Guardians of Albion
Secrets in Daylight
Mr Cream had spent the night more comfortably than he had expected, in a small but well-appointed bedsitting room at HQ. Now, however, he was being shown around his new accommodation -a penthouse apartment – by the laconic Major Behan.
He had expected far more Spartan quarters, but it seemed that Mr Palfrey had access to a significantly larger budget than many departments. The flat was spacious and airy, but so positioned as to make it impossible for a sniper outside to find a viable target. The furniture was modernist but comfortable and the décor tasteful. Then Mr Cream saw the picture on the wall.
Surely not? He thought. He went over and examined it more closely. Not a print, but….
"I know." Behan said behind him. "But there's no signature and I can't find it in the catalogue raisonne. It's his style, and his kind of subject matter, and the technique matches. So it's either a bloody good forgery or an unknown original!"
"You are a connoisseur?" Cream asked, surprised.
Behan shrugged. "More of a hobbyist, but I like good work well done, whether it's art, music, cars or guns!"
The doorbell rang. Behan consulted his smartphone. "Wait here." He said. He returned a few seconds later with two men. Two very contrasting men. One was tall and smartly-dressed, blandly handsome, dark hair cut short – his bearing screamed military. The other was shorter and wiry, with long curly hair, casually dressed, a wry, slightly cynical expression on an unremarkable face, he had the quietly alert manner of a police officer.
"These two are Bodie," the taller one, "and Doyle." Behan said. "They'll be looking after you. They aren't exactly chatty and they probably don't share your more sophisticated interests, but they're just about house-trained.
"Now the kitchen is well-equipped and there's food in the fridge – we know what you like, Mr Cream. If there's anything else you need – books, DVDs and so forth – the lads will get it for you. There's no phone and we'll have to keep your mobile for a bit. There's also no internet here, I'm afraid, but there is a games console and an unconnected laptop you can use if you want.
"I know you know the rules, but Mr Palfrey says I'm to remind you. No going out, draw the blinds before you put the lights on and I'm afraid intimate company is off the agenda for the time being.
"Any questions?"
"None whatever, Major." Cream replied. "Thank you for your time and trouble."
"Part of the service." Behan said. "Just one more thing. Messages from Mr Palfrey come through me, face to face. Nobody else. So if you or the lads are contacted by anyone else, you're to remember what's said and report to me."
XXXXX
There are few meetings more uncomfortable than one between two people in positions of power and knowledge when neither knows exactly what it is that the other one does, and neither knows just how powerful the other is, but suspects them to be more so than themselves.
Doctor Kate Stewart knew that Mr Palfrey was a power in the world of counter-espionage, but was unsure of how far both his remit and his network extended.
Mr Palfrey knew that Doctor Stewart was head of The Unit, but did not know exactly what that secretive body did, it's numbers, firepower and the limits of its' authority.
It would, of course, be highly impolite for either to ask the other the questions that plagued them. Neither wanted to be put to the necessity of either evading such questions, or lying. That would be discourteous.
"As you are no doubt aware," Mr Palfrey began after the initial pleasantries had been exchanged, "we are currently playing host to a Mr Evelyn Cream. He came to us after declining a contract from Fayle Holdings – an action he seems to think places him in some personal danger."
"We know Cream." Stewart responded. "I presume the contract called for the removal of certain people?"
Palfrey nodded. "Specifically an academic, a senior civil servant and an officer with the Metropolitan Police. All individuals of impeccable reputation and no connections with, er, previous regimes."
"With Norsefire, you mean." Stewart said. "Really, Mr Palfrey, I am aware of your profession, but I am a scientist and a soldier. I would prefer you to speak with less circumlocution. It's not that I might misunderstand, but that I find it irritating."
"Quite." Palfrey was not quite rattled, but it was a near thing. "Now we have had our eyes on Fayle Holdings and its' CEO for some time. As is the nature of things in our corner of the world, we are not the only ones. Thus we were aware of the interest from the Fraud Squad, HMRC and the inevitable lamplighters from the Circus. But imagine our surprise when we noted that observers from your Unit had joined the party!"
Rattle for rattle. Stewart had a good poker face, but there had been a flicker in the eyes. She recovered well, however.
"You are correct, Mr Palfrey. But it doesn't explain why you're here now. Quite generally, the interests of our two departments are quite distinct, and both of us know better than to enquire into the others' business."
"Oh, absolutely." Palfrey agreed. "But on this occasion, the matter is more complex than either of us allowed for, I feel. Lady Morgian Lottesville, CEO and owner of Fayle Holdings, is a person of interest to many. Her uncanny ability to invest in the right place at the right time – even when most would consider the risk unacceptably high – has given rise to suspicions of fraud, insider dealings and so forth. The proportion of accidental deaths, sudden illnesses and suicides among people who have incommoded her is suspiciously high. Her determination in securing – legally or illegally – possession of certain artefacts, mostly purported to be of mystical significance, is curious in one so determinedly rational in business dealings.
"For my own part, some of her connections overseas and within the Government are of a decidedly murky nature, and her ability to obtain information she should not have is a concern. However, the sudden interest in these three people – none of them with any imaginable connection to her – has piqued my curiosity. I came here to see if it might have any bearing on your investigation of her."
Stewart considered for a moment, then asked. "Mr Palfrey, are you familiar with the name Emil Gargunza?"
Palfrey frowned. "The name rings a bell….Ah! My predecessor, Mr Smiley, had dealings with a person of that name in the 1950s and 60s. I recall him telling me that the man was a Nazi defector and a brilliant scientist, but a thoroughly repulsive individual."
Stewart nodded. "Gargunzas' speciality was human biology and genetics. As you can imagine, much of his work for the Nazis was concerned with isolating and propagating the true Aryan strain – the genetics of the ubermensch. He defected to the Allies after a falling-out with his senior colleague, Dr Johann Schmidt.
"He had a proposal for our people. He was, he claimed, close to discovering effective cloning techniques. Techniques that could not only produce replacement limbs or organs for injured soldiers, but could actually produce complete copies of particularly good specimens. He talked about 'factories' producing thousands of 'artificial' soldiers, ready for training.
"Then he got more adventurous, claiming that he could develop ways in which to make the clones 'better' than the originals. Stronger, faster, more resilient, more intelligent. That he knew of ways in which these improved clones could be pre-conditioned and even pre-trained, to leave the factory combat-ready. He even suggested the possibility of a clone enhanced and powerful enough to be used as a strategic weapon!"
"Preposterous!" Palfrey declared.
"Perhaps." Stewart replied. "But he was taken seriously enough to be given a laboratory, staff, guards, funding and carte blanche by the War Office. A situation that continued after the War until there was an accident – a soldier working for the project was killed. The investigation revealed a good deal of corruption as well as some horribly inhumane experiments carried out on condemned prisoners, orphans, prostitutes and homeless people Gargunza had ordered kidnapped.
"Gargunza left the country in a hurry and took most of what he knew with him. The project limped on for a few more years, then was shut down.
"The whole thing was forgotten about until this Lady Morgian Lottesville started poking around. It seems that under the cover of a search for esoteric texts and mystical artefacts, she is actually trying to obtain everything she can about Gargunza and his work.
"The man himself is probably dead by now, but nobody knows how, when or even where, or what he was doing for all those years. His data, his discoveries, are out there somewhere, and someone with Lottesvilles' contacts and funding could make dangerous use of them."
"It all seems a little far-fetched…." Palfrey said.
"You've seen the news today?" Stewart asked.
"Yes." Palfrey allowed. "Quite the ruckus, I understand, with your Excalibur team…Please, Doctor, they could not possibly belong to anyone else! Your Excalibur team in the thick of it!"
"True." She said. "What we did not allow the media to say or see is that some of the…things…we had to deal with were not entirely natural. Which has us wondering whether Lottesville has found some of Gargunzas' material, or been experimenting on her own.
"Now with regard to Mr Creams' contract, it is possible, probable even, that these three people are in some way connected with Gargunzas' work. Descendants or relatives of people who worked with or for him, perhaps, or even descendants of some of his experimental subjects. Either way, it seems that they represent some kind of threat to Lottesville. Given that, it would be a great deal off my mind if you could see your way clear to keeping those three safe for the time being."
"Naturally, I would like to help." Palfrey said. "But these things are rather costly, and I would need something to show for it?"
"Of course!" Stewart said. "We've retained the Lyell Centre to examine the specimens we acquired last night, and we'll have them share the data with you. They're already working with DCI Weasley, so we can arrange for him to be the liaison.
"Then of course, there is the matter of dealing with Lottesville herself. My people will probably do the bulk of the work – it's in our remit – but we can make sure, Mr Palfrey, that you are in at the kill, so to speak."
XXXXX
"I don't know." Mike was saying. "It isn't the same. The Miracleman body was, apart from being seven foot tall, very human-looking. This one isn't. I knew Gargunza, and I think he copied this second body because it looked scary.
"I mean, from what I overheard -and I'm no egghead, you understand – the Qys computer held data on hundreds of different species. Full genetic scans, biochemistry, everything needed to construct a perfect physical copy. If you had the full range of Qys tech available. All Gargunza had was DNA from Earth, what he could get from the merged Qys bodies, and whatever Qys tech he could MacGyver up from 1950s and 60s lab equipment."
"We know all that." Spitfire said. "But we still need to know what sort of thing we might be setting loose. You said you had some insight into how Miracleman thought when you were using that body. You also told us about how Diana Prince and Clark Kent couldn't really control the original minds of the Wonder Woman and Superman bodies. We don't want the same thing happening to you, Mike!"
"I believe," Herne said, "that it is a matter of character. Major Moran is a man of principle and integrity. Where these other people the same?"
Mike snorted. "They didn't have a principle between them, and both of them thought integrity was a weakness! Pity, really, because some of the actual work we did as the Fantastic Four was good work! I mean, I'm no liberal, so blowing away drug dealers and terrorists was -still is as far as I'm concerned – the right thing to do!
"For what it's worth, I think this guy has principles, too. I mean, Miracleman was sort of passive. Evolved to a point where nothing much could harm him and he had no real strong emotions. The other body – well I think his race evolved in an incredibly challenging environment. In it, they just about manage to survive. Out of it – well he's even more powerful than Miracleman, and he's smarter as well. But part of the survival has been a really strong, inborn set of ethics. Supporting, helping and protecting each other is a big part of it, I think.
"Then again, he's such a big gun that I don't see myself using the word very often. Be like using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut. But a lot depends on how many of those Balrog things they have on tap!"
"None." Herne assured him. "Balrogs are lesser Ainur, masters rather than servants of the Fae. Creatures of Esharra, the Outer World. We know from the reports that Niskaru were summoned last night, and they too are of Esharra. Such a summoning has not been attempted for millennia, and the Balrog, who would have sensed it, probably followed of his own accord, out of curiosity. But we were fortunate that the Red Knight was there, else the Niskaru would have slain many before being brought down. It confirms that the Guardians are indeed awake, if the Red Knight is here, so are the Phantom Stranger and the White Lady."
"Well they could at least come and say hello!" The Cat grumbled. "If they're on our side, they ought at least to be talking to us!"
Herne shook his head. "That is not the way of the Guardians. They interact with mortals only when they must. They are as dangerous to you, in their own way, as our common foe. Dangerous as a flame is to a moth. Come too close, and you risk being burned, but the flame is not at fault."
"We'll take your world for that." Mike allowed. "Which just leaves the problem of S'ngac. It's clear now that whatever happened yesterday was no dream, and I made him a promise. We need something he can phase into. Something able to talk but with no mind of its own."
"A reality TV star?" Spitfire suggested.
"A fashion model?" The Cat mused. "A Millwall fan?"
"You lot are bloody hilarious!" Mike told them. "But I'm hungry and tired and could do without the mucking around!"
"I may be able to help." The Commando said. "But I need to get permission. I suggest you all get some food, a shower and some sleep. We'll reconvene this afternoon, I will know by then."
XXXXX
"So who's the new shadow?" Jack asked DCI Weasley, indicating the dark, ruggedly handsome man who had come in with him.
"His name's Gambit." Weasley said. "I'm told that forces more than usually sinister are after me and that I require security. Also, I'm not working our original case anymore. I'm now your official liaison with the funny folk!"
"Yeah, they told us that, just before they turned this place into a zoo." Jack growled. "Special Logistics, or something, they call themselves!
"At least they've sent us more staff to help out, though, and their security people know enough to stay out of the way and let us work."
Nikki, Gabriel and Velvy were already in the Conference Room, along with two other people.
"Hi, Ron." Nikki said. "New faces, first! This is Dr Moira McTaggert, geneticist and expert on mutants and mutation. And this is James Harris, a veterinary pathologist attached to the Home Office. James. Moira, this is Detective Chief Inspector Ron Weasley, from the Met."
Rons' phone chirped, and he held his hand up while he read the message.
"Correction, Nikki." He said. "It seems that since five minutes ago I'm Commander Weasley! Thought I was still a couple of years off that!"
"Congratulations!" Jack said. "It might just be worth working with the funny people! Think I can get a pay rise out of it, Nikki?"
"Only if I do, too!" She told him. "Right, let's get started! Who wants to go first?"
"That would be me, I think." James Harris looked to be in his sixties, a stocky man wearing a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows, a white shirt and an RCVS tie. He had receding salt-and-pepper hair and looked at them all with twinkling blue eyes over half-moon glasses. Unlike the others, he wasn't using a tablet, but a notebook, which he referred to from time to time.
"Just so you know, Commander, I'm a Fellow of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons and I've specialised in animal pathology for twenty years." He began. "Now I've performed a necropsy on one of the canine bodies that was brought in.
"In terms of general anatomy and physiology it resembles the Eurasian wolf, Canis Lupus. However, the specimen I dealt with was considerably larger than a wolf. Adult wolves usually measure between 1.05 and 1.06 metres in length – excluding the tail – and stand at most 0.85 metres at the shoulder. This specimen was some 2 metres long and 1.3 metres at the shoulder. The average European wolf weighs approximately 40 kilograms, this one weighs 90!
"As you may imagine, the creature would be very fast and powerful when alive, but comparison of brain size and complexity indicates, at least superficially, that it would be very little more intelligent than a normal wolf. Analysis of the endocrine system would indicate a higher level of aggression than is common in wolves, though whether this is natural or artificially-induced is impossible to tell.
"The most unusual thing I found was an exceptionally high amount of sulphur in the tissues, Sufficient to poison a normal animal. This may be an adaptation to elements of its normal diet – material found in the stomach is still being analysed -but it does have one obvious effect. The animals' saliva, sweat and skin oils contain a large proportion of sulphuric acid, or vitriol. The proportion is sufficient to cause extensive and painful burning to the exposed skin of anyone touching -or being mauled or bitten by - the creature and to attack and damage normal clothing.
"As to the origins of the species, there is no record of anything like it, anywhere. DNA analysis is proceeding and we will have to wait and see what that tells us."
"Could it hae been genetically engineered?" Moira asked. She was a strong-looking woman in her forties, with a pointed, attractive face, thick brown hair in a short bob and a Scots accent.
"That's rather out of my area." James admitted. "But do feel free to take some DNA to look at yourself!"
"Sounds to me," Ron remarked, "as if somebody crossed a wolf with one of those things from that film Alien!
"For now, though, let's just class them as 'bloody dangerous' shall we? What else has anyone got?"
"Well, we've done some work on the human ones." Nikki said. "Velvy?"
"We've managed to identify some of them." Velvy said. "But it makes no sense! All of them match people who've died sometime in the last five years!"
"Want to run that by me again?" Ron said.
"I know, it's impossible, but there it is!" Velvy told him. "We've run the pictures through all kinds of databases, social media, personnel files, HMRC, everything! But every one we could identify came down to a dead person!
"That's not all. They're all dead people who were buried rather than cremated, and all of them were either proven or suspected suicides."
"Bloody Hell!" Ron replied. "Right, I'll speak to the people at Special Logistics and see if we can get some exhumation orders. Body-snatching is liable to cause a worse outcry than acid wolves!"
"Oh, there's more to come!" Nikki warned him.
"Of course there is!" Ron groaned. "Go on, I can take it!"
"OK," she said, "Moria and I performed an autopsy on one of the bodies. The first thing we noted was extreme pallor, all over the skin. Second was that deep body temperature, as recorded by RMC at time of death or shortly after, was far lower than it should have been. The body showed no scarring of any kind, despite the fact that the person it was identified as had undergone major surgery a month or so prior to their recorded death. External genitalia -the body was male – were extremely small, almost vestigial.
"The skin and muscle tissue were remarkably tough, the fibres denser than normal. The subject would have been unusually strong and resilient. Stomach contents consisted of about half a litre of human blood, uncoagulated. The pyloric sphincter, which leads from the stomach to the duodenum, was observed to be closed and healed over, indicating that normal digestive process was not taking place. The intestines, rectum and bladder were all empty and showed no signs of recent activity. However, it was notable that many of the major abdominal and thoracic arteries connected directly to the stomach, and these may have been draining blood from it into the bloodstream.
"Dental examination revealed that the canine teeth were of unusual length, somewhat curved and extremely sharp. A saliva sample proved to contain both a powerful anti-coagulant and significant amounts of an organic muscle relaxant and euphoric. Examination of the mouth showed muscular structures that would enable the mouth to form a virtually airtight seal with anything in contact with it.
"Taking everything together, it would seem that the subject was almost perfectly adapted to prey on animals by sucking their blood!"
Ron looked at her steadily. "Who wants to be the first to say the 'V'-word?" He asked.
"If ye mean 'Vampire', then I'll agree with ye!" Moira said. "I deal wi' mutants, ye ken, and I've seen things and people that'd make a Vampire look ordinary!"
"Now you do surprise me!" Ron admitted. "All I know about mutants are silly season stories in the red-top press and lots of guff in the dafter corners of the internet!"
"Aye, well it's not something ye want the public tae know much aboot!" Moria told him. "The most of 'em are just puir folk who want tae get on wi' their lives, an' bein' able to see in the dark, or make things a wee bit lighter or heavier doesnae make 'em superhumans or any threat tae the rest of us.!"
"I can see that." Ron said. "So, are these Vampires some kind of mutant?"
"I'd say not." Moria replied. "They dinnae fit into any of the classes of Mutant we know of, for one thing. For another, most mutants show their differences in their early teens, except Mentalists. But I cannae see how a mutation can manifest after death, and self-inflicted death at that!
"Now it used tae be that a suicide couldnae be buried in sacred ground, and that they'd drive a stake through their hearts and bury them at a crossroads. I'm thinkin' that they may have known or remembered somethin' back then we've forgotten?
"But what we did find is somethin' in the brain. Smack in the middle of the corpus callosum, the bundle of nerve fibres that connects the two hemispheres of the brain. It's the size of a golf ball, has two tubes that join onto two of the major blood vessels in the brain and a dozen or so tendrils that extend into the brain itself. It's just a clump of tiny blood vessels and nerve tissue, but it isnae part o' the brain. I'll need to do more work, but for now I'll call it a parasite."
"Right." Ron said. "What about the other specimens?"
"Well," Nikki said, "we've agreed that all three of us are going to work together on the big, stinky one – a Troll, somebody called it. Then there are the completely alien-looking things, which we've been told are called Niskaru. There's also a few gallons of black goo somebody found at the bottom of a crater to look at.
"It's going to take some time, Ron. If these people are in a hurry, we can't help much, I'm afraid!"
"No worries." Ron said. "The military seem to have worked out how to deal with most of them, anyway. What we're more interested in is where they came from! There's a lot of silly talk about them being supernatural, but with what you've told me so far, we seem to be dealing with very physical, if very unusual, creatures.
"Just carry on at your own pace, but let me know when you have any more answers."
XXXXX
The Steel Commando had given Union Jack directions to a place a few miles from HQ. A high wire fence marked with warning notices gave way to a gate guarded by soldiers from The Unit. A twisting, wooded path brought them to a modern-looking three-storey building. The group were waved in without unnecessary questions or comments. They passed through a sterile-looking foyer to reach an unusually large lift. The Commando tapped a complex code into the control panel, and the lift went down, and down, and down until the doors opened on a well-lit corridor that led to a massive metal door. The Commando produced a key which opened a panel revealing a pad into which he tapped yet another long and complex code. Beyond the door was a large room, with a conference table and chairs. One wall was concealed by a heavy grey curtain. The Commando indicated they should sit, while he went to the head of the table, where a large, heavy chair was set, with some controls set into the table in front of it.
"I'm the only one who knows the codes to get into here." The Commando said without preamble. "I'm also the only one who can bring other people here, but I have to get permission first, even for people with the highest clearance."
"This is that secret?" The Cat asked.
"Yes, but it's also personal." The Commando said. "Personal to me. It's about family, you see!" He touched a button on the desk and the curtains drew back, revealing four figures, each in their own glass case.
"This," the Commando said, pointing to a hulking, seven-foot figure in World War Two battledress, "is the original Steel Commando, or what's left of him. The Mark One Indestructible Robot, designed and built for the British Army by Professor Ritchie, Professor Farrad and Doctor Brand. A fearsome weapon, but with a glitch that meant he would only ever respond to the orders of Private Ernest Bates, a conscript whose military ambitions were to stay away from the front line and obtain comfortable footwear. However, Bates rose to the occasion and, upon being promoted to Lance-Corporal and given permission to obtain his own boots at Army expense, they undertook a significant number of missions in various theatres. But nothing would convince Bates to remain in the Army, so when he was demobbed in 1946, the Mark One was deactivated and most of his workings stripped out and reused elsewhere. The shell was kept in storage until it was quietly removed by The Unit and brought here."
The next in line was an equally large, humanoid robot, painted bright red, with the name ARCHIE stencilled on its chest. "This one, Robot Archie, was a post-war solo effort by Professor Ritchie, designed for exploration in dangerous areas." The Commando told them. "Originally remote-controlled and mute, he was later upgraded to respond automatically and given a voice-box. Eventually he was programmed with a Virtual Intelligence algorithm. Later, however, he became unstable and was deactivated.
"The human-looking chap next to him was named The Iron Man by his creator, Professor Farrad. He was intended as a kind of super-policeman. As well as being bullet-proof, strong and fast, he had a complex computer brain driven by a very advanced VI algorithm, designed to unravel complex investigations. Farrad was killed by a criminal gang, but managed to give control of the robot to his nephew, Tim Branton. Under the name of Robert Branton, The Iron Man worked as a vigilante, private investigator and occasional government agent until the advent of Norsefire. By that time, Tim Branton was ready to retire and The Unit acquired the robot in return for placing Branton beyond Norsefires' reach. However, an attempt to connect The Iron Man to the internet led to an information overload that destroyed the VI."
"What about that other one?" Union Jack asked. "He looks like a toy!"
The construct in question was about the size of a ten-year-old. It had a blocky head, with closed eyes and a mouth shaped into a permanent smile. The limbs were spindly, with spherical joints at knee and elbow. The hands were covered with gloves, the feet with overlarge shoes, and it was wearing a red polo shirt, black short trousers and a black and red school cap.
"He was a toy, in a way." The Commando said. "It's a sad tale, really. His name was Brassneck, and he was built by Doctor Brand as a companion for his nephew, Charles Brand. Charles suffered from leukaemia and had to be kept away from other children because his immune system was compromised. Brassneck was built to be a playmate for him and actually had the earliest functional AI, albeit the mind of a child. Charles lived another two years, and as his illness progressed, Brassneck stayed with him, reading to him and playing board and card games when Charles was confined to bed. The night Charles died, the nurse that was with him said that Brassneck, who was sitting by the bed as he always did, became unresponsive a few seconds after the boy stopped beathing. He has remained so ever since.
"Would someone pass Jenny a tissue?"
"OK, so we get to meet your family." The Cat said. "But why now?"
"Well," the Commando said, "two of these robots, Iron Man and Archie, are still theoretically operational. But Archies' behaviour is unpredictable. The Iron Man, however, had two modes – Automatic and Manual. The Automatic mode is no longer functional as the software is beyond repair, but in Manual mode, it can still respond to verbal commands. I have the controller here."
"You're thinking that we could use the robot as a body for S'ngac to occupy?" Union Jack asked.
"Precisely." The Commando nodded. "The robot has no mind, but its vocal apparatus is fully functional, and should the Qys start to misbehave, I will be able to shut the robot down immediately."
"Sounds like a plan!" Moran said. "Let's do it!"
XXXXX
Logan walked on a grassy lawn dotted with small flowers, some yellow and some white. The sky was clear blue, with a few scattered white clouds and there was the scent of springtime on a cool breeze. All around him other forms walked or sat on the grass. Tall, slender people with thin faces and pointed ears. He could hear their voices, talking, laughing and singing. But the forms were blurred and transparent, the voices faint and far off, and despite the fact that he felt like the most solid thing here, they noticed him not at all. That is, until a clear alto voice addressed him from behind.
"What do you here, dustling? You are not part of this Telling!"
He turned. The woman facing him was tall and stately, though slender. She had the same unhuman face as the others and was dressed in a simple gown of green silk, on her head was a golden circlet.
"I figure I'm dreaming." He told her.
"Yes," she replied, "now I look more closely, you are but your dream self. Name yourself, Child of Dust."
"Logan." He said simply.
"That is all?" She gave a sudden, merry laugh. "Few among both Fae and mortals would be content with but the one name! You claim no title, then? No style of lordship or reputation?"
He shrugged. "People have called me Weapon X, or Wolverine."
"Hah!" She said. "The one has no meaning, the other is a beast of Winter! I am Galadriel, Queen of Summer. I ask again, what do you here?"
"I got no idea." He said. "I got sent to sleep by a Fae called Feanor, and here I am."
"Ah!" Galadriel said. "Feanor is Craftmaster to the Summer Court, yet he remains still in Mandos. If he has sent you here, he must have work to do upon you, and important work at that!"
"If you call savin' my life important." Logan said. "The White Lady seems to think it is."
"Nimue the Mentor?" Galadriel was surprised. "Then your Telling is one of great weight, Sir Logan! Bide your time here, then, only I can see you, so do not fear these others. Rest while you can, warrior-born!"
She turned and walked away. Logan took her at her word, and lay down on the grass. Shortly, he fell asleep.
