Chapter Eight – By The Moonlight Side
So… sorry about missing a week. This was a particularly hard chapter to write. It just didn't want to work. Eventually I managed to drag out what I wanted to say.
Alpha Ze'ev Kesley.
Like every other operative, Ze'ev had fantasised about becoming alpha. He'd also fantasised about going home. It didn't mean he ever expected it to happen.
It had been a little under a week since Ze'ev had been abruptly promoted. A week since the fights, a week since the Queen had been pleased with Ze'ev, a week since Brock had died. No-one had gotten used to it, let alone Ze'ev.
The change in status wasn't like how Emil Katona and Aziz Sherazi used to switch who was omega, or when Ran took the position permanently. That had been unsurprising, even expected. But Alpha Brock always seemed invincible.
If it had been Beta Wynn, or even Beta Troya, then it might not have been such a shock. Tristan had nearly beaten Brock several times, and Orbit had come close once. Ze'ev had never been considered a contender for the title of alpha.
Ze'ev had also never thought that he would be able to kill a pack member. Alpha Brock might have been violent, but was also loyal and protective and part of his family. They'd slept in the same room, eaten at the same table, and fought side by side. Brock couldn't just be gone.
He sometimes wondered if the voice that had urged him to kill had been someone touching his bioelectricity, or his own instincts. He thought it was the result of a glamour, but couldn't be sure that wasn't wistful thinking.
Ze'ev had been unsurprised to notice his pack had started treating him differently after the fight in the arena. Vanya Volkov had made an unfunny joke about how the pack needed a third Kesley brother, "so that we can have an Alpha, a Beta, and an Omega Kesley." Vanya had laughed when Ran growled at him, but Ze'ev only frowned and instantly his smile had dropped off.
As of yet, no-one had challenged Ze'ev since he'd broken Brock's neck. He didn't expect that to last, but for the moment the others were giving him a reprieve. He thought he was supposed to challenge them —Brock certainly had done so regularly — but he had no interest in it until he'd let it sink in.
On the sixth 'day' after the battle, the pack walked to a training room and stood in formation like they usually did. Ze'ev was well aware of the way everyone watched him, like they had since he snapped Brock's neck, but ignored it.
Master Jael was waiting for them, tapping his foot although the pack wasn't late. "We have an assembly today," he said the moment they arrived.
For a moment Ze'ev expected Alpha Brock to ask for more details.
"Why?" he asked after a second's hesitation, hoping he still sounded respectful.
"To find out which packs have succeeded training."
Everyone had already been at attention, but at Jael's words everyone somehow straightened more, fists clenched tighter to their chests.
Jael smiled at Ze'ev. "I believe the Queen was impressed by your efforts. I will be very surprised to hear that you failed."
Ze'ev nodded once, struggling to keep his face blank.
The pack was led to the arena and Jael left for the stands. The arena was filled to bursting, five hundred operatives huddled together.
There were growls from every direction, and one or two small fights. All in all, it was a muted gathering.
Even that mild noise faded away when a thaumaturge stood up on the stands. He was second-tier; the red robes stood out among the black worn by those in charge of packs. Ze'ev might have been more impressed by his rank if the Queen herself hadn't stood there the week before.
"Operatives," the thaumaturge said without preamble. "The royal court has decided which of your packs are to be sent to Earth. Those who were not selected will be sent off to further surgeries and training."
It wasn't quite whispers that broke out across the arena, but there were significant glances and nervous winces.
A few days earlier Ze'ev had been certain that he'd ensured victory for their pack. Still, his stomach clenched. Somewhere to his left, he heard Beta Eclipse Garson whispering a prayer.
"There have been fifteen packs selected, to be sent to fifteen different Earthen cities. The pack in Barcelona will be headed by Thaumaturge Tahir."
Up on the stands, a woman smiled proudly. Ze'ev heard a sigh of relief from a group somewhere behind him.
"New Beijing — Thaumaturge Adams." Another smile, another sigh. "Mumbai — Thaumaturge Chen. Tokyo — Thaumaturge Silva. Manila — Thaumaturge Orlov. Paris — Thaumaturge Jael."
Ze'ev felt tension release from his body abruptly; he nearly wilted from relief, and only the five years of training kept him at attention. He wasn't exactly surprised, but the confirmation was the best thing he'd heard since he'd been conscripted.
Around him, Ze'ev could see the rest of the pack wore a smile, no matter how hard they tried to mask it. Eclipse's prayer had turned from pleading to repeating 'thank You'. Jael, in the stands, looked unsurprised but pleased.
"Mexico City — Thaumaturge Maki. New York — Thaumaturge Avraham. Sao Paolo —Thaumaturge Grant. Cairo — Thaumaturge Narang. Lagos — Thaumaturge Bosch. London — Thaumaturge Aritza. Moscow — Thaumaturge Delaney. Istanbul — Thaumaturge Katsaros. Sydney — Thaumaturge Sadik."
The list stopped abruptly. Fifteen names was not a lot when there were fifty packs.
Murmurs, whispers, gasps, and sobs broke out across the arena. Ze'ev tried not to react as around him his neighbours broke down.
Some were frantically blinking back tears, trying to stay professional; some weren't even attempting to avoid crying. Some were clutching at others for comfort, gripping neighbours hands or wrapping their arms around them fully. Some had dropped to their knees. Expressions ranged from despair to resignation, from unsurprised to shaken.
The dismay coloured the air. It didn't completely destroy Ze'ev's relief, but it put a heavy weight on his elation.
"Other packs will report tomorrow for further modifications," the second-tier thaumaturge said simply, causing another almost tangible wave of despair.
Out of respect, Ze'ev bit his lip to hide his smile. He noticed Beta Huang Liu and Beta José Lobo copied him, which quickly spread to the rest of the pack.
"Dismissed."
The crowd started moving for the door. It was hard going to get through — some operatives had burst outside, desperate for space, but most had turned sluggish.
Ze'ev knew as alpha it was his responsibility to carve out a path, but he had no motivation to shove his comrades. His pack followed obediently; only Ran seemed disgruntled at his refusal to push past.
They progressed slowly through the stunned masses, awkwardly manoeuvring around those who had frozen. Finally, they escaped into the less crowded corridors.
Once outside, they stopped and took a moment to breathe.
José started to laugh. It began as a small, insistent giggle, before quickly turning into full-blown cackling. Then Alex Rafe joined in. Then Vanya Volkov.
Orbit Troya didn't laugh, although her smile nearly went from ear to ear. Instead, she raised her face towards the surface above them and called her victory.
"Aaaaroooooooo!"
The howl was even more infectious than the laughter. In a moment Masaru Tsukino, Tristan Wynn, and Huang Liu had added their voices.
Ze'ev gave up on decorum and howled. That seemed to be the last straw for most of the pack, who happily joined in the delighted screams to the ceiling.
Somewhere nearby, another pack joined in the celebration. The sound echoed, almost tasting of relief.
And then a third group began to howl, without a hint of pleasure.
The howls spread throughout the entire training facility. Some were excited, but they were overshadowed by the sense of mourning permeated by most.
Ze'ev kept howling, shouting out a savage, selfish joy that merged with the operative's horror.
"Aaaaarrrrooooooo!"
The pack had stayed up for hours after Ze'ev turned the lights off, talking about Earth. No-one had a clear idea where Paris was. Huang Liu insisted it was in the 'Umerikan Republic', while José Lobo had argued that it was 'Yuuropian Union'. An argument like that might have normally resulted in a brawl, but the mixture of excitement and pity made the bloodlust shrink.
When he finally managed to get to sleep, Ze'ev dreamed of needles.
The next day period, Ze'ev hopped out of the bed that used to belong to Alpha Brock, and moved to wake up the rest of his pack. Judging by the expressions that remained haunted for a few seconds, he wasn't the only one to sleep badly.
"Breakfast," Ze'ev instructed after everyone had washed. It sounded stupid to be stating the obvious, and it caused a couple of smirks among the pack. He tried to remember what Alpha Brock used to say as they left the barracks, but couldn't.
All the packs filed into the dining hall at the same time. On a normal day, the crush to get in was somewhat dialled down first thing in the morning. Today, it seemed almost dead.
Ze'ev pushed his way through the shuffling operatives, trying to be as gentle as he could while forcing a path. He wasn't sure if the rest of his pack followed his lead, or if everyone wanted to keep violence to a minimum. It was probably a mixture of both.
Despite holding back, their pack was one of the first to reach their table. Beta Troya picked a fight with Beta Volkov over a piece of steak, bringing back some semblance of familiarity.
Beta Wynn tried to snatch a piece of meat from Ze'ev. He caught Beta Wynn's hand before it touched the meat, and he knew to duck before Tristan even threw the punch. Once he dodged the blow, it was easy to bring his palm up and smash into Beta Wynn's face.
His ability to predict was definitely coming in handy.
"Where's Alpha Basurto's pack?" Ran asked, trying to act as if the bruise Aziz Sherazi gave his arm didn't hurt.
Several pack members glanced around.
Ze'ev wasn't entirely sure where Alpha Basurto normally sat – he only had a vague idea of who each pack's alpha was – but after a quick count there were only forty-eight tables full. Alpha Drake's table was still given distance, but one table had been filled with food and no-one was there to eat it.
"Were they a group that passed training?" Tristan Wynn asked.
"No," Rille Baines said without looking away from the table.
Ze'ev wondered if they had run. It was stupid for anyone to think it would work, but if he'd failed training he might have tried.
He put it out of his mind. It felt selfish to ignore every other operative, but there was nothing he could do.
Breakfast finished with an awkward atmosphere. There was relief and excitement at the table, contrasting badly with the outside mood. Ze'ev was glad to be able to head off to the day's training.
Jael was waiting for them. His broad smile was even more unsettling than the false care he normally wore.
"Today will be mostly studies," the thaumaturge said, once the pack was in formation. "You are to be blending in on Earth for several months, possibly years, and Her Majesty feels as if you will need a better understanding to do so."
No-one spoke, but there was a breath of interest.
Jael nodded, and turned around to lead the way. The pack followed him without prompting.
They had barely reached the first lava tube/corridor when a burst of commotion made all fourteen pack members look around with varying levels of subtlety.
"What is it?" Jael asked.
It took a second for Ze'ev to realised he was the operative expected to answer. "I – we can hear – the doors that prisoners are usually transported in have been opened," he said. Too late he remembered to salute while talking, but the lapse only seemed to amuse Jael.
"Lunar citizens accused of treason, or Thaumaturge McCarthey's pack?" Jael clearly expected that his pack had already heard rumours about an attempted escape.
Ze'ev wasn't sure of the answer. He couldn't smell anything unfamiliar, though, which he thought might mean that the prisoners in transport had been there before.
"I think they're operatives," he said hesitantly, then forced himself to hold his head up high. "Although I can't be certain."
"Only logical," Jael agreed, continuing on his walk. The pack hurried to follow. "We weren't expecting any traitors today, although I have to admit the operatives were gone longer than I expected."
Ze'ev wondered whether the runaways had snuck out only minutes before the rest of the operatives woke up, or if they had been gone for hours. He wasn't brave enough to ask.
After almost five years in the facility, Ze'ev knew each route better than he knew the ever-changing pattern of scars on his skin. He wasn't entirely sure which room had been refitted for Earthen lessons, but it only took a few moments to realise that Jael was taking a roundabout way to it, going via the arena where the prisoners were transported.
As they approached, the door opened. A vaguely-familiar thaumaturge walked out, leading a group of twelve operatives. They were dragging their feet, shoulders slumped and heads bowed. Judging from the expressions, Thaumaturge McCarthey was stabbing at her pack's bioelectricity.
"Thaumaturge Jael," she said cordially, showing no surprise to see him there.
"Thaumaturge McCarthey," Jael nodded back. "I see you found your… discipline problem."
"I take it as a refusal to accept failure," Thaumaturge McCarthey said thoughtfully. She stopped walking, and forced the line behind her to halt. "Which is what we have been teaching, if a little misunderstood."
Despite her polite tone towards Master Jael, Thaumaturge McCarthey's smile was somewhat forced. Her pack whimpered under a mental assault.
"Of course, of course," Thaumaturge Jael agreed easily. "Have you planned a punishment?"
McCarthey shook her head, ever so dignified. "I'm not sure an official response is necessary. Any insubordination is to be removed shortly."
One of the betas had tears streaking down his face, although he didn't make a sound.
"Congratulations, however, on your promotion," McCarthey said. "When will it be made official?"
"I believe technically I'm already second-level," Jael said with a smile. "However, my robes and paperwork are not quite ready, so I suppose the definition of 'official' is under debate."
"I'm pleased for you," McCarthey said. It was impossible to tell if she was genuine; thaumaturges wrapped every word in layers. "Now, if you'll excuse me I have other matters to which to attend."
Jael inclined his head politely, and then the two thaumaturges continued on their way with their respective packs following. Ze'ev didn't risk looking back.
Within a few moments, Jael's pack went into one of the smaller training rooms, which had been set up with desks and an unfamiliar third-level thaumaturge waiting in the front. A picture of an Earthen city was projected onto the wall, with a caption reading Paris.
"Good morning," the thaumaturge said. He looked a little uncomfortable at the genetically modified operatives in front of him. "Please collect your stationary and a notebook."
"Without fighting," Jael added. "They're all the same and I would be most displeased should any notebook be ripped."
The pack tapped their chests in unison, and then each picked a small notebook and pen from a pile. There was no fighting to get a desk, although there was some growling that badly unsettled the teacher. Ze'ev wasn't entirely sure which desk was considered good, but he took one in the front row and hoped for the best.
Holding the pen felt unnatural. There had been a few occasions to read in the past few years, with manuals and instructions handed out. Ze'ev hadn't written anything since he'd been conscripted. Thankfully, the first lesson seemed to be about how to avoid the urge to glamour Earthens, which wasn't an option anyway. Ze'ev spent the time working out how to write legibly.
It was a good distraction from dwelling on the fate of the other operatives.
Okay, so, I did a fair amount of maths for this chapter. I'll give a quick overview of the highlights so you can know where I'm coming from.
In Scarlet, Kai theorised there were about 300-400 operatives on Earth. But even that was an exaggeration because of the casualty amount. Fifteen packs, and each pack ranges between 6-15 members (well, one of those packs was definitely 14 members). That means at most there were 224 lupine operatives running rampant on Earth, and at minimum 98. It was probably closer to 161.
As for why there are fifteen packs instead of fourteen – well, I'm positive that the pack that attacked Rieux could not have been Ze'ev's. Cinder tranquilized two of them, and there were still enough operatives that she heard 'half a dozen howls'. Taking 'half a dozen' literally and assuming there were six, means that there were about eight soldiers in Rieux. There are only two operatives unaccounted for in Paris, not to mention Jael explicitly said they were a full pack.
For the record, it's the Barcelona pack that I added from Kai's list. There are a couple of Rieux's in France, and Rieux-Volvestre is the closest to Toulouse. This means that technically Barcelona is a closer major city than Paris is.
I'll go into further detail in a later chapter.
TL;DR – There were fifteen packs on Earth, meaning around a hundred and sixty operatives passed.