight, Jeremy Bane stepped into the conference room. He was wearing the black turtleneck and sport jacket and slacks which were his trademark. So much had to be done here yet. The long polished oak table had been there when he took ownership of the building, as had been the ten heavy straight back chairs that lined it. One wall was taken up with reference books and filing cabinets; another had two tall windows looking down on East 38th Street. There were two lockers he had brought up to hold his field suits, and a refrigerated cabinet at the far end held drinks and snacks. But he wanted to add more equipment, particularly communication equipment.

The Dire Wolf moved to the windows and held the heavy curtains aside. it was raining. He stood looking down at traffic, thinking that Kenneth Dred had been dead for barely two months now. It had been an uneventful passing, an old man's heart stopping in his sleep. They had already discussed what would happen, the will had been made out and transfer of property had been uncontested because there was no family. Bane was now wealthy, but it did not register. He now had millions in his bank account, when two years earlier he had owned only what he could carry. The Dire Wolf folded his arms, lost in thought. He did not grieve for Kenneth Dred as much as he had thought he would, but maybe it had not sunk in yet. Maybe he was just unfeeling. The old man had been failing for the past year. Perhaps that was another reason he had taken Bane on as a protege and heir.

At only twenty-two, the grim young man with pale eyes and cold demanor had taken on a huge responsibility. He was glad, though, it felt like something he had always been meant to do. The more he learned about the Midnight War, the more he was determined to assemble a group that could handle its menace. As an orphan of the streets, he had been offered membership in various gangs of thugs and racketeers but had always declined and worked alone. Now he would have his own gang, but one like nothing this city had ever seen.

Standing there, he felt a vague tickling in his thoughts that he was coming to recognize. He turned his head and saw Cindy in the doorway. A pretty blonde a little more than a year younger than himself, she had an impudent face, dark blue eyes and a wide grin. Cindy was dressed much more formally than usual, wearing navy blue slacks, an off-white blouse and a thin blue cardigan. Bane nodded to her, "Good morning."

"The BEST morning," she answered. "Don't try to hide your excitement, you've got a telepath in your life now."

"We agreed, no mind-reading without permission."

She came over to stand next to him, almost leaning up against his shoulder. "I know. I'll be good. Oh, I love my room. It's twice as big as my apartment down on Crampton Street, that was almost a closet."

"Here they start to come," said Bane, pointing outside. She leaned over to look out the window, deliberately pressing one soft breast against his arm. Down in the street, two men were walking up to the front door. They let themselves in and a moment later ascended to the stairs to the second floor and came into the conference room. Michael Hawk was the only KDF member known to the general public, a famous criminologist and manhunter from a family of crimefighters. Now hitting sixty, there was grey in his brown hair and his square face was lined but he still moved with confidence and authority. He was wearing a neat topcoat over a black business suit, with white shirt and dark maroon tie. "Hi, you two."

"Mike. Ted. Glad to see you."

Entering with Hawk was a tall black man with a sad heavy face and short beard. He wore a beige raincoat over a plain white dress shirt and dark slacks. Ted Wright was a Blue Guide, master of the Tel Shai healing art, and a man who took everything too seriously for his own good. He nodded to Bane and Cindy.

The blonde telepath came over to held them hang up their coats. She was helpful and gregarious by nature. "You guys look like you're freezing. Don't you think coffee is a good idea?" She seized Ted Wright by the arm and dragged him downstairs to the kitchen. "Come on, I need help not to burn it."

Left with Hawk, Bane said, "Mike, thanks again for helping me get my PI license. It'll be a big help."

Hawk grinned his crooked smile and came over to look out the window with him. "You had no documentation, Jeremy. Nothing. Not even a library card. I got you what you need but it's up to you to hold onto them. Not the first forged IDs I've created but I hope you put them to good use."

"Oh, I will," said the Dire Wolf. "You won't be sorry. Mr Dred told me you were the master in the fields of crimefighting and I should learn everything you want to teach."

Before Hawk could answer, Cindy and Wright entered with two pewter trays of mugs, sugar, milk and a huge coffee pot. Wright was smiling and more relaxed than when he had tentatively entered that building. Cindy had that effect. As they moved over to the conference table and started pouring and drinking, Bane was the one who abstained. With his enhanced metabolism, he needed to avoid caffeine.

Leonard Slade appeared in the doorway. He was very well dressed in a tailored dark blue suit. Slade was a Trom, without emotion but more intelligent than Humans in a scientific sense. His greeting was formal and polite, as he took a seat and waited. Bane watched him thoughtfully. He had met Slade not long earlier and they worked well together because they had common goals. But the Trom were sure cold fish.

Now it was nearly nine. A taxi door slammed outside in the street, they heard footsteps up the stairs and Dr Lawrence Taper hurried in, habitually late, his topcoat over one arm. "Hello! Hello, everybody!" Taper was not as imposing or dignified as the other KDf members. He was maybe five foot ten and solid in build, with a roundish face and short dark brown hair. Sometimes he had his glasses on but not now.

"Well, that just leaves Khang-" Bane started to say. He was interrupted by an explosion of white light in the hall outside and a peal of thunder. As the members jumped and one or two cursed at the sudden surprise, a huge form filled the doorway. Khang stood well over seven feet tall, bundled in a long coat, with a wide-brimmed slouch hat, wraparound sunglasses and muffler hiding as much as possible. Yet a gleam of silver could be spotted here and there when he moved.

"We are well met, my comrades," he rumbled in a deep voice that seemed to come from every direction. "Honored I am to join such illustrious knights."

"Glad to have you," said the Dire Wolf. He moved over to the head of the table. "Now if everyone will take a seat, we can begin. I call the first meeting of the Kenneth Dred Foundation to order."


( the rest of the story )