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Ultraman and the Star Patrol

by CSyphrett

When the Marvel Family and the world’s greatest heroes vanished in 1953, the monsters and alien invasions they routinely battled continued to menace the world. Stepping into the void was the international monster-fighting organization called the Star Patrol, and they have continued to battle monsters and other menaces ever since with the help of Ultraman, an alien intelligence who shares a body with Dan Hayata of the Star Patrol. But when a menace from the past returns to plague the present, Dan is forced to search through an old case file to find a way for Ultraman to stop it.

• Chapter 1: Memory Like the Stars

• Chapter 2: A Piece of History

• Chapter 3: Dreaming the Past

• Chapter 4: Monster in Chalk

• Chapter 5: The Turning of the Worm

• Chapter 6: An Enemy’s Wrath

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Dan Hayata followed his suspect across Tokyo, allowing traffic to stay between him and the other car as much as possible. Patience was the first thing he had learned from the Star Patrol. The only problem was that you had to stay alive long enough to acquire that particular gift. Each case held its own threat.

As his quarry pulled into an underground garage to an apartment complex, he pulled his Patrol car into a space opposite the building. He waited until he saw a light go on in one of the apartments. He quickly got out of the car and crossed the street.

“What’s our probable cause?” asked M-78 from inside his mind.

We’re just looking at a suspicious vehicle, thought Dan. He slipped under the arm that blocked the entry driveway from the street. One hand stayed close to his service pistol as he moved.

“And why is the vehicle suspicious?”

A back light appeared to be broken, thought Dan.

He crept across the garage, looking for the car in question. He peered inside the windows, hand shading the glass. Nothing struck him as being unusual. The car was as neat as the woman herself. He wondered if he should pick the lock on the trunk.

“There are limits,” warned M-78.

Scanning the empty garage once more before he left, he thought, Time to get Hiro on the case.

***

Dan Hayata sat behind the wheel of his car the next morning, sipping coffee as he waited. Hiro had dug up tons of information, some of which was useful enough to provide for a search warrant under the limited powers the Star Patrol enjoyed in Japan.

So he had driven up in his own car and parked, the warrant in his jacket pocket. Another member of the Patrol would follow the lady to her job at the university while he broke in and looked around.

Some questions were in his mind, but he was sure that Professor Yamamoto’s secretary had also owned the first gallery where Izama Kana had displayed his chalk art years ago on the first investigation of the Dream Worm killings.

Now she was working where he had gotten his training, for the very same man who helped shape his style. Yet she knew nothing of the man she had praised when the police were looking for a vicious monster? That wasn’t likely.

Dan waited until the woman left the apartment building, then got out of his car, buckling on his utility belt disguise. He donned a jacket with Tokyo Phone Services on the back and, with a glance in his car mirror, decided he looked enough like a telephone repairmen.

He hurried across the street to the main visitor door, hoping the super would believe the deception and let him pass. If the woman realized they were sniffing around her place, she might flee and go into hiding.

“She might also summon another forty-foot monster to rip up the city,” said M-78.

Don’t remind me, Dan thought as he pushed his way into the lobby of the apartment building.

He immediately went to the elevator like he was on an urgent call, checking his watch. The desk man raised a hand as if to object. Dan waved the folded warrant at him, pointing to the logo on his coat. The man subsided.

Dan pushed the correct floor number in the elevator and headed up to the apartment. He only had a few minutes before the desk man became suspicious enough to check on him. He had to be done with his task before then. Otherwise the warrant would be for nothing, because the secretary would know they were watching her.

He got off the elevator and found that Hiro had given him the correct number of the apartment. He applied a quick pick to the lock and let himself inside, then pulled two microphones from his belt. One went into the earpiece of the phone, while the other was hidden under the plain bed at the back of the apartment.

A casual inspection of the premises didn’t turn up anything out of the ordinary, so he went over the place more carefully. The place didn’t look lived-in to him. It looked like a rest stop or hotel. He wondered if he was looking at the wrong place.

He checked one last time to make sure the place looked like he had not touched anything, then carefully locked the door behind himself and left.

Dan took the elevator down, pulling out his communicator. He put Hiro on to the job of finding any other places under the woman’s name. Then he could apply for another warrant and bug that place, too.

He waved at the concierge as he crossed the lobby. Hiro’s typing filled his ear over the open line. He crossed the street, smiling at Hiro’s answer to his query. There was another place listed as property for the woman.

Dan switched vehicles, changing into his uniform before driving out of the city. The secondary residence was hours away in Osaka. The Star Patrolman had grimaced when he had heard the address, but he hadn’t been surprised. He drove there almost automatically while thinking about what he had to accomplish at his destination.

Somewhere, a snake waited for him to cross its path so that it could bite him. He needed to see the handler clearly before he could let the snake run loose, destroying whomever it pleased.

“Captain Shimata should be told about this,” said M-78.

He knows we’re looking into things, Dan thought. Don’t want to worry him unduly. I’ll let him know if we need to get a warrant.

Dan followed the signs, wishing Rei was at his side as he drove. He pulled into a parking lot, listening to the engine cool as he got some basic camping gear from the trunk of the car. That would allow him to sleep outdoors if he had to. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Pulling the gear on his back, Dan walked toward the nearby forest. His goal rested in the past. Soon, the Patrolman silently vanished among the leafy trees.

Dan set up a camp within sight of the address Hiro had got him. He should have known the broken house would be the home of the secretary. That was where the battle with Kana’s original chalk monster had taken place. He should have known that would be where the artist’s admirer would take refuge from the world.

I wonder how she found out how to recreate that thing after all these years, he thought, sipping bottled water.

“Practice.”

You think he told her how to do it?

“He started by practicing on small animals. Maybe she did the same and kept her ability a better secret than Kana.”

Dan nodded, sipping the last of the water. He waited for some hours without incident. Finally, a car pulled into the dilapidated lane. The Star Patrolman watched as the secretary got out of the car. Her appearance changed in front of his eyes as she walked toward the house.

“Maybe Kana wasn’t the original menace after all.”

Dan walked toward the house. His hand went to his service pistol and then the capsule under his jacket. He focused on the facts as he paced forward.

Had he misjudged what exactly happened when he had arrived to arrest Izama Kana? It was becoming slowly possible in his mind that he had misjudged the situation when the original Dream Worm had burst through the floor boards.

“Possibly.”

Dan crossed the open lane quietly, moving forward to the ruined porch. He was amazed there were no signs of life except the pinging of the Mitsubishi’s cooling engine. Let’s ask the lady, he thought as he knocked on the house’s door.

He waited quietly on the ruined porch, but no one came to answer his knock. We did see a woman go inside, didn’t we? he asked his alter ego.

“Yes. I think we are in for trouble.”

Dan nodded in agreement. Drawing his service pistol, he knocked again harder. The door fell in at his touch, and a dust cloud jumped from the floor at the impact.

He stepped inside slowly, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as he slid his feet along the wooden floor. He gently shoved debris from his path as he moved forward.

“This is a bad idea, Dan,” said M-78, concern in his telepathic voice.

I can’t think of anything better, he thought.

“Miss Takara?” Dan called. “It’s Hayata. Could you come out where I can see you?”

“This is a really bad idea.”

Quiet, worrywart, Dan thought. ”Miss Takara?” he called in a louder tone. “I know you are here somewhere. I saw you come in.”

“Dan Hayata of the vaunted Star Patrol,” said an echo in the dark interior of the ruined house. “I see that we finally meet after all these years. It’s been so long since you killed my Izama.”

“You were behind the original Dream Worm,” said Dan, trying to draw a bead on his invisible enemy. “You were here in the house when we came to talk to Kana. You caused the house to collapse.”

“Very good guesses,” said Miss Takara, clapping. “Still, that’s obvious in the wake of events.”

“Why the attack at the school?” asked Dan. “No one has thought about that for years. No one was looking for you.”

“Recently I have learned that I am dying,” said Miss Takara, sounding closer to the Star Patrolman. “I have decided to do something to those I feel have hurt me over the years. You are simply the first to feel my wrath.”

“Lucky me,” said Dan and M-78 at the same time.

“I had heard you were fearless,” said Miss Takara, coldly. “I see the reports were true.”

“Miss Takara,” said Dan, trying to sound gentle. “We can have the Patrol medics look at you. There might be a cure.”

“Don’t beg, Hayata,” spat the woman, light from the window suddenly reflecting from the side of her face. “You won’t walk away from this like you have so many other things.”

“Last chance to pack it in,” said Dan, one hand reaching under his jacket.

“That’s better,” said Miss Takara. “More like the Hayata I have observed over the years.”

Yellow tentacles erupted from Miss Takara’s shadowy form. Dan fired his service pistol, adapted from a mad scientist’s weapon, as he tried to drop under the flailing limbs, but one seized his arm as he fired silvery beams at his foe. He was whipped around in the air and then slammed into the floor, hard. Pain made him lose his grip on his pistol as he crashed through the rotten wood.

“Where’s your bravado now, Hayata?” said Miss Takara gleefully.

“Miss Takara,” Dan gasped out, still holding the capsule in his hand as he hung over the basement. “I am sorry that Kana was killed through your stupidity, that you have contracted some disease, and especially for what you just did, but there’s one thing I am not sorry for.”

“What’s that, scum?” said Miss Takara, tentacles wrapping around Dan’s other limbs like constricting snakes.

“This,” said Dan, pressing the button on the side of the capsule.

The cylinder lit up, energy cascading down Dan’s battered form. The yellow appendages came apart under the transforming shower. The light faded, revealing the silvery form of Dan’s alter ego.

“Ultraman?” Miss Takara said, taken by surprise for a second.

The alien hero hovered to stop his fall to the basement floor, then flew upward to seize the woman. A quick takedown would settle this once and for all.

A giant yellow maw erupted from Miss Takara’s body. It tried to close on Ultraman and chop him in half. He braced himself against its gums, holding the mouth open with his tremendous strength.

“Die!” ordered the furious Miss Takara.

“Get smaller,” said Dan from within the hero’s mind.

What? thought M-78.

“Take the woman, no more monster.”

Ultraman shrank instantly, letting the giant mouth snap shut behind him. He flew down the partial throat, shrinking further as he went. He hovered long enough to aim, then blasted his way out of the yellow form. Miss Takara staggered back in surprise as the silvery gnat flew up toward her face.

“Hai!” shouted the diminutive hero, growing and swinging a punch at the same time. He sank into her body, spraying yellow chalk in a cloud.

What? thought the dual crusader.

Laughter erupted from the secretary as the yellow cloud coalesced around the silver hero, holding him in a squeezing hand. He braced himself against its confines as it began to crush him.

“New plan,” said Dan. “Energy beams at full strength.”

Ultraman brought both hands forward, blades of light cutting across the yellow prison. The transforming chalk scattered from the cutting instruments. When both of his hands crossed over his chest, a beam of pure light sprayed through the villainess with deadly heat. She screamed once as her body turned to a muddy pile.

“At least she didn’t have to go slow.”

Very funny, thought M-78, relinquishing control of their body.

***

Dan Hayata sat at the desk in his apartment a day later. A cup of coffee was in one hand, the original drawing of the Dream Worm in the other. I wonder if this is really the end this time, he thought.

“It is, unless she had an ability to resurrect herself.”

Quiet, thought Dan. I am trying to enjoy this moment of peace.

“Just a possibility, Dan. It is more likely she taught someone else her techniques.”

Sometimes, I really hate you, thought Dan, sighing deeply.

The End

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Dan Hayata walked the corridors of the Hall of Records at Star Patrol Headquarters in Tokyo, his dark orange jacket thrown over his shoulder. He was looking for a link across generations, but so far he hadn’t any luck in his search.

He knew that the dead Kana had owned the house destroyed in the first meeting with the Dream Worm. He hadn’t found any relatives or heirs who could be called forward to claim the property. There were also no friends of any kind as far as he could find out. Everyone he talked to said Kana never saw anyone. He was a recluse who liked to draw in private.

Dan walked along the empty corridor, trying to come up with a new lead. His search into Kana’s past had been less than illuminating. The only thing that even looked promising was his life at Tokyo University.

He didn’t believe his teachers could tell him any more about Kana than anyone else, but he just wasn’t ready to let things go. It was an occupational hazard. When things tried to eat you, you wanted to find out where they had come from.

Reaching the main doors, Dan headed for his car in the public garage. A nice leisurely drive might shake some of the cobwebs loose. He pulled on his jacket as he walked. One little clue could blow some of this mystery away, he thought.

“Agreed,” said M-78 from within his mind.

***

Dan drove through the morning traffic, humming a tune. The Star Patrol insignia on his car seemed to clear a path for him, although the siren and lights he had on contributed as well. He appreciated that courtesy.

He soon pulled into the visitor’s lot on the edge of the Tokyo University’s campus. The place sprawled in a controlled way across the city’s landscape. It was one of the few places where the city’s rule of building upward wasn’t honored.

Dan looked around as he headed for the administration building. The last time he had been here, he hadn’t been admiring the place like he was now. He had been chasing a tengu and hating it. It had been a relief when he and Rei had bagged the thing. He decided it was a nice place to visit now as he started up the front steps of the central building. It was odd how things tended to draw you back to places you had been.

He paused at the counter, looking at the secretary shuffling papers. He hoped she held the answers in her hands. Otherwise, he would be back at the start of his search with nothing to show for it.

“Can I help you?” the secretary said, looking up from her work.

“Hayata, Star Patrol,” said Dan, showing his credentials to the woman. “I need to know everything I can about Izama Kana. He was an art major here. I don’t know the years he was here.”

“Let me check for you, Officer,” said the secretary. She shifted in her chair to key in a search on her computer. “Izama Kana?”

“Her name is Tomika,” said M-78.

Thanks, said Dan to himself. ”Yes, madam,” said Dan to the secretary.

“What do you need to know?” said Miss Tomika.

“Let me have the names of his teachers, associates, and so forth,” said Dan. “Then I’ll need to know if any of them are still here on campus.”

Soon, Dan Hayata, escorted by the voice in his head, walked the campus, holding a small list of people who knew Kana when he was in school. Hopefully someone could give him a lead on this new person using Kana’s Dream Worm. Kana himself was unfortunately gone to whatever punishment the afterlife had allotted him.

“Unless he faked his death until he had better control over his creation,” suggested M-78.

Don’t get started, Dan thought to his alter ego. Let’s presume he’s dead and stay with that until something points to otherwise.

“Just a possibility.”

Let’s stick to eliminating the probable before we begin to delve into the impossible, Dan thought as he found the building he had been looking for.

“Agreed, Dan.”

Dan nodded to himself as he entered the graphic design building silently. He wandered the halls, looking for the right room. Soon he found the one he was looking for on the fourth floor. The graying man speaking at the head of the studio smiled as he gave criticism of his students’ work, demonstrating his thoughts with small pencil marks on each canvas.

“Professor Yamamoto?” Dan said, instinctively straightening his jacket as he stood in the door. “I am Sergeant Hayata, Star Patrol. I would like to talk to you about Izama Kana, a former student of yours.”

Yamamoto looked up from his evaluation, his eyebrows crooked upward quizzically. ”Keep working, everyone,” he said to the class. “I’ll shall return as soon as possible.”

Dan and Yamamoto stepped out into the hall, and the professor carefully shut the door behind him.

“I haven’t heard that name in several years, officer,” said Yamamoto, frowning. “I don’t know how I can help you after all this time.”

“I just need to know if he was friends with anyone in your classes when he was here as a student,” said Dan. “I am looking into his background and have had a hard time finding anyone who knew him in any way.”

“No one knew Izama,” said the teacher. “He was a ghost. If he hadn’t produced work for class and his portfolio, you wouldn’t even know he came to class.”

“He never associated with anyone?” Dan asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” said Yamamoto. “He came to class, took his assignments, and turned them in as fast as he could. He always turned everything in early, as far as I can recall.”

“Do you have any of his early work?” Dan asked. Maybe there was a clue there.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” said the professor, waving a hand uncertainly. “If I still have any, I am sure a photo would be in a file in my office. My secretary will know better than I.”

“Thank you,” said Dan.

“Don’t thank me yet,” said Yamamoto, smiling. “I doubt any of Izama’s works still exist. He favored fragile mediums to work in.”

“Like chalk?” Dan asked.

“Certainly. My secretary will be able to help you far better than I. I can’t figure out her filing system, to tell you the truth.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Dan, looking for a board with the room numbers on it.

“It’s 206,” said the professor, smiling as he stepped back into his classroom.

Dan walked over to the professor’s office after using the wall boards to find it. He knocked on the door gently.

“Come in,” said a pleasant female voice that reminded Dan of one of his acquaintances he had met through his work.

He stepped through the door, surveying the imposed order on the twin offices. He knew that Yamamoto’s secretary had a place for everything and everything in its place when he saw the workspace.

“Hello,” Dan said, smiling a little. “My name is Hayata. I’m checking into a former student of Professor Yamamoto. He suggested I see you about any paperwork he might have had.”

“What is the student’s name?” asked the secretary politely.

“Izama Kana,” said Dan. “I would like to know if he had any known associates while he was studying here.”

“Not that I know of,” said the woman. “The professor does keep photos of portfolios. Let me get that file. Do you know what year the file would be in?”

Dan gave her the year, wondering if he had met the woman before. He noted that she had avoided giving him her name, and there wasn’t a name plate on her desk.

He rubbed his chin in thought as he waited. If only he could remember where he had met the lady before. Then it wouldn’t bother him so much. The thought he had met her in connection to a case kept intruding in his mind. But which case – the original Dream Worm case, or the several others that he had dealt with on campus over the years?

Dan had met and talked to hundreds, if not thousands of people since he had started piloting for the Star Patrol. It did not bother him to not recall a name to match with a face of someone he had not seen in a while. What bothered him was the feeling he had met the secretary, and she looked completely different to him now.

The woman returned with the portfolio, causing Dan to hide his feelings behind a false smile. She handed him the file silently, and he opened it, slowly thumbing through the photos. Strange landscapes with strange creatures filled every page. Each photo was numbered in the lower right corner. He didn’t say anything when he noticed that one of the pictures was missing.

He handed the file back with a quiet thanks. The secretary ushered him out, watching him walk away with her brow furrowed.

Dan went to the university library next. He hoped the librarian could help him with the mystery he had thought would be a routine check.

“Looking for the photo?” asked M-78.

Just a thought it might be elsewhere other than that scrapbook, thought Dan.

“Why the library?”

Yearbooks, Dan thought as he pushed the glass door open.

The Star Patrolman looked around, spotting the librarian putting books back on the shelves. He walked over quietly, hoping that the picture could be found here. That would help eliminate some suspects while focusing on others. He hoped that, anyway. If it was a lost picture of a drawing, he was back to start with nothing to show for it but a suspicious memory.

“Madam,” Dan said quietly. “I would like to know if you have any yearbooks, and if you do, where a copy would be kept.”

“Certainly, officer,” said the librarian, placing the used books back on a cart. “Please follow me.”

She took Dan to a third story, pointing him to a shelf full of yearbooks. He thanked her as he pulled out the ones he needed. He spent the next few hours turning pages. His instincts told him his quarry was waiting for him to open just the right page. Then he did.

Who do you suppose that is? he thought.

“Kana’s soulmate,” said M-78.

***

Dan waited for his quarry to finish work for the day. As soon as he had seen the picture, the vague murmuring in the back of his mind had become crystal clear. He only needed one thing to be sure — proof.

So he waited in his issued car for his quarry. Then he fell into traffic and started following the Mitsubishi in front of him. He tried to remain inconspicuous but decided that was hard to do, since his car was a dark orange with the red shooting star emblem of the Star Patrol on the hood. The best he could hope for was to stay at the back of the traffic and keep the target in sight.

“Shouldn’t you call for backup?” suggested M-78.

For what? thought Dan. We don’t have anything but suspicion.

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On that day in 1959, Dan Hayata searched for hours without success, then bought a cup of tea from a street vendor to cool down. He watched the pedestrians walking by as he thought about his next move.

The sun was descending toward the Sea of Japan, and his stomach told him that he needed to eat. He decided that he should find Lieutenant Shimata and head back to the local hotel that had been commandeered by the Star Patrol for its staff during the investigation.

Dan started looking for his lieutenant so he could pack it in, hoping that someone had better luck than they had. They needed a break to crack this case, unless things escalated and the worm started attacking people in the middle of the day. Dan was not sanguine about that type of circumstance at all.

He found Lieutenant Takeo Shimata gazing at a poster on a wall after searching the area for some minutes. His stomach had decided to give him several more warnings in that time. He looked at the poster over his fellow Patrolman’s shoulder and groaned.

Dinner had been put on hold for him. He could see that just by looking at the poster. It was a monster drawn in yellow chalk to advertise a local boat festival.

The Star Patrolmen started looking for the artist who had designed the poster at the head of the festival. The man had given them a name and directions to a house.

Soon, the two took the car out to the house, and Dan silently noted that the park was a few miles away. He wondered how long it would take to get over to where the woman and boy had been killed.

Dan pulled the car into the long driveway leading to the traditional house on a hill. He shut off the engine, wanting to wait until daylight. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to hear the lecture about responsibility for the public’s welfare again. He seemed to get one of those every month and hadn’t had to suffer through one that month. He silently waited for Shimata to say, “Let’s see if this artist is at home.” It didn’t take long.

Shimata led the way up to the house’s front door, while Dan remained a step behind, hand on his service pistol. He didn’t like the looks of the place. Shimata rapped on the wooden door hard with his fist, feeling close to a resolution of this problem. He didn’t know how close he was.

“Kana!” he called out. “This is Lieutenant Shimata, Star Patrol. I’d like to talk to you, please.” He banged on the door again, harder than the first time.

Dan waited in the yard, aware that Shimata was one more knock away from kicking the door in. His ambitious friend had mellowed only slightly since being promoted from pilot to a commanding officer. Sometimes he was still impatient for results, even after the time he spent supervising operations instead of carrying them out.

“What do you want?” said a lanky man, throwing the door open. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“We have some questions about some drawings that you have done around the city,” said Shimata. “Can we come in, or do we discuss things on your front step?”

“Come in,” said the artist, frowning. “Let’s get this over with as fast as possible.”

Shimata stepped inside the house, examining the interior for possible clues, Dan following more slowly. He had met a lot of artists and art lovers, but few of them were as haughty as this one.

Dan stood in a corner in the spartan living room while Izama Kana and Shimata sat down on the floor mats to talk. Kana held his hands together in a calm but haughty pose.

“What do you use on your drawings?” the lieutenant said without preamble.

“Ordinary chalk,” said Kana. “Every drawing is done with chalk and then sprayed with a holding solution so it won’t accidentally wash away.”

“Where do you keep your chalk?” asked Shimata, looking the empty room over. “We’d like to take some for testing.”

“You want to take my chalk?” said Kana, a little suspicious. “Why do you need to test it?”

“Routine,” said Shimata. “We want to make sure it’s not the same as some we found at the scene of a murder.”

“You have to be kidding me,” said Kana. “What would my chalk be doing at the scene of a murder?”

“It’s just routine,” said Shimata. “If we have to, Officer Hayata will stay here while I get an order for you to turn over all of your supplies for testing.”

“Do you really think I will allow that?” Kana said, anger in his eyes.

“You don’t have much choice in the matter,” Shimata said, climbing to his feet. “One way or another, we will look at your equipment. The only thing that will change is whether you volunteer the things, or if we charge you and look at them anyway.”

Kana sprang to his feet. ”I will not allow your interference,” he said angrily.

Shimata glared hard at the man, prepared for an assault. He had taken basic hand-to-hand combat like all of the Patrol. That was something you had to have, just like being qualified with special service pistols.

But neither he nor Dan was prepared for the explosive ripping of floorboards that sent them sprawling. A yellow slug with the diameter of a fifty gallon barrel glared at them sightlessly, with its round mouth full of teeth working noiselessly as the head orientated on the two Star Patrolmen.

“I think by the time your bodies are found,” said Kana, smiling. “I will be long gone.”

Dan drew his pistol as he lay on his back and fired into the mass groping for him. The service pistol screamed at the thing violently. Huge holes were cut into the worm by the shells. Still the monster came on.

Shimata fired at the artist but missed badly as the floor came apart under the strange beast’s charge. He tried to push himself back from the thing’s maw as it swept down on him.

Dan pulled on his friend’s collar as he backed away from the expanding creature. He fired his last few rounds into the floor in front of the thing. The boards ripped apart under the rough treatment as the Patrolmen backed toward the door. Izama Kana was the last thing on their minds as they tried to get out of the house.

“It looks like we have identified our man,” Dan said, reloading quickly as he stepped in front of Shimata.

“Are you being sarcastic?” Shimata said, getting to his feet. “Because if you are, when we get out of this, you’re on latrine duty.”

“Get us some backup,” Dan said, firing into the house. “We need some big guns.”

“Right,” said Shimata, heading for the car. One radio call would bring reinforcements from all over the island.

Dan reached into his jacket’s inner breast pocket from which he pulled a gray cylinder and held it in the air. A bright flash wrapped around him as the alien consciousness of M-78 took over. When it cleared, the hero known as Ultraman stood in his place.

The silver hero plunged into the room, swinging his right arm, but his fist bounced off Kana’s creation without leaving a dent.

“Where did the holes go?” said Dan from within his mind.

The metallic face of Ultraman did not register emotions, but he was taken aback by the fact that the wounds from Dan’s pistol had healed almost instantly.

The Ultraman and the yellow Dream Worm created by Kana squared off, shifting their balances, ready to move in any direction. The Worm plunged forward, its maw wide open. Ultraman stepped to one side, slicing along its length with the edge of one hand, amazed at the lack of effect.

The Dream Worm tried to turn to strike at its opponent before he could get his balance. Ultraman hopped over its bulk, securing a grip under its flat head. He twisted, throwing the thing through a wall. Part of the roof at the back of the place came down in a spray of wood and paper.

Kana’s Dream Worm rushed forward, seemingly unhurt by the impact. It tried to latch onto the hero’s chest. Ultraman fended it off with a forearm as its teeth ground together, then spun, flinging it to the ground. It swayed up like a snake as he crossed his arms and fired a stream of particles into it. The Worm took the blast unflinchingly.

As the two squared off again at opposite ends of the wrecked room, it became apparent that the creature was fading away. It soon vanished in a small cloud of chalk as the hero watched. Ultraman quickly checked the area before switching back into human form.

Now back to normal, Dan Hayata looked around the destroyed room, wondering why the creature had stopped. He moved to check the rest of the house.

He soon found Izama Kana under a collapsed beam; his back had been broken by the impact. His hands had clawed the floor, forestalling the conclusion he had died instantly. Dan checked the rest of the place quietly.

After a search, he found the drawing from which the creature had burst through the floor. It had been defaced by the animation of the Dream Worm and the destruction of the house. Dan tucked the drawing in his jacket. He would test it to make sure that there was nothing special about it. Then he would place it with the rest of the souvenirs he had collected over the years. Now he had to assure Shimata that the place was safe and the threat was ended.

***

Dan Hayata awoke in the present with a start. He had fallen asleep with the drawing in his hands. He stared at the picture, thinking that it had moved somehow since he had last looked at it.

He tossed the picture in the metal trash can by his desk, then took a lighter and set the paper on fire. He watched it catch fire, then sat back in his chair. At least he had a clue to the drawing at the school.

Only the Star Patrol knew what kind of monster had been loose in the park. Someone must have looked at the relevant files to get an idea of what the thing looked like. That was a place for him to start.

Tomorrow would find him in the file section of Star Patrol Headquarters. He didn’t relish that idea, but someone had to look into the problem before it got any bigger. And that someone could only be him.

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Dan Hayata sat in his favorite chair. It was an old seat from one of the jets he had a habit of crashing in the performance of his duties with the Star Patrol. He had scavenged the seat when the fight was over and took it home. Various items also littered his apartment from his years in the Patrol, and everything had some memory attached to it. One day, Dan hoped to get rid of it all. So far he had only gotten rid of one thing. Rei had needed the healing crystal more than he had.

He picked up the picture frame with the original drawing of the Dream Worm on it, which he had confiscated from the original battle in ’59. The Patrol officers had just thought it was a drawing of the monster. None of them had realized the Worm had attacked out of this very piece of paper, not even Captain Shimata, who had been there when it happened.

Dan had begun thinking about the old case after the spontaneous eruption of the thing at the school while he had been talking to one of the classes. The styles were close, but Dan conceded that two different hands had drawn the separate pictures.

Izama Kana would be an easy one to blame this new episode on, but the man was dead. Dan had been there and helped load the corpse in a bag to take to the morgue. Apparently, the roof had caved in to pin him to the spot where his body had been found. He had been given a choice of deaths by that accident.

***

That case in 1959 had begun simply, like most of the cases the Star Patrol handled. Animals had begun to die in a state park outside of Osaka, the first thing a monkey. The deaths progressed steadily until finally a boy had been killed yards away from the park’s entrance. Park rangers and police then began investigating. The strange bite on the boy’s neck had them stumped. The Patrol had been called in, having had some success with strange cases before.

Dan Hayata and Dr. Hu drove down from headquarters in a Patrol car. The doctor had packed equipment, as well as confiscating a laboratory for use from the local prefecture. Together they went over numerous reports, the scene of the crime, and the body.

Then a woman was killed three miles away from where the boy had been found. The body had been found by a family on an outing deep in the park. The father had herded his kin away from the corpse after covering it. He ran to the nearest park ranger tower to report the find. Hours later, Dan and Hu stood over the body, trying to figure out the cause of death. The round wound on her torso was practically a larger version of the one on the boy that had been found earlier.

“This is bad, Dan,” said Dr. Hu quietly, probing the wound with a tweezers. “No animal on Earth leaves a wound like this except for a leech. But a leech the size indicated by this would would have to be enormous.”

“Enormous enough to make this track?” said Dan, pointing at a place in the ground that had been indented by something dragging across the soft loam.

“Giant leech?” said Dr. Hu. “Not likely. Let’s see where this goes.”

“Right behind you, Doctor,” said Dan, one hand on his service pistol.

“You’re the agent here,” said Dr. Hu, gesturing with one hand. “You first.”

Dan grimaced at the comment. He started walking along the trail indented in the ground. The shallow grove ended beside one of the park’s many trees. A sheet of paper, pinned to the tree with a nail, fluttered in the wind. The paper looked blank to the Star Patrolman. That in itself was a clue, even if they didn’t know what the clue meant.

Searching the ground around the tree, Dan couldn’t find anything else useful. He waited for the doctor to load the paper into an envelope to take back to the lab. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary about the paper, but then he was a pilot and not a forensics specialist. Hopefully, Dr. Hu could come with a good lead on the culprit.

***

Back at the lab, Dan waited in a small break room. Dr. Hu had taken the paper and had begun testing it to narrow down what it meant to the crime scene. The body had been brought in and autopsied while they watched.

Most of the woman’s organs and blood had been sucked out of the round wound in her torso. That had been the cause of death. No surprises there.

What had been a surprise was the ring of chalk around the wound where the creature would have planted its lips. The mark had been caused before the woman had died, according to Hu’s expert opinion. He took a sample with a swab.

Dr. Hu came into the break room, stripping off his gloves. He was smiling slightly as the light reflected dazzlingly off his round glasses. ”The chalk on the body matches the traces of chalk on the paper in every way that I can find,” he said.

“What do you think is going on, Doctor?” Dan asked. “Some kind of weird monster?”

“Obviously,” said Hu, getting a soda out of the nearby machine. “I don’t think I have ever seen a creature that left chalk behind in a wound.”

“What about the paper?” asked Dan, getting a cup of coffee.

“Ordinary drawing paper that can be found anywhere,” said Hu, sipping his drink. “Any store within five miles could have supplied that type of paper.”

“So unless we get some more clues at the next crime scene,” said Dan, “we’re stumped.”

“Practically,” said Hu. “We do know one thing, if it helps.”

“What’s that?”

“The paper is drawing paper,” said Hu. “Not regular paper that would be lying around just waiting to be used. That might be a clue in itself.”

“Don’t let the reporters hear that,” said Dan, finishing his coffee. “The headline would be Starving Artist Feeds Monster with Critics.”

“An artist would have the paper, thought,” said Hu, not quite smiling. “I’m glad to give you some work to do while I finish going over the corpse’s personal effects.”

The Star Patrolman grimaced at the thought of having to check all of the nearby artists. The park was an especially popular place for landscape painters. He grabbed his dark orange jacket and pulled it on. ”Let me get started, then,” he said, throwing the empty cup away and walking out of the break room.

***

Dan spent the morning wandering the area around the park, talking to numerous artists. It was a frustrating few hours. None of the artists he saw used chalk or knew anyone who did. The common material was pen and ink or water-color paint.

He looked around, trying to think of some other avenue of investigation. Maybe he needed to expand his search pattern. Somewhere he would find someone that used chalk on paper — someone knew, or had seen, someone who had used chalk. Patience, he told himself.

“I agree,” said M-78 from the back of his mind.

Dan walked over to his car to use the radio. It was time to get some more men out here to help out. This thing was leading up to something and needed to be stopped before anything worse happened.

***

A few hours later, Dan Hayata stood at the front of the room. He looked at his notes before speaking to the members of the Star Patrol and the local prefecture. They quietly waited for the briefing to begin.

“The first victim was a boy,” Dan said. “There were no traces on the body as far we could tell. Then the second victim was found by a family on holiday. Chalk was found on the body around the wound. A piece of paper was found nearby with the same chalk found on it. These are our options: The animal rubbed its muzzle against the paper before it attacked the woman, or someone rubbed the muzzle of the thing with the paper and left it. Either way, we are looking for anyone who regularly uses chalk as a drawing tool. That’s our only clue. Let’s find this guy and see if he knows anything.”

***

Dan and Lieutenant Takeo Shimata paired off, with the pilot driving. The search group spread out over the area, with Star Patrolmen and regular police going house to house. The one question they asked was whether the resident knew of any chalk artist. The answer was always in the negative.

Dan drove toward nearby Osaka. Their search would take place among those who watched the Japanese art world. Some critic had to have seen the style and point to likely sources if a professional was involved in some way.

He and Shimata split up and started searching galleries. They knew they were checking an outside chance with no hope of success. They would have to be the luckiest men on Earth to find someone who drew monsters in chalk for a living. How likely was that?

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Dan Hayata paced outside the classroom. Captain Takao Shimata had told him to report and talk to the students. Dan had wanted to refuse, but Shimata had told him go to either the school or to the stockade for the theft of the Star Patrol jet last week. Dan had chosen the lecture.

Now he waited to be introduced, give his prepared speech, and leave. Now middle-aged, he was a confirmed bachelor, and he thought of children as something to be tolerated. So being with thirty of them in a closed room was on his list of things to avoid at all costs.

He went over his notes one more time. He hoped he could be done in an hour and escape to his rock garden with some saki and sushi, and maybe dream of a day when he was no longer needed.

“I dream of that day, too, Dan,” said the voice of M-78, the alien intelligence within him.

Sorry, thought Dan. Guess I have been in the fight too long.

“Don’t worry about it. Sometimes I think we’re the same man myself.”

Dan stepped into the classroom. He forgot his lecture when he saw their faces staring at him in his dark orange uniform.

“Go on. Tell them the whole story.”

“My name is Dan Hayata,” said Dan. “I am a sergeant in the Star Patrol. Any questions?” The room came alive with questions from the kids, and Dan was stuck for what to answer first. He looked across the room.

“I tell you what,” he said, trying to smile. “We’ll start at that boy in the corner, and everyone can ask a question. How’s that sound?” A cheer met his proposal.

“Have you met Captain Marvel?” asked the boy.

“No,” said Dan. “We haven’t met.”

“How many monsters have you seen?” said the next boy in line.

Captain Marvel and monsters, thought Dan, sighing as he realized that this would what most of the kids’ questions would be focused on. ”A few,” said Dan.

“Six-hundred and forty-four, depending on how you count,” said M-78 in his mind.

***

The day before Dan’s lecture, the children had been given colored chalk and asked to draw and color their favorite monster on the sidewalk. Dan had smiled outwardly when he saw it. He hadn’t wanted to tell the principal and teachers that the drawings gave him a case of nerves. This was their day. Ruining it would get him some other unpleasant duty from the captain. So he held his tongue.

Now one of the pictures pulsed, bubbling up out of the concrete. It gathered substance as it shifted from a flat plane to the reality of three dimensions. The painted eyes glared out menacingly at the world.

***

Answering questions took Dan Hayata down memory lane. The Star Patrol had been formed in 1952 after a monster island had been found south of Japan. Some of the monsters from that island had been able to swim or fly to other parts of the world and cause damage to life and limb. The Patrol’s main mission after that had been to seek ways to defend against these monster attacks at first. No country wanted Gojira to roam through their cities in a rampage.

Then most of the heroes on Earth disappeared. As they later learned, the Marvel Family, along with their friends, their greatest allies, and their worst enemies, were sent into outer space by Dr. Thaddeus Bodog Sivana in an attempt to get rid of the Marvel Family once and for all. Dan Hayata and Takao Shimata had been flying for the Patrol for about a year when that happened. Now Shimata led the Japanese branch of the Patrol, and Dan was still just a lowly sergeant.

With the Marvel Family and Shazam’s Squadron of Justice gone, the Patrol’s duties expanded to defending the entire planet from any threat, both internal and external. Even with the arrival of several other new heroes over the next twenty years, the Patrol had its hands full.

The absence of the Marvels, the Squadron, and most of their major foes created a partial vacuum. Naturally, minor players tried to step up in the big leagues now that no one was in their way. It became the Patrol’s job to stop them, along with anyone else who decided that Earth was now defenseless. Dan and his partner, M-78, were at the forefront of these efforts, and as the giant Ultraman they routinely fought the worst monsters to plague the world.

M-78 and his culture protected planets all over the universe, allowing them to mature into spacefaring civilizations that could be counted on to help others in need. By the time Captain Marvel and his friends and enemies returned in 1973, the Star Patrol had become a worldwide organization that found itself suddenly clashing with a new crop of evil. Dr. Sivana himself had rapidly climbed to the top of Dan’s list of guys who needed a fist in the face, for all the menaces he unleashed upon the world.

“You are just bitter over that bubblegum crisis.”

You are not the one who had to soak for a month, thought Dan. That stuff was hard to get off.

“I was there. That goo didn’t agree with me, either.”

Dan returned his attention to the next question he had to answer. His time was flying along, and his punishment would be over before he knew it.

He was describing a move he had done ten years before in his jet versus the Mionites, when he heard a slow hiss of air. He looked up from his class, glancing across the room at the closed windows.

“Problem, Dan. A big problem.”

“Fire drill, everybody!” said Dan, walking over to the window. “Miss Yoshikawa, please line the class up and take them out any door away from this side of the building. Let’s go.”

Dan began to empty the school, sending the classes out of the back of the building. He didn’t know how much time he had, but he didn’t think it was long. Someone had alerted the principal, who relayed the false alarm and direction of the evacuation over the public announcement system.

You attract monsters, Dan thought as he made sure everyone had fled the building.

“Everyone needs to have a talent.”

Did you recognize it? Dan asked, tapping his communications pendant.

“It looks like the dream worm.”

“Patrol headquarters,” said the new guy, Hiro. Communications had been handed over to him when the former officer had retired.

“Hayata,” said the pilot, rushing for the roof and wishing he had not started smoking like he had. “Rush everything you’ve got my location now.”

“What did you say?” said Hiro. “I must have misheard you.”

“Get backup down here now, rookie,” said Hayata, finding a trap to the roof. “Or I’ll rip you to shreds when this is over.”

“I don’t have to take this,” said Hiro, cutting the connection.

Dan tapped his communicator twice. That idiot cut me off, Dan thought, looking for a way to the trap door. A ladder was folded in a nearby alcove.

“What did you expect? You did threaten him.”

That wasn’t a threat, thought Dan, slamming the ladder in place. That was a promise.

Dan hurried up the ladder, slamming the trap door open with an arm. Seizing the edges of the opening, he pulled himself on the gravel-covered roof, then pulled out the cylinder he kept in his jacket. Ready to switch?

“Let’s do it. Hiro might wait too long before remembering to pass on the call.”

Dan pressed the button on the side of the cylinder, letting the glow wrap around him. When the glow vanished, a silver alien with large glowing eyes and a fin on the top of his bullet head stared down at his enemy. The hero known as Ultraman leaped into the air.

Ultraman landed in front of the yellow creature, which was still expanding from the drawing on the concrete. He was at his full height of forty feet, and he knew the Dream Worm would grow to match him.

“Preemptive strike,” thought Dan.

That won’t work, Dan, thought M-78. It is invulnerable to our beam. The only thing we can do is eliminate the picture it sprang from.

“Let’s draw it off and see if we can get rid of that picture.”

I don’t think this is going to be as easy as the last time, Dan.

“Nothing is ever easy.”

Standing protectively in front of the school, Ultraman squared off with the Dream Worm. The students had been led out of the other side of the building but were far from safe. It was his job to protect them from the nearly impervious creature that regarded him with baleful eyes over a leech-like mouth.

The Dream Worm leaped to attack, trying to attach its sucker mouth against the silver Ultraman. Once it had secured its grip, it would suck all of his inner organs out through the hole. Then it would seek out more prey.

Bringing his arm up, Ultraman slammed it against the neck of the beast to hold it at bay. He braced himself as well as he could as the Dream Worm continued to grow. He brought his other hand around in a gut blow. Yellow gas escaped the vampiric mouth, driving the star policeman to his knee. The Dream Worm tried to bear down on the faltering hero.

Ultraman heard the clacking of internal suckers as the giant beast tried to bear him down to the ground and feed off of the organs his metallic outer body protected.

“Throw it to one side.”

Ultraman immediately saw the plan Dan had concocted from the back of his mind. He viciously twisted to his left, rolling the monster on its back with him on top. He had a steely grip on its elongated neck, holding its mouth away from him. He had a small amount of control, like a man handling a large, dangerous snake. Time for phase two.

Grabbing a nearby flagpole, Ultraman controlled the Dream Worm with his other hand as best as he was able, then pressed the pole against the neck of the creature, generating a small amount of heat. As soon as he bent the pole in the proper shape, he cooled off. One power blow drove the ends of the pole into the ground on either side of the thing’s neck, pinning the Worm in place for a few precious moments.

“Good job.”

Not out of the woods yet, thought M-78, grabbing the thing’s tail and moving it out of the way. He pointed his fingers at the outline that remained of the drawing. A small blast of energy obliterated the drawing.

The Dream Worm vanished in an upswell of color and a cry of agony.

When the Star Patrol arrived on the scene moments later, they found Dan Hayata showing hundreds of students how the alien hero designated Ultraman by the public had saved the day by pinning the giant Dream Worm to the ground. He left out that the chalk picture had summoned the beast to life. Why risk a repeat appearance if he didn’t have to?

Dan took Captain Shimata aside and explained the events of the day as the newly arrived Patrol showed the children the necessary equipment of fighting the gigantic plagues that had decided to make their home in Tokyo.

He waited until the rest of the Patrol was engrossed in answering questions, and then he walked away, whistling cheerfully to himself.

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He walked across the desert with a slight limp. It was an old wound that surfaced occasionally to remind him how human he remained after all these years. Dan Hayata wiped the sweat from his brow, remembering when it hadn’t been like this. He had walked without a pain or scar then, and he had been proud to be picked as one of the pilots for the fledgling Star Patrol. He and Shimata had dreamed of flying the new jets that the Star Patrol was secretly developing for the United Nations. They had become the ones who could go anywhere in the air. Dan smiled at the memory.

“There’s a light over there, Dan,” said a voice inside his head.

Dan looked in the direction indicated. Something flickered on the horizon. It looked like a light. He staggered toward it. Remember how we met? he thought.

“Yes, Dan.”

Dan felt the sweat begin to cool on his brow as the desert night flowered in full force. He knew that usually happened. The Patrol had been given training to operate in different environments.

I wonder what that light is, Dan thought, tired from the miles he had already crossed.

“It looks like some type of bar.”

Some saki would be good now, thought Dan.

“I agree.”

You’re just mind. You don’t need saki.

“When we merged, I learned to like it. Like many things, it just needed a period of adjustment.”

I’ll say, thought Dan.

***

By 1952, the world had become overrun by menaces of the like never before seen until the 1940s, such as monsters and alien invasions. The discovery of an island south of Japan populated by mutant monsters, a veritable monster island, had made the situation all the more urgent.

A plan had been put into motion in the postwar years by the United Nations to build an internationally based, peacekeeping air corps to protect the world from monsters and aliens. The Marvel Family had saved the world many times by then, but nobody knew what would happen if they ever disappeared. So the plan was made a reality, and the Star Patrol was born that year.

The organization’s name was a bit of a misnomer that often led to some confusion. Star Patrol sounded a lot like Space Patrol to most people, which implied that they operated throughout the solar system like some science fiction concept; that couldn’t be further from the truth. In reality, the Star Patrol was more like a foreign legion of the air equipped with the most advanced weapons available to combat the most dangerous threats to the world. Most of the Star Patrol’s weapons had been developed from inventions seized from mad scientists over the years, from death-rays to earthquake machines to giant robots. And while they did have a few operating spaceships in their arsenal, they were rarely used and were kept a secret from the public. Conventional aircraft — albeit conventional aircraft equipped with amazing weapons and gadgets — did the job just fine.

At the end of 1953, the worst fears of the world occurred when the Marvel Family and most of America’s greatest heroes disappeared, while the menaces they routinely battled from month to month still remained to plague the world. Luckily, the Star Patrol helped to fill the void in those years, when a few second-tier heroes and new heroes surfaced to protect the world, such as Master Man, Shiva and Kali, Marvelman, and the Super Squad. But with the exception of the British hero Marvelman and his allies Young Marvelman and Kid Marvelman, these heroes usually confined their heroics to the United States, while the Star Patrol operated worldwide.

Dan Hayata was a founding member of the Star Patrol from Japan, working out of the Star Patrol Headquarters there. Six months before the Marvel Family’s disappearance, Dan had been flying a routine search pattern over Tengu Lake, his jet performing better than he expected. He turned in an arc to repeat his circle. Then two meteors crashed through the atmosphere; the blue one went into the lake, and the red one hit Dan’s plane, destroying it instantly.

His plane destroyed, Dan Hayata had found himself floating in red radiance, and he found that he had left his body behind with the fragments of his plane.

Dan found himself staring at the plain silver giant that floated in the radiance with him. He wondered at this first contact. Was he even still alive?

“Partially.” The giant’s voice was steady, almost flat, but soft.

“Who are you?” Dan asked. “What happened to me?”

“Our crafts collided in midair. Yours was destroyed by the impact. I rescued what I could. Unfortunately, you will die if you are returned to your people.”

“The Patrol will be able to fix me,” Dan asserted. “They are the best from all over the world.”

A picture formed in Dan’s mind of what was left of his body. No human could repair the wreck his body would be if he was placed back at the site of the crash.

“I have an alternative…”

“What kind of alternative?” And Dan listened to the giant’s proposal.

Dan Hayata was deposited beside Tengu Lake after accepting the giant’s offer for another chance. He was a bit stunned by the encounter. He sat down, waiting for daylight and the search parties that would surely come looking for the remains of his jet. M-78, as Dan came to call him — for that was the star system from which the silver giant had come — was a reassuring presence for the young pilot as he stared at the lake, thinking about how he felt and how the world had changed for him.

Tengu Lake began to bubble gently, and blue light danced just under the surface of the water. Suddenly, waves rushed toward the shore as the thing from the other shell emerged and began to grow to an enormous height.

A Star Patrol jet soared down from Dan’s left. The unit’s star arrow insignia glowed as missiles fired into the creature, wounding it. It swung its mighty arm, clipping a wing off of the bothersome Star Patrol vehicle.

Dan pulled out the triggering device — the cylinder given to him by the silver alien he called M-78 — and activated the change for the first time. Together, they became Ultraman.

***

In the present, Dan staggered to the bar’s door. It had been a long partnership for the two — almost forty years.

“Thirty-four years, six months.”

Nobody likes a perfectionist, Dan thought as he stepped into the bar.

“Who says?”

Dan was aware he drew stares as he looked the place over. His normally neat uniform was ripped and torn, and his face had been sliced by shrapnel when his jet had crashed.

He staggered to a table and sat down. It had been a long walk across the desert. He decided to get a beer. Saki would be in short supply here.

“These people are in the kill zone.”

It’ll be all right, Dan thought, resting his head on his arms for a moment. Let me get some strength back.

“Are you OK, mister?” asked a local. He had been used cruelly by the desert sun and wind, becoming as craggy as a mesa.

“You need to get clear of this area,” Dan whispered. He wanted to say it out loud but had lost his voice to dehydration. “There is going to be trouble later.”

“What are you talking about?” the local asked.

“Trouble,” whispered Dan. “Big trouble. Here in minutes.”

“Who are you?”

“Star Patrol,” Dan managed. “Get out of here.”

The men and women started filing out, staring at the battered pilot as he tried to sit up straight in his chair. He ignored the chatter, trying to focus on getting enough strength to get to the bar and getting a beer before the main event.

Dan dragged a beer bottle closer and opened it with a trembling hand. He took a sip, enjoying the cool taste. Ever thought about retiring? Dan asked his alter ego.

“I can’t ever retire. You know that. It’s coming, Dan. Get ready.”

Just a thought. Dan sipped some more beer, holding himself up with the bar. He felt a little better, but not quite at full strength. He wished he hadn’t gone this alone now. Shimata would kill him when he found out.

“Captain Shimata will be lenient.”

It’s hard to be a pessimist with you around, Dan thought.

The desert began to shake around the small building. Dan saw a cloud of dust scratch against the windows as he finished his bottle. He placed the glass container on the floor before pulling out a small cylinder from his dark orange jacket.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dan said, holding the cylinder in the air.

“Let’s.”

The pilot was surrounded by a glow from the cylinder. When it cleared, a man of silver stood in his place. A fin formed on its otherwise bald head. Glowing ovals were the alter ego’s eyes. He had become the hero known as Ultraman.

Something exploded from the dirt, looming into the sky. It roared in glee. Then a giant foot crushed the roadhouse flat.

“How many monsters have we battled over the years?” said Dan in the hero’s mind.

Mind on the job, thought Ultraman, enlarging his size to match the thing that had crushed the roadhouse.

“You’re in the pilot’s chair,” said Dan.

“M-78,” said the monster telepathically, a thing of scales with crab claws for upper appendages and a spreading, insect-like head. “Why do you oppose my kind?”

“It’s my job,” replied the giant Ultraman. “Do you wish to surrender, Belten, and make this easy on the both of us?”

“I think it will be hard.”

“Why do we bother?” said Dan.

The Belten opened its claws, and coherent light ripped the night air. Ultraman shoulder-rolled under the blasts, snapping to his feet and slicing across the alien’s torso with the edge of his hand and a shower of sparks. The giant staggered from the assault.

“They never give up,” said Dan.

Do you have a suggestion? thought M-78.

The Belten laughed, splitting into three equal fighters. The trio raised their clawed hands, causing the ground around Ultraman to explode. The silver giant fell over, flipping backward to his feet.

“Give me a second.” Dan Hayata stared at the Belten from the back of M-78′s conscious mind. He was just a passenger in the here and now. It allowed him to step back and analyze things as he had when the partners had first acted.

“You remember that trick we did with the water the first time we met?” thought Dan.

I think so, thought M-78. A different application would need to be applied in this desert.

The Belten triplets fired vertical rings at the silver giant. Their laughter rang out as Ultraman was blasted off of his feet. Dan winced, sharing the falling feeling and sudden stop. “Get up,” he said. ”They are coming to finish us off.”

Backseat driver, complained M-78.

The Belten surrounded the fallen giant. Lambent charges played inside their claws as they powered up for the killing blow. Their insectoid faces seemed to be smiling. Ultraman’s hands pressed against the dry earth. The aliens fired their massive killing attack at the hero as he soared upward. Dirt flew in the air, forming a cloud drifting slowly out from the point of impact. Their laughter carried over the dust cloud mockingly.

“Hai-yah!” roared Ultraman, standing away at a small distance, arms crossed, fingers extended. A beam of sparkling light leaped from where his wrists crossed. It played on the dust cloud, turning the sand into something that resembled glass.

Shells formed over the Belten warriors before they could move. Their eerie laughter ceased as the shells covered them completely. The alien invaders locked in place as the glass hardened, forcing them to conserve their energy until they were freed.

“Man, that went easier than I thought,” said Dan.

Speak for yourself, thought M-78. Let’s take them where they can be taken into custody and switch back. I am at my limit.

“Right.”

Ultraman raised his hands, generating a glowing platform under himself and his foes. He looked straight up in the sky. With a roar, the platform vanished into the night.

***

Captain Takao Shimata arrived in the desert the next morning aboard a Star Patrol jet, a small team with him when he landed. Captain Amanda Waller from the American staff had arrived with him. She began to bark out orders to the detail to find out what happened.

Dan Hayata finished his beer slowly as he sat in the shade from a makeshift lean-to. He stood at attention when the officers came to rest in front of him.

“Report,” barked Waller, irritating Dan for an undefined reason.

“There was a fight and the good guys won,” said Dan quietly. “Do you need to know anything else?”

“Dismissed,” said Shimata, waving his hand. “File your paperwork as usual, and get some rest. Then we’ll talk about the violations that you committed.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dan, saluting. He pulled off his battered jacket as he headed for the transport.

“You’re getting too old for this,” said M-78.

“Tell me about it,” Dan said quietly.

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Showcase

The Coyote Howls

by CSyphrett

When Willie White Raven finds himself transported from the Mojave Desert to the land of spirit animals, he finds himself in a losing battle with Coyote and Raven against Bear, leading to a showdown with Snake. But while this vision quest results in the birth of a new hero called the Coyote, Willie’s troubles are far from over as he encounters the menaces of Diamond Jill and a group of villains gathered by Snake to finally take him down. Will the Coyote and his new ally, a super-speedster, be able to overcome this ultimate menace?

• Chapter 1: The Ring

• Chapter 2: Thrill Ride

• Chapter 3: Servant of Set

• Chapter 4: Snake’s Revenge

• Chapter 5: The Coyote’s Desert

Return to Earth-S titles. Return to Independents stories.

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Mr. Hex examined his temporary comrades. He was not impressed that they had been summoned by the same spirit that had called him, since they seemed to be in the range of common thugs. Still, he knew that physical confrontation was not the way he liked to do things. It was best to bring them along.

“Hex wand,” he said, holding his instrument in the air. “Take us to the Coyote’s dominion.”

A glow erupted from the wooden baton, surrounding the assembled villains and lifting the four into the air. The hex then blasted them across the desert sand, and in seconds they hovered above the State Police Forensics Laboratory.

Two men in the parking lot looked up from their conversation as the glowing bubble descended to the gray asphalt. One was a Caucasian, and the other was an American Indian. Obviously, the Indian was the minion of Coyote. The group spread out to form a crescent around the duo.

“Hex wand,” said Mr. Hex, pointing the wand. “Place the ring in my hand.”

The wand glowed, shining on Willie White Raven’s hand. Willie felt himself being pulled forward toward the man in the dark suit and sunglasses, but instead of resisting, he threw himself into the air to ride the pull back to the wand. Mr. Hex’s eyes widened at the move.

Marlon Wells looked around, deciding which of the villains to attack first. His brain processed information faster than a normal person. He decided to hit the big thug on the left first. He moved so quick, it looked like he had teleported across the short distance. His arms multiplied as he began to punch the villain hundreds of times a second.

The thug merely smiled in amusement. ”Why don’t you hit me more?” the thug said. “I can take a beating all day long.”

Wells paused in amazement, thinking all of those punches should have had some effect. He had never encountered a serious villain with an ability he was trained to use before. The closest thing he had encountered was Cory Ferris, alias Diamond Jill, who was as new to her abilities as he was.

“My name is Power,” said the thug, winding up. “Let’s see if you can take as well as you give.” Power brought his arm down to smash his opponent flat. Marlon ducked, glad that his reflexes were working better than his fists. He wondered what tactic he could apply to get himself out of the spot he was in.

Tentacles then wrapped around Marlon’s legs, lifting him into the air. He smashed into the asphalt before he could try to get away from the binding limbs.

“He’s not the target, Power,” said a woman, whose hair was like snakes. “Finish him quickly so we can focus on the designated mark.”

“My pleasure, Medusa,” said the large man, straightening his leather jacket.

Willie White Raven smashed into Mr. Hex, his ring pulling him into the collision. He hit the asphalt, rolling away from the surprised villain. The man’s wand dropped from Hex’s hand, breaking the spell he had cast.

Getting to his feet, Willie bent to grab the baton before the other man could. Before he could get close enough, the suited villain grabbed the wand in a gloved hand and glared at the Indian as he pointed the rod at his intended victim.

“Give him a heart attack,” Mr. Hex said with a smile.

The glow struck at the desert rat. He leaped out of the way, flame rushing up his arms, changing him into his more feral form. He sank into the ground with a bark.

“Bring him back,” Mr. Hex commanded. Instantly, the Coyote floated in the air. He seemed to be smiling with his canine features. ”What are you laughing about?” asked the wizard. The Coyote pointed.

Marlon Wells had his legs pinned together, a large leg-breaker swinging at his head, and another guy aiming a hand with light glowing in his eyes. This didn’t look good.

He wondered how he got into these situations as he rolled from Power’s killing blow. His hands grabbed the tentacles around his legs, and he began to rub the rubbery flesh as he tried to keep everyone in sight. Smoke rippled from the limbs within seconds as his hands buzzed against the air. Medusa picked him up and flung him across the parking lot.

Marlon spun in the air, ready to hit the ground running. He landed softly, and beams of light reached out for him from the unnamed stranger. He ducked and weaved to avoid the blasts. He needed to be more offensive against these his enemies, but he was running scared instead. He needed a plan to get him out of his spot.

He smiled at a sudden thought.

Marlon waited for the next blast to start. Then he switched places with Power, and the beam impacted against the leg-breaker, flinging him to the ground. Power could take solid hits, but not energy.

***

Cory Ferris roamed Interstate 70 in a black Toyota, enjoying the feel of the chill air from the air conditioner on her skin. The owner of the car lay in a gully five miles behind her. She had split his head open with the diamond ring she wore on her hand. That ring was why she had been nicknamed Diamond Jill.

She planned to drive until she reached California and then go north until she pulled into Portland or maybe Seattle. She was a bit tired of the dry sand, burning sky, and endless cacti that marked her path west. She didn’t care anything about keeping her bargain with the vision that had given her ring back. She understood other’s people need for revenge, but that didn’t interest her in any way. The only things she wanted was to be free, and to have the ability to do what she pleased when she pleased.

But if she did happen to come across the two who had stopped her before and put her in Bladesworth, she would rip them to shreds with her ring.

***

Mr. Hex looked up instinctively where the flaming wolf-man pointed, only to see a large anvil falling toward him like something from a cartoon. He pointed his wand with the words, “Protect me.” The anvil hit an invisible dome and slid to his left, and a cloud of dirt puffed up when it hit the ground.

The wizard was momentarily blinded by the flying debris. He raised his hand to protect his face, but for some reason, his arm froze halfway through the gesture. He tried to speak, to command his wand to work some of its magic to clear the air around him, but his lips were strangely stiff. The cloud settled back to the ground, and when it did, he discovered he was coated with a thin shellac of glass.

Mr. Hex tried to form words to command his wand to get him clear of his situation, but his mouth would not move.

“Thank you for the gift,” the Coyote said, plucking the hex wand from the wizard’s grasp with a barking laugh. “I wonder if it will work for me as well as it did for you.”

Mr. Hex watched as the Coyote ordered Medusa to be tied up by her own limbs and for Luc to fall asleep. The fiery canine laughed at the two as he put the wand away inside his fur. The flame dimmed, revealing the man beneath. The Indian smiled as he walked away with the wand, leaving his attacker frozen in place. Mr. Hex felt a confusion of emotions. He had never lost before, and now he had been beaten by a man with the audacity to laugh at him as he walked away.

“That was a neat trick with the anvil,” said the speedster named Marlon Wells, brushing off his tan uniform.

“That was a neater trick getting that one to shoot the other,” said Willie, smiling. “I knew you were the right man to help me out.”

“Maybe you can help me,” Wells said. “Cory Ferris has escaped and is leaving bodies everywhere. I don’t suppose you can track her down.”

“Let’s get our friends in custody before anything happens, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Right,” said Marlon, walking inside to the lab. One phone call would bring enough officers to take care of the four villains in the lot.

When he returned, the nameless man who became the fiery wolf-man was gone. The lab technician cursed at being left behind, without knowing how this would end.

Marlon Wells went back inside, thinking that there was more than one way to skin a cat. He got out a map and a list of reports he should have been processing as part of his job and went over everything that had been reported on the highway. Now it was time to put his speed to a real test.

***

Cory Ferris braked slightly as a light approached her stolen automobile from the east. She spotted it in her rearview mirror, wondering what it was until she recognized the fiery form riding the light toward her. She pointed the ring on her fist at the glow, and a shower of sharp knives erupted from its surface, aimed at the Coyote in the air. She was disappointed to see him swerve out of the way of the sharp blades.

She put her foot down on the gas, light running from her hand into the wheel of the Toyota. The car burst forward, tires lighting in wheels of flame as the auto ran like a comet along the highway. The glow brought the Coyote forward to match her speed in a race along the empty road. She pointed her ring at him, and a giant hand wrapped around the avatar, hurling him at high speed to the asphalt. Some kind of air bag springing out of the ground stopped him from being seriously hurt.

Cory’s Toyota ground to a stop, and she cursed as she beat her hand against the wheel of the dead car. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone? She got out of the car, her ring glowing venomously. So the dog wanted to play, did he? They would play, all right.

The outlaw known as Diamond Jill angrily sent blast after blast at the Coyote. He was caught off-guard and had to move fast to get out of the way of the sudden barrage. Unfortunately for him, he had lost the wand in his collision with the air bag. That would have ended the fight fast, but now he had to scramble as he tried to think of a way to divert her attention. He drew a blank as he dived for cover.

A sudden wind erupted out of nowhere, and Cory flew into the air, hitting the ground and rolling over and over. She climbed to her knees, dazed and confused as she blinked the sand and sweat from her eyes. What had just happened?

Before she could get her wits back, a straitjacket wrapped around her arms. She screamed as the fiery dog laughed at her again. The other one stood at his side, tossing her ring up and down in his hand.

***

Coyote, Raven, and Snake met in the forest. A smashed tree indicated Snake’s displeasure at his loss.

“Our boy won the day,” Raven said, flapping his wing. “Pay up.”

“He had help,” complained the serpent spirit.

“That’s not our problem,” said Raven. “We said we wouldn’t do anything to interfere, and we didn’t. He did everything on his own, even getting his own help.”

“He wasn’t supposed to have any help at all,” complained Snake. “I don’t feel I should pay anything because of that.”

The Coyote laughed quietly. ”How about this,” said the canine, “double or nothing?”

The End

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Willie White Raven sat by his fire, watching the dying embers as the ring on his hand glittered in the dancing light. Sometimes it looked like a man’s face was carved in the turquoise stone, while sometimes it resembled a coyote’s. A splash of white marred his black hair as he stirred the coals in the fire ring with a stick.

He wondered sometimes why he had been given the ring by Coyote and Raven. Most days it was something he knew he had that was part of his nature. Just having it didn’t change him in any way, other than that now he could do things for others that they couldn’t do themselves. It also connected him to the spirits of the desert in ways he suspected were not meant to be.

Willie stared out over the whispering sands. Something swirled there, coming toward him low to the ground. He waited patiently for it to stop in front of the fire, and soon, familiar canine features winked at him laughingly. Fire rushed up his form, revealing his own fiery, half-canine form.

“Hello, brother Coyote,” Willie said calmly, his fiery fur casting dancing shadows on the sand. “What brings you to the real world?”

“Snake has decided to set agents on you,” said the spirit animal, his profile wavering as he shifted to regard his avatar. “He thinks that this will be a way to count coup on you for what happened with Bear’s treasure. We have tried to dissuade him with tales of your growing prowess. He does not believe us.”

“Really?” said Willie, trying not to laugh. “I wonder why he wouldn’t believe a creature of such honesty as yourself.”

“I have no idea,” said Coyote, a glimmer of amusement in his eye.

“Thank you for telling me,” said Willie. “I suppose an apology would be out of the question.”

“Snake is rather unforgiving,” said Coyote. “I suggest you be on your guard. I don’t have to tell you that Raven and I would be laughingstocks if he seized your ring as he plans. We would never be able to live it down.”

“I think you would have an easier time than I would,” said the American Indian easily.

“I am certain there would be no lasting harm to you other than the loss of the gift we gave you,” said Coyote. “Being laughed and gloated over by someone like Snake would be a lot worse.”

“I’ll take your word for that,” said Willie. “I will do my best to not let that happen to you.”

“I know you won’t,” said the shifting sand before it collapsed in a small pile.

Willie blinked as his fiery form poured back into the ring around his finger. The glitter faded as he made himself comfortable on the ground and allowed himself to sleep. Whatever Snake’s challenge to him was, he didn’t think it would occur in the middle of the rugged terrain. The spirits had wanted him to know what was coming and why. Whatever happened would happen soon, but he could get some sleep first. He was sure the attempts on him would commence when the sun began its climb from its place on the horizon. Then he could worry about Snake and his warriors.

Only, Willie tried never to worry about anything, and he had promised himself not to start over this new chain of events.

***

His name was Mr. Hex. He had taken that name from his father. He had also taken the old man’s weapon — a wand that allowed him to shape matter to a certain extent. It was pitifully easy for him to amass wealth with it.

The old man’s only goal had been to kill Ibis the Invincible, but he had always failed in every way. Then, when Ibis had been shipped into space with the Marvels, he had turned his hatred against the Star Patrol. He had lost again and again. No matter what he did, Ultraman was there to put a stop to it.

The younger Hex took the wand after poisoning his father. He amassed his fortune without any challenge to his supremacy, and his empire was now massive, but he had no challenges to his ability. He was bored.

A swirl of smoke drifted around the room from the lit fire in the hearth. It reared up, a triangular head forming at one end of the eddy. Embers formed eyes in the nearly flat line.

“I wish to speak to you a favor,” said the serpentine mist. “Will you listen to me, human?”

“Go ahead,” said Mr. Hex. “I have nothing but time.”

“A man possesses a ring,” said the smoke serpent. “I would like that ring if you can get it from that man.”

“What do I get out of this?” said Mr. Hex, sitting forward.

“You get a challenge such as you have not ever had before.”

“I will accept your proposition,” said Mr. Hex.

***

The serpent appeared in other places to gather its warriors. Some were lured by promises of profits and glory, others by a new challenge to test their skills. When he drifted into being at Bladesworth Prison for Women, Snake knew what he needed to lure his last warrior. Wealth and power would not sway the woman he appeared to as a crack in the floor. Cory Ferris cared for neither of those.

“What do you want?” said the prisoner, puffing on a cigarette.

“How would you like to get back at the men who put you in here?” said Snake. “I can arrange a chance for you.”

“What do you want?” said Cory, throwing the butt to the floor casually. “I don’t think I have a soul to trade.”

“I just need the ring off one of the men’s hands,” said Snake, wondering for the first time if he was making a good choice or not. “Will you do it?”

“I don’t think I’ll be much help in here,” Cory said, waving at her cell.

“Here’s your ring,” Snake said. The crack shivered, and a ring with a large diamond in it protruded from the fissure. “I trust you know what to do with it.”

Cory smiled, putting the ring on her finger. Energy flared around her hand, blowing the wall out. ”I’ll get your ring for you,” Cory said, leaping through the hole in the wall.

The crack in the floor closed up as Snake left.

***

Mr. Hex descended to the desert where he had been told others were assembling to get the ring from the phantom snake’s enemy. He didn’t recognize them and knew they wouldn’t know him, especially in the disguise he had crafted.

This was a game to him. He didn’t want it intruding on the other aspects of his life. His father’s experience had taught him where to draw the line. Nothing was more important than his privacy and freedom.

The others waiting for him to arrive seemed ordinary in every way, but he knew that was as misleading as the idea that his hex wand was just an ordinary piece of wood.

He idly wondered what these others could do, but he mostly wondered about the man he had been asked to hunt. He knew that the thing that visited him was as powerful as anything he had met in the spirit world. Its enemy must be in command of wondrous abilities indeed.

***

“What do you think, Coyote?” Raven asked, staring into a stream from a tree branch. “Snake has assembled some impressive mortals to get even with our mortal.”

The canine grinned slightly. ”The only one we have to worry about is the child of Set,” said the trickster, the scene in the water changing to show Cory Ferris getting into a car on the highway. “She’s the most dangerous.”

“Should we get assistance for our brother?” said Raven, with a small flap of his wings.

“Let’s see what happens,” said the Coyote. “Snake did ask us not to interfere.”

“So?”

“Let’s watch,” said the Coyote. “Willie has shown us that he was a good choice without our gift. Let’s see what he can do with it.”

“Do you mind if I say you are insane?” Raven said.

“We can always bet on it,” said Coyote with a sharp, barking laugh.

***

Willie White Raven awoke with the sun and looked out over the desert, enjoying the tans and yellows of the scene. He built his fire up, cooking enough water for a cup of coffee and taking the time to enjoy it. It could be his last.

When he was ready, he decided it was time to start figuring out who would be coming after him. If he could figure out what they could do, he could use that against them. He decided to head over to the state police lab and talk to someone there.

When he had helped round up this female criminal Cory Ferris, who had recently been nicknamed Diamond Jill by the media, he had found out that one of their forensic scientists had an ability to move faster than lightning. That had been a big help with the crazed Ferris. Maybe, Willie thought, it would be a big help if he could persuade the speedster to help him locate Snake’s helpers before someone got hurt.

There was no doubt that Snake would assemble the most ruthless people he could find to try to stop Willie. But he was equally determined to teach the spirit a thing or two about human ingenuity.

Willie knew approximately where the State Forensics Laboratory was, and he headed across the desert in a straight line. His gift would allow him to move quickly without having to call up its full power. He knew that as long as he kept on the move, it would be harder for Snake to tell his thieves where he was in the desert.

That was little protection, in his opinion, but attracting attention before he was ready was equally as bad. He didn’t want a fight on even ground where numbers would overwhelm him. He wanted a fight where he could win a decisive victory that would net him a good catch for the police. Hopefully, it would also ensure he wouldn’t be bothered by this nonsense again.

Willie walked across the desert rapidly, hitching rides when he thought he wouldn’t be noticed riding by drivers. The wind sang to him as he rode along, and he reached the lab two days later.

He paused in the parking lot, trying to decide how he would put things. He tried various opening lines in his mind as he thought it through. “Hello, I am the avatar of Coyote, and I need your help to stop some unknown assailants gathered by the irritated Indian spirit known as Snake.” That just seemed silly to him when he said it out loud.

As he watched the building, he tried to come up with something. Then he saw the man he wanted to talk to step out of the building. He went over to a topped Jimmy with CSU emblazoned on the sides and the State Police seal on the doors.

Willie decided to rush forward and at least try to talk to the man. Something would present itself like it sometimes did. ”Excuse me,” Willie said, waving a hand to attract the lab technician’s attention. “Can I have a moment of your time?”

The technician looked up, pausing with the door to the Jimmy open.

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Marlon Wells and Rudy Presser arrived at the convenience store. Almost immediately, Rudy was called to a scene farther down the highway. Marlon was almost glad to see him go.

Having been struck by lightning a few months ago, Marlon had found that everything about him had sped up tremendously. He could process a scene in minutes instead of the normal hours. He hadn’t wanted anyone knowing about it, so he hid his speed when possible.

As he looked the store over, Marlon realized that the killer had left no clues other than the bullets in the dead men. Prints on the door had been wiped clean. Prints were everywhere else, but Marlon knew they could belong to anybody within three counties. He expected to find prints. Identifying the killer from those prints was a different story.

Marlon rechecked the store to see if he missed anything. He was not surprised to see that the tape in the security video recorder was gone. He looked around until he found it unwound in the dumpster. He bagged it so he could get an expert to try to piece it back together. No clues, no suspects, he liked to say.

He sat on the hood of his car, filling out his paperwork and checking the evidence. He rubbed his face as he considered his options. Then he decided to call Roo and check in with him. Maybe he had some type of clue where he was.

“FV-12,” the forensics man said in his radio. “Go.”

“FV-10,” Marlon said. “No traces here. Maybe a recording needs to go to the A.V. people. Stop.”

“Got a hair,” said Presser. “Survivor said his attacker was an Annie Oakley in a Patrol uniform. Stop.”

“Could be from our D.B. in his underwear,” said Marlon. “Will advise H.P. and see if we can get an identification. Stop.”

“Right,” said Presser, signing off.

Marlon finished what he was doing. He called the nearest patrol station to see if they knew the one unknown victim. He then got into his van and headed down the highway to see if he could help Roo with his own crime scene.

Presser walked him through the scene, asking him what he thought. Marlon was impressed with the mobile lighting setup so the scene could be processed. They would have to come back in the daylight to really do a good job on the whole area. But it looked like Rudy had covered the bases.

Marlon walked the scene. His impression was the Porsche had went off the road first, then the patrol car had skidded to a stop on the shoulder. He saw that Roo had found a partial footprint from a boot and had poured plaster in it in the hopes they would match it with something else. He was struck that the patrol car had so little blood in it, but there were two wide splotches on the shoulder of the road.

He agreed with his colleague. The elderly couple had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. At least all the bodies had been taken away without marring the scene too much. They needed all the help they could get.

***

Willie White Raven changed back when he reached the first hotel. No need to alarm people with his alternate personality. All he needed to do was check each of the cars and see who went with which one. Now how could he do that?

He felt each of their hoods and found one was hotter than the rest. It was a gold El Dorado. Now all he had to do was find out who drove this car. Seemed simple enough.

He went to the hotel’s office and saw that the clerk was gone from the office. He went inside, muffling the doorbell with his hand. He searched the registry and discovered that the El Dorado belonged to a woman named Smith, the most common name in the world. Still, what had happened to the clerk? Shouldn’t he have been on the job in case someone came in to get a room?

Willie checked which room Miss Smith had checked into. He left the office, muffling the bell with his hand again. He then walked down to the room that was opposite the office and noticed that the El Dorado was not even close to the room.

He went to the door but paused, trying to think of some opening gambit. He couldn’t just knock on the door and ask if she had seen the clerk, could he? Still, it was better than standing on the threshold, frozen by indecision. It might not be the woman from the wreck. Plenty of people drove this highway all the time. Willie knocked anyway. If he was wrong, no harm, no foul.

The door opened warily to a crack. “What can I do for you?” said the woman, just exposing part of her body.

Willie White Raven looked at the woman before he said anything. She had an unlined face framed by short, dark hair. One slender arm stood out in relief against the darkened interior of the hotel room. A pretty thing, Willie decided. Not a murderer at all. His ring laughed unnoticed on his hand.

“I was looking for the clerk,” Willie said, launching into his half-truth. “Have you seen him?”

“Not since I checked in,” she said.

As she closed the door, Willie saw something slide down the door frame. He placed his hand on the door to stop its motion as he looked more closely at whatever it was. He had just decided it was blood when thunder rolled next to his head.

***

Marlon Wells had helped Rudy Presser check in the evidence after they had gone over the second crime scene. They would return in the morning to do a more careful check. Rudy went back to the lab after they were done. Marlon decided to cruise the highway.

He left his van, went home, and changed into a jogging suit and running shoes. Then he streaked back to the highway. An evening run was just what he needed to get the brain working right. No one saw him, but some maybe felt a draft if they drove too close to the shoulder. Marlon was quicker than the eye could follow.

Marlon cruised down the highway, just running. He could easily run across the state line over to Four Corners or maybe out to Jack Weston’s diner. He didn’t have a purpose or a special destination. He just wanted to stretch his legs.

He heard a gunshot and skidded to a halt. A hotel was the only thing close by. He decided to check there, then widen his search pattern.

As Marlon cruised into the parking lot, he froze in amazement as a fiery, dog-like man and a beautiful naked woman faced each other in the parking lot. The woman gestured, ring glowing on her hand. A wave shuddered through the lot, smashing cars left and right. The dog man gestured, and a wall of steel appeared.

“Set commands that you die!” the woman said, gesturing the blood on her body into clothing.

“Coyote says I owe him money, and I can’t die until I pay up,” said the fiery dog, taking to the air. He gestured a stream of taffy to fall out of the sky, balloons and confetti accompanying the candy.

Marlon ran to the open door of the hotel that he saw. He was glad the customers had decided to hide inside from the weird combat. He looked inside as the woman blocked the candy with some type of shield. A young man lay on the bed. Marlon didn’t need to get closer to see the man had his heart ripped out forcefully. He frowned as he turned back to the fight in the lot.

The Coyote and the servant of Set exchanged strange flows of light. The fiery caninoid fell behind a wrecked car. The woman smiled as she went to finish the strange creature off.

“Bad-tempered, isn’t she?” said a voice behind Marlon Wells. He whirled at the sudden sound, finding himself facing the laughing Coyote.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Marlon asked.

“How much fun would that be?” asked the Coyote. “Remind me not to let her take me to get some loving.”

“Tell me about it,” said Marlon, glancing at the corpse laying in bed. “I guess we should arrest her.”

“What we, white man?” said the Coyote. “I always wanted to say that.”

“I bet. I’ll distract her, and when she is focused on me, you zap her from behind. No fuss, no muss.”

“Let’s see it in action,” said the caninoid with a motion of his clawed hand.

Marlon slipped on some Oakleys to partially hide his features and partially protect his eyes. He seemed to flicker, then he stood right behind the agent of Set, swinging with all of his might. His fist impacted on the glowing shield she was enveloped in. He flew to the ground as the field repelled him.

Cory Ferris turned on him, eyes cold. She raised her hand, utterly intent on destroying her phantom attacker.

A metal box surrounded the ring, and the deadly glow faded around the killer. She seemed astonished at the change of events. Still, the gap in her concentration was enough to allow Marlon to get to his feet and deck her as hard as he could. She slammed into a car and lay still.

Marlon looked around for his helper and found that the Coyote had left as mysteriously as he had appeared.

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Willie White Raven walked the desert carefully. The sun was going down, and the temperature was dropping. He wondered if he should make a camp for the night or press on until he reached some kind of civilization.

He decided to press on. He’d had a strange experience recently while sleeping under the stars, and for some reason he felt that the dream would repeat itself in such a way to cause him problems in the real world.

The Mojave Desert whispered on the wind, but Willie paid no attention to that. It was a sound he was used to hearing. The ring on his finger sparkled in the last rays of the sun. The coyote carved in the turquoise seemed to be laughing at its bearer.

***

Cory Ferris held a pistol in her hand, the muzzle of the firearm pointed at a convenience store clerk. The weathered, middle-aged woman dug into her register, fishing out money and placing it in a plastic bag.

The female outlaw waited for the bag to be filled, took the bag, smiled, and shot the clerk anyway. She shot the woman again as the wounded clerk slumped to the floor. She smiled for the camera behind the counter. Then she shot that, too.

Cory went out to the stolen Corvette she currently possessed. She got behind the wheel and drove off. Then she spotted a sparkle on the seat. It was a ring she had not noticed when she had taken the car. She placed the ring on her finger, admiring the diamond for a second before turning her attention back to the road.

***

Marlon Wells casually counted the raindrops while he waited for the test to finish. He arrived at just over a million as the timer beeped. He opened the small microwave and took out a square tray, smiling in quiet satisfaction.

He grabbed the telephone from its cradle, dialing the detectives waiting on the results while they tried to find other clues to link their suspect to the crime. ”The test was positive,” Marlon said. “That should allow for a warrant to get samples from his living space for comparison.” He hung up and went back to work.

***

Willie White Raven felt something, a tugging on his sleeve by an unseen hand. Something was coming his way. He regarded his surroundings but saw only desert stretching for as far as he could see with only the night critters prowling loose on the sand. But he couldn’t shake the feeling.

Deciding that a change of direction was in order, he set off at a faster pace on a course for a watering hole five degrees to the left and ten miles south of his original goal. Something was going to happen, and he had to be ready for it when it did.

***

Cory Ferris drove into a filling station right at sundown. She was tired of the Corvette and wanted something else to drive for a while. She scanned the parking lot for a replacement, but a nondescript sedan and a highway patrol car were the only things present.

She smiled as she regarded the highway patrol car. Now that was something to make her life easier, if she had ever seen such a thing. She got out of the Corvette and headed for the door of the convenience store. Time for some new wheels.

Cory stepped inside the store to the jangling of a bell. The patrol officer, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, turned slightly to get a look at her. Cory brought her reloaded pistol up and shot the officer in the face, trying to keep spilled blood on her new shirt to a minimum. She pivoted smoothly and shot the clerk before he could claw his own pistol out from under the counter. She smiled in satisfaction.

In the bathroom shortly afterward, Cory Ferris examined herself in the mirror. She looked almost respectable, she thought.

She stepped out of the bathroom in the darkened store area. Taking a set of keys, she locked up behind herself as she left, then threw the keys away as far as she could. She opened the highway patrol car and drove away from the scene.

Cory had always wanted to be a police officer. Being a state trooper would have to do. She turned the radio on and headed down the highway.

***

Willie White Raven walked out of the desert and saw a convenience store along the road. He decided to stop and get a drink of water, and maybe see if anything had happened in the world while he was roaming the sands.

He noticed that the Open 24 Hours neon sign and the lights inside were off. He tried the door anyway and found it locked. “Closed,” he said to himself, knowing it was only nine o’clock.

Leaning against the glass, he placed his hands to block his reflection in the door, and he saw something that made invisible hackles rise. How does a shoe point up at a forty-five degree angle on its own?

Willie felt his body change as he wanted to get inside. He sprouted fiery fur as his face became definitely canine. His peaked ears twitched, and then he was inside the store in a burst of light. Why would somebody leave an almost naked man in the candy aisle?

***

“Hey, Marlon!” called Rudy Presser, coming into the lab. “We got some D.B.s out on 55. Rack it and pack it.”

“Right, Roo,” said Marlon Wells. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t call me that,” Presser said, grabbing his equipment and heading out.

Wells grabbed the two fresh bags he always kept and followed. After processing, he would reload the bags with fresh supplies before checking the evidence in and starting his preliminaries.

He was looking at some tremendous overtime here. A crime scene typically took hours to go over and check. So he was also looking at hitting the sack at four in the morning. Maybe if he divided the work, he could use his extremely quick eyes to finish the job while getting Rudy out of the way. He considered the thought on his way to the garage at Presser’s heels.

***

Cory Ferris frowned when she heard the radio call. Someone had found the bodies sooner than she expected. Time for a car change.

She saw a red sports car ahead and smiled. She had always wanted a Porsche. Cory flipped the siren and lights. The other driver sped up instead of stopping. That wasn’t very law-abiding. Cory laughed as she gave chase. A little excitement was all she needed to wrap up the night’s adventures.

Cory had the pedal all the way down to the floor. She laughed again as the other driver tried to pull away from her. She pulled her pistol as she switched lanes. It was time to teach these clowns about law and order.

She swept along, dogging the Porsche. She felt that the patrol car was flying ever faster after the runaway. Suddenly, she was beside the car, staring at the driver. He looked over, surprise on his face. She pulled the pistol’s trigger, watching the bullet hit where she aimed it.

The Porsche went off the road as the passenger tried to grab the wheel. The car flipped over when it hit the grass.

Cory slammed the brakes. She got out of the patrol car and walked to where the car had rolled to a stop. She moved around to the passenger side of the car, kneeling by the door. The passenger hung by his seat belt, pushed against the crushed roof. He looked over at the aimed pistol, his eyes wide.

“I might have let you live if you had stopped,” said Cory. “Now you get to be a hot dog.”

“What?” said the man, trying to reach for something.

“Crispy critter,” said Cory, placing a lighter against the underside of the car. She stepped back as flames licked up, and she walked away as fire began to consume the car.

A car rolled to a stop behind the trooper’s car. The elderly driver got out, asking if he could be of assistance. Cory Ferris smiled as she raised her pistol.

Five minutes later, she was driving away from the scene in the man’s El Dorado. He and his wife were left in the trooper’s car without money or identification.

Cory laughed loudly. Today was a good day. She had started with a pistol and five dollars. Now she had seven or eight hundred and a new car. Talk about free enterprise.

***

Willie White Raven flew in the sky, a fiery meteor against the stars. It had been a simple thing to report the bodies. He had hoped to find some clue to the murderer, but he hadn’t seen anything remotely like a trail.

A sudden flash at ground level drew his attention. He flew down to get a closer look. A car had flipped over and caught fire, and a highway patrol car was on the scene. Willie’s canine face frowned quizzically when he noticed the highway patrol officer seemed frozen behind the wheel of his car.

Willie landed behind the burning car. He gestured, and foam covered the car, snuffing the fire out as he covered it. Willie looked at the patrol car and saw that the trooper had a passenger, and the woman slumped against the door on that side.

“Hey!” shouted someone trapped in the burning vehicle. “Can anyone hear me?”

Willie leaned down in the passenger window. “Monster!” shouted the man when he saw the Coyote.

“Where?” said Willie, looking around. “Where?” He stopped and realized. “Oh, you mean me,” Willie said. “I guess I have to set the car on fire again, since you don’t like me.”

“I like you!” said the trapped passenger. “I like you. You’re my best friend. Just don’t eat me.”

“What happened, pal?” said Willie.

“This smokey tried to pull us. Richie ran. Then she shot him. The car rolled. Then she set the car on fire.”

“A woman?” said Willie, standing and taking a look at the highway car again. “Are you sure?”

“She said she was going to cook me because we made her mad,” said the man. “Called me a hot dog.”

“Be happy, Mr. Hot Dog,” said Willie, walking toward the parked car. “It looks like she killed someone else and left the scene.”

Willie examined two bodies in the car. They were an elderly couple. The man wore a suit and tie, and the woman wore a colorful summer dress. The murderer had stuffed the Smokey the Bear hat on top of the man’s head before leaving.

He knew the woman had taken the couple’s car from the absence of another vehicle and the turned-out pockets and emptied purse. He reached in and took the radio microphone off its hook. He clicked the speak button a couple of times before clearing his throat.

“Excuse me,” he said. “This is Unit 457. It has been abandoned on the highway north of Rosales. Please dispatch a medical unit to the scene. A man has been trapped in an overturned car here.”

“Who is this?” demanded the angry dispatcher.

“This is not a joke,” Willie said. “The officer is not present at the scene.”

“Who is this?” demanded the dispatcher.

“I could be Wile E. Coyote,” said Willie. “That’s unimportant. Just get someone down here.”

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Willie White Raven sat in the shadow of a large rock in the middle of the Mojave Desert, wondering what was going on this secluded area. Something was glowing out there among the cacti. He wanted to take a closer look, but he also felt something was warning him away with tinges of fear and loathing. That was probably nothing more than memories of his grandfather’s complaints of white man’s medicine.

Still, it was something to do. The desert whispered to him its lonesome song, and he knew he would not resist its call, because, like his namesake, he was ever curious.

Willie silently advanced on the glow, the white streak in his otherwise black hair gleaming almost yellow from the thing in the desert. He hoped it was a trick on his eyes like a night mirage. The desert called to him, and Willie knew he was seeing an actual event and not a trick of the light.

The sand danced in front of Willie as he drew closer to the phenomenon. He reached out one hand, putting his fingers in the sickly glow.

The American Indian then vanished in a flash of light and a roll of thunder.

Willie looked around quizzically. The dry Mojave had given way to a temperate forest. An owl hooted as a blast of light threw dirt and debris on him. He scrambled to one side as another blast reached for him, and a furrow of soil and grass was ripped from the ground as he threw himself clear.

“Your lackey won’t help you, Raven,” said a fearsome thing of claws and teeth. Fire boiled from his mouth as he tried to close with the wounded bird near Willie.

Typically, Willie was one to avoid a fight. He just wasn’t suited by temperament to get involved in other people’s business. But it seemed like he had stumbled onto something much bigger than himself, and he decided to just accept his new situation without questioning it further. Deciding that discretion was the best option at the moment, he scooped up the injured bird and took off.

Willie White Raven ran for his life while all around him trees splintered, rocks shattered, and grass burned up in an exposure of flaming malice. “What did you do?” Willie demanded, using cover to elude the fiery blasts.

“I just borrowed a ring,” said Raven.

“You stole something?” said Willie, in amazement. “From that?”

“I was going to return it,” said Raven.

“I’m sure it will understand,” said Willie. He looked for a place to dump the bird without getting killed in the process.

“It went smoothly until Bear came back too early,” said Raven.

“That happens,” Willie said.

“That happens?” said the bird, regarding his namesake. “No, it doesn’t. Not when I’m on the job.”

“Better hope I can outrun the critter,” said Willie. “Otherwise fried crow will be the next thing he’s eating.”

“Hey, kid!” called a coyote. “Over here.”

“Coyote!” yelled the Raven. “Where have you been?”

“Stealing the rest of Bear’s haul,” said the small canine.

“What?!” said Willie and his burden at the same time.

“Sure, while he was out chasing you, Raven,” said the Coyote cheerfully, setting off down a narrow trail. “Your distraction worked better than I expected.”

“What distraction?” asked Raven. His countenance had assumed an all-too-human look of dark rage.

“Never mind that now,” said Willie. “We have to get away from Bear before you guys can start squabbling.”

“Gonna peck your eyes out!” declared Raven, his wings huffing in Willie’s arms.

“Gonna chew your beak off,” said Coyote with a laughing grin.

A blast of fire ripped the ground up behind Willie, throwing embers in his hair. He slapped the tiny flames out with one hand as he ran.

“Less talk, more speed,” he grumbled, his lungs burning from the effort he had already made to stay ahead of the swift Bear.

“Almost there, kid,” said Coyote, leading the way into a cave in the side of the mountain. The entrance was half-camouflaged by a growth of bushes. He jogged forward, leading them to a small crack in the back wall of the cavern.

“This is your big escape plan?” asked Willie, more than a little disturbed that the opening wasn’t big enough for a human being.

“Sure,” said Coyote, grinning. “Watch.” The canine slipped through the crack easily. Raven hopped out of Willie’s arms and also scuttled through with his wings folded.

“Where does that leave me?” Willie asked.

“S.O.L.,” said Coyote as he jogged off.

“What?” Willie almost shouted, too caught up in predicament to wonder whether the spirit animal had really just spoken to him with an American idiom, or if his mind had just somehow translated it that way.

“See ya, kid,” said Raven, hopping after his comrade.

Then a blast of flame ripped the concealing brush away, and Bear stood at the entrance of the cavern, towering over him in all his glory.

Willie knew he was going to die, and he held his hands up defensively, trying to think of something to do.

“Where are your partners?” Bear growled as he snuffled the air.

“They’re gone,” said Willie. “I guess it’s just easy to leave the Indian behind.”

“They left you to die,” said Bear, inhaling with his powerful lungs. His already massive chest expanded from the effort.

Willie ran forward, trying to get around the angry spirit animal, but Bear’s paw swiftly slammed him to the ground in a daze. Willie looked up through a haze of pain.

A thin howl then drew Bear’s attention from his intended victim, causing him to perk his ears as a yip drifted to him.

Coyote danced behind Bear, holding a glittering something in his mouth, attracting the spirit animal’s wrath immediately. Bear exhaled his fiery breath in a long stream, and Coyote leaped to one side as Bear ripped a trench in the ground. The canine howled in derision as he ran off, and Bear gave chase on his barrel legs.

“That went well,” said Raven, squeezing back into the cave through the crack in the back wall.

“Why the change of heart?” Willie White Raven asked, heading for the entrance of the cave. “I thought you guys were running off.”

“We kind of like you humans,” said Raven. “So I felt guilty about making you a fall guy. Coyote agreed and came up with a plan. He said to give you this.”

The bird spirit held out on the tip of its wing a ring, with a turquoise stone that sat in a gold setting. The stone had an eerie resemblance to the Coyote.

“A ring,” Willie said, dubiously. “That’s nice, I guess.”

“Put it on,” said Raven. “Then we’ll get you back to the world.”

Willie put the ring on, and the stone canine seemed to wink as the young man was suddenly covered in flaming fur. His face owed more to animal than man, with a long muzzle and pointed ears.

“What have you done to me?!” Willie cried, his new tail standing in irritation as it burned from its first exposure to the open air. Willie glared at Raven, and rings of light danced around his fists.

“We gave you a little of Coyote’s trickster-ness,” the bird declared, holding both of its wings over its head. “That’s all.”

“You two are too smart for your own good,” Willie said. He raised a hand, and light turned the air into a cage around the bird. “As soon as I get Bear to calm down, we’ll discuss how you are going to return everything you two stole.”

Raven looked crestfallen as Willie flew away on a stream of light. Still, a glint remained in his eye.

Coyote and Bear paused as Willie approached. Coyote seemed to smile, while the grizzly puffed out his barrel chest in anger. Willie recognized the intake as a preparation for a fire blast, so he gestured with one hand, and atomic rings wrapped a muzzle of diamond around the angry spirit animal. Coyote laughed as Bear tried to claw the restraint away. Willie smiled slightly as he formed a box around the other spirit animal.

“What the Manitou is this?” the wild dog yipped.

“Now that I have your attentions,” Willie said, hovering in the air, “let’s settle this peacefully, if you please.”

Bear glared at the transformed Indian but sat on its haunches. Coyote rattled in the box for a moment but then sighed loudly. Willie picked up the box and shook it.

“What was that for?” Coyote asked.

“Just making sure you were still there,” Willie said. “Now, what did you do with the stuff you looted while Bear was chasing Raven?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Coyote said.

“The next voice and face you hear and see is going to belong to Bear,” Willie declared, raising a hand. Rings of light orbited the tip of his pointing index finger.

“Hold on,” said Coyote. “I put it in a hiding place only I can get to. If something happens to me, Bear won’t get it back.”

“A coyote rug will be a good substitute in that case,” said Willie. Bear nodded eagerly, clicking his claws together in joyful anticipation.

“OK, you got me,” said Coyote. “If I show you where the hoard is, you’ll let me go?”

“I promise,” said Willie. Bear shook his head, frowning in disappointment.

“OK,” said Coyote. “It’s behind the waterfall near Snake’s lair.”

“Let’s go see,” said Willie, rising in the air with the box and flying away. Bear set off behind at a clumsy, ground-covering pace. Willie paused to pick up Raven in its cage, and the group traveled to the waterfall.

The small group reached the waterfall in a matter of moments, and Willie set the cage and box down on the top of the drop-off.

“Any problems, kick them over,” he said to Bear before flying down the falls to find the shelf or cave that Coyote had used to hide Bear’s treasure.

He waved a hand, and a shelf grew out of the rock to split the water to either side. A cave was revealed by the divided water. A giant snake was also revealed by the cessation of water. It looked a bit peeved at the interruption.

“Excuse me,” said Willie. “Bear would like his treasure back, if you don’t mind.”

Snake lunged from the cave in a bite designed to rip the Indian in half. Willie held out a hand, and Snake crashed into an anvil that filled its maw and directed all of its momentum straight down. It yowled around the heavy steel until it hit the water at the bottom of the waterfall.

Willie placed as much of the treasure in a bag as he could carry and flew it to where the others waited. Three trips carried all the treasure up.

He then watched as Bear carefully picked out all the pieces that were marked with a bear face. That was only half of the treasure. Bear gestured at the diamond muzzle, and Willie wiped it away in a twinkling.

“Thank you, brother,” Bear said before he took his hoard back to his den.

Raven gasped in its cage. “What’s wrong?” Willie asked.

“Some of that is mine,” the bird said.

“Figures,” said Willie. Raven looked up, anger turning to fear as it looked at Willie. ”Snake is behind me, isn’t he?” said Willie calmly as the spirit animal raised itself straight up to swallow his upper body.

Willie pointed a finger at the edge of the cliff. Suddenly, Snake began to fall, but he sank his fangs into the rock to prevent a second fall from a greater height. Willie waved his hand, and the serpent was now biting a rubber ducky. He glared at him and then was gone. Willie then dissolved Raven’s cage.

“Coyote stealing from me as–” Raven began, until the full import of his words hit him, and he widened his eyes in anger. “It was all a trap. I was played for a fool. I can’t believe it.” Raven gathered up his treasure, muttering in anger as he stuffed the things in some kind of pockets concealed by his feathers. He flew away, nursing his injured wing.

Willie then turned to the box that held Coyote and dissolved the prison, knowing what he would see. Coyote was already gone.

He laughed as he took to the air and soon spotted from above the glow where he had entered the land of the spirit animals. He flew into it.

***

Willie White Raven awoke with a start. In every direction, the Mojave Desert was as silent as a tomb. Willie rolled over, drawing his thin blanket closer. He went back to sleep, smiling at the dream he had just went through before the blackness claimed him again.

What he failed to notice was that on his finger was now a ring with a blue stone. Sometimes the stone looked like a raven, and sometimes it looked like a coyote. Both seemed to smile when they were visible, as if at some secret that only they knew.

A stray photon chased itself across the gold setting and vanished in a sparkling cascade. Willie White Raven slept on unaware.

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Secret Origins: Palette

Times Past, 1959

Murder in the Morning

by Dan Swanson

When artist Alex Silverstone witnesses a murder in San Francisco’s Chinatown, she wishes for the life of her that she could remember the killer’s face. But when a newfound power to create projections manifests, allowing her to replay the images from her memory, it’s too strange to describe to the police. Will she have to take matters into her own hands as the new heroine known as Palette to capture the killer?

• Chapter 1: The Vision on the Wall

• Chapter 2: The Haunting of Mickey Blake

Return to Earth-S titles. Return to Independents stories. Return to Secret Origins stories.

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At the police station, Alex Silverstone was quickly shown to Detective Ironside’s office. His desk was piled high with folders. She traced the scent of hot pizza to a large pizza box sitting on one of the chairs.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Detective — isn’t your shift over?” she wanted to know.

“Homicide doesn’t work in shifts, Miss Silverstone,” he replied. She could hear exhaustion in his voice. It must have been a long day. “What can I do for you?”

“This is the guy who came out of Herbal Gardens this morning,” she said, passing him the sketch.

“Woof!” he exclaimed. “I talked to this guy today. Hold on, I’ll show you.” He started pawing through folders. “Say, did you do that yourself?” he said, gesturing at the sketch as he continued digging, and she nodded her head. “If you’re looking for work, the Department can always use a good sketch artist.” Finding the folder he was looking for, he pulled it out and motioned her over to look at the photo in the folder. “Here it is: Mickey ‘the Muscle’ Blake. What do you think?”

“That’s him, all right. Why’d you talk to him? What did he say?” she wanted to know.

“We think Mickey’s part of a protection racket in Chinatown,” he replied. “He loves his flat caps — got a million of ‘em and wouldn’t be seen without them — so that’s why your description sent me to him. But he’s got an alibi. Shacked up with his girlfriend, he says, and she backs him up.” He looked puzzled. “So how’d you make this drawing of somebody whose face you said you hadn’t seen that well before?”

This question made Alex uneasy. She didn’t want to reveal her newfound powers, so she changed the subject. “What kind of floozy would spend the might with this kind of bum?”

“The kind he paid for,” Ironside sighed. “So we don’t put a lot of weight on her statement; he could’a bought that as well. Right now, though, it’s your word against the two of them. But you can’t dodge my question like that. How’d you come up with that sketch?”

“I went home and concentrated on remembering him and realized I’d seen him more clearly than I first thought,” she said in earnest. “This really is the man I saw.”

“Likely it is,” he agreed. “But coming in with a sketch hours later, after you already said you couldn’t I.D. the guy — you might’ve made it of the first guy you saw on the street, or somebody you don’t like.” Seeing a growing anger in her eyes, he changed tracks and said, “That’s not what I think, but it’s what his slick lawyer will say. It’s just not enough to bring him in. We’ll keep a closer eye on him, but that’s all I can do right now.”

At that instant, someone knocked on the office door and asked Ironside for a word. As the detective stepped out into the hall for a private chat with his colleague, Alex picked up Blake’s dossier and paged through it. The police knew a lot about him — where he lived, where he hung out, the people he associated with, how he usually dressed, and even his favorite drink. But they didn’t have enough evidence to convict him of anything; until they did, he was just one of the usual suspects. Since the police couldn’t really do anything about him right now, she decided that for her own safety she was going to have to take matters into her own hands.

“Have you changed your mind about police protection?” Detective Ironside asked when he came back into his office. Shaking her head, she thought it might be fun palling around with Officer Sparks for a while, but a cop following her around right now would only get in her way. A nasty smile ghosted across her face as a plan formed in her mind. That smile must have alarmed Ironside, for as he shook her hand, he emphasized, “You should try to stay inside until we crack this case. Don’t do anything stupid.” She nodded, acknowledging his words without agreeing to them, and took her leave.

When she got home, Alex Silverstone raided her closet and found an old wig and a costume she’d worn for Halloween last year when she’d dressed as a construction worker. Fashioning a false beard and mustache from the wig, she donned her disguise and sat down in front of a mirror.

OK, Yi Zheng, it’s time for a comeback, she thought and projected an illusion of his face superimposed over her face and studied it in the mirror. The hardest part was the bald head; she thought she might have to shave her head to help the illusion. But the immediate visual feedback helped. “OK, got it,” she finally said to herself with smug satisfaction. “Now for the other guy.”

She altered the illusion of Yi Zheng’s face into another that was similar but not Asian and clearly not the same person as the murdered shopkeeper. I think I’ll call you Ray, she thought at the new image, imagining Ray smiling in return. Nice to see you!

Alex practiced until she could switch faces from Yi Zheng to Ray instantly and maintain either face without concentration. Then she practiced projecting Yi Zheng onto her wall as she had seen him this morning, and she mixed in some special effects she’d seen in a recent teleplay called Ghostbusters, starring Fred MacMurray. Funny how much Fred looks like Captain Marvel, she noted to herself, smugly satisfied that her new powers were easily up to the demands of her scheme.

Then she dressed in her blue-collar working man’s outfit, appropriately padded to disguise her female figure, and went back to the streets. It was almost midnight by now. The police dossier had disclosed that Mickey “the Muscle” Blake usually closed down a sleazy North Waterfront bar with several of his friends.

Only fifteen minutes at this time of night, she thought. If he follows his regular routine, I’ve got plenty of time. Starting the bike, she instantly swore out loud. “Damn! The headlight isn’t working!” No time to fix it — no other way to get there in time. I’ll have to hope the streetlights give enough light.

This proved much easier than she’d thought, and she gradually realized that she was using another aspect of her new powers — she could see very well in much lower levels of light than she had been able to before. This discovery excited her, and before she reached the North Waterfront, she discovered even more.

When she concentrated on something, just as her memory could zoom in on illusions, her eyes could zoom in like a telephoto zoom lens on a camera. She barely retained control of her bike when she was trying to zoom in on a street sign a couple of blocks away and failed to notice a pothole. After that, she turned her full attention back to riding and soon pulled up to Blake’s favorite watering hole.

Wearing the face of her creation, Ray, she entered the bar. It was a dingy place, poorly lit, which stank of spilled beer and stale smoke. A tired-looking woman wearing too much makeup sat at the bar. Half a dozen men stood around the pool table, and about the same number were playing darts. Two of the larger tables were crowded, and there were ten or so more patrons sprinkled throughout the rest if the room. Somehow the whole atmosphere screamed dejection; even Elvis playing on the jukebox seemed subdued.

Sure enough, Blake was seated at one of the crowded tables. Judging from the number of empty glasses on the table in front of him, he was drinking heavily tonight, much more so than his friends. The police dossier hadn’t mentioned extensive drinking. Was Blake drinking heavily tonight to either celebrate or forget this morning’s murder?

Doesn’t really matter why, she concluded in relief. Now, at least, I won’t have to buy him a drink. Her plan would work best if Blake was drunk, but she hadn’t been sure how to guarantee that.

Alex turned Ray’s face to the bartender. “Boilermaker,” she ordered in the deepest, gruffest voice she had and managed not to wince at the slightly grimy shot glass and beer mug. She wasn’t planning to drink the beer, and the rotgut whiskey would surely kill anything lurking in the shot glass that might be dangerous. Ray selected a table in Blake’s direct line of sight, but it was Yi Zheng who pulled out the chair and sat down.

With her zoom-in vision, it was fairly easy for Alex to keep a discreet eye on the thug and gauge where he was looking. When she saw him stiffen in shock at the sight of the man he had just killed, calmly drinking in his own favorite bar, Yi Zhing looked directly at Baker, raised the whiskey in a salute, and threw down the shot. Alex did this partly for theatrical effect and partly for courage — she was just starting to realize she was bearding a drunken killer in his den. The whiskey shot hit her stomach like a firebomb and exploded outward; she could feel the heat spreading through her body.

The theatrical effect was all she could have hoped for. Mickey “the Muscle” Blake started in astonishment, his chair falling over backward when he stood up, then shoved away from the table, spilling the drinks of several of his drinking companions. By the time he got to his feet, Ray had again replaced Yi Zheng.

“You can’t be here! You’re dead!” Blake yelled. Some of his friends stood there in anger, and a man at the table behind him was climbing to his feet as well, upset about Blake’s chair smashing into his back. Alex sat back to enjoy the fun.

Blake was flabbergasted when he saw Ray sitting where he’d just seen Yi Zheng a moment before. “You’re not–” he stopped himself. The man next to him was trying to force Blake back into his chair, while several of his other friends were trying to calm the patron from the other table. The air in the bar was filling with loud laughter and louder voices as patrons anticipated a fight breaking out, and the bartender was picking up the phone with one hand and reaching for a hidden drawer beneath the bar with the other.

“But I just saw Zheng –  right there!” Blake was still blustering loudly.

“Dat ain’t him!” the man restraining him shouted in his ear. “Zheng’s dead, you maroon. Ya said so yerself! Siddown and shut up ‘fore Willie calls the coppers.” Another man hurriedly restored Blake’s chair, then helped the shouting man roughly force Blake to sit down.

“Willie! Next round’s on Musclehead Blake!” shouted the friend restraining the patron whom Blake had angered. “Less youse don’ siddown, and den you’ll be mighty sorry,” he muttered in the other man’s ear as he flashed a gun. “Yer choice, bud.” The other man silently sat down.

“&@^% it! I ain’t buying no drinks for no #@&6ing buddy!” Blake complained.

“Shut the @#&^ up, you @#&^ing jackass!” the standing man snarled. The rest of the table muttered agreement. Blake sullenly shut up, and everyone else cautiously sat down. The bar’s other patrons quieted, disappointed that they had been cheated out of that night’s free entertainment.

Ray slapped a half dollar on the table and stood up. “This place ain’t fer me,” he muttered audibly and walked toward the exit. After Ray opened the door, Yi Zheng turned back to sneer at Blake, then disappeared into the night.

Alex was glad she’d had that shot; she’d never done anything that scary before. Hopping on her bike, she watched the door closely. She didn’t have to wait very long. In only a couple of minutes, Blake came storming out of the bar, swearing at the top of his lungs.

“Who da @%&^ does dat $*&&^%ed Willie tink he @%&^ ing is, cuttin’ me off?” the murderer cursed. “$*&@^%ed mother@%&^ er! He’ll @%&6 ing pay!”

Alex wasn’t impressed with his swearing; it showed no imagination. She didn’t use profanity herself, but she could appreciate art in any form, and the repeated use of the same two curse words over and over again wasn’t art — it was boring drivel.

Blake stumbled to a car, swearing and muttering threats under his breath. He saw something white and glowing reflected in the outside mirror and spun around, screamed in terror, then fell to the ground blubbering when there was nothing there.

The bar’s bouncer stuck his head out and screamed, “Damn it, Blake! Go home and sleep it off!”

The drive home wasn’t easy or pleasant for Mickey “the Muscle” Blake. Something white and glowing was following him, but he could only catch glances of it in his outside mirror. Whenever he craned his head around to look for it or slammed on the brakes and leaped out of the car, it was gone. Other times he would see it on a side street somewhere in front of him, and the image was clearer — a floating human figure, glowing a pale white. He couldn’t make out the face, but he didn’t need to.

“$*&@^%@%&^ing ghost. I know yer dead, I killed ya myself. Never gonna drink $*&@%&^ing&^% tequila agin. Gotta be seein’ tings,” he ranted as he drove. Finally reaching his destination, he banged into another car as he parked, then stumbled into an apartment building, apparently ignoring the glowing apparition that appeared on the wall of his building.

Alex drove around the building until she saw a light come on in one of the windows. She climbed up the fire escape and peeked through the window to that apartment. It seemed to be a two-room efficiency apartment.

Suddenly, the tiny round screen of the TV was glowing, showing the tortured purple face of Yi Zheng. Blake screamed and viciously kicked the screen, which imploded loudly, spraying the room with shards of glass. The ghostly image floated up the wall, and the now-bleeding Blake pulled out a pistol and fired twice into the wall. This was more than Alex had expected, and the apparition vanished. Blake sank to the floor, sobbing. Alex could hear police sirens wailing, and the lights in the nearby rooms were going on. She hastily climbed down the ladder, and silently vanished into the night.

***

The next day, Alex Silverstone went back to the police station. She was quickly shown to Detective Ironside’s office, and he was all smiles as he shook her hand.

“We picked up Mickey Blake last night after he caused a disturbance in his apartment building,” the detective said. “He actually surrendered to the police and claimed he was being haunted by the ghost of Li Zheng. Couldn’t wait to confess to the murder — and your accident, too, by the way. He’s going to go away for a long time.”

“That’s great news,” Alex cheered.

“Still more to come, too. Now that news of his death has spread through Chinatown, the store owners there are going to the police with stories about the protection ring. With their information and the information Blake gave us last night, we’re gonna bust everyone in that racket.”

Alex left the station with a big smile on her face. If I’m going to continue using this power, she thought to herself, I’m going to need an alias like Mary Marvel or Bulletgirl. She thought for a moment about how her ability seemed to manifest itself from her artistic talents and began thinking along those lines. Hmm… I think I’ll call myself — Palette!

The sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky, there was a gentle breeze, and the temperature was perfect. She thought she’d head over to the Golden Gate area. It looked like a great day to buy a house.

The End

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